Shadeborn: A Book of Underrealm (5 page)

Loren ran to stow her black cloak upstairs and fetch her dirty brown spare. When she returned, Chet rose again.

“No, stay. Albern and I must look into something. It will not take long, and too many at once draw attention.”

“Is it some trouble?” said Xain sharply.

“Mayhap, or nothing,” said Loren. “Rest assured, we will return in safety. Ready the horses just in case, and get the gear from our room.”

Loren returned to the bar, where Albern was waiting. Sten was there as well, and through his beard Loren could see a frown.

“Not long at all, and then we’ll return,” Mag was saying. “Trouble your ugly head not.”
 

Sten said, “When have you ever given me cause for concern? I fear only for anyone who may think to tussle with you.” But the creases in his forehead deepened.

Mag placed a hand on Sten’s arm, and then stood on tiptoe to plant her lips upon his cheek. “See to the customers. Get those layabout children to help, if you need them.”
 

He let her go with but a long squeeze of her hand to see her off.

five

They set out into the streets, and though it was warm Loren raised her hood to mask her face, hoping its shadow would bury her eyes.

Mag took them into the heart of the city. Northwood was no burg so great as Wellmont, or even Cabrus, the first place Loren had seen after leaving her forest home. Here there were hardly any buildings more than a single story. The city was wide rather than tall, sprawled across many acres of land with its streets twisting in upon each other. Yet with unerring certainty Mag wove her way through them until it was all Loren could do to keep up.

“Len said he was last around here,” said Mag, looking around in the lazy afternoon sun. “Stay close to the walls, and find shadows to stand in if you may.”

Loren needed no second urging and already found herself doing all she could to avoid being seen. Yet it seemed she need not have worried—despite the well-peopled streets not a single eye turned to her. But search as she might, Loren could see no sign of the man Len had described. They turned corner after corner, searching every alley they could find.

“There,” hissed Albern at last, seizing Loren’s arm and drawing her against the wall of a smithy. She ducked quickly, and then waited a moment before peeking from under her hood.

Loren saw him at last. Len had spoken truly: this man Rogan felt dangerous, and though he bore no armor he wore his size like protection. His arms were covered, yet under the sleeves his strength was clear. Dark was his face, scarred across both eyes, though he had lost neither.

Something about him seemed familiar. Loren could not place the reason, and the search through her mind brought terror to her heart. She had seen someone,
something
like him before. But not in Jordel, nor any of the other Mystics she had met upon the road.

“Do you see it?” Albern said, giving voice to her thoughts. The beast moves like Trisken.”

Loren thought her heart might stop. “We must leave. We should have fled Northwood last night.”

“Albern, what is it?” said Mag.

“Nothing, or at least no great matter if we leave at once.”

Albern’s grip on Loren’s arm tightened, and he nearly hauled her off and down the street. Mag sped her pace to match them. Loren glanced back over her shoulder as they fled—and in a frozen, terrible moment, locked eyes with Rogan. Then he was gone, swallowed by the crowd.
 

“He saw me,” she said.

“We were too far away. He could not have remarked upon you, not dressed like this. You are not the only girl in the nine lands with green eyes.”
 

Yet Albern sounded as though he did not believe it himself, and he began to move faster. Now they were half running.

“Is it them?” said Mag. “The ones you fought in the mountains?”

“Mayhap.”

“We have no time,” said Loren. “I only hope the others have readied the horses.”

Albern looked back over his shoulder. “Perhaps I should come with you.”

Loren wanted to refuse. Albern had sought to part ways and return to Strapa, his home far to the south. But now she welcomed the thought of his company, for Albern was as skilled at using a bow as he was at making one. Indecision kept her silent, and she could not sort her thoughts for the fear that filled her heart.

She saw Jordel’s broken body on the valley floor.

And Trisken’s bloodied grin.

The beast had commanded the fortress in the Greatrocks, the one filled with Shades that had inspired such fear in Jordel. The Mystic, who had always been a solid rock for Loren to lean on. Trisken had fought them in the caves, and there they had cut him down with arrows and swords. Yet he had risen again, his mortal wounds knitting before their terrified eyes.

And they could only run.

They had slain him at last but lost Jordel, the greatest among them.

Mag’s inn loomed above. Loren ignored the back door, burst in through the front, and ran to the table where the others were waiting.
 

Gem and Annis looked up in surprise, but in the wizard’s eyes she saw a dark recognition.

Loren said, “We are leaving.
Now
. Where is Chet?”

“With the horses,” said Annis. “What did you see in the—”

“
Now,
Annis. Go with Gem, and fetch our things, as quickly as your feet can carry you. Meet at the stables.”

She and Gem caught Loren’s panic like plague and ran upstairs. Xain tried to rise but stumbled and had to catch himself on the table. On thin and shaking legs, he ran after Loren as she made for the inn’s back door.

“A man in town searches for us,” she said, before he could ask. “He is one of them, for he holds himself as Trisken did.”

Already pale, Xain’s skin turned elf-white. “We are too long delayed.”

“We can be miles away before they learn we were here,” said Loren.

“True enough,” said Albern. “And unless they are mightier woodsmen than I suppose, I shall see to it that they have trouble following our trail beneath the Birchwood’s eaves.”

“You will find Chet and me no slouches,” said Loren. “We are children of that forest.”

They struck the stable doors so hard that the hinges nearly broke.
 

Chet’s gaze shot up from where he was inspecting his chestnut’s bridle. “Loren! What is it?”

“We are leaving. I hope you are ready.”

“I am,” he said, eyeing Albern and Xain. “But I do not understand what—”

The sharp blast of a horn cut the air outside.
 

