Shadow's master

my successor. You were a mistake.”

Caim's left elbow buckled, slamming his forehead to the floor. Images flashed through his mind. Of sitting in his mother's lap while his father spun tales in front of a log fire. Of Josey lying beside him on her big feather bed. Of Kit laughing at his misfortunes. He turned his face. She was so close, yet just beyond his reach. Caim groaned as the air was squeezed from his lungs. The power was beyond anything he had ever encountered, stronger than ten Sybelles. Part of him wanted to give up, let it crush him and be done, but another part clung to every tortured breath. As he had done against the black cloud, he pushed back with his will. The pressure above him eased for a moment, and Caim took advantage of the respite to dredge up all his strength. He pushed and thrust himself up to a kneeling position. New strength surged through his veins as he met the Shadow Lord's hooded gaze. He's a man, the same as you. If he can bleed, he can die.

“You're going to tell me,” Caim said as he got one foot under him, “where she is.”

Before the Shadow Lord answered, a faint pop reached Caim's ears, and the shadow swordsman, Balaam, appeared beside him. The force pressing down on Caim vanished at once. Swaying slightly, he struggled to his feet. He gripped his suete knife tight, ready for anything.

“Enach ir thune panthador.” Balaam took off his helmet and tossed it on the floor at the foot of the dais. “I renounce my service to you and your house, Abraxus Thargelia. From this moment forward, I am my own man.”

The Shadow Lord frowned. “If that is your choice…”

Balaam flew back as if he'd been slammed by a stone from a catapult. Caim turned, expecting to see the swordsman splattered against a wall, but he lay a few paces behind Kit, flattened to the floor. Caim reacted by instinct, channeling his power into a tight punch. A lance of pure darkness shot across the chamber. The Shadow Lord staggered back and folded his arms across his chest.

The majordomo opened a portal and jumped through. At the same time, a face in the crowd disappeared, and then another. The Shadow Lord looked around as his court abandoned him in twos and threes. Then he stepped into a patch of shadows beside his throne and vanished.

But not everyone departed. Caim braced himself as the shadow warriors advanced on silent footsteps. When they got within three paces, Caim attacked. He charged in fast, knife held high, and then dipped down in a slide. The lead shadow warrior spun his spear around as he retreated, but Caim's momentum carried him past the warrior's guard. He punched up, and links of black mail burst apart as the suete's point drove deep into the warrior's diaphragm.

Caim jumped over the body, flinging shadows behind him as he snatched up his fallen seax knife from the dais steps. The three remaining warriors batted the darknesses aside and rushed toward him. Caim parried a curved sickle from his left, feinted, and darted back with a high-low attack that met a pair of black daggers. The seax gave off blue sparks as it rebounded from the dusky metal. As Caim pressed with a series of quick strikes, the sickle-fighter slipped behind him. Caim focused his powers and hopped to the opposite side of the chamber. Before his enemies could track him, he beckoned to the thousands of shadows lurking along the walls and high ceiling. Their voices chittered as he wrapped his mind around them. When he released his hold, they flew.

The warriors vanished and appeared around him. At the same instant, the storm struck. The shadow warriors were hurtled back as a whirlwind of darkness tore through them. The sickle fighter slammed into a wall; the collision made a satisfying crackle of breaking bones. The other two disappeared into portals.

Caim released the shadows, and the whirlwind dispersed. He was battered and torn, leaking blood from several places, but still alive. He jumped back as the dagger fighter appeared to his left and prepared to meet the shadow warrior knife-to-knife, but black steel flashed, and the dagger fighter collapsed to his knees, blood running in spurts down his side as his severed right arm and most of the shoulder joint fell to the floor. Balaam stood behind him, sword held in a low two-handed grip.

The last shadow warrior arrived behind Balaam and swung a short-hafted poleaxe of black steel at his back. Balaam stepped out of the weapon's path as smooth as a dancer and took off the warrior's head.

Stomach clenched, Caim ignored the deaths and ran over to Kit. Her eyes fluttered when he touched her face. “Can you hear me?” he asked.

“Yeah. But you're a little fuzzy.”

She tried to sit up, but he held her down with a gentle hand. “Take it easy. How do you feel?”

“Like I got run over by a pack of mules in steel shoes. What happened?”

“I was going to ask you the same thing. I thought you and Malig were leaving-”

Kit put a hand to her mouth. “Oh, Caim! Malig! He's…We ran into trouble, and he…”

Caim took her in his arms and let her sob into his chest. Balaam walked over, cleaning his weapon. “You,” Caim called out. “Why did you come back?”

Balaam dropped the cloth-a ripped cape-he'd been using, but kept his sword in hand. “I have served Lord Abraxus for most of my life. My honor demanded that I leave his service in person.” The ghost of a smile haunted his mouth. “And I had debts of my own to pay.”

But then his face smoothed. “There are caverns below Erebus. That is where your mother is held.” Balaam pointed, and the outline of a circle glowed beside the throne where the Shadow Lord had disappeared. “That is the way.”

Caim looked down to Kit. She had stopped crying and seemed content to rest against him. I should take her away and forget about all this. And yet, he couldn't leave without knowing. “Can you take her out of here?”

Balaam observed them for a long heartbeat. “I must see to my own affairs, but I can take her.”

Kit placed a hand on his chest. “No, I won't leave you again.”

He wanted to kiss her, but instead lifted her in his arms. “I'll be right behind you.”

She smacked him in the chest. “Liar.”

“Isn't that why you love me?”

Kit smiled and planted a peck on his chin instead. “Hurry then.”

Caim handed her to Balaam, who held her awkwardly. Caim started to turn away, but the swordsman stopped him.

“Wait. Take this.”

Balaam held out his sword. The black steel shimmered.

“I…” Caim recalled his father's sword, and how wielding it had made him feel. “I can't accept that.”

Balaam tossed the sword, and Caim caught it by the hilt. He braced himself for a flood of bloodlust, but felt nothing special. It was just a sword, though extremely light and well-balanced. The edge looked sharp enough to shave with. He sheathed his seax knife.

“Be careful,” Kit said, her eyes closing.

Caim stepped back from them and opened a portal in the spot of the glowing marker. Raising the black sword to Balaam in a salute, he stepped through.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

White mist hovered above the plain, obscuring everything beyond the stream, which was swift and turbulent from the recent rain.

Sitting astride Lightning, Josey looked across the valley floor. The soldiers were set before her. Their helmets and the points of their spears reflected the dull morning light. Damp flags hung limp in the hands of the standard- bearers. The ranks were drawn up differently than last time. Lord General Argentus had been an old-school strategist who followed the traditional methods-infantry had to be deployed a certain way, with archers placed just so, and the pikemen thusly-but Colonel Klovus and Brian were more flexible. The troops were not so spread out as before, but the steep hills on either side of the field protected their flanks. They had no siege weapons this time, and few archers, but a platoon of crossbowmen had survived the last confrontation. They were placed on the slopes of each hill. Josey hoped it was a good tactic, but the troops looked woefully exposed on the bare tors. A priest moved among the men, touching their foreheads as he prayed. His white cloak billowed behind him in the breeze.