The Shadow Watch

by S. A. Klopfenstein

  “That’s horrible.”

  “Yes… and there’s more I’ve been pondering since my brother left. When Scelero sent word of his plan to break you out of the citadel, he warned us that the chancellor had accepted the company of a strange sorceress. He said that Cyrus Maro was dabbling in dark Old World magic.”

  “Have you heard anything more from Scelero?” At the mention of his name, Tori grew worried again for her old master.

  Ren looked away. “I’m sorry, Tori, I should have told you earlier, but… I was worried you would feel guilty, and you were just overcoming your fears…”

  “Guilty about what?” she demanded. Her stomach sank.

  “When I returned from Maro’El a few weeks ago, I told you that I had not heard word from Scelero. But that was not entirely true.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “There were rumors circulating amongst the nobles. It seems, since your escape from the citadel, the commander has not been seen anywhere in Maro’El.”

  “You mean h-he’s… dead?” Tori did feel guilty. Scelero had helped her escape. This is my fault!

  “The chancellor doesn’t like to waste,” said Ren. “I would wager that Scelero has taken your place in the citadel, another supply of magical blood.”

  Tori did not know what to say. She was not sure whether she should feel grateful that Scelero had sacrificed himself, or horrified. “He… he was a good master,” was all she could think to say.

  Ren’s face hardened at this, however. “In truth, my relationship with Scelero has always been complicated. After my mother was killed for practicing sorcery, I renounced her. Yes, it ran in the family. But mine was not the only family to have magical prowess in Osha. Many of the chancellors themselves were said to have possessed the seeds of magic in their blood. The sin was not having the ability, but using it… But I rose up amongst the nobles, and eventually discovered that a certain young prince did not approve of my mother’s execution. That prince was Cyrus Maro. This was before his own family died, before he was chancellor, but even then, he was ambitious.

  “In secret, he was massing followers, followers who wanted to return to the old ways. And Commander Scelero was among those followers. We both served the chancellor as he began experimenting with magic. We had not yet realized the chancellor’s dark intentions for it. But we were both powerful and ambitious. Perhaps too ambitious. Everyone was vying for a seat in Cyrus Maro’s circles. Many believed that he would be the chancellor to return Osha to its former glory.

  “It was a dark game. Nobles turned on one another for a little more power. Scelero betrayed me, convinced the chancellor that I was a traitor, and… I was forced to flee.”

  Again, Tori did not know what to say. She knew Ren had come from a noble family, but he had helped the chancellor rise to power? He and Scelero both?

  “I don’t claim to be a saint, Astoria. And truth be told, had Scelero not cast me out, I might not have learned Cyrus Maro’s dark intent until it was too late. The Shadow Watch might never have formed. I thank the gods it happened the way it did. But for many years, I hated Commander Scelero more than any other.”

  This was hard to comprehend. Scelero had been good to Tori. Her last memory of him was the moment in her cell, when he’d come to visit her. He had cared for her, sacrificed himself to free her. A lowly slave girl in his household.

  “Scelero was not always a Morph,” said Ren. “He betrayed me to gain the chancellor’s good graces, to rise up, to become the commander of the Morphs. For years, I thought him one of our greatest enemies, but a few months ago, I received word from one of my spies in Maro’El. Scelero had turned against the chancellor, and he had a plan to break out the Gallows Girl, who was coincidentally not really dead. Scelero turned his cloak because he believed Cyrus Maro’s lust for power was growing out of control under the influence of this dark sorceress.”

  And now Scelero has disappeared because he helped me escape, Tori thought.

  “I’ve been thinking of it often,” said Ren. “For Scelero to give up all he’d worked for, it must have been something great he feared.”

  “You think the chancellor is after these godstones?”

  “My mother used to tell us stories of Old World magic. I never believed in the godstones. But if the stones are real, I fear Kale may not be the only one after them. I think Kale has gotten into trouble among your people, Astoria.”

  “What sort of trouble?”

  “My brother is not driven by dreams of power, nor even the restoration of the Watchers. He fights to redeem his past, and that is always a volatile motive. Kale’s story is dark and filled with ghosts. And it drives him to make… foolish decisions.”

