CHAPTER FOUR Crouched in a thicket beside the road a short distance north of Odran Crossing, Doyle cursed his white coat. Abby lay a short distance to his left, her dark brindle form nearly invisible against the leaf litter of the forest floor; only the thin white stripe on her muzzle, her white stockings, and the white firefly tip of her tail gave any hint where she waited. Felix lay just a few feet beyond her, his black fur making him as much a part of the night as the Shadows they watched. The pack had left Gifford Keep early that morning and windrun south all day, extending their magic to include Master Darian and his horse, Bridget. Late in the day, they drew near the Odran River that marked Dusan’s southern border and Darian led them to Lorwyn, a village that served as a base for one of the barony’s guard companies. Unlike the greyhounds, whose inborn magic allowed them to windrun for days if necessary, humans and horses could only borrow the magic and tired much more quickly. Darian needed a meal, a rest, and a new horse while Bridget recovered from the day-long run. While Darian ate and briefed the local soldiers on what they knew, Fala searched for the Shadows by feeling for them. She detected ten of the creatures spread throughout the forest, and taught the pack how to find and track them by sensing for their chill presence. This close to the creatures, they did not need to evoke their windrunning magic to find them. The Shadows formed two groups; one stalked the south side of the river; the other ranged through the woods to the north. Fala assigned Doyle, Felix, and Abby to the northern group, while she, Joey, and Skye would cross the river into Lommar to pursue the others. None of them liked the idea of splitting the pack, but they had little choice. If the key were somewhere close, as Mael’s message seemed to indicate, they could not risk one of the Shadow groups finding it while they chased the other. While the greyhounds hunted Shadows in the woods, Master Darian and his men would ride out to scout the local roads and trails. They left Lorwyn at sunset. Doyle, Felix, and Abby easily detected their Shadow group’s location and started toward them at a ground-eating lope. At first they followed the main road, but as they drew nearer the Shadows and the need for stealth increased, they melted into the increasing gloom beneath the trees and slowed their pace, moving as quietly as possible. A gentle breeze blew from the south, carrying with it the smell of humans, horses, and fear. The scent of the Shadows proved to be more a feeling than an actual odor. It seared a chill line along Doyle’s muzzle and settled between his eyes, causing a dull ache that made him want to swipe his face with his forepaws. By the time they caught up to the Shadows, night had descended fully and a cool bite rode the air. Abby, who had appointed herself leader of the trio, directed them into a thicket that grew along the side of the road where five Shadows surrounded two humans. Doyle shuddered with apprehension at sight of the dark creatures. No description he’d ever heard captured the reality of the beasts’ hulking appearance. They weren’t much taller than he was, but with their massive builds, they probably outweighed him by a significant amount. Doyle hoped they would not have to fight. One of the humans, a man dressed in black leather, lay sprawled on his back in the roadway, held down by one of the Shadows. A sword lay a short distance away. The second human was much younger, little more than a child. He stood a short distance from the man, pale and trembling, and Doyle realized that most of the fear he smelled came from the boy. Four Shadows paced around him, gazes locked on his slight form, their carriage oddly deferential. The Shadow that pinned the man to the ground looked up at the boy and spoke to him using thoughtspeech. «Master, shall I end this one’s life?» The boy stared at the creature, slack jawed. “M—m—master? Who—?” Then the rest of the Shadow’s words seemed to register. “End his life? No. No! Let him up!” Slowly, the Shadow lifted its paw from the man’s chest and slunk back a step. The man lay still for a moment, as if unable to believe he was free, and then he rolled over, snatched up his sword, and leaped deftly to his feet, his weapon held before him in both hands, blade low, pointed at the Shadows. A low growl rumbled from the throat of one of the creatures. “Quick, boy, get behind me,” the man said. The boy took a step toward him, but one of the Shadows moved to block him. «You must return to Faeron,» it said. “Faeron?” the boy said, frowning. “I’ve never been to Faeron.” «You must return the key.» “I—don’t have any key.” The Shadow stared at the boy’s chest. A moment later, the boy