Chapter I
He had been confined to a silent world of sleep. An engulfing blue light surrounded him that maintained the awful prison. He wanted to be rid of it, to sit and stretch and walk about. But the bond was powerful, and he couldn’t rouse himself from it. There was no hunger, no sense of thirst. No weariness either. No, that had abandoned him a long time ago. If he ever did awaken, he knew he would never need to sleep again. He would never dare sleep again. Or was this blue existence really his own death – this gradual feeling of loss and timelessness? Thoughts formed and then scattered. The only real thing was the blue light – the source of the prison he had chosen for himself. What a foolish choice.
And in an instant, it changed. The blue light winked out.
He blinked. Wincing at the colors and shades streaking across his eyes, he realized he could see again. Greens and browns and grays – rich earthy colors. The blue light had vanished. His insides thrilled with the freedom. For a moment, the barrage of sounds disoriented him. He was in the woods surrounding the watchpost. Wasn’t he? The shrill chatter of a jackdaw echoed, winging its way through the grove. Fat bumblebees spun in wide circles nearby. And a small waterfall! A melodious churning waterfall. It took a moment for him to realize that marsh water had seeped into his boots, making his feet cold. The discomfort of it was new, invigorating. The Everoot surrounded him, growing across the rocks and trees, wet and glistening like damp moss. Memories flooded him as well, thoughts sticking together and holding. Excitement surged through his stomach. He was alive again! And then he felt the presence of Forbidden magic coming nearer.
As he turned around, he discovered the woman moving through the woods. She was blurred, distorted by the crackling sheets of blue lightning flashing off the canopy of wetland trees – a wall of magic separating them. The roar of the magic swept through the marshy grass as it fought to keep her out. A feeling of darkness and fear settled into his bones at seeing her. A smell also – a stinging smell that reminded him of cinders and dead flesh. He knew in an instant she was an intruder to the warding. Tingles of fire gathered through his fingers as he summoned Earth magic from the spongy mat of grass and moss, breathing it from the mud and stones. He inhaled its cloying smell. Again the thought came to him. He was here for a reason. She was an intruder. He – the guardian. He remembered nothing else. Summoning the rush of the magic to aid him, he raised his arms to unleash it on her.
In the blink of a moment, the magic abandoned him, leaving only the scent of smoke. It was like a silver candlesnuffer quenching a taper. He tried to summon the Earth magic again, but it slipped from his fingers like water. The warding was also gone. Panic seized him as he realized that no barrier separated them. The blur of the warding was gone and he could see her clearly now – dark sleek hair and an ageless face. Her eyes were depthless and as dark as her hair and robes. She was his height and moved with a suppleness that defied the tangle of the woods. She reeked of Forbidden magic.
“Who are you?” He gagged on the terror rising in his chest. He had been bound for this moment – for this moment only. To defend the warding – to stop anyone from seizing the Everoot.
No answer.
“Who are you?” He squinted against the thickening shadows, watching as the afternoon sunlight faded and blackness gathered in its wake. The marsh water had soaked through his boots, but he was cold with fear. She opened her hand. A ball of reddish light glimmered against the curtain of long black robes she wore. His eyes widened, recognizing the shade of the flame. Terror writhed up his throat. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. He knew exactly what had come to kill him.
“Yes, you do know what I am,” came her whisper, answering his thoughts.
He took a tentative step backwards, waiting with dread for the rush of magic that would destroy him. “How did you find…?”
“I am the one who called you. I am the one who has tamed you. Serve me.”
The ground lurched as he fell to his elbows and knees, weeping in shame and loathing. He shook with cold as the marsh water soaked into the rest of his clothes.
