by Jeff Wheeler
The horse hooves came at a low ride, snapping through the twigs and fallen branches. Thealos motioned for Ticastasy to get behind him as he prepared to stand against the intruders. He was confident he could take them all now. Firelight glinted off the polished armor as a huge roan lumbered into the camp. A knight, not a Kiran Thall. Ticastasy breathed in quick gulps and sighed with relief.
“It’s Sturnin Goff,” she said. “Thank the stars. I thought Secrist had found us.”
The knight reined in and shed the stirrups, landing with a jangle of spurs and armor. Thealos stared at the Wolfsman blade in his hand. The metal was clean of blood, glimmering a blue shade in the darkness.
From the saddle harness, the knight unslung a heavy double-handed sword. “Where’s the Sleepwalker?”
Thealos studied his face. “What do you want?”
“Don’t fuss with me, lad,” he snapped. “The Krag never travel alone. Kick out the fire. Quickly, just do it!”
Thealos stared at the knight. “Who are…?”
“We don’t have time to argue about this, lad. Killing a Krag is a foolhardy thing to do. Now put out the fire. The others will be close behind.”
Thealos’ confidence in himself guttered out. There were more? He listened, then obeyed, throwing a handful of sapple dust to quickly snuff out the flames. He kicked in the ashes quickly, and closed the stones over the embers. Darkness washed over the camp. The whispers of the forest were haunting. He tried to sense more Forbidden magic, but the Krag’s weapon gave off such a stench he could not smell past it.
“Flent? Can you hear me?” Ticastasy knelt by her friend.
“Yeah,” he muttered angrily, sitting up. He mopped the blood on his face with his sleeve. “Banned Krag. As ugly as I’d heard they were. Never thought I’d get a chance to fight one.”
“Here, take some of this,” Thealos said, breaking off another stub of Everoot. “Chew it quickly. It will take away the pain.” It was dark now, blacker than ink.
The knight crunched through the pine needles. “So the Sleepwalker abandoned you out here, did he?”
“We weren’t abandoned. The Krag stumbled onto our camp. The fire was still pretty bright, so it wasn’t that difficult to see us. Foolish to light one in the first place.”
“You know what they say about a Drugaen’s eyesight. They’d have seen you in the dark just as well. There will be at least five or so more.” The knight took the charger’s reins and patted its neck. It grunted and snorted, stamping its hoof. “A Sleepwalker would have avoided the whole company.” He swore under his breath. “Never had to fight off more than three before.” He looked over at Flent. “But you’re a sturdy lad, and the Shae has a decent weapon. That might count for something.”
“Why did it want to kill Flent?” Ticastasy asked. “He…he just came into the firelight and attacked us.”
“The Krag hate other Drugaen,” Thealos said. “They’ve been fighting in the Ravenstone for years. I thought they were just a political faction trying to take over the government. I had no idea they’d be involved in something this far south.” He watched Flent approach the body of the Krag warrior. The tapered short sword lay nearby.
“Don’t touch it,” Thealos warned. “It’s Forbidden magic.” He walked over and crouched near it, feeling his stomach revolt. “I don’t see any ornamentation. They must have used blood in the tempering.” He shook his head with disgust. “I can’t just leave it here.”
“You can do all the rites you want later,” the knight said. “They’ll kill you and the Drugaen lad without so much as a whisper.”
“Why?” Ticastasy asked, her voice fearful.
“We supported the Drugaen Nation at first,” Thealos replied, “But the fighting is fiercest deep down in the mountains. That’s not our best ground. The Drugaen resent us now for not helping them drive the Krag out, and the Krag hate us for selling weapons and armor to their enemies.” He glanced over at the knight. “I wasn’t aware that Owen Draw even knew about the Krag.”
“There are caves in the Kingshadow too, and they openly support the Bandit Rebellion. That makes them our enemies too, doesn’t it?” Using his boot, he kicked the Krag over on its back. “Shadowoak,” he muttered. “Their best.” The white gold symbol on its buckle glimmered. “But you’re right, Shae. They shouldn’t be this far south. Unless Ballinaire is drawing in all his forces.”
