Shadowlith (Umbral Blade Book 1)

by Stuart Thaman

  Luckily, Alster only had to descend two flights of stairs before they reached another doorway. He dreaded climbing back to the surface. The pain in his legs was immense, and he knew it would only grow when he had to ascend the stairs on the way out.

  A voice came from the other side of the door. It was faint, hoarse, and sounded like the speaker was in some sort of great agony. “What?” Alster exclaimed. “Is there someone down here?”

  Even King Hademar’s tenacious shade appeared confused.

  “Check the book again,” Elsey’s voice said slowly.

  Alster once more flipped quickly through the pages, but nothing had changed. “Who could be here?” he asked, though he knew it was impossible for any of them to know the answer.

  Unlike the outer stone disc that blocked the entrance to the tomb itself, the door at the bottom of the carved staircase was small and unadorned. Instead of stone, it was made from simple wood. The craftsmanship that had gone into the door was easily apparent, and a long metal plate held a keyhole on the right side. There was no handle or knocker for Alster to try.

  “Can you go through?” Alster asked the king. In the back of his mind he felt he could likely pass through the barrier without a problem as he had above, but the thought of facing some unknown enemy held him firmly in place.

  The king moved slowly for the door. Showing an unexpected level of restraint, he carefully pressed his shadowy head forward, and it passed through the wood unhindered. A few heartbeats later, the king pulled back, and the voice from the other side stopped abruptly as well.

  “What is it?” Alster asked. His heart raced in his chest.

  “Another shade,” the king replied quietly. “And the tombs. There are three sarcophagi in the center of a huge room.”

  “A shade?” Alster said, more to himself than either of his companions.

  “You have your dagger,” Elsey reminded him. She pointed with a wisp of shadow to Alster’s glowing weapon.

  “Right,” he replied. He took a deep breath to steady his nerves. With one hand holding the king’s blank book and the other clutching his dagger, he leaned against the wooden door. Slowly, his forearms flared with magical light, and he sank through the barrier. Behind him, Elsey and Hademar did the same, though with much more grace and balance.

  Alster saw the shade at once. The creature was tall, filling the vast cavern with its monstrous height, and it had eyes that burned like a blacksmith’s forge. It locked its gaze on the newcomers the moment they entered the tomb, its head snapping toward the side with an audible crack.

  “The book!” Hademar shouted through his shade. Somehow, the mad king managed to completely ignore the towering shadow in the center of the tomb, instead focusing his energy only on his own personal quest.

  Alster was too scared to move. He held his dagger straight out before him where it pulsed with violent, red magic. “We just…” he began, his voice trailing off as the shade began walking toward them. He felt foolish for attempting to reason with such a being as the towering shade.

  “Alistair?” Elsey said quietly. She had moved to Alster’s left where a detailed painting hung on a metal piton that had been driven into the stone wall. There were other paintings near it as well, but the one she gazed upon was unmistakable. “Alistair!” she said again with confidence, turning back to the looming figure in the center of the room.

  The shade stopped its advance.

  Alster took a single step forward and lowered his knife. “My name is Alster,” he said, his voice quavering. “My family name is Lightbridge. Are you the shade of Alistair the Fourth?”

  The shade did not respond. It stood perfectly still, looking more like a frozen statue than anything else.

  “I’m a direct descendant of Alistair the Fourth,” the boy went on. After another moment of silence, Alster held his dagger forth once more, this time presenting it hilt-first on his glowing palm. “I believe I have something of yours,” he said.

  The shade shifted forward a step, its opaque legs never leaving the smooth ground. “If it is yours,” Alster continued, “I want you to have it.”

  The shade continued forward, and both Elsey and Hademar inched backward at the same time, leaving Alster exposed at the front of their makeshift triangle. Behind the shade, Alster noticed a bit of a reflection dancing off a pool of milky liquid. He shook his head, refocusing his attention on the menacing creature directly in front of him.

  “Please,” Alster pleaded. “Take the dagger. You can have it.”

