“They were mindful, at least, of who they killed. I saw no children fall beneath their blades.”
“That is not always the case when armies sack cities,” said Loren. “Or so I have heard. I was there for the battle of Wellmont, but the city held. I saw no killing in the streets.”
He looked away, blinked hard, and cleared his throat. When he spoke again, Loren could hear him trying to sound as though his tears were not there. “You barely blinked. I nearly fell from my saddle.”
“We have seen killing before. Some more than others.”
“I am sorry about Albern. I knew him only a few days, but his heart seemed good. Mag and Sten, as well.”
“Aye.”
He swiped a hand across his eyes but tried to make it seem as if he were merely wicking sweat from his brow. “Loren, we must get away from here. We should ride into Dorsea and vanish where no one will find us. If that army came to Northwood searching for you, and was willing to sack the city just to find you, they will not stop their pursuit now.”
“That is why we must ride east, to warn the Mystics of their coming.”
“Will they not expect that? Will they not hunt us all along the road?”
“That matters not. It is the duty I have taken upon myself. I have been hunted before.”
“Duty?” Chet’s voice climbed high and hysterical. “Why would you wish this upon yourself? I thought to travel in your company, not die beside you. All the nine lands may be dangerous, but this is something else. You have done your time, unhappy and trapped by your parents. Do not misplace your duty.”
“That was nothing I chose. This is my life now, as it has been since leaving the Birchwood. Doom follows in my footsteps. That is why I implored you not to come. Even now I urge you to turn east, let your tracks lead you back home.”
Chet stood frozen, looking at Loren in fear. With a sinking heart, she realized he was considering her prompt. He finally looked away, shaking his head. “No. I shall come with you. Who could call me anything but faithless, if I turned away because the road grew dark?”
“Who cares what anyone would call you? I am happy to have you by my side but would rather see you safe.”
“And I you. That is why we should go, and now. Let others tend to duty. You and I have spent our lives as its victims.”
“I cannot,” she said, in a small voice. “I owe it to Jordel.”
Chet looked as if he might say more, but then her stomach gurgled. He stopped, collected himself, and shook his head. “Truly, we should eat. The road will grow darker still if we find ourselves starving upon it.”
“I am not hungry.”
“Hungry or not, I think you can swallow. Come.”
They made their way back to the firelight. By the time they reached it, Chet seemed to have shed some of the darkness in his mind. Loren wondered if it had been so easy for her the first time.
She had first seen men killed in mindless rage when the merchant Damaris had ordered a company of constables murdered to preserve the secrecy of her smuggled goods. Loren remembered her horror at the senseless slaughter, at how the merchant forced her to help dig graves for the bodies. Looking back on it now, Loren found she hardly blinked at the constables dying. She had seen much since then, so much worse, many more frightening things.
And yet she could not banish from her mind what had happened during the fight. She had chosen her target, and then she had hesitated. She had seen her father’s corpse, and her shot had gone wide. Mayhap, if she had managed to fire the arrow . . .
But such thoughts were absurd. With scores of Shades, her arrow would not have made a difference. An empty quiver would not have swayed fate.
Yet mayhap she could have done something. For one brief, thrilling moment, Loren had meant to charge in and rescue Mag however she could. Looking back on it, she would not have hesitated to spill blood. That prospect terrified her—and yet it made her wonder: why did she still hold so tightly to that ideal, when she had already taken a life?
That was different.
Gem and Annis had already eaten and lounged by the fire, staring into its heart. Loren had not seen Xain touch his food, but then the wizard’s appetite was scant these days. He, too, watched the flames but every few seconds would glance over his shoulder into the darkness. His eyes flashed with interest upon their return.
“Good,” he said. “We must discuss our plans, and what is next.”
“I myself am most curious about that,” said Gem. “We have made our escape, and a narrow one. But what now?”
Loren sat by the fire. “We must warn the Mystics.”
