Shadowtrap: A Black Foxes Adventure Read online

  “Nevertheless, I want to hear it.”

  “Well, it took nearly a week to get Ranvir’s host through the gate in the Kalagar Forest, all the time her minions trying to break through our shield.”

  Rith held up a hand. “Your shield?”

  “Yes. You see, the Inner Circle was all there—”

  “Inner Circle?”

  Pon Barius fixed her with a glare. “How am I going to tell this if you keep interrupting me?”

  “I just want to know what you mean when you say ‘Inner Circle.’”

  “The Inner Circle of Wizards,” snapped the old mage. “We were all there—all but that traitor Horax. Y’see, I think he ran when he thought we were about to expose his perfidy. So when it came to the showdown, he was gone—didn’t even aid his intended, the DemonQueen.”

  “His intended?”

  Again Pon Barius glared at the black bard. “Why else would he have abetted her in her campaign against Itheria? To sit at her side, I say. To rule Itheria as her consort.”

  Rith mouthed a silent Oh, then added, “Some piece of work this Horax.”

  “You can say that again,” declared Pon Barius, grinding his teeth. “Destroyed my tower, he did.”

  “Destroyed your—”

  “Yes! Razed it!” shouted Pon Barius, causing the other Foxes to look up from whatever they were doing.

  “But why?” asked Rith.

  “To get even for the archway,” snapped the old syldari.

  “The one in the high pass?”

  “Of course, bard. Didn’t I tell you that it was me who put it there?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “No yes buts about it—put it there ’cause he was trying to steal my secrets, him and his spies. Stopped him cold, I did, and for that he destroyed my tower.” A crafty look slid over Pon Barius’s features. “But I got even, I did—smashed his tower in return.” The syldari fell into recollections, alternately seething in outrage and gloating in triumph as memories washed through his mind.

  “Ahem.” Rith cleared her throat. “About the overthrow of the DemonQueen . . . ?”

  “Eh?” Pon Barius focused his eyes on her. “DemonQueen? Oh, yes.

  “She couldn’t break our shield, not even when she used her scepter. And after the host all got through, we marched across the Plains of Chaos to her dark tower.”

  “These Plains of Chaos,” asked Rith, “just what are they?”

  “They’re awful,” replied Pon Barius. “The seven hells themselves—”

  “Time to move on,” called Arik.

  Rith stood and helped the old mage to his feet. “Tell me about them later, eh?”

  Pon Barius sighed. “If you insist, my dear.”

  It took two full days of travel just to get clear of the devastated area, and two more to reach Arkol, where they found several horses for sale, though none as good as those they had lost. Along with three mounts, they purchased another mule, this one even more intractable than the pair in their train.

  And they rested for two days in the local inn, eating hot meals, drinking hearty ale, taking hot baths, and sleeping in actual beds. And Rith paid for it all with her bardic singing and telling of tales, filling the inn to overflowing each night with customers eager to hear and eager to sing and eager to hoist a drink.

  “Before you invaded the demonplane,” asked Rith, riding beside the old syldari, “how did you know that Jaytar had succeeded in stealing the gemstone from Atraxia’s scepter?”

  “Heh!” said Pon Barius. “Just as soon as she cleared the Kalagar Arch, she sent her falcon ahead, she did, a message tied to its leg.”

  “A falcon? But how can that be?” protested Rith. “I mean, it isn’t as if falcons are like messenger pigeons, flying unerringly to their destination. Falcons are creatures of the wild, and although they can be trained, they are never truly tamed. I would think that even if it could find its way, a falcon turned loose to bear a message over a long distance would revert to the wild before the message could be delivered.”

  “Ha!” barked Pon Barius. “That may be true for most falcons, my dear, but this was no ordinary falcon—this was a former lover, I am told, her one and only.”

  Rith’s jaw dropped open. “A former lov—?”

  “Yes,” interjected Pon Barius. “A shapechanger, I hear, who somehow got stuck.”

  “Oh my. How sad.”

  “We tried to break the curse, but failed.”

  “We?”

  “The Circle.”

  “I see. Was that before or after?”

