In the Empire of Shadow

Chapter Twelve

“And where is he, then?” Stoddard demanded, directing his question equally to Raven and Valadrakul.

Valadrakul shrugged. “I know not,” he replied. “He gave the sign for nightfall, I am certain; thus, I understood he would be here by nightfall.”

“He will come, I am certain,” Raven said.

“Night has fallen,” Stoddard pointed out, gesturing at the darkening sky overhead. Stars were beginning to appear.

Pel, standing a step or two away from the Faerie folk, looked up at the sky and shuddered.

The stars were wrong. The constellations were strange, and the patterns and groupings just didn’t seem natural. He remembered what Valadrakul had said once, that the stars here were not unimaginably-distant spheres of gas, burning by atomic fusion, as they were at home; instead, they were mere thousands of miles away, and burned by magic.

That shouldn’t really make any difference, he told himself. After all, that was what people had believed back on Earth, for thousands of years. They had learned better, eventually.

But Valadrakul said that the wizards here had gone up and looked, that they knew the stars were small and near.

Something dark moved across the sky, and Pel blinked. He stared.

Then, as he watched, the dark object suddenly flared into light, and Pel saw that it was a man, a man holding a staff, and the end of the staff was ablaze with something that wasn’t quite flame and wasn’t quite sparks.

“We must give him time,” Valadrakul was saying. “Perchance some delay has befallen…”

“’Scuse me,” Pel said loudly, “but is that him?” He pointed.

Raven and most of the others whirled, or at any rate snapped their heads around quickly; Stoddard turned more deliberately.

“Aye,” Valadrakul said, “’tis him; Taillefer a’ Norleigh.” He raised a hand, and a yellow glow shone from his palm, casting a weak and uneasy light over the entire party as they huddled in the ruined castle.

The flying figure was approaching rapidly; now, seeing the light, the man waved, and adjusted his course to head more directly for Raven’s party.

“Can you fly?” Pel asked Valadrakul.

Startled, the wizard glanced at him, then turned his attention back to his incoming compatriot.

“Aye,” he said, “an some, though none so well as yonder.”

“I haven’t seen you do it,” Pel said.

“I’ve had no need,” Valadrakul answered.

Pel’s mouth opened, then closed.

No need, perhaps, but wouldn’t flight have been useful against Shadow’s hellbeasts? Wouldn’t it have been useful in scouting ahead, in finding food and water, in ensuring that at least one member of the party would be at the ruin by nightfall? Pel could see a dozen ways in which flying might have been convenient, yet Valadrakul’s feet had always remained firmly on the ground.

If nothing else, wouldn’t it be a way to avoid blisters and aching feet? Pel’s own feet were certainly suffering, and he assumed that Valadrakul’s hurt, too.

Still, he reminded himself that he shouldn’t pry. It wasn’t any of his business. If Valadrakul didn’t care to fly, he presumably had a reason; there might be a cost he didn’t want to pay, or some danger inherent in it.

Or maybe, despite his claim, he just couldn’t fly, any more than he could open the interdimensional portals; wizardry was obviously not all a single skill. There was nothing wrong in that, either, and Pel could hardly question Valadrakul’s power or value, since the wizard’s magic had saved Pel’s life when the hellbeasts had attacked.

And then Taillefer was coming in for a landing, not in a slow upright descent like a movie superhero, but in a headlong tumbling plunge; at Raven’s direction Stoddard and the four Imperial troopers were preparing to catch him, Stoddard at the point of a V, the soldiers two on either side of the big Faerie native, obviously a bit unsure of what they were doing.

“I’d aid, as well, an I could,” Raven said, holding up his bandaged hand, and calling to the others. “Friend Pel, here, stand you ready by the side. Ted Deranian, would take this side with me, and be my other hand? And the women, though you be frailer, stand to the rear and watch, lest any fall.”

Pel stepped up, taking a position behind Wilkins and Sawyer, not at all sure what he was doing; then, before anyone else could react, before anyone could ask any questions, Taillefer came plummeting into the wide end of the V, headed straight toward Stoddard.

“Catch you him!” Raven and Valadrakul called in near-perfect unison, as Stoddard stepped forward, arms out and knees bent, and the four soldiers thrust out their hands.