gasped and pulled something from beneath his tunic. A chill feel of lurking menace swept over Doyle and he bit back a startled yelp. «That’s it!» he said, limiting the sending of his thoughtspeech to a few feet, intending it for Felix and Abby only. «That’s the key Mael showed me. We can’t let the Shadows get it.» One of the dark creatures lunged forward. “No!” The boy stumbled back and a chasm split the ground before him. With a screech, the leaping Shadow dissolved to mist and plummeted into the chasm’s dim interior. As fast as it appeared, the chasm vanished and the boy collapsed to his knees. The remaining Shadows froze, staring at the boy, their respectful stances stiffening to a predatory crouch. «Master—» one of them began. «Go!» Abby said. She charged from the bushes, her physical form fading to semi-transparency as she slipped into a windrun. Felix followed close behind. Doyle paused for an instant, wishing Fala or Master Darian—or anyone experienced in fighting Shadows—were here, and then he reached inside himself for his own magic, slid into the realm of air, and dashed after Abby and Felix. Fala had drilled them on fighting Shadows since they were puppies, so Doyle was not surprised to see the ghostly representations of the Shadows that overlaid their physical forms or the thick pewter-colored lifecords that stretched from the center of the ghost-Shadows and flowed away into the indeterminate distance. The cords linked the creatures from their Shadow home to the physical world. By entering a realm where a lifecord could be accessed and severing it, one could force a Shadow out of the physical world and back to its native realm. It was the only way to truly defeat one. Doyle locked his sight on one of the twisting, writhing cords and windran toward it. Abby and Felix sprinted toward two of the other Shadows. The leather-clad man waded into the melee as well, sword swinging expertly. Then the Shadow Doyle was charging spun to face him and there was no more time to concern himself with what the others were doing. With a blood-curdling scream, the Shadow attacked, jagged teeth bared, midnight claws slashing. Doyle darted beneath the creature’s razor-tipped swipe. The Shadow snapped as he ducked past and its jaws slammed shut a hairsbreadth from Doyle’s shoulder. Doyle dodged away and then spun back. The Shadow twisted to face him. Doyle gathered his legs under him, preparing to leap aside when the Shadow charged, but the black-clad swordsman stepped between him and the Shadow. He pointed behind Doyle with his free hand. “Finish that one,” he said, not taking his eyes off the Shadow he faced. Doyle glanced back and saw the first Shadow the man had fought thrashing on the roadway behind him. Dark blood leaked from a half dozen wounds on the creature’s body, and a silver dagger hilt jutted from its left shoulder. The lifecord that stretched from its ghost form writhed and trembled with the Shadow’s twisting movements. Without stopping to wonder how the man had known not to kill the creature (for that would only banish it momentarily before it reformed from the darkness around them), Doyle dove for the cord. It stung when he bit into it, but he clamped down hard, as Fala had taught them, and shook his head, ripping the silvery rope free from the ghost-Shadow with a rending sound more felt than heard as it shuddered through his body. With a shrill keening that descended quickly to a low moan, the lifecord and Shadow faded away, leaving only a few dark stains on the roadway and the silver dagger dripping thick black blood. “Help me here,” the swordsman called. The Shadow that the man was fighting had suffered a number of wounds, but it remained on its feet, glaring at the man and snarling its defiance. The man feinted a stab at the creature’s face, and then twisted his sword to cut the Shadow’s front legs out from under it. It screamed and collapsed. Doyle reached it in a single bound and severed its lifecord with a quick bite. It, too, screeched as it disappeared. Immediately, the man attacked the Shadow Abby was battling, drawing its attention long enough for her to get her jaws around its cord and tear it free. The Shadow screamed and disappeared, and she let her windrunning magic dissipate. Doyle did the same. Several feet beyond Abby, Felix stood in the middle of the road, teeth bared, the hair along his spine bristling. Bright red blood seeped from four shallow parallel slices on his chest, but the Shadow he had faced was gone. Slowly, Felix relaxed and his hackles smoothed. «I did it,» he said, his words ringing with a mixture of shock and pride. Abby looked at him. «You’re hurt.» Felix licked gingerly at the wound. «It’s just a scratch.» He met her gaze, his dark chestnut eyes round