“We know that,” said Annis, “but where do we mean to go? South to Cabrus? The High King’s Seat? I do not relish either choice, for we will find my family thick about us. And remember, even Jordel did not trust every one of his brothers. How will we know who among the redcloaks we should speak to and who will ignore the warnings to hang us as criminals?”
“If you will remember, Jordel told us where he meant to go,” said Xain. “His stronghold of Ammon, in Feldemar. He told me where it lies, and that is where our course must lie. His master lives there—a man named Kal, of the family Endil.”
“And you think this man can be trusted?” said Loren. “Have you met him?”
“I trust few, Mystics least of all,” said Xain. “But this, at least, we owe him: to deliver his message and let the Mystics do what they may with the tale.”
“But how shall we get there?” Loren stared into the fire. “I have scarcely a clue how we shall make our way to Feldemar. I know only that it is north and east of Selvan.”
The wizard nodded. “A far ways north and east, yes. It lies along the Great Bay’s northern shore. I visited once in my youth. Ships travel there from all ports on the Bay. I took passage on a vessel from the High King’s Seat.”
“The King’s road, then?” said Gem. “We could take it to the Seat, or Garsec, Selvan’s capital.”
“That would be like walking into the lion’s den,” cried Annis. “We would certainly be spotted, and then I would be taken by my family. The rest of you will not be so lucky. You would likely take long in the killing.”
“No, Garsec and the Seat seem poor choices both,” said Xain. “But there are other ports in Selvan, farther south along the Bay, from where we might sail. But traveling there would take a long while, and the voyage even longer. I think we must sail from Dorsea.”
Loren blinked, gawking at Xain in the firelight. “Dorsea? Have magestones addled your mind? They are at war with Selvan, and no safe place for us to wander. Especially since, as you have all pointed out, I speak like a child of Selvan birth. Chet is from my village, and most likely shares my accent.”
“Yes,” said Gem and Annis together.
“Accent?” said Chet.
“That was true enough when we set out from Wellmont,” said Xain. “But now the war is far off, in the southwest corner of the kingdom. Likely those in the northeast of Selvan have hardly heard of the fighting. Citizens of Dorsea will be less concerned, so far from the conflict. And close to the border between the two kingdoms, we will find many families with both Selvan and Dorsean kin. Your quaint voices will scarcely bear mention.”
“So that is our plan, then?” said Annis. “We will strike north into Dorsea, then travel east until we reach the coast? I daresay I like it better than the thought of riding to the Seat, where, if I have my way, I will never set foot again.”
“It seems a prudent course,” said Gem.
Chet’s eyes brightened. He turned to Loren. “Perhaps—or perhaps there is another way. Traveling across Dorsea’s open country poses its dangers, and we do not know the land. But there is another road to the coast of the Great Bay. And it is a road for which we already have two guides.”
Loren caught his meaning at once. “The Birchwood.”
“What of it?” said Gem.
“It runs to the Bay and the great sea beyond. Chet and I know it well. Mayha
p we are not woodsmen so great as—” She stopped short before she said Albern. “As some others. But this is our home. I do not think the Shades can follow us under these trees.”
“If there is one thing we should have learned by now, it is not to underestimate our foes,” said Xain. “Consider this. The Shades attacked Northwood from the west and the north. They have been gathering in a strength much greater than we knew. Where did they come from? They did not conjure so many soldiers from thin air. They are men and women of these lands, of Selvan and Dorsea, likely other kingdoms besides. And if they know we have fled into the forest, they will send trackers who know it as well as the two of you.”
Loren bit her lip and tried not to growl. “You think the Selvans fight on their side? You think they would march into one of their own cities and murder their brothers and sisters in the streets? I think you know little of our kingdom.”