* * *
The city of Landmoor hunkered on a wide flat hill overlooking the Shoreland moors. It was an odd-looking hill, a little lopsided on the eastern slant, with teeth-like rows of stone jutting between splotches of green sedge. The fortress-city occupied the summit from end to end, its tall, ridged walls interspersed with dominating watch towers, bastions, and two gatehouses. From the center of town rose the sprawling governor’s palace, square and proud, higher than any of the uneven walls. Yet, despite the slouching look which he inwardly admired, Allavin Devers knew that Landmoor was a defensible and well-built keep, one of the strongest in the Kingdom of Dos-Aralon and one of the most remote. He stood just within the fringes of the Shadows Wood, staring across the low hills towards the heights where the city perched. A placid river snaked around the western bounds of the hill, wandering this way and that. A few narrow stone bridges spanned it, joining with the single road leading north to the woods. The lazy road came up the side of the hill before straightening out and reaching the gatehouse. It looked the same on the other side too; he had seen it a hundred times.
Yet it was the first time Allavin had ever known of an enemy army being so close to it unaware. The watchmen patrolling the heights couldn’t see the gathering masses of soldiers and horsemen within the depths of the Shadows Wood. Allavin shook his head in disgust and scratched his beard. The army had been roaming the woods for days now, mashing their tracks and clearing out any witnesses with their dangerous cavalry. It did well to hide their numbers as they converged on the king’s road. The city could withstand a formidable siege. But would the king of Dos-Aralon be able to send an army down soon enough to lift it? Fuming, he shook his head again. He doubted it. Not unless they learned about it first. He’d been tracking the army for several days now, and he knew his trade better than the Bandit Rebellion scouts. But how quickly could he get the news to the king?
Waiting within the protective screen of trees, Allavin sensed the movement more than heard it. Looking over his shoulder, he saw the Shae approaching him. They would have been able to sneak up on any man on either side of the war, but Allavin knew the Shae. He envied how well they blended in with the marsh surrounding Landmoor. The browns and greens of their field garb fit the shadows and scrub of the woods. Their features were hardly remarkable, if you knew them as well as he did. Most of his kind thought of the Shae as a freakish, cunning race. Most were disturbed by the fact that they all had pale skin that burned easily in the sun and light-colored hair. Their eyes were beautiful, but only certain colors – green, blue, and gray. He’d seen a few with lavender eyes over the years, but those were rare. They spoke a different language among themselves, an ancient language, with words hauntingly familiar and twisted with multiple meanings. It took a while to pick up all the nuances. Maybe that was another reason why humans distrusted the Shae so much.
But Allavin Devers preferred their company. He smiled in greeting as the four Shae scouts gathered around him.
“It’s only a matter of days now before they are in position to strike,” Allavin said in the tongue of the Shae. “The Rebellion’s army is big enough to take the city and control the moors. It’ll be a nasty fight rooting them out of here.”
“How many soldiers do they have?” Tiryn asked. He was the leader of this group of Shae scouts and had stunning blue eyes. Allavin had known him for years.
“From what I’ve seen, it’s the entire Shoreland army. Several thousand foot soldiers at least. And they have the Kiran Thall with their horses waylaying wagons and teams from both sides of the king’s road. And not simple hit and run raids like they normally do, they’re spreading out far, watching for trouble from the north. I’m sure the garrison at the castle is wondering why the traffic from Castun has all but halted. What have you seen?”
“The same as you. The Bandits have gathered an army here. Another one is starting to gather itself in the west. The Kiran Thall are ruthless, my friend. They have no regard for Life magic. They offend us.”
Allavin nodded. “They do indeed. I need to get north to warn my king. Where are your alerion tethered?”
“Nearby. They hate the moors. We can’t stay long.”
“Well, our dukes prefer it when the Bandits gather together in one place. Makes them easier to come down and squash.” He clucked his tongue. “Not this time though. It will be an agony to re-capture Landmoor. Keep watch for me, Tiryn. I’ll need you and your scouts watching from the skies until I make it back.”
“There is something else,” Tiryn said with concern. “We came across it on our journey over here. I think you should see it. The Bandits have soldiers clearing out part of the forest.”
Allavin was puzzled. “For a camp?”
Another Shae from the group shook his head. He had gray eyes with green edges. “No, it’s in the middle of a marsh. I’ve never understood humans anyway. We wanted you to look at it. It’s peculiar…even for your race.”
