Shadeborn: A Book of Underrealm

by Garrett Robinson

  Behind her foe, she was scarcely aware of Chet facing another of the attackers, and farther off, the Lord Prince used his chair to fend two away from a weakened Xain. Gem battled another with swings of his sword, showing far more grace than Loren had come to expect from him after past encounters—it seemed his training had paid off at last.

  She absorbed this all at a glance, and then the masked figure came for her. Her staff batted his dagger away, but he held his grip, and a smaller knife appeared in his other hand. This flew toward Loren’s stomach, but she sidestepped—almost too slow, for the blade grazed her side, and she winced with the pain. But her attacker had stepped in close and was off balance. Loren brought her fist crashing into his nose. He dropped his knives in surprise, and Loren drove her fist into his gut. He doubled over, and she brought her staff down upon the back of his head with all her might. He fell to the floor and lay still.

  Loren looked up to see Chet and Gem still fighting. The Lord Prince had managed to down one of his opponents and had found a sword to deal with the other, who was being forced slowly backward. Chet held his own, but Gem had his back to the wall, and Loren could see the terror in his eyes.

  She ran for him. He saw her coming and swung at his opponent with a scream. The man fell back, arms wide, and Loren drove the butt of her staff into his lower back, and kept on until her staff knocked him unconscious.

  Wincing at the pain in her side, Loren turned in time to see Chet’s opponent slip past his guard, and drive a dagger into his chest.

  The world seemed to freeze.

  Loren could only see Chet’s shock, and the silver hilt protruding from his ribs.

  Blood gushed from her side, but the pain disappeared. There was only Chet’s face, which even now paled before her.

  Someone was screaming, and with some surprise Loren realized it was her. Loren tackled Chet’s foe from behind and sent him to the ground. She gripped his head with both hands then slammed it into the floor twice in rapid succession until the man lay unmoving beneath her.

  Chet was still on his feet, and his eyes had moved past her.

  Loren looked back to see the last attacker had disarmed the Lord Prince and sat atop him, trying to press the blade into his throat. Chet rushed by, threw himself at the attacker, and knocked him to the ground. The Lord Prince stood, took the knife, and used it to slit the man’s throat.

  Chet rolled off and away, falling to his back upon the stone floor. He shivered, clutching with the hilt sticking out from his breast with both hands. His teeth were gritted, lips peeled back in a horrible grimace.

  Loren knelt by his side, holding Chet’s hands, trying to stop him from pulling out the knife, for surely that would send his lifeblood gushing from the open wound.

  She was shouting along with Gem, both of them screaming for help. Finally, far, far too late, guards charged through the door.

  They tried to pull Loren away from Chet, but she fought them off. Dimly she was aware of Eamin ordering one of the men away, off to find a healer, but she did not look up to see him go. She was staring at Chet, holding his gaze, willing him to keep his eyes opened.

  But she failed, and his eyes slid shut.

  She screamed at him to open them.

  twenty-seven

  The healers worked their crafts upon Chet through the day, and then the night to follow. Still, they were there in the morrow. All the while, Loren sat by Chet’s bedside, holding his hand. Xain told her repeatedly to rest, until at last Gem shouted at the wizard to leave. Someone, probably Eamin, told her that the healers were the High King’s own, and the best in all the nine lands. Loren did not listen. It did not matter. The only thing that mattered was seeing Chet’s eyes open again, yet hours turned to days and still they stayed shut. Only the rise and fall of his chest, and the ragged breaths that scraped their way from his throat, told her he was not gone forever.

  Gem stayed with her, sitting on the other side of the bed, and Xain stayed through daylight hours. The Lord Prince was there nearly as often, now always escorted by members of the royal guard, and when he came Gem would surrender his chair to sit at the edge, like a dog at the bed of its ailing master. Eamin only left for the most vital duties from which he could not excuse himself, and always with deep and regretful apologies. Words fell empty on Loren’s ears, but Gem would thank him and greet the Lord Prince warmly with every return.

