The Book of Deacon: Book 04 - The Rise of the Red Shadow

by Joseph Lallo

  Sanity and control fought their way back into his mind and he drew in another breath. Wherever he was heading, it was thick with life. It was not long before the echoing expanse of the tunnel began to offer up voices. They were quiet, and they spoke a language he had never even heard, but they were undeniable. He forced himself to slow, to let the old instincts trickle back in place of those that had sustained him in the darkness. Now he was near enough to make out that the light he was seeing was certainly sunlight. It was reflected from the curved floor of the tunnel's mouth. He could feel a breeze now, the air drifting into the tunnel from the outside. It carried hints of humans, elves, dwarves, and other things. There were both creatures he'd learned to hide from and creatures he'd never smelled before, and there were dozens of each.

  It didn't make sense. It had been ages since he'd entered the cave, but he was certain that this was not what the entrance was like. If this was a new entrance, it was nowhere near the old. He'd walked for days to find the cave. There had been no cities anywhere near. Had he found his way through miles of mountain and ended up in an entirely different part of the kingdom? The caverns had been so twisted, and he'd been lost within them for so long that anything was possible.

  He'd entered this place seeking a beast. That danger he had been prepared for. This was something else entirely. There was no telling what he would find beyond the mouth of the tunnel. For a brief instant, he considered retreating back into the cave and finding his way back the way he had come, but the thought was quickly banished by the feverish need to feel the sun on his face once more.

  He crept farther, scouring his long-disused sense of sight for all it could tell him. He looked at his hands. They were raw from weeks or more of climbing rough stone and feeling along walls. His clothes were ragged and torn by a thousand snags on sharp rocks. His bare feet had been shredded and scarred. Every inch of him was caked with filth, silty gray muck from the stone walls and reeking droppings from the bat-filled cavern. He was withered and thin. It became clear that it didn't matter what he might find out there. If he stayed inside much longer, there wouldn't be anything left of him.

  Shaky legs and tense muscles brought him to the bottom of the tunnel, where he stopped at the very edge of the light. What lay before him now was a smooth bowl of stone, the last remnants of water pooled in the lowest point. The air held none of the chill of the icy land he'd left behind when he entered the cave. If anything, it felt like a brisk spring day. It took all of the strength of will he had left to keep himself from crawling down into the light to bask in the sun, but two unmistakable shadows stretched out across the bottom of the bowl. He held still, eyes on the shadows, but they did not move any more than a minor shift here or there.

  It couldn't be a simple coincidence that these two individuals were here. They were guarding the exit to the cave—or, at least, watching it. He listened as they two spoke to one another. It was a male and a female. A sniff of the air confirmed that one, the male, was certainly a man. The other was an elf. Both had a steady, weary tone to their voices as they spoke, as though the task at hand was horribly dull. The man seemed to be speaking Crich, Sorrel's native language. He'd learned to understand a bit of it in his time with her, but even so he could only follow half of the conversation, as the elf spoke another language entirely: a complex, nuanced language that sounded a bit like the one Goldie and Blondie had muttered in from time to time.

  “No, no. That is madness. A weapon shaped in that way would be impossible to use,” the man said, if Shadow understood correctly. “If one blade curved out, and the other in, you would scarcely be able to move it without slicing your arm.”

  The human's companion spoke a spirited response.

  “Well yes, perhaps as a thrown weapon it could work,” he replied, “but that is a great deal of craftsmanship to put into a weapon that can only travel as far as one can throw it. Granted, with a bit of levitation it might be useful, but can you think of a single apprentice who would use it?”

  The conversation continued in that way for hours while the sun climbed higher into the sky and the shadow slipped farther forward. He followed it down, wading into the water. The dip in the water washed away a layer of the filth that had accumulated in his time in the cave, and it earned him a slightly better view of the place to which the cave had led him. Beyond the mouth of the tunnel, the smooth stone pit spread to fill his view, looking like a clay bowl if it were the size of a small lake. When he edged a bit farther, he found that along the south side, a rope ladder had been rolled out, dangling down to the surface of the shallow water.

