Shadeborn: A Book of Underrealm

by Garrett Robinson

  “While there are horns upon the wall, he shall stay,” said the guard. “Forgive me, Lord Prince, but I obey Her Grace.”

  Eamin looked as though he might argue, but Xain pushed his shoulder. “Go. I will remain here. Only do not leave me waiting forever!”

  Then they were all running down the hall and soon reached the courtyard where they ascended many steps to the wall. Chet was leaning heavily on Loren as they moved, and his breathing came hard, but still he held pace with the party.

  “The horns come from the east!” said Eamin. “Quick!”

  He ran along the wall until he reached the eastern battlements and there slid to a stop with his hands on the stone. He leaned out, staring with squinted eyes across the sea. Loren and Chet joined him a moment later, searching in silence. The Bay was shrouded in mist, for it was still early morning, and at first they saw nothing.

  Then at last, they burst forth from the mist. Thousands of sails, lining the horizon from north to south: a fleet of Dulmun ships, each one mightier than the Long Claw that had brought Loren and her friends to the Seat—all of them ready for war. The distance was great, but Loren could see soldiers and sailors running back and forth across the decks as they prepared for a landing.

  “Give me a moment,” she said quietly then ducked away from Chet and ran for a torch that sat unlit in the wall. She drew it then used her flint and tinder to light it before thrusting her dagger into the flames. It had been days since last she used it, and Loren had no idea if it would still work. But it did, for the designs twisted upon themselves, and just as they had before, they all pointed east.

  Loren cursed then stomped out the torch and ran back to the others. “The Shade the guards found in the night,” she said breathlessly. “He was not alone. His companion fled the Seat and went east to Dulmun, there to raise this fleet.”

  Eamin stared at Loren in wonder. “How could you know that?”

  “Trust only that I do. This is not some insurrection by Dulmun but a planned stroke by the Shades.”

  The air split again with horns. Gem jumped, stomping his foot and shouting at spires atop the palace. “Yes, we have heard you! You may stop blowing now!”

  “Those are not the same horns,” said Eamin, looking fearful. “They came from the west.”

  Wondering what could possibly be happening now, Loren took Chet’s arm again and helped him along as they followed the others in a mad dash to the west wall. They stopped when they reached it, and Loren felt hope wither inside her. Before them lay the narrow strait between the High King’s Seat and the Selvan shores. And upon those shores, still pouring out of the Birchwood forest, came a great army of Shades in grey and blue, mounting their boats and preparing for an assault upon the island.

  thirty-one

  They ran back to Xain. Loren had already started assembling the pieces in her mind, and when they reached the wizard, Eamin said what she had already begun to suspect.

  “It was all a ruse,” he said, gasping from their run. “The Shades meant for us to think that Wellmont was their doing, and for you all to warn the High King so she would send the Mystics and the greater strength of her own army to end the fighting. They never meant to start a war between Dorsea and Selvan. They always meant to take the Seat.”

  For the first time since she had known him, Loren thought that Xain looked truly terrifying. “They will sack the city and kill anyone they can get their hands on.”

  But Loren herself felt sick. “It is our fault. We thought we were bringing a warning, not delivering the very message they wanted us to.”

  Eamin shook his head. “You cannot blame yourselves, for you could have done no differently. We have been outfoxed, simple as that.”

  “Nothing is simple. I have doomed the Seat, and mayhap all the nine kingdoms. All because I thought to take Jordel’s place and take charge of a war I was never prepared to fight.”

  “You did just what he would have done, so you cannot insult yourself without offending his memory,” said Eamin. “Ask yourself now: If Jordel were here, what would he do?”

  Loren swallowed, trying to think. She could see in her mind the sails coming in upon the horizon and the shapes of grey and blue pouring from the Birchwood. “He would . . . he would save the High King. That is the only thing we can do. She must survive.”

  “Just my thought,” said Eamin. “Let us see to it.”

  They went to the door, but again the guards stopped them. There were three, two swordsmen and a wizard.

