“Thank you,” the soldier said, wiping some of the blood from his face.
Three more shades filled in the space where the previous creature had stood, and before Palos could begin to respond, he was fully engaged once more. He wasn’t a soldier, and that fact became overly apparent within the span of a few heartbeats as the shade directly in front of him dodged two of his slow strikes. The creature lashed low at his legs, and Palos had to fall back. As he moved, he didn’t account for the gap he would leave in the line, and the shades rushed for it at once.
The men on either side of where Palos had been turned, which opened their sides to attacks, but destroying shade after shade as the beasts tried to funnel into the newly vacated position. Behind the front line, Palos felt useless. He didn’t want to appear cowardly, but he didn’t know how he could work himself back into position without meeting the flow of shades head on.
Perhaps forty feet ahead, Palos saw the men from the rampart kill the last shade coming against them. Without wasting any time, Palos ran in their direction. He moved left behind the officers, careful not to get too close to their backs as they fought.
When he suspected he was within earshot of them through the black haze, he pointed with his sword to command them. “Turn right!” he bellowed. He hoped he was close enough for them to hear. Thankfully, the men holding the rampart turned in response to his voice, forming a new line at a right angle to Cagg and the officers.
Palos took up a position behind the newly formed line. Pointing toward the side of the oncoming mass of shades with his sword, he ordered them forward. At once, the larger force began marching forward, stabbing into the side of the shades and obliterating them before they could react. Less than a minute later, Palos’ march reached the far end of the officer line, leaving the battlefield eerily quiet in its wake.
“They’re gone,” the general said. He was panting heavily, and the wound on his neck had opened once more. Across the line, Palos saw only a single fallen soldier. The man was motionless on his back, his face frozen in a twisted expression of terror. The other soldiers gathered around him. His cheeks were sunken, and his open eyes were dull. Everything about his countenance was devoid of life.
“It looks like he’s been dead for years,” Lieutenant Marius said with a shiver. The other officers murmured in agreement.
“He was one of mine,” the general said solemnly. “We will bury him on the other side of the Rift.”
Palos wiped some of the sweat from his brow. “My men will help with the burial. Yours need some rest,” he said.
“The shades will be back in an hour, perhaps less,” General Cagg sighed. “They are easy to kill, but we cannot hold out like this forever.”
“I understand,” Palos replied. He couldn’t help but consider how a second war with the shades could improve his political station, especially given his well-known heritage. If he could reach the tomb of The Shadow King and eliminate Gottfried’s brother, he could turn back westward, killing shades as he went. He would be a hero in Karrheim. Perhaps his name would grow to overshadow even that of Alistair the Fourth.
Later that night, Palos sat with the other officers in a small banquet hall three stories above the damaged bridge which spanned the Rift. General Cagg was seated at the head of the table, and a large spread of roasted meats and grilled vegetables was laid out on the table before them. Most of the men seated around the long table were bruised and battered, and they all wore tired expressions.
After the men had all eaten, the general turned his attention to Palos, clearing his throat to command the room’s attention. “My lord,” he began respectfully, offering a slight bow as he spoke. “As you’ve seen firsthand, we are hard pressed here at the Blightstone Gate. You have brought fresh soldiers with you, and I have no doubt that whatever your mission may be, it is certainly important.”
Palos leaned back in his chair. He had expected the man to ask him for aid in just such a manner.
“I implore you, my lord, spare me some of your men, or else stay with us here at the gate until proper reinforcements from Karrheim arrive,” Cagg finished.
Palos let the request hang in the air for a moment, waiting until he had the eyes and ears of everyone in the room—waiting until it was completely silent. “General,” Palos started. He rose from his chair slowly, the palm of his hand resting on the pommel of his sheathed sword. “I thank you for your hospitality. You’ve been a gracious host. Unfortunately, I cannot leave any men behind.”
A few murmurs spread through the officers, but Palos quelled them all with a quick glance. “What I can offer you,” he said, bringing every eye in the room back to him, “is an end to your battle, once and for all.”
Another wave of whispers moved between the men, and Palos did nothing to stop it.
The general stood, a cup of wine in his hand. “And how exactly do you intend to end our war?” he asked, staring at Palos incredulously.
“By ending the source of all shadow magic,” the lord responded loudly. “By killing the new Shadow King.”
The room exploded with voices as each of the men simultaneously shouted their disbelief. At the head of the table, Cagg swayed with a slack-jawed expression.
“You have proof of a new Shadow King?” Lieutenant Marius demanded.
“You will remember your place, Lieutenant,” Palos scolded. “You are here to organize the soldiers, not to question the orders of our king!”
Marius fell back into his chair, clearly defeated. “Gentlemen!” Palos shouted above the officers. “Gentlemen!”
When the room was quiet once more, Marius was the only one still seated. “I know you have questions,” Palos continued. “I cannot answer them all. What I can tell you is this: Hademar has returned to Vecnos, and he has reawakened the shadow magic of old. That is why the shades have risen up against you. That is why the Rift has come alive.”
The general nodded, but he didn’t look convinced. “You intend to move against Mournstead?” he asked.
