The Prince of Shadow

by Curt Benjamin

  I don’t want anyone dead for me. No point in saying it, since Stipes already had, so he glared back at the man. “And you? What are you doing here?”

  “What do you think?” Stipes shrugged. “Habiba and that girl, Kaydu, have fixed it so that the only way I can keep Bixei safe is to keep you alive. So I’m doing it, even if I have to drag you over my horse’s rump like a saddle pack and haul your ass back to your place in the line.”

  Think cold thoughts, Llesho told himself. But the hurt still sneaked onto his downcast face. He didn’t want that responsibility. He heard a sigh from above him—Stipes, taller to begin with and riding a bigger horse.

  “You’ve got friends, Llesho, whether you want them or not. Give them a break.”

  That was the problem. Llesho grabbed the reins of Stipes’ horse close by the bit. When the two horses settled, closer than either of the animals would have liked, Llesho met Stipes’ gaze and held it. “Friends die,” he said.

  “Remember that the next time you decide to do something reckless.” Nodding an end to the conversation, Stipes tugged his reins out of Llesho’s hand and turned his horse.

  Neither said anything when they slipped back into place with their companions, although Llesho, even deep in his own thoughts, could not ignore the silent communication going on around him. “I won’t go off on my own again,” he growled when it had gone on long enough. “Far be it from me to permit my death to get in the way of true love.”

  He’d used as much sarcasm as he could summon, and Bixei responded with his usual sneer. Llesho hadn’t expected the furious blushes that heated the faces of his two Thebin companions. He remembered them lying close together in the healer’s cottage, and it made him unaccountably angry, in an unfocused way—left out more than wanting Lling for himself. He’d kept himself as a gift to the goddess, who didn’t want him, and now he found himself on the outside in his own company. He wondered if he was supposed to start plying Kaydu with poetry and sighs now.

  She answered his curious look with a disdainful tilt of her head. “Don’t even think it.”

  She seemed to have read his mind. Since the others were snickering, however, he figured his speculation must have been pretty obvious. He hoped his relief wasn’t as easy for everyone to read, but Kaydu’s indignation, and the renewed laughter around him told him it probably was. Tucking his head into his collar like a defensive turtle, Llesho turned his attention forward, wishing he hadn’t just promised not to run off on his own. Stipes gave him an encouraging slap on the shoulder before cutting out of the line to return to Habiba’s side. Llesho’d done something right, apparently. He didn’t know what it was, but he was glad to know the humiliation wasn’t for nothing. Even embarrassment passed the time, however, and soon the troops ahead were breaking formation, spreading across a field of beaten grass to make camp. That night his companions held Llesho close to their own campfire.

  They could not stop him when he rose at dawn to take his place at prayer forms before breakfast, however. Master Den led the exercises as he had in the training compound on Pearl Island, and each day that passed found more of Habiba’s army joining them. Most were strangers, but Bixei and Stipes were there, standing next to each other as they had in the practice yard of old, and Master Jaks took his place in the line close to Hmishi and Lling. Gradually, Llesho’s newly healed body relearned how to sketch the forms on the wind, muscles acting in harmony with each other and the earth, wind, fire, and water.

  He should, perhaps, have helped with the eager recruits from among the Farshore troops, but he felt a selfish need to experience the separation from thought the exercises could bring. The forms flowed through him, shaped him as they had not done since Markko had made a prisoner of him.

  Master Den called out the forms: “Red sun.”

  Llesho closed his eyes and lifted his face to greet the newborn day. Muscle moved against muscle, action against action; his arms stretched to meet the first light bathing the meadow, filling his mind with physical sensations.

  “Wind through Millet.” Master Den moved with the words, and Llesho followed. Feet touched grass, became grass, the sharp scent of green life rising in the wind that touched him, parted for the blade of his arm.

  “Flowing River.” Llesho’s body moved with the breeze that flowed around him, with him, like a river. In the Way of the Goddess, all life flowed the great river, Llesho, and the earth he stood upon, and the gods he worshiped, were all a part of each other. Markko’s chains, her ladyship’s plots, could not break him if he flowed with the river of all life. “Butterfly,” and Llesho moved free of the flight in darkness and the arrow searing his flesh and all the other horrors he relived in his dreams at night and in his waking reveries.

