Shadeborn: A Book of Underrealm

by Garrett Robinson

  “Now you must still treat yourself with care,” said the healer, tilting her greying head at Chet as if he were a wayward child. “Engage in nothing too strenuous, and you will be fine.”

  “Thank you,” he said. The healer bowed and backed away.

  “It is you who are owed thanks, Chet of the family Lindel,” said Enalyn. “You stand before me healed, and yet scarred by a blade that was meant for my son. Only two men in this room can claim that.”

  She looked at Xain, and he bowed his head.

  “For that I owe you a great deal. Any service I may give, so long as it does not break my vows to serve the nine lands, I will grant you. Ask for land or a lordship, and it shall be yours.”

  Chet swallowed and gripped Loren’s shoulder tighter. He shook his head.

  “Thank you, Your Grace. I have never longed for anything so grand. I only wish to go forth and see a bit of the nine lands, and find a better place to live than my home. And if I fail, then there I mean to return, for the woods are good enough for me.”

  Enalyn smiled then reached forward to tilt his eyes toward hers. “That is well. But the young heart may seek to wander, while old bones wish to rest. So long as you roam the nine lands, you shall do so with my blessing. And if the day should come when you wish for a home, only say where, and so long as I sit upon my throne, it shall be granted.”

  Chet bowed, with Loren’s help and many words of earnest thanks. Enalyn smiled again then left them alone. The excitement had left his knees weak, so after Loren helped him don a tunic, she slowly walked him to the balcony where they spent the rest of their day.

  As they sat in the afternoon sunlight, Loren found herself studying Chet from the corner of her eyes, heart pounding in her ears. To see him there, so happy and carefree, overawed by the High King’s grace, was a far greater thing than she had hoped for just a week ago.

  And Loren knew at last, and for certain, what she had long suspected.

  They ate an early supper, alone, for Gem was wandering and Xain was with his son. She walked Chet to his bed for support, but he did not reach for Loren, except to grip her fingers with his.

  He sat at the edge of his bed, and she helped him remove his tunic. But when he lay back and reached for his covers, she stopped him. With trembling fingers, Loren undid the strings that held her own tunic closed at the top then lifted it from her body. When the cloth came away, she saw Chet looking at her, his eyes wide.

  “Loren . . ." he murmured.

  She shushed him and undid her belt before climbing onto the bed, and then reached to undo the strings of his breeches.

  From the palace walls, they watched the armies march forth. All in a row they stood at the ramparts, Loren and Chet and Xain and Gem. Mystics were gathered in rank and file below in the streets. They wore shirts of mail and carried shields on their backs. Blades of castle-forged steel hung at their hips. Then came the High King’s army, not so great as any of the standing armies of the nine kingdoms but better trained and equipped with the finest arms and armor. Their boots shook the ground so they could feel it upon the wall, a deep shudder that struck them long after the soldiers had vanished around the road’s first bend.

  “The army will grow bigger as it proceeds south and west,” said the Lord Prince, who stood with them to watch the march. He had already told them, with some disappointment, that he would be staying upon the Seat, along with the High King herself, and a token force to guard the island. “More Mystics shall join them from every city, and all the Selvan army—at least that portion which was not already committed to the war in Wellmont.”

  When they decided at last to leave the walls and return to the palace, the place seemed empty. Many of the castle’s servants were soldiers in times of war, and only enough remained to serve the remaining royalty. Fewer guards patrolled the wall. The very air seemed subdued, waiting expectantly like a sailor’s wife at the door.

  Later that afternoon, Loren found herself sitting with Xain in the main room of their chambers. Chet was napping, for watching the armies march had tired him out. Xain held a cup of wine but drank from it sparingly. Loren had discreetly asked one of the kitchen maids for silphium, and concocted a tea. It did not taste quite so bad as she had heard, but still had she lessened its bitterness with a dollop of honey.

  “I think I know the smell of that tea,” said Xain.

  “Mayhap you do,” said Loren, and though she felt her cheeks glowing she refused to meet his gaze. Still, she could feel him smiling secretly to himself, and the following silence stretched just long enough to grow uncomfortable. “What do you plan to do with yourself now, wizard?”

  He looked up in surprise. “Now? Why, wait for the armies to return, of course, and for my fate to be decided.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean. The armies will return, and the High King will grant your pardon. What then?”

  Xain pursed his lips then shrugged. “I will tell you the truth: I had not thought upon it overmuch. Until only recently, the thought of earning back my innocence seemed too far fetched to plan for. But it seems that we have done our jobs. And a wizard is of little value without a court to serve. Who knows but that the High King will wish to keep me around for herself. If not, I am certain the Lord Prince would take me. What of yourself, forest girl? Where will Loren of the family Nelda, the Nightblade, journey from here?”

  “First to Ammon, of course, to join with Annis again. After that . . . I suppose I am like you and had not thought that far ahead. The road here occupied quite enough attention while we traveled it.”

  “But you still mean to continue your journeys?” said Xain.

  “Why not? The nine lands are wide, and I have seen precious little of them. I thought for a time to visit Hedgemond, where Jordel hailed from, and see his family if I could. I may still. In any case, the world will always have a place for a thief.”