Palos smiled. “Not exactly,” he replied, though the idea of razing Mournstead fit almost perfectly into his scheme. “Our king believes Hademar is searching for the ancient tomb hidden away in the Red Mountains. My force will trap him before he reaches his destination!”
“And if you’re wrong?” Cagg pressed.
“I’m not,” Palos shot back. “And when the shade threat is obliterated, remember the name of Lord Palos.”
General Cagg nodded reluctantly, though he didn’t take his eyes from Palos. “Trust me,” he said with a growl, “I’ll remember your name. Have no doubt about that, sir.” Without waiting for a response, he turned with a flourish of his torn cloak and left the room.
“Good,” Palos said under his breath. “When this is finished, everyone will remember that name.”
Captain Holte and Lieutenant Marius followed Palos out of the banquet hall to a balcony overlooking the Rift. Above them, the gatehouse continued on for two more stories, though they stood on the highest overhang. “You think Hademar has actually brought shadow magic back to all of Vecnos?” Holte asked with a bit of a laugh.
“It is the only explanation that makes sense,” Palos answered.
Holte laughed again. “A bold claim for something you cannot prove,” he said.
“And when I am right, when I save Vecnos from a second scourge of shades, you will be there to share in the glory,” Palos reminded him.
“Certainly, certainly,” Holte said. There wasn’t much enthusiasm in his voice, but Palos didn’t care.
Marius stared at the two in disbelief. “If you’re wrong-”
“I’m not, Lieutenant!” Palos snapped, turning fiercely on the man. “Hademar has brought back the shades. When he dies, the shades will vanish—just like they did when Alistair the Fourth killed the first Shadow King.”
Defeated, Marius knew he could not sway the lord’s mind. “Your orders, sir?” he asked with a sigh.
Palos glared at him. “Ready the m
en. I will give them until midday tomorrow, and then we march for the Red Mountains,” he said. “See if there are any maps here. Copy those that might be relevant.”
With a curt nod, Lieutenant Marius took his leave.
THE RED MOUNTAINS
Alster and Elsey hadn’t spoken much by the time they reached the foothills of the Red Mountains. It had been five days since they had left Westhaven, but felt much longer. The bleakness of the world constantly assaulted their minds, making them both question their purpose for being there. Alster felt like the land itself was rejecting him, or at least rejecting his mission there.
The two companions stopped at a small gully between two rises and gazed up at the massive, scarlet mountain in front of them. They couldn’t see the summit from the base, just the slow-moving clouds and the occasional bird flying overhead. Luckily, plenty of streams crisscrossed the barren plain, though no plants grew on their shores.
“There’s probably a lake somewhere in the mountains,” Alster said as he refilled a waterskin. The haze in the air obscured everything. He thought he could see a narrow waterfall near the mountain peak to his left, though it could have been a trick of the incessant black fog.
“How do we find the tomb?” Elsey asked. She busied herself with their horse, not turning to face Alster directly when she spoke.
“You haven’t noticed it?” Alster said, standing and stretching his back.
“What?”
Alster pointed to her shadow on the ground. It was close to dusk, making her shadow long and thin. “It isn’t straight,” he said, curiosity evident in his voice. “While I was riding behind you, I noticed it start to bend.”
Elsey turned to see for herself, and she began moving fearfully backward when she realized the truth of Alster’s statement. He laughed as she tried to flee from her shadow, a comically futile attempt.
“Both of our shadows are bending,” Alster told her. “Even the horse’s shadow.”
She visibly calmed down as she investigated their three shadows. “What’s happening?” Elsey whispered.
“I think our shadows are pointing toward the tomb,” Alster answered. “They want to go there, or perhaps they are being called back,” he said.
“Why?” Elsey muttered under her breath.
Alster’s hand instinctively went to the hilt of his dagger. “I don’t know,” he said after a moment of consideration.
With a shake of her head, Elsey took their horse’s reins in her hand. “We should leave,” she said, though she made no move to turn back.
“Soon,” Alster replied. He climbed back atop his mount, a sharp pain coursing through his legs as he moved. When Elsey didn’t move from her position at the horse’s head, he kicked his heels in gently and turned the creature in the direction of their pointing shadows.
Elsey stayed right next to their horse, the reins wrapped tightly around her hand. The two wound their way through the low foothills in front of the giant peaks of the Red Mountains for hours. It was hard to tell when the sun actually set with all the haze hanging in the air. Eventually, when everything was so dark they could barely see, Elsey led their horse to a small set of boulders on a hillside, the closest thing they had seen to any real shelter, and stopped to sleep for the night.
Voices awoke them a few moments before dawn. Somewhere nearby, two men were speaking loudly.
“Where-” Alster began groggily, but Elsey cut him off with a sharp look.
“Hurry up!” a strong male voice called somewhere out of sight.
“If I could piss any faster, I would!” a second voice replied. Both of them laughed. Alster let himself relax a little with the tone of their voices, though he could feel his pulse beating behind his ribs.
After another moment of tense quiet, one of the men on the other side of the rise said something too softly for Alster or Elsey to understand.
“Are they leaving?” Alster whispered as quietly as he could. His voice was so muted he wasn’t sure if even Elsey could hear it.