  “I am sorry, Lord Prince Eamin,” said the one who had spoken earlier. “I cannot disobey the High King, your own mother.”

  Eamin looked over his shoulder as though exasperated but fixed Loren with a knowing look. She swallowed and nodded.

  Eamin seized the guard’s tunic. In a blink, his forehead came crashing down on the man’s nose. He crumbled. Loren leapt for the wizard, whose eyes glowed white as she reached for her magic. But Jordel had taught her how to deal with a firemage. She clapped her hand over the woman’s mouth to keep her from speaking then drove a fist into her gut. The light died in her eyes as they rolled backward, and the woman collapsed.

  Behind her, Eamin had already knocked the other guard unconscious. “A poor reward for doing their duty. I shall have to remember to make this right, if any of us survive.”

  Then they were flying through the palace halls, which had erupted into a torrent of confusion. Soldiers, guards, and servants ran every which way, none seeming to know where to go. Eamin cried out wherever they went, “Warriors, to me! To your Lord Prince and the High King! The rest of you, flee the Seat! To me! To me!”

  They heard him, and armed soldiers in plate stopped their scrambling to follow. Soon, they had a fair little procession making its way through the palace, until they reached the throne room and found it guarded by spear-wielding men. They came forward to attack but stopped when they saw the Lord Prince and raised their weapons.

  Eamin kicked the door open and charged inside, with Loren and the rest at his heels. The High King stood by her throne, and to Loren’s amazement a squire was helping her into an armor suit. She eyed Eamin and his party as though this were any ordinary afternoon upon the island and raised an eyebrow as if in mild interest.

  “Lord Prince Eamin. Have you any more news about what is happening, or must I continue listening to counselors who can give no advice?”

  “Erin!” Xain saw his son standing among the courtiers clustered near the throne and went running for him.

  “Papa!” The boy jumped into his father’s arms and held him tight.

  “I ordered him retrieved the moment the horns sounded,” said the High King.

  “Thank you, Your Grace,” said Xain, his voice shaking.

  “Your Grace, the Shades attack from the Selvan shores,” said Eamin. “They are pouring from the Birchwood in great strength. Even now they board boats to cross the channel and may have arrived at the gates.”

  “Do you think we can hold them?”

  “Mayhap we could, but at the same time a fleet comes from the east. They are ships of Dulmun. We thought the Shades had enlisted the help of Dorsea, but that was a deception. They have mustered Dulmun to their banner and mean to take the Seat and stake their claim to power.”

  “A clever deception,” said Enalyn. “I might have known the warning came too easily.”

  “Your Grace,” said Loren, throwing herself forward and dropping to one knee. “No words can express my—”

  “Oh, stand, girl. You cannot think to blame yourself, for you did nothing wrong. Indeed, had you acted any other way, it would have been treason.” The final plate was strapped to her arm, and her squire helped the High King don gloves of interlocking metal scales. “Now it seems we must have a fight if we wish to leave this island alive.”

  “Your Grace,” said Loren, rising to her feet. “I do not see how you can fight your way through so many. There might be another way, a means of escape besides—”

  �
��Be silent, girl,” said the Lord Chancellor, staring at Loren with venom. “Beside the High King stand the greatest warriors Underrealm has ever known, and each would give their life for hers if need be. We will fight our way through, and you may count on it.”

  “Where is the Dean?” said Enalyn, as though she had not heard either of them. “I should have thought he would be here by now.”

  One of the royal guard standing nearby looked about uneasily then stepped forward to speak. “Your Grace . . . when we went to find him, we found his chamber empty. A student at the Academy said they saw him fleeing west, probably trying to escape the city before the battle.”

  “Craven to the very end,” said Enalyn, shaking her head with a steely glare. “Let that be a lesson to you, girl: never appoint a wizard based upon his political convenience. Are we ready?”

  “My Lord—” said Loren, looking to Eamin, who had donned his own armor.

  “Thank you for your counsel, Loren, but these are fighting men. They will break through, if it can be done.”