“And you think too highly of your fellows,” snapped Xain. “Mayhap they were starving, and the Shades gave them coin. Or their homes were ravaged by war, and the Shades offered them safety. Perhaps they were dying from plague, and the Shades gave them refuge. And mayhap their suffering was not at the hands of some whimsical fate but their fellow citizens. Do you think, then, that they would stay their blades?”
Loren fumed, though in the back of her mind she knew her reason was scarce. She had met evil men and women before. Few acted as they did for the joy. She turned from Xain, refusing to answer.
Chet frowned but spoke to appease the wizard. “Still, we have a lead. I think we can evade them. And in any case, it would let Loren and I go home. If the Shades do indeed wander these lands, we owe our families a warning.” He stopped short, glancing at Loren from the corner of his eye. “And, of course, to our friends.”
Loren turned to see Xain’s dark eyes fixed upon her again. She had never told him the full tale, but he knew something of why she had fled the forest. When he had found her there, a young girl desperate to flee her home, she convinced him to bring her with him by showing the wizard bruises her father had left upon her body. He had to know that Loren had little reason to return—not like Chet, whose father loved him, and who had had many friends in the village besides.
But still, she remembered some folk from her childhood with fondness, though it seemed many years since they had last met her eye. Mayhap Chet was right. They could warn the villagers and let them escape . . . but where? She did not know, but anywhere had to be better than a kingdom claimed by Shades.
Loren met Xain’s gaze. “Yes. We shall make for the coast by way of the Birchwood. Rest, all of you. We ride again at first light.”
The wizard glowered at Loren but said only, “I will stand the first watch.”
She held his gaze a moment longer before turning to fetch her bedroll from Midnight’s saddle.
eight
Dawn broke grey and cloudy, with the sun struggling to pierce the clouds and find them beneath the trees. Loren’s shoulders throbbed. After days spent sleeping in Mag’s inn, which was comfortable, if plain, the forest floor was an unpleasant reminder of life on the road.
“Do you think it will rain?” Annis had already awoken and was staring up at the clouds.
“No,” said Chet. “Summer sometimes offers a cloudy day to quench the heat, but rarely rain.”
“It gave us plenty in the Greatrocks,” said Loren.
“Mountains are different.”
Xain still sat where Loren had seen him last night. She had not been woken to stand watch, and the wizard had stayed awake through the night. Skin on the back of his hands was raw where he had been picking, and she saw him shivering as he rocked back and forth. He looked for all the world oblivious to their party. The sickness must be terrible now. It had been weeks since last he ate the precious stones, and darkness took its time departing his body. Last time, it had been months before the wizard’s mind had righted itself, and longer still to gain his strength. It was a weakness they could ill afford, but they had little choice.
“Come with me a moment,” she said. “I wish to discuss the road.”
Xain’s eyes snapped up to her, and for a moment she saw the fog in his eyes, as if he knew not who she was. Then his eyes cleared, and he levered himself to standing with some difficulty. Loren took his elbow as he stood, then led him east into the woods. Once out of sight of the others, she stopped.
“The road, eh? The others are no fools—that boy of yours, least of all.”
Loren ignored him. “Last night you told me of the Necromancer and the Lifemage. But there was something else I did not say because I was unsure. But I think you deserve to know, and am finished with secrets between us.”
His eyebrow arched, and Loren saw interest spark in his eye. “Say on, then. It can hardly be darker news than I have already heard.”
“It might be,” she said. “It concerns this.”
Loren reached to her hip and drew forth her dagger. Xain fixed it with a wary eye. The designs along its length were spiked and twisted—unmoving now, though Loren had seen them writhe like the tendrils of a living thing.
“Your dagger. From whence you took your name.”
“Yes. I found this blade in my parents’ chest when I was a child. I had already dreamt of escaping them and becoming a thief, but this gave me my name.”
“You stole it from them when you left?”
“It, and other things besides. Only I could not know what I carried. Nor do most who see it—except a very few, and to them it is an object of terror.”
