Shadows of Time: Shadow Maiden (7 page)

Suddenly, a searing pain shot up Lestel’s
spine, stabbing into his skull. At least, he thought it was his
skull, or maybe what was his skull but now another’s skull. All he
knew was that the pain was all his. Such sensations came and went
as quickly as the wind.

Lestel felt his legs being dragged along in
jerky walk. He felt his eyes being drawn to the murky surface of
the mirror. Suddenly the smoke parted. The mirror gleamed in the
dim candle light. Lestel suddenly recognized the haggard face for
his. He could see pale, slender fingers tracing along familiar
creases and furrows and over a new growth of graying stubble.

“I hope you’ve been having as good a time as
I’ve had, Lestel. Because, to be honest, it’s going to be very
lonely where you’re gone. I’m going to have to make some changes to
this ragged old body soon. It’s falling to pieces!” Luthen’s laugh
echoed in Lestel’s prison. “It’s a shame about your wife though,
pretty little thing,” said Luthen with Lestel’s own mouth, the
word’s turning Lestel’s phantom stomach sour.

Lestel thrashed against the icy glass of the
mirror, unable to break the restraints of the magic that had
overpowered him. Each movement of his lips and faint vibration of
speech not his own made him sick with anger and fear.

“Oh, just wait until the show begins. By the
way, I hope you’ve enjoyed your stay. I hate to say it, Lestel, but
I’m evicting you.”

***

“Merrick, wake up! We must leave!
Quickly!”

Merrick’s head jolted upright, his chest
heaving for air. The burning in his lungs had eased from searing
pain to something much more tolerable. His words came out as a
wheeze as they escaped his parched mouth. “How long have I
slept?”

“Long enough,” Amaeya said, rising to her
feet. “I heard the war party move past the forest not long ago. I
almost woke you then, but they were moving so quickly they passed
us in a matter of minutes.”

“So you’re waking me now?” His cracked lips
curled like a dried leaf into a weak smile.

“I’m waking you because I know something is
wrong. Al’Rul would never allow his war party to create such a
racket without a good reason.”

Merrick raised himself unsteadily to his
feet, still clutching Amaeya’s cloak around his shoulders. “How do
you know he wasn’t looking for us?”

“He would have sent his men to scour the
woods. The only thing in that direction is an abandoned valley
and…” her voice trailed off as she raised her hand to press against
her furrowing brow. “The city. That’s where they’re headed.”

“City?” Merrick said, peeling the cloak from
his weakened body. “What city?”

Amaeya grabbed Merrick by the shoulders,
digging her fingers into his battered leather garb. “The city in
the sky. Your vision… it may not be delirium after all.”

“We have to get there, and fast. Do you know
the way?” Merrick straightened his posture, fastening his straps
and checking his pockets for items of use. He found a pouch of
lightening powder, a ball of scratchy twine, and a set of small
tools made from obsidian.

“Of course I know the way, it’s not far from
here at all,” she said, drawing her hands to close to her chest.
“Going there would be suicide. If the Phooka saw us, there would be
no escape.”

Merrick’s hand rested on the wicked curved
Phookan blade that hung from his side. “If I said there was a way
we could go there and never be seen by them, would you take
me?”

“How would you do that? Are you a magician or
illusionist? Or maybe you are actually a wizard after all.” She
shook her head at his shocked face, laughing at Merrick’s
foolishness. “I overheard Fanger grumbling about
the wizard that
fell from the sky.
I assumed that must be you.”

Merrick laughed louder than he intended,
almost not caring if the foolish mercenaries heard him from miles
away. “A wizard? Far from the truth. I have been given gifts
thought to be derived from magic. Though, I’ll admit I’m no warlock
of legend, I have been taught a trick or two about illusion. How is
the Phooka’s vision with fog like this?”

“How is what?” Amaeya raised a brow in
curiosity at such an absurd question. “They find it irritating,
especially when the moon reflects so brightly off of it. Usually in
the dark, it’s razor sharp, but on a night like this… where are you
going with this?”