  “What happened to him?” Tori asked.

  Ren’s gaze became distant again. “Our mother’s death… ah, but we were boys, and it doesn’t do anyone good to dwell on old tragedies. Kale has spent enough time doing that for a lifetime.”

  Just then, there was a rap on the door. Ren and Tori moved apart as Mischa entered. She saluted the captain before she spoke. “Captain, we are ready to head to Ytala. Is Tori ready?”

  “Ah, shenzah,” said Ren. “I forgot that was tonight.”

  “Ytala?” said Tori. “What for?”

  “The next phase of your Watcher training,” said Ren, with a slight chuckle.

  Mischa’s eyes were sparkling with anticipation. “The taverns! I’m so excited. Come on, Tori. You need to get changed.”

  Tori was irritated. Ren was just beginning to open up to her, and Tori wanted to stay and hear more about the Watchers, and Ren and Kale’s past. She wanted Ren to want her to stay. “Taverns? Can’t it wait for another time?” she said.

  “No, no, you should go,” Ren said, moving farther away from her.

  “I want to finish our conversation,” Tori insisted.

  “We will have plenty of time for tales. Besides, I’ve got things I need to take care of here.”

  “It’s the next phase of my training, but you’re not coming?”

  Ren shook his head. “I’m sorry, but as you said, I should speak with Vashti about her father. Vonn will tell me all about it. Enjoy yourself. The Crooked boys are mighty handsome, I hear.” And Ren turned and left them.

  Crooked boys? Tori thought, fuming. Again, Ren was pulling away. Or maybe his nearness is only in my head, only some other aspect of being the Gallows Girl. But Tori knew it was no use defying the captain. Mischa hurried Tori away at a swift pace, leading her to their bedroom.

  “You’ll want to change into something a bit, er, grungier,” said Mischa.

  “Why?” said Tori, annoyed.

  “Because fights are messy! You’ll ruin that nice silk tunic.”

  “Fights?” said Tori.

  Mischa’s eyes sparkled with a devious glint. “Crooked fights.”

  The Crooked mountain folk were a hardy and fierce people—anyone who lived in such a harsh land had to be—and the village of Ytala was no exception. One of their favorite pastimes was to get drunk on a fermented potato concoction called gnasch, and then they would send two people into a thick iron cage called the Tomb. There, the villagers would watch the pair fight until one surrendered or was rendered unconscious. Usually, Tori soon discovered, it was the latter, for the mountain folk were fiercely conniving and stubbornly proud. Surrender was the greatest shame. So they won at any cost.

  According to Dajha, many a Crooked man or woman had been bludgeoned to death because of their unyielding pride. The matches were a test of what a human person could endure, and the Crooked folk placed bets on the victor. Dajha claimed a dark stain on the floor of the Wolf’s Fang tavern was from the time a Crooked woman had bet her husband’s right arm on a fight and lost. The fights were an all-village madhouse. So, naturally, the Watchers had made it part of their training to journey down to join the festivities. The rules were simple: no magic and no surrender. A test of their mettle, combat training, and physical endurance.

  The Tom
b was a domed cage set in the village square between two taverns that pit patrons against one another. After several pints of gnasch, the fights began.

  Tori was the first Watcher sent in after a pair of bloody village fights, the second won by the fiercest woman Tori had ever seen—the man she’d faced was barely recognizable once the villagers peeled him off the ground.

  Tori was matched against a giant beast of a man, who fought barechested and barefoot, even in the snow. He entered the cage first and danced around on the balls of his feet, throwing massive punches into the air to loosen up, which aroused raucous cheers from the crowd.

  “You got this, Tori!” Mischa shouted over the din, clapping her on the back.

  “My bet’s on you!” said Zaya.

  Dajha guffawed. “On ’er first go? No magic? Not a chance. My bet’s on the brute.”

  “But she can heal,” whispered Zaya mischievously. “She can’t help that.” The Klavash girl glanced at Mischa, but she seemed unamused.

  “Don’t mean she can’t get knocked cold from one o’ them clubs,” Dajha said, pointing to the size of the brute’s fists. “If she wins, I’ll take your stable duty and your kitchen duty next week.”

