The Shadows of Grace

6

“I hope Harruq and them are doing better than us,” Tarlak grumbled as he joined his companions in their meager lodgings. Lathaar looked up from his seat at the table, several cards in hand. Dieredon sat opposite him, holding cards as well. They were in their room above an inn. It was cramped, with two beds, a table, and a small chest to store their belongings. Over the past week they’d drawn straws to decide who slept on the floor. For the third night in a row Tarlak had drawn poorly, and he had begun to wonder if Dieredon was cheating.

“Cards?” the wizard asked, pointing toward Lathaar’s hand. “Since when do you gamble?”

“I gamble nothing, except perhaps my pride,” Lathaar said, scrunching his face as he looked at his hand. “Though I wonder if I have even that left. Take a look. What do you think I should discard?”

Tarlak walked over and frowned.

“That,” he said, pointing at a crudely drawn prince.

Lathaar tossed it down. Dieredon quickly matched it, then placed the remaining two cards of his own down, revealing another matching pair.

“Your loss again,” the elf said. When Lathaar scowled at Tarlak, he only grinned.

“Never said I knew how to play, either. Was just surprised that you did.”

“Have you made any progress with the king?” Dieredon asked as he gathered up the cards.

“Evidently getting an audience with King Stephen is akin to asking for a private conversation with Ashhur,” Tarlak said. “And don’t you dare correct me about that, Lathaar. I’m in no mood.”

Lathaar stood and stretched his back.

“We’ve stayed here under his majesty’s request,” he said. “And we’ve played along, all to plead our case before the throne. But instead we’ve gotten nowhere, and warned no one. It won’t be long before a number of refugees and traders arrive, bringing who knows what sort of bizarre rumors with them. If we’re to be believed, we must act first; otherwise we’ll be lumped among the madmen.”

“He’s right,” Dieredon said. “Why this delay? I come as official envoy of the elves, and even then I am turned away from the palace gates. Something is amiss.”

“Well, what do you want me to do about it?” asked Tarlak. He crossed his arms and scowled. When he realized the other two were looking at him, he raised an eyebrow.

“What? Oh. Wait. You’re both kidding right? You want me to open a portal directly to the king?”

“Can you?” asked Lathaar.

“There’s no wardings here,” the wizard said. “So hypothetically, yes.”

“Then I think it time we do so,” said Dieredon.

“We’re apt to get killed,” Tarlak insisted. “We’ll be trespassing, perhaps taken for assassins. Bigger problem is I can’t go somewhere I haven’t seen. Have either of you been to the throne room before?”

Both shook their head. Tarlak sighed.

“Get your things ready. I have an idea, but it won’t be fun. Our time is running out. Any longer, and we’ll have an army of demons and dead conveying our message a lot louder than us, but by then it’s going to be way too late.”

They ate a meal in the commons area of the tavern, deciding any deviation from their normal pattern might attract notice. A few came over to Lathaar to discuss their troubles, and the paladin listened, giving advice when he could, and providing a sympathetic ear when he could not. Tarlak amused a few people by summoning an ethereal flute that played a rather popular tune. Dieredon stayed in the corner, watching everything.

When night fell, Tarlak cast a spell of invisibility over the three of them.

“I can’t do much about the noise,” he explained once the spell took hold. “Being unseen won’t mean much if you make a cartload of noise walking around.”

“I could make it to the castle unseen without need of a spell,” Tarlak heard Dieredon say from his right.

“Yeah, but I don’t think we can say the same for our paladin friend.”

From his left, armor clinked and rattled as Lathaar shifted nervously.

“I oiled it best I could,” he said.

They headed down the stairs, trying to be quiet as possible. For Tarlak in his robes and Dieredon in his oiled leather, this was hardly difficult. Lathaar, however, felt like a gargantuan drum, an invisible metal can of noise. Part of him was glad he couldn’t see the winces his friends made as he followed after.

Tarlak had put a small rock in his pocket after casting the spell. When inside the folds of his robes, it was invisible, but when he took it out and held it in his hand, it regained visibility. Using the rock as a floating guide, Lathaar and Dieredon followed Tarlak out of the inn and into the streets of Kinamn.

