The Shadow Games: The Chronicles of Arianthem VI Page 10

  Chapter 15

  Hrafn was a small town, something more than a village but less than a city, teeming with commerce that revolved around the docks bordering the large lake on its west side. The lake was full of fish, crabs, and other creatures that provided a livelihood for the people living on its banks. And, like most lakeside towns, it was full of robust, hearty people that thrived on hard work and fresh air.

  And, like many such towns, the buildings became less genteel the closer to the docks one explored. The clean, pleasant houses gave way to taverns and hostels, frequented by the many sailors who came down the river that emptied into the lake. Raine, Feyden, and Lorifal walked about hooded and cloaked, blending in with little effort.

  Raine looked up at the tavern sign above them, one depicting two mugs of beer and a bloody, decapitated goat’s head. “The Goat’s End” was written in embossed, raised lettering that was scratched into near illegibility.

  “This looks as good as any,” she said wryly.

  The three entered the dark interior and found a seat in the corner. The place was much cleaner than expected given the signage out front, and Raine thought there might have been a touch of irony, or a story, behind the name. A man in a worn, off-white apron came over, wiping down a glass as he spoke.

  “And what can I get you?” he said with the slight accent of the province.

  “Mead all around,” Feyden replied.

  The barkeep disappeared into the kitchen and Raine took the opportunity to peruse the room. There were a handful of people present, mostly sailors or fishermen and women. No one stood out or caught her eye. The man in the apron returned with three mugs on a platter.

  “Here you go.”

  Feyden placed a few coins on the table and the man picked them up and tucked them into the pocket of the apron.

  “We are explorers,” Feyden began, “and have heard tales of the Hrafn catacombs. Could you tell us where we might find them?”

  The man stiffened, a near imperceptible movement had not the three been watching him closely. His manner was still casual, but there was now a certain wariness in his demeanor.

  “You don’t want to go up there,” he said. “The catacombs have been closed for years. The local regent put them off limits.”

  “Why would he do that?” Lorifal asked.

  “Can’t really say,” the barkeep said, and his words were ambiguous as to whether he did not know or just would not speak of it.

  Raine considered offering the man some gold for more information, but his reluctance seemed grounded in fear, something that was rarely responsive to bribery.

  “Well, thank you then,” Feyden said, and the man went back to the bar. He glanced at them from time to time, uneasily wiping down the same glass.

  “Hmm,” Raine said. She brought out a small vial and carefully placed a drop into each of their drinks. All three watched the mead expectantly, relieved when nothing happened.

  Feyden rubbed his chin as Lorifal downed his entire mug. “I wonder if his fear is from bygone events, or recent.”

  “Who knows?” Raine said, also downing her mead. “Maybe both. Maybe there are ghost stories surrounding the crypts, or maybe the Shadow Guild has been knocking around town. I’m sure we’re going to find out sooner than later.”

  Feyden gave Raine a baleful look. She spoke the truth, but she didn’t have to be so damn cheerful about it.

  The three wandered around the docks, Feyden constantly scanning the area surrounding them. Raine had already thwarted two assassination attempts, one in which she had been directly attacked, and one in which she had been poisoned. In the first, an arrow had come from nowhere and would have impaled her through the throat had she not moved with that unearthly speed and instinct. She had chased that assassin all the way through the twists and turns of the small city of Steinn, finally trapping him in a dead-end alley and killing him with great violence. He had been very strong and it had required numerous dismemberments, a disembowelment, and a decapitation to finish him off.

  The second attempt was far more demure, involving a poison slipped into the anise liqueur that both she and Lorifal favored. The strong licorice flavor nearly disguised the taste of the herb completely, but Raine could feel the unnatural tingle on her tongue and spit the liquor out, dumping the remainder on the floor. It was strong and had slightly sickened her, leading Feyden to believe it would have killed anyone else. That had led to the tincture that Raine now carried, a distillation provided by Elyara that tested any food or drink they did not hunt or gather themselves. Most of the time, they contented themselves with living off the game they found in the forest, and Lorifal was a surprisingly good cook around a campfire.