Thealos stared at the knight in the darkness, his vision good enough to see the lines on his face. He remembered the man from the Foxtale Inn in Sol, and how he had challenged Secrist and the company of Kiran Thall. Obviously, the knight had been tracking them across the coast. The oppressive stink of Forbidden magic wafted in the air again, coming from the woods. Like cinders and spoiled meat. “You’re right. More are coming.” Thealos stared off into the dark folds of the forest. The smell of Forbidden magic wavered in the air like smoke, difficult to tell which direction it came from. He did not want to leave the body and the weapon untended, but he did not have time to dispose of them both properly. “We’d better leave.”
“Oh, it’s too late for that,” the knight answered, yanking the tether and dragging the horse towards Ticastasy. “Mount up, girl. We’ll hold them here. Better be away from here in case we can’t.”
“What?” she demanded.
“No time to argue with you,” he said, hoisting her by the waist onto the saddle. “The Shadowoak fight in sixes. There are five more coming. Maybe more. Got to find out why they are down here and you’ll only get in the way.”
“Get in the way?” she seethed. “You don’t have to…”
“Wait a minute. If we hurry…” Thealos interrupted. He didn’t like the way the knight had charged in and started ordering them around. “We might be able to gain ground. They’re short and can’t match our stride.”
“Is this the first Krag you’ve faced, Shae?” the knight asked, pointing at the dead one.
Thealos swallowed and met his stare. “Yes.”
The knight shook his head and muttered impatiently. “You’ve got to kill all six,” he warned. “You leave one alive, and they’ll hunt you down to the last man with as many Krag as it takes. They drink revenge like Spider Ale. We’ve killed one – their point scout. Even if we tried to run, they would catch us before the night is through. If we have to fight, I’d rather it be on our terms. Not theirs.”
“I’m ready to kill a few,” Flent said, patting his hand with the axe. He spat on the ground.
“Good,” the knight approved. “Now get your bow out, Shae. I can’t handle five on my own. You’ve got to bring a few down. Have any bodkins?”
“A quiver full,” Thealos replied, sheathing his blade in his belt. “Are you sure we can’t outrun them?”
“Can you fly? Only have one horse.”
“Why are you even here?”
“Because of you, Shae. You know something about what’s going on in the Shoreland. You and the Sleepwalker. Now get going, girl! I didn’t follow you here to get killed by Shadowoak.”
Thealos looked up at Ticastasy and gripped her hand. “Ride to Castun,” he told her.
“But…”
“For the love of Shenalle, just do it!” He squeezed her hand. “Find Jaerod. We may need him.”
* * *
The Shadows Wood was aptly named, Thealos thought as he hunched forward in the dry carpet of needles and scrub. He pulled his shooting glove on snug and then stuck four arrows in the ground nearby within easy reach. He readied a single bodkin arrow in the thick linen string of his bow. A bodkin could go through plate armor more easily than broad heads. Just like hunting an elk, he tried to remind himself. But his stomach did not accept the lie so easily. Flent knelt next to him, staring into the darkness and resting his arms on the Sheven-Ingen axe. The wind rustled through the treetops, sending a few pinecones crashing down. The knight from Owen Draw propped himself behind a thick twisted cedar.
“There they are,” Flent whispered, peering into th
e blackness. Thealos didn’t see anything yet, but he followed the Drugaen’s stubby finger. He’d always heard that nothing could beat a Drugaen’s eyes in the dark.
Thealos hunkered down low, smelling the hidden reek of Forbidden magic drift closer. He felt the presence of the Krag moments later as they emerged from the depths of the undergrowth. There was another scent in the air, something more familiar. Straining against the night, he tried to see what it was.
“Three…four….there – there’s the fifth. Looks like he’s dragging a prisoner.” Flent pitched his voice as mild as a whisper. “Yeah, they’re pulling him along by the wrists. Thin fellow.” He cocked his head. “Heading straight to our camp. What do you want to do?”
“Ambush from the flanks,” the knight said softly. “They can probably see as well as you can. Aim well, Shae. You’ve got to take a few down before they reach us.”
