With Footfalls of Shadow

by Donogan Sawyer

  “Great, thanks for clearing that up. I just needed a few more details of the agony I am going to face before dying. I feel much better now.”

  “We’re not going to die like that, Travis. We have too much to do before we go.”

  “What do you mean, we have too much to do?” he asked.

  “I’m not quite ready to die, yet. How about you?” she answered.

  “No, I suppose not,” he said, then noticed a change in her expression. “What is it?”

  “I think there is something near.”

  A week ago, Travis would have thought her foolish. They were on a crowded street, and there were many things near. Now Travis knew better, and this time he actually felt something as well. It was an odd, inexplicable sort of confidence that he was close to what he was looking for. He continued walking by her side and examined the crowds more closely.

  “What do you think it could be?”

  “I’m not sure, but it feels similar to what I felt the night the Bok attacked the safe house.”

  Travis felt his pulse quicken. “You mean those little people?”

  “Yes, I think so. How did you know?”

  Travis wasn’t sure himself. “I must have been hanging around you for too long.”

  ~Æ~

  Filos, Rhemus and Kaila stopped at a small café. There were tables and chairs set up outside to handle the extra customers who came for the carnival. Some of the patrons seemed a little miffed that they could not sit in the restaurant proper, but Filos thought it an improvement.

  “You know, someone should get the idea to put tables and chairs outside permanently. It’s a glorious day,” he said as they sat down.

  A fat man wearing a greasy apron came out the door and walked over to their table. “Ale, sir?”

  “Yes, that would be fine.”

  “And for the kiddies?”

  Kaila began to speak, but Filos interrupted, “Goat’s milk for the two of them.”

  The gruff waiter stared over his shoulder at Kaila as he turned around, and then walked back inside to fetch their drinks.

  “I hate goat’s milk,” Kaila complained, “and I’m not a kiddie. I’m sixteen.”

  “I’m sorry, Kaila, but I didn’t want to let him hear you speak. Your womanly voice could have given us away,” Filos replied.

  Kaila suddenly sat up straight.

  “What is it?” asked Filos.

  “Someone’s coming,” Rhemus answered for her.

  “Who?”

  Kaila pointed her little finger over Filos’s shoulder.

  ~Æ~

  “I think I see them,” Lyra said.

  Travis scanned the crowd until his eyes found focus on an unusual threesome sitting at a table outside a café. It was a very large, older man, sitting with two children. The children were small, and they both wore white veils. Oddly, one of them lifted its arm and pointed at Travis. The old man turned to look, and then stood quickly to gather the children.

  “There, those kids with the veils. They’re not children.”

  “I see them,” answered Lyra. “I believe one of them is, in fact. But he’s no ordinary child. Don’t make a fuss, just follow them. We don’t want to attract attention.”

  Lyra’s description of what might be in store for them at the end of a rope was still fresh in his mind. “Don’t worry about that.”

  They followed the threesome around the corner and down the next block. They were moving unusually quickly through the thick crowd.

  “I’ve lost them completely,” Lyra said, shaking her head.

  “Don’t worry. I have a feeling we’ll be seeing them again,” said Travis.

  “What’s gotten into you?” Lyra asked.

  “Call it intuition,” he answered.

  XXIX

  The second day of the carnival is in honour of Atai, the Goddess of Death. It is a day of remembrance of our ancestors, and appreciation for our loved ones. Whereas the first day of the carnival was a day of feasting, the second night is a night of dancing ...

  – King Arconus, transcript from the King’s address from the second day of the first Carnival at Kraal

  The arrow missed Rhoie by two fingers’ width. Rhoie leaned close to his mount, and spurred on his horse. Dilano followed, screaming a warning, “Be careful, it could be a trap.”

  Rhoie scanned the trees ahead, but the forest was too thick to see very far. Rhoie kept his nerve, ignoring the throbbing pain in his side and the wet burn of his saddle sores. He turned his horse off the trail and into the woods, but he was unlucky in his timing.

