Shadows of Time: Shadow Maiden (8 page)

“It could be worse,” he said, a smile melting
into his wrinkled lip. “I could have been playing a prank on your
war party. You could be trapped in the mud at the bottom of that
filthy lake right now. Drowning in mud is
far
worse than the
regular sort of drowning. Maybe I could show you sometime.”

Two more splashes exploded behind the fuming
Phooka. Then three, then four more mercenaries appeared, all
disheveled and grunting with annoyance. The last that came was
Chief Al’Rul. He shook his great mane without a word.

“I have some simple rules before we begin,”
said Luthen, shaking the water from his cloak. “First of all, the
queen is not to be touched by any of your kind. She is mine and
mine alone. Second, you only have an hour to do your business and
be gone. And finally, of course, if any of you disobey, I will skin
alive and use your fur as a rug.” Luthen’s eye burned into the
fiery yellow glare of the Phooka. “This place could use with some
redecorating.”

***

Evanna jerked awake, her chest rumbling from
the force of a great roar. Her first thoughts were of thunder, but
something about the roar chilled her very bones. She jumped up from
the stool at her vanity and rushed to the window, sending her
needlework clattering onto the floor. The sky was clear and full of
stars. A brimming moon hung heavy overhead. She backed away from
the open window, bumping against the soft motionless curtain at her
side. It stood suspended in the air staring back at the queen’s
widening gaze.

A scream tore through the unnatural silence,
sending Evanna crumpling to her knees. A nightmare was unraveling
before her eyes. She clutched at her golden hair, fighting the urge
to become ill.

“Knock, knock!” A familiar voice echoed in
the still bed chamber. Evanna looked up to see a cloak slip into
the room.

“Lestel! What is happening?
Tell me!
”
She rushed for his embrace, longing for his comfort. She looked up
into his face and felt her insides turn to ice. “Your face!
Who
are you?
” She struggled against the stranger’s grasp. Poisonous
laughter seeped from his withered lips.

“
Lestel, my dear, save me! Save me!
Ha! Stupid girl. Your ignorance makes this far too easy. Like
ripping petals from a flower.” He gripped a fistful of golden curls
and ripped it from her scalp. Evanna howled, hot tears pouring from
her eyes. Blood dripped onto her reddening face and dotted the
white stone.

“Let me introduce myself,” he said, shoving
her into the floor, “I am Luthen, son of Elothen,
bastard
king
.” He spat the words as he kneeled to the floor, dipping a
boney finger into the small freckles of blood. He smiled, rolling
the red onto his craggy lips and tasting it with his tongue. “How
delicious! I simply must have more.”

A low moan floated toward Evanna, draining
her face of color.

“Mama, what’s happening?” Anya stood with her
doll held tight to her chest, her eyes blurry with sleep.

Luthen rose from his crouch and strode over
to Anya. She stood, staring up at him and squinting her eyes to
better see his face. “
Sleep
,” he said, his willowy hand
stroking her round cheek. Anya’s head nodded to her chin. She
stumbled back to the bed. However instead of climbing back in she
grasped at the blanket and crumpled onto the floor.

Evanna felt the scream welling inside her
before she heard it muffled in her ears. “
What have you done to
her?!
” She lunged from the floor but before she could reach
Anya, Luthen yanked her back by her hair to his boney embrace.

“Now, now,” he said, stroking her bloody hair
as she struggled against his grasp, “there’s no need to use such a
tone with me. After all, she is merely sleeping. And when she wakes
up, she’ll have a new family, a better family. She’ll have me.”

Evanna sobbed, the tears burning in her eyes.
Her mouth hung open, too pained to scream. “
Why… why are you
doing this?
”

Luthen laughed tickled in her ear. She could
feel his wormy tongue dip into the blood trickling from her head.
“Some say it would be for power,” he said, caressing her cheek,
“others would say it would because of revenge. But it is so much
more. Revenge is a simple thing. Once its quenched, your fire is
spent. But my fire needs more—it yearns to consume the world. What
drives me is my hatred. To put it simply, I do want revenge of a
sort. Not for one person or even a handful of persons, but for
every bastard that draws breath. I want
everyone
dead, and
what better place to start than with you.”

