Jon Sprunk: Shadows son

Caim wiped his face with his free hand. The bizarre presence might have left, but his situation had deteriorated. The shadows were gone, back to wherever they came from, and his side ached worse than ever.

Ral adopted a casual fencing stance, sword arm halfway extended, feet apart. The gleaming point of his weapon wove small circles between them as he glanced to Calm's shoulder.

"Pick up a new toy, Caim? Watch out. You might pick up a little style and ruin your reputation."

Knees bent, knife held low, Caim slunk toward his prey. "Worry about how you're going to get away."

"Get away?" Ral laughed. "This is exactly where I want to be. You and me, the winner takes all."

Caim couldn't believe the man's hubris. Ral was no slouch with the sword and as cold-blooded as any killer on the street, but even he couldn't hope to defeat Caim in a fair fight. "Do you really think you can-?"

A sudden motion cut off his words. Caim dropped flat to the rooftop as a steel sliver sailed from Ral's off-hand. The throwing blade spun over Calm's head to strike the wall behind with a metallic clink. Caim ground his teeth together, pissed at himself for forgetting Ral's penchant for dirty tricks. Ral didn't give him time to browbeat himself, but rushed in behind the throw.

Caim pushed off the wet tiles. He blocked the first thrust and spun away from the follow-up. In turning, however, his foot slipped on a loose tile. Pitched off balance, he parried a swift slash, but the impact knocked him on his back. He grunted as a tearing sensation ripped through his side. A trickle of warmth oozed down his ribs. He rolled back to his feet on the unsteady surface and scuttled sideways. All the while, Ral hounded him with cuts and jabs. Somehow during the exchange they had traded places. Now Ral backed him toward the precipice above the bailey. Caim kept low and made himself as small a target as possible. He reacted a split second too late to an attack and paid the price with a slice down his right biceps, not too deep, but it bled with a vengeance. Caim switched the knife to his left hand and responded with a riposte to create some space between them.

"How does it feel?" Ral advanced on light steps. His sword cut lazy figure eights in the air. "Knowing you're about to die at my hands? It has to hurt. I know you've always considered yourself the better man."

Calm's breath came in shallow puffs as he gazed into the eyes of his enemy. Behind the arrogant twist of Ral's feature dwelt a frightened man, a man who had lived in Calm's shadow for so long he couldn't imagine a future without him. Caim tilted his head to let the cool rain patter on his face. He and Ral were two edges of the same blade, more alike than he had ever realized. With a momentous effort, Caim let the anger pour out of him, and he smiled.

Ral's lips twisted into an ugly frown.

When Ral glided forward behind a long thrust, Caim didn't retreat or dodge the attack. Instead, he leapt to meet it straight-on. Ral dug in his heels, but he couldn't curtail his lunge before Calm's blade caught the outthrust sword and twisted it away. A stiletto came up in Ral's other hand for a swift stop-thrust, but Caim grabbed the wrist. They grappled, chest to chest, both heaving for advantage. Caim drove with his hips, and the suete knife punched into Ral's navel like a blade returning to its sheath.

Ral convulsed against Calm's shoulder. His breath wheezed in Calm's ear. "You aren't… better… than…"

Caim pushed.

Ral sprawled on the tiles, one hand pressed to his abdomen, the other stretched over his head as if reaching for something that wasn't there. A livid welt pulsed on his open palm.

Caim left the man to gasp out his final breaths alone. He went over to the roof's edge. The storm had intensified. He couldn't see anything. He called out to Josey. If there was any response, he couldn't hear it over the wind.

He was searching the face of the building for a way down when a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold skittered up his spine. The queticoux flashed through his mind, and the voracious shadows he had faced in Ral's suite.

Calm's fingers tightened around the hilt of his knife as he moved.

aim toppled toward the roof's edge as a line of fire sliced across his lower back. His hands slipped on the wet tiles; his right leg was dead weight beneath him. With a frantic heave, he lurched sideways and saved himself.

A black-robed shape perched on the roofs peak. Amid flashes of lightning, the sorcerer's stoic features emerged, glistening like alabaster under his gaping cowl.

Caim took stock as he watched his enemy through the haze of rain and mist. He was hurt. How bad, he couldn't tell, but every movement sent rippling talons of agony clawing through his body. The twinge in his chest returned, pulsing under his heart, whispering its seductive call into his ears. Just surrender, it said, and the pain will be gone. Part of him wanted to give in. It would be easy to let the power take over.

With a deep breath, Caim pushed himself to his feet.

Sensation returned to his leg as he staggered away from the edge of the roof. His aches faded into the background when a small, almost innocuous knife appeared in the sorcerer's hand. Where did its matte black metal come from? The same metal as his father's sword. The answer was staring him in the face, so simple, and yet the implications reverberated to the core of his being.

"You killed the earl." Caim climbed the roof's sloped pitch. "You killed my friend Mathias. And sixteen years ago, you killed my father. I want to know why."

Levictus rose to his full height like an uncoiling serpent. His voice echoed in the darkness, as cold and forlorn as a tomb. "Before, we were an instrument; we went where bidden, unseen, unheard. To take those who were marked for death. Baron Du'Vartha was one of many."

Baron? His father was nobility? And I never knew. Red-hot anger flooded his thoughts as he brooded over all the things he'd never gotten the chance to know about his parents, but he tamped it down. He had to stay in control.

"Why? Of what value was my father's death to you?"

"Our masters commanded it. We obeyed without knowing the reason, but now we know many things that were mysteries before. About secret dealings. About the heir of House Tenebrae, born of a mortal father and a daughter of Shadow."

"What are-?" Caim swallowed the question before it passed his lips. His mind turned in a dozen different directions. "Daughter of Shadow. You mean my mother?"

The sorcerer took a step toward him, not threatening in itself, but Caim had seen the man move and felt the measure of his strength. Although thin of frame, this foe was more lethal than a dozen thugs like Ral. Something moved in Calm's peripheral vision. Dark shapes gathered in the gloom surrounding the rooftop.

"We considered allowing you to live." The sorcerer produced a second knife from the folds of his robe. "But the Lords of Shadow have demanded your extermination, and we must obey in order to be free."

Caim braced himself, but nothing could have prepared him as a thousand points of darkness swarmed from every direction. The shadows crawled up his boots, latched onto his cloak, and stung him with tiny needle-sharp fangs. He lashed out with his knife, but they came too fast, flowing like quicksilver around his attacks. Pain burst anew from his back, accompanied by the sickening sensation of things trying to wriggle into his wound.

Levictus glided through the mass of his pets, his knives glittering like black jewels in the night. Caim thrust to halt the advance, but the sorcerer shifted without moving and the suete's point met empty air. Caim jerked back just in time as the black knife traced a searing incision down his cheek. Two inches lower and it would have severed his throat. He spun and attacked from a different angle, but his enemy was gone. The shadows vanished as well, but Caim could feel their presence in the dark, stalking him.