A few torches lit the crossroads, but the rest of the streets were left to darkness. Thin clouds hid the stars, and the moon peeked through only occasionally. The streets themselves were wide and smoothly paved, so following the floating rock as it glimpsed in and out of existence proved fairly easy. They traveled north toward the castle, stopping only when guards in groups of four passed by, a gold symbol of a cautious fox emblazoned on their red tunics.

A thin wall surrounded the city, along with several fields and wells. The castle itself had a second wall, only high enough to reach Lathaar’s chest. An iron gate blocked the initial entry. The rock hovered still for a moment just within sight of that smaller wall and then vanished. Lathaar paused.

“You guys hear me?” Tarlak whispered.

“Aye,” whispered Dieredon, so close to Lathaar’s right that the paladin jumped.

“And that clatter must be Lathaar,” Tarlak said, his voice still low. “Good. There’s four guards watching the gate, and several more patrolling. I’ll cast a sleep spell on those two on the left. Climb over fast as you can, and head for the castle’s main doors. I’ll wake the guards once you’ve made it over.”

“How will you know?” Lathaar asked.

“I won’t. Just move quickly. Well, not too quickly. Dear gods, you’re louder than a smithy’s workshop.”

Lathaar approached the wall, feeling like an idiot as he took step after careful step. He could see his own skin and armor, and it took a great amount of self-control to walk toward the guards without fear of being spotted. The heads of the guards were easily visible over the wall. When a patrol of four walked past, leaving just the two at the closed gate, Tarlak cast his spell.

Their heads drooped, and their shoulders slumped. Lathaar scrambled toward the wall and flung his arms atop it. He grunted as the heavy weight of his armor screeched and groaned. What the Abyss was he thinking? Why hadn’t he removed it back at the inn? Shouldn’t Tarlak have convinced him to do just that?

“Quiet,” Dieredon hissed directly behind him. Strong hands grabbed his waist and shoved upward. With the grace of a falling boulder, Lathaar toppled to the other side. There was no hiding the noise. Both sleeping guard startled awake, looking worried and embarrassed. When they saw no intruders, they chuckled nervously and stood a bit straighter at their posts.

Step after baby step, Lathaar made his way toward the castle doors. Idly, he wondered how long the invisibility spell would last. Perhaps it’d run out while he crept along; the biggest, dumbest, most incompetent burglar ever.

Begging to Ashhur for that not to happen, Lathaar continued on, albeit a bit faster. When he reached the doors, he bumped into something invisible.

“Watch it,” Tarlak muttered. “You made enough noise to wake the dead. Why in the world are you wearing that armor, anyway?”

Lathaar didn’t respond.

“How do we get through the door?” asked invisible Dieredon.

“Now that’s the fun part,” Tarlak said. He reached out until he found both their shoulders. “Stand very still, and keep your eye out. If a soldier wanders too near, tell me to shut up.”

The castle doors were at the top of twenty stone steps, and the closest guards were at the bottom. Unless they started singing, Lathaar didn’t expect any difficulty. Quietly, Tarlak began chanting another spell, his hands still holding his companions.

Suddenly Lathaar felt his stomach lurch. The world turned gray and oversized. The walls shifted like smoke, and the door before him shook as if it were made of liquid.

“What the…” he started to say, and then Tarlak yanked him right through the door. They reappeared on the other side, in a well-lit entryway leading toward the throne. Banners hung from the ceiling, their embroidery shimmering in the torchlight.

With an audible pop, the world returned to normal, and Tarlak and Dieredon appeared within view.

“Enough of that nonsense,” Tarlak said, stroking his beard. “There’ll be guards inside, but I think we can handle them without any need for magical or lethal force. The question is, where do we look?”

“We need to find the king’s chambers,” Dieredon said. “Though I fear we will surely come across as assassins now.”

“Oh well,” said Tarlak. “Their own damn fault. We tried diplomacy. Time for the Eschaton way!”

“You mean the stupid, dangerous way?” asked Lathaar.

“Exactly.”

They entered the throne room, all three on the lookout for guards. It was vacant and dimly lit by two torches. Dieredon rushed ahead, moving silent with practiced ease that made Lathaar jealous. When he had looped the room, he returned, shaking his head.

“No guards nearby,” he said. “And no doorways. The king’s chambers must be elsewhere.”

“When in doubt, move higher up,” Tarlak said. “Suits the ego.”