Evanna felt her neck explode with pain. Teeth
dug into her flesh, ripping it away like paper. Blood filled her
throat, drowning her screams. She watched as Luthen lapped up her
blood as it sprayed from her flesh, his eyes reflecting Hell
itself.

***

Merrick lay silent in the mud straining his
eyes in the shadow of Alainia’s underbelly. Amaeya was drawn up
tight against him, her hands cold as a corpse. He could see the
shadows of a handful of Phooka gathered around a sickly fire. He
thought he had seen a group of the mercenaries slip in the inky
water of the lake, but the darkness was keen to playing tricks on
his eyes. Usually, he would ignore such a ruse, but tonight had an
air about it that reeked of old magic. It intermingled with the
damp of the underbelly and tasted bitter on his tongue.

Slowly, Merrick pulled himself up into a
crouch. Amaeya followed, her hand still clutching at his arm. They
crept forward, sheltered by the great shadow of the war machine.
Clinging to its rough woodwork, they edged toward its corner.
Merrick peeked out from its side and could see three Phooka
lounging around the fire. They passed around a sagging water skin.
Though, by the way they talked, he guessed that it held something
far more powerful than water.

“‘Ey! Quit hoggin’ all the lickah!” The
nearest Phooka scurried toward the one holding the water skin and
gave it a tug. The offended Phooka responded by kicking the
attacker in the knee, sending him face first into the mud.

“I ain’t done wid it, you smug
bastah—
eeehcup!
” Dragon whiskey sprayed from the water skin
as the Phooka became overwhelmed by hiccups. The remaining
mercenary snatched the drink from his companion during his moment
of weakness.

“I’ll be a takin’ that,” he said. He took a
mighty swig and sprayed it into the waning fire. The flames bloomed
into wicked green fingers before wilting back down to a yellow
murmur. “That has got to be the most piss-poor fire I have ever a
seen.”

“Aye,” said the Phooka on the ground. He
lifted up his head, expelling black mud from his snout with a
snort. “This damp is sinkin’ into me very bones. It’s worsen a that
damn fog out a there.”

The Phooka sat and gazed into their fire for
a moment, each lost in their own drunken thoughts. The one holding
the water skin cleared his thought with a gruff cough. “You know,”
he said, “I’m not so sure I like doin’ business with that demon
fella’. He reeks a trouble. And this whole water thing. How are
they all ‘pose to come back through, I mean, what if they
drown?”

The middle Phooka shook his head and snatched
the water skin back. “Nah, if they’d a drowned they would have gone
and done it when they got in. Nah… I think there be something far
worse at play. I don’t like doin’ business with magic folk,” he
said, spitting his words to rid his mouth of their foul taste.

Merrick gripped Amaeya’s hand in his and
readied his legs to run for the water. The Phooka suddenly broke
out into a roar of laughter. The sound had startled him, but not
enough to keep him from making his move.

He pulled Amaeya along as his boots beat into
the mud. A faint blue light etched an opening on the water’s
surface. Merrick held his breath as he plunged into the icy
darkness.

Black water parted as he emerged from the
doorway, almost as if he were breaking the surface of the lake for
a breath of air. Water crashed around him as he fell through the
air. He landed with a wet thud on the stone tiles. Amaeya tumbled
onto the floor next to him, gagging on the murky water.

“We made it,” Amaeya said, ripping the ruined
disguise from her head. Tight honey curls clung to her raised
brow.

“We did, didn’t we?” Merrick peeled off his
mossy hood. With a few pinches of lightening powder left, he ripped
off the horns from the hood and shoved them into his belt. Even a
small amount would be enough to cause trouble. “So much for the
protection of our disguises.”

“They don’t seem to be following us, do
they?” Amaeya did her best to brush the hair from her face but the
wet curls refused to be disturbed.

“You’re right, they’re not. They seemed too
drunk to notice. What a shame. It really was a good idea,” he said,
tossing his rumpled hood aside.

Amaeya smirked at his discontent. “Don’t be
so heartbroken. It’ll ruin our luck. And we’re going to need as
much luck as we can manage if we’re going to rescue your mysterious
lady friend,” she said, rising to her feet. She smiled and extended
her hand.