  The shade stopped just inches from Alster’s outstretched hand. The dagger pulsed with red light, its rhythm matching that of the walls around it. As he held the weapon, it began to move across Alster’s palm, turning until the hilt pointed directly at the shade’s center.

  “Here,” Alster said quietly.

  The shade’s black hand drifted close to the dagger’s hilt. Then, with speed unexpected from the strange creature, the shade snatched the dagger up in its inky grip.

  “How can-” Hademar began, but Alster cut him off with an upraised hand.

  “Thank you,” the shade said. Its voice was overwhelming, echoing from the walls and thundering within Alster’s mind.

  “What if it’s The Shadow King? What if that isn’t Alistair the Fourth?” Elsey whispered through her shade.

  Alster’s heart sank through his chest. “No,” he mouthed. He wanted to scream, but he feared the shade would simply kill him where he stood, trapping his corpse in the creature’s own tomb.

  “Al-es-ter,” the shade pronounced slowly with the same booming voice. It turned from the trio of visitors and floated across the stone to a place twenty or so paces from the staircase.

  “My name is Alster,” the boy explained. He followed the shade slowly, his eyes drinking in the red-tinted surroundings as fast as they could.

  It didn’t take long for the three to realize what else was hidden in the deep tomb. The shade, whoever it belonged to, stood in front of a trove of glittering gold and other artifacts. Oil paintings were stacked against one of the walls, their canvas edges frayed from age and their images all but gone. Several marble statues stood to one side depicting regal figures with crowns and scepters held in their stony hands.

  To the right of the treasure, Alster felt an inferno of heat emanating from the pool he had seen earlier. Around the edges of the pool, huge crystals jutted out in every direction as though they had grown from the liquid itself. Alster couldn’t tell if the crystals produced the red light or if they only reflected it.

  “The heat,” Alster said, trying to shield his face from the pool.

  “What?” Elsey asked, still a few paces behind him.

  Alster smiled, inwardly chastising himself for assuming her shade could feel the pool’s energy. “Nothing,” he said.

  “And the book?” Hademar asked, eagerly peering over Alster’s shoulder to see the artifact. “What does it say?” he demanded.

  Alster looked back to the shade before he flipped open the pages of the leather-bound tome. The dark creature stood motionless in front of the treasure, staring intently at the dagger in its black hand.

  “Still blank,” Alster said quietly, flipping past a few pages in the book. He was afraid of disturbing the shade’s contemplation, especially if the creature turned out to be The Shadow King instead of his long-lost ancestor.

  Hademar’s shade whirled through the tomb, breaking away from the others with a stream of curses.

  “No, wait!” Alster begged him. “We must be careful!”

  The unnamed shade to Alster’s left turned, leaving a haze of red light lingering above the treasure as it dragged the weapon through the air.

  “Sir,” Alster said, awkwardly trying to defuse the tension building between himself and the shade. He backpedaled away, feeling the heat of the liquid painfully searing his back. Since the creature lacked all semblance of facial features save for its bright eyes, Alster couldn’t tell if the shade was angry. “He’s…” Als
ter struggled to find the words to adequately convey Hademar’s state of mind. “He’s not right,” he finally explained.

  “Why are you here, Alster?” the shade thundered. It watched with what appeared to be curiosity as Hademar’s shade explored the tomb.

  Alster held up the book before him, though he was reluctant to let the shade take the item as it had the dagger. “We brought The Shadow King’s spellbook,” he offered, though he immediately regretted saying it, especially considering the possibility that he spoke to the dreaded king of shadows himself.

  Hademar’s shade whirled back toward the others. “A pedestal!” he shrieked with excitement. He stood near a thin wooden pedestal clearly built to hold a book of similar size to the blank one in Alster’s left hand. The pedestal stood in front of a row of sarcophagi, each one ornately carved and covered with gemstones.

  “You!” the unknown shade bellowed. It pointed a willowy finger of darkness toward Hademar, instantly commanding every ounce of the mad king’s unpredictable attention. “What is your purpose with my dead brother’s book?” it asked loudly.

