Jack Of Shadows (5 page)

The hoofbeats came and went again, somewhere behind him. Why spend so much effort to hunt down one person? he wondered. It had not been this way the last time that he had

returned. Of course, he had never come this way before.

Either I have achieved some special significance during my deathbound time, he decided, or the Baron's men hunt those who return for the sheer sport of it. In either instance, it is best to stay clear of them. What could Rosalie have meant when she said that it does not matter so much if they capture me? It is very strange, if she saw the truth.

Later he reached higher, rockier terrain, leaving the mud below and behind. He began looking for a place to rest. The area was level, however, and he continued rather than be caught in the open.

As he struggled along, he saw what appeared to be a distant hedge of stones. Drawing nearer, he noted that they were of a lighter color than the others in the vicinity and that they appeared to be regularly spaced. They did not appear to have been shaped by the forces of nature but hand-hewn by some monomaniac whose problem involved pentagons.

He found himself a resting place on the dry side of the nearest of these, and there he slept.

He dreamed of rain and thunder once again. The thunder throbbed continuously, and the entire universe shook with its rumble. Then, for a long while, he dwelled half-aware in the borderland between sleep and wakefulness. On one side or the other, he felt that something was

amiss, although he was not certain what or why this was.

I'm not wet! he decided, feeling surprise and annoyance.

Then he followed the thunder back to his body; his head was pillowed by an outflung arm. For a moment he lay there, fully awake; then he leaped to his feet, realizing they had found his trail.

The riders came into view. He counted seven.

His blade came into his hand, and he threw his cloak back over his shoulders. He ran fingers through his hair, rubbed his eyes and waited.

Over his left shoulder, high in the middle of the air, a star appeared to brighten.

He decided that it was senseless to flee on foot from mounted men, especially when he knew of no haven which he might seek. They would only run him to the ground if he fled, and by then he would be too tired to give a good battle and send at least a few of them to the Pits.

So he waited, only slightly distracted by the growing blaze in the heavens.

The cloven hooves of the seven black riders struck sparks from the stones. Their eyes, high above the ground, were like a handful of glowing embers buried in his direction. Wisps of smoke emerged from their nostrils, and occasionally they emitted high-pitched whistling sounds. A silent, wolf-like creature ran with them, head near the ground, tail streaming. It changed direction at every point where Jack had turned while approaching the stone.

"You will be the first," he said, raising the blade.

As if it had heard his words, it raised its muzzle, howled and raced on ahead of the riders.

Jack retreated four paces and braced his back against the stone as it came toward him. He raised the blade high, as if to slash, and seized the hilt with both hands.

Its mouth was open, tongue lolled to the side, exhibiting enormous teeth in the midst of a near-human grin.

When it sprang, he brought the blade down in a semicircle and held it before him, bracing his elbows against the stone.

It did not growl, bark or howl; it screamed as it impaled itself upon the weapon.

The impact forced the air from Jack's lungs and bloodied his elbows where they rested. For a moment, his head swam, but the screaming and the rank odor of the creature kept him conscious.

After a moment, it stopped. It snapped twice at the blade, quivered and died.

He placed his foot upon the carcass and with a great, heaving twist withdrew the blade. Then he raised it once more and faced the oncoming riders.

They slowed, drew rein, and halted, perhaps a dozen paces from where he stood.

The leader-a short, hairless man of tremendous girth-dismounted and moved for ward. He shook his head as he stared down at the bleeding creature.

"You should not have slain Shunder," he said. His voice was gruff and raspy. "He sought to disarm you, not to harm you."

Jack laughed.

The man looked up, his eyes flashing yellow with power behind them.

"You mock me, thief!" he said.

Jack nodded.

"If you take me alive, I will doubtless suffer at your hands," he said. "I see no reason to conceal my feelings, Baron. I mock you because I hate you. Have you nothing better to do than harass returnees?"

Stepping backward, the Baron raised his hand. At this signal, the other riders dismounted. Grinning, he drew his blade and leaned upon it.

He said, "You were trespassing in my realm, you know."

"It is the only route back from Glyve," said Jack. "All who return must cross some of your territory."

"That is true," said the Baron, "and those whom I apprehend must pay the toll: a few years in my service."

The riders flanked Jack, forming a semicircle like a half-crown of steel as they enclosed

him.

"Put up your blade, shadow man," said the Baron. "If we must disarm you, you will doubtless be injured in the scuffle. I should prefer an unmaimed servant."

As the Baron spoke. Jack spat. Two of the men glanced upward and continued to stare at the sky. Suspecting an attempt to distract him, Jack did not follow their eyes.