  On the second day, with Chet’s eyes still closed, Eamin told them in hushed tones of all that had transpired in the palace since the attack. “I owe you all a life debt now, and that is not the sort of thing I take lightly. We know the attackers were Shades, of course, and so I have been speaking strongly to the High King on your behalf. It is clear now that their threat is real. If they are confident enough to strike even here, then they must be eliminated before their power grows greater.”

  Xain said, “And is Her Grace heeding your advice at last?”

  “Oh, indeed,” said the Lord Prince. “She may not show it in courtly settings, but as it turns out, my mother is quite fond of me. I can tell she is leaning toward our way of thinking, and now the Dean and the Lord Chancellor fear speaking against me. The Dean tried, but the High King nearly tore his fat head off.”

  It passed like water over Loren, and when the words finally registered in the back of her mind, they came with a great wave of guilt. Chet had often urged her to turn from this course. He had come to the Seat only out of loyalty to her, and mayhap love. Not because he believed in their cause. And now he was clinging to life with a gaping wound in his chest, the odds stacked sorely against him.

  Finally, on the fourth day, he opened his eyes. But it was only to sit up in bed with a cry, fingers grasping at the bandages covering his chest. Fortunately, one of the healers was present. He commanded Gem and Loren to hold his arms down while he gave him herbal wine. This soon calmed him, and he drifted back into slumber nestled in his many thick pillows.

  Thus came the second stage of Chet’s healing, and it was far, far more terrible for Loren than the first. Now he would awaken, but only to cry out in great pain, and mayhap to weep in his pillows. Always Loren was ready with the herbal wine, and after a few swallows he would drift back to sleep, senseless. His eyes never seemed to fix upon her, nor did he recognize Loren’s voice. He existed in two states: the numb oblivion of sleep and the unthinking agony of wakefulness. It tore at her very soul, and whenever alone she whispered fervent prayers that it might soon end.

  On the eighth day, he opened his eyes, looked at Loren, and smiled.

  “Chet?” She took his hand gently. “Can you hear me?”

  “Scarcely,” he said, the word coming slurred. “I feel as if my head is stuffed with wool.”

  “That is the wine,” she said, words cracking as tears came to her eyes. “You are likely as drunk as anyone I have ever seen.”

  “So I am,” he murmured, lips barely moving. “Only I wish I were drunker still, for my chest hurts terribly.”

  “Do you remember what happened?”

  “Yes,” he said, his voice grim. Then it lightened. “I am some sort of hero, I suppose.”

  “Some sort, perhaps,” she said, laughing.

  The healer came, and when she saw that Chet was awake she rushed to his side and asked him many questions, of his pain and his breath and if there was any healing in his hands, and so many other things that Loren lost track. In the midst of her questions Chet drifted back to sleep.

  “That is very good,” said the healer, and Loren could hear her stark relief. “It means the worst is over. It will get easier from now on.”

  “When will he awaken in earnest?” said Loren.

  “It will be several days yet. Such things take time. But he will gain ever more strength, and by the morrow he should be able to talk for some time.”

  The healer left, then Xain entered a moment later followed by Gem, who had been off to relieve himself.

  “He awoke?” said Gem. “What did he say?”


  “Drunken ramblings,” said Loren. “He has had more wine these last few days than I have drunk in my life.”

  Gem clutched Chet’s other hand, giddy. Even Xain gripped the bed, as though relief had made him suddenly weak.

  Chet’s eyes opened once more that night then again the next morning. Loren gave him more wine, then fed him some breakfast following the healer’s instructions. In the middle of spooning eggs into his mouth, the chamber door swung open, and High King Enalyn strode in, surrounded by members of the royal guard.

  Gem fell to his knee before her. Xain lowered himself more slowly. Loren did not move, though she did put the plate upon the bedside table beside her. The royal guardsmen fixed her with an ugly look, but she stared back in defiance.

  Enalyn did not seem bothered, for her attention was all for Chet. She went to his side at once and lifted the bandages on his chest. He winced, and she quickly replaced them.

  “I am sorry,” she said. “I only wished to see for myself that you were well tended.”