  “The brother of The Shadow King?” Elsey whispered.

  Alster was just as confused as she was. “Who are you?” he asked the shade.

  The towering entity turned away from Hademar’s shade, its red eyes narrowing. “I am Alistair the Fourth, of the House of Lightbridge, Slayer of The Shadow King, Champion of Vecnos!” the shade declared. “And you are intruders!”

  “The book!” Hademar screamed. “The book!”

  Alster felt a wave of relief wash over him. “Alistair,” he began, somewhat emboldened by the knowledge that he did not stand before The Shadow King.

  “The book!” Hademar’s shade screeched again.

  With a sigh of frustration, Alster went to the pedestal, slammed the book down, and returned to his forefather, his mind whirling with hundreds of questions. Finally, Hademar’s shade stopped shouting.

  “I’ve seen your portrait,” Alster went on. “We have one in my family’s estate. It’s magnificent.”

  “Tell me,” Alistair’s shade went on, seemingly unable to lower the oppressive volume of its voice, “what has become of Vecnos?” He pointed to Elsey’s shifting form. “I see the land is still tainted by shadowliths. Have you come to summon me to end another scourge? Am I naught but a slave to your needs?”

  For a second, Alster thought his ancestor was going to strike at Elsey, perhaps draining her very soul. Luckily, Alistair did not move against her.

  “No, not at all,” Alster said defensively. He held up his glowing hands for the shade to inspect. “I found your gauntlets,” he continued. “And then I fell into Scalder’s Inlet. I was hoping…” He felt awkward asking for the rest of Alistair’s legendary armor, but it was the true reason he had found the tomb, and it felt right in his mind.

  “You were submerged in Scalder’s Inlet?” he asked, clearly surprised.

  “Yes,” Alster responded.

  The shade issued what sounded like a laugh, but it was so loud the individual sounds were nearly indistinguishable from one another. “Show me!” it said, pointing to the boiling pool of milky liquid not far away.

  Alster used the back of his glowing hand to remove the sweat from his forehead. His shirt was soaked, and his skin felt clammy. “I-” he stammered. He didn’t know what else he could do, what he could say to prove who he was or what he had done. “Fine.”

  Summoning his courage, Alster took off his shirt and cast it aside. Only slightly disconcerted that Elsey’s shade stood next to him, he continued to strip away his clothes until he stood in only his braies. Standing so bare, Alster was painfully aware of the twisting, pink scar that ran down the length of his left leg, occasionally jutting to one side or the other at sharp angles where the surgeon had cut his flesh to knit the bones.

  With a stalwart breath, Alster looked to his ancestor’s shade once more before diving for the pool. His body splashed into the ferociously hot liquid, bringing forth a chorus of screams from his mouth. Eventually, after what felt like an eternity of torment, Alster quieted as he sank.

  GLORY

  “Have the men rested quite well?” Palos asked his lieutenant.

  “Yes, my lord. They are ready for your command,” Marius replied with a smile. “The cavalry will be cramped,” he added. “They have nowhere to go beyond the enemy. There is no open field in which they may charge back and forth. Once you commit them to the fight, there can be no second charge.”

  Palos surveyed the battlefield once more. Down below, the ragged band of soldiers he had tracked were waiting nervously in battle formation, though every soldier was a mere footman. “They have no pikes,” Palos said confidently. “Send the cavalry in first, but keep the regulars close behind. We shouldn’t need more than one charge to send these swine to their graves.”

  “Certainly, my lord,” Lieutenant Marius answered. The man turned back to his retinue of officers, relaying Palos’ command to each of them.

  After a moment, several warhorns sounded, and the army began to march forward. Palos, Holte, and two of the other officers moved to the side of the narrow valley as the men passed them, the ranks of cavalry filtering to the front lines.

  “Hold them at a steady pace,” Palos said. One of the officers to his right raised a streaming banner in response.

  “Good,” Palos said. “When they are a hundred yards from the enemy, sound the charge,” he continued.

  The officer nodded. He wore a grim expression.