  “You are no longer a simple thief, if ever you were. And though your heart seeks to wander now, it may not always feel the same.”

  His eyes fell to the door of Chet’s bedchamber.

  Loren blushed again, and drank from her tea.

  twenty-nine

  One night, as Loren lay in Chet’s bed, her head resting upon his arm, she heard a crash from outside the window. She shot up, eyes peering into the darkness. Nothing followed at first, then she heard voices shouting, and the sound of many running feet.

  Quickly she threw on her clothes and ran out upon the balcony, leaving her boots for the moment. Below in the courtyard she saw guards running, all of them toward the palace entrance. But soon their footsteps faded from hearing, and the night was still.

  She went back inside, her nerves on edge. Too easily, Loren’s mind turned to memories of the night when Shades had attacked in their quarters. She wished for her dagger but settled for fetching her staff and placing it on the floor near her bed. But she could not find sleep, and looked up suspiciously at every wayward sound.

  The next morning the Lord Prince came to visit for breakfast. He seemed cheerful as ever, but worry lurked deep inside his eyes. After they had eaten, Loren leaned back in her chair to look at him.

  “Did something happen last night? I heard shouting, and guards running in the courtyard.”

  His smile dampened, though he fought to maintain it. “A small disturbance, not cause for much concern. A Shade was discovered on palace grounds. The guards found him but killed him in pursuit before he could be questioned.”

  A shiver ran down her back. Chet’s brow furrowed as he looked back and forth between them.

  “Another Shade?” he said. “That seems cause for a little concern, at least.”

  “Constables tracked down his dwelling within the city,” said Eamin. “He stayed alone at an inn near the western gate, and arrived two weeks ago. It seems likely he was a lone informant, spent to spy on our doings and report to his masters. But they will receive no information from him.”

  He quickly turned the conversa
tion to other matters, and soon had Chet and Gem chatting. But Loren thought only of the Shade through their meal, and for the remaining day besides.

  “I think I will go into the city to retrieve my dagger,” she told Chet.

  “Why? The guard around our room has been doubled, and the palace is on high alert. The Shades would not try to attack us again.”

  “It will give me some peace. I have thought of it often, and though I trust Xain’s friend Aurel, I feel as though something is missing so long as my dagger is gone.”

  He slid closer and slipped a hand about her waist. “Are you sure? Is there any way I can convince you to stay?”

  She slapped his hand and kissed him. When at last she pulled back he was smiling. “No, there is not, brigand. I will return presently. If you remain awake, then you may do all the convincing you want.”

  Her black cloak had hung unused on a hook by the door since their arrival. Now she went to fetch it, shrouding herself before slipping out the door. She and the others had been given free range of the Seat—all but Xain—and so the guards hardly glanced at Loren as she slipped by them into the night.

  Guards challenged her at the gate, but Loren told them she only wanted to go for a stroll. They released her into the streets, now lit by torches throwing orange against the darkness. The sun had set many hours ago, but still there were plenty of wanderers, and soon Loren lost herself in the crowd.

  She remembered the route they had taken to reach the silversmith’s shop, and in little time found herself standing before his large red door. She slipped around the back to knock on the service entrance, same as the last time. Aurel opened it after a few knocks, peering out at Loren from the warm glow of his home.

  “You . . . you’re Xain’s friend,” he stammered. “Forgive me, my memory . . ."

  “Loren,” she said, with an easy smile. “I have come for my things.”

  He blinked twice then whirled and scampered into the workshop. “Of course, of course! Come in, come in. They have been kept safe, of course, for I heard about all those goings-on at the castle. So glad to hear you and Xain have kept your heads after all.” He gave a little cackle, and Loren forced a smile.

  There was a crack in the floor she had not noticed, and into it the smith drove a metal spike. This he levered up until one of the stones came loose. Beneath was a shallow hole, and in the hole was Loren’s box. Aurel fetched it then placed the box gingerly in her hands.

  “There you are, girl. No one knew it was here, and no one knew what was inside—not even me!” He gave another odd little giggle.

  “Thank you,” she said, for just to hold it was a relief. He turned away discreetly while she fetched her dagger and the packet of magestones then closed and handed it back.

  “I am in your debt. If ever I can be of service to you—”

  “Anything for a friend of Xain,” Aurel said. “Come and visit whenever you wish, or if ever you need goods of silver.”

  “I shall. And if anyone asks me who is the best silversmith in all the nine lands, I will tell them it is Aurel of the High King’s Seat.”

  He kissed her cheek, then she vanished into the night. Ducking into a back alley, Loren pulled forth one of the magestones and bit into it then drew her dagger and held it reversed in her hand.

  The dark streets lit like day, and the torches became like tiny pinpricks of light, weak and ineffectual compared to the illumination of her sight. Now she moved with greater confidence, running through the darkest streets as she made her way west.

  Once she reached the western gate, Loren looked about for an inn. But she soon discovered that there were too many. The Seat was grander and more populated than any place she had seen and offered a bounty of places for travelers to stay.