They headed down the hallway to their right, following Dieredon’s intuition more than anything. The approach of torchlight around the corner alerted them to guards. Tarlak put a finger to his lips, then start looping his hands in the air. A white mist surrounded their throats. When the guards cried out, no noise came from their mouths.

Dieredon raced toward them as they drew their swords. He avoided the first two clumsy swings, jammed his hands against one’s elbow, and then twisted the hilt free. He parried the other’s attack using his stolen sword, elbowed the guard in the face, and then spun. His feet and fists lashed out, striking both.

As they collapsed, Dieredon applied quick kicks to the backs of their heads, ensuring they stayed down for a long while.

On the other end of the hallway, Lathaar glanced at his swords and sighed.

“Why am I here again?” he asked.

“To look pretty,” Tarlak said. “Now keep quiet.”

They passed many doors, but Dieredon never paused as he led them along. The square castle seemed to have a logical sense to it. If the extravagant hallway entrance to the castle led to the throne, then on the opposite end, its back to the throne, would be the king’s chambers.

When they took a second left, the hallway ended at an enormous set of double doors. It seemed the elf was correct. The four soldiers standing at attention only confirmed it.

“Back,” Dieredon said, pushing the Eschaton away. Two crossbow bolts pinged against the stone wall where they had been. The soldiers cried out in alarm, and this time no spell silenced them.

“Take them out, quick,” Tarlak insisted, magic sparking from his palms.

Lathaar turned the corner, trusting his armor. Two of the guards rushed toward him, buying time for the other two as they cranked their crossbows. Lathaar drew his swords, the blue-white light of their blades flooding the enclosed space. The soldiers stopped at the sight.

“A paladin?” one asked. “But why?”

“We’re not here to kill anyone,” Lathaar said, hoping they wouldn’t notice the spells Tarlak prepared to unleash. “We must speak to your king.”

The wizard paused, waiting for their reaction.

“No one speaks to the king,” the leader said.

“We don’t want to hurt you,” Lathaar insisted. “But too many lives are at stake. Stand down.”

“He delays too long,” Dieredon said to Tarlak. Already he could hear footsteps approaching from behind, as well as movement from a nearby door that he assumed were servants’ quarters.

The guards were clearly troubled. They looked to one another, until their eldest stepped forward.

“We cannot, under pain of death,” he said. “Lord Penwick is our majesty’s trusted advisor, and he assures us our liege is very troubled. No one is to see him.”

A squad of armored men came up the hallway behind them, twenty in number. Dieredon took up his bow and shifted his feet, his eyes glancing between the two groups.

“Many of you will die if you try to imprison us,” Tarlak warned.

“Please, you must understand, we have no choice,” another guard said.

“There is always a choice,” Lathaar said. He sheathed his swords. “Take us to this Lord Penwick, or is there an order not to disturb him, either?”

The guard looked to Dieredon and Tarlak.

“Will you put away your weapons, and come peaceably?” he asked.

Dieredon said nothing, but Tarlak shrugged.

“Eh, why not. At least we get to talk to someone, right?”

The elf slung his bow across his back.

“So be it,” he said. “Lead us on, but do not lay a hand upon my person. I am no prisoner.”

The older guard relaxed, but only slightly. He gestured to the groups, ordering them to part. The Eschaton walked between them, but as they passed through the rows of men, Tarlak paused.

“Oh, one moment,” he said, reaching into a pouch at his belt. “I almost forgot this.”

He flung a handful of dust into the air, and before anyone could react, he shouted a single word.

“SLEEP!”

Every guard fell limp, their eyelids drooping heavily. Lathaar fell as well, fighting the deep magic. Only Dieredon stood unaffected, a bewildered look on his face.

“I thought we were to talk to this Lord Penwick,” he asked as he helped Lathaar back to his feet.

“Yeah, but I’d rather find out what the Abyss is going on with their beloved king,” Tarlak said. “And if he is troubled, or ill, perhaps our paladin friend here can aid him.”

Tarlak tilted his head to one side as Lathaar collapsed back to his knees and snored loudly.

“Once he’s awake, of course,” Tarlak muttered. He snapped his fingers in front of the paladin’s nose, whispering a word of counter-magic. Lathaar startled awake instantly and reached for his swords.

“Relax,” the wizard said. “Get up. We have a king to talk to.”