The flying wizard hit Stoddard hard; Pel could see that he had curled up as best he could, and Stoddard had positioned himself to have an arm under each shoulder, but still, Taillefer’s head drove into Stoddard’s belly hard enough to knock the wind out of the big man. The wizard’s legs flew up, and the Imperials grabbed at them.

And then Stoddard and Taillefer and Singer were all in a heap on the broken flagstone floor of the ruin, and the others were all crowding around at once, trying to help them up.

All except Amy, that is, who was leaning against a broken wall, looking sick.

* * * *

The ruins had been a castle. That had not been obvious at all until they actually reached the outer wall and fought their way through the entangling vines, but once they were inside, even Amy could see that the structure had once had a central mass, an encircling wall, and guardian towers at the corners.

It had obviously never been a graceful fairy castle like the one at Disney World, or the one that crazy Bavarian king had built on a mountaintop; from the look of it, this had been a practical and very ugly fortress, with thick walls of heavy gray stone, few windows, and little in the way of comforts or ornamentation.

Whatever it had been, however, not much remained. The curtain wall, as Raven called it, was broken down into rubble in several places; the courtyard was overgrown with weeds and thornbushes; the roof was gone entirely, the supporting arches and columns broken off short. The great hall had one side missing, the other three jagged remnants.

Oddly, the tower at one end still stood, apparently almost intact, though it was hard to be sure through the thick layer of ivy that covered it. That tower, and the adjoining mass of stonework, had been what they had seen from afar, what they had steered for.

When they had reached it, though, no one had shown any inclination to enter the tower or most of the rest of the structure; they had simply gathered in the ruined hall, where the remains of a stone floor had kept the undergrowth from getting out of hand.

When the men had begun arguing about why Taillefer wasn’t there yet, Amy had almost suggested that perhaps he was, maybe he was in the tower somewhere-but then she had thought better of it. She didn’t want anyone to go in there; she didn’t want the group to be split up into search parties. She just sat down and waited; if this Taillefer was in there, he’d come out sooner or later.

And he hadn’t been in there; instead he’d come falling out of the sky. Amy had stood up when Raven called for help, but the move had upset her delicate stomach-except her stomach had never been delicate back on Earth.

It was delicate now; she struggled to keep down the supper they had stolen from that poor woman and her children, and as the wizard tumbled into the others and knocked them sprawling, like some horribly unfunny clown act, Amy stood by, off to the side, making no move to help. As she watched the men get to their feet she thought it was a miracle that nobody had broken any bones, and that Stoddard hadn’t gotten a concussion from whacking his head on the stones.

At least, she hoped no one had a concussion; in the sickly yellow glow from Valadrakul’s hand and Taillefer’s staff, none of the faces looked particularly healthy.

“And look what the wind’s blown us,” Raven called cheerfully, using his good hand to help Taillefer up. “Come you, one and all, and greet him who is come to aid us in our hour of need!”

Amy stayed in her place by the wall; she didn’t want to bother greeting the new arrival. With any luck, he’d be creating a portal back to Earth in a few minutes, and she could go home and make an appointment with her doctor and never see Taillefer or any of these other people again.

She couldn’t help looking at them, though.

Taillefer was short for a man, no more than her own height, and fat-not really obese, but thick and rounded everywhere, the sort of fat that Amy associated with the word “stout.” He was dressed in black, a long fur-trimmed coat over a black tunic and black tights, with gold rings on his fingers, and more gold rings on the carved five-foot staff of dark wood he held in one hand. The rings on his fingers looked ordinary enough, but the gold bands on the staff were glowing dully.

Wizardry at work, Amy supposed. She didn’t much care any more; she just wanted it all to be over. At this point she found it more amazing that he hadn’t whacked anyone with the staff when he came plunging down out of the sky than that the gold fittings glowed.

And why had he done that plunge, anyway? Why hadn’t he just landed by himself? This was the wizard they were trusting to send them home, she thought sourly, a magician who couldn’t land on his own two feet?

Singer helped Taillefer brush off the dust, then slapped at the dark smudges on his own uniform; the purple fabric looked dark and ominous in the yellow light.

