David Dalglish - The Shadows of Grace

“Wish I knew,” Deathmask said. “Karak’s priests are proving far more… dangerous than originally expected. Tonight they launched an assault, and I had a hunch they would try to finish you off while you were still weak.”

“I’m hardly weak,” Haern said, tightening the knot on his hand with his teeth.

“Not at full strength, then,” Deathmask said. “And try not to be insulted. You’re not the only powerful man to nearly die tonight.”

Outside the castle the lion in the sky roared in victory.

“Shit,” Deathmask said. “There’s only one other person they could be after.”

“Who?” Haern asked, slipping between the sorcerer and the door.

“Bernard lost his hand,” Deathmask said, glaring. “Would have lost his head if not for Veliana. Same can’t be said for many of his priests. Now get out of my way; the twins are trying to protect the queen!”

Haern focused on the pain in his hand, using it to fight away the aches in his bones and the sharp throb in his chest.

“I’ll lead the way,” he said.

The two ran up the stairs and down a well-lit hallway.

“The queen’s room is the other way,” Deathmask said as they ran.

“That’s not where she’ll be,” Haern said. “Now hurry!”

As they neared the back of the castle they turned, they way opening up into a garden. The queen sat on one of the benches, aimlessly twirling a flower.

“Your highness!” Haern shouted. She stood, dropping the flower as a flash of anger crossed her face. Behind her, her shadow in the moonlight stretched longer and longer.

“Move!” Deathmask cried, a spell already dancing on his fingertips. Haern leaped, slamming his shoulder into her side and pushing her away. The queen’s shadow lunged from the ground, shimmering claws stabbing. It sliced air, and then Deathmask’s spell struck, a purple and gold ball of magic that exploded the shadow into smoke. Deathmask sighed as Haern helped the queen to her feet.

“If there are any spellcasters in this city,” Deathmask said, “you might consider hiring them to protect you.”

“If there are any, they’re in hiding,” the queen said, brushing dirt off her dress. “And have been since Valrik was an advisor to my husband. He banished their kind when he realized how much influence they had over him.”

“Your husband had a knack for banishing people,” said Deathmask.

“Sometimes it was warranted,” Annabelle said, holding her arms to her waist and looking about. “Valrik was an evil man. What is going on in my kingdom, rogue? The lion roars in the sky, and my people are frightened.”

“We’re trying to find them,” Deathmask said. “They’re far cleverer than I anticipated. Give us time. We’ll…”

He stopped as Mier and Nien entered the garden. Their clothes were torn, and blood ran from open wounds on their faces.

“My god,” Annabelle said, staring open mouthed at the twins.

“Queen’s room wasn’t safe,” said Mier.

“Not safe at all,” said Nien.

“Damn it,” Deathmask said as both collapsed to the grass. “Now I need a healer.”

He made a rude gesture to the sky as the lion roared one last time before fading away.

T hat next morning, Haern awoke to find Bernard sleeping one bed over in the infirmary.

“This is a switch,” Haern said as he propped himself up on his elbow. He winced when he saw the priest’s right hand, just a stump wrapped in blood-soaked bandages. Ignoring his aches, he stepped off the bed. It didn’t look like he’d be receiving too much healing magic anymore.

Normally the queen had a large breakfast with advisors, nobles, and members of her guard, but the previous night had put a damper on things. Instead, a few servant girls kept some soup warmed over a small fire and handed out fresh bread to those that wanted it. Haern ate in the gigantic hall, looking at banner after banner representing the kings of old. Most were ugly, but a few he wouldn’t mind wearing as a tabard, if he absolutely had to. As he ate, Veliana sat down next to him, holding a small wooden bowl filled with soup.

“How’d you get in here?” Haern asked as he took a bite of his bread.

“Irrelevant,” Veliana said, dipping her bread in the soup. “Although we don’t normally ask for help, you come from the ranks of thieves and murderers, so you’re more trustworthy than most.”

“I also policed you thieves and murderers in the name of the king,” Haern said. “Is that irrelevant too?”

“Mostly,” she said, taking a bite. She winked at him with her lone good eye. “But it does mean you were strong enough to survive hundreds of assassination attempts. That probably means something.”

“What do you want?” he asked.

She waited until she had finished half her bowl before speaking.

“We want the same thing. We want those priests dead. Once done, you can get on with your life, and we can get on with our business. You can even police us again, if you’d like, but I doubt that will be necessary. There will be no rival guilds to us, not like in Veldaren.”

“I’m not fully recovered,” Haern said.

“Still better at swordplay than anyone else in this city,” she said. “And I doubt you’ve lost your stealth.”

She stood, smoothing out her shirt and tossing her dark hair over her shoulder.

“Besides, you don’t need to fight them,” she said. “Find them, and we’ll do the rest.”

“How will I find you? ” he asked.

She tossed him a coin. It was bronze. One side was blank, and the other, imprinted with the image of a skull.

“Kiss the skull,” she said, again winking. “I’ll come running.”

She left him to finish his breakfast. He rolled the coin over his knuckles, thinking things over. His gut told him if the priests were still inside the city, Deathmask would have already found them. That meant they were outside the walls, and he knew of only one person who could track anything or anyone in the wild.

He finished his bowl and wiped his face. It was time to find Dieredon.

H e had expected Dieredon to leave with Antonil and his men, but underestimated Sonowin’s injuries. He found the two just outside the walls. Dieredon sat with his bow on his back while Sonowin limped along, eating clumps of grass. Haern winced at the sight of her. Her right wing was folded tight against her side, several long bandages holding it firmly in place. He felt terrible guilt knowing she had endured that to save him.

“Forgive me for interrupting,” he said as Dieredon stood and bowed.

“It is fine,” Dieredon said. “They wanted to keep her in a stable, cramped and without room for her wings. Sometimes your race worries me, Watcher.”

“Haern is fine,” he said. “With Veldaren most likely in rubble, I’m not sure I could claim that title anymore.”

Dieredon nodded at the reminder that he was not alone in his suffering.

“Forgive me,” the elf said. “I care for her is all. I’m not sure she will ever fly again.”

“Perhaps Ashhur will be kind and her wing will grow strong,” Haern said. “But please forgive me, for I come asking aid.”

“The lion in the sky,” Dieredon said. “I saw it last night. The priests are not going to die without a fight.”

“We need to stop them,” Haern said.

Dieredon could easily see where this was heading.

“If they’re outside the city, I can find them,” he said. “I’ll start searching come nightfall. Meet me here in the morning. When I find them, I will tell you where they are.”

“Thank you,” Haern said, bowing low. “I will never be able to repay you for all you have done.”

“Live well,” Dieredon said. “It is payment enough.”

T wo days later Haern met Dieredon in the field. By the look on the elf’s face, he knew something was amiss.