  “Some of them will try to escape over the rocks,” Holte added. “Do you intend to hunt them down?”

  “Let them die among the rocks, if that is their desire,” Palos replied curtly. A series of three low notes sounded from a warhorn at the rear of Palos army, signaling the men to break into a full charge. They had no room to maneuver or create formations, so each rank simply thundered forward, eager not to be trampled by the men behind them.

  When the cavalry hit, the sounds of men dying quickly filtered back up the narrow valley, amplified by the hard rock and packed clay all around the battle. The horses crashed recklessly into the door of the tomb. “We need a better view,” Palos said to his retinue. He tried to make out the pace of the battle, but there was simply too much chaos to see it from a distance.

  “Forward,” Palos commanded. The officers formed a ring of armored horses around him and marched several paces forward.

  At the bottom of the valley, the cavalry tried to untangle themselves from the mess of limbs, hooves, and swords, and many of them were cut down as they struggled. The infantry hit the enemy line only a heartbeat later. At once, any semblance of organization evaporated. The only way Palos could tell his men from the enemy soldiers was by the length of their beards, and even that was not a guarantee.

  “We’ve lost most of the cavalry, sir,” Lieutenant Marius said after a moment.

  “I can see that,” Palos replied coldly. None of his men had stayed mounted for longer than the initial charge, and the majority of their horses were now dead near the tomb’s entrance at the back of the battlefield.

  As far as he could tell, his men were better armed and armored, though the enemy force fought with a vicious ferocity that offset some of their objective disadvantages. On the left side of the battle, a handful of enemy soldiers had gained the upper hand, and they threatened to flank the rest of Palos’ small army.

  “They need to rotate!” Palos yelled, pointing with his sword to the weak spot. One of the officers played several high-pitched blasts on the warhorn, and the soldiers responded almost immediately, though it was obvious that some of them couldn’t hear the signal.

  “I’ll get them to move,” Captain Holte growled behind his steel helmet. He kicked his horse into a trot and set off down the valley.

  Palos watched the veteran soldier descend into the fray. Holte dismounted a few paces before he reached the friendly line, or what was left of their line, and slapped his mount’s rear to send it
back to the other officers. Sword still sheathed at his side, he grabbed one of the men by the shoulder and forcibly turned him, shouting commands above the din.

  When they finally had some semblance of order returned to their unit, Holte drew his sword and found an opening. He dove into a pair of enemies on the right side of the battle, slashing horizontally in front of him. His cut was knocked wide by one of the defenders, but Holte turned with the parry, realigning himself for a deft backhand slash that caught the soldier below the jaw. A spurt of blood splattered across Holte’s face.

  The captain spun back to his original position as a short spear came whistling in at his gut. He narrowly avoided the missile, but he winced when he heard the soldier behind him cry out in pain. In front of him, Holte worked his blade furiously to keep a burly axman from cleaving him open. The enemy held two long axes, similar to the type men used to split wood in the winter, and he swung them at alternating angles with practiced ease.

  With a grunt, Holte skipped backward, letting both axes cut the air harmlessly in front of him. He snarled and flicked his wrist forward, pointing his blade at the man’s stomach. When he lunged forward, an axe came in from the side to knock his blade away at the same time the man backpedaled.

  Holte smiled when the soldier’s boot caught on a dead horse’s bloody hoof. The man’s eyes went wide as he fell backward, both of his axes clattering at his sides. Holte leapt on him in an instant, driving his sword through the man’s old, worn breastplate. When he tried to wrench his weapon free, it didn’t budge. He left it, settling for one of the man’s lumber axes, and rushed to his left where a small group of Karrheim’s elite battled a handful of Hademar’s bearded veterans.

  “Where is their leader?” Holte bellowed to the nearest friendly soldiers. They were heavily engaged, but one of them managed to respond with a shake of his head as he parried a dagger strike with his short sword.

  Holte backed away to scan the cramped battlefield for any sign of the king they pursued, but he saw no one he thought to be a commander of any sort. Everywhere he looked, bodies were strewn across the stony landscape, crumbled and bloodied.