With Footfalls of Shadow

by Donogan Sawyer

  Now he sat in a corner shivering, not sure how much longer he should wait for Verkleet. Finally he heard the rustling steps of someone approaching. The old man had told him that the well was fed by an underground river. He had said that there were only a few who knew about this secret place. He hoped Verkleet was correct, because if those were indeed guards approaching, he would be unable to defend himself.

  “Ah, sorry I’m late,” Verkleet said warmly. He pulled a sack from his back and opened it. “Drink this first.”

  Blade drank the cold mixture, and felt it nourish him immediately, even warm him. Verkleet then produced a blanket, and a change of clothes.

  “We had better get a move on, Mr Blade. That little concoction should make you fit enough for a short journey. You had the guards all milling about the well looking for you, so I had to take the long way. I stopped to pick up some goodies for you, though. Travel clothes and the like.”

  Blade sipped more of Verkleet’s drink. “Yeah, sorry about that.”

  “Not a problem, not a problem. Gave me a chance to take care of a little family business, actually. Come now, get dressed. Let’s not dawdle.”

  “Where do you propose we go from here?”

  “From here we go get something to eat, and then get you some rest, I think.”

  “I must return to my men,” Blade protested.

  “You will, Mr Blade, you will. But you are no use to anyone without some rest and nourishment.”

  “And then?”

  “Then the adventure really begins. We are off to the ruins of Sarhani. Should be a strapping good fight, I think.”

  “I must first find my men, Verkleet, then perhaps we can discuss your ...”

  “You disappoint me, Mr Blade. Your men will be there. Oh, you’ll be a surprise for them, I think,” he said gleefully.

  “How do you know this?”

  “That’s where everyone is going! You must really keep better tabs on things if you are to become a great leader.”

  ~Æ~

  Shriver shuddered as Argus closed the door behind him. Argus had assured him that the torch would keep the wasps away, but the young lieutenant knew this to be only partly true. While the heat of the flame seemed to keep them at a distance, the wasps were actually drawn to the light. He could already hear them buzzing above, and knew that it would not be long before he was surrounded.

  The base of the cavern was very large. It would take him hours to search the whole of it, but he hoped that would not be necessary, as most interrogations occurred within a few paces of the windows. Victims usually ran around in the dark for a while looking for a way out and eventually came back to the door, the only known exit. Some would run back inside when the wasps came, and then Gastious would go in and drag them back into the light.

  The smell of the smoke helped to stifle the sickly-sweet smell of the wasps and their victims. There were piles of bodies in various stages of decay, frightening to behold, even to a seasoned soldier like Shriver. He had seen many men dead on the field of battle but none like these, eaten from the inside out. Shriver walked back and forth, a little deeper into the cavern with each step. Each traverse was a little longer than the last as the cavern widened, and led him past fewer bodies. The buzzing grew louder and louder, until he could see torchlight reflecting off the torsos of the wasps above him. He hastened his search, and stopped looking up to check on the wasps’ descent, trusting the torch to protect him, terrified that it would somehow extinguish.

  After what seemed like a very long time, Shriver became fairly certain that there was no one alive, that his search was in vain. The wasps were all around him now, keeping their distance, but occasionally zooming to within a few feet of Shriver’s face to investigate, then zooming back out. Their faces were petrifying. Each time one came near, he would freeze where he stood, for fear of provoking it. He felt as if they were assessing, each time, whether or not to sting him. The torchlight reflected off each of the thousand segments of their compound eyes at the head of their scimitar bodies. Their stares seemed to glimmer with hunger. He could not take much more of this.

  Then he heard another sound; a grunting, moaning sound; coming from behind him. It was a soft noise, made more difficult to hear because of the ever-increasing buzzing. He closed his eyes and steeled his nerves, listening closely. He turned towards the sound. It was a voice, not quite human. It might be Gastious. He had to fight his instinct to run away. His mind raced through the lies he could tell, ‘I found Gastious dead’ or ‘I searched the entire cavern and found no sign of him’, but his honour prevailed. He mustered his will and moved towards the sound.