“Show me what you found then.”
Tiryn nodded and beckoned with a hand signal. Allavin slipped next to him, watching the quick play of their fingers as the orders were passed out. The quiet way they could talk with their hands had always impressed him. This particular group of Shae were among the best trackers in the western rim of the valley. Tiryn motioned for one of his scouts to take the lead.
A single scout darted into the trees ahead, his longbow held low and level with a steel-tipped arrow already nocked. Tiryn motioned again and the other two took to the flanks. It was a masterful tactic, Allavin thought with a smile. The leader couldn’t see the first man, but he could see the other two who both relayed information back to him in surreptitious hand gestures – a silent language for a clever people. Allavin was taller and broader across the shoulders than the average Shae, but he moved with a practiced step, mimicking their own and set an arrow in his longbow as well. His worn leather shooting-glove felt comfortable and snug on his hand and wrist and he curled his main fingers around the string, letting his knuckles wedge the arrow into the groove.
They crossed the woods at a swift pace and came upon the swamp Tiryn had mentioned. It was a wet tangle of scarred cedars, uncontrolled vine maple, and matted nets of marsh grass. Wilt and moss grew over drooping branches and tinted the huge boulders with flecks of green and black. The air was heavy and wet and smelled like a sodden cloak that hadn’t been laundered in a month. Allavin cleared away a silky net of spider webs, feeling its unseen strands across his beard. A thick canopy of entwining cedar limbs blocked the sinking sun, veiling the swamp with patches of gray. Sweat beaded up on his forehead and his armpits were soon soaked. The moors were always humid.
Tiryn held up his hand, and Allavin stopped. It meant that the Shae scouts had also stopped. He listened, straining to hear past the whir of roach moths. The leader nodded, gesturing. He turned to Allavin.
“Jerrinwey crossed a warding.”
Allavin squinted, confused. “A warding is… magic, isn’t it? I’ve never understood all the meanings of that word.”
Tiryn furrowed his brow, thinking. “In your language then. A warding is magic. Crossing one, for us, is a little like passing beneath a waterfall without getting wet. We can feel even a broken warding. They leave a smell…or a taste.”
Allavin looked at Tiryn. “Is the warding Forbidden magic?”
“The warding isn’t. But Jerrinwey smells Forbidden magic ahead. The Bandits are using it.”
Allavin nodded. He had expected that. “I’ll go closer. Don’t risk your patrol, Tiryn.”
The Shae smiled. “You are our brother, Allavin. The paper kings will listen to you.”
Allavin returned the smile. The Shae called the Kingdom of Dos-Aralon the paper kingdom because of the treaties they liked to sign. It was a good joke, because the Shae sold them the ink. He nodded to Tiryn to move on and the Shae motioned the others to go deeper. Through the mesh of leaves, their boots sank into a small rivulet of murky water cutting in front of them. Tiryn froze after stepping past it, hand on his heart. He swallowed and composed himself, looking back at Allavin in assurance, before continuing after the others. He’d obviously felt the warding too.
Allavin felt nothing save the damp heat. But the Shae were different in that respect too. They could taste and smell magic in all its colors and shades. Aside from the whickering noises of insects, he heard the quiet rush of a small waterfall and stream.
Tiryn held up his hand and made a gesture of alarm. Jerrinwey hears them, he said with his hands. We are close.
Crossing another dozen paces, Allavin heard it too – the chugging sound of shovels through mud, sinking and slopping. As one, they moved towards the noise. Soon the sound was joined by heavy grunts, and Allavin saw the dim fringes of lantern light ahead through the swamp choked with thimbleberry bushes and witch-thorn. Allavin wiped the sweat from his mouth with the back of his hand and stared ahead. He saw the other two Shae in position, watching the workmen in the middle of the swamp.
Tiryn beckoned Allavin closer.