with wonder. «I killed a Shadow.» «You did good, Felix. We all did. The Shadows are gone, thanks to—» She looked at the swordsman, head tilted in question. He hesitated a moment before responding. “Zain.” «I am Abby, and this is Felix and Doyle. You’ve fought Shadows before.» It was not a question. Zain nodded. «With a greyhound?» Doyle asked. He nodded again and knelt beside the boy sprawled motionless at the side of the road. The key, suspended from a leather thong, lay against the boy’s tunic, looking like nothing more than a collection of harmless metal scraps fashioned into a crude pendant. The chill Doyle felt when the boy first revealed it was gone. «Is he all right?» Abby asked, moving closer. Felix joined her. «Who is he?» Zain pressed a hand to the boy’s throat. “He’s alive.” «What happened to him?» Doyle asked. “I don’t know. I don’t see any wounds, and I don’t think the Shadows ever reached him.” «Can you wake him?» Abby asked. Zain shook him gently, but the boy did not respond. He looked at the greyhounds. “The Shadows called him master,” he said, frowning, and reached for the key. “I think they wanted this.” Strange dark light flashed from the pendant and he jerked his hand away. “Damn.” Felix released a sudden, startled yip and looked south down the road. «What about the other Shadows?» Zain stood up, sword held ready to use. “Other Shadows?” He followed Felix’s gaze. Abby closed her eyes and Doyle knew she was sensing for them. He did the same, searching to the south where Fala and the others tracked the second group, and then expanded his search as far as he could sense in all directions. «I can’t feel them anymore,» Abby said. «Neither can I,» Doyle said. «Fala!» Abby called, the name ringing loud in Doyle’s head as she tried to reach across the distance that separated them. «Skye! Joey!» She paused. «They’re too far away. Doyle, head south. Find out what happened and tell them we found the key. Felix, you go north. Find Darian and bring him here as quickly as you can.» Doyle turned and sprinted down the road, calling for Fala, Skye, and Joey. The moon had risen above the trees, full and round. Its silver light spilled along the roadway and shone down through the trees to either side. «We’re coming, Doyle,» Fala finally responded to his call. «We’re just crossing the Odran back into Dusan. Are you hurt? How are the others?» «We’re fine. We found the key.» Doyle quickly related the details of what had occurred. As he completed his report, Fala and the others came into view on the road ahead. Joey dashed up to Doyle. «Doyle, we fought Shadows! You should have seen Fala. She got three of them. Three! Skye and me just had one each, but we did it, we sent them away.» «We didn’t find the Shadows soon enough,» Fala said, her words much more subdued than Joey’s. «The Shadows killed two men before we arrived. We found their bodies near a wagon.» She and Skye caught up to Doyle, and Fala spent several moments checking him from nose to tail. Once Fala was satisfied that he was unhurt, Doyle led her, Skye, and Joey to where Abby and Zain waited with the boy. There, Fala gave Abby a similarly thorough going-over. Moments later, Felix, Master Darian, and five of his men galloped into view. Darian rode an unfamiliar chestnut horse and had donned a light chain mail shirt under his burgundy jerkin. Darian’s men were similarly dressed. Reinier, a middle-aged man with gray streaking his dark hair and beard, sun-darkened skin, and squinting eyes, led two riderless horses behind his own mount, a big red roan gelding and a black mare. Fala examined Felix carefully, checking to be sure the wound on his chest was no worse than he claimed. Master Darian signaled to one of the soldiers, a gray-haired man with a deeply lined face and a thin moustache and goatee. “Owen, see to the boy.” «Don’t touch the pendant he’s wearing,» Doyle warned. Darian relayed the information to Owen, who could not hear thoughtspeech, and then looked at the greyhounds. “Is everyone all right?” Fala and Abby both started speaking at once. Darian held up a hand. “Wait, ladies. One at a time. Felix told me what happened here, so it’s your turn, Fala.” Once Fala finished her report, Darian sent two of his soldiers to check on the men and wagon. As the two rode off, Zain walked up to Reinier. “The black mare is mine,” he said. “She bolted when the Shadows attacked. The roan belongs to one of the dead men with the wagon.” “Were the men friends of yours?” Darian asked, riding his horse up beside Zain. Zain shook his head. “Just acquaintances.” “And you are . . . ?” Darian prompted Zain for his name. “Wanting my horse back so I can get going.” Darian frowned. “Is there someplace you’ve got to be in a hurry?” “Any place other than