Hero in the Shadows (26 page)

“Aye, he is a good man,” said Yu Yu. “I like him. Everybody like him. Now can we eat?”

“You are shivering!” said Norda, moving around behind Yu Yu. “You shouldn’t be up, you foolish man!”

A cold breeze filtered through the far doorway. Keeva ran to the door, pushing it shut and dropping the latch, while Norda fetched a blanket, which she draped over Yu Yu’s shoulders.

“I had not realized it gets so cool in here,” said Emrin. But the women ignored him and continued to fuss over the wounded man, preparing him food and a goblet of peach juice.

Emrin wandered away from the table. He could hear sounds on the stairs beyond the second door. He strolled toward it. It opened just as he reached it. The elderly Omri entered, followed by two warriors and a young man. Omri nodded toward Emrin, then called out to Keeva to bring some food for Niallad and his bodyguards.

The duke’s son halted by the sleeping child and grinned down at him. “I think we tired him out at the beach,” he said.

Keeva carved a dozen thick slices of cold ham, divided it onto three platters, and offered it to the newcomers, who sat at the table and began to eat. The young noble thanked her, but the two guards merely tore into the meat. One of them, the taller of the two, a heavily bearded man with deep-set brown eyes, glanced at Yu Yu’s sword resting on the tabletop. The hilt was black and unadorned, as was the lacquered wooden scabbard.

“Doesn’t look anything special to me,” he said, reaching out toward it.

“Don’t touch it,” said Yu Yu.

“Or what?” the man snapped aggressively, his hand still moving.

“Do as he says, Gaspir,” ordered the young noble. “It is his blade, after all.”

“Yes, sir,” said Gaspir, casting a malevolent glance at Yu Yu. “It is all rubbish, anyway. Magic swords!”

The boy Beric awoke and sat up. He blinked and stretched,
then suddenly screamed. Keeva followed his gaze. A white mist was swirling under the far door. Yu Yu saw it and muttered a curse. He groaned as he reached for his sword, dragging it from the scabbard. The blade was glowing with a shimmering blue light. Yu Yu tried to stand but fell against the table.

“What is going on?” shouted Omri, his face gray with fear.

“Demons … are here,” said Yu Yu, levering himself up. Blood began to soak through the bandage on his shoulder.

Omri backed away from the mist, toward the door through which he had entered only moments before. Emrin saw that the old man was trembling uncontrollably. “Steady, my friend,” he whispered.

“Must get out,” said Omri.

The mist was rising steadily, the temperature dropping fast. Gaspir and Naren also moved back from the table, blades in hand. Keeva reached out and hefted a long carving knife, balancing it in her hand.

“We have to run!” cried Omri, his voice quavering. Emrin swung toward him. The old man turned and moved toward the other door. Emrin was about to follow him when he saw a faint, swirling mist seeping beneath the frame. Omri was almost at the door. The guard sergeant shouted after him: “Don’t, Omri! The mist—”

He was too late. Omri yanked at the latch. As the door swung inward, white mist enveloped the old man. A massive taloned arm slashed out, crunching through bone and sending a bloody spray across the dining table. A second blow smashed Omri’s skull to shards.

Emrin hurled himself at the door, slamming it shut and dropping the latch even as Omri’s lifeless body hit the floor. There was a thundering crash, and a panel on the door split. Emrin drew his sword and backed away toward the center of the room.

Another crash came from the second door. Yu Yu staggered
forward, then fell. Emrin grabbed his arm, hauling him to his feet. The page Beric had ceased his screaming and was cowering on the bench. Keeva ran to him. She reached out for him, but he squirmed away and ran back to where the others waited. The youth Niallad drew his dagger, then placed his hand on the little boy’s shoulder. “Be brave, Beric. We will protect you,” he said, but his voice was fearful, his hands trembling. The page crouched down and crept under the table. Norda was already there, her hands over her face.