Ahead in the gloom, he saw the glimmer of water cascading down a huge rock outcropping, washing off the rock steps in thin white rivulets. It collected at the base of the beautiful falls in an overgrown pond, thick and teeming with moss. The moss was everywhere – blanketing the rocks and fallen branches. Even the outcropping and the falls were green with it. In the dim glare of the lanterns, he could see the moss cover the forested glen for thirty paces at least.
Half-clothed men with heaving muscles tore at the swamp with root furrows and shovels, hurrying to finish a network of wooden gutters to drain the pond. Lanterns hung from sagging lengths of twine, offering pale rings of light to the soiled crew. Sluggish gray water coursed through the tilting conduits, dumping into a flat gully forty paces away. Allavin and the small band of Shae skirted the workmen to the left, moving closer to the falls. The sucking sound of the shovels was replaced by the crack of scrapers and pickaxes. Standing in the pond water, the workers scraped the moss from the rocks and tossed the clumps into hand-barrows. Allavin stared at the scene, wondering what was happening. The Bandit Rebellion was collecting…moss? He studied the scene as other workmen approached and poured fresh water from jugs over the soiled moss. It turned a rich shade of green and even in the poor light it sparkled with buds of blue and violet.
Allavin motioned to the plant and made the sign of Forbidden magic. Tiryn shook his head, scrutinizing the workmen. He looked angry at the devastation of the grove. The falls would have been beautiful and quiet, but the workmen were destroying the peacefulness. Tiryn motioned again and Allavin watched the two scouts he could see raise their longbows and choose their targets. The Shae never allowed the earth to be desecrated like this.
Allavin put his hand on Tiryn’s arm, stopping him. He motioned to the moss and pointed to his own palm with the flat of his finger. He wanted some of it to bring back with him. Tiryn nodded begrudgingly and made a quick series of hand signals. There was plenty of moss in the area, and it wouldn’t be difficult for one of the scouts to creep in and snatch some. Allavin crouched, wiping the streaks of sweat from his face. He had to find out what the Bandit Rebellion was stealing from the swamp. Was it a poison? A cure? He knew a Zerite healer in Iniva who might know. Tiryn raised his hand again and pointed. The bows quietly bent.
From the shadows of the swamp on the east side, a knight approached the workmen. The glint of field armor became visible in the pallid light. The workmen slowed and regarded the new arrival. The dark armor was sculpted with a metal trim of ivy and leaves. It was the design of a particular regiment of knights in Owen Draw – a regiment that was now another word for treason. Allavin tried to swallow and found he could not. Sweet Achrolese, he thought in shock. It’s Balinaire. He knew the man before him better than most in the valley. He had tracked this man’s army throughout the vales and hills of the entire realm. It was Lord Ballinaire himself, the leader of the Bandit Rebellion and its three armies. Allavin had last heard he was entrenched in the Kingshadow Mountains, building a fortress. But here he was… in the Shoreland itself preparing the siege on Landmoor.
Ballinaire spoke in hushed tones to the men in the grove. His black eyebrows were stark against the creased folds of wrinkled skin. His thin hair and short beard were white, like shaded snow. The workers rested, their muscles quivering and dripping sweat. The quiet rush and patter of the falls muffled his words, but Allavin watched him with growing anger and determination. King don-Rion would pay a hundred Aralonian pieces to know that Ballinaire was hiding down here. He’d pay more and he’d rouse every knight and soldier under the Crown. But it wasn’t the golden mint from the king’s coffers that Allavin craved. No, he wanted peace. Maybe the Rebellion will end at last, he prayed. Dos-Aralon had been sundered by the Rebellion and would continue to be riddled with disaster until Ballinaire hung stiff from a gibbet. Ballinaire had enough men in the Shoreland to take Landmoor. But not enough to hold her against the brunt of Dos-Aralon’s armies.
Tiryn clutched his arm. “Jerrinwey is gone.”
Allavin looked at him and felt his heart lurch. The point scout was never supposed to leave the sight of the flank scouts. Never. He was about to tell him to send another in when Tiryn jerked at his cloak.
“Run!”
