Shadows of Time: Shadow Maiden (9 page)

“Dear little queen. Do you want to go to the
window? Here, let me assist you. It’s such a pretty night.” Luthen
scooped her frail body into his arms. Evanna’s mouth fluttered
silently in protest, too weak to do anything but sway with each of
his footsteps.

Evanna was propped up onto her feet on the
window’s ledge. Luthen held her close around her waist, swaying to
an invisible melody. She pawed at the window frame, fearful of what
would come next.

“
MAMA!”

Evanna’s heart sunk in her chest. Her eyes
darted to the door, begging her child to come no closer. Astrid
stopped, their eyes linked together in a fiery lock.
GO!
She
begged with her eyes.
Go, before it’s too late.

The queen felt herself slip from the window.
She drifted for a few moments like a feather caught on the wind
before her body realized its true weight. Plummeting, she was
submerged in mist and the sweet taste of wet grass. Her mind
lingered on memories long past—the first time she had kissed
Lestel, the first time she had held her daughters in her arms.
Darkness overcame her long before her broken body crashed into the
ground, exploding into a cloud of dust.

Merrick skidded across the stone floor, his
fingers inches from the screaming girl. She had stopped,
transfixed, as he and Amaeya came crashing in behind her. The color
had faded from the girl’s face and her mouth hung open in
horror.

Merrick reached out to grab her but froze
when his eyes caught a familiar green gaze.

The queen
!

Instead of the beauty he beheld in his
vision, he was met with a withered husk of a woman. He opened his
mouth to speak, but the words were cut short—the queen slipped from
the window as if she had been nothing but an illusion. Merrick
shook his head, trying to make sense of what he had seen.

The girl suddenly cried out, bringing Merrick
back to the present. He grabbed her by the arm before she could do
anything foolish.

“We must go!” He words sounded harsh in his
ears.

“Yes, you really should be going.” A shadow
pushed past the motionless curtains and stepped out before them. A
pale angular face sneered out from beneath a heavy hooded cloak.
“Perhaps you would like to come see where your mother’s gone
to?”

Merrick could taste the foul magic in the
air. The being standing before him was composed of nothing but
evil.

His eyes darted around the chamber. It was
dimly lit with the exception of two small torches, one of which
innocently hung near Amaeya.

He looked over at her. Amaeya’s face was calm
though her eyes were in deepening turmoil. She finally glanced over
at him. His face stern, he said, “
torch!”

Without wasting the time to respond, she tore
the delicate torch from the wall and tossed it to Merrick. He
snatched the paling fire from the air and pulled a silvery branch
from his belt.

“Oh, how quaint. Are you going to do a magic
trick?” The sinister being laughed as his eyes darkened to a deep
inky black. The shadows around him stirred, becoming denser.

“Take the girl and go!” Merrick shoved the
child toward Amaeya. She dragged the girl toward the door and out
into the hall. Merrick felt relieved knowing if his plan failed,
they wouldn’t have to suffer for it.

The deepening shadow made it hard to breath.
He felt as if he were slipping underwater, weighed down by chains
and stones. If he didn’t act soon, he knew it would smother
him.

“Well, magician, are you going to amaze me or
not?” The being asked, creeping closer. He now towered over Merrick
and seemed to be growing larger with each passing moment.

Merrick took advantage of its slow attack.
His patience had been misread as fear. Now, as the being towered a
mere foot away from where he stood, he stuffed both the torch and
powdered branch inside the creature’s cloak, touching together the
two ends for only a split second.

Merrick squeezed his eyes shut just before
the lightning powder ignited. The white flash still flooded his
vision through his closed eye lids. Howls of pain and the smell of
sizzling flesh assaulted his remaining senses. He stumbled, choking
and feeling for the door. He felt someone grab his outstretched
hand and pull him out of the smoky room and into the hall.

He blinked and rubbed at his eyes, trying to
regain his vision. Blurry shapes fell back together in place.
Amaeya pulled him down the hall, dragging the sobbing girl in her
other hand.

“We need to hurry before that
thing
catches up with us,” said Merrick, picking up his pace to match
Amaeya’s stride. “Have you seen any of the war party?”