Icy mist swirled across the stone floor. The right-hand door gave way, and a wall of mist swept across the room. Yu Yu’s sword came up. Blue lightning lanced through the mist, leaping and crackling. A terrible cry of pain came from within the icy fog.

“Lift up your sword!” Yu Yu told Emrin. The guard sergeant did so, and Yu Yu touched his own blade to it. Instantly blue fire flowed from one weapon to the other. “You, too!” Yu Yu ordered Gaspir and Naren. Their blades also began to flicker. “It will not last long,” said Yu Yu. “Attack now!”

For a moment only they hesitated, then Emrin charged the mist, swinging his sword into it. Lightning crackled, and the mist retreated farther. Gaspir and Naren joined him. A huge white form leapt from the mist, cannoning into the black-bearded Gaspir, who was hurled from his feet. Naren panicked and tried to run. As the bodyguard turned, the beast swung its arm. Keeva saw Naren arch backward, talons punching through his back and exiting from his chest. Blood exploded from the dying man’s mouth. Emrin ran in, slamming his sword into the beast’s belly and ripping the blade up through its chest. It let out a bellow of pain and hurled Naren’s body away. Then it turned on Emrin. Keeva lifted her arm and hurled the carving knife across the room. As the beast loomed over Emrin, the blade slashed into its eye socket, plunging deep. At that moment Yu Yu Liang staggered forward and swung the
Rajnee
sword. It sliced deep into the hairless white neck, cutting through muscle
and bone. The great beast toppled sideways, striking the table and overturning it.

The mist shrank back, sliding across the floor and vanishing under the far doorway.

The temperature in the room began to rise. Gaspir pushed himself to his feet and gathered up his sword. It was no longer gleaming. A faint and fading blue light still shone on Yu Yu’s blade. Yu Yu had fallen to his knees and was breathing heavily. The wound in his shoulder had opened up badly. Blood had soaked through the bandage and was flowing over his bare chest.

Emrin moved to his side. “Hold on, yellow man,” he said, softly. “Let me get you to a chair.”

Yu Yu had no strength left, and he sagged against Emrin. Keeva and Norda helped the sergeant lift him and seat him at the table.

“Are those things gone?” asked Niallad, gazing at the dark stairwells.

“The sword isn’t shining,” said Keeva. “I think they have left. But they may be back.”

The young noble looked at her and forced a smile. “That was a magnificent throw,” he said. “I’ve rarely seen a carving knife put to better use.”

Keeva said nothing. She was staring down at the lifeless body of the old man Omri. A kind and gentle man, he deserved better than to die this way.

“What do we do now?” asked Gaspir. “Do we leave or stay?”

“We stay … for a while,” said Yu Yu. “Here we can defend. Only … two entrances.”

“I agree,” said Gaspir. “In fact, I can’t think of anything that would make me climb either of those stairwells.”

Even as he spoke a distant scream echoed eerily. Then another.

“People are dying up there,” said Emrin. “We should help them!”

“My job is to guard the duke’s son,” said Gaspir. “But if you want to charge up those stairs, feel free to do so.” The black-bearded bodyguard glanced down at the nearly unconscious Yu Yu. “Though without the magic of his sword I doubt you’ll last ten heartbeats.”

“I have to go,” said Emrin. He started to head toward the door.

“Don’t!” called out Keeva.

“It is what I am paid for! I am the guard sergeant.”

Keeva moved around the table. “Listen to me, Emrin. You are a brave man. We’ve all seen that. But with Yu Yu so badly hurt there is no way we could hold them off without you. You must stay here. The Gray Man told you to protect Yu Yu. You can’t do that from upstairs.”

More screams sounded from above. Emrin stood for a moment, staring at the shadowed doorway. “Trust me,” whispered Keeva, taking his arm. His face had a haunted look as the screams continued from the floors above. “You cannot help them,” she said. Then she turned toward Gaspir. “We need to barricade the doors. Overturn the far cabinets and push them against the door. Emrin and I will block this one.”

