Plague of Shadows Read online

  Vallyn stopped a passing priest, a well-muscled fellow wearing a yellow loincloth, matching vest, and sandals.

  "One of our companions has been injured with poison," Vallyn said. "He needs help."

  The man bowed. "We will be pleased to help, brother. Is he a follower of Calistria?"

  "No, but I am."

  Renar saw Vallyn tap at his chest.

  "We shall donate to the temple upon his behalf," Elyana said. Renar started. He'd forgotten she was there. Had she seen him ogling the priestesses?

  The priest looked past Vallyn at Elyana, as if trying to peer into the darkness of her hood, then smiled benevolently. "Please, come with me. I will help the fellow personally."

  Renar was disappointed that the first time he was invited into a backroom of a Calistrian temple he was in the company of a male priest, and hoped that his friends would never hear of it.

  Drelm seemed to be growing heavier in his arms as they walked nearly the whole of the temple, stepping around square columns and other templegoers. Renar couldn't be sure how worshiping was done here, save that there seemed to be a lot of lanterns and candles lit, that drinks were being served, and that priests and priestesses were talking with small knots of people.

  They passed through little pools of light, arriving finally near the domed end of the temple where a throned statue of Calistria herself sat, three times life size. The sculptor had crafted a breathtaking elven beauty with a sly smile, one palm resting on the arm of the white marble throne, the other atop the head of a giant wasp, her fingers spread in mid-stroke. Her dress was not quite as revealing as that of the priestesses, but the gown hugged a curving figure and was slit up one side far enough to show one shapely leg from ankle to upper thigh. Suddenly aware that he was gawking—and at marble, no less—Renar forced himself to look away. He watched the back of Kellius's head bob as the mage struggled with Drelm's feet, and thought of the poor, brave captain. It was much more respectful to be solemn at a time like this, and so he frowned slightly in disapproval at Vallyn. The bard was taking in the room with undisguised pleasure, as though there were nothing at all to be embarrassed about.

  Finally the priest pushed open a stout oaken door on the far wall of the room and hung the lantern he bore inside the room beyond. It swayed for a moment, now lengthening, now shortening their shadows, so that the small rectangular chamber crawled with movement.

  "Set the patient there on the divan," the priest said in smooth, low tones. "Is he bleeding?" He hesitated by a chest to the right of the door.

  "The bleeding has been healed," Elyana said. "We could do nothing about the effects of the poison."

  Renar was only too glad to lay the fellow down. Kellius breathed a sigh of relief and lowered Drelm's legs.

  There was little to the small room—a deep green couch wide and long enough to hold Drelm, a single chair, a chest, and a painting of a reclined Calistria, wearing even less than her statue and smiling invitingly. Renar was so engrossed studying her that he almost missed the large wasp depicted behind the goddess.

  Vallyn slapped him on the back. "First time in a temple of Calistria, youngster?"

  "Uh. Yes."

  Vallyn chuckled. "Come on, then. Since your father's not here, I'll show you around myself. You too, wizard."

  "Eh—" Kellius's narrow head rose. "Shouldn't we stay here?"

  "Elyana will be fine," Vallyn said. "And Drelm wouldn't begrudge us."

  Renar looked questioningly at Elyana. He could not see her face, and her voice was calm and measured. "Go. All will be well."

  A little embarrassed, he followed the bard and the wizard out into the central chamber.

  Elyana watched them depart, then dropped a slim coin purse onto the lid of the chest and withdrew a flattened emerald. It had once been one of four eyes in the statue of a lizard demon, pried free by Vallyn himself.

  The priest's eyes rounded, then he held the thing up to the lantern light.

  "Praise Calistria. I do not mean to turn a gift away, but—"

  "It is only too much if you fail to keep a secret," Elyana said, lowering her hood.

  The priest smiled. "I already knew you were an elf. You can't hide those beautiful eyes."

  "It is the identity of my half-orc friend I'm concerned about."

  The priest stepped to Drelm and looked down at him. "He is the most attractive specimen I have ever seen."

  "He wears an illusion, and it may fade at any time. Now, please. Set to work."

  "I shall."

  Elyana dropped into the chair. She drank deep from her wine sack and listened as the cleric praised Calistria and asked for her aid. He then placed hands upon Drelm's thick neck. Elyana was reassured somewhat to see that although the cleric's eyes were closed he found the wound's entry point upon Drelm's arm without hesitation. He was no amateur.

  She could not help studying the lines of the cleric's physique, from calf to waist, and admired the rounded biceps and triceps abstractly. How much energy did it take to keep such tone every day when there was no manual labor to do? Likely he spent hours at exercise, all to be beautiful for the men and women who took steps toward his temple. And for what reward? Elyana knew many elves worshiped Calistria, but the appeal of this deity remained as elusive to her as Abadar's. Too many worshipers of Abadar cared only about money, and too many worshipers of Calistria thought only of the flesh. Money she found a useful evil, flesh she enjoyed, but she knew that it was all too easy to lose one's path and seek either to excess.

  She could weakly sense the power rolling out from the cleric as a pleasant, sensual tingle. That was a vast improvement over the staid warmth evoked by Abadar's clerics.