  Loren found an old man leaning in the doorway of an older shop, tugging at his beard as he watched her pass. She stopped short, went to him, and offered her friendliest smile.

  “Evening, friend. I heard tell the constables came through here, searching the room of some dead man. Can you tell me what inn they went to?”

  “I heard something that sounded like that,” said the old man. “But age is the great poison of memory, they say, and has only one antidote.”

  Her smile lost some of its warmth, but she dug into her purse and drew forth a gold weight. “Is this the antidote?”

  The old man snatched the coin with a flourish. “It may well be. The very inn behind you, called the Shining Door, is the one you seek.”

  The man walked away, clicking his heels on marble stones.

  Loren lowered her hood and stepped into the Shining Door’s common room. It was bustling with occupants, and in the commotion no one gave her a second glance. She studied the room, wondering if she would have to pay another gold piece to find out which room the Shade had paid for. But when Loren glanced upstairs, she found that unnecessary. One door hung loose, slanted on its hinges, and the jamb was splintered where it had been kicked in by the constables.

  Looking over her shoulder to ensure she had not been followed, Loren ducked into the room. No lamps were lit, but that was an advantage, for while the darkness would keep anyone in the hallway from seeing her black cloak, it was no proof against sight.

  She went to the bed, hoping the sheets had not yet been changed. A quick sniff told her that was unlikely. Running her hand along the pillow, Loren found what she was seeking: a few hairs clinging to the fabric. She picked them up, left the room, and quickly made her way outside.

  Loren found the nearest torch, which she pulled from the wall and carried into an alley far from view. She held her dagger over the flames as Jordel had taught her, until the air above the blade wavered in the warmth. Then she dropped the hairs upon metal, where they fizzled and vanished in a puff of smoke.

  Her dagger’s black designs twisted and shifted, coiling around each other as if grasping for something. Then they snapped together, all pointing east.

  She grimaced. The magic Jordel had taught her told Loren several things. First, that there had been more than one Shade, for the man they found in the palace had been killed and her dagger would not reveal a corpse. Second, the other Shade—or mayhap there had been more than two?—was a wizard, of some description, for the magic only worked upon them. And third, the other Shade had left the inn, and mayhap the Seat.

  Loren owed herself a search at least, and so with the dagger acting as her compass, she ran through the city. She never faltered or stumbled, for in her eyes the streets were bright as day. She made her way tirelessly eastward, running at the loping, easy pace she had learned after years of racing through the Birchwood.

  But at last she reached the city’s eastern end, and before her loomed the gate leading to the Great Bay. Still the dagger pointed east.

  Mayhap it meant the Shade was on the other side of the gates, in a ship but still on the Seat. But Loren doubted it. More likely the Shade had fled when their companion was killed and was far away on the sea—mayhap in Dulmun, or farther. They were beyond her reach wherever they were, for the guards would not open the gate for her now, at night.

  Shoulders slumped in defeat, Loren turned, made her way back through the city to the High King’s palace, and spent a fitful night thinking of Shades.

  thirty

  Some days later, Lord Prince Eamin visited again. He had taken to wandering listlessly about the palace, slouching in his stance and dragging his feet. When he and Xain would sit together and drink wine, Loren overheard him confide to the wizard that he was bored out of his skull and would much rather be on the road with his mother’s army than cooped up here like some prize hog. But today when he came to them, there was a bounce in his step and a rare light in his eyes.

  “We received the first messenger back from the army,” he told them. “They have just reached Redbrook and now march west for Wellmont.”

  “They have made good time,” said Xain.

  “They are fighting men and have sat on this island for years and years
with no wars to fight,” said Eamin. “They were eager. The letter says the Dorsean army has already retreated from Selvan lands, and its generals have sent messages to the High King’s army begging for mercy.”

  “Have they guessed that we know of their scheming with the Shades?” said Xain.

  “That is what it sounds like,” Eamin shrugged. “And more’s the pity! The first time we have marched to war, true war, in my lifetime, and it is over before a single battle can be fought.”

  Loren found herself looking askance at the Lord Prince then shared a look with Chet. Neither of them saw it as any great loss to have avoided a battle between such mighty armies. But then, the Lord Prince was just the sort of man to long for battle’s glory.

  “In any case, my mother—Her Grace—thinks it might be a ruse. So we will accept their surrender but proceed with caution all the same. The Dorseans will present all their military leaders, who will be put to the question by the constables’ ablest practitioners for any connection to the Shades. The guilty will be executed.”

  “A neat affair,” said Xain. “Though there will likely be more work afterward. The Shades surely have pockets all over the nine kingdoms. None may be a threat themselves, but if united by the Necromancer they could be catastrophic. I do not think you need lament our absence of war, for the fighting will surely—”

  The words died on his lips as horns blared across the palace walls.

  They all sat frozen for a moment. Then everyone tried to rise at once, making for the door. It flew open and they nearly tumbled out in their haste, but the guards were there to block their way.

  One said, “The wizard must remain. By the High King’s order.”

  “He is allowed to leave with an escort, you twit,” said Eamin.