  Eventually, he was able to discern words through the moaning, and he recognised Gastious’s voice, although it was a tone he had never heard before, nor ever expected to hear from the great commander.

  “No, my pets, no more. Please, no. I do not wish to harm you. No more.”

  “Gastious? Where are you, sir?” called Shriver. He was answered by a sharp gasp. He could not determine where the sound came from, until he saw the pile of stones against the cavern wall start to move. He must have buried himself in the stones to protect himself.

  “Gastious. Sir, are you all right? I’m here to help you.”

  The buzzing was growing louder. Gastious’s movements seemed to excite the wasps. Shriver walked carefully closer, and a mountain of stones unearthed all at once. Gastious arose from the rubble.

  “The light. The light. A torch,” he screamed. “Give me the torch.”

  Shriver stepped away from his screaming commander. Wasps fell upon Gastious and he swatted at them madly, then charged at Shriver. Shriver tried to help by holding his torch out, waving away some of the attacking insects. He gasped at the sight of Gastious. He was swollen all over and in a mad rage. An instant later, Shriver was bowled to the ground, and the torch ripped from his hand. He tried to gain his feet but stumbled on some of the rocks which Gastious had dislodged. He felt a wasp land on his shoulders and he bucked away from it, crawling from the rubble and then running after his commander, who did not wait. The wasps were all around him now. He could hardly see through them.

  Panic took hold and he ran wildly through the haze of massive insects. He batted them away, swinging at ten and hitting one at each effort. He lost his balance and fell to the ground and scurried forward. He could see the door open before him. It seemed very far away. Gastious threw himself through the door, taking the torch with him. A hand closed the door behind him, but not all the way. He could barely make out the features of Argus peering through. He seemed to be waiting for him, imploring him with his eyes. Shriver rose to his feet and ran forward. Then he felt the stinger in his back, like a rapier thrust into his spine. He felt the poison surging into his body. It was an extraordinary pain, a pain he never would have thought possible. Wasps buzzed around him. He was still facing the door, his escape not twenty feet away, but he was unable to move. He saw Argus bow his head, and slowly pull the door closed.

  ~Æ~

  Dilano was a few days away from Kraal and felt as though he was wasting valuable time. That morning he had decided to find a main road to the capital and see if he could at least discover some news. He came across a few groups of travellers who avoided him when they saw his tattooed face.

  It was an unlikely group that finally did stop to talk with him. Coming towards him in the opposite direction was a cart pulled by a mule. As it came closer he was able to see a beautiful young woman, about his age, sitting in the front, steering the mule. She clumsily brought the cart to a halt in front of him, and now he could see that two older women and a young girl rode in the back.

  “Good day, lady,” greeted Dilano.

  The young woman smiled brightly. “Good day to you, sir.”

  “Where might you be heading, if I may ask?”

  “Why should I tell a man like you, with ink all over his face?”

  “It’s men like me who might just bring freedom to you and your children
,” he answered.

  “Is that so?”

  “It is.”

  The little girl in the back stood peering over the low walls of the wooden cart, and the older women seemed impatient, fidgeting in their seats.

  “Then where, may I ask, are you headed?” she asked.

  “To the capital,” he answered.

  “We’re on our way to Sarhani to help Liam Foster.”

  “Is that right?” he asked. “So, Liam survived the trial. Sarhani, you say? The old ruins?”

  “Yes, that’s right. That’s where Liam will make his stand.”

  “How do you know?”

  “We were told by a woman who speaks with the dead. She told us Liam Foster was on his way there, and my husband confirmed it from beyond the grave.”

  “You don’t say. Well, nothing would really surprise me at this point. Say, could I get a ride with you?”

  She turned to look at the older women in the back. She nodded.

  “Hop on.”

  ~Æ~

  Rhoie was impressed with Travis’s skills. He was a different kind of warrior. While the Talons of Freedom were experts in warfare and navigating in the wild, Travis was an expert in utility and navigating the city.

