With Footfalls of Shadow

by Donogan Sawyer

  Damn that warlock! Gastious swore that if he survived this ordeal he would kill every warlock he found, including Argus. They had no honour. They knew only deception and tricks.

  Now his fear rose above his anger, as he heard the buzzing from up above. These wasps would smell the blood, if they had not already, and they would defend themselves. It was the old man’s final irony. The wasps did not understand that Gastious was their keeper, not their enemy. Wasps were free of judgment. They were creatures of instinct. They would not come to use Gastious’s body as a host for their young. They would come to destroy the threat to their hive. He could tell from the buzzing sounds above him that it was an organised attack. They descended slowly, and they descended en mass.

  XXXV

  Between waking and dreaming still warm in the bed

  Where destinies form and misfortunes rent

  Where loved ones assemble both living and dead

  To tend to the dreamer and eschew discontent

  – From Fedora’s poem, Epilogue to a Dream

  Liam was awoken in the dark by the sound of scurrying little feet. He woke with a feeling of warmth and of love. His sleep had been deep, and it took a moment for him to place where he was. As he first awoke, there was no conscious thought. He felt only peace, a woman at his side whom he loved, and the sound of children’s feet in the corridor.

  But in a moment he knew they were not children. The realisation of his place in time rushed upon him, and he understood that the scurrying feet was a sign of danger to himself and to the beautiful woman in his bed.

  He knew it was Filos who banged on the door, and he was fully awake and half-dressed by the time he answered his new friend. “We’re coming.”

  Lyra was dressed and ready to travel as fast as Liam, and they rushed into the corridor to join the others.

  “Upstairs, into the attic,” Filos ordered. They had discussed almost all contingencies, including the need for a fast escape, the previous evening.

  As they walked, Liam noticed the quiet quality of the house. The floors did not creak. The hinges on the doors made no noise when opening or closing.

  The King’s soldiers banged on the door and knocked it down a moment later. It would only take a minute or two for them to climb to the third floor. Liam was calculating the time as he watched Filos reach above him to open the attic. He put his finger in a knothole in one of the natural wood panels, pulled down, and a door revealed itself. The door was half the length of the ceiling, and reinforced with strong beams. As the motley group ascended into the attic, almost no sound was made.

  Filos ushered them all up, and as he took his last step, he pulled on a rope, which silently lifted the attic door back into place. Filos looked through a hole in the door. His face was illuminated by the moonlight filtering through the single window. He nodded to the group, indicating they were safe thus far.

  Liam could hear doors throughout the house open and slam shut. Soldiers were barking at one another, shouting that all was clear. Filos rushed them to the end of the attic and opened a small door which was situated in an unlikely place. Filos put his head through the door and looked around. Apparently satisfied, he crawled through. His enormous body barely fitted through the small door. He whispered something to Lyra.

  Liam listened to the conversations beneath them as he waited.

  “No one here.”

  “This one’s empty.”

  “No one here.”

  Then Liam heard the question he didn’t want to hear. “Where’s the door to the attic?”

  “There is none.”

  “Isn’t that it, at the end of the hall?”

  “No, that’s a closet.”

  “There must be a door. Check all the rooms for a door.”

  “Done, sir. There doesn’t seem to be one.”

  Lyra gathered Kaila and Rhemus in her arms. Liam instinctively put a hand on Lyra’s shoulder to protest the fact that she was carrying both of them. She answered Liam with an impatient glance. He acquiesced.

  Liam heard a thud, and the sliding sound of metal on wood as a sword poked up through the floor right next to him.

  “There must be a door. Find it. Check the ceiling for any signs.”

  The clunk of swords against the ceiling below erupted all over the attic. Some sword blades slipped between panels.

  Lyra was through the escape door now, and onto a rope that led to the attic of the neighbouring house. She stood on one rope and grabbed hold of another that hung above her, while the little ones clung on. Rhemus in front and Kaila on her back. The rope led through the branches of a large tree, and then to another smallish door in the escape house. The rope would only bear the weight of one person, which was why it was necessary for Lyra, the lightest of the three, to carry Rhemus and Kaila, who were far too small to reach the higher rope. Liam would have to wait for them to make it across to the other house where Filos waited. He could see soldiers stirring below outside, but no one noticed them. Liam knew Lyra was working some kind of a spell in order to, as she put it, “Keep them from being interested in looking up.”

  Liam heard another streak of metal through wood, this time right through the hidden doorway. Liam’s worst fears were realised when the door opened slightly as the soldier below pulled his sword back down through the wood.

  “It’s here. I’ve found the door,” he declared.

  “Quickly!” sounded the voice of the commander.

  Lyra was on the other side. Liam heard a thud just beneath him. As he turned into position to crawl back through the door into the night air, he was surprised to find he was stuck. The pain had been momentarily numbed by the adrenaline, then came like a fire catching hold of kerosene. The soldier below withdrew his sword; but the damage was done, both to his leg, and to their concealment.

  “Blood,” called the voice from below.

  “They are up there. Go. Go! Go!”