  “Before or after what?”

  “Her mission to steal the gem.”

  “Oh. Before.”

  They rode a short way and then Pon Barius sighed. “Perhaps it’s just as well that Jaytar didn’t survive.”

  Rith looked at the old mage. “Just as well? How so?”

  Pon Barius fixed her with a stare. “If they were lovers and one was human while the other a falcon then they could never, um, never . . .”

  “I understand,” said Rith.

  Ky, who had been riding along on the other side of the wizard, said, “Perhaps you should have turned her into a falcon as well.”

  “Hm,” mused Pon Barius, as if the thought were new. But he did not elaborate.

  They rode in silence for a while. Finally Rith asked, “How do you know that she was killed?”

  “Who?”

  “Jaytar.”

  “Oh. Because she never came to White Mountain, and because one of the captive skelga told us so.”

  Ky snorted. “And you took the word of a skelga?”

  “What else could we do? She never showed up.”

  “Perhaps they took her prisoner,” said Rith.

  “Then they would have killed her,” replied Pon Barius.

  Again silence fell on the trio. At last Ky asked, “What happened to the falcon?”

  “It flew away,” answered the mage. “We never saw it again.”

  “The demonworld is chaotic, a place where the laws of nature change from moment to moment. Why, even the demons themselves change shape endlessly, some without form altogether. Only the drakka and the skelga seem immune to these chaotic shifts of demon shapes, retaining their own forms throughout.” Pon Barius paused, then added, “Them and the DemonQueen.”

  “What does she look like, this DemonQueen?” asked Rith, poking the fire to drive back the chill of night.

  “An unearthly beauty, she is,” replied Pon Barius, “slender and delicate. She has black hair, straight and cropped at the shoulder. And she has tilted eyes and pointed ears somewhat like those of a syldari, though no syldari is she.”

  “Eyes like a syldari’s,” rumbled Kane, grinning at Ky. “I always thought there was something, um, devilish about you, mouse.” Ky wrinkled her nose and chucked a small branch at Kane, though a twinkle lurked in her dark gaze.

  “Atraxia’s eyes are nothing like the Shadowmaster’s,” said Pon Barius. “Instead they are solid white—no iris, no pupil. Strangely, this adds to her beauty, to her exotic lure.”

  “How tall?” asked Rith.

  Pon Barius looked over at the bard. “I would say a hand or so shorter than you, my dear.”

  “Ha!” whooped Kane. “Slender, delicate, and short. I’ll deal with her in a trice.”

  Pon Barius shook his head. “Oh no you won’t, my friend. For not only is she the DemonQueen, she is a warrior queen as well.”

  Kane looked at the ancient syldari in surprise. “Warrior queen? How so?”

  “A hand-and-a-half shamsheer is never far from her grasp,” replied Pon Barius.

  As Kane whistled low in surprise, a frown furrowed Lyssa’s brow. “Shamsheer? What’s that?”

  “A long, curved cutting sword,” replied Kane.

  “Hers is curved but slightly,” said Pon Barius.

  “Hand and a half,” mused Kane. “A warrior queen, indeed.”

  “That she is,” agreed Pon Barius, “and she goe
s about clad in iron.”

  An elusive thought skittered across Arton’s mind, gone before he could grasp it. It seemed as if he should recognize this iron-clad, black-haired beauty, but he could not imagine where he might have seen her nor even if he ever had.

  Six weeks after leaving the Wythwood, they came into sight of White Mountain. “Arda,” declared Arik, “it’s as white as driven snow. What stone? Marble?”

  Pon Barius laughed. “No, my son, not marble; were it made of such it would now be weathered to nothing but a low mound of powder. Nay! White granite it is . . . and crystal.”

  Up alongside the Rawlons they fared, more and more of the mountain coming into view. At last they turned on a line toward the great white massif, following alongside a burbling stream as up through the foothills they rode. And three days later they had progressed as far as the horses would carry them. From now on they would have to go by foot, climbing up the long, lustrous slopes.