Amy shuddered. She was starting to get the creeps. Pel had been complaining about how Shadow’s country didn’t look evil enough; what about this place, then, this ruined castle, with its dark stone walls and black shadows and nasty thorns and vines growing everywhere? In the entire place she hadn’t seen a single flower, or an honest blade of ordinary grass. What about right here, where even the silly Imperial uniforms could look threatening?

But that was the peculiar light, and that came from the two wizards, who were supposed to be on the good guys’ side.

“The blessings of the Goddess to you all,” Taillefer said, in a surprisingly high-pitched tenor and with an accent distinctly different from the peculiar Australian-New York intonation of the other Faerie folk Amy had met. “My brother Valadrakul, I greet you; for the rest, come, let us know one another! Pray, someone among you, make us a light, that my fellow wizard can cool his hand, and I my staff.”

“I’ll fetch something,” Stoddard said; he turned away and began looking for dead brush.

While he and the Imperials set about building a fire, Raven stepped up to Taillefer and announced, “I am called Raven of Stormcrack Keep, and I welcome you to this place, whatever it might be.” He held out a hand.

Taillefer clasped the hand and smiled. “Ah, Lord Raven, as you would surely have it,” he said, “I’ve heard much of you. But know you not what this place is, then? Did not my brother in the arcane arts tell you that much?” He turned to look at Valadrakul.

“I saw no need,” Valadrakul said, “and we’d more urgent concerns.”

“Indeed, I dare say you did, yet ’tis worthy of note where we meet, is’t not?” Taillefer grinned in a way Amy did not find comforting.

“Where are we, then?” Raven asked, a trifle annoyed. Stoddard looked up from the armful of brush he and the Imperials had collected.

“Why, this is Castle Regisvert, none other!” Taillefer’s grin broadened, then slipped somewhat as most of his audience failed to react.

Stoddard and Raven reacted, however; Stoddard’s face went blank, as if he had just decided not to believe what he was being told, and he continued stacking the firewood.

Raven started, then looked about at the ruins with new interest. “Truly, say you?” he asked.

“Aye, truly,” Taillefer said.

Prossie and the four Earthpeople still didn’t respond, since none of them had ever heard of any Castle Regisvert. Two of the Imperials paused in their efforts.

“So what?” Wilkins asked.

“Why, know you not the tale?” Taillefer asked, astonished.

“We’re not from around here,” Wilkins answered dryly.

“Then gladly I’ll tell it,” Taillefer said, his grin returned. “’Twas in the days of old, when Shadow’s reach was yet limited, when darkness had not yet fallen upon all the lands, yet strife was widespread, for those who opposed the encroaching evil were not united; aye, in truth, that’s the damning disgrace of all our people, and all that was needed for the triumph of Shadow that so oppresses and shames us now…”

“Excuse me,” Amy called from her place by the wall, “but I don’t think this is the time for stories.”

Affronted, Taillefer turned to glare at her. “’Tis no mere story, wench, but the true history of this place.”

“All the same,” Pel said, “maybe it can wait. Amy isn’t well, and we’d like to get her home. And I want to get home, too, and probably the Imperials do. And we should get Ted there to a doctor.”

Ted giggled.

Susan said nothing, Amy noticed; she just stood by and watched.

“Ah, and is this why I was summoned hither?” Taillefer asked. “Has Valadrakul told you that I might bear you to your homes?”

Valadrakul cleared his throat. His still-raised hand was still glowing, but the glow dimmed perceptibly.

“Indeed, I’ve a fine gift for wind-riding,” Taillefer said, “and I might well bring another, though I doubt me I can carry any but one at the time.”

“’Tis not wind-riding we ask,” Valadrakul said, lowering his hand. Only the faint remaining glimmer of Taillefer’s staff and the dim light of the stars overhead remained to illuminate the scene.

“And what then is it?” Taillefer asked. “That sign sent me told me that I was called, and by whom, and to what part of the world, but naught else. What would you have of me, Valadrakul of Warricken?”

A thin tongue of flame flared up in the stack of brush, as Valadrakul worked his magic with a gesture. “Before we talk of that,” the wizard said, “let us exchange names, as you said we should. You know me well of old, and Raven has spoken his name; know then that he who stands yonder is Stoddard, of Raven’s household, most faithful of all.” He pointed to where Stoddard stood, faintly visible in the still-weak firelight. “And of all you see here, good Taillefer, only we three, Raven, Stoddard, and myself, are from this realm.”