  Dilano was right. It was a trap, and Rhoie turned into the forest almost exactly where one of the King’s soldiers lay in wait, one with an arrow notched and aimed at his heart. Rhoie turned his horse violently. It reared and caught the arrow in its shoulder. Rhoie immediately understood the consequences of that shot. It would not kill the horse, but the horse would never be able to make it to Kraal in time.

  Dilano rode in close behind and killed the archer with one swift movement. He wasted no time dismounting and ordering Rhoie onto his horse. “Take my horse, and get to Kraal, now.”

  Rhoie hesitated, not wanting to leave his friend.

  “Go!” Dilano ordered again.

  As Rhoie mounted his horse, he saw three soldiers closing in towards them, a swordsman and two bowmen. He spurred the horse, ducking under one arrow and leaping ahead of another. He took a chance and turned his horse straight at his assailants. Just before the soldiers were able to take aim, Rhoie’s horse was upon them. He had little skill with a sword, and even less from on horseback. He hacked at the two bowmen, and scored a lucky strike at one man’s neck. The follow through of the swing struck the second man in the shoulder. Then he ducked, narrowly avoiding the swing of the blade from the swordsman. A glance behind him confirmed Rhoie’s assumption that Dilano was already engaging them in combat.

  He rode on, amazed at his luck. He considered going back to help his friend, but thought better of it. Dilano would never forgive him.

  ~Æ~

  Dilano leaned over the dead soldier. He had been a good fighter, but not good enough. He would have had a lot more trouble had Rhoie not killed one bowman and maimed the other on his way out.

  “Stupid Polly,” he said shaking his head, a hint of a smile crossing his lips.

  ~Æ~

  Blade awoke with a cold shudder. It took him a moment to remember who he was, much less puzzle out where he was. He tried to shake some of the cold water from his hair, only to find the movement too painful. He had a very bad injury to his head, and now he could feel the other wounds as well. His arm, in particular, was a mess.

  As he came to his senses, and his vision began to clear. An ungodly beast hovered over him. Then his memory returned. Gastious.

  “Oh, our pretty little man is awake,” Gastious baited. “You are quite strong. I thought maybe you wouldn’t wake up at all. That would have been such a waste. It’s time for you to meet my pets. Don’t worry, they will sustain you. They won’t let you miss the fun.”

  Blade wanted to fight, but he was far too weak. Gastious simply grabbed him by the collar and dragged him across the hard stone floor and laughed again. Blade could see now he was in some kind of dimly lit room. Then he was dragged through a small round door that Gastious could barely fit through and into a large cavern. He was pulled several dozen feet to a spot where light shone down from an opening high above. It looked as though the opening was barred. Blade struggled against Gastious, but it did no good. His head hurt terribly, and his arm was searing. Eventually Gastious let him go. Blade did not have the strength to move. He sat in the light, trying to understand where he was and what was happening to him. He could hear Gastious walking back the way he had come, and he could hear the heavy wooden door opening and closing. After a moment he could hear something else, something strange; a kind of buzzing sound. It was getting louder.

  ~Æ~

  Darryck led his group through th
e night towards Kraal. They were hungry and battle weary, but they carried on with little rest and no complaints towards the capital. With luck, they would be there in another three days. Darryck knew that it was likely that his orders would change by then, if he received any at all. He was certain Liam Foster would be dead soon after his confrontation with the King. Then the Talons of Freedom would have to reorganise once again. Nothing would please him more than to be wrong in his pessimism. It was just hard to imagine a circumstance where Liam could survive.

  He passed the time talking to his men as they hiked, trying to find out as much as he could about Liam Foster. Very little was known about him. He was well liked. He had run a respectable business and he had once fought for the Sha’grath. It was only a recent discovery that Foster had a blood link to the old tyrant Tobias. Darryck was both encouraged and dubious about Foster’s bloodline. It was good that he had a claim to the throne, but the very fact that he did potentially placed Foster in a different category, perhaps the next in a long line of ambitious pretenders.