Merrick watched her for a moment, both
entranced by her determination and suspicious of her motives.
Living his life in the desert had taught him that no one does
something for free, let alone risk their life.

Yet, despite his comprehension, his mouth
itched to smile back. He reached out for her hand and rose to his
feet. The din of crashing glass and muffled screams fluttered down
the corridor. Merrick gazed at the direction of the chaos, grasping
for what to do. In his vision, there was no band of mercenaries or
any others for that matter. The woman he saw was alone. She may be
hiding. He nodded to himself, his mind firm with his decision.

With his hand still firmly set around
Amaeya’s, he turned from the screams and roars to the still end of
the hall. His legs were moving before he knew it, pumping viciously
as he peeked through darkened doorways.

“Make sure no one comes up behind us,” he
said, his words a rough whisper. Amaeya nodded at him and then
fixed her eyes to the opposite end of the corridor.

He passed door after door, each empty of life
and silent as a grave.

Suddenly, he found himself staring at the
blank face of a locked door, his clenched fist fighting against the
unmoving knob.

Dropping Amaeya’s hand, Merrick brought
himself close to the door. He kicked at it, bouncing off the thick
wood. He kicked again, tearing the knob from its place. His heel
throbbed viciously where it had hit metal, but Merrick had come too
be far to be mired down with pain.

He poked his head into the room and gazed
deep into its shadows.

A huddled figure sat on one of two narrow
beds. Merrick strained his eyes, hesitant about charging at the
shadow. Without warning, the shadow jumped from the bed and dashed
for the door. Merrick caught the child up into his arms, his hand
firmly placed over her mouth.

The little girl’s eyes were wild with fright
as she struggled against him.

“We’re not going to hurt you,” said Merrick,
whispering through clenched teeth. “You’re safe with us. We’re
trying to help you.”

He looked into the girl’s eyes, his
expression calm. Her struggling stopped, her limbs dangling from
Merrick’s embrace. He slid his hand from her mouth and sat her on
her feet.

“What’s going on?” Her voice was small yet
surprisingly strong. “I heard screams and shouting. I tried banging
on the door but no one came.” Her voice crackled with fear.

Merrick was silent, not knowing whether to be
truthful or lie to the child. He could not afford to have her in a
panicked state.

“As he said, we’ve come to help you. And a
lady that lives her. She’s in danger,” said Amaeya, knelling down
to brush the girl’s hair from her eyes and comfort her with a
smile.

“A lady? What does she look like?”

Merrick tilted his head, thinking. “She has
green eyes and long blond hair. She may be someone of great
importance, maybe someone—”

The girl’s eyes opened wide as she clasped
her hand to her mouth. “—Mama.” Her words spilled out, muffled by
her fingers.

“What is it, girl? Do you know her?” Merrick
could feel his heart race, the blood pounding in his head.

The girl glanced at him and tore down the
hall, screaming.

“
MAMA!”

***

Evanna could feel the life squeezing out of
her. She hung there as helpless as a doll as the darkness crept its
way into her vision.

Luthen’s head rolled back onto his shoulders,
blood smeared on his smiling face. Evanna slid from his arms and
onto the warm red-stained floor. Raising a hand to her neck, she
held the wound closed. Her skin had become dry and brittle with
age. Silvery strands of hair now framed her face instead of golden
curls.

Luthen stood gazing into the mirror of her
vanity, running his fingers through the blood on his face. His
wrinkles smoothed and his face shifted into a stranger’s. “Much
better,” he said, running his fingers along the chiseled angle of
his jaw. “No more frumpy elf, no more withered old man. Just my
old, wonderful self.” He laughed with a voice younger and sharper
than before.

Evanna’s breath rattled in her chest. Her
body was weak. But her mind was sharp.

With her free hand, she rolled onto her
belly. She crawled, inch by inch, toward the open window. Maybe,
just maybe, someone would see her or, and if she summoned enough
strength, hear her pleas for help.

Luthen’s laughter had ceased. She could hear
him
tsk
as he strode up behind her.