Taillefer cocked his head slightly. “How mean you, Valadrakul?”

Valadrakul sighed. “I mean that this good man, Pellinore Brown, and likewise Ted Deranian, and these ladies known to me as Amy and Susan, came to us from a land they call Earth; and that these others, Messires Wilkins and Sawyer and Singer and Marks, and Mistress Thorpe, are from the Galactic Empire.”

Amy couldn’t see just where the wizard pointed as he named all the names, and wished that they had some proper light-even just a flashlight. The fire was growing, and that would help.

The glow of his staff lit Taillefer’s face, though, and Amy could see that he was considering them all for a moment, looking about in the darkness.

For a moment, firelight flared, as a particularly dry bit of kindling caught; then it flickered and died down.

“And that would account for their garb, I would suppose,” Taillefer said at last, “but that yourself, Valadrakul, and him you name Stoddard, wear the same. And lo, Vala, your hair is much transformed; had you fleas, perhaps, that would not yield without this butchery?”

“We have sojourned in the Galactic Empire,” Valadrakul explained, “and there were forced to make do with what attire came to hand.” He put a hand to his head. “As for this, ’twas but the result of misfortunes that bear no retelling here and now.”

Taillefer nodded thoughtfully. “And Elani? For surely, ’twas she who sent you thither?”

“Dead,” Valadrakul replied bitterly. “Slain by Shadow’s black beasts.”

Amy’s stomach lurched, and she called, “Can we get on with it, please?”

Taillefer threw her a glance, then turned back to Valadrakul. “’Tis a grievous loss you speak of,” he said, “and when time more freely permits, I’ll mourn her as she is due. Erstwhile, howsoever, he that you called the Brown Pellinore spoke of going home. Home to this Earth, is it?”

“Aye,” Valadrakul said.

Amy could hear Wilkins and the others trying to help the fire along, could hear the bits of wood scraping on the stone floor and the muttering of their voices, but she could no longer see their faces. Someone was cursing under his breath, but she couldn’t tell who it was.

“And you’d have me open the portal, then?” Taillefer asked his compatriot. “’Tis for this that you summoned me and sought my aid?”

“Aye,” Valadrakul replied.

“And you’d have it here in Regisvert, I suppose? Do you think me mad, Vala?”

“The place was of your own choosing, Taillefer, that it might be readily found by us all; I’d no mind as to where the portal might be.”

“What’s wrong with right here?” Amy demanded.

Taillefer turned a disdainful stare her way, his face ghostly in the gloom. “Methought you’d have none of the history, woman,” he said.

“I don’t need any lectures,” Amy snapped. “What’s wrong with here?”

Valadrakul sighed and turned to her. The darkness hid his features. “Four hundred years and more agone,” he said, “this Castle Regisvert was hearth and stronghold for the Green Magician, sworn foe to Shadow. ’Twas built upon this spot because here the currents of magic are strong, the flow of power rich and full; and as was ever the case, that drew the attention of Shadow, who one dire night came and, after a famous battle of eldritch skill and might that lasted for many days, Shadow struck down the Green Magician, threw down the castle to ruin, and drew the powers of this place into its own web. The magic yet runs strong here-but likewise is it yet linked close to Shadow, and as any touch upon the strands of a spider’s web will draw the spider’s eye, yet will any spell worked in this place draw Shadow’s gaze.”

“You tell it briefly, and without interest,” Taillefer said, “yet is that the essence of the tale, and of my reasoning.”

“Then we’ll go somewhere else,” Amy said. “We don’t care where you open the portal, we just want to go home.”

“And I’ve no doubt you desire it,” Taillefer said, “but I’ll have none of it. Go where you will, yet I’ll not conjure you home.”

Wilkins, squatting, looked up from the fire; Stoddard, who had been standing impassively nearby, unfolded his arms from across his chest.

Ted giggled hysterically. “I knew it,” he said. “I’m never going to wake up from this one. I must be comatose, or maybe dead.”

And Amy’s stomach betrayed her again; she bent, clutching her belly, and threw up most of her stolen supper.