Shadow's Master

by Jon Sprunk

  The others caught up to him, all of them holding a weapon. Even Egil had his hunting knife out.

  “We're not stopping here for the night, are we?” Malig asked.

  “Why?” Dray smiled. “You scared the spirits of the wood are going to get you, Mal?”

  Malig scowled. “Go sod yourself. I'm not worried about no woods.”

  Caim winced as their voices carried over the faint clack of the wind through the branches. Aemon spoke up. “I feel like there's something breathing down my neck.”

  “What are you talking about?” Dray asked. “There hasn't been anyone living here in a long damned time.”

  Aemon rolled his shoulders. “I don't know, but I feel it. Like we're being watched.”

  Caim glanced at the nearest shadows as the same feeling itched at the nape of his neck. “We'll look around. But stay together and keep the horses saddled for now.”

  “Can we make a light?” Dray asked. “I can't see shit.”

  “Just one lantern, and be ready to shutter it if I give the word.”

  Caim waited while Aemon dug out a lantern and struck a spark to the wick. He wanted to range ahead on his own, but there was something odd here. The ruins appeared empty, except for the shadows. Caim wished he knew the reason behind their sudden appearance. Was this place somehow connected to the Shadowlands? He didn't know, and that ignorance always found a way to kick him in the head. And he had driven Kit away…

  Caim pushed away from the safety of the building and approached the open area, which he soon realized was a plaza, perhaps even the ancient city's main square. Each of the plaza's four sides was fronted by a huge structure. They might have been temples, or halls of government. With their broken roofs and leaning columns, he didn't relish the thought of entering them to explore.

  As Caim prowled the edge of the square, the tugging in his head intensified to where he could hardly think straight. It beckoned him across the plaza, which was empty except for a vertical stone near the center. Taller and more slender than the plinths outside, it looked like the kind of stele used to commemorate important events. Othir was filled with them, chiseled with the heroics of dead generals and politicians. Caim had started across the snow toward it when the others entered the plaza. The lantern's cold light reflected off icicles hanging from the rooftops. The shadows on the entablature above their heads shifted, looking like nothing so much as a flock of blackbirds. Watching them.

  The stele's surface was weathered and covered in ice. Caim was so intent on studying it that he almost didn't see the eight-foot-wide pit yawning before it. Pulling back from the brink, he peered over the side, but couldn't see a bottom to the stone shaft falling down into the darkness.

  “What'd you find?” Aemon asked as he walked over. He had left the lantern with the others; Egil held it now, turning it to flash across the building fronts.

  Caim was turning to answer when a huge, black shape flew up from the mouth of the pit. At first Caim registered it as a flock of bats disturbed from their lair, but then he caught a glimpse of curled talons raking toward his eyes. Without time to move, he threw an arm over his face and grunted as something heavy rammed into him from the side. A shock of long yellow hair flew across his vision, and then he was on the icy ground.

  Caim rolled over in time to see Aemon drop to his knees at the lip of the pit. The clansman's arms shook as he grappled with the rippling form rising from the aperture. It was a shadow as big as a draft horse. Before Caim could jump to his feet, Aemon shuddered, and a fountain of blood erupted from his mouth. Caim drew his knives and ran to Aemon. Revulsion twisted in his gut as the clansman collapsed into the snow. Was this his fault? Had his powers finally torn loose from his control? The sick taste of bile tinged the back of his throat, but Caim swallowed it as he flung himself at the shadow creature.

  The thing moved faster than a snapping whip, weaving around his attack and lunging at him sideways. Caim lashed out with his knives, but neither blade scored a hit. He landed on his shoulder, skidding in the snow. Caim climbed to one knee and swiveled around, but the shadow drew back as a ruddy light flashed across the walls of the surrounding buildings. It wasn't coming from the lantern. Caim regained his footing as a hulking man wrapped in a dingy cloak appeared from the other side of the stele, swinging a burning pot on the end of a long chain. The giant grunted, and a shower of red embers sailed through the air. The shadow creature wavered as the burning cinders passed through it, gouging holes in its night-black form wherever they touched.