  The High King raised her sword, surrounded by members of the royal guard, and outside a sizable force of castle soldiers. Together, they pressed forward toward the throne room door.

  “Stay close to them,” said Xain, holding his son tight in his arms. “Look for a chance to help, but do not join the fighting if you can help it. Wars fought in cities are often the bloodiest.”

  Loren still remembered Wellmont and did not need the warning. Still, she nodded.

  The procession swiftly made their way into the main hall seeing no resistance; Loren hoped they might reach the city before they encountered the Shades. Out in the streets, she might find a path to escape if the High King should be surrounded. Here in the palace, with but a single door to march through, it seemed they were walking into the jaws of death itself.

  The front door crashed open, then soldiers in blue and grey charged into the palace with a roar. Black arrows flew overhead, some landing among the High King’s guard while others narrowly missed Loren and her friends. She fell to the ground with a cry, dragging Chet beside her. He landed with a grunt, and together they huddled until the rain of arrows ceased.

  Enalyn’s force was heavily engaged with the Shades still pouring through the door. Loren saw the Lord Prince’s truth: these were fighting men. Their armor was thick and true—the blows of their enemies could not pierce it. Their swords were sharp and gleaming, and they cut down foe after foe. Enalyn and Eamin were deep in the press, and every time an enemy drew near they struck quick and true to cut them down. But for every Shade they felled, another stepped into place, and still more spilled through the door with no seeming end to their number. And yet each fallen man was irreplaceable.

  “Retreat!” the High King cried. “There are too many!”

  Perhaps someone heard her or they saw the truth for themselves. Someone with a battlefield voice called the withdrawal, and they slowly backed away, making the Shades pay in blood for every foot of advance. Armored hands seized the High King and the Lord Prince then dragged them backward out of the fighting into the open space behind. The royal guard came with them, while the rest of the palace soldiers formed a rearguard to slow pursuit.

  “Quickly!” Blood ran down Eamin’s face, but Loren could not tell if it was his. “They will cover our escape. Into the palace!”

  They fled, and quickly. The clash of steel on steel echoed through the halls.

  thirty-two

  They stopped in the main courtyard, the royal guard still in a protective ring around Enalyn. Loren and the others halted nearby, and with a sharp gesture the High King beckoned them forward.

  “There is another entrance we mean to try,” she said. “The rear gate is smaller and more easily defended. The Shades might have ignored it, focusing their strength instead on the wider front gate.”

  “But then again, they might not,” said Loren. “Your Grace, let us find some way to get you to safety beyond force of arms, for I do not think that will serve us.”

  “She is informing you, not asking for your counsel,” said the Lord Chancellor. “’Tis a courtesy you should be grateful for.”

  “If we escape to the east, that only makes it harder to reach the western docks and escape,” Chet said angrily. “Your duty is to save the High King, not die gloriously in battle beside her.”

  The Lord Chancellor’s face turned ugly, his voice to a low snarl. “I know my duty, boy, and I have had it longer than you have been alive.”

  Enalyn silenced him with a stern look then turned to Loren. “There is a hidden entrance. But it runs from the palace to the eastern docks. Those docks are occupied by the Dulmun fleet. Our foes have planned their attack well, and likely they were long in concocting their strategy. These men know their way about a battle. Put your faith in them.”

  The sound of tramping boots filled the air, and a fresh group of palace soldiers marched into the courtyard to join them. “There are the reinforcements,” said the Lord Chancellor. “Your Grace, we should be moving.”

  He led them on, back into another wing that Loren had never explored. She soon found herself disoriented and resigned herself to following the armored soldiers’ backs. Soon they pushed through another, smaller door, into a narrow open space between the palace’s rear and the eastern wall. Loren could see guards firing arrows at unseen foes on the other side of the wall. But they could scarcely raise their heads above the parapets without having to duck a hail of arrows.

  Loren said, “It looks as though there are many of them beyond the gate.”

  “Let us hope not enough,” replied the Lord Prince. “Open the gate!”