  His escape from his own dark thoughts ended when Master Den completed the last of the forms and performed his bow of respect to the assembled company. Instead of leaving, as he usually did, before Llesho could free himself of his comrades and ask for a private word, Master Den remained behind as the company broke up. Master Jaks stood by him, and Llesho waited impatiently for the two teachers to finish their low conversation. Neither of his masters looked at him, but—sensitized by the prayer forms—Llesho felt the hairs on his neck prickling the way they did when others made him the focus of their secret attention. The conversation ended, but before Llesho could speak up, both men had departed, leaving him feeling foolish. Bixei and Stipes said nothing, but followed him to breakfast with their own silent conversation of eyebrows and frowns.

  When he returned with his companions to their tent, Llesho found that Kaydu had already started to break camp. Together they made quick work of it and distributed their light gear among the five horses. Kaydu held his bridle as Llesho mounted up. “Stay close today,” she warned him. “There are rumors in the camp that make me nervous.”

  “What does your father want you to tell me?” Llesho’s temper was already short and he didn’t like being kept in the dark, or fed information in tidbits, like a child. Kaydu’s father was leading this march, after all. Her intelligence could hardly be called rumor.

  “My father has told me to keep you alive,” Kaydu snapped back at him. “It would help if you didn’t make it so hard to follow orders!”

  Before Llesho could decide how to answer, he was distracted by the forceful “Uhum!” of a throat being cleared behind him.

  “Do you mind if I join you?” Master Den asked with a bland smile. He wore a travel robe and carried a light pack on his back and an ironshod stave in his hand.

  “Yes,” Llesho could have bitten his tongue when he heard his ill-considered answer. He’d been wanting to talk to Master Den for days, and now that the opportunity presented itself, he was rejecting it out of temper.

  However, Den didn’t go away. He ignored the hasty answer with a wink, though his smile remained as meaninglessly polite as ever. “I felt the need of a bit of exercise; thought I’d walk a bit today.”

  Llesho glared at him. “It will be a dusty walk so far back among the troops,” he pointed out. “You might want to travel with Master Jaks at the head of the line.”

  The soldiers ahead of them began to move, and Llesho nudged his horse into motion. “I think I’ll be comfortable here.” Master Den clasped the bridle and walked beside him.

  “Your sudden desire for exercise has nothing to do with the mysterious rumors Kaydu was about to explain, I suppose?”

  “Rumors? Must a man find nothing but questions and suspicion just because he takes a walk with old friends of a morning?” Master Den grinned at him as if he hadn’t expected Llesho to believe him, but wished to invite his pupil into the conspiracy.

  Llesho declined the invitation. He figured at the rate he was going, he’d be lucky if his companions didn’t tie him up and toss him to the wolves before the day was out. But he wasn’t seven years old anymore; if Master Den was going to be there, Llesho had a whole list of questions, and he wasn’t waiting any longer for answers. “I assume you will hav
e no trouble talking as you walk?”

  “What do you want to know?” Master Den spoke as if he had not been avoiding Llesho for days, as if the answers were always his for the asking. Llesho shook his head, but determined not to waste this opportunity on pointless arguing, especially now that Kaydu had posed him a new question.

  “What is the truth behind the rumors Kaydu talks of?” Llesho shook his head when Master Den took a deep breath, a sign that Den was going to tell one of his long tales in which his answer might or might not appear in some form Llesho would spend the whole day trying to untangle. “You are here, beside me today, when I haven’t been able to get a word with you since we left the Golden Dragon River. Why now?”

  “Habiba’s spies have seen Markko following, and he is traveling fast.”

  “And we still move as if we were on parade?”

  “You have heard the proverb, ‘to the swift go the spoils’?”

  Llesho nodded. That was the point, wasn’t it?

  “It isn’t always true.” Master Den smiled, the kind that twinkled in his eyes as well as tilting his mouth. “Did I ever tell you the story about the falcon and the turtle?”

  Habiba called a halt at noon to rest the horses and feed the troops on cold rations at their stations. During the pause, Master Jaks appeared on a large battle steed with armor plates attached to its chest and withers. Jaks tried to make light of his appearance at the middle of the line, but his eyes remained watchful and grim. When the line moved again, he fell into place next to Llesho, offering the defense of his person on the exposed flank. Master Den took the more defended side, walking at the head of Llesho’s smaller horse with a pace that never faltered. Stipes had joined Bixei guarding their rear. Kaydu, with Little Brother peering nervously out of the pack where he’d tucked himself to hide, rode at the head of Llesho’s guard, Hmishi and Lling to either side of her.