  They had not caught the second assassin, and although that attempt had been many miles behind them, Feyden was always alert. Though Raine appeared relaxed and at ease, she, too, was vigilant. The constant caution wore on Feyden, and he wondered how Raine could bear such a burden.

  “We are being followed,” Raine said quietly.

  Neither Feyden nor Lorifal reacted to the statement, but Raine knew they had heard her. Lorifal stopped and bent over to adjust the straps on his boots and Feyden paused in a position that allowed him to look behind them. Raine admired the wares in a nearby booth, fingering several samples of fine cloth.

  “I see him,” Feyden murmured.

  Raine smiled to the young man selling the cloth and he blushed dark red, feeling the urge to give her everything in his booth for free. But the three moved on through a throng of shoppers that increased as they neared the center of the outdoor marketplace.

  “The alley, there,” Raine said with a slight nod, and her companions understood. They started toward the entrance, then seemed to dissolve as a group, only one disappearing into the side street where an instant before there had been three. The slim, dark-garbed figure following them hurried to catch up. He followed the one who had entered the alley.

  And was snatched by his collar and slammed into a wall. Simultaneously, a great axe came swinging toward his head, and two arrows were loosed to pin him to the building.

  “Wait!” Raine cried, for the man’s hood had fallen with the force of her blow, but it was too late. She had but one course of action and yanked the man out of the way of the lethal projectiles and deadly blade, throwing him to the ground while ducking the incoming assault herself. Lorifal’s axe embedded into the wall an inch deep and two arrows impaled it in spots where the man’s shoulder’s had been.

  The elven emissary looked up in stunned terror at the weapons that were outlining his previous position. The arrows would have pinned his arms and the axe would have taken his head. He could only stare in wordless shock.

  Raine cleared her throat, embarrassed. “We seem to be a bit unsettled,” she said, addressing her companions.

  “Aye, lass,” Lorifal said, his cheeks ruddy with chagrin.

  Feyden’s embarrassment came out in anger. “What were you thinking?” he demanded, helping the young elf to his feet. “Skulking around behind us like that!”

  “I—, I wasn’t skulking,” the emissary said, trembling, “I was just trying to catch up to you. I have a message for you.”

  Raine kicked the ground with her foot. Now that she thought about it, the messenger really hadn’t been trying to hide himself. Lorifal coughed and examined the dent he had put in the wall, brushing the dust away with prodigious focus.

  “Give me that,” Feyden said, snatching the rolled parchment from the courier, his own chagrin finally starting to overcome his battle-blood. “This is my sister’s seal,” he said, breaking open the document. He skimmed through it quickly. His expression lightened.

  “The negotiations with the imperials have been a great success,” he looked over the top of the parchment. “Apparently Idonea was wonderful as the Baroness of Fireside.” He returned to the document. “The trea
ty has been signed, and the Alfar contingency will return to Mount Alfheim. It is Maeva’s belief the Ceremony of Assumption will take place soon, and she desires all of our presence.”

  “Even me?” Lorifal asked.

  “Well, she doesn’t mention your name, but she does say ‘and tell that dwarf he is invited.’”

  “I knew she liked me,” Lorifal said with satisfaction.

  Feyden turned to Raine. “She has extended the invitation to the Ha’kan as well, but is most hopeful of your attendance, and has stated that Talan’s presence would be an honor above all.”

  Raine patted the still-shaking courier. “Tell the Directorate we accept her invitation with gratitude and will do all we can to attend.”

  Feyden counted out some gold, a small fortune and proffered it to the courier.

  “No,” the messenger protested weakly, “I was just doing my duty.”

  “Take the gold, buy yourself a warm meal, some cold mead, a hot bath, and a soft bed. Rest up for your return journey.”

  The elven emissary understood the implied apology. “Thank you,” he said. “I believe I will start with a change of breeches.”

  The three watched the poor courier exit the alley with as much dignity as he could muster, then all dissolved into laughter.