  The shout went up the wall, and guardsmen in the gatehouse leaned to the wheel. With the groaning of rusted chains, the gate swung slowly inward. Almost at once, Loren saw swords and spear tips pushed through the gap.

  Eamin held his sword aloft and gave a battle cry.

  Palace guards charged into the fray, and the Shades were thrown back from the wall. They turned in a rout, many fleeing into the streets and vanishing into alleys. Some of their captains managed to rally, and slowly the grey and blue uniforms reassembled. The Lord Prince stalled, and the palace guards were pushed into a circle with their backs to the wall. Loren and her friends could not get through the gates, for it was blocked by their armored bodies.

  “They cannot get through,” said Gem. “They will be cut down.”

  Loren did not answer him but looked at Chet, and in his eyes saw the same fear. Dread seized her. She had brought the enemy to the Seat and doomed the High King. Now she was powerless to save them.

  Shadeborn. Shadeborn. Shadeborn.

  A chant was building beyond the wall. Loren quailed, for she recognized the word—the name Rogan had given himself when they met in Dorsea. She craned her neck and above the fighting saw him. He had pressed through his troops to stand at their head, blocking the High King’s escape into the city.

  Shadeborn, shadeborn, shadeborn.

  Bolstered by their captain, Shades were pressing forward in earnest, and the palace guard was forced back through the gate. She saw the Lord Chancellor desperately hacking, trying to cut a path through the enemy. With an enraged cry he threw himself forward and attacked Rogan himself.

  His blade caught in the hook of Rogan’s axe and was turned aside. Then they danced, the Lord Chancellor striking with both sword and shield, while Rogan held his axe in both hands, shield slung across his back. He blocked strike after strike with the haft, the Lord Chancellor pressing forward and into the enemy’s midst. But Loren could see Rogan’s smile under his helmet; he was toying with the Lord Chancellor, drawing him out and into the army’s arms.

  A sword came swinging from the left, and the Lord Chancellor caught it on his shield. Rogan struck in that moment’s distraction. His axe came down in a punishing blow that the Lord Chancellor barely avoided. He was off balance, and Rogan pressed him back. Where before they had been matched blow for blow, now Rogan’s
axe was a blur of speed, striking so swiftly that it took all the Lord Chancellor’s skill to hold him back.

  In the end it was not enough. The axe bit deep into his shoulder. The Lord Chancellor dropped his sword as he sank to his knees. Twice more the axe rose and fell, severing an arm before taking his head at the neck.

  The Lord Chancellor’s body fell beneath his enemy’s boots, and the Shades screamed their approval.

  With renewed vigor, they pressed forward, and Rogan led them in another charge. Palace guards had to retreat through the gate. Loren, Chet and Gem threw themselves at one of the gates, struggling to close it against the mass of bodies. Loren stood at the door’s edge, a few paces away from the fighting, heart thundering as steel flashed and blood spattered the pavement at her feet.

  “Loren!” Rogan drew her gaze. He wore a rictus grin, blood covering his armor. She saw a sword hilt sticking from the side of his breastplate where someone had landed a blow, but the Necromancer’s dark magic kept him on his feet. “Daughter of the forest. You have done your duty well. Thank you for paving the path of our conquest.”

  She gritted her teeth then stepped away from the doorway to snatch her bow. In the blink of an eye she drew, and whether it was by Albern’s training or some stroke of luck, her shaft sank into Rogan’s left eye and out the back of his helmet. His body went limp as a rag doll, and he fell beneath the press of bodies.

  The palace guards gave a great cheer, and the Shades wavered.

  The Lord Prince led a counterattack, and they pushed their foes back through the gates. But the press of bodies was too thick beyond the walls, and it was all they could do to push the gates closed. The royal guards grabbed the Lord Prince and the High King then dragged them back into the castle, with Loren and her friends hastening to follow.

  thirty-three

  “That was a well-placed shot,” said the Lord Prince. His helmet had been knocked loose in the battle, and a bruise was blooming to life on his cheek. “I had heard from Xain that you had no taste for killing.”