  “How long?” Llesho asked Master Den. He didn’t need to explain himself. The question was obvious, and Den did not pretend to misunderstand.

  “Soon.” His glance flicked to Master Jaks, who nodded agreement.

  The shadow of a low-flying bird passed over them, and Master Jaks amended his answer: “Now.”

  Calls passed through the line as sergeants brought their squads to a halt and gave the command for battle formation. Kaydu glanced at Master Jaks, who directed the formation of a circle of pikemen around Llesho’s squad. He called for archers to take their positions inside the circle, prepared to shoot over the shoulders of the pikemen, ranged a double line here, and here, where he expected the greatest pressure from Markko’s attack. Llesho’s own guard set themselves at the fore of the line of archers, their horses protected inside the circle. When all was in readiness, Master Jaks returned to Llesho’s side and drew his sword. Llesho considered his choice of weapons, and decided on his bow and arrow.

  They had scarcely taken their places when a dark line appeared over a low rise in the landscape. An army, no bigger than their own but driven by fear of their leader, plunged forward, battle cries shouted as they ran. Llesho tensed and focused his gaze on the rise, where a figure sat astride a restless warhorse. Master Markko, proclaiming himself in the horned helmet of a warlord.

  Llesho shivered. He sensed the sharp gaze of the magician pass over him and halt, then turn back again. If an arrow could have reached so far, Llesho would have turned away that searching gaze with a well-fired bolt, but at this range he could only call attention to himself.

  “Hold on, boy,” Master Jaks muttered at his side, and Master Den held the head of Llesho’s horse, quieting the animal’s nervous dance.

  Markko was flying down the hill then, his charger striking sparks off the ground beneath its feet, and a bird, huge and lethal, flew over their heads to meet the enemy. It circled overhead, calling encouragement in the deep-voiced cry of a roc. Kaydu shouted a salute to the bird, a magical creature, and would have followed him, Llesho thought, but Master Jaks called out a reminder, “Hold your post.”

  Then Markko’s forces were upon them. The defensive circle Jaks had ordered bristled with pikes, their staffs planted firmly in the ground and their blades tilted out at the horsemen thundering toward them. They had only seconds to wait. The cavalry reached the circle, but the horsemen could not force their mounts to close with the sharp-toothed fence of pikes. Turned aside, the horsemen met the harrying arrows as Habiba’s cavalry darted in for the kill and moved away again. Markko’s foot troops followed the scattering horsemen; driven mad by their master, they flung themselves upon the pikes to clear the path for their fellows. Llesho set an arrow and fired. Fired. Fired again, until his quiver was empty. The bird was gone from the sky, but Lling was at his side, one arm tied with a makeshift bandage, the other flinging a fistful of replacement bolts into his hand. She had gathered the arrows falling into their circle from the enemies’ bows; Llesho recognized the strange devices marked upon them as he shot again, again.

  And then the circle was breached, and the fight turned inward. Llesho dropped his bow and slid from his horse, drawing his sword from its saddle scabbard and his Thebin knife from where it rested at his breast. On foot he moved like a demon, protecting his own belly with the knife in his left hand while he carved at the enemy with the sword in his right. Master Jaks, still on horseback, whirled his sword over his head, striking terror into all who saw him, while his battle horse fought under its master with tooth and hoof. Careful as a mother the mare picked her way around Llesho, snapping at Markko’s soldiers, kicking out at them and beating at them with her frantic feet when they fell.

  Master Den held his position to Llesho’s right flank, warded off an attack with his stave, cracked a head like an egg, and swung around to brush the legs out from under the nearest attacker while knocking the breath from a third with the rising end of the stave.

  Bixei was down, Stipes standing over him with a two-handed sword held out in front of him, Hmishi at his back slashing with a long knife and jabbing with a short-handled trident.