here.” “Why’s that?” Darian asked. “I don’t like Shadows.” One corner of Darian’s mouth curled in a half-smile. “I think that’s something we all have in common. Felix tells me you’ve fought them before.” Zain shrugged. “Can I have my horse?” Darian ignored the question. “Who’s the boy?” Zain glanced to where Owen was examining the boy’s still form. “I’m not sure.” Darian arched one eyebrow. “Which isn’t the same as saying you don’t know.” Zain scowled. “Fine. I don’t know.” He reached for his horse’s reins. Reinier sidestepped his mount away, pulling the mare with him, and glanced at Darian. “Captain?” Darian shook his head. “No, he’s coming with us.” “Am I a prisoner?” Zain asked, his hand drifting to his sword’s hilt. Darian whipped his own sword free of its scabbard and slapped the tip against the back of Zain’s hand. “Don’t, or you will be a prisoner.” He pulled the sword away, but kept it in his hand. “I’d like you to come with us to Lorwyn and tell us what you know about what happened here.” “What’s in it for me?” “An ale. A meal. A room for the night. What do you need?” “I wouldn’t turn down any of those.” “They’re yours then, in exchange for some information, compliments of Baron Titus.” Darian sheathed his sword and glanced at Reinier. “Give the man his horse. Owen, is the lad fit to travel?” “I can’t find anything wrong with him, but I can’t wake him up either.” “Bring him. We’ll see what we can do back at the inn.” He wheeled his horse and trotted north up the road. “Come on, hounds, I’m sure you’ve all got stories to tell. I’ll listen to them on the way back to Lorwyn.”
***
Soon after reaching the Lorwyn inn, Doyle decided he did not like it. Not that it was all bad. Bright lanterns filled the common room with a cozy, yellow light. A large brazier and the twenty or so citizens and soldiers who sat inside kept it comfortably warm. The innkeeper even provided each of the greyhounds with a trencher of dense brown bread smothered in a rich stew thick with chunks of meat and vegetables. But everything in the room was so hard. It was all wooden benches, wooden tables, and a wooden floor. There wasn’t a carpet or fur or cushion to be seen. Granted, a lot of interesting and tasty tidbits could be found by snuffling through the straw that covered the floor, but that hardly made it suitable to lay on for any length of time. Doyle sighed. Nature may have graced greyhounds with speed and keen eyesight, and the elves gifted them with windrunning and thoughtspeech, but someone had neglected to provide padding for elbows, hocks, knees, and the other tender parts of greyhound anatomy that inevitably ended up in contact with whatever surface they lay upon. Doyle hoped the rooms upstairs would have something more comfortable, for Master Darian had decided they would be spending the night here. With another deep sigh, Doyle stood, turned around a few times, and lay down again, fruitlessly seeking a comfortable position beside the table at which Darian, Zain, and several of the Dusan soldiers sat. The rest of the pack lay nearby, lapping up the last of their supper, nosing through the straw for dropped morsels, or simply trying to relax on the hard floor. “So this man Graden, the wagoner,” Darian was saying to Zain, “he was—what?—the boy’s father? Uncle?” He’d sat quietly while Zain related the events that had brought him and the boy together, and was now questioning the dark man to clarify points of his story. “I don’t think they were related,” Zain said, staring into his tankard. “I’ve run into Graden a few times in the past. He never had anyone with him before, and he never mentioned any family.” “You didn’t see anything wrong with selling the boy to this Brody fellow?” Darian’s voice held an unmistakable tone of disgust. “I didn’t sell anybody to anyone. I took a percentage of the fee Stefan pays for bringing new workers to the Gresham mines.” “By worker I assume you mean slave.” “That’s your interpretation, not mine. Ever since Faeron fell to the Shadows and the king stopped shipping prisoners off to the mines, they’ve needed workers. The men are housed, clothed, fed, and cared for, and plenty of them work their way into paying positions. Brody himself told me he was ‘sold’ to Stefan when he was a youngster.” Zain looked up from his drink and met Darian’s gaze. “Would you rather the boy ended up begging on the streets of some city, or having to steal to survive? Most city constables frown on that sort of activity, and the children they catch end up much worse off than being indentured to the Gresham mines.” Darian pursed his lips. “You’ve got a point, but I don’t have to like it. Baron Titus doesn’t take kindly to anything resembling slavery taking place in Dusan.” “We weren’t in Dusan at the time