  “’Tis no trouble, Your Grace. Only a mild stinging,” said Chet weakly.

  Enalyn sat in Gem’s empty chair and scooted it closer to the bed. She graced Loren with a brief but warm smile then turned back to Chet.

  “I have instructed my healers to give you the very best care. Do you want for anything? Anything at all?”

  “No, Your Grace,” said Chet. “They have been most satisfactory. The wine, in particular, is very pleasing.”

  Enalyn smiled. “I imagine it would be. The wound will heal, but you will bear the scar forever. I wish that were not so, and yet you should wear it with pride, and my gratitude. ’Tis the price you paid to save the life of my son, and such a debt is not easily repaid.”

  “I will, Your Grace,” said Chet. “And it was my honor.”

  She laid her hand over his. His face grew paler, and his jaw twitched as Chet grit his teeth. The pain was returning. Quickly she stood and reached for the wine, leaning over to help him drink it.

  Enalyn stood, with another gentle pat of his hand. “Rest now. I will visit you again when you are healed.”

  Loren finished giving Chet his drink, then the High King fixed her with a curious look. “Now, Loren of the family Nelda, I must ask something of you. I know you do not wish to leave him, and no one could blame you. But I and my advisors require your counsel—and yours as well, Xain.”

  “Your Grace . . . I hardly think my words could be any more useful than theirs. I am a simple forest girl.”

  “I am beginning to think, as the Lord Prince has told me often in the last few days, that there is nothing simple about you. And in this case, I am afraid I must insist, for the fate of the nine lands may well rest upon it. We stand at the brink of a great and terrible time. The bravery you have thus far shown might be the only thing that saves us in the end. But I must ask you to be brave again, and lend your wisdom to our plans, for they will need every ounce of help to succeed.”

  Loren hardly knew how to refuse such a request. She felt Chet’s hand close around hers where it rested on the bed. He spoke to her gently. “Go. I shall be fine and will eagerly await your return. But for a short time, I think Gem can get me drunk enough on his own.”

  “And happily will I apply myself to the task,” he said.

  Loren looked to Xain, the only one who had not spoken. He gave her a solemn nod.

  “Very well,” said Loren. “I serve at your pleasure. Your Grace.”

  “Thank you. And you may be assured of his safety—I will leave two of my royal guard here to watch him, and they will remain on post for as long as his healing requires.”

  “Thank you, Your Grace.”

  With a final squeeze of Chet’s hand, she set off and into the palace halls, trailing in the High King’s footsteps with Xain at her side.

  Enalyn led her back to the throne room. Being her second time through, Loren wanted to appreciate the finery, but it passed in a blur before the High King’s urgency. They passed through the throne room in a rush, though it still took an age to cross the sprawling room. There was a door behind the dais. Enalyn led them through it into a small chamber beyond.

  It appeared to be some sort of war room. Upon a great table in the center was laid a map of the nine lands, which Loren marveled to behold. She had seen but one map in her lifetime—a small, crude thing that Bracken had carried with him. This was drawn in exacting detail, with the names of all the great cities inscribed with perfect penmanship. But her attention soon went from the map to the men above it, for waiting in the room were the Academy Dean and Lord Chancellor of the Mystics.

  The Dean looked at Xain with anger when he stepped through the door, while the Lord Chancellor cast a dark look upon Loren. Clearly, neither man thought they should be there, and yet she could see they were not eager to speak up about their displeasure. Instead, as Enalyn bid them to stand at the table over the map, the Dean and Lord Chancellor endeavored to stand as far as they could without fleeing the room.

  First, Enalyn made them tell their tale, in brief, and point out where each event had occurred on the map. Though Loren loathed to recount her journey yet again, she found it more bearable this time, for the High King was understanding and let her skip briefly over the darker memories. She seemed chiefly interested in the battle of Wellmont, the fall of Northwood, and the location of the Shade stronghold in the Greatrock Mountains. But the map clearly showed where the battles had taken place, and so they spent the greater part of their time trying to pinpoint the spot where they thought the Shade stronghold had been, for of course it was not marked on the map.