  “Close up! Close up!” Master Jaks ordered, shoring up their broken circle and drawing it more tightly around Llesho and his guard. Master Den accepted the surrender of Markko’s troops left inside the newly re-formed circle. When they had been disarmed and placed on good conduct, Jaks called for retreat: “Back!” He whirled his sword once overhead, and pointed to the fallback position with his blade. Stipes got a shoulder under Bixei’s arm and they moved, the pikemen holding their defensive formation. When they met the circle behind them, their numbers swelled, the two circles interlaced, filling in the weak places around Llesho without leaving a break for the enemy to exploit.

  Markko was driving his army in a wedge directly at Llesho’s circle. If he succeeded, he would divide Habiba’s army in two parts. As the circle fell back, Markko pressed forward, until he faced his prey down an alley of his own troops. “I will have you, boy,” he said, a snarling grimace of a smile contorting his face.

  Llesho froze, aware suddenly how thin his defense was, just a single band of pikemen between them, and Markko dug his heels into the flanks of his horse, lowered his head over the animal’s armored neck, and charged.

  The pikemen set their pikes and braced for the onslaught, but at the last moment, Markko urged his horse faster, up, higher than a horse could jump, and the warlord flew over the blades bristling beneath the belly of his steed and landed lightly inside the circle. Master Markko raised a strange weapon of his own devising, a tube shooting sparks of fire and smoke and tiny slivers of crystal sharp as knives from the end. In confusion the defensive circle broke. A picked squad of Markko’s followed and joined him in the fray.

  “Get down!” Hmishi called.

  Under cover of the billowing smoke, Lling knocked Llesho to his knees.

  “Pretend you are dead!” she demanded, and pushed him to land with his face in the dirt. Then she fell on top of him, her bandage convincingly stained rust and crimson from her reopened wound. Llesho wondered what had h
appened to Kaydu, if she’d managed to escape, but a vulture landed on his shoulder and gave the back of his head an imperious peck.

  “Cawuuuiet!” the bird squawked, and Llesho wondered if he had gone mad, or if the bird had really told him to be quiet.

  “Wha—” he began, but the bird snapped up a strand of his hair and gave it a warning tug.

  The smoke was beginning to clear. Through closely lidded eyes, Llesho saw that Master Den had suffered a myriad of tiny cuts which he seemed to be ignoring as he scrambled among the fallen. Stipes had dropped Bixei to the ground only to fall after him, clutching at his eye while blood gushed from between his clenched fingers. Master Jaks was down, on his back beneath his horse, his eyes wide and unseeing. The horse stood quivering but steadfast over her master.

  Hmishi crouched at the side of his Thebin companions. His knife lashed out, not at the warlord, but at the legs of his battle horse. The animal screamed and fell to its front knees. Mad with its pain, the horse struggled to rise again, its eyes reddened and rolling wildly in its head. Master Markko sprang free of the animal as it crashed to its side, thrashing with its legs as it tried to rise. Hmishi struck quickly and the animal was dead, its throat cut, the blood splashing the fallen Thebins.

  It could as easily have been human blood. Llesho had to remind himself that he was unhurt, and ought to do something more than lie about playing dead. Like stand up and be dead, he figured, and stayed where he was. Somehow, Master Markko seemed to have turned the day in his favor, and Llesho could only hope that he would be overlooked in the carnage. A faint hope, with Markko seeking him, but it was enough to keep him facedown in the dirt.

  Above him, Llesho heard a terrible cry, and he cringed where he lay, afraid to open his eyes. A deep growl from closer by answered the first cry, and Llesho felt a weight suddenly lift from his heart. Freed of his terrible fear, he turned his head and peered over his shoulder, into the sky, where two beasts—he knew for a fact such beasts did not exist in nature—fought tooth and claw in the air overhead. One was a huge bird, a roc, if such a thing could actually exist. It uttered a challenge, the most desolate sound Llesho had ever heard, as if it contained within itself all the grief of the battle and its losses, and called them forth in a mourner’s wailing cry. The other, a creature out of night terrors, was a rodent-faced monster with the haunches of a horse and stiff gray hair instead of feathers covering its broad leathery wings. A long naked rat’s tail whipped out behind it. The creature had clawed feet and claws at the joints of its wings, long, fanged teeth and angry red eyes. When it opened its mouth to answer the roc’s cry, Llesho had to cover his ears to stop the piercing pain it released instead of sound.