  The single road of the city made it easy to transverse in principal. But by only following the main road, it also meant travelling two leagues to reach something that was only a quarter league away. Travis knew all of the back alleys and secret paths to get everywhere as quickly as possible.

  “I’ve heard of your men, the Talons of Freedom,” Travis said as they walked down yet another alley.

  “And I believe I’ve heard of you, too. We were told of two others travelling with Liam.”

  “Yeah, I guess I’d be one of them,” Travis muttered. “But I certainly wasn’t looking for fame when I started on this journey. There have been a lot of strange, magnificent and frightening things going on lately. I don’t understand half of what I’ve seen.”

  “Jeandania is full of great varieties of peoples,” Rhoie pondered. “The older ones, the long-lived from the days of myth, are still around. Usually they keep to themselves; so much so that no one believes they really exist. But they do, and they seem to be emerging from shadows, and I think they can see things you and I are blind to.”

  “You sound like a storyteller.”

  Rhoie laughed a little. “In another life, I was.”

  “I think you’re right, though,” Travis replied. “The long-lived seem to have been stirred up, don’t they? We met with one ourselves. Liam seems to be getting everyone’s attention.”

  “I can’t believe it myself, but yes he is. You were with him, how is he?”

  “He is a hearty sort of man. I’ve only known him a short time, but I’ve seen him go through a lot. The fates indeed seem to be preserving him for something. So, who sent you to us?”

  “Maurious sent me, one of the long-lived. He thinks Liam may one day become king.” Rhoie shook his head at the thought. “It’s hard to imagine.”

  “Why did he send you? What did he expect you to do?”

  “He knew Liam was in trouble. He sent me to help him,” Rhoie sighed. “I failed.”

  “It’s too early to say you’ve failed him, Rhoie,” Travis offered. “He’s alive and well, and you may yet have your chance to help him.”

  “Are we nearly there, then?”

  “The house is around the next corner,” answered Travis.

  They came to the end of the alley and stopped. Travis pressed his body against the wall and poked his head around the corner, then pulled back.

  “There are guards,” Travis explained. “Liam and the others have either been captured or they have escaped, but they are certainly not there.”

  Rhoie bowed his head.

  Travis wasted no time. “Come, let’s go. We can’t wait here.”

  Suddenly the sharp zip of a tiny arrow pierced the air between them and then made a slight crunching sound as it struck the brick wall. Travis looked up to the place from where the arrow had come. A man stood in a window on the second floor on the other side of the alley. He held up his arms; his crossbow hanging limply in one hand; his hands open, fingers spread wide, indicating he meant no harm.

  Travis whispered, “That was just to get our attention.”

  Rhoie nodded.

  The man in the window signalled to them. Rhoie was perplexed at the flurry of hand movements.

  “Follow me, Rhoie,” Travis said and headed towards a door in the back of the alley.

  Rhoie did as Travis had asked. They walked through the door, up a dark winding staircase, and into a dimly lit room, furnished with a few chairs and a table in the centre; where a tall red-headed man sat. Three other men stood in the room, constantly looking out the windows and into the halls.

  “Well, Rhoie,” said Travis, concealing his own astonishment at his friend’s timely intervention. “I’d like you to meet the World’s Greatest Living Smuggler.”

  “Maclamar,” said the man behind the table. He stood up and offered his hand.

  Rhoie took it, aware of the long fingers and bony knuckles wrapping around his hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Maclamar. I’m Rhoie.”

  Maclamar nodded and went straight to business. “Your friends left earlier this evening.”

  “Do you know where they went?” asked Travis.

  “Funny about that. We tried to follow them. They’re very elusive.”

  “You know, you’re right about that woman who came to your house,” replied Travis.

  “The one with the box?”

  “Right.”

  “She was a witch, wasn’t she?” asked Maclamar.