  “Fire!” another voice cried from the far side of the plaza. A woman's voice. “Use fire against it!”

  Dray was already charging at the shadow creature, his face contorted with rage. Egil dashed the lantern on the ground. Then he and Malig yanked off their cloaks and tore them into long strips, dipping the cloth into the pool of burning oil.

  Caim circled around the pit, gathering himself for another rush while the shadow creature was distracted, but something else moved in his peripheral vision, coming from a sheltered doorway to his right. A man stood on the threshold of the northern building. Caim stiffened at the sight of his armor. Fashioned from black scales and fine mail mesh, it was the same style as Sybelle's shadow warriors had worn back in Liovard, the same closed helmet. A long, curved sword like a cavalry saber with a long hilt hung from his belt. The newcomer nodded and vanished.

  A sharp pain through Caim's chest drove the air from his lungs. Shouts echoed behind him as his comrades joined the fight against the shadow-thing, but Caim ignored them. The shadow warrior had disappeared without even forming a portal. Caim turned in a slow circle. He was sickened by Aemon's death and would have enjoyed carving into the thing that had killed the man, but he knew what these shadow warriors could do.

  The shadow warrior appeared on the other side of the stele. Caim circled around to meet him. Before he could close the distance, the warrior attacked. The sword appeared in his hands faster than Caim could follow. It was a magnificent weapon, pure black from point to guard, the thin blade curved for added cutting power. The swordsman met Caim with a slash and a stop-thrust. Caim flicked his suete out to connect with the slashing blade as it passed. And missed. The black sword sped past faster than a striking adder and returned in a reverse stroke. In a pair of heartbeats Caim was backpedaling fiercely to avoid the midnight blade that wove and twisted around him, evading half of his blocks. If not for his instincts, he would have been skewered in the first exchange. The swordsman's circular fighting style was familiar. Caim racked his brain until he realized where he'd seen it before.

  Levictus.

  Only this shadow warrior was faster and stronger than Vassili's pet sorcerer had been, and his technique relied less on trickery and more on sheer mastery. Caim adjusted for his opponent's speed, keeping extra space between them, launching parries a moment earlier, but the swordsman made a feint, just a subtle movement, and when Caim reacted, the black sword sliced across his right forearm, slitting open his jacket sleeve from wrist to elbow with a quick flick. Caim hissed between gritted teeth as he jumped back. The wound burned like wildfire. Blood ran down his hand and soaked his glove. His muscles ached already, and his breath was heavy in his chest. The shadows whispered to him. It wasn't difficult to know what they wanted. Blood and more blood, but he didn't trust them.

  Something snarled behind him, and a man—Malig or Dray—yelled like he'd been ripped in half, but Caim couldn't spare a glance for them. The swordsman pushed him back with every attack, and Caim kept weaving in a circle to prevent being backed against a wall, but the snow made for unpredictable footing. A slip could mean death. A slip…

  Caim blocked a cut aimed at his knee and took another step backward. The shadow warrior was better than the ones he had battled in Duke Eviskine's keep. This swordsman fought with precision, varying the speed and angle of his attacks, and his longer reach kept Caim's knives at bay. Yet like most fighters, he had a rhythm. Caim had already picked up on it, but he needed an
opening.

  As he backed up another step, Caim's heel slid out from under him. His balance faltered, just for an instant, but before he could recover, the black sword rushed in with a high-to-low cross-body slash. Caim threw himself sideways. As he leapt, he lashed out with both knives. The suete was deflected, but the seax knife got through, slicing straight for the swordsman's throat. Then the swordsman halted his momentum and stepped away in a movement so smooth and quick it sent a shiver up Caim's spine. How in the hells am I going to get close enough to hit this guy?