  By midday the sun had shifted the shadow of the tunnel mouth sufficiently to afford him a view of the lookouts. They still hadn't left, though he had little doubt that whatever they were, they were not guards. Each was dressed simply—the man in what appeared to be a padded cloth approximation of armor, and the elf in a gray tunic. Neither was armed, and neither seemed particularly concerned with the dark tunnel before them. Nevertheless, there they sat, glancing into the darkness from time to time and debating the merits of a nonexistent weapon.

  Shadow below waited and watched. Finally, another figure approached, this one a dwarf like Gurruk. He carried with him a tray with two steaming bowls that instantly grabbed the attention of the lookouts. They stood and greeted the newcomer, taking the bowls and enthusiastically involving him in their discussion. It left the three of them with their eyes diverted, a momentary lapse in their vigil. That was all he needed. With smooth, careful motions he slipped from the mouth of the tunnel, wading silently through the water. The ladder was an obvious trap, but his time in the cave had made him an expert at navigating slick terrain. With a bit of effort, he managed to scramble up the north side of the bowl. There was a scattering of rocks and boulders along the face of the mountain at the edge of it. He nestled among them and held still as the lookouts briefly turned back to the tunnel, then the ladder, before continuing their discussion. He had not been seen.

  Now he had a full view of the place he had discovered, and he could scarcely believe his eyes. Behind him was a sheer cliff rising up to the very clouds, and on the horizon opposite was an endless sea, but between them was an idyllic setting: a village, bustling and lively. Though the kingdom on the other side of the mountain was frozen solid, here the air was temperate, the grass green and the trees lush with leaves. Small huts, built simply of wood, were scattered on both sides of a central path that led to a large courtyard with a more elaborate meetinghouse of some kind within.

  Walking the grounds of the place were creatures of all shapes and sizes. Humans, elves, and dwarves could be seen. Here, a person spoke before a group of others, all seated and observing. There, a pair sparred while another watched. Tiny winged fairies flitted through the air . . . and just a short distance away, what could only be a small gray dragon was sliding from a stone hut. Its head was raised, nose in the air.

  A thousand questions flooded his mind, but he didn't have time to ponder how or why any of this might be. Lessons honed by years clicked instantly back into place. The dragon was a hunter, and he would not be its prey. Moving quickly before the beast could turn in his direction, Shadow scanned the village for someplace forgotten or ignored, someplace where he could hide and figure out what came next. Near to the northernmost part of town was an odd gleaming structure. It looked like a massive crystal tooth, jutting from the ground and carved with symbols. More of the same could be seen nearby. From what he could see and smell, it was the one place no one had chosen to linger. If he was to have any chance to avoid being discovered, he would have to make his way there.

  He sprinted silently along the cliff face until the boulders no longer offered any cover, then darted among what few trees and shrubs there were. He stuck to the shadows—what few there were at midday—and drew upon a lifetime of instincts to avoid detection. The long stay in the cave had not taken their edge at all. None of the people had looked in his direction, but a brief glimpse behind him
revealed that the dragon had its nose to the ground now, and was standing precisely where he had been hiding moments before. If he wanted to be safe, he had to keep moving.

  The scaly hunter, little more than the size of a large dog, followed him slowly, sniffing and licking at the ground a few dozen paces behind, but Shadow refused to panic. He moved quickly and carefully toward the deserted section of town near the crystal spire. It was quite near to the cliff, and as the crystal spire approached he saw that it was at the edge of a roughly circular patch of identical crystal, smooth and gleaming like a frozen pond. Something told him it was best not to step onto the crystal surface, so he instead dashed across the narrow ground between the gleaming ground and the face of the cliff. When he made it to the farthest spire he hid behind it, venturing a peek when the sound of claws on earth stopped far behind him. The dragon was standing at the edge of the crystal patch. It seemed unwilling to go any further. After a long look in his general direction, it turned and paced back toward the center of the village.