Thealos wasn’t listening. He saw them now, weaving through the black trees in small number, marching with a determined pace. “They have a Shae prisoner,” he murmured.
“How can you tell?” Flent asked, squinting. “He’s got a hood on…”
“Trust me,” Thealos answered. He nodded to the knight. “I have an idea.”
“Make it quick.”
“Flent, duck low and hurry over there. When I bring down the first two, yell in challenge so they can see you.” He looked up at the knight. “When they charge him, strike from the trees. I’ll slip around and free the Shae before they can kill him.”
The knight thought a moment and nodded. “You think like a battle commander. Get moving, Flent. Hurry now, go!”
Flent scurried off, keeping low in the brush. Thealos gathered his arrows and veered into the trees, stepwalking silently and carefully to avoid the needles and dried twigs. He kept low and dodged from tree to tree. Taking cover behind a gnarled cedar choked with moss, he peered around, watching the Krag Drugaen warriors approach the remains of their camp. He set the arrows in the dirt in front of him. Taking a deep breath, he raised the hunting bow, sighting the leader.
Glancing to the side, Thealos made sure the knight and Flent were in place. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and watched the leader again. He repeated the lie again in his mind, trying to quell the nervousness and fear inside him. Many times, he had brought down deer and even elk at a distance. The Krag were even closer. He would not miss. The memory of Tannon’s band haunted him, and he bit it back, squelching it. How many arrows would he get in before they scattered and sought cover. Three? Maybe four? They marched single file, a row of armored warriors with the peculiar white gold oak-leaf buckle. Trailing with the last man. the slender Shae walked head down, ducking beneath the low-hanging boughs and branches. He was the smallest man Thealos had ever seen, almost gangly. He wore a dark cloak and long skirting robes. Or maybe it was a woman?
Raising the bow, he let his vision fade – feeling the connection between himself and the lead Drugaen. He pulled the arrow back to his ear. The space between tied them together, a single point of time and distance. He forgot his fear. The arrow hummed, finding its target with a thud and shock. The Drugaen went down, clutching a shattered knee. Ban it, too low!
Before his second arrow took flight, four tapered short swords glowed in the darkness as the Krag reacted to the attack. Thealos let another arrow fly and struck the second in the chest. He heard the armor ping, and wasn’t sure if the sharp head had penetrated the steel or not.
Flent roared the rallying cry of the Drugaen Nation, brandishing the Sheven-Ingen axe. “For Faradin and Eroth!”
The trailing Krag slammed the hilt of his short sword against the captive Shae, dropping him like a stone and probably killing him. Thealos seethed a curse, unable to fix the man quickly enough. The Krag scattered four different directions, but they charged Flent in a swarm.
Flent let out a throaty challenge. “Come as one or take your turns! I’ve got a whooping for each of you.”
Thealos fixed another arrow and let it loose, catching the nearest Krag in the arm. The arrow transfixed his arm, but it didn’t slow the attacker. Grabbing another, he let it fly. The Krag went down, the shaft buried in his neck. Only three left. From the huge cedar tree, the knight from Owen Draw swung around, knocking another flat with his double-handed sword. With no room to press the advantage with his bow, Thealos sprinted around the side, hurrying to the fallen Shae.
When he reached the still body, Thealos felt for a pulse while tugging the bag of Everoot loose from his tunic pocket. Blood trickled from the wounded Shae’s pale forehead, matting the silver hair with a dark stain. The Shae’s heartbeat was a dull throb, growing slower and slower. Cursing himself for not being quicker, Thealos removed a handful of Everoot and pressed it against the bleeding scalp. Silvan magic shot through him, exploding in his ears like the purest strains of music. He looked over his shoulder, watching as Flent and the knight fought off the remaining two Krag. Both fought back to back, hammering at the wicked glint of the short swords.
The Shae at Thealos’ feet stiffened, blue eyes wide with shock. He was handsome with long, silverish hair, but so thin he was almost gaunt. Had the Krag starved him? The Shae looked up at Thealos in amazement and then raised his hand, as if he were going to choke him. Thealos recoiled when the rush of Earth magic swept from the Shae’s hand. It came out as a streak of blue light and swept past him, catching the Krag with the shattered knee as he struggled up behind Thealos to kill him. The light hammered into the white-gold marking, throwing the Krag like a windblown leaf into a huge pine. He impacted violently against the bark, and when he collapsed to the earth, his armor was nothing but a smoking black char of twisted metal and gaping ash. The blue light sizzled, spreading across the armor, consuming it whole.