  She sat and watched the man work. Sweat beaded on his forehead. He finished in only a few moments, and stood, wiping his face with the back of his hand. Sweat glistened on his pectorals.

  He smiled down at her. "By the grace of Calistria, he has been healed. His strength was mighty, but failing. You were wise to bring him to us."

  Elyana rose and stepped over to Drelm. The half-orc stirred fitfully but did not open his eyes. "How long must he rest?"

  "You must give him at least the night." The cleric's hand reached out for her fingers and closed softly on them. "He will be safe, here."

  Elyana slid her fingers from the man's grasp and looked questioningly at him.

  "Come, my beauty." His voice was low, beckoning. "You have more than paid for this service, and others beside. Let us worship Calistria together, in far more comfortable chambers. I will see to it that your friend remains undisturbed, whatever shape he takes."

  "You are kind," Elyana said. "But I will stay here."

  The cleric's mouth twitched into a smile. "Is he your lover, then? Surely he would not begrudge you a holy union."

  Elyana stiffened at the insult and tried not to let her anger show in her voice. "He is not my lover, though that is no concern of yours. I thank you for your service and for preserving the life of my friend."

  The cleric's smile fell away and he straightened. Elyana sensed that he was unused to being rebuffed. "I will rest here this night," she finished.

  "As you wish," the cleric said with a bow. He swept up the emerald and departed. Elyana realized then that she should have handled him better, and frowned at herself. It would surely not have hurt to have been more gracious. Yet she could not now picture herself having reacted differently to the man's assumptions.

  She spread her bedroll on the floor under the painting of Calistria, then turned to take Drelm's measure with her own magic. She discovered that the half-orc had reverted to his true appearance. His eyes were closed. His mouth hung slightly open, exposing the protruding canine teeth almost to the root. It was easy to imagine him still as that handsome warrior Vallyn's illusion had painted. A mistake, she reminded herself. If pu
shed to rage, or tempted too far, the orc blood within him would undoubtedly burn hot enough to sear away the overlay of morality and civilization.

  She set hands upon his arm. After a moment of concentration she confirmed that the poison taint had vanished from his system. His body surged once more with vitality. He stirred in his sleep and she lifted her hands away. Bad enough to be a human, whose life was so fleeting. What was it like to not even be fully so, and to have to strive to meet even that standard?

  With that uncomfortable thought, she stepped to her bedroll and lay down. It was easier to center herself than she would have guessed, despite the half-orc, who snored from time to time, and the faint laughter from outside the room. She lay back, crossed hands across her chest, and closed her eyes. She fixed her mind first on relaxing her limbs, then the muscles of her back, neck, and chest, and within a quarter-hour she was sleeping.

  She returned suddenly to full consciousness, eyes opening wide. Her hand fell immediately to the hilt of her sword. The room was cast in darkness save for a feeble line of light creeping through the gap between door and floorboards.

  Someone stood outside the door; she felt a hesitation like the gathering of a storm cloud. She climbed soundlessly to her feet. Drelm lay now on his side, not snoring, exactly, but breathing heavily as if readying to grumble at any moment. One muscular arm dangled off the side of the couch, hairy knuckles against the floor. She sidled over to him, her feet bringing forth no squeak or shuffle from the old planks beneath the rugs. She crouched by his ear.

  "Drelm," she said softly.

  The half-orc stirred.

  She bent closer, left hand still wrapped about her sword. "Drelm," she said forcefully. "Rise up! The enemy comes!"

  The big eyes blinked at her, taking a moment to truly see her, and then she saw consciousness wrest him from his dreams. His bottom lip curled. Would he wake in time to act, and was he in shape to do so? She could not use her ring now; it would be hours before its magic recharged. They had only their prowess to see them through.

  Drelm sat up.

  The door opened.

  The man in the doorway brandished a cudgel in one hand, a lantern in the other. His scowl shifted into a look of horror the moment the elven woman lunged at him. Her sword shone in the light of his lantern as it passed deep into his chest. He had time for a swift scream before he dropped, his curling Galtan cap landing on the floor beside his writhing body. The lamp shattered on impact and flaming oil rolled out across the carpet.

  Elyana charged out, yelling for Drelm to follow.

  A dozen Galtan soldiers in long cloaks and curled caps waited beyond the door. A man's voice shouted, "Now!"

  Two soldiers darted at her and tossed a weighted net, but she rolled away, coming up in time to strike off a hand that bore a cudgel. Its bearer screamed and dropped, holding his bloody stump.

  The nearest guardsman dashed aside as she advanced, and one of them shouted warning as Drelm emerged from his chambers, roaring. Elyana wished that she'd ordered his weapons brought in. Too late.

  Drelm swatted out with the cudgel he'd swept up from the fellow in the burning chamber. The half-orc did not know where he was, or how he had come to be there. None of it mattered. These were foes, and they meant him harm. He felled a guardsman with one crack to the head. Ahead of him, the elf moved like water, slashing and ducking, and the guardsman that dared approach her fell. Drelm guessed her aim was the side door on the right. He did not know that it was the very door through which he had been carried only a few hours earlier.

