A Clash of Shadows (3 page)

Katja looked at him and could think of no words. Serdra had always seemed invincible, though she didn’t hesitate to state that she wasn’t. Katja had given little thought to the possibility that she would die before Katja did.

“Do you have demons in the cellar that I am unaware of?” she finally asked, but was unimpressed with her own joke.

“This is not a game,” Maron said severely. The deep voice and wrinkled face were well suited to it. “Only a handful of you are born each century and you are too important to be allowed to die due to inexperience.”

“I am making progress,” Katja said a bit heatedly. “I have been training for more than a year.”

“Every person on this homestead has been training for longer than that,” Maron said. “And you have heavier duties than any of us.”

Katja did not have a ready answer.

“You need to fully master your gifts to be as beneficial to the world as you should be. So as I said:
If
Serdra dies before declaring you independent you should come her
e
and train for at least another year, if we cannot get in touch with another one of your people.”

Katja looked away, shrugged and then looked at him again.

“I shall keep it in mind.”

“So you should.” Maron turned and began walking away, but looked over his shoulder. “What would have happened last year if Serdra had died young?”

Katja remained on the stump and sighed.

Serdra returned from her isolation and whisked Katja off to train among the trees. They yet again went over how to sneak and survive in a forest and hunted one another. And of course there was sparring in between as always.

They made it back in time for dinner, which consisted of cod, rye bread and a large dose of butter. After that people passed the time in various ways before retiring for the night. Some mended their clothes or did minor repair work on tools. Linda was up to something off by herself and apparently wanted it that way. A labourer played a flute and there was the usual storytelling for the children. They were told the history of the Shades, their enemies and their allies. Katja enjoyed that last one the most, as her people were the most notable and the children stared at her.

Tonight the subject was the Brotherhood of the Pit, the sorcerous horror that had formed in Vendhya early in the history of the Jukiala Union and been passed along the generations much like the duties of the Shades. And of course the whole thing concluded with reiterations about secrecy.

Serdra and Katja undressed in their room.

“Any fresh revelations?” Katja asked.

“I felt the rolling of waves beneath my feet,” Serdra said after a brief pause. “Smelled leaves, heard the roar of battle in the distance and felt the tingling of sorcery. But that is just the obvious. There is something
hidden
behind all of this.”

“Hidden? And what does that mean?” Katja asked.

“It means we must be ready for anything.”

Katja looked away and nodded. She would clearly need to get used to uncertainty in her life. But that lesson would probably take more time than most.

“
Lomahan
,” her mentor suddenly said in the stealth language and Katja reacted immediately.

She reached within herself, for the energy that made her what she was and threw it forward.

The Sentinel Flame appeared in the air. A heat-less, glowing red rune Katja’s own height that repelled anything unnatural.

Maintaining it was a strain. This was her nature. Her
life
, and Katja sometimes felt it was like holding her heart outside of the ribs. But now she could do it. With practice and perseverance and Serdra’s guidance she could do it.

This is what I am!
she thought as she stared at the Flame.

Serdra shoved her and she fell on her side.

Katja fought to maintain her focus. She should have expected that. And she should have been able to light the Flame without sacrificing alertness.

Beginner’s mistake
, she thought.
Again!

The Flame vanished and Katja felt it slip back inside of her. She was left tired and irritated.

Serdra didn’t need to say anything. They had covered this so many times before.

The older woman lay down on the bed and Katja took a little while to recover before doing the same.

3. 

The third day after the Sensing brought new developments.

Katja and Serdra were practising knife throwing together shortly before noon. There was no mentoring going on this time; Katja knew everything she could be told about knife throwing and could only improve through experience and Serdra herself did need to maintain her skills.

Katja rather liked this. They were about equally good. There were limits after all to how well one could hit a target. No words, no fighting, no instructions. Just the two of them throwing weapons together.

She found a certain peace in this. A moment’s respite from all the strenuous training.

The peace died the moment Thorgeir rode in. Perhaps it was because she hadn’t heard about him being expected. Perhaps her prescience was hinting at something. Or perhaps it was just something about the look in his eyes.

Thorgeir greeted them as he led his horse past and watched them with a bit of that nervous awe the homesteaders had weaned themselves off. He handed the reins to a boy, asked him about Maron’s whereabouts and then jogged in his direction.

The horse was winded. This had been no casual ride.

Katja and Serdra’s eyes met. There was no need for words. Katja pulled her knife out of the target and they followed Thorgeir.

He was one of Maron’s cousins; a Shade who lived in the capital and did his part in watching over it for the secret society. He could have any kind of news.

Maron spent his morning reading out in the sunlight, on the other side of the homestead. Katja and Serdra walked past the stables and along the main building.