“Not yet,” she said, her breathing jagged,
“but they’ve quieted down. It won’t be long until they leave.”

Merrick nodded while glancing over his
shoulder. Turning back, he realized they were already at the
portal. Amaeya wrapped her cloak around the girl and stepped up to
the rippling air. He tugged at her arm, pulling her to a stop.
“Wait,” he said, “I’ll go first. We won’t have it as easy coming
out as we did coming in.” He pulled the Phookan sword from his belt
and slipped through the chilling surface of the portal.

He looked up from the surface of the lake,
careful not to make a sound. The three mercenaries still sat by
their fire, drinking and laughing into the darkness of Alainia’s
underbelly. Taking a quick breath to calm his racing heart, he
sprung from the lake and ran for the Phooka. Merrick’s sword slid
into the first with ease, cutting his laugh short with the gurgle
of blood in his throat. The other two stumbled to their feet, their
clumsy fingers clawing at their weapons. He withdrew his blade and
slashed the one closest to him across the beast’s exposed belly.
The Phooka shrieked, clutching at his unleashed organs with useless
hands. Merrick raised his eyes to the last Phooka, meeting his
gaze. He had never liked killing. He knew, however, that death was
a way of the world. The mercenary stood with defeat brimming in his
eyes as he waited for Merrick to make his move.

Merrick leapt forward, driving the point of
his sword into the Phooka’s eye and deep into the meat of his
skull. He yanked out the blade, leaving the Phooka to fall freely
to the ground. There were no cries from him.

The elf looked down at the mangled and
bloodied Phooka, his eyes tracing the rivulets of blood as they
seeped into the muddy earth. “May the earth accept your bones and
the wind carry your spirit to the world that comes after…”the
desert pray rang hollow in his ears. Not long ago he had said the
same as he lit the pyre beneath his dead wife. The comparison left
him bitter.

Shaking off his unease, he dashed to the lake
and plunged his hand through the portal to beckon Amaeya to come
through.

He felt her hand latch onto his. He pulled
her through the portal and up out of the water. Amaeya shook the
water from her honey curls as she clutched the coughing girl.
Merrick could see the child’s wide eyes darting around her
surroundings. He moved himself in front of the fire, blocking her
view of the bloodied Phooka. However, Amaeya spotted them and ran
toward the bodies.

“What have you done?
Are you insane?
”
She reached toward the bodies, feeling for and signs of breath or a
heartbeat. “The Chief will have your head for this.”

“What choice did I have?” Merrick’s anger bit
at his words. He grabbed the girl and flung her shivering body over
his shoulder. “They would have killed us or lead the rest of them
to us. There was no other way.”

Amaeya glared up at him, her eyes dark with
fury. “You could have at least
told
me first,” she said,
rising to her feet. “A solid plan would be nice for a change. Have
you even thought about how we’re going to get out of here?”

“We have our feet, we could easily—”

“—Ha! They would run us down before dawn.”
She reared up with her fists clenched, angry as a snake that had
been stepped on by a foolish traveler.

Merrick stood empty of words, his mind
racing. His wits had helped them this far but how far could they
survive like this? As his eyes wandered the darkness, they came to
rest on the silent massive shadow of the war machine. He recalled
the great pot belly stove inside its body, possibly a furnace to
produce power, maybe power that produced movement—

“I need wood,” he said, sitting the child
down on her unsteady feet.

“
What?”
Amaeya’s face reddened as she
aimed her fist toward him.

“Wood! As much as you can carry!” Merrick
piled the Phooka’s firewood into his arms. “We’re going to need
quite a bit to get that machine rolling.”

“You’ve finally gone made, haven’t you?”
Amaeya lowered her fist, her expression muddled. “That thing
probably doesn’t even work. Besides, it’s locked.”

Merrick kicked at the campfire, spitting out
a blur of curses. “Someone has to have the key. Do one of them,
maybe?”

Amaeya looked into the faces of the dead
Phooka and stopped on the third. “Yes, he should. He’s the driver!”
She rushed to the Phooka and tore at his pockets. Seconds later she
held a large bloodied key in her hands. “I hope our luck holds out
for just a bit longer,” she said, tucking the key in the pocket of
her skirt.

