Emily Rodda - The Shadowlands

‘So the Arena must be very near the border—and near the western slopes of Dread Mountain!’ exclaimed Barda. ‘Yes! Why did I not think of it? If we keep moving west, we should find it easily.’

‘And surely the Shadow Arena must be where many of the prisoners are,’ said Lief, turning to Jasmine. ‘If they are to be put to death as the bird told you…’

He paused, and Jasmine nodded uneasily. It had not been a bird, but Faith, who had told her that the prisoners were in danger.

It does not matter, she told herself. The truth is the truth, whoever tells it.

Barda clambered to his feet. ‘West it is, then,’ he said. ‘Not that we have a choice. I, for one, do not wish to cross that beast’s path again.’ He glared at Jasmine, daring her to disagree.

But Jasmine had been thinking rapidly. Lief was right. The Shadow Arena had to be near the border, and near Dread Mountain too. And she had remembered something else. Poison for the Grey Guards’ deadly blister weapons had been carried through a pass that led from Dread Mountain into the Shadowlands.

No-one would move glass jars of lethal poison any further than necessary. So almost certainly the factory where the blisters had been made was close to the pass, on the Shadowlands side.

The Shadow Arena and the factory. Both very important sites. Both near Dread Mountain. It made perfect sense for one of the Shadow Lord’s main bases, at least, to be in the same place. And Faith, perhaps, very near.

She bowed her head so that Barda would not see the flash of hope in her eyes. ‘Very well,’ she murmured. ‘If you think it right, we will continue moving west.’

Barda frowned at her suspiciously. Jasmine was not usually so agreeable. But he did not waste time in questioning her. He was already helping Emlis to his feet, anxious to be gone.

Lief stood beside them and peered out onto the plain. It was flooded with light, but no moon, no stars could be seen through the thick cloud. The mark of the Shadow Lord dominated the sky, burning with cold white fire.

‘We will have to go carefully,’ he murmured, turning to look at the ragged line of rocks that straggled away to the west. ‘There is little cover. If we are seen—’

‘You have been seen already, you fool!’ croaked a harsh voice at his feet. And before he could move or speak, claws had seized his ankles, and were dragging him down.

8 – Claw

Scrabbling helplessly at the hard earth, Lief felt the scrape of stone on his legs. With a surge of panic he realised that he was being dragged feet-first into a hole that had opened beneath the rock.

Desperately he flung his arms forward. Gasping with shock, Jasmine, Emlis and Barda seized them, trying in vain to hold him back. He tried to kick, but the scaly talons that gripped his ankles merely tightened their hold and pulled more strongly. He felt as if he was being torn in two. He yelled in pain and terror.

‘Shut your mouth or you will kill us all!’ barked the harsh voice.

There were grunts and curses from below. Then, suddenly, Lief felt another pair of hands seize his legs and heave. His arms slipped from his companions’ grasp, and he slithered under the rock, falling with a thud onto hard ground.

Instantly he was lifted up and slammed against a wall, a vast hand around his throat. Dazed, halfstrangled, he saw that the rock had not been a loose boulder at all, but part of the roof of a large cave. A torch flickered on rocky walls and floor. Water trickled in the shadows. A small group of strangely ill-assorted beings were peering at him.

There was a bearded scarecrow of a man whose hands were scaly claws, like the talons of a bird of prey. Beside him stood a woman—young and tall but gaunt with sunken eyes, the brand of the Shadow Lord burned cruelly into her brow. And pinning Lief to the wall, scowling, filthy, with an iron band around his neck, was—Glock!

Lief gaped at the brutish face snarling so close to his own. This could not be! He was dreaming! Glock was dead—dead and buried in a hero’s grave on the island of Plume. Had an Ol taken the shape of Glock to deceive them? A Grade 3 Ol, that could mimic even the warm touch of a human being?

But if that was so, surely the Ol would pretend to recognise him, would greet him by name, in Glock’s voice. No flicker of recognition showed in this man’s eyes.

The enormous paw around Lief’s throat tightened as Jasmine thudded through the hole in the cave roof, with Barda and Emlis close behind. His companions’ weapons were in their hands. They sprang forward, then saw Lief pinned against the wall, and froze.

‘Move another step and I will snap his neck like a twig!’ growled the being who looked like Glock.

‘Put down your weapons,’ snapped the talon-handed man, stepping forward. ‘We are friends!’

‘You may call dragging our companion into this place the act of a friend, but we do not,’ growled Barda, raising his sword a little.

The man put his head on one side and regarded him curiously. ‘Brianne, close the trapdoor!’ he ordered over his shoulder.

Frowning furiously the tall woman went to do his bidding. ‘You were a fool to bring them here, Claw!’ she said sharply, as the light in the cave abruptly darkened. ‘Did I not tell you?’

‘Was I to leave them to the Wild Ones?’ the talon-handed man drawled. ‘You were glad enough to be saved when you were wandering the plain, Brianne. I tell you, I heard them talking! They are harmless.’

The being who looked like Glock spat disgustedly. ‘Harmless? You are mad! At best they are decoys, at worst, spies. Look at them! Do they look like escaped slaves? They show no sign of the Sadness.’

‘And they came from the east, Claw,’ Brianne exclaimed. ‘All the slaves are in the west. With our own eyes we saw them trekking across the plain, chained together and under heavy guard, with Ak-Baba flying overhead. With our own ears we heard the guards taunting them, telling them they were going to the Shadow Arena. How could these four have escaped?’

Jasmine drew a sharp breath. Lief could imagine what she was thinking, and it was all he could do to keep his own face expressionless. He had been right. All the slaves were being herded into the Arena. Some terrible plan was afoot. They had to get away from here, and quickly.

Lief met Barda’s eyes and blinked. Barda’s mouth tightened very slightly.

‘Well, strangers?’ Claw said crisply. ‘You have heard my friends’ opinions. Explain yourselves!’

‘We do not have to explain ourselves to you,’ Lief gasped. ‘We do not desire your help or your company. We merely wish to go on our way.’

‘Indeed!’ said Claw, bowing mockingly. ‘And why should we allow you to do that?’

In seconds he had his answer, for before he could blink Barda had sprung forward, and Barda’s sword was at his throat.

A strangled groan burst from Lief as the powerful hand that gripped his neck tightened viciously.

Barda merely smiled. ‘Will it be a life for a life, then?’ he asked Claw casually. ‘I can well do without the lad, who is far more trouble than he is worth. Can your friends do without you?’

Lief’s attacker growled angrily. Brianne, stone-faced, folded her arms to conceal her trembling.

‘Your point is well made,’ said Claw, apparently entirely unmoved. He raised his voice. ‘Let the boy go!’

Lief felt the choking grip slacken. Then his captor stepped away from him. Lief slid down to the cave floor, points of light dancing before his eyes, the breath rasping in his bruised throat. As Emlis and Jasmine ran to him, Barda pushed Claw over to join them.

The other cave-dwellers faced them, not daring to move.

‘I fear our relationship has started badly,’ said Claw calmly, as if he was in conversation at a polite social gathering. ‘This is a pity, for I think we will have to help one another, very soon. You do not act like escaped slaves, certainly. But I do not think you are Shadow Lord creatures either.’