  Two days passed, Shadow slowly adapting to the sights and sounds that he'd been denied for so long. It wasn't clear just how much of his sanity he'd lost within the endless tunnels of the cave until he was forced to cope with reality again. The voices, the sights, they were too much for a mind that had been whittled down to the husk that he'd become inside. This at least was like a normal city in that during the darkest hours it was nearly still. He slipped from his haven behind the field of crystal and stalked the town when most of the villagers were sleeping. Just south of the city's center was a building that hung with the heavy sent of cooked food. He slipped inside and found steaming cauldrons. He almost scalded himself attempting to fill his stomach before he could be seen.

  He explored the outskirts of the place, first as far north as he could, then as far south. It became clear that there was no way in or out, save the cave.

  It was not only the temperature of the place or the diversity of its population that made it strange. Shadow found that there were people here, particularly in the northern half of the village, who became uneasy and curious in his presence even when he knew he had not betrayed himself with sight, sound, or scent. For some, simply being near seemed enough to set them on the prowl, checking dark corners for him.

  Worse was the dragon, though. When it wasn't sleeping, the blasted thing seemed to spend almost every moment on his trail. It was confounding, because rather than the panic one might expect when a fire-breather of any size entered a town, this beast walked freely among the people. Some even seemed to speak to it, offering up a friendly hello or even answering questions that, if asked, had come as little more than a growl. Shadow's only respite from its waking searches came when a small gathering of villagers would assemble before its stone den and it would sit before them, surrounded by ghostly and unnatural lights and flames.

  Perhaps inevitably, while Shadow was making his way back to his haven behind the crystal field near dawn of the third day, dragon's vigilance paid off. Its eyes were turned to him as he slipped from one hiding place to another. As soon as it saw him, it raised its head and rattled a low sound in its chest. A dozen nearby heads turned first to the dragon, then toward the place that Shadow was hiding. It had alerted them. He'd been discovered.

  The air filled with cries in a dozen languages as people rushed from their huts to answer the call. Those few words he understood made it clear that he was their subject: “stranger”; “to the north”; “from the cave.” He abandoned all stealth, running full speed directly for the crystal structure. A plan, such as it was, formed in his mind. He would make his way to the northernmost spire and climb it. From there, he could survey the village from above to hopefully spot a new place to hide, then leap over the mob as it gathered at the bottom of the spire and sprint to his new refuge. Legs adjusted to moving slowly in darkness were already cramping with the sudden intense exertion, but he'd learned to push such things aside. The voices called louder as he reached the edge of the crystal patch. There was no time to slip around the edge, so in one bounding step he crossed the perimeter of the circle of crystal and landed . . . nowhere.

  Chapter 24

  Shadow slid to a stop. No sooner had he crossed the threshold of the circle of crystal than the world seemed to vanish utterly. He was standing in a void, blackness all around. It felt almost as though he had been thrust back into the cave, but he could see himself clear as day. He looked down to see nothing but more black, nothing even resembling ground, yet his feet stood firm on some sort of smooth surface. The chorus of cries coming from the mob on his trail dropped to nothing. He heard only his own breathing and hammering heart. Before he could begin to grapple with what it was that had happened, a voice seized his attention.

  “Well, what have we here? I don't recall being informed of any forthcoming trials,” said the voice.

  It was a woman, and she seemed to be speaking Tresson . . . though it was difficult to tell. It didn't feel as though he'd heard the words; instead, the understanding of them had simply thrust itself upon him. He turned to see the source of the voice. She was nearly a match for the malthrope's height, and dressed in a flowing black robe. Rising up from the hem of the robe were patterns of white. They looked to be flames, and, impossibly, they seemed to flicker and twist along the surface of the robe as though they were truly burning. Her hair was white and fell to the middle of her back, but her face was anything but old. There was a grace and wisdom to her bearing, and her expression was one of genuine interest.