  As Caim rolled to his feet, the swordsman waded at him again for another exchange. A high-pitched screech echoed off the buildings from the other side of the plaza where his crew battled the shadow creature. Torches waved back and forth, and one of the horses was down, its legs kicking feebly on the glittering ice. Caim tried to think of a strategy to help the others, but his attention was wrenched back to his own problems as the swordsman disappeared. Again there was no portal. He just vanished. It was almost like watching Kit evaporate, except without the twinkle of ghostly light.

  A sudden tightening in his chest was the only warning he received. Caim leapt into a forward roll, rising as he came out of it just in time to block a downward slash at his head with both knives. The swordsman feinted and disappeared once more. Caim spun around, but a stinging cut sliced across the back of his leg as the swordsman materialized behind him. Dripping blood down his arm and the back of his calf, Caim parried and wove as more attacks came at him, but it was just a matter of time. He had to do something drastic. He reached down inside. Bracing himself for the pain, Caim hopped backward and seized hold of the power.

  His breath evaporated before he could shout as razor-sharp agony sliced through his lungs. But he held on, and a black hole yawned beside him. Blocking a thrust aimed at his face, Caim dove through. He appeared at a spot behind where the swordsman had been standing, but his foe was waiting. The only thing that saved him was that he emerged from the portal on his hands and knees. The black sword cut the air above him. Before it could turn in Caim's direction, he was back on his feet. His chest burned, and every breath hurt like a bastard, but he was still alive.

  Caim gave ground as the swordsman came at him again. One of his parries arrived a hair late, and a black point slashed in front of his eyes, close enough to make him blink. Caim embraced the pain again and stepped back into the appearing void. This time he split the portal into two paths, each exiting on opposite sides of his adversary, but once again the black sword was waiting for him. Caim twisted away in a violent turn and evaded a cut that would have disemboweled him. The swordsman pressed forward with subsequent attacks that kept him on the defensive.

  Fuck this. Instead of retreating, Caim stepped forward to meet his foe. He kept his knives in close, blocking the barrage of attacks in a furious defense. He and the swordsman were only a pace apart, close enough that Caim could reach his opponent with a long lunge, but he didn't have a moment's pause to go on the offense. Yet. He shuffled forward. It was like stepping into the face of a steel hurricane. The staccato of clashing blades pulsed in his ears. His wrists went numb from the pounding. Most fighters would have retreated at this point, wanting the security of more space where their longer weapon would have the advantage, but the swordsman advanced a half step as well. Caim concentrated on his breathing. This was what he had been hoping for, to bring them close enough that the advantage switched to his knives. Caim anticipated a thrust with an early parry and used the extra fraction of a heartbeat of time to swipe the tip of his seax past his opponent's face. The swordsman didn't flinch. He didn't react at all.

  Caim pushed himself to the edge, until his arms and legs ached and his breath whistled between clenched teeth. After every second or third parry, he launched an attack of his own. They weren't complex and none connected, but with every passing heartbeat he felt the momentum of the fight turning. Then a black cloud fell over his eyes. Caim winced as ice-cold tendrils dug into his face. He slashed in front of him with the suete knife and jumped back. He scraped at the shadow with the back of his hand, causing frigid pains to erupt across his face, and the shadow slipped away.

  Blinking to clear his eyes of the motes that danced in his vision, Caim reached for his powers to open another portal. He was heading farther away, to the other side of the plaza, where he could regroup and maybe come up with a plan. But as he stepped back, a terrible pain speared through the center of his breastbone. It was worse than the time he'd been shot with a crossbow. For an agonizing moment, he couldn't move. Every muscle was locked in a rigid paralysis. When sensation returned, he almost collapsed. But no portal appeared.

  The swordsman rushed across the snow. Caim raised his knives, fighting through the pain. Images of his battle with Soloroth flashed through his head, that same hopelessness he'd felt facing the armored giant crashing over him now. Before the black sword landed, a brilliant flash of light burst around the shadow warrior. Caim braced himself for some new attack, but the swordsman was turning away from him, his cloak awash in flames.

  Caim lunged, but his knives encountered only swirling air as the swordsman disappeared into nothingness.

