Shadowglade

by Kay L. Ling

  “Yes, Gem Master Jules. We’ll bring her immediately.” Their expressions said they had overheard the whole conversation and were just as annoyed as he was.

  He could have sent the clan leaders to the library, but Tyla and her family were there, translating books. And the breghlin were there. He held back a smile, picturing the clan leaders’ reactions to breghlin lounging in the library.

  An awkward silence hung over the office. Morodin fiddled with his teacup and picked at the food, Kerosten idly swept lint from his rust-colored tunic and pants, and Vegmir cleaned his fingernails with a small pocketknife.

  After what seemed an eternity, the guards bustled into the office with S’s cage. Jules moved the food aside so they could slide it onto the desk. The cage overhung the desk on his side, and he had to move his chair to see the gnomes.

  The beetle sat motionless, facing the gnomes, not as much as a feeler moving. Jules wet his lips nervously. For all the world, she looked artificial . . . or dead.

  “Will that be all?”

  “Yes, thank you. Please return for her in a few minutes.”

  The guards bowed themselves out of the office.

  Jules studied the clan leaders’ expressions. What were they thinking? It would be tempting to use gem powers to find out, but unlike Elias, he considered mindreading an invasion of privacy. Vegmir leaned toward the cage. “Well, now,” he said over and over, and then he chuckled and sat back in his chair, casting an amused glance at Kerosten who looked too horrorstruck to move.

  Morodin eyed the beetle suspiciously. “Assuming she would not do this to herself, how do we know it’s actually her?”

  “Clearly this is an unnatural creature created by gem powers. Why would you think it isn’t her?” Vegmir demanded.

  “It’s a big ugly beetle, and definitely unnatural. But that doesn’t make it Sheamathan,” Morodin said stubbornly.

  Jules sighed in exasperation. Most of S’s enchanted victims had retained the power of speech, and Elias had granted S that ability, but not so she could prove her identity. Why would that be necessary? And yet here they sat, debating whether this hideous beetle was really Sheamathan. It was almost comical. Almost. But the joke would be on him if S refused to speak.

  Morodin leaned across the desk, his face mere inches from the cage. “Well, what do you have to say for yourself, beetle?”

  S remained silent and motionless.

  “It seems she has nothing to say,” Morodin said sarcastically. “Does she ever move?” Without waiting for a reply, he grabbed the knife from the cheese plate and thrust it through the scrollwork. S scuttled away but the knife came perilously close. He chuckled. “At least we know it’s alive.”

  Jules bolted to his feet, so angry his hands were trembling. “Drop the knife and sit down!” If he could have, he would have wrenched the knife from Morodin’s hand but the cage was between them.

  Kerosten had the good sense to pull Morodin away, and Morodin dropped the knife on the desk with a clatter.

  In the name of diplomacy, Jules bit back a torrent of angry words and sat down.

  Kerosten said, “I beg your pardon, but does she speak?” Apparently Morodin’s distrustful nature had begun to rub off on him.

  “She speaks when it suits her, but she’s not always in the mood.”

  S flung up her feelers, twitching them in a non-verbal curse that was familiar to Jules, and then turned away.

  “Nor would you be inclined to speak,” Vegmir said to his companions, “had your enemies confined you to a cage.”

  Thank goodness. At least one of the gnomes was reasonable. “You came here to see whether we had really defeated Sheamathan?” Jules asked him.

  “Yes,” Vegmir said. “Reliable sources insisted it was true, but we had to see for ourselves.”

  “We can afford no mistakes,” Morodin snapped. “There is too much at stake.”

  “This could be a plot to lure us into the open, you see,” Kerosten explained, “I don’t believe that, but Morodin’s clan is exceptionally wary, and rightfully so. Their ancestors led the forces at Last Hope and buried the last of the Mydorians fifty years later.”

  Jules eyes widened. He sat forward in his chair. “Tell me about Last Hope. We saw that name on a map in S’s spell book. And who are the Mydorians?”

  “I know who they were!” called a cheerful voice from across the room.

  Jules jumped and looked over at the spell book.