But then another man turned his head; and seeing this, the Baron himself looked upward.

High, and at the periphery of his vision, Jack became aware of the great glow that had appeared. He turned his head then, and he saw the great sphere that raced in their direction, growing and brightening as it approached.

Quickly, he dropped his eyes. Whatever the nature of the thing, it was senseless not to take advantage of the opportunity it had provided.

He leaped forward and beheaded the gaping man who stood at the end of the arc to his right.

He was able to split the next man's skull, despite a hasty parry which came too slow as the man turned. By then, the Baron and his four retainers had turned and were upon him.

Jack parried and retreated as rapidly as he could, not venturing a riposte. He attempted to circle the stone to his left, while keeping them at bay. They moved too quickly, however, and

he found himself parenthesized. Each close-range blow that he parried now caused his palm to sting and sent a tingling sensation up his arm. The blade felt heavier with each stroke.

They began to pierce his guard, little nicks and slashes appearing on his shoulder, his biceps and his thighs. Memories of the Dung Pits flashed through his mind. From the ferocity of the assault, he judged that they no longer wished to take him prisoner but to obtain vengeance for their fallen fellows.

Realizing that he would soon be hacked to pieces, Jack resolved to take the Baron with him to Glyve if at all possible. He made ready to hurl himself upon him, heedless of the others' blades, as soon as an opening appeared in the Baron's defense. It would have to come soon, he realized, for he felt himself weakening from moment to bloody moment.

As if sensing this, the Baron fought care fully, protecting himself at all times, allowing his men to lead the assault. Gasping, Jack decided he could wait no longer.

Then everything ended. Their weapons be came too hot to hold as blue flames danced along the blades. As they released them and cried out, they were blinded by a flash of white light which occurred just a brief distance above their heads. Showers of sparks fell about them and the odors of combustion reached their nostrils.

"Baron," came a sugar-filled voice, "you are trespassing as well as attempting to slay my prisoner. What have you to say for yourself?"

Fear took root in his bowels and blossomed within his stomach as Tack recognized the voice.

SPOTS DANCING BEFORE his eyes, Jack sought shadows.

The light faded as quickly as it had come, however, and the darkness that followed seemed almost absolute. He attempted to take advantage of this Baron and his men until he touched the rock. He began to edge his way about it.

"Your prisoner?" he heard the Baron shout. "He is mine!"

"We have been good neighbors for a long while, Baron-since the last geography lesson I gave you," said the now discernible figure which stood atop the rock. "Perhaps a refresher course is now in order. These markers serve to indicate the boundary between our realms. The prisoner stands on my side of the marker-as do you and your men, I might add. You are, of course, a

respected visitor; and the prisoner, of course, is mine."

"Lord," said the Baron, "this has always been a disputed border-and you must bear in mind, too, that I have been pursuing this man across my own realm. It seems hardly fair for you to interfere at this point."

"Fair?" came the laughing response. "Speak not to me of fairness, neighbor-nor call the prisoner a man. We both know that the boundaries are limits of power, not of law or of treaty. For as far as my power reaches from its seat, High Dudgeon, the land is mine. The same applies to you in your place. If you wish to renegotiate the boundary by a contest of forces, let us be about it now. As for the prisoner, you are aware that he is himself a Power-one of the few mobile ones. He draws his strength from no single locale, but from a condition of light and darkness. His captor cannot but benefit from his services; therefore, he is mine. Do you agree, Lord of Offal? Or shall we reestablish the boundary this moment?"

"I see that your power is with you-"

"Then we are obviously within my realm. Go home now, Baron."

Having circled to the far side of the marker, Jack made his way quietly into the darkness beyond. He had had the opportunity to spring back across the boundary and perhaps precipitate a struggle; but whatever its outcome, he would have been someone's captive. Better to fly, in the only direction open. He moved more quickly.

Glancing back, he saw what appeared to be a continuation of the argument, for the Baron was stamping about and gesturing wildly. He could hear his angry shouts, though he had come too far to distinguish the words being shouted. He broke into a run, knowing that his absence would not remain unnoticed much longer. He topped a small rise, raced down its eastern slope, cursing the loss of his blade.

He tired quickly but forced himself to move at a dog-trot, stopping only to arm himself with two easily held stones.

Then for a moment his shadow lay long before him, and he stopped and turned in his tracks. A great blaze of light had occurred beyond the hill and within it, like ashes or blown leaves, hordes of bats were eddying, rising, darting. Before he could take advantage of shadows, the light dimmed and darkness came again. The only sound now was his own heavy breathing. He glanced at the stars for guidance and hurried on, looking as he went for a hiding place from the pursuit that he knew would follow.