  The giant stranger stood behind the spot where the swordsman had been standing, an empty brazier dangling in his hands.

  Caim had seen his share of death. Not just marks and competitors, but friends, too. Mathias, Oak, Liana, Hagan, Caedman. And now Aemon. The world wasn't a fair place. If it were, I'd have been dead a long time ago, and they would still be alive.

  Dray stood over his brother's body at the plaza center. Malig and Egil remained behind him, each holding a flaming brand. There was no sign of the shadow creature or the swordsman. Silence draped over the ruins, broken only by the sigh of the wind and crackling torches.

  Caim put away his knives and checked his injuries. The cut down his arm had stopped bleeding, but his leg burned something fierce. He tried not to limp as he went over to the others. Malig had put a hand on Dray's shoulder, but Dray shook it off. With a turn of his head, Caim sent Malig over to help Egil get the mounts together. He stood beside Dray.

  Caim hadn't gotten a clear view of what happened to Aemon, and now he wished he hadn't looked. The blond Eregoth lay in a ruin of burst organs and tissue, torn open from crotch to throat, his blood making a pool of red slush in the snow. His empty eyes stared up at the ebon sky.

  “I'm sorry,” Caim said, then shut his mouth. What good were words? He recalled the night they had infiltrated the duke's keep in Liovard, how Aemon had been hurt and Dray refused to leave his brother's side.

  “I'm fine. Let's get out of here.” Dray picked up his brother's spear. “But we're taking Aemon with us.”

  Caim frowned. The shadow warrior could return at any time, maybe with reinforcements. “Mal. Egil. Get a rope and help him.”

  As they rolled Aemon's body in a blanket and carried it to the animals, the stranger stepped around the pit, the empty brazier still dangling in his hands from a chain. He was taller than Malig and massively proportioned through the shoulders and chest. His shirt and pants were made from undyed wool, his boots battered and worn. Caim supposed the man deserved some gratitude for helping them, but he was too damned tired and sore to offer much beyond, “Thank you.”

  Footsteps crunching in the ice made Caim reach for his knives again, but he stayed his hand when he saw who it was. She looked like a lost waif wrapped up in a cloak. While the man had a pale complexion, her skin was the deep olive of the Southlands. With her chestnut hair and deep brown eyes, he pegged her as a Michaian, or maybe even Arnossi. Wherever she came from, she was a long way from home.

  “We thank the gods you found us.” Her breath puffed in small clouds of steam as she stopped beside the giant. She was even shorter than Caim had thought at first glance. Standing beside him, she looked like a child.

  Caim kept his hands by his sides, but his nerves were jumpy. “Where did he go?”

  “If you mean that man you fought, we
do not know. I am Shikari.” She placed a hand on her companion's arm. “And this is Hoek. We were taking shelter in that building when we heard noises.”

  A short, braying cry rose, only to be cut short. Egil knelt beside the injured horse, now put out of its misery, while Dray and Malig loaded Aemon's corpse onto another steed.

  Caim considered the strangers. “You don't look like Northmen. What were you hiding from?”

  The woman, Shikari, pulled her cloak tighter around her slim shoulders. “Our masters.”

  “You're slaves?”

  She nodded. “I am from Illmyn. Hoek comes from a village in Einar, to the south and east.”

  “I know where Einar is.” Caim eyed the man. “He doesn't talk much, does he?”

  “Not at all, in fact. He's mute.”

  The big man gazed impassively at Caim and said nothing, as if to prove her statement.

  “How did you come to be a slave up in these parts?”

  Her full lips, chapped from the cold, turned up in a fetching smile. “We were both taken from our lands and brought here by the barbarians. When Hoek escaped, I came with him. I thought anything would be better than to live another day in bondage, but we don't know the land, so we stopped when we found this place. Now that you know about us, who are you?”

  Caim introduced himself and gave the names of the others. “I suppose we should thank you, but I'm curious. How did you know to use fire against the shadow?”