  ~Æ~

  It was a cool, moist night. The air was fresh. The streets were busy, but strangely quiet. After some time, Travis began to understand why. Liam Foster had just escaped execution. The people were excited, confused and afraid. Travis had been walking the streets for about an hour, entering every tavern. As there was only one road winding around the entire city, all he needed to do was follow it. Travis was fairly certain he had not missed his quarry, but it was a difficult hunt. All he had to go on was the hope of a tattoo. He reasoned that it was impossible that it was one of the senior Talons. One with a face covered in tattoos would be picked up instantly by agents of the King. It must be a newer member, as Liam had explained, but a new member would be careful not to expose his tattoos at all. It was easy enough to rule out those with their collars open, and those with company. So far he had come across a few candidates, but he was sure he had not found what he was looking for. Finally, at the Deer Run tavern, he felt he may have.

  He chose his seat carefully, next to a young man who sat alone. The man looked at him inquiringly with glassy eyes.

  Travis paid for his drink and took a sip, as he had done many times that night.

  “Did you see the trial today?” Travis asked his bar companion without looking at him.

  “No, I was late,” the young man slurred.

  “Late? You had an appointment?” Travis pressed.

  “Ugh. What do you know?” he sneered.

  “I know nothing. I was just making conversation.”

  “You know less than nothing. Who are you?”

  “My name is Travis Milarae, and I might know a little.”

  “I’m Rhoie, nice to meet you, but be careful what you say. I think the King has a few spies around here.”

  “He always does. How do you know I’m not a spy?” Travis asked.

  “I don’t. But I don’t really care. Liam might be better off with me, anyway.”

  “You know Liam? Are we talking about Liam Foster?”

  “Future king of Jeandania,” Rhoie said with a wink.

  �
�How do you know him?” Travis asked, looking around to make sure their conversation remained unheard. The boy was too reckless.

  “Maybe you are a spy. Why should I talk to you?”

  “If I were a spy, I’d already have you taken out of here for questioning.”

  “Maybe so. Pity.”

  “I think you’ve had a few too many, my friend. You are lucky I’m one of the good guys. Have you spoken to anyone else tonight?”

  “Not really.”

  Travis was worried now. He had to make a decision on this man quickly. Travis knew that the King’s spies could well have sat down in this same chair and found Rhoie to be a sympathiser at the very least. They could be sitting in the room now, waiting to see who else might show up to speak with him.

  “Rhoie, listen carefully. I know Liam Foster. He sent me to look for a man with a tattoo on his neck.”

  Rhoie touched his collar, almost instinctively, but stopped short of pulling it down to expose his markings. Travis took this as affirmation.

  “I want you to leave right now. I’ll follow you out in a little while. Meet me in twenty minutes in the cemetery. Come in the south entrance and go to the tomb with the gargoyles.”

  “Don’t they all have gargoyles?”

  “No. You’ll find it if they don’t kill you first,” Travis said.

  ~Æ~

  Blade dragged his right hand along the cold stone wall to keep his bearings and his balance. His eyes had become accustomed to darkness during his time in the pit, but he had difficulty keeping up the old man’s brisk pace.

  “There is a door ahead,” whispered Verkleet. “It leads to the storage cellars. There should be no guards there, but we must be wary from here on out. There will be throngs of guards beyond the cellar.”

  Verkleet slowly opened the door, which creaked in a way that seemed to complain at the imposition.

  “Who goes there? Is that you, sir?” came a voice.

  Verkleet grunted a non-committal, annoyed answer. Blade thought it a fair imitation of Gastious. He then swung the door wide, as Gastious would. The door was far to the back of the room. Firelight from a torch glimmered in the cellar. Blade was relieved that they were behind enough shelving to be out of sight.

  Verkleet grunted again and took heavy footsteps into the room, motioning for Blade to stay where he was.

  The voice stammered slightly as it continued, “Sorry to disturb you, sir. I was sent down to fetch some flour and eggs. With all the servants gone, they keep askin’ us to do these chores.”

  Verkleet stood in front of the door, looking about him, and did not answer. The voice apparently found this disconcerting.

  “Sorry, sir, sorry. I’ll be out of here in a minute.” Judging by the shuffling sounds, he seemed to be making an honest effort in that regard. Blade watched as Verkleet scaled the shelves like a cat, soundlessly and effortlessly.

  “Quite a mess around here without the Ban’hoen’s. Nothing seems to work without them. They did everything around here. It’s amazing, it is, sir. They’re the kind of ones you don’t appreciate until they’re gone, do you, sir?”

  For a moment there was no sound save the man’s breathing, which seemed to be quickening as the seconds ticked by.

  “Well, I’ll be off now, sir. Sorry to be a both ...”

  A moment later, Verkleet appeared around the corner of the shelving, and motioned for Blade to follow. The light grew brighter, and the room opened for them as they moved through it. The torch was wedged between two shelves flickering light upon the unconscious soldier.

  “What was a guard doing fetching flour?”

  “The Ban’hoen’s,” Verkleet answered as he dis-robed the unconscious guard. “Their family has looked after this castle since it was built. They were the only ones I could trust. Quickly now, put on these clothes.”

  Blade clumsily followed Verkleet’s orders but pressed him on his explanation. “The only ones you could trust?”