  “Silence! We do not speak of that!” countered the book’s other personality.

  “But the poem about them, ‘The End of An Age,’ is one of my favorites—full of greed, and treachery, and doom.”

  “Silence, I said!”

  The gnomes gaped, and Morodin was speechless for once.

  The spell book sprang open and the pages began to turn. When they stopped moving, the book lay open invitingly.

  “Traitorous book!” Sheamathan screeched. “I forbid you to speak of those days! What is done is done and cannot be changed!”

  Morodin grabbed the knife again and sprang from his chair. “Now, at last, I’m convinced it’s her!”

  Chapter 27

  Elias excused himself from his meeting as soon as it was politic to do so. Franklin knew far more about military matters than he did, and even though Elias disagreed with him on a few points, he had temporarily given Franklin free rein. They could hardly argue in front of the gnomes, and there was no time for lengthy, private debates. Sometimes swift action was better than no action, even if one made the wrong decision.

  Elias hurried toward his office, deep in thought. Casualties among the gnome troops had been light. Even though some weren’t armed, a hundred gnomes had been more than enough to subdue smaller bands of armed breghlin.

  The lack of casualties had not extended to the breghlin, however. Elias would never say this openly, but he suspected the gnomes had turned this mission into an excuse to attack breghlin. By nature, the gnomes were a peaceful race, but considering everything they had endured from Sheamathan and the breghlin, vengeance was natural.

  Forbearance would go a long way toward establishing peace between gnomes and breghlin. It was fine for the gnomes to make it clear that the breghlin’s lawless behavior would no longer be tolerated, but unprovoked attacks were another matter.

  Whether accidentally or on purpose, several breghlin miners had been killed. Some of them, given enough incentives, might have returned to work. Aside from the unnecessary waste of life, killing miners was foolish. The mines must be kept running or everyone in Shadow would suffer.

  Corrustone, Shadow’s primary heat source, came from the Six Wells Mine. Although corrustone gave off energy for long periods of time, its energy was not inexhaustible. Newly mined stones must replace depleted stones, and expended corrustone made an ideal free building material, which would come in handy now that Shadow was getting back on its feet.

  Franklin had praised the gnomes for disarming the breghlin and seizing their weapons. Elias agreed that it had been the perfect solution to the gnomes’ lack of weapons. Only a third of the gnomes had started out armed, now more than half had weapons.

  With so many breghlin walking off the job, Six Wells Mine needed more laborers, but the gnomes’ proposed solution was troublesome. They wanted to be in charge of the mine, and they planned to replace the missing breghlin miners with gnomes, which meant gnomes and breghlin would be working together under gnome supervision. Under Sheamathan’s rule, the labor forces had always remained separate, with some mines using gnome slaves and others, poorly paid breghlin workers.

  Elias shook his head, muttering under his breath as he walked. Under the gnome plan, more breghlin would walk off the job, refusing to work under gnome supervision. When that happened, the gnome bosses would hire more gnomes, and before long, there wouldn’t be any breghlin workers. That would please the gnomes, no doubt, but the breghlin would take a dim view of it.

  Well, it couldn’t be helped, he told himsel
f with an inward sigh. The breghlin would have to make the best of it since the mine must remain fully operational. One must chose his battles, as the saying went, and there were more important battles to fight at the moment.

  For now, Elias would content himself with impressing on the gnomes that they should disarm breghlin who were causing trouble, and let them go after a stern warning. Unfortunately, Franklin might not be supportive. He hated the breghlin as much as the gnomes did. After all, breghlin had beaten and maimed him.

  But this was a new day, and Franklin and the gnomes must put the past behind them. The balance of power had shifted, and it was natural to take advantage of that, but it could easily get out of hand. With their superior numbers and newfound gem powers, the gnomes could destroy the breghlin, and they might feel justified in doing so, but it would be wrong. The breghlin looked—and often behaved—like monsters, but they still deserved to live.