Without ceremony, they pushed open the double doors and stepped into the spacious chambers. Dressers lined the walls. Thick, green curtains surrounded the bed. When Dieredon pulled them aside, they found clean bed sheets, unused.

“The king does not sleep here,” the elf said, sounding very much confused. “But these are certainly his chambers.”

“They are,” said an elderly man striding into the room. There were two different entrances to the bedchambers, and he came from the one opposite their own. He wore fancy silks embroidered with gold, crimson slippers, and a thick scarf wrapped around his neck. His beard was long and neatly-trimmed. His green eyes showed no fear of the three intruders.

“And who are you?” Tarlak asked.

“Lord Penwick,” the old man said, not bothering to bow. “I dare say you were on your way to meet me when you put down my guards.”

“They’re just sleeping,” Lathaar said. “We are no murderers. We come with message to the king, one he has so far refused to hear.”

“That is because there is no king to hear it,” Lord Penwick said. “Surely you have guessed that by now.”

“Obviously,” Tarlak lied. “Though the reason seems a little vague to us foreigners. Care to explain?”

“Figures the barons would send foreigners to do their dirty work,” Lord Penwick said as he sat on the bed.

“Barons?” said Tarlak. “We’re refugees from Veldaren, and while we’re not above doing some dirty work, we need to get paid for it. Trust me; we’re here for purely noble reasons.”

“And those would be?” asked the old man.

“Veldaren has been destroyed. An army of winged soldiers flies this way, accompanied by a legion of undead. You need to muster as many solders as you can to protect your people! Those who cannot fight should flee west, where they have a chance to survive.”

Lord Penwick shook his head.

“I fear you come at an ill time. How long until my guards wake up?”

“About half an hour,” Tarlak said.

“Good, then tell me your tale, and I will tell you mine.”

Tarlak started first, telling of how the creatures of the Vile Wedge had crossed into Neldar. He described their attack upon the walls, of the orcs' vicious assault upon the gates, and Velixar’s magical aid. Penwick’s face darkened with every word, and his shoulders drooped lower.

Then it came time to describe the war demons and the portal behind the throne. Tarlak left Qurrah’s involvement out of it, placing all the blame on Velixar. He told of Mira’s portal to the elves, and of their narrow escape. Last he told of their plans to flee west.

“A horrific tale, if told truthfully,” the old man said when Tarlak was done. “Most of my people are doomed if what you say is true, and I wonder if any action on my part will change that.”

“You must try,” Lathaar said. “Now, tell us what happened to your king.”

Lord Penwick spoke with a gravelly voice, steady but weary. King Stephen had been a kind but ineffective king. The surrounding barons of Ker had threatened revolt, but Lord Penwick had managed to broker an unsteady peace. King Stephen had no legitimate heir, for he had never married. The barons would let Stephen reign until his death, but afterward, the barons would appoint amongst themselves a new king.

Originally the choice had been obvious, a powerful baron named Gregor White. However, he had died the previous winter, leaving two sons to squabble over their inheritance.

“How long has the king been dead?” Tarlak asked, interrupting.

“Three weeks,” Penwick said. “The barons will tear Ker asunder fighting over the throne. I had hoped to prolong the charade long as possible, praying that one might prove himself a clear heir. So far, that is not the case. I cannot muster troops, for the moment I do the barons will think I am making a play for the throne.”

“Do you desire the throne?” Lathaar asked.

“Of course I do,” Lord Penwick said. “But I’ll die if I try for it, and those foolish barons will darken our soil with blood. And now comes an army. What am I to do? Amid evil times you have come, Tarlak Eschaton, and evil tidings you bring.”

Tarlak glanced back at the doors, where the soldiers were starting to stir.

“I think it’s time to go,” he said. “And as for your situation, Lord Penwick… I think it’s all irrelevant. Kinamn does not have the forces to stand against the army that approaches, not even if all the troops of Ker were mustered. Tell everyone to flee, whether they believe you or not. We’ll be in the streets of your city, telling the same tale.”

“You will not be believed,” the old man said. “And I will be mocked.”

“We have to try, damn it,” Tarlak shouted. “Can you not at least concede me that?”