They spent the next half hour gathering thick
moss from the damp forest floor. Merrick broke four gnarled limbs
from a dying tree and coated them in the silvery lightning powder.
After shaping the moss into hoods and lashing the glistening
branches to their heads to form menacing horns, Merrick and Amaeya
stepped apart to admire their work.

Merrick gazed at Amaeya’s outline, her rugged
Phookan swagger completing the disguise perfectly in the hazy night
air. With the mist present, they could walk right past any of the
mercenaries without fear of immediate discovery.

***

Fanger Al’Rul strode next to the Chief with a
hidden glow of satisfaction. Because of the previous night’s
events, his father had locked his cousin Maggot up without
question. The great Phooka fumed beside him. While troubling to be
so close to the angry mercenary, he was relieved the anger was not
directed at him. Instead, it was aimed purely at the demon elf that
had hired the war party.

“That demon son of a whore has cost me my
human pet. This raid better be worthy of legend or it’ll be his
foul head I’ll be mounting on my wall,” said Al’Rul, spitting the
fiery words with the foul ferocity of a grease fire.

“My lord, I’m sure the girl hasn’t gotten
far. She is weak and knows your fury better than most. She may even
return of her own free will,” said Fanger. Maggot’s absence made
gaining his father’s favor all the easier.

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. The thought of the cur
that fell from the sky with her burns me to no ends. When we are
done with this raid, I will tear this landscape apart, even if I
have to rip the trees from their roots with my own horns,” said
Red-Tooth Al’Rul, his eyes fixed ahead. Fanger could only imagine
the atrocities racing through the Chief’s mind, some so treacherous
that they would make even him squirm.

As the war party pressed on past the edge of
the forest, they were greeted by a great gaping field of tall,
wafting grass. Mounds of mist rolled and bubbled across the valley.
Tall silver towers poked out between gaps in the mist like smoke
seeping through dragon’s teeth.

The war party gained speed in the open field.
The giant creaking war machine led the way, trampling the sea of
grass under its wide bow. Twenty pale faced slaves formed two
trudging lines laid out before the war machine. On their shoulders
rested harnesses made of biting iron chains and stinging leather. A
whip cracked above their heads like lightning, hastening their
pace.

Giddiness bubbled up once again inside of
Fanger. Finally he would be able to bring glory to his clan’s name.
The war machine was great enough of a prize, but to also bring back
the heads of elven royalty? His name would be present in songs for
generations to come.

The war party quickly approached the edge of
the city’s deep shadowed underbelly and stopped. The driver atop
the war machine held his whip at the ready, waiting Chief Al’Rul’s
orders.

Fanger gazed at the Chief, his breath held
captive while his heart pounded rapidly in his chest. He dared not
speak. Any sound, even the faint creaking of his boots, would be
seen as a reason to be the victim of a rash blow to the skull from
the Chief’s fierce mace. He glared out into the mist at the
treacherous crickets that bellowed during such a revered moment—a
chieftain’s first official order of a raid.

Chief Al’Rul slowly raised his clenched fist.
An open palm would mean retreat and was considered the lowest level
of cowardice. An upraised fist meant to move in on the target of
the raid. Al’Rul jabbed his rocky fist into the sky, the muscles of
his arm rippling beneath his silky fur. Fanger raised his fist to
the sky, followed by the fists of the accompanied mercenaries.

“Tonight,” Al’Rul’s voice hissed out his
words, his eyes burning into the shadow, “we will become legends
among our people. Our faces will be carved out of stone of the
mountain and will live in the memories of all to see for the rest
of time. Tonight we are
Phooka
! For blood and glory!”

“
Blood and glory!”
The echo of the war
party rumbled in the field, silencing the crickets of their
delightful song.

***

Merrick and Amaeya crouched low in the grass,
their disguises bundled under their arms. The war party had
descended into the underbelly of the city and had set up a small
camp. A tiny flickering campfire wavered under the heavy shadow of
the city.

Merrick pulled his mossy hood over his head,
positioning the horns to lie just above his ears. He gave his head
a quick shake, testing the sturdiness of his work.