  Urged on by the shouting male voice at their rear, two other soldiers raced up. Drelm lacked both Elyana's speed and reaction time, and when the thick-fibered net descended around him, he misjudged. The net slammed home. Drelm roared and butted his head into the mouth of a man who ventured too close. The fellow fell back shrieking through cracked teeth and bleeding gums. Drelm bared his own teeth and shouted for the others to come, but the net tightened suddenly around him. Magic.

  Elyana fought on, and Drelm saw to his surprise that all but three of the men were down. "Run!" he yelled.

  He was not sure that she'd heard him. She had paused, staring at a figure in a tricorne hat and leather mask who stepped out from behind a pillar. Elyana's feet shifted as she readied to spring.

  The masked figure raised a finger and a ray of darkness shot forth and struck her squarely in her chest.

  There was no hint of physical force when the dark beam struck Elyana. Instead, an intense fatigue swept through her body. Her arms sagged with the weight of her sword, and her breath came in ragged gasps. Her muscles ached in protest, demanding that she sit down and rest them.

  Elyana dared not give in. She stood, wavering, her eyes blazing.

  "She is weak now," said the masked figure, the man who had been directing them all along. "Take her, and swiftly!"

  The three who still stood hesitated for a moment, then rushed. One Elyana slashed deep with a shaking hand, and then a human stinking of fear and garlic crashed into her, bearing her to the floor. Before she could smash in his head with the pommel of her sword, a booted foot crashed down onto her wrist. She heard the snap of bone even as pain raced firelike through her body. She gritted her teeth to keep from screaming, and for a moment could focus upon nothing at all. She refused to ride the wave of pain into unconsciousness. She glared up at the grunting figure who sat on top of her. As of yet, his eyes still showed with fear rather than desire, but she knew the way of men.

  "Search her for weapons," the man's voice continued. "Then bind her in the net, and bring her." Elyana said nothing as the commander drew closer and peered down through the mask that marked him as a Gray Gardener, one of the Galtan dispensers of justice. "There is much I would hear from you before you meet my mistress, elf."

  By that she knew that the Gardener meant the guillotine, and Elyana bared her teeth.

  The Gardener laughed shortly, then barked once more to his underlings. "Hurry with her, dolts!"

  They hauled her to her feet, the motion setting her wrist afire. They bade her lift her arms, then searched her, roughly, while one inexpertly held her own sword ready to thrust at her. She tried not to sag under the magical weariness, tried not to focus on the web of pain pulsing from her smashed wrist.

  They stripped her of her knife, bow, and money pouch, and growing bold with her seeming helplessness, one of the Galtans let his hands stray over her breasts.

  "None of that," the Gardener snarled, but even as he spoke Elyana grabbed the back of the fellow's head with her good hand and introduced him to her knee. He crumpled. It was then that a heavy weight crashed into the back of her head. There came a sharp pain and a flash of light and everything slipped away.

  Interlude

  Together in Darkness

  In street plays and fireside stories, and even in some ballads, Elyana had heard of heroes and heroines captured by their foes only to escape unharmed. They always returned to their families whole, their wrongs avenged.

  Elyana knew that real prisoners rarely fared as well, and that a helpless woman was too tempting for the men who held power over her. She held no illusions about captivity. Thus she was pleased when she awoke and realized the presence she sensed over her was Stelan; she knew him by scent.

  "Praise Abadar," Stelan said. His speech was distorted, as though he were talking with his mouth full. "I thought you were done for."

  She was so happy to find him there that she pulled him down with two arms, realizing only then that she ached abominably. Her head felt as though she'd downed an entire cask of that wretched ale they served in Pitax, and she suddenly remembered the long slide into darkness. The floor in the shadow temple had given way, and then had come the impact of her body onto stone.

  "Where are we?" she asked.

  "I was hoping you could tell me." He still sounded
as though there was something in his mouth, and she listened more intently as he continued. "I can't see a blessed thing."

  "Neither can I. Is there something the matter? Why do you sound like that?"

  "I've cut open my lip. Or bruised it. I can't really tell, but it's sore and swollen. You really can't see anything at all?" Stelan sounded almost comically disappointed.

  "Nothing. Stand close. Let me see to your wounds." She reached out for his shoulder and gingerly felt his face. "We're not in prison?"

  "Well," Stelan mused, "we're in a room without an exit, so I suppose we are. Elyana, you should always see first to yourself. Remember?"

  They had argued over that before. She was in no mood for the argument again today, so she acquiesced.

  She reached up to feel her forehead. Blood was crusted there.

  Stelan was right—it was always easier to craft a spell if untroubled by pain, and he seemed in no serious danger, so she saw first to the swollen bump on her forehead, then her bruises and scrapes. She then turned her attention to Stelan. His lips were bloodied and swollen, and his ankle was sprained. She chided him for not mentioning the sprain, then kissed the lips she had mended. Stelan's mouth was briefly stiff in surprise before he returned her passion.

  They broke apart at the same moment.

  "What was that for?" Stelan asked.