  Darryck thought Foster a strange combination. He looked the part of a kindly old gentleman, as the men suggested. Darryck never would have believed that he had been Sha’grath unless he had seen the old man fight. From what he understood of the Sha’grath, they were fierce, savage warriors. Now Darryck thought differently of the Sha’grath. What he had witnessed outside Liam’s tavern, and then fighting against the Bok, was fierce indeed, but it was more than that. Liam moved more quickly than seemed possible, yet it appeared so effortless. The humble tavern keeper appeared in decent shape for a man in his late forties or early fifties, with only a hint of a middle-aged paunch, but he by no means looked capable of moving with such grace with a sword in his hand, indeed like ‘the wind wielding steel’, which was the literal translation of Sha’grath.

  Darryck felt a familiar sadness rise in him. He had grown accustomed to disappointment. The Talons of Freedom had, almost to a man, known little but disappointment and sadness since they were all very young. Darryck’s parents had died in the last plague when he was fourteen-years-old. Jeandania seemed a land of orphans, lacking in family structure, lacking in tradition and lacking in a viable government. Darryck and his brethren were lucky; at least that they had found one another. It had taken them all some time to find direction, but eventually Maurious had guided their group towards a higher purpose. They had gone from robbing passers-by on the road into Snake’s Mouth, to fighting against tyranny in Jeandania.

  Darryck had often found himself bitterly sceptical of the Talons’ mission. Their aspirations were far higher than what they had been when robbing stagecoaches, but the results of their efforts often seemed too similar to their lives before meeting Maurious. Darryck had experienced far more defeats than victories, more toil than hope. He thought Liam Foster a good man, worthy of the crown. Darryck had thought this before about other men. Those men were all dead, or banished, or ultimately proven unworthy. He wanted this terrible dread in his chest to prove unfounded. He wanted to believe Liam Foster might finally be the one they had been waiting for, but he had experienced too much disappointment to allow himself to hope.

  “Sir,” whispered Salvain, who stood next to him.

  “What is it?”

  “I see movement up ahead.”

  Darryck scanned the woods around him. They were surrounded.

  “Who goes there?” came a commanding voice from in front of them.

  Darryck answered, “We are the Talons of Freedom.”

  A confused pause followed, and what sounded like some muted discussion. Finally a man emerged from the woods in front of them, arms raised. He wore the King’s uniform. As he came closer, Darryck saw the uniform was worn and tattered.

  “I am unarmed. I mean you no harm,” the man said.

  “Why should I trust an officer of the King?” Darryck challenged.

  “There is no reason you should, but I am no longer in his service.”

  “Who are you?”

  “I am General Riley.”

  ~Æ~

  “You seem a bit out of sorts, my friend,” observed the King.

  “Indeed, but it is nothing to be concerned about,” answered Argus.

  “Nothing to be concerned about? I hope not. Tomorrow is a very important day.”

  “Yes, sire, of course. My apologies. Is everything prepared?”

  “I believe so, Argus. Are your little friends ready for their duties?”

  “Yes, they are,” Argus said confidently, and adjusted his position in the chair.

  “I haven’t seen you like this before. It must take a great deal to agitate a man like you, Argus,” Arconus said, looking down his nose. “You must inform me if there is something I should know about.”

  “Your Highness, I have lost something dear to me. It is of no concern to Jeandania or her King. I believe we should be focused on the trial.”

  “Indeed,” replied the King. “Gastious, is that boy proving of any use yet?”

  “No, sire, he has not said a word. He is very strong willed, but it is early. We have time.”

  “Very little time, Gastious. We need to come up with something. General Theron?”

  “I have been reading scrolls about the overthrow of King Tobias. There is very little written on the Sha’grath.”

  “What did you find?”

  “I found that, as usual, our historical records are incomplete. As history is defined by the victors of war, and there have been many victors and many wars, the records are very fragmented. Each victor tries to expunge any good publicity from the deposed, so the ...”

  “Yes, general, I understand,” interrupted the King. “Now tell me what do we have.”

  “Yes, Your Highness,” answered Theron. “What we have describes the Sha’grath as rebels and traitors. Tobias’s successor, Torvin, only lasted eighteen months. We have a few records from his reign that speak highly of the Sha’grath. They were meant to stay intact under Torvin, but in secret.”

  “Were you able to find anything in Foster’s home, general?”