She shook her head in silent response.
A few paces from where Alster had slept, their horse clambered to its hooves and snorted several times. In his mind, Alster tried furiously to quiet the beast, but of course it was in vain. The mare continued to awaken, making noise without sharing any of Alster’s concern.
“You hear that?” one of the voices called. Alster’s heart sank. The increase in the man’s volume told him he was focused in their direction.
“What?” the second man asked.
“Sounded like a horse,” came the reply.
The two men crested the small rise separating them from Alster and Elsey a moment later. Bewilderment showed clearly on their faces in the pre-dawn light, though one of the men moved his hand close to the hilt of his sword.
“Huh?” the man with his hand near his weapon questioned.
“You two lost?” the other said. A hint of a smiled played at the edges of his mouth. He was dressed like a soldier with a worn tabard, scruffy beard, and a few pieces of dented armor strapped to his torso. “You even know where you are?” he asked with a chuckle.
Alster waited for Elsey to respond on their behalf. When she didn’t, he tried to think of a logical lie he could tell, but he couldn’t possibly come up with an excuse that sounded convincing. “The Red Mountains,” he finally sputtered.
The soldiers both burst into laughter. “Well he isn’t blind!” one of them said loudly.
“And he knows his colors,” the other soldier added. “Pray tell, good sir, what is the reason you are here in this forsaken land of endless, miserable, red clay?” he mocked, offering a pretentious bow as though he stood in the presence of some renowned scholar.
Alster’s head spun in search of some misdirection he could offer. Finally, when he knew he couldn’t stand there any longer lest he draw more suspicion upon himself, he decided that the truth was absurd enough to suffice. “We’re looking for the tomb of The Shadow King,” he said with a casual shrug.
“You and me both, kid,” the soldier laughed. “Be sure to let me know when you find it.” He turned to leave, though his companion, an equally haggard man, did not move to follow him.
“You’re serious?” the second soldier asked, all the mirth gone from his voice.
Again, Alster had no idea how to respond. “Yes,” he said quietly after a moment.
The soldier looked carefully around the clearing. “Who are you with?” he asked.
“My friend,” Alster said, pointing to Elsey. “We came together.”
The first soldier turned back around, his hand still on the hilt of his sword. The smile had faded from his face, replaced by a disbelieving scowl. “I’m only going to ask this once,” he began, his voice suddenly closer to a growl than a civil question. “You lying to us?” he demanded.
Alster shook his head. “No, sir,” he replied defensively.
“What do you know?” the soldier pressed.
“We know where it is!” Elsey blurted. “We know what we’re doing!”
The two soldiers exchanged a curious look before they both began walking down the small slope that would take them to Alster and Elsey. “You know where it is?” one of them asked.
“Yes,” Alster replied nervously. “Well, I can find it, I think.”
The two men mulled over his words for a moment. “Can you prove it?” one of them asked.
“He can find it!” Elsey shouted from the side. The soldiers heard her, but they didn’t take their focus from Alster.
“I can,” Alster confirmed, slowly backing away. He realized he was clutching the hilt of his dagger. The feel of the cold metal beneath his grasp brought him a measure of comfort.
“If you really can find the tomb, I have someone you need to meet. He’ll pay you in gold for knowledge of the route,” the soldier on the right said.
Alster watched the man’s face for any inclination of deception. “Who?” he asked.
“The rightful king of Karrheim,”
the soldier replied as though it should have been obvious from the colors of his faded tabard. “The rightful king of all Vecnos, for that matter. Hademar, eldest son of King Abar the Unforgiving.”
“Gottfried’s brother is dead,” Elsey spat. “You’re liars, both of you.”
The soldier who was speaking smirked the same way Alster had seen Jarix do when he knew he was right. “Hademar is barely a mile north of where we stand this very moment,” he said, turning for the first time to regard Elsey. “I would take you there, but know this: if you cannot lead King Hademar to the tomb, he will likely kill you both for wasting his time. He is an unstable man.”
For a moment, Alster imagined a grand palace cut from marble with a huge throne in the center and a king, regal and draped in exotic furs, sitting upon it. Then he brought his thoughts back to the stark reality of the desolate waste surrounding him. His stomach rumbled, and his mouth felt dry. “And if I show him where the tomb is?” he asked.
The man let out a chuckle which seemed genuine. “I imagine Hademar will give you anything you desire,” he said. “The last person who helped the king find something he desired spent two weeks in a brothel in Nevansk on the king’s own gold.”
“Fine,” Alster agreed, hoping to get a few warm meals out of the deal. “Take me to your king.” He tightened his grip on his dagger, wishing he could illuminate his wrists with magical red light to seem more intimidating than he really was. “If you betray us, I’ll kill you,” he added for good measure.
The soldiers laughed away his threat, shaking their heads at the perceived bravado. “Get your horse. I’d rather be back before all the morning’s food has been eaten,” one of them said.
“They were right about the camp, at least,” Alster said quietly from the back of his mount.
Elsey nodded beside him. She had Rai’s bow strung and in her hand, though they both knew it would do little good if their strange escort turned on them.
Shadowlith (Umbral Blade Book 1) Page 18