  Trying to make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear had seemed ludicrous to Elias at first. Breghlin were repellent, uncivilized, and violent. But one day he had glimpsed Lana’s thoughts, and she had compared him to the breghlin! Him! Elias Grayson! That day, he had faced himself in his mirror and seen her point. His skin and facial features still bore witness to the fact that in the past he had been greedy, selfish, and scheming. He had willfully harmed others, and he had embraced dark powers. As a result, his own world had refused him entry, trapping him in Shadow. Yes, he was more intelligent than the breghlin, but he was more like them than he cared to admit. After some soul-searching, trying to reform the breghlin didn’t seem so ridiculous.

  Elias looked up and saw two guards standing in the passageway near his office, their heads tilted in an attitude of listening. As soon as they saw him, they moved stealthily toward him, motioning for him to be silent. How strange. What was going on here? Elias stopped and waited for them.

  “It’s not going well with the clan leaders, Gem Master Elias,” one of the guards whispered. “They’re questioning whether S is really a beetle. They think this is all a hoax.”

  “A hoax!” Elias said in a furtive whisper. “What kind of nonsense is that?”

  “Makes no sense to us, either,” the second guard said. “But they—or I should say one of them—is upset that Gem Master Jules used to be S’s wolfhound, and—” He broke off, looking uncomfortable, and then finished indignantly, “begging your pardon, but they called you ‘that old reprobate Folio.’”

  “Dear heavens,” Elias whispered, more dismayed than angry. “That’s fine gratitude after freeing them from Sheamathan.”

  “But that’s the point,” the first guard whispered. “The one called Morodin says you didn’t defeat S; Jules bargained with S to be human again, and you’re mixed up in it somehow.”

  The other guard said, “Gem Master Jules asked us to bring S to your office so they could see her, and we’re about to take her back to the library. If I were him, I would have taken those gnomes by the throat and shook them till their teeth rattled.”

  “Thank you for warning me about what I’m walking into.” Elias ran his fingers over the cuff bracelets on his left arm, drawing fresh gem powers to heighten his infused powers so he could project a calm, cheerful mood to soothe them. He’d have to be careful or they might realize what he was doing. In the old days, he would have blatantly imposed his thoughts on their minds and made them behave as he wished, but that was stepping over the line into dark powers. “Stay here and wait for me to call you.”

  The lure of using dark powers, especially on fools like these, was strong. As he neared the door he heard a voice.

  “Traitorous book! I forbid you to speak of those days!” Sheamathan-beetle screeched. “What is done is done and cannot be changed!”

  A gnome cried, “Now, at last, I’m convinced it’s her!”

  “Get away from the cage!” Jules shouted.

  Elias burst into the room. An elderly gnome with a knife in his hand was about to thrust it into the cage, but two other gnomes shot to their feet and pulled him away. Jules darted around the desk and grabbed the knife, his face flushing with embarrassment when he saw Elias.

  Elias winked at Jules behind the gnomes’ backs and sent him a single telepathic word: Relax. The meeting had clearly gotten out of hand, but it wasn’t too late to salvage it.

  The gnomes turned to see who Jules was looking at.

  “Welcome to Shadowglade,” Elias said calmly, while projecting peace, trust, happiness, and patience. “I am Gem Master Elias. I see you’re getting acquainted with Sheamathan in her new form. Please be seated.” He created around himself an aura of assurance and dignity while smiling benevolently at the gnomes.

  Jules returned to his chair and sat. His relief was palpable, poor fellow.

  Acting as spokesman, the black-haired gnome said, “I am Vegmir of the Nafaren clan.” He gestured toward his companions. “I’d like you to meet Kerosten of the Ranopi clan, and Morodin of the Zihaddan clan.” Vegmir didn’t seem confrontational, and he spoke respectfully, but his eyes flit nervously over Elias’s face, taking in Elias’s warty skin and breghlin-like features. “Word recently reached us that you, a Fair Lands female, and the former wolfhound stripped Sheamathan of her powers and turned her into a beetle. How is this possible? And why did you let her live?”

  “I’ll answer the last question first,” Elias said, continuing to project soothing emotions. Already, he could feel their hostility lessening. “She lives in case she has information we need. My goal, along with Gem Master Jules, who plans to remain here indefinitely, is to help you restore Shadow. Sheamathan isn’t inclined to be helpful, as you can well imagine, but the fact remains, she knows more about this world and what it was like in the past than anyone in this room.”

