Lawrence Watt-Evans - In the Empire of Shadow

Of course, he had only seen the outsides of the houses, and only from a distance.

Still, Pel didn’t think that Mordor had looked like this. There was no stink of evil in the air here-neither brimstone nor blood nor burning oil-but the smell of raw earth and things growing. No suspicious smoke rose anywhere, nor did ominous fires glow in the distance. The air was a little chilly just now, but there was no soul-deadening cold or exhausting heat, and he was comfortable enough without his shirt; in fact, the occasional breezes felt pleasantly stimulating on his bare back. Shadow obviously wasn’t up there with Sauron or Lord Foul or Skynet as a despoiler of countrysides.

On the other hand, Shadow did just fine at creating and sending monsters, he remembered.

At least, if it was really Shadow that sent those creatures. What if they were just ordinary beasts that had happened along, and Raven and his crew blamed Shadow unfairly?

Well, no, Pel admitted to himself, they were scarcely ordinary beasts. They were clearly unnatural in their appearance, and they had attacked without reason and fought to the death where ordinary animals would have turned and fled. They probably were Shadow’s doing-whatever Shadow was.

Raven and his people always spoke of Shadow as if it were an individual, but was it really? Was it a person, a force, an organization?

Pel didn’t know, and was not at all happy that he didn’t.

As he had been thinking this, the party had continued on, up the west bank of the stream and further along the little road. Now, suddenly, they halted.

“Here,” Raven said, pointing with his bandaged hand. “Here’s the house that will give us to eat, an any human hearts remain in these lands.”

* * * *

Amy winced as Stoddard pounded on the door of the cottage-if “cottage” wasn’t too generous a term for the place. “Hovel” perhaps went too far the other way, but it certainly wasn’t anywhere Amy would have wanted to live.

Even so, it seemed rude to hammer like that when they had come seeking the occupant’s charity.

The door opened, and a frightened face peered out at them-a woman’s face, thirtyish, Amy thought, and not attractive, with unkempt hair and coarse skin.

“Open, in the name of the Goddess,” Raven said. “We are famished, and claim hospitality by the ancient laws.”

The woman glanced up at Stoddard’s raised fist, resting on her door, and seemed much more impressed by that, and by Stoddard in general, than by Raven’s words. She opened the door, staying behind it.

Stoddard and Raven and Valadrakul marched boldly in; the others hesitated at first, but then Wilkins shrugged and followed, with Sawyer and Marks and Singer close behind.

Ted went next, then Pel, and the three woman brought up the rear, Amy last of all.

She found the cottage’s main room jammed; it had never been meant to hold so many. The Imperials and Earthpeople were standing near the center, milling about in a crowd that practically filled the available floor space, while the Faerie folk had found their way to an alcove that, Amy realized, must be the kitchen.

At the other end of the little house was an earthen hearth before a crude stone chimney and mantle. A rough trestle table and benches stood beside the hearth; Sawyer and Singer were crowded against the near end of the table, leaning up against it.

Pel was standing a few feet from the table, staring at it-or under it, Amy realized. As she watched, he closed his eyes tight, and stood, swaying slightly, with them shut. Puzzled, Amy glanced under the table.

Hiding beneath it was a child-Amy couldn’t be sure whether it was a boy or a girl-who stared out at the strangers with frightened eyes. The poor thing wore a dull brown sacklike garment and nothing else, had mousy brown hair hacked off unevenly at shoulder length.

The child didn’t really look anything like Rachel Brown, but Amy knew that that was who Pel was thinking of. Uncomfortable, Amy looked up, away from the child, away from any memories of Pel’s dead daughter.

Above the table was a loft. The central portion of the cottage was open from dirt floor to thatched roof, but the kitchen alcove and the hearth area both had plank ceilings. Another child sat in the loft, this one, dressed in faded blue, almost certainly a girl; she clutched a baby in her arms. For a moment Amy thought the baby might just be a doll, but then it waved an arm.

No one who lived in a place like this would have a doll that could wave its arms, Amy was sure. She swallowed.

The space above the kitchen alcove was smaller and lower, and appeared to be used for storage; at any rate, there were no children to be seen there.

The woman closed the heavy door, the bang and the sudden dimness startling Amy.

“Ah, goodwife,” Raven called. “We claim but a single meal. What would you give us?”

“We have nothing to give you,” the woman said, her voice high and unsteady, her tone flat.

“Oh, come,” Raven replied. “I see much here before me-fruits and grain and vegetables, and surely that keg holds ale.”

“’Tis not for you,” the woman insisted. “We’ve children to feed, and our taxes are not yet paid.” Amy noticed that she didn’t seem to have quite the same accent to her speech that Raven and Valadrakul and the others did.

“And what of the Goddess’ decree that all Her children owe hospitality to one another, whenever they might be wanderers upon the land?” Raven demanded.

“We pay no heed to the old faiths,” the woman replied. “We heed only Shadow’s orders.”

“And what does Shadow say, then, in how one is to treat travelers?”

“Know you not, then?” The woman stood, hands on her hips, eyeing the intruders.

“I’d hear it from you,” Raven answered.

“Shadow commands that we feed and shelter those who come on Shadow’s business, and to deny all others,” the woman told them, “but not when that would risk our own lives, for they are not our own to sacrifice, but are Shadow’s, and valued more highly than whatever else might be stolen from us. Better to lose a year’s crops, and Shadow’s tax thereupon, than a lifetime’s, and there are many of you, while I am alone here, save for my children.”

Amy glanced up at the loft again, at the children there. Pel, standing near, still had his eyes tightly closed.

She wondered if Shadow could use its magic to spy on this somehow, here in its own territory. Would Shadow, whatever it was, feel the instinctive desire to protect those children that she felt? Did their mother have any way of informing Shadow of the presence of intruders?

“And you admitted us, then, in fear of your life?” Raven asked the peasant woman.

The woman gestured in the direction of Stoddard and Valadrakul. “That,” she agreed, “and in hopes that you might prove yourselves to be servants of Shadow.”

“You do disgrace to your ancestors and your spirit, in this sad acquiescence to that evil power and the renunciation of the true faith and its customs,” Raven said.

“And you prove yourselves fools, to oppose the Shadow that shades the world!”

Amy, already uneasy, had listened to this exchange with mounting discomfort. Now, as the woman and the three intruding natives of Faerie glared at one another through the little crowd, she called, “Raven, let’s get out of here, if we’re not welcome.” She didn’t mention anything about the possibility of drawing Shadow’s attention, but she thought that Raven would see it.

If Prossie was right about why Raven had left Lieutenant Dibbs back at the ship, then Raven certainly ought to have that in mind.

“Nay,” Raven said angrily. “By the bleeding Goddess, I say you nay! We’ve a right under the ancient law, and we’ll take a meal here before we go!”