  He turned away from her and burst into a sprint again, but he made it only a few strides before her form appeared again, wafting into existence in front of him. Her expression had hardened a bit.

  “Not so quickly now, let me get a look at you,” she said.

  Grinding his feet into whatever it was that he was running across, he changed directions and doubled his efforts. He didn't know where precisely he was hoping to go, but he knew that whatever this woman was, she was not something he wanted to face without time to prepare for it.

  “I said,” she began, an edge in her voice now, “stop!”

  And so he did. It was not through any choice of his own. She simply said the word and his body obeyed, arms and legs locking in place.

  “Stand up straight now.” Again, the mere suggestion prompted an instant obedience from his body. She paced around him, looking him up and down thoughtfully. “A malthrope,” she said, an eyebrow raised. The word was spoken not with disgust or fear as he'd so often heard it, but with intrigue. “I wasn't aware we had any of your kind about.” She pinched away a bit of the silt clinging to his fur and sprinkled it to the ground. “No, I see. You're fresh from the cave, or relatively so. And there is the residue of a nasty little spell clinging to your arm and leg. Best to be rid of it.” She swept her hand and the last trace of a pain that had lingered since the bounty hunter's spell had struck him finally faded away. “Odd that they would send you to see me before even getting cleaned up.” She brushed away a bit more of the silt. In doing so, she knocked aside one of the tattered shreds of his shirt and revealed a bit of the mark on his chest.

  Leaning close, she flourished her fingers and the grime covering it whisked away. “Well. That is interesting, and it warrants an explanation.” She looked him in the eyes. “In a moment, you'll find yourself free to move once again. I know that you're thinking of swiping those claws of yours across my throat and running. I mean that literally; I can see the thoughts in your mind. Please be aware that, as your host, I would find that act terribly rude. I ask little of my guests beyond basic civility, and I want to make it clear that any such insult to my hospitality would be inadvisable.”

  With a jolt he found he could move again. He took two wary steps backward.

  It took a few incoherent moments before he could find his voice after so long without using it. “I don't know who you are or what this place is,” he pleaded, “but I need to go. There are people out there who will kill me if—”
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  “I am sorry to interrupt,” she said, “but I can assure you that no one here will do anything that may harm you. At least, not without your expressed permission. As for who I am and where you are, follow me. We shall have a nice little chat.”

  She turned and walked away. As she did, an impossible thing began to happen. Gray stone formed a path beneath her feet, and beside it, vivid green blades of grass sprouted from nothingness. In a wave spreading out from her, a world formed. The grass traced out rolling hills. Mighty trees curled from the ground in moments. The path assembled itself forward and back, crunching up beneath his feet and leading on to a charming cottage of wood and thatch that faded into existence. By the time she reached the door of the cottage, he was standing in the center of a field that stretched as far as the eye could see in all directions. There was no hint of the village, mountains, or sea.

  His instincts told him to run, but where? And even if he did, he was at the mercy of this woman. She could stop him with a word. Who knew what else she could do? There was no other choice but to do as she said.

  He stepped into the cottage to find it warm and inviting. The door led into a sort of all purpose room. At the center was a long table set with trays of fresh fruit, meats, cheeses, sausages, and bread still steaming from the oven. Fine, cushioned chairs surrounded the table, and windows let light in gloriously to fill the room. Counters and cabinets lined each wall, and the whole of the place had neat but lived-in atmosphere. At the far end of the room was a fireplace, an inviting fire burning within it, and on either side were arched doorways hung with heavy wooden doors.

  “There is a basin with hot water through that door if you wish to freshen up,” she said, gesturing as she took a seat at the head of the table.

  The malthrope merely stood, muscles still tense and head slightly bowed. Again, he felt as powerless and small as when he was a child. Worse than the way that she seemed to bend the very world to her whims was the disarming sense of calm she seemed to radiate. She was positively matronly and refined. It was like a demon singing a nursery rhyme.