  Kerosten whispered something to Morodin who gave a grudging nod, and Elias continued, “We stripped her of her gem powers by using a recently-discovered stone called alamaria. I’ll share more details later, if you’re interested. I assure you I have nothing to hide.”

  “Very well, very well,” Morodin said, looking somewhat appeased by this brief explanation.

  “With your permission,” Elias said, “the guards will return Sheamathan to the library, and if you wish to see her later, I’ll take you there.”

  The gnomes exchanged glances and Vegmir said, “Although it’s satisfying to see her in this form, we find her presence distasteful.” He looked over at the spell book, frowning. “Is it wise to speak with that in the room?”

  “Yes. Don’t worry. After we replaced several gems on its cover, it developed a split personality, but when the book’s benevolent personality is dominant, it tells us things Sheamathan never would.” He stepped to the doorway and signaled the guards.

  Once S was gone, Elias brought over the spare gothic chair and sat beside Jules, sending him a quick telepathic message. No Raenihel yet? Have you told them he’s coming?

  “We’ve sent for Raenihel, leader of the Anen clan,” Jules told the gnomes. “He can verify our claims and answer additional questions. His clan was involved in our plot to overthrow Sheamathan.”

  “I’m sure Raenihel would like to speak with fellow clan leaders,” Elias said. “Are you acquainted with him?”

  “No, but we recognize the name, and we know about the Anen clan,” Kerosten said. “They have always monitored the portal to the Fair Lands. And the Challenger entrusted his knife to them. Or so our legends say.”

  “That’s right,” Jules said. He turned to Elias. “I learned today that Morodin’s ancestors led the forces at Last Hope. And Morodin says his ancestors buried the last—Mydorian, was it?” Jules looked at Morodin who nodded, and Jules went on, “I’ve never heard of Mydorians until today. Have you?”

  Elias searched his memory. He was quite certain he had never heard that name. “No,” he said. “Who were they?”

  Morodin pulled a scroll from his pocket. “Beings from another world—a warrior race,” he said as he unrolled it on the desk. “My
companions say that if you are a true friend of the gnomes and have defeated Sheamathan, I should share this with you.”

  “I am indeed your friend, and I hope we can help one another.” The parchment had yellowed with age, the runic writing was faded, and the jagged bottom suggested some of the scroll was missing. Elias had never learned to read runes, and he didn’t keep a cyanistone in the office, so he was grateful when Morodin began to read in a clear, steady voice.

  “Today, little is known of the terrors our ancestors suffered during the Great Upheaval. We know that our militias, originally formed to keep domestic peace, were ill-prepared for war. Towns and cities were laid waste. Civilians fled from the invading force. Those who remained became prisoners of war, their personal belongings seized and destroyed. After the war, the woodspirit Sheamathan used her vile powers to make as many as possible forget what had taken place, thus we have conflicting reports.

  “The most reliable legends claim that Sheamathan brought the accursed warrior race to our world, and the Mydorians fought alongside her at the place we now call Traitor’s Ridge. The steady influx of these allies, supported by her gem powers, made it impossible to defeat them. Weapons and gems were of no avail.

  “Another major battle took place at the hill now called Bloody Knoll. Few records describe that battle, but tales say our forces were so decimated that all appeared lost. Unless strategy prevailed over force in the next battle, surrender was inevitable.

  “A great mystery surrounds the final battle, fought at Last Hope. Legends claim the militia devised a desperate plan whose outcome could be horrific, and our leaders argued against its implementation. Oral history names the Zihaddan clan as the leaders of that battle, but we know little else.

  “After the war ended and Sheamathan was in control, she had no further use for the Mydorians. Their intellect and warlike nature posed a threat to her, so she slaughtered all she could find. Some escaped and hid in the networks of caves. Gnomes killed any they found. Fifty years later, a member of the Zihaddan clan found a Mydorian, wasted and feverish, living in a cave. Two days later the Mydorian died, presumably the last survivor.