Allavin didn’t argue. In a start, he plunged back into the moors, no longer cautious of the sound they made. Cries of alarm came from the watch, but Allavin knew how to elude the Bandit army. Tiryn’s lithe body sprinted next to him, his longbow ready with an arrow. Shouts rose up in pursuit, but the Shae and the tracker had a tremendous lead.
A flash of blue lightning lit the murk of the swamp. A rushed cry of fear and pain followed instead of thunder and then silence. Allavin looked back and saw an inky black shape silhouetted against the trees as the light of the blue fire died. It wasn’t Ballinaire.
“Quickly!” Tiryn said.
Allavin nearly stumbled through a juniper shrub and managed to keep his footing in the slick mud on the other side. With Tiryn next to him, he plunged into a narrow gully and started up the opposite slope, clutching the cedar roots as handholds and tearing his fingertips on witch-thorn. His hands stung and burned. Allavin hoisted himself and risked another look backwards. One of the Shae scouts was twenty paces back, bounding over rocks and shrubs. Then blue light exploded, blinding Allavin with its startling heat and fire. When the spots cleared from his eyes, the Shae was dead, smoldering with a charred scorchburn through him.
“Shenalle protect us from the Firekin,” Tiryn prayed in a frantic voice, scrambling up the slopes with naked fear blazing in his eyes. “Shenalle protect us and keep us. Shenalle bring peace to the troubled…”
Allavin Devers grabbed Tiryn’s arm and pulled him up the slope. He started for the ring of trees, but he was alone. Tiryn had spun around and raised the trembling bow. “Keasorn guide my arrow. Keasorn give me courage to strike my enemy.”
“Tiryn, run!”
“Vannier grant me luck. Vannier give me cunning.”
“Run!”
Allavin saw the black shadow across the gully. With a look of determination on his face, Tiryn let the steel-tipped shafts loose, one after the other, a trained and deliberate motion from quiver to string. Allavin watched the arrows warp left and right of the shadow and clatter against the wet bark of the twisting vine maple. The shadow raised its arms. Allavin dove clear as the blue light lit the sky like a thousand searing candles. Before he could loose another arrow, Tiryn screamed as the bolt of blue light struck his chest, lifting him with its blazing fury and tossed him against a stand of prickle-vine. The magic seared through his chest, leaving a smoking gap and his face transfixed with terror.
Allavin Devers scrambled through the brush, keeping low to the ground. He dodged around trees and stands of juniper, trying to get clear of the forest. He heard nothing, but he knew he was being followed. The black shadow was hunting him. Wrenching his sword from its sheath, he thrashed at the low-hanging boughs and cut away the vines that tried to snare him. The entire scouting party was dead. A Shae scouting party!
The mud tugged at his ankles, clumping on his boots and slowing his escape. It was lighter ahead, meaning he was close to the edge of the woods. He stumbled through the maze of cedar and sedge. Something black pricked his side vision and he changed directions, trying to outdistance it. Huffing with exhaustion, he risked a look behind. The light gave the shadow a form – the form of a man draped in midnight colors. A Sleepwalker. It must be a Sleepwalker! Allavin’s heart thundered in his chest. He turned back again, too late. A tree sent sparks of light and pain into his eyes. Blood gushed from his broken nose, and the pain rocked his body. Pushing away, he staggered for the sound of a stream somewhere in the thick folds of the Wood. His broken nose throbbed in agony, sickening him.
Crushing a stand of reeds, Allavin stumbled down a deep inlet and splashed into a pond of quicksand hidden there. The gritty waters immersed him, a smothering bath of sand and shallows. He tried to swim free of it, but the sinking pull dragged him slowly down into the sinkhole. Allavin thrashed upwards, trying to get a last mouthful of air, but he swallowed blood and sand. No! his mind shrieked. He could feel his lungs screaming for air. He was going to die. The thought haunted him in a rush.
The black shadow watched him struggle in vain from the lip of the rise. Just beyond the rows of gnarled cedar, the fortress of Landmoor began flickering awake with torchlight as night and mist descended over the moors.
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