  They managed to leave Hrafn without anyone trying to kill Raine, and set up camp not far from the outskirts of the city. All three felt safer in the countryside, relying on one another for protection. It was calming to sit about the campfire. After a good meal, Lorifal quickly fell asleep. Raine was to serve the first watch, but as was often his custom, Feyden stayed up with her.

  “This reminds me of our quest many years ago,” Feyden remarked, “when the others would sleep and you and I were the only ones awake.”

  “Yes,” Raine said, “it does feel very familiar, doesn’t it?”

  Raine fell into deep contemplation, staring at the flickering flames. Perhaps it was Feyden’s reminisce, but he had reminded her of something she had meant to ask him about for years.

  “On our quest years ago, you mentioned that you lost a sister to the Hyr’rok’kin. Yet you rarely mention this, and I have never heard it spoken of by Maeva.”

  “Maeva prefers to pretend it never happened. We were all children at the time, Lierin the youngest of all of us.”

  Raine took note of his somber expression. “You don’t have to speak of it if it is too painful, Feyden.”

  Feyden shook his head. “It is an old wound. One long-ago healed by the deaths of thousands of Hyr’rok’kin.”

  Raine did not know how true that was, but Feyden continued. “Lierin was full of life and loved to roam the forests of Alfheim. My mother pled with her not to go alone, but our lands were so safe, it was hard for Lierin to resist.”

  Raine waited quietly for him to continue.

  “But it only takes one,” Feyden said, his voice hardening. “I was not there to see her death; no one was. But when they found her little body, the signs were all there. I joined the hunting party to find the monster, and I got the pleasure of slaying him. But it took many, many years for that hole to fill.”

  “So many have paid the price for these skirmishes of the gods,” Raine said darkly, falling back into silence.

  Raine’s stirring of the past had reminded Feyden of some obscure words spoken by her on that quest long ago, words he, also, had meant to ask her about for decades. He carefully formulated his thoughts.

  “I also remember a conversation on that quest,” he said. “You said you had been through the Veil and to the Gates of the Underworld before.”

  There was no expression on those fine features, and her eyes were a pale blue that reflected the fire.

  “Yes.”

  “You said that you were on a rescue mission, one that had failed.”

  “Yes.”

  “Who were you rescuing?”

  Raine was silent for so long, Feyden thought she was not going to respond. When she did at last, although her words were truthful, he had the impression she was not saying everything.

  “I thought I sensed another Arlanian. I was very young, but even at that time, I was convinced I was the last of my race. So when I saw that faintest flicker, like candlelight in the distance, I followed it.”

  “And what happened?” Feyden asked.

  “Right as I reached the gates, the flame went out.”

  Feyden could barely see Raine in the fading light of the fire, but even so, he regretted his questioning. For where his wound had healed over the years, hers had not at all, a fact that was apparent by the single, amethyst-stained tear that rolled down her cheek.

  Chapter 16

  Dallan entered the clearing with a look of wonder on her face. Rika held the reins to both horses, and she, too, was delighted. Although Ha’kan holdings were extensive, their people had remained largely detached from the rest of Arianthem, and there were many things that were new to the Princess and future First General in their recent travels. The wood elf village before them was one such novelty.

  “Village” was not exactly an apt description. It was more like a camp. It had all the signs of permanent habitation: well-constructed tent-like homes, a bustling marketplace, a blacksmith, some well-tended herb gardens, numerous pens that enclosed sheep and cattle. But it also gave the impression that it could be broken down and moved within a day, that if circumstances required, it could disappear before nightfall.

  A willowy, doe-eyed elf flowed toward them and Dagna embraced her, hugging and kissing her lover of two decades. The imperial bard was welcomed by numerous other elves, and it was apparent the wood elves, who valued their seclusion even more so than the Ha’kan, had accepted Dagna as one of their own. Idonea also dismounted, and was greeted with warm familiarity and respect from the elves. They stood back from the two Ha’kan, however, eying the two unknowns with a wariness that was not discourteous, but neither was it welcoming.