“Wait a moment,” Katja heard Maron say to his guest. He heard them approach. They rounded the corner and Thorgeir seemed flat-out startled.

“Start over,” Maron said in the same deep, serious tone he used for everything else.

“Well,” Thorgeir hesitated and cleared his throat. “Aron Vogn passed away yesterday. The councillor.”

“It sounds like he didn’t stumble and hit his head,” Katja said.

Thorgeir shook his head.

“He just suddenly died out in the street,” he said. “Frank witnessed it, in his beggar’s guise. The councillor was walking with his notary. He was buying a pie when he suddenly made a terrible shriek. He bent backwards and stood frozen for a few moments before falling down lifeless.”

“That was one awful pie,” Katja said.

Thorgeir looked at her with some outrage. Katja just stared back until he continued.

“Frank was apparently just a few steps away. He saw it well. He saw Vogn’s face and swears that this was no heart attack.”

“Sorcery,” Maron said.

“Yes. He witnessed a death curse once, in Slabground. He said this was almost exactly like that incident.”

Maron hmm’d.

“Do you know anything more?”

“No,” Thorgeir said. “Not yet. We just agreed that this should be reported.”

“You were right,” Maron said. “He pointed at the door. “I can see you’ve ridden hard. Go in and refresh yourself. Freyja will offer you something out of the basement.”

“Thank you. I am thirsty.”

Thorgeir went inside and the three of them remained looking at one another. Maron was even more severe than usual.

“Aron Vogn,” the old man said thoughtfully.

He bent down to pick up a bag containing assorted reading material. It was a bit of an effort for him but he managed to place it on a table and took out a map.

“Aron Vogn,” he said again. “He was a man of action, let no one claim otherwise.”

Maron rolled the map out on the table. It was of Amerstan.

“Don’t say this out loud in public, but the centre of the country has been in decline for quite some time,” he said. “And more than that, to be honest.” He put his finger on the middle of Amerstan. “The roads aren’t what they used to be. The chancellor, long may he live, has neglected the more rural areas, which then become ever more rural.”

“I visited there briefly back in the day,” Serdra said.

“Things have gotten worse since then,” Maron said. “Everything associated with decline flourishes there. Ignorance, poverty, poor medicine, the hills and forests make perfect lairs for bandits and I could go on. Aron Vogn wanted to change this. He wanted to funnel tax money into repairing roads, bridges and canals, offer funding to those who would start new farming communities and search for new mines.”

He tapped the map.

“I suspect this death will be fateful.”

“Did he have enemies?” Katja asked.

“He wanted to make changes,” Maron said as if answering a silly question.

“So it’s not
certain
that the Brotherhood of the Pit was behind this?”

“Certain?” Maron said. “Certainly not. But around here it is best to assume as much.”

True enough. Powerful sorcery was quite rare enough. The chances of someone
not
connected to the Brotherhood wielding it in Amerstan were rather slim.

“They could be repeating what they tried in Baldur’s Coast,” Maron said. “They might want to get their man on the council. And that must not happen. Not this close to us.”

Katja shook her head with a serious look. He was right. It wouldn’t be a death sentence for the Shades of the Inner Sea if the homestead were to fall, but it would be a great blow.

“If they just wanted to kill
someone
to place a puppet in his stead then they chose well,” Maron said. “Aron’s causes make him unpopular with many who owe their wealth to the prosperity of the eastern part of the country. If anyone in government finds the death suspicious those people will be suspected, rather than a menace few are fully aware of.”

“So our time has come,” Serdra said. It wasn’t a question.

Katja felt her heart lurch. Of course the two of them would go. They could sense sorcery after all. They were the most logical choice for investigating this matter.

“Yes,” Maron said. “The girl’s past-sight could be useful.”

She couldn’t help but grin when they looked at her simultaneously. Past-sight was just about the only thing she could do better than Serdra.

“How will we approach this?” Katja asked for clarification, and heard some amount of smugness in her own voice.

“Answers are all-important,” Serdra said. “We will need to find out whether a Brotherhood man was behind this and if so what they intend.”

“Yes,” Maron said. “It is doubtful they want a big fight in a city. Let alone a city they are trying to gain control over.” He cleared this throat. “But let us not make too many assumptions. Let’s investigate first and then decide the next step.”

He glanced at the sun.

“It doesn’t look like you’ll reach the city before the curfew. I suppose you will have to bed at Gvendur’s house again.

Serdra nodded.

“We will get ready and head out. Come, Katja.”

--------------------

“What do you remember?” Serdra asked as they walked. They had left their horses with Gvendur and walked the final stretch to draw less attention.

“Death curses are powerful, but difficult,” Katja said. She had been expecting this and going over her lessons. “And if the victim is protected in some way the spell can harm the sorcerer. It’s best to use some connection to the victim. Their blood, hair, an object they have owned for long, or simply knowing them very well. And with such a connection the curse can be inflicted from far beyond visual range.”