He kept glancing back but there was no recurrence of the phenomenon. He wondered as to the outcome of the conflict. The Baron, despite his brutish mien, was commonly known to be an uncommonly able sorcerer; also, the situation of the border indicated that both stood at the same relative distances from their places of power.

It would be pleasant, he decided, if they would annihilate one another. Although that was unlikely. Pity.

Knowing that by now his absence must have been noted and realizing that the only thing which could stay pursuit would be a drawn-out struggle, he prayed that it would be a lengthy affair, adding the observation that the ideal outcome would entail death or severe injury for all parties involved.

As if to mock his petition, it was only a brief while later that a dark form flitted past him. He hurled both his stones, but they went wide of the mark.

Resolving not to travel in a straight line, he turned to his left and headed in that direction. He was walking slowly to conserve his strength; and as perspiration evaporated, he felt the chill once again. Or was it just that?

It seemed as if a dark form paced him, far to his left. Whenever he turned his head in that direction, it vanished. Staring straight ahead, however, he detected something of a movement from the corner of his eye. It seemed to be drawing nearer.

Soon it was at his side. He felt the presence, though he could barely discern it. While it made

no hostile movements, he prepared to defend himself at its first touch.

"May I inquire as to the state of your health?" came the soft, sweet voice.

Suppressing a shudder, Jack said, "I am hungry, thirsty and tired."

"How unfortunate. I will see that those conditions are soon remedied."

"Why?"

"It is my custom to treat my guests with every courtesy."

"I was not aware of my being anyone's guest."

"All visitors to my realm are my guests, Jack, even those who abused my hospitality on previous occasions."

"That is good to know-especially if it means that you will offer me assistance in reaching your eastern frontier as quickly and safely as possible."

"We will discuss the matter after dinner."

"Very good."

"This way, please."

Jack followed him as he bore to the right, knowing that it would be futile to do otherwise. As they moved, he occasionally caught a glimpse of that dark, handsome face, half-touched by starlight, half-hidden by the high, curved collar of the cloak he wore; the eyes within it were like the pools that form about the wicks of black candles: hot, dark and liquid. Bats kept dropping from out of the sky and vanishing within his cloak. After a long, silent while, he gestured toward a prominence that lay ahead.

"There," he said.

Jack nodded and studied the decapitated hill. A minor place of power, he decided, and within this one's reach.

They approached it as they climbed slowly. When Jack slipped at one point, he felt a hand upon his elbow, steadying him. He noted that the other's boots made no sound, though they passed over some gravel.

Finally, "What became of the Baron?" he inquired.

"He has gone home a wiser man," said the other; and there was a flash of white within a momentary smile.

They reached the hill's level top and moved to its center.

The dark one drew his blade and used it to scratch an elaborate pattern upon the ground. Jack recognized some of the markings. Then he motioned Jack away, moved his left thumb along the edge of the blade and let his blood fall into the center of the pattern. As he did this, he spoke seven words. He turned then and gestured for Jack to come and stand beside him once again. He then drew a circle about them and turned to address the pattern once again.

As the words were spoken, the pattern took fire at their feet. Jack sought to look away from the blazing lines and curves, but his gaze was trapped within the diagram and his eyes began to trace it.

A feeling of lethargy overcame him as the pattern took hold of his mind to the exclusion of all else. He seemed to be moving within it, a part of it...

Someone pushed him and he fell.

He was on his knees in a place of brilliance, and the multitudes mocked him. No.

Those who mimicked his every movement were other versions of himself.

He shook his head to clear it, realized then that he was surrounded by mirrors and brightness.

He stood, regarding the confused prospect. He was near to the center of a large, many-sided chamber. All of the walls were mirrors as were the countless facets of the concave ceiling and the gleaming floor beneath him. He was not certain as to the source of the light. Perhaps it had its origin, somehow, in the mirrors themselves. Part way up the wall to his right, a table was laid. As he approached it, he realized that he was walking up an incline, though he felt no extra strain upon his muscles nor any disturbance of his sense of equilibrium. Hurrying then, he passed the table and continued on in what he deemed to be a straight line. The table was behind him, then above him. After several hundred paces, it was before him once again. He turned in a right angle from his course and repeated the walk. The results were the same.

There were no windows, no doors. There was the table, there was a bed and there were chairs with side-tables scattered about the various surfaces of the chamber. It was as if he were confined within an immense, luster-hoarding jewel. Reflected and re-reflected versions of himself paced infinity, and there was light everywhere that he looked. There was not a shadow to be had, anywhere.