“I don’t take orders from serving wenches,” snapped Gaspir.

“It was not an order,” Keeva told him, masking her anger, “and I apologize if it sounded like one. But the doors do need to be blocked, and it will take a strong man to move those cabinets.”

“Do as she says,” put in Niallad. “I’ll help you.”

“You’d better be quick,” warned Keeva. “Yu Yu’s sword is beginning to shine again.”

8

C
HARDYN THE SOURCE
priest was renowned for his blistering sermons. His charismatic personality and powerful booming voice could fill any hall and bring a host of converts to the Source. As an orator he was without peer and would in any just world have been promoted to abbot many years before. Yet despite his awesome skill, one small impediment had stunted his career, one tiny irrelevance used against him by men with small minds. He did not believe in the Source.

Once, two decades ago, when full of youth and fire, he had chosen the path of priesthood. Oh, he had believed then. His faith had been strong through war and disease, through poverty and famine. And when his mother had fallen ill, he had journeyed home, knowing that through his prayers the Source would heal her. He had arrived at the family estate, rushed to her bedside, and called on the Source to bless his servant and touch his mother with his healing hand. Then he had ordered a celebration feast to be prepared for that night, when they would all give thanks for the coming miracle.

His mother had died just before dusk, in appalling pain and coughing up blood. Chardyn had sat with her, staring at her dead face. Then he had walked downstairs, where the servants were setting fine silver cutlery at the celebration table. In a sudden burst of fury Chardyn had overturned the tables,
scattering dishes and plates. The servants had fled from his anger.

He had run out into the night and screamed his rage at the stars.

Chardyn had stayed for the funeral and had even made the soul journey prayer at the graveside when his mother’s body had been laid alongside that of her husband and the two children who had died in infancy. Then he had journeyed to the Nicolan monastery, where his old teacher, Parali, was the abbot. The old man had welcomed him with a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“I grieve for your loss, my boy,” he said.

“I called upon the Source, and he did not answer me.”

“Sometimes he does not. Or if he does, he answers in a way we do not like. But then, we are his servants, not he ours.”

“I no longer believe in him,” admitted Chardyn.

“You have seen death before,” Parali reminded him. “You have watched babes die. You have buried children and their parents. How is it that your faith remained strong during these dread times?”

“She was my mother. He should have saved her.”

“We are born, we live a brief time, and then we die,” said Parali. “That is the way of life. I knew your mother well. She was a fine woman, and it is my belief that she now resides in paradise. Be grateful for her life and her love.”

“Grateful?” stormed Chardyn. “I organized a celebration feast to give thanks to the Source for her recovery. I was made to look like an idiot. Well, I will be an idiot no longer. If the Source exists, then I curse him and want no more to do with him.”

“You will leave the priesthood?”

“Yes.”

“Then I pray you will find peace and joy.”

Chardyn had spent a year working on a farm. It was back-breaking toil for little reward, and he came to miss the small
luxuries he had taken for granted as a priest: the comfort of life in a temple, the abundance of food, the times of quiet meditation.

One night, after a day of cutting and binding straw for the winter feed, Chardyn was sitting with the other workers around the feast fire, listening to them talk. They were simple folk, and before they ate the roasted meat, they gave thanks to the Source for the plentiful harvest. The previous year, after a failed crop, they had given thanks to the Source for their lives. In that moment Chardyn realized that religion was what crooked gamblers dubbed a “no-lose proposition.” In times of plenty thank the Source, in times of famine thank the Source. When someone survived a plague, it was down to divine intervention. When someone died of the plague, he had been taken to glory. Praise the Source! Faith, it seemed—regardless of its obvious cosmic stupidity—brought happiness and contentment. Why, then, should Chardyn labor on a farm when he could be adding to the happiness and contentment of the world by preaching the faith? It would certainly add massively to his own happiness and contentment to be living once more in a fine house, attended by skilled servants.