  “She was. There is another one travelling with Liam. I travelled with them for a while. I think that’s how they prove to be so evasive.”

  “I could use a few of them on the payroll.”

  “I bet you could.”

  “There’s going to be war, you know,” Maclamar informed them. “People are gathering at the ruins of Sarhani to fight for Liam Foster.”

  “How do you know this?” Travis asked.

  Maclamar spread his arms and said simply, “I control all of the snakes in Jeandania.”

  “Of course,” Travis replied.

  Rhoie started, “I knew it’d come to this. We must go and join them, Travis. We have to find them.”

  Maclamar observed the young man for a moment, then turned back to his friend. “How do you fit into all this, Travis?” he asked. “Last I heard you had other business to attend to.”

  “It’s a long story,” he answered.

  “Well, I have the time and also a vested interest in your success with the other thing, if you recall.”

  “What other thing?” asked Rhoie.

  Maclamar looked at Travis, and made a gesture indicating that it was his choice what to tell the young man.

  “Well, Rhoie,” Travis explained. “When I met Liam, I was in the middle of something.”

  “Something with Maclamar?” Rhoie asked.

  “Yes, I was to deliver a package to someone.”

  “Well, Travis. I wish you luck, but I don’t much care. I’m going to find Liam.”

  “It’s not that simple,” answered Maclamar. “If you are caught, you will be hanged.”

  “Who are you people?” Rhoie demanded.

  “Relax, Polly,” Travis admonished. “We’re not all freedom fighters by trade, you know.”

  “No, Travis is actually a vintner. Did you know that?”

  “Another one calling me Polly. I hate that name!” Rhoie said and shook his head as if to shake off the confusion and nervous energy he was feeling. “Look, it doesn’t matter to me who you are, or what you want. I need to get back to Liam.”

  “Okay, Polly,” Maclamar derided. “Tell me about this Foster.”

  “He is to be the next king of Jeandania. The fates have decreed it.” Rhoie blurted. Embarrassed at his outburst, he sat down and tried to collect hi
s thoughts.

  Maclamar thought for a moment, then said, “Well, I don’t know about the fates, my young friend, but I do know business has been pretty good under Arconus, and I also know Foster doesn’t have a tenth of the army the King has, maybe not a hundredth. I also know that the people who really run this country are behind the King, and they will support him with all the money, men and propaganda at their disposal. And that, my dear Polly, does not bode well for the tavern keeper.”

  Rhoie’s temper flared. He stood up and drew a small blade from his sleeve. He was quickly surrounded by the three bodyguards, each holding a sword to Rhoie’s head.

  “All right, all right,” he said. He put his knife down on the table, and put his hands in the air. “Who are you?” he asked again.

  Maclamar nodded slowly, and the men lowered their swords.

  “Sometimes I wonder if all this power is any good without the fame,” he sighed. “It’d be nice to be recognised every now and then, you know? Strike fear into the hearts of men, that sort of thing. ” He looked at Rhoie. “I’m either the last person you will ever meet,” he continued, “or I’m your saviour. I haven’t decided yet.”

  Travis’s eyes widened. “You mean you’re growing a conscience, Mac?”

  “I don’t know. I’d be sacrificing a great deal siding with Foster,” he said, and then sat silently.

  “This Foster,” Travis said after a time, “he is like no man I’ve ever met. He has no hidden agenda. I don’t even think he wants to be king.”

  “Yet you believe he can be a good king?” asked Maclamar.

  “He is the only man I have ever met who could.”

  Maclamar nodded slowly. “He fights like the wind, doesn’t he?”

  “He is Sha’grath,” answered Rhoie, then realised. “Of course, you knew that.”

  “So you’ll help us get to Liam?” asked Travis.

  “Well, you know I’m not here to discuss Liam Foster,” he said.

  “I know,” answered Travis.

  “I understand you have lost the package you were to deliver,” said Maclamar.

  “Yes,” answered Travis. “A part of me is surprised I haven’t been killed yet, but there is another part of me ...”