  “You’re on!”

  Tori tried to steady her breaths as she entered the Tomb. The gate slammed shut behind her. There is no going back now.

  Though she was irritated that Ren was not there, a host of Watchers had come down from the Watchtower, and Tori was determined to show them what she could do. Vonn caught her eye from the crowd and grinned. Zaya cheered, and Dajha howled about how much he was going to enjoy getting out of his duties. Mischa simply nodded to her.

  Tori shifted her focus inward. She did not match her opponent’s warm-up antics. Instead, she practiced what Ren called shevanya—an old Watcher discipline of self-awareness—focusing hard on her own body, what it felt like, what she knew it could do. It was a gateway to her magic sense, but it was also key to controlling her physical body.

  She could use no magic in the fight, but her body had grown strong and quick without it, thanks to Sahra’s emphasis on physical ability before magical ability. Tori’s speed would be her advantage over this brute. She focused until her world was her opponent and nothing else. Just her body and his.

  The beast was pumping his arms. The crowd formed around the Tomb roared and pounded on the iron grates of the cage with violent anticipation. The crowd parted for the clan leader of Ytala, who carried a long musket with a jagged blade fixed to the muzzle. He hefted the musket in the air and fired.

  And the fight began.

  The Tomb was about twenty feet across and ten feet tall at the peak of the dome. The two combatants faced off from either end, circling around, always facing one another, waiting for the other to make the first move. The beast gestured for her to come to him, but Tori held her ground. He was smiling. He was used to this, and he knew this was her first time. Tori’s senses felt like they were on fire, but she tried not to let her fear show.

  She narrowed her focus, analyzed the beast’s every move—the speed of his steps, the length of his reach—and waited patiently. Never make the first move. She’d learned that in the Fringes. The man’s cocky grin turned into a fierce grimace. His eyes lit up with rage. Finally, with a vulgar cry, the brute launched forward.

  He moved quicker than Tori expected for someone so large, and she barely dodged his first attack in time. His momentum carried him into the side of the Tomb with a crash, while Tori scampered to the other end of the cage to face off with him again. The next time, the beast controlled his strength better. He stopped and swung with immense paws. Tori ducked and cut to his right, but as she moved, the beast’s foot swung out from under her and took out her legs.

  Move lightly, Sahra had taught her. And Tori was, if anything, light and quick. She landed in a tucked roll, letting the motion absorb her fall, and sprang back to her feet with ease. The beast grunted angrily, then sprinted forward again with another empty result.

  After a few attacks, his chest was already beginning to heave. Tori’s plan formed in her mind. After a couple minutes, she barely felt a thing. She could dance around this brute for hours. All her training had given her endurance. I’ll wear the beast down, bit by bit, before I—

  As he thundered over for another attack, a hand suddenly grabbed Tori’s tunic from behind—

  It was one of the villagers. The unexpected grab broke Tori’s focus and pinned her back. As she tried to wrench free, the beast’s fist met her gut. The air escaped her lungs all at once, as she was launched back into the iron cage. Tori slumped to the ground, only to be lurched back up by a brutal kick to the face. Her jaw rushed with pain.

  More hands reached for her from outside the cage. The villagers were shrieking with drunken laughter. Tori twisted away, scrambling on all fours, cursing, blood dripping from her mouth and nose.

  The beast was pumping his fists in the air to cacophonous cheers from the Ytalan villagers. Tori looked desperately to the Watchers, but they just shook their heads.

  Dajha was laughing. “Anythin’ goes in the Tomb, love!”

  “Keep away from the edge!” cried Mischa.

  With arms reaching into the cage from every side, Tori had even less space to maneuver. Luckily, Mischa was right. Her Regenero abilities kicked in unbidden, and she spat the last of the blood out on the ground. Anything goes, she thought, with a smirk directed right at the beast.

  He charged. Tori didn’t let him get close enough to land a blow. She darted to the side, and he lumbered past. She danced around the cage, dodging his attacks easily, which only made him angrier. His moves grew erratic, his focus moving from the fight to his frustration, and it was then Tori finally changed her tactics.