“Correct,” Serdra said.

“It’s probable that the sorcerer has had to use dark runes to power and control the curse, unless they are very skilled. We should look for the place where the spell was cast, to feel its echoes. Or to find tools used by this person. Oh and we are half-sisters from Baldur’s Coast and wander about in search of work.”

Their swords were hidden under clothing. Carrying arms wasn’t illegal but quality war swords did not fit their assumed personas and could easily rouse some questions. Serdra was nevertheless strict about her rule to never disarm and would rather risk the questions than getting into a tight spot with only knives. Rules such as this one led to long-lived Redcloaks.

They had also dyed their hair before heading out. The Brotherhood of the Pit knew that two Redcloaks had been in the area a year before and it was best to use caution.

The brown dye hid the white stripes in Serdra’s hair that marked her age; the only such mark Redcloaks ever got. The colour was still a good deal lighter than the natural one she still had, to enhance its value as a disguise. They had darkened the blend considerably for Katja as a fit for her facial features.

Katja had inherited her mother’s flat face, narrow brown eyes and night-black hair, all some sort of remnant from the time before the Shattering when appearance indicated a person’s origin.

Katja couldn’t quite grasp the idea. People were just people and it was speech and customs that gave away their homeland. But somehow people with her appearance were never blond or red headed.

The walls of Amerstan City had been in plain sight for a while. Tall and powerful and silent witnesses to the history of the world. Here the Death Lords had won a great victory in the Fourth War in the fourth century and taken the city. Katja looked at the lands surrounding the city. Somewhere around there the Champion by the Wall had heroically sacrificed his life to buy time for refugees and fallen without anyone seeing his face. From here the regiments of Jukiala had made strikes across the channel into Kossus, when that land was nothing but the wild abode of outlaws and Vegraine tribes. 

Walking here had been so strange for the first time and it suddenly occurred to Katja that perhaps this was exactly how the Shades felt around the two of them. So did they perhaps get used to their presence in a way similar to how Katja got used to walking this road, without forgetting the significance?

They had been into Amerstan City on multiple occasions, but often without letting the gate guards see them and usually for the purpose of Katja’s training. She needed to be able to sneak through cities as surely as forests and follow someone in a crowd without being obvious about it. There was only one way to learn such things.

They could perhaps have gone in after dark, but finding Frank would be much easier in the daylight.

Katja looked around her again as they crossed the bridge to the gate. She knew the walls had been enlarged since the Fourth War, but this part was supposedly almost completely original. She tried to imagine the scene of the battle that had nearly brought down the young province of Jukiala. The din of battle, fire, machines of war, revenants who ignored arrow volleys and somewhere behind them their dreadful masters, awaiting victory.

Katja shook those thoughts away. She probably shouldn’t make a habit of imagining. It might affect her past-sight.

As they had no wagon or animals the guards took little interest in them and they got through by claiming they meant to purchase spices. A few moments later they stepped out from under the gate house and were now inside the mighty walls of Amerstan City.

Sneaking over them after sunset was a fun and dangerous game, but she also liked visiting in the day. In spite of the smell and crowding. The pigs, allowed to walk free, left a terrible mess that the cleaners battled constantly
;
most of the streets were narrow and the noise of commerce echoed everywhere this early in the day. But there was just so much life.

It didn’t hurt that here more entertainers could be found on a small space than probably in the rest of the country. Acrobatics, singing, puppeteering, feats of strength and almost anything else that would make people throw coins into a hat could be found on the market square.

The very heaviest morning traffic was over with and so they progressed along the streets without problem. The scene at the square was as teeming and colourful as Katja had come to expect. There was something to see wherever one looked. Except for the man they were in fact looking for.

“Go and find him. See what he has to say.”

With that Serdra leaned up against a wall with a relaxed mien. Katja understood the message. She had to learn to manage on her own. She walked into the sea of people.

Frank was what the Shades called a migrant. He was a highly trained agent who travelled around and took on tasks other Shades couldn’t without endangering their families. Katja had first met him in Baldur’s City and now he was stationed here.

Katja went about and slid past farmers, carpenters, scribes, singers and brewers, pigs, donkeys and ducks. She rather hoped to spot the comics who re-enacted the recent war with Kossus. Their show was entertaining, if only due to its simplicity.

But she saw him before she saw them. Frank was clever about changing his appearance, but now he looked almost exactly the way he had in Baldur’s City. He wore rags, his ruffled hair went down to his shoulders and he sported a week’s worth of stubble.

He sat with his back against a well with a begging bag in his lap and spotted her just before she came up to him.

“Hello. Are you enjoying yourself?”