  “It’s a very long story,” he answered with a wry smile as he helped him with the ill-fitting uniform. “But it is also very serious. This is the first time the castle has ever been without them. They are a very old and noble family. I wonder where they have gone. They could be a powerful ally.”

  “Of house servants?”

  Verkleet stared back at Blade with scolding brows. “You have much to learn, Blade, leader of the Talons of Freedom.” His mood shifted to a pleasant demeanour as quickly as it had become harsh. “Carry on, I’ll be back in a moment,” said Verkleet, walking through the shelving of the pantry.

  He returned speedily with bandages, alcohol and some cloth, with which he began to tend to Blade’s mangled arm. “It doesn’t look good, son. The venom is doing its job, but the danger is not over. The alcohol will clean away most of the trouble trying to work its way in from the outside, and the bandages will help protect it.”

  Blade asked sternly, “Will I keep it?”

  “That is uncertain. Keep it wrapped and well-tended, and it has a chance.”

  His expression changed, and his tone sounded almost whimsical. “Now, young Blade? Have you any experience in the theatre?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Well, you must understand, there are so many guards, that they might not all recognise each other on sight, but you have no hope of fooling one who glimpses your face. Guards of the palace do not have tattoos. Your disguise will only help if you keep your back to them.”

  “You said they will be all over the palace. Won’t we bump into one?”

  “Most likely, yes, but I’ll help you. I’m your prisoner, you’re my guard. This is your role to play. It is a common enough sight in the palace, but the guards will be curious when they see us, because normally they all are aware of the trafficking of prisoners.”

  “Okay, what do we do?”

  “Your role is unique, because you’re an incompetent guard.”

  Blade bristled.

  “Ha ha,” Verkleet chuckled. “You don’t like your role? That is what acting is all about. I also have a role to play, because I’m no ordinary prisoner.”

  ~Æ~

  “Don’t move,” ordered Lyra.

  Liam still had one foot inside the door of the attic, and the rest of his body hung from the line between Filos’s house and the house next door. The door was not wide, but it was certainly obvious from the inside. Liam fought the instinct to yank his leg from the passage and shut the hidden door before the guards could see him.

  Lyra was leaning out of the attic of the neighbouring house. She had her hand in the air and repeated, “Don’t move.”

  Liam could see now that had he slammed the door shut, the soldiers surely would have seen it. Two were already in the attic, lighting torches, but he could not understand how it was helping matters to hang thirty feet above the ground, with his leg in plain view of his pursuers. Half a dozen men with torches were now searching the attic. The torchlight moved in and out of Liam’s narrow line of sight. Occasionally he could see soldiers’ boots passing within a finger’s length of his own. Still none stopped to seize it, or to peer through the open door.

  “They must be here. Look at the blood on my sword,” he heard from inside.

  Liam cursed his luck at having been stabbed. Blood was soaking his pants. Three soldiers were below him, searching the property. The light from the attic should surely be clear to them, illuminating him. Each in turn would look up in his direction, but somehow they did not see him.

  The footsteps in the attic stopped thumping, and finally someone spoke. “The attic is clear, sir. There’s nowhere to hide here.”

  “What’s this on my sword?” demanded the captain.

  “I don’t know, sir,” came the shaky answer. “Couldn’t it be from the wood itself, sir?”

  A long pause followed, while Liam closed his eyes and focused all of his energy on holding still, and holding on.

  “Perhaps. Perhaps it is,” the captain replied.

  The soldi
ers climbed down the attic stairs, back down to the third floor of the house, and finally Lyra called to him, “Come across now, the soldiers will be on their way.”

  ~Æ~

  Rhoie silently cursed himself. Travis had been right. He could have, should have, kept his mouth shut all night. There were probably spies around him now, waiting to follow him in the hope of finding Liam or others who were organising against the King.

  Of course, there was still the possibility that Travis himself was a spy. Rhoie did not think this to be true, but was ready to find out.

  Rhoie followed the single city road towards the cemetery. He looked over his shoulder and saw two men trailing him. He walked very slowly, and stopped in front of a bakery. The window was empty, but it provided a good reflection of the people across the street, who stopped as Rhoie did. It was several blocks more to the graveyard. His pursuers stayed with him, maintaining a distance of about a half block at all times.

  When he finally reached the cemetery, he circled round to the south side and stepped over the low fence.

  It was a proper Jeandanian graveyard; vibrant with life, springing from the spirits of the dead. It was full of trees, vines and shrubs.

  He walked down the path and casually looked over his shoulder to check on his pursuers. They were climbing over the fence now, abandoning any pretence of hiding their intent.

  “Keep walking,” came Travis’s voice from behind him. A moment later Travis was walking beside him, guiding him by the arm. “They won’t close in yet. They think they have us trapped.”

  Rhoie did not voice his feeling that the soldiers might be right. They walked down the path, then into the grass among the graves. A large tomb stood before them with ornate decorations, including gargoyles. It was surrounded by trees and was fairly well confined for such a large structure. Travis guided him behind one of the trees and moved aside a heavy panel of cement that led into the tomb.