  A silence fell upon the group and Idonea looked expectantly to the cave opening that seemed the center point of the camp. This was by far the most permanent feature of the campsite and in stark contrast to the temporary structures, looked as if had been there for a thousand years. Two ancient pillars rose out of the ground, carved from some gigantic stone, likely one in that exact space as the pillars were so large they could not be moved except by magic. And perhaps it was magic that had placed them there for they were etched with arcane symbols so old they could be studied by the archeologists of Arianthem, and the scholars would be hard-pressed to decipher their meaning. Two elven women, wearing robes embroidered with the same symbols, appeared in the mouth of the cave and started down the stone steps. Elyara and Idonea, followed by Dagna and then the two Ha’kan, moved to the base of the stairs. They were greeted with smiles and graceful nods from the two attendants, who also paused and looked expectantly up to the cave opening.

  And Dallan looked up as well, astonished to see a tiny, wizened elven woman outlined in the cave entrance. She was old, but it was not just her physical appearance that gave the impression of age. Her brilliant green eyes, set off by the brilliant green robes she wore, had a wisdom and knowledge in them that bespoke centuries. Dallan knew the elven seer was old, as were many of Arianthem’s long-lived creatures, but something in this one hinted at an age surpassing all but the dragons. She made her way slowly down the steps, a gnarled wooden staff serving as her cane, her pace not dictated by age but by a deep inner calm that manifested itself in her every movement.

  When she reached the bottom of the steps, Idonea bowed low and took her hand with fondness and respect.

  “Cool in summer and warmth in winter,” Idonea said in elvish, a common greeting and parting for the wood elves.

  “Hello, dragon’s daughter,” Y’arren said, her green eyes twinkling with warmth. The wood elves worshipped the dragons and particularly T
alan, so the salutation was a great compliment. She moved to Dagna and took her hand. “And Elyara’s bard.”

  Although Dagna’s full title was “Official Bard of the Imperial Realm,” this shorter version from the tiny elven matriarch gave her greater pleasure. She took the offered hand and pressed it to her chest in greeting. Y’arren then turned her attention to the two newcomers. Although she still stood on the second to bottom step, somewhat equalizing her height with Idonea and Dagna, the two Ha’kan towered over her. Dallan took matters into her own hands, and against all protocol, kneeled down so she was on the same level with the diminutive seer.

  Y’arren smiled at the modest gesture. “You remind me a bit of my goddaughter.”

  “Your goddaughter?” Dallan asked.

  “Yes, Raine. She always kneels so she can look me in the eye.”

  “Raine is your goddaughter?” Dallan exclaimed. “I am honored by any comparison.”

  “As you should be, Princess of the Ha’kan,” Y’arren said, but then winked at her Royal Highness. “You and your future First General are welcome here.”

  Rika, who had followed Dallan’s lead and also taken a knee, nodded at the acknowledgement. Y’arren was pleased by the humility and grace displayed by the Ha’kan; it meant Raine’s faith in them was justified. She doubted that the Emperor or even the Directorate of the Alfar would have kneeled before her.

  Elyara took Y’arren’s arm and started back up the steps while the rest of the entourage fell in behind her. The air inside the cave was markedly cooler than that outside, and the dim light was provided by candles that scented the air pleasantly. Against the far wall, slightly behind a screen for privacy, a very old man lie in a cot covered with soft furs, sound asleep.

  “And how is my master?” Idonea asked softly.

  Dallan had glanced away from the sleeping man out of discretion, but now her eyes swiveled back to him. That meant that this was Isleif, the most powerful wizard Arianthem had ever known, and Skye’s great-grandfather. Dallan had seen him but twice: once when he had come to save Skye from a terrible illness, and once more recently when he had come to the Ha’kan council room after Skye’s abduction. In the former, Raine had created a physical bond with Skye to keep her from dying while Isleif leached the poison from her soul. In the latter, Isleif had come to stop Raine from recklessly pursuing Skye’s kidnapper, certain that the bond she had created would be used against her and lead her into a trap.