Screams tore through the silence, and somewhere far off, a bell began to toll.

six

Loren was on the verge of running back to the inn when Gem and Annis finally appeared, bags bulging under their arms, eyes so frightened they looked almost haunted.
 

Chet and Albern took the supplies and threw them upon the saddles while Xain slowly mounted his horse.
 

“What are these horns?” Gem’s voice trembled. “I heard shouting.”

“An attack,” said Loren. “I
knew
he saw me.”

The stable door flew open, and the party whirled toward the sound as one. Loren drew her dagger, and Albern followed with his sword. Loren relaxed at the sight of Mag and Sten until she saw their blades and the shields upon their arms.
 

“The city is under siege,” said Mag. “We shall see you safely beyond the walls.”

“Go back inside,” Loren said. “Wait until we have gone. They will pursue us beyond the city and leave Northwood in peace.”

“That I doubt,” said Mag. “And you have no time to convince me besides. Mount your horses. Quickly.”

Albern seized Loren’s arm before she could reply and nearly threw her onto the saddle. “You are nearly a match for Mag in stubbornness, girl, but not quite. Heed her.”

Loren ground her teeth but stuck her boots through the stirrups. The others were quick to mount.
 

With Mag and Sten on either side, Loren led them through the streets, north to where the Birchwood gate waited. From the west rang screams of the dying amid the clashing of steel.

Annis cried out. “They would kill all these people just to find us? How can they hope to keep themselves a secret after this?”

“If none live to tell the tale, it will remain hidden,” said Albern with grim finality. “Even if some spare few escape to speak of the attack, most will assume it is an army of Dorsea.”

“You mean to say it is not?” said Sten.
 

Mag had heard their tale, but her husband had not and knew nothing of the Shades. She said, “Time for that explanation later. We must hasten. If I were they, I would move to cut off northern and eastern escape. With luck, we should gain the gate before then.”

As Mag spoke, they entered an open square to find their luck had emptied. Shades stormed into view, mail and blades gleaming. Folk fled in fear, cut down by the Shades as they ran, so intent in their slaughter that they gave no mind to Loren and her party.

“This way!” Mag led them aside and down another street, away from the killing. Loren eyed Chet as they rode. His face was sheet white, teeth bared. She gripped his arm, squeezing until he found her eyes.

“Try not to look. Keep your eyes in front of you and your mind on where you wish to go.”
 

He gave her a shaky nod. Beyond him, Loren saw Gem and Annis, their mouths set in grim lines, shoulders set. The rest of them had seen so much death, even this wanton slaughter did not make them despair. Loren was unsure whether that was a good thing or not.

Mag took them through many twisting alleys, but eventually they emerged into the open and ran into another ugly horde of Shades. Here some citizens had taken up arms, shovels and pitchforks turned to makeshift weapons. But the Shades were disciplined and coordinated in their battle. One or two had fallen, but scores of their victims littered the ground.

“No use. It will be a fight.” Mag’s voice had turned flat and lifeless—a horrible monotone from the woman who was always so warm, like a mother to the children. Loren found herself shivering despite the heat.
 

Albern drew an arrow and turned to the party. “Keep behind Mag and Sten. Stay your blades until you must swing, for they will try to seize them and pull you down. Now, charge!”

Then, for the first time in her life, Loren saw death made beautiful.

Mag struck, filled with battle-lust at the sight of her fellows killed in their homes. She fought, blade blessed with the speed of her rage, her shield like a castle wall in motion as it warded their blows. Not once did her blade strike forth but to draw blood, faster than a serpent striking, fluid as a flowing waterfall.
 

Sten stood beside her, using his size and strength to batter his foes, knocking them back until he could find an opening for his sword. Behind her, Albern unleashed a flurry of arrows, each finding its mark, his archery wizardry to Loren’s eyes. But Mag’s blade was coated in death, her battle cry a banshee’s wail. No foe fell under her gaze and survived. In twos and threes they fought her, but they could not pierce her guard, nor stay her blade once it came for them.

The fight was over almost before Loren knew it had begun. Any Shades who did not fall to their assault turned and fled through the streets, disappearing behind the buildings and into the city’s crooked alleys. Mag turned to them, her face spattered with a mist of red. Flecks speckled her bared teeth.

“On!” growled Mag. “Do not stop moving.”

They followed without a word. Loren could see Albern’s dark look from the corner of his eye. Sten eyed his wife sadly as they pressed through the streets. But Mag could only stare at the road before her.

Twice more they came upon Shades in the streets, and twice more Mag drove them back with a furious charge. Sten could barely keep up—indeed, even Albern’s arrows seemed to strike a moment behind Mag’s lightning blows. Loren and the others tried to stay clear, quaking in their saddles as Mag sliced through her foes like a scythe.

At last they came within sight of the city’s north wall and paused. More Shades marched through the gate in rank and file. An army, far greater than they had seen even in the Greatrocks.

“There are so many,” breathed Loren.

“Surely not even Mag can defeat them all,” said Gem. “Albern . . . what do we do?”

The bowyer hesitated. Sten had stopped in his tracks, and even Mag was still, as though the sight of so many foes had finally broken through her rage of death.

Silence grew long. Loren tugged on Midnight’s reins to turn. “Come. Mayhap they have not reached the eastern gate yet. We can try to—”

“They will have reached it.” Mag spoke in a commander’s bark, but still it held no fire. She turned to them, and Loren saw none of her usual warmth. “Come now, children. Do you fear so few? Follow me, and you shall reach the Birchwood. I swear it.”

“Mag!” But Albern was too late. She galloped straight into the swarm, blade held aloft, glittering wherever it was not caked in gore. Sten followed two steps behind, trying and failing to match Mag’s furious pace.