He cast a glance at Amaeya. She fumbled with
the hood, struggling with the weight of the thick moss. Merrick
laughed at the sight of her, an angry mossy beast muttering curses
and with flailing arms. The merry sound eased the anxious grip on
his heart. Anything was better than thinking about what would
happen if their disguises failed.

“Do you want me to help you with that?”
Merrick fought the urge to continue his laughter. He didn’t wait
for a reply before tugging the hood to its rightful place upon
Amaeya’s head. She gasped with relief.

“Oh praise the gods! I thought you were going
to have to hack this thing apart to get me out!” She spat into the
grass, a sour grimace on her face. “I fear I shall never get the
taste of moss out of my mouth.”

“I suppose there are worse things,” said
Merrick, pulling her horns into place. He wiped the lightning power
from his hands onto the grass. “Oh, and before I forget, there’s
one thing you need to know about the powder coating the horns. It’s
extremely combustible, so if you value having a full head of hair I
suggest keeping them away from open flames.”

He could see Amaeya’s eyes dart up to her
horns, her face pale and frightened. Merrick found himself once
again brimming with laughter.
I really must be going mad, he
thought, I may be dead by morning and all I can do is
laugh.

“We better get going. I have no idea how
we’re going to get up to the city, but there must be a reason
they’re camping out beneath it,” Merrick said, drawing Amaeya’s
cloak tight around her shoulders, concealing her body. “We’ll lay
low in the grass until we get close enough to see exactly what
we’re dealing with.”

“Sounds like a plan. Or at least closer to an
actual plan,” said Amaeya from within her shaggy hood. “For blood
and glory!”

Merrick tilted his head, confused at her
words. “For
what
?”

“It’s what the Phooka say,” she said as she
crept forward in the grass, “before they do something incredibly
foolish.”

“I see your war party is eager to begin.”
Luthen stood in the shadows of Chief Al’Rul’s tent, a heavy cowl
pulled over his face. His magic had taken its toll on his new body,
aging it into a withered old elf. He would need fresh blood soon or
else he would have to find a new vessel to inhabit.

Chief Al’Rul’s eyes simmered in silent rage.
“We are always ready to spill blood.”

“Good, yes, very good. I suppose you have
been wondering how you and your party are to ascend to the city. I
know you may play the role of a brute but I’m sure there’s more to
you that meets the eye than just a bunch of fur.” Luthen smiled,
thinking of how wonderful the Phooka’s flesh would feel ripped from
the bones by his teeth. The world of the living had made him
ravenous.

“Come, follow me,” said Luthen, “I have a
surprise for you.” He slipped from the Chief’s tent and into the
open darkness of the Alainia’s under belly. Down in its center was
a lake with deep, murky water. Luthen approached the water’s edge
and dipped the tip of his gnarled finger into its inky surface.
Soft blue flame bloomed in the water into a large circle. The soft
fluttering curtains of the palace’s main corridor rippled across
the glassy water.

“Age before beauty,” he said, cackling, as he
plunged into the wavering doorway.

Luthen found himself standing alone in the
quiet hall. He knew it would take a moment for the Phooka to
follow. Such beasts were always wary of strange magic.

Luthen reached into his cloak and pulled out
an hourglass crafted into an obsidian top. It had taken him hours
to find. Nothing looked the same as he had left it over three
hundred years ago. He finally found his loosened stone tile
underneath a heavy woven rug. Prying the stone up with his fingers,
his heart was giddy to find the same small wooden box he had placed
there so many years before.

He filled the top end of the hourglass full
with sand and sat it on the snow colored stone. With a flick of his
wrist, he sent it spinning. After a few revolutions, it slowed as
if twirling under water until it dwindled to a stop.

Silver curtains hung motionless in the air.
The sounds of the night melted into the sullen quiet of stopped
time. The outside world stood still. Luthen smiled at the thought
of the city slumbering peacefully through the slaughter of its
royal family.

A great splash erupted behind him and slammed
into the floor. Luthen rolled his eyes. At least he didn’t need
require mercenaries with
grace
.

“
What in the nine dwarvish hells was
that?
” Fanger shook the murky water from his fur, his eyes
blazing. Luthen shrugged a lazy shoulder, dismissing the Phooka’s
outrage.