“As do I. Now, we need to gather wood, the
drier the better. We may be able to burn some of the structural
pieces, like the rafters or the outer woodwork, but we’re going to
need as much as we can get to have a chance,” he said, hefting up
the wood pile in his arms.

“There’s wood in the tents—bits of furniture
and chests—they should already be stored in there if they haven’t
set up a full camp.”

Merrick laughed. “It looks like our luck is
here to stay after all.”

***

Luthen reached up to touch his shriveled
face. Pain flooded across his skin before he could jerk his hand
away.
That bastard will pay for this
, he thought, casting
his smoldering cloak aside. He dared not glance at the mirror.

He noticed the rummaging of the war party had
died down. It wouldn’t be long before they slid back through the
portal to the underbelly. First, however, he needed to remedy his
current situation. Not only was he disfigured, the encounter had
left him feeling drained. He had managed to keep his body, but only
barely. Disgusted, he turned to hunt down a new vessel.

As he drew near the door, a faint cry met his
ears. He stopped, smiling to himself. “Ah,” he said, “I had almost
forgotten you.”

The girl stood at the foot of the bed as
still as a statue. Something about her gaze filled Luthen’s mind
with a flurry of ideas. “Your heart is full of ice. I may have use
for you after all,” he said softly to himself.

He turned and kneeled down before the child,
a smile stretched across his melted face. “Tell me, dear girl,
where do the servants sleep?”

Without hesitation, she said, “on the level
below us. The stairway is down the short hall right outside this
door.”

“Very good,” he said, the words slithered
from his lips. “And where do the boy servants sleep?” It wasn’t a
necessity, but transferring into another male being would be more
comfortable than the body of a worn old nanny.

“There’s only one, father’s valet,” she said,
her face still. “His room is the first one at the bottom of the
stairs.”

Luthen’s smile deepened. He knew the girl hid
something behind her calm surface. Not fear, something colder.
Hatred perhaps
, he mused,
yes, she will do
nicely
.

“Telling me simply won’t do.
Show
me
.”

The girl glided past on the silent stone and
into the hall. He followed, intrigued.

She opened a slender door, its handle
creaking loudly in the silence. They descended down a winding
staircase and into a narrow hall. She stood in front of the first
door and nodded at Luthen.

He patted her head with a withered hand and
slid inside the humble room, leaving the door ajar. He could feel
her eyes watching his every move.

Inside was a young elf with short sandy hair,
silent in a frozen sleep. He was younger than Luthen had expected
yet he could tell he was slender and of a considerable height. He
leaned over the boy and slipped the heavy ring from his finger. It
slid hungrily onto the boy’s hand. Luthen felt his soul pour out of
Lestel’s broken body and into the warmth of his new vessel. The
sleeping mind of the young elf was crushed instantly by Luthen’s
invading presence. There was nothing of value to be learned from
the mind of a servant.

Luthen raised his new body from the bed,
filling his lungs with sweet night air.
It feels wonderful to be
alive.

He spotted the girl, eyes wide, staring at
him from behind the door. “Amazing, isn’t it?
Immortality
, I
mean.”

For once words escaped her. She stood silent,
whiter than the palace stone.

Luthen swung his long legs from the bed and
stood. They were good strong legs fit for running. He pulled on a
pair of black boots from the foot of the bed and pulled a cloak
over his broad shoulders. He glanced down at his old body as it
crumpled into ash.
Goodbye, Lestel
, he thought as he stepped
onto a brittle skull, crushing it into dust.

“Now it’s my turn for me to show you
something,” he said, pulling the door from her grasp. She nodded as
her eyes stared, unblinking. Luthen smiled and reached for her hand
and guided her back to the main corridor.

They walked past suspended curtains and torn
tapestries hanging from the walls. The portal hung open like the
mouth of a great beast, ready to devour them. Luthen could see the
Phooka had gathered around the portal, their arms loaded with
golden trinkets and painted novelties. Some carried elven heads,
their blood spattering onto the white stone. Chief Al’Rul stood
with his arms crossed and empty of frivolities.