  “It is as I suspected,” she murmured. “All their activities are concentrated in the west and have likely been strengthened by Dorsean troops.”

  “It seems that way, Your Grace,” said the Lord Chancellor.

  “Your Grace does not think the battle of Wellmont was the beginning of some petty border war,” said Xain. It was not a question.

  “No, I do not,” she said. “I think it is a conflict motivated by the Shades, who seek to sow discord among the Kings in preparation for an assault on Underrealm. If we are correct, then you have saved the nine lands by bringing me this information.”

  “What do you mean to do with it, then?” said Xain.

  “The High King will put forth her strength, and the Mystics shall do the same,” said the Lord Chancellor. “Together, we will quell this uprising and unify the kingdoms to prepare for war.”

  “The Academy will send some of its strength as well.” The Dean sounded like a child who did not wish to be excluded from a game.

  “I am grateful we discovered it this early,” said Enalyn. “And that you survived your journey to the Seat, Loren. Good fortune has blessed your travel, though I am certain it does not seem that way looking back upon it.”

  Loren thought of Jordel, of Albern and Mag and Sten. “Thank you, Your Grace, but it does not.”

  “Then there is only the matter of what to do with all of you,” said Enalyn. “Certainly, I cannot continue to treat you as prisoners, if for no other reason than your actions to save the Lord Prince. But neither can I allow Xain to leave.”

  Loren balked, but when she looked to Xain he was eyeing Enalyn with grim understanding. “Your Grace? I do not understand. Has he not proved himself?”

  “Perhaps,” said Enalyn. “Yet you are still a criminal by law, Xain, and I cannot discount the possibility—however remote—that this is all a deception for the purpose of clearing your name. If indeed we uncover a plot by the Shades behind the war in Wellmont, then I will consider your crimes paid for in full and grant you pardon. You will be returned to full honor, and I will find you a place in my court, or in any you wish across the nine lands.”

  “Your Grace,” said the Dean. “You cannot mean to pardon his blatant—”

  “That is enough,” snapped Enalyn, and she stared at him until he subsided. Then she returned her attention to Xain. “You may go wherever you wish inside
the palace, though you must walk with an escort outside your chambers. And while under my care, you may see your son.”

  Xain tensed, his spindly knuckles going white where they held the table’s edge. Tears welled in his eyes, though he blinked furiously to hide them.

  “Your Grace . . . I . . ." his voice broke, and he shook his head as if to clear it.

  “No gratitude is necessary, Xain,” said Enalyn. “Go now and see him. You have both waited long enough.”

  He tried again to speak but sobbed instead. He turned, wiping his eyes, and ran from the room.

  twenty-eight

  The palace fell to busy preparations as the High King’s army readied for war. Eamin could not visit Chet so often, but he still came daily. Xain spent most of each day with his son and was reticent to bring him to their quarters where guards at the door marked him as a prisoner. Loren saw him but once, a small, wide-eyed boy not half Gem’s age, who looked at her green eyes in wonder and blushed as he hid his face in his father’s pant leg.

  Loren stayed with Chet always, even when Gem finally grew bored and went to practice swordplay as Eamin had promised. When he was finally able to sit up in bed, she would help him each morning, and lay him down every night. When at last the healers let Chet try walking, she would take his arm as he hobbled out to the balcony, and there they sat watching the sun making its journey through the sky.

  For Loren, it was enough to simply stay with him.

  Then at last, the day before the armies marched forth from the Seat, the healers came to remove Chet’s bandages once and for all. The High King came with them. Chet hastened to sit up, and Loren took his arm to help him stand then kneel. But Enalyn seized his shoulders as he tried and made him stay his feet. Xain stood to the side, watching alongside Gem.

  Slowly, layer by layer, healers unwound the bandages from his wound. Soon, he stood bare chested, clad only in his breeches, and Loren could see his embarrassment by the color in his cheeks. A scar marred the right side of his chest—an ugly and twisted knot of flesh, treated as best the healers could, but not quite enough.