A Shae Warder!
Thealos stared at him in awe. The bloody gash in his head was gone, folded over and healed. On his feet quickly, spreading his robes, the Shae stepped around Thealos and raised both hands. Twin bolts of blue light flashed out again, smashing the other two Krag Drugaen from behind. Both shuddered from the blast and roared with pain and horror as the blue light ate their armor, charring their skin and swallowing them. Then the fire was gone, leaving only smoking gray ashes. The Shae looked down, breathing in heavy gulps. He nearly collapsed in a faint as if he’d run ten leagues. Using the magic had exhausted him.
“Thank you,” the stranger whispered to Thealos in Silvan. “Thank you for saving me.”
“I know you’re a Warder, but who are you?” Thealos demanded, steadying the man.
The Shae clutched his head, shaking it. “My name is…” He winced and shuddered. “My name is…I am…” His face contorted with anger and desperation. “I am the Warder Shae of Jenterhome. My name is…” He looked at Thealos in a panic. “By Shenalle, why can’t I remember it?”
XVIII
They gathered the remains of the Krag and their weapons into a heap, and the nameless Warder Shae summoned the Earth magic again. He opened his hands and seemed to draw the power into the mound of the dead as he breathed in. Blue fire consumed the remains of the Krag Drugaen, leaving a black scorch mark on the forest floor. The sharp tang of dross stung Thealos’ nose as he watched the embers gutter out. Flent snorted and scuffed his boot in the ashes. The Krag Drugaen and their dark magic were no more. The Warder Shae lowered his hands. His eyes glowed in the firelight, speaking of his heritage as much as the pale skin and silver hair.
“Will there be others?” Thealos asked as he began covering the scorched earth with sapple dust and forest debris. The other Shae shook his head.
“There was only this company,” he replied. “The rest returned to the Ravenstone earlier.”
Thealos nodded. He still hadn’t determined the stranger’s age. He was young, but certainly well into manhood. Ten or twelve Silvan years old perhaps. He glanced at the knight from Owen Draw. “He said that this was the only company of Krag. I wasn’t expecting your arrival, master knight, but I wanted to thank you
for your warning and your help.” Thealos extended his hand. “I am Thealos of Avisahn. If you hadn’t warned us, we all would have died tonight.”
“No need for thanks, Shae.” His grip was iron. “You raised your weapon in a tavern in Sol, don’t forget. Consider my debt repaid.”
“Flent Shago,” the Drugaen introduced himself, cocking his thumbs in his belt. He nodded to the knight before looking at the Shae stranger. “What’s his name?” he asked Thealos.
“He doesn’t remember.”
“Why’d they take him prisoner?”
Thealos asked the question in Silvan. The Shae’s eyes were a bright azure and they glittered with fury. “They were taking me to the Ravenstone to work the mines.” He gritted his teeth at the memory. “I had planned to escape near Avisahn.”
“I thought you were their prisoner?” Thealos said.
“I let them believe that, rather than wander the valley alone. Had I not found you first, I would have destroyed them near the Trident River. I seek the help of the Shae King.”
“Why?”
The Warder Shae looked at the others warily. “We will speak later, my brother.”
Thealos nodded. Trust was not easy to earn. “They wanted to bring him back to the Krag Nation. He’s grateful we found him first.” Rubbing his hands together briskly, he looked back at the other Shae, wondering why he didn’t appear to understand the king’s common. He had looked completely baffled as Sturnin and Flent spoke. His robes were certainly a different style than any Thealos had seen in all his years in the house of a barter.
Flent nodded and sniffed. “Well, he needs a name. Can’t go around calling him a stump or a stone as they say. How about Justin.” Thealos looked at him curiously. Flent shrugged. “I knew a Shae lad in Astillon. Sickly boy – kind of reminds me of him.”