Jon Sprunk - Shadow’s Lure

They passed a smooth stone face set into the tunnel wall. Josey paused a moment, and Hubert stayed with her. It took her a moment to grasp that it was a grave marker. Dust filled the indentations of rigid characters carved into the stone. Hubert brushed away the accumulation, and Josey recognized the script as old Nimean. It listed a score or so names, and a number had been chiseled at the top of the stone-816. Josey reached out to trace the date. So much history, lost for centuries. What other secrets hide down here in the dark?

“Stirring, is it not?” Major Volek asked, standing beside her. “To think that on this spot, more than three hundred years ago, men and women who didn’t know if they would live to see another day gathered to mark the passage of their brothers and sisters into the Prophet’s arms.”

“Are you a religious man, Major?”

“Without the Light, how could we find our way in this dark world?”

Josey was surprised to hear such words from the stoic soldier. Sergeant Merts watched the exchange without reaction, as impassive as the stone around them. Josey and Hubert continued on, followed by the heavy trod of the soldiers’ boots.

The tunnel split again, and then again fifty paces or so after that. Each time, Hirsch chose the right branch, and Josey began to worry that the adept had lost his sense of direction. No. He’s gotten us this far. Have faith. But faith was an expensive commodity down here.

A few steps farther the tunnel widened, and Josey heard a sound in the darkness. A rhythmic plinking.

“Water.”

Hubert turned his head. “What?”

“Listen. It’s dripping water.” She reached out to the wall. The stone was slick with moisture. “We must be under the river.”

Hubert tapped his toe in a small puddle on the floor. “How far do these catacombs extend? Majesty, we should send a team down here to search for hidden ways into the city.”

Josey gave him a short nod, hiding her smile as she looked down the tunnel and began to hope that they were coming to the end of it. She stood on her tiptoes to look over Hubert’s shoulder. For a moment she thought she saw something in the shadows. A brief flicker of movement, too quick for her to be sure. She was about to forget it when a loud yell echoed from the front of the party.

Josey tried to push past Hubert, but she jumped when something from the ceiling bounced off her shoulder. She looked down to see a small rock on the floor. She looked up and didn’t have time to shout a warning before the world collapsed.

The corridor zigzagged as Keegan shepherded his men through the castle. He waited until the last person entered the hallway before hustling back to the front.

You’re not fooling anyone, Keegan. They all know you’re not the leader type. They’re just humoring you, but when the shit storm hits you’ll be left all alone holding your pecker.

For the life of him, he couldn’t understand why Caim had chosen him to lead this mission. There were plenty of fighters here with more experience, like Vaner or Taun. Even Malig could do a better job, and he hardly talked except to complain.

Keegan thought about Dray, staying back with his brother. Would he do the same if it had been Liana? Just the thought of his sister shoved a burning spear point through his heart. He nodded to the men as he passed. Act like you know what you’re doing.

He was almost back to the head of the group when a shout reached him, followed by a fierce war cry. Keegan pushed through the press until he burst into a small room furnished with little more than a wooden table and chairs. One chair lay on its back beside the sprawled figure of a large man in a dyed cloak. The rest of the outlaws held back, looking in all directions. Only Vaner had the guts to approach the open door on the other side of the room, torch in hand.

Keegan went over to the fallen man. Blood leaked from a puckered gash across his cousin Gaelan’s throat. Even knowing he was too late, Keegan tore off his cloak and tried to stanch the flow, but it seeped through the material and kept running.

“What happened? Bring me more light!”

Men clustered around. They tried for more than a minute, but by the end Gaelan was dead. Keegan sat back on his heels. His arms were drenched up to the elbows in blood.

“Damned thing just came out of nowhere and cut him down.” Yosur pointed across the way. “Then it flew out that way like the Dark One himself.”

Vaner hadn’t moved during Gaelan’s ordeal, but kept staring through the open doorway. Keegan snatched his sword and stood up.

“Was it one of those shadow men?”

“Maybe.” Vaner raised his torch higher. “I think I see it. There. Standing against the wall.”

Keegan couldn’t see anything down the dark hallway, but he backed up to the others while keeping his eyes on the doorway.

“Okay. Caim said don’t stop for nothing. When I give the call, everyone rush through that door. If you see something that ain’t us, kill it. Otherwise, keep moving.”

Everyone nodded. Keegan was surprised no one argued with him. His forearms itched. The urge to scratch was almost overpowering, but he pushed the thought aside. Caim was counting on him.

Keegan raised his sword. Just before he gave the signal, something detached from the gloom in the corner of the room, like a black cloud with arms and legs sheathed in black metal. He started to yell a warning, but his voice froze in his throat for a fatal heartbeat. That was all the shadow man needed to slip his sickle-shaped knife across Yosur’s stomach and rip out his guts. Lumel was the next to fall, split open like a side of beef. Then old Taun collapsed near the back of the group. Keegan spun as another figure in black darted through the darkness.

The clansmen backed away, but Keegan stood his ground. The sickle glinted dully in the torchlight; the shadow man swung a length of thin chain in his other hand. Keegan took a wide stance as Caim had taught him and tightened his sweaty hands around the handle of his sword. When the spiked end of the chain rushed toward him, he expected to die. But something urged him not to give up. He stepped out of the way and smacked the chain with the flat of his sword. An awful tone rang from the contact, but Keegan got the satisfaction of seeing the chain fall limp to the floor. Before he knew it, he was running at the shadow man, who seemed a little confused himself. At least Keegan hoped it was confusion, but he didn’t have time to think about it. He launched an overhand cut with all of his strength. The shadow man slid out from under the attack as neat as anything he had ever seen. The sickle came up and across in a slash that would have sliced out his liver, but Keegan shoved his heels into the floor and fell straight back, not gracefully by any measure, but the sudden change in direction saved his life.

He rolled onto his stomach as the chain swung over his head. He pushed himself up, knowing this was it-he was about to die-and hoping it wouldn’t hurt too much, when a quiet gasp sounded from above him. Keegan jumped up to find his enemy standing like a tree, head tilted oddly to the side.

Vaner stepped from behind him, bloody sword in hand, and the shadow man collapsed. Others ran forward to chop at the slumped body, spattering the floor with dark ichor. Keegan’s legs shook as he tried to comprehend that he wasn’t going to die. Don’t speak too soon. We ain’t out of this yet.

“Where’s the other one?” he asked.

A few men looked around.

“Gone.”

Vaner’s left arm hung limp at his side, the sleeve drenched in blood, but he was alive. Keegan started toward the man, but stopped when he noticed a wedge of darkness bulging from the wall behind Vaner. As Keegan opened his mouth to warn him, something ice-cold wriggled down the collar of his tunic. He looked up, and the cry lodged in his throat.