  She let him get close, ducking a massive right hook. As he tried his sweeping foot trick again, she arched back into a kick of her own, landing a solid blow to his nose. He stumbled back. Tori seized the opportunity, landing a punch to his gut and blocking his own jab with her right fist, and then offered another left punch to his face.

  The brute staggered away from her and began circling, trying to catch his breath. Blood was pouring from his mouth, but Tori was nowhere near letting up. She charged again, mixing her attack up with a sweeping kick that knocked him off his feet. He didn’t land as lightly as Tori.

  As he struggled to stand, she was tempted to take the fight to the ground. But now was not the time. If she had learned one thing in her scraps back in the Fringes, it was that her smallness made her quick and agile, but it also made her useless once she was pinned by someone bigger. This beast could wrap her up and use his mass against her. She let him regain his feet, and waited for his next move.

  The beast was spitting blood like a well pump. His steps were unsteady, and he was deathly angry. He lurched forward.

  Tori forced herself to hold back, letting him use up his energy on empty attacks. She let him get close, enough to keep him coming back for more, to keep him hoping. She threw some weak jabs that did little damage to his immense body. His grin was returning, though his movements had noticeably slowed.

  Tori let him land one last good one: a kick to her gut that sent her flying across the cage. She landed hard on her stomach, though not as hard as it appeared.

  Tori lay still, letting him feel the foolish assumption of victory.

  The beast staggered over, exhausted, ready to finish her off. He wasn’t ready when she sprang, lithely, as though she were a child leaping from bed. Tori used the low-hanging dome to her advantage, launching into the air and swinging from the thick iron mesh, letting her momentum carry her boot into the back of the brute’s head as he came up with his final empty attack. He collapsed to the ground. And now it was time to join him there.

  Tori leapt on top of him, landing blow after blow to his face. Her knuckles were raw and trembling by the time the Crooked man slumped unconscious upon his back.

  When it was over, there was a palpable silence.


  No one expected me to win, Tori realized. Not the Watchers, and surely none of the Ytalan villagers. Are they suspicious now? Furious about their lost bets?

  All eyes were on Tori as she staggered to her feet, blood drenching her tunic, her knuckles aching as her body slowly healed itself. Mischa smiled and raised her fist in a sort of salute. Tori raised her fist in return.

  And then, the whole village cheered.

  Tori had passed the test.

  26

  There were three more fights that night, but none were quite as exciting as Tori’s. Only one other Watcher fought—Joran, a Regenero boy. And he was pummeled. It was his turn, according to Dajha.

  “We can’t be coming down ’ere and pounding ’em to bits every time. After a while, they’d get suspicious. Lucky ’e’s a Regenero. Sahra don’t heal wounds from such barbaric altercations.”

  Sahra had not joined the group in Ytala that night. Her husband, Vonn, smiled knowingly. “She hates needless violence.”

  “Ironic, en’t it?” said Dajha. “The trainer of a bloody army! Ha!”

  When the fights were over, the two Ytalan taverns filled with rowdy villagers, hyped up on adrenaline and gnasch, reenacting their favorite moments from the fights. More than a few were attempting to mimic Tori’s swing-from-the-cage knockdown, which led to an amusing amount of spilled gnasch and two overturned tables.

  Tori, Mischa, Vonn, and Dajha gathered around a table in the corner of the Wolf’s Fang tavern, laughing and drinking as the villagers got progressively crazier. Despite not wanting to come, Tori enjoyed the frivolity, forgetting for a moment all her training, Kale’s and Scelero’s disappearances, and especially forgetting about Ren.

  Dajha and Mischa made fun of the drunken patrons of the Wolf’s Fang, imagining ludicrous conversations the Crooked folk might be having as they howled and cheered and fought and flirted. The Crooked folk spoke an ancient dialect of the Common Tongue, which had become muddled by the amalgamation of cultures that fled to the Teeth and formed the hardy people at the end of the Old World. It made the Crooked folk difficult to understand at times, but Tori enjoyed the differences. Many had, in fact, descended from old tribes of the Yan Avii—as well as from Morgath, Faere, and the Southern Isles. The mountain people formed their own tribe, safe from the influence of the empire.