Xain’s brow furrowed, and he reached out for the dagger. Loren hesitated, but then turned it and handed it over by the hilt.
“I fail to see why. ’Tis a fine weapon, and elegantly made. But I do not see what makes it more fearsome than, say, a sword. Especially when you will not even use it to defend yourself.”
“To kill, you mean,” Loren said sharply. “The dagger’s power lies not in its steel, but in its forging. ’Tis an ancient weapon, made centuries gone, in the time of the Wizard Kings.”
His eyes darkened. “A precious weapon, to be found in the hut of a woodsman.”
“Precious, yes. And mightier than can be seen with the eye. Jordel recognized what it was the moment he saw it, and eventually told me its tale.”
“I have seen something of that, too. When I was seized by madness upon the King’s road outside of Wellmont. I remember our battle as though through a haze, but know I could not touch you with my fire so long as you held it.”
“It is a weapon of the mage hunters. A blade for hunting wizards. And killing them.”
He sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth and returned the dagger. Loren gratefully took it as Xain eyed the blade with suspicion.
“I have heard tales of such weapons. Dark whispers passed about the Academy. If our instructors heard the students whispering these tales, we were reprimanded and beaten. Yet that only spread them further. I had heard that one was recently found, within living memory.”
“The High King Enalyn discovered it, or it was revealed to her. She grew wrathful and renewed the Fearless Decree. To carry such a weapon means death—not only for the wielder but mayhap for the Mystics themselves.”
“As it should,” growled Xain. “They used these weapons to slaughter my kind in droves. No wizard could rest easily at night, knowing such blades were carried about the nine lands. Who knew but that some Mystic might not appear upon your doorstep in the morrow, proof against your magic and intent on taking your life? They say it was a time of great fear for us, and the very reason for the Wizard Kings’ dark wars. After I heard of how we were hunted, I could find no fault with my forebears.”
Xain paced as he spoke, his voice rising ever louder in wrath.
Loren stood back, tightening the grip on her dagger. But almost as soon as the anger found him, it fled, sagging like a sack of grain with the bottom split open. He placed a hand over his eyes.
“No,” he whispered quietly. “Those ar
e wrathful words from days I have chosen to leave behind. I have eaten of the magestones and come back twice. I have seen what plagued the Wizard Kings, the insanity that claimed their minds and led to the dark times.”
“The Wizard Kings ate of magestones? I had not heard that.”
“You had not even heard of magestones until you left the Birchwood behind. Yes, many Wizard Kings consumed the stones with a reckless craving. Their power was all the greater, but so was their madness and wrath. Those who abstained were no villains—at least no more so than any other kings—but as the kingdoms vied for ever more power, wizards ate the stones in greater numbers.”
Xain looked at Loren clearly for the first time. She saw in his eyes the same man she had met under the trees of this forest: bitter, yes, and quick to sarcastic wit; but mostly sad, frightened, and a little lost.
“Now I have learned of their madness. And it makes me wish there were more such weapons in the nine lands.”
Loren swallowed. “What do you think I should do?”
“Keep it. I have lived my entire life a wizard and gave little thought to what it must be like for the rest of you—those without the gift, and curse, of our power. I can only imagine the fear you must feel, living in these kingdoms where magic runs rampant. Unless I miss my guess, you will cross paths with many more wizards in your life. Keep the blade, and use it to your advantage.”
The wizard pushed past her and made for camp, leaving Loren standing alone. Before vanishing between the trees, he turned and called back over his shoulder.
“I only hope I never make an enemy of you again, Nightblade.”
nine
They set off soon afterward, mounting their horses and heading east through the trees. Despite the sky’s cast, the day soon warmed to a nearly unbearable heat. Loren cast her cloak back over her shoulders. Chet removed his and stowed it in his saddlebags. Annis and Gem did the same. Only Xain still seemed chilled, and clutched his cloak tighter as they went, trembling.
Shadeborn: A Book of Underrealm Page 5