He seated himself in the nearest chair, and his reflection stared up at him from between his feet.

A prisoner of he who has already slain you once, he thought. No doubt near to his place of power, in a cage built just for me. Bad. Bad.

There was movement everywhere. The mirrors showed an instant's infinity of motion, then all was still once again. He looked about, seeking the result of this activity.

Beef, bread, wine and water now stood upon the table that hung above him.

Rising to his feet, he felt a light touch upon his shoulder. He turned quickly, and the Lord of Bats smiled at him and bowed.

"Dinner is served," he said, gesturing toward the table.

Jack nodded, moved with him, seated himself and began to fill his plate.

"How do you like your quarters?"

"I find them quite amusing," Jack replied. "I note an absence of doors and windows, among other things."

"Yes."

Jack began to eat. His appetite was like a flame that would not be quenched.

"Your journey has left you quite wretched-looking, you know."

"I know."

"I will have a bath sent around later, and some fresh garments."

"Thank you."

"No trouble. I want you to be comfortable during what will no doubt be a lengthy period of recuperation."

"How lengthy?" Jack inquired.

"Who knows? It could take years."

"I see."

If I were to attack him with the carving knife. Jack wondered, would I be able to kill him? Or would he be too strong for me now? Or able to summon his power in an instant? And if I were to succeed, could I find a way out of here?"

"Where are we?" Jack asked.

The Lord of Bats smiled.

"Why, we are right here," he said, touching his breast.

Jack frowned, puzzled.

"I do not-"

The Lord of Bats unfastened a heavy silver chain he wore about his neck. A gleaming jewel hung suspended from it. He leaned forward and extended his hand.

"Study it for a moment, Jack," he said.

Jack touched it with his fingertips, weighed it, turned it.

"Well, would it be worth stealing?"

"Most likely. What sort of stone is it?"

"It is not actually a stone. It is this room. Consider the shape."

Jack did, shifting his eyes from the stone to the walls and back several times.

"Its shape is quite similar to that of this chamber..."

"It is identical. It must be, because they are the same thing."

"I fail to follow-"

"Take it. Hold it near to your eye. Consider its interior."

Jack raised it, closed one eye, squinted, stared.

"Inside..." he said. "There is a tiny replica of this chamber inside..."

"Look for this table."

"I see it! And I see us seated at it! I am-1 am studying-This stone!"

"Excellent!" The Lord of Bats applauded.

Jack released it and the other raised it by its chain.

"Please observe," he said.

He moved his free hand toward it, enclosed the suspended gem in his fist.

There was darkness. It remained but a moment, departed as he loosened his grip.

Then he took a candle from beneath his cloak, wedged it into a hold in the table and struck a light to it. He swung the pendant near to the flame.

The chamber became warm, uncomfortably so. After a moment, the heat grew oppressive and Jack felt beads of perspiration begin upon his forehead.

"Enough!" he said. "There is no need to roast us!"

The other extinguished the flame and dipped the pendant into the water decanter. There came an immediate cooling.

"Where are we?" Jack repeated.

"Why, I wear us about my neck," said the Lord of Bats, replacing the chain.

"A good trick. Where are you now?"

"Here."

"Within the gem?"

"Yes."

"And you are wearing the gem."

"Obviously. Yes, it is a very good trick. It did not take me very long to work it out and to set it up. After all, I am undoubtedly the most capable of all the sorcerers-despite the fact that some of my most precious manuscripts dealing with the Art were stolen many years ago."

"What an unfortunate loss. I should think you would have guarded such documents most carefully."

"They were well-guarded. There was a fire, however. During the confusion, the thief was able to remove them and escape into the shadows."

"I see," said Jack, finishing a final piece of bread and sipping his wine. "Was the thief apprehended?"

"Oh yes. He was executed. But I am not finished with him yet."

"Oh?" said Jack. "What are your plans now?"

"I am going to drive him mad," said the Lord of Bats, swirling his wine within his goblet.

"Perhaps he is mad already. Is not kleptomania a mental disorder?"

The other shook his head.

"Not in this instance," he said. "With this thief it is a matter of pride. He likes to outwit the mighty, to appropriate their possessions. It seems to feed his self-esteem. If this desire is a mental disorder, then most of us suffer from it. In his case, though, the desire is often satisfied. He succeeds because he possesses some power and is shrewd and ruthless in its employment. I shall take great delight in observing his degeneration into a state of total madness."

"So as to feed your pride and self-esteem?"