A bitter smile lit up Lord Penwick’s face. “You’re right. Let us try. Good night, gentlemen. I need my rest. Come the morning, I will issue a decree that will mean the end of my tenuous hold over the city.”

He turned and exited the door. Closing his eyes, Tarlak envisioned their room at the inn and summoned a portal home. The Eschaton leaped through, and with a hiss of air, the portal closed.

“Do you think he will?” asked Lathaar when they were safely in their room.

“Not a chance,” Tarlak said, shaking his head. “What proof do we have? He told us what we wanted to know, and made a weak promise he will not honor. This city is doomed, and there appears little we can do about it.”

“Will we do as you said?” Dieredon asked. “Shall we shout from the rooftops that an army comes?”

“Until Harruq and the others return, we’ll cry out warning,” Tarlak said. “Hope for a miracle, friends. That’s what it’d take to save the people of this city.”

“I fear the time for miracles is ended,” Lathaar said.

“That’s no way for a paladin to talk,” the wizard said, slapping him on the shoulder. “The world’s coming to an end. If there’s a time for a miracle, it’s now.”

S eleven drifted lower as Kinamn came into view. Harruq stretched and used his fists to pop his back.

“Can’t wait to walk on solid ground again,” he shouted.

“Don’t get used to it,” Aurelia shouted back.

They swung about, angling toward the main entrance on the southern wall. With a swoosh of feathers and flying clumps of dirt, they landed. Harruq leaped off first, catching Aurelia when she followed. Haern patted Seleven on the neck before dismounting.

“Think they’ll let us through the door?” the assassin asked.

“We’ve made doors through walls before,” Aurelia said. “Does it really matter what they say?”

Haern shrugged.

“Your call. I find people better hosts when I haven’t thrashed their place, though.”

Harruq took Aurelia’s hand and led them on toward the gate. When they were halfway there, a winged horse shot into the sky from deep within the city.

“That’s, um, them,” Harruq said, pointing. “Right?”

“Can’t imagine who else it’d be,” Haern said. “Wait a moment.”

The horse banked around, and sure enough, three riders sat atop her back. The horse dipped down, and with a great gust of air landed before them.

“Welcome back,” Tarlak said as he hopped off and tipped his hat. “Enjoy your trip?”

“Tremendously,” Harruq said. “Aurelia flung me across a cliff, and I nearly got brained by a flying boulder. We stopped a feud between the lords in the Hillock and destroyed an orc bridge. They’ll be patrolling the Bone Ditch, watching for more bridges. How’d you three do?”

“Terrible,” Tarlak said. “The king here is dead, and his advisor’s too scared to do a damn thing. We’ve been yelling from the rooftops that doom approaches. Needless to say, we’ve not convinced very many people.”

“Have any arrived from Neldar yet?” asked Haern.

Tarlak rolled his eyes, too frustrated to answer, so Lathaar answered for him.

“A few show up, but they’re mocked or ignored. Some buy or steal provisions and then continue west. Others have joined us in our warnings, but they’re few and far between. Most have just disappeared into the city. They’re probably hoping that Kinamn’s walls will protect them better than Veldaren’s did.”

“Little chance of that,” said Haern. “So do we return to Antonil, or do we stay?”

They looked to one another, and when no answer seemed apparent, they turned to Tarlak, who sighed.

“Always the leader,” he muttered. “We leave. We’ve done everything we can to warn this city, and while some have left, it’s been far too few. I will not stay and watch a massacre.”

“These people have done nothing wrong,” Lathaar insisted. “We must convince them that…”

“That what?” asked Tarlak, gesturing east. “That an army of winged soldiers and rotting undead march this way, determined to wipe out all life? I think they’d rather die in their walls than live out their lives fleeing west in terror.”

Silence fell over the group. Aurelia put a hand on Tarlak’s shoulder.

“You’ve done what you could,” she said softly. “Don’t blame yourself. Let us ride out to meet Antonil. We will make our stand as one.”

The wizard sighed, then nodded.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said, hopping back onto Sonowin. Dieredon whistled, and Seleven flew over and let himself be petted.

“Once we find Antonil, I will return,” Dieredon said. “It may be to find only rubble, but I must do what I can to track Karak’s army. Nothing can keep up with Sonowin at full wing, so fear not for my safety.”

“I’m not sure there is such a thing as safety in this world,” Tarlak replied before the elf flew away.