the exchange took place.” “Close enough. You said the boy ran when he found out what was happening. Didn’t that suggest he might not be a willing participant in Graden’s scheme?” “I really wasn’t thinking about that at the time,” Zain said. “The boy had just worked some kind of magic on Graden and Brody. Plus, he’d stolen Brody’s horse. As I recall, stealing horses was enough to get you sent to the mines back in King Coryn’s time.” “Depends on whose horse you stole,” Darian said with a chuckle, and then took a long drink from his tankard. “It’s a moot point anyway. Now that we know the boy has the key, he’s not going anywhere.” «What are we going to do with him?» Fala asked. «And with the key?» «And what about the magic he used on those men?» Abby added. «And whatever he did to that Shadow?» “Until he wakes up and we can get his side of the story, there’s not much we can do about any of it,” Darian said. “What exactly is this key?” Zain asked. “Why do the Shadows want it?” “We think it might be the item Marrik used to open the Shadow Gate in Faeron,” Darian said. “But that’s just a guess. We’re hoping the boy can tell us more. About all we know for sure is that we can’t let the Shadows get it.” “Maybe this key is why the Shadows are getting so restless,” Zain said. “I’ve heard rumors that more and more of them are starting to venture out of the areas they control. How did you know the boy had it?” “We didn’t,” Darian said. “All we knew was that the Shadows were looking for it somewhere around here.” “How did you know that?” Darian hesitated for a moment before answering. “Mael told Doyle.” Zain’s brows shot up and he looked at Doyle. “You’re a dreamer?” «What’s a dreamer?» Doyle asked. “Visited by Mael in your sleep,” Zain said. Doyle glanced at Fala and then looked back at Zain. «I guess I am. I dreamed about Mael and he told me about the key.» Darian studied Zain for a moment. “You seem to know a lot about the greyhounds.” “Sean taught me.” “Sean?” “A greyhound. He and I fought Shadows together for several years.” «That’s how you knew not to kill the Shadows when we fought them tonight,» Doyle said. Zain nodded. “Sean and I worked that out. I’d wound or distract them and he did the rest.” «I remember Sean,» Fala said. «A big brindle. What happened to him?» Zain frowned. “We finally ran into a group of Shadows we couldn’t beat. I barely got away myself.” His tone was matter of fact, but Doyle sensed an underlying grief in his voice. “After he was gone, I figured staying to fight the Shadows by myself would be somewhat suicidal, so I headed north.” “How long ago was that?” Darian asked. “About a year.” “Captain,” Owen said, coming down the stairs at the rear of the inn. He and a young soldier had taken the boy to one of the upstairs rooms as soon as they’d arrived. “The lad’s finally awake. Jarrett should be bringing him down any time.” “How is he?” Darian asked. “Physically, he’s fine,” Owen said, moving across the room to the long counter against the back wall and signaling to the innkeeper. “He’s asking for something to eat and drink. That’s always a good sign. He was damn scared when he first woke up, but Jarrett and I got him calmed down. We told him where he was and a little bit about what happened. We asked him if he wanted to sleep more, but he’s pretty adamant about coming down here and talking to you.” He picked up the foaming tankard the innkeeper set before him and joined Darian at his table. “His name’s Brand, by the way.” Zain coughed and quickly downed the remainder of his drink. “I need a refill,” he mumbled and started to stand. Darian put a hand on his arm. “Not so fast. You recognize the boy’s name?” “I—knew a Brand once. Actually I knew of him. He was just a child, the son of a distant relative. I’d heard he died when he was only a few years old.” “But this might be him?” Zain shrugged and held up his empty tankard. “Do you mind?” Darian nodded toward the bar. “Go ahead.” He watched Zain make his way across the room, and then looked at the greyhounds. «What do you think?» Darian asked, limiting his thoughtspeech so only the pack could hear him. «Is our friend Zain hiding something?» «He certainly seems nervous,» Fala said. Her years of experience with humans had made her sensitive to the subtleties of their scents, body language, and other signs of emotion, something Doyle and the rest of the pack were still learning. «He reacted very strongly to the boy’s name.» «If he knows who the boy is,» Doyle said, «why hide it? Won’t the boy recognize him?» «Maybe,» Darian said, gazing across the room at the dark man. «Maybe not. Either way, I promise you Zain isn’t going anywhere until he tells us what he knows.» To be continued...
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