  “No, nothing, but it may still be enough,” answered Theron.

  ~Æ~

  “Welcome, chamber men.”

  “May we provide a guiding hand of wisdom.”

  “This is a fine mess.”

  “I don’t think so. The King seems to have everything well under control. The people of Jeandania are happy and celebrating.”

  “They may be grateful for the carnival, but that doesn’t mean their allegiance is with Arconus.”

  “Maybe not, but the King is shrewd. I am sure he will manage the trial well.”

  “It must not only be done well. It must be perfect. The King is on trial here as well as Foster. Any sense of an unfair trial and the people will turn on him. This Liam Foster is a popular figure.”

  “Popular, yes, but what are his ambitions? Why does he ask for a trial at all?”

  “Does he think he can win it?”

  “No one is that naive. The King, Theron and that magician are preparing the case, and the King sits in judgment.”

  “Perhaps he wishes to discredit the King.”

  “Exactly, but at the cost of his own life?”

  “This is the problem. If he were just an ambitious man after the throne, that would be one thing, but this man asks for nothing but a trial that he knows he will lose. It cannot end well.”

  “Why are you so worried? He will be forgotten in a few months.”

  “They used to say that about Æhlman, you know?”

  “Perhaps he has something planned.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. I have been asking myself that question all week. I can’t imagine how he’ll survive it.”

  “Well, gentlemen, I hate to cut this short, but it seems we have not reached any kind of consensus,” interrupted the Chairman. “We will reconvene shortly after the trial, when all will be revealed.”

  ~Æ~

  “Who we
re you talking to?” asked Liam through a yawn as he slowly rose from an afternoon nap. At least he was getting some well needed rest in this cell.

  “No one,” answered the old man. “Before you arrived I suppose I fell into the habit of talking to myself. You were asleep, so I needed to tell someone the news.”

  “What news?”

  “We are having mutton today,” he replied, eyes wide in anticipation.

  ~Æ~

  Travis was uncomfortable sitting in the bar, still a wanted man, with posters up all over town with his face on them. He guessed they would be all right, though, as Lyra shielded them somehow, and she insisted this place was safe. They had walked around most of the day without so much as a second glance from anyone at the carnival, except for the Mikraino. Lyra had said that these two were similar to the ones at the safe house, but that neither of them had been there that night. Still, Travis was beginning to gain some hope that he might recover his box before Verkleet found him. Travis ordered another ale as the crowd turned to Lyra, who was now taking the stage. When she had first proposed her plan, he thought it was insane to make herself so conspicuous, but Lyra seemed quite confident in what she was doing. She had assured him that it would keep them from looking suspect, because Travis was right – only a crazy person would go on stage if she were being tracked down by the King. Besides Lyra had told him, she trusted his intuition. There may be a way to find the Mikraino again, and to recover his box, but this could not be done by hiding away in their rooms.

  Travis took a long sip of ale, and thought about his last words with Biff at the end of his criminal career. Aunty Jules had been right about the boys moving out of the house eventually and finding their own way. Biff and Travis started staying out later and later, and sometimes not coming home at all. Eventually they had learned how to make a living as beggars and thieves. They realised their chosen profession would be far more profitable in a bigger city and moved to the capital. That was when Biff adopted the moniker, Maclamar. They made some contacts and some enemies. As unlikely as the possibility seemed, Travis never lost the hope of returning home. As time passed, Travis grew more uncomfortable with their lives in the capital. By contrast, Biff seemed to have found his element. As the two were approaching their twenties and gaining a foothold into the ‘business’, they fell upon some good luck. The King at the time, King Fieurello, decided to outlaw alcohol. He was a weak King and influenced heavily by the clans, one of whom wished to corner the market on wine. Having grown up on a vineyard, and having a good deal of experience in trafficking illegal goods, the eventual Greatest Living Smuggler saw an opportunity and quickly built a very profitable business in this newly illegal trade of selling booze. There was competition, and it took ruthlessness, as well as guile and skill, to make it work. The money was good, and they were living well, but there were cruel realities about being a criminal that Travis found he could not live with.