  They found a small, grassy box canyon with a stream running through, where they set up camp. Then they spent all of the next day resting and readying their climbing gear and building a makeshift fence across a narrow stretch where the walls pinched inward, and there they penned the steeds. Too, they readied their backpacks with selected supplies and implements and goods, for Pon Barius had said they would be on the mountain for two days, and so they planned for four. On the morrow they would begin their ascent.

  “Damn!” cursed Kane, carefully keeping his gaze fixed on the stone ahead and not looking behind. “There’s just no way up. We’ve got to turn back while there is still light to see by.”

  Ky looked at the big man and then at the sheer rock above and finally at the long fall below. “Kane is right. There are no cracks, no handholds, and this stone is too hard to chip handholds. It even slants outward over our heads.”

  Arik sighed and turned to Pon Barius on the ledge beside him, the old mage held steady by Rith. “You said that this was the way, but obviously it is not. I see no alternative but to go back down. Tomorrow we can look for a different route, though I don’t think there are any.”

  Arton, who had been leading the climb, took a deep breath and began preparing for the descent, with Lyssa at his side helping to coil rope.

  “Nonsense!” snapped Pon Barius. “This is just the first ward.”

  “Ward?” Rith looked at the old mage, surprise in her eyes.

  “Yes, ward,” said Pon Barius. “Discouragement.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Arton. “I mean, the climb has been an arduous one as it is, made more so by having to haul you upward at every turn.” Arton gestured at the sun standing straight overhead. “It has taken us all morning to get here. And now we’ve come to a total impasse and you claim we are discouraged. Seven hells, Pon Barius, look above. It’s impossible. Damn right we are discouraged.”

  “Heh,” chortled the old syldari. “That’s what makes it so effective. We took advantage of human nature—in fact, the nature of all living beings. When the going gets tough, most people get discouraged. We set a ward that greatly enhances despair. To the point that alternatives to giving up aren’t even considered.”

  “Well, if that’s so,” muttered Rith, “then why aren’t you affected?”

  “Because I was expecting it!” snapped Pon Barius. “Took steps to guard myself against it.”

  “Perhaps you should have guarded us as well,” growled Arik.

  “Look, boy, I have my reasons. Don’t question me.”

  “Ward or no ward,” said Kane, “I’m all for going down regardless and leaving these sheer drops behind. Besides, you can see for yourself it can’t be climbed.”

  A murmur of agreement circulated among the Black Foxes.

  “Shut up,” barked Pon Barius. “I’ve got work to do.”

  Arton looked at Lyssa and shook his head and gestured at the steeps below. Lyssa nodded her agreement then glanced at Arik, who nodded as well and pulled his climbing gloves tight. Ward or no ward, they prepared to go back down.

  Of a sudden Pon Barius swayed and would have fallen had it not been for Rith catching him. And in that same moment a weight seemed lifted from their hearts.

  As Rith lowered the wizard to the ledge beside the packs, he muttered, “There, the first seal is annulled,” and he leaned back against the sheer wall and closed his eyes.

  “Seven hells,” declared Arton, chagrined, “I was all set to give up.”

  Shamefacedly, they avoided looking at one another.

  Displacing guilt, fire filled Arik’s eye, and he scanned the stone above and gritted out, “Let’s find a way up.”

  Arton stepped to the far end of the ledge. “No way here. Can’t even climb cross the face. Too sheer. Too hard.”

  “Same here,” called Ky from the other end of the ledge as she scanned across and above.

  Lyssa sighed as she looked upward. “If we could somehow get a rope onto the lip . . .”

  Arton glanced at Kane. “Can you cast a grapnel that far?”

  “I can try, though it’s a long reach,” replied the big man. “Perhaps too long.”

  They tied a line around his waist, and with Arik and Arton and Lyssa and Rith anchoring him, in spite of his fear of heights, Kane stepped to the brim of the ledge and swung a grapnel ’round and ’round at the end of a line, building momentum to finally let it go flying upward.

  It did not even reach halfway.

  Again he tried, and again, and again, and over and again . . . all to no avail.

  At last he gave up.

  “What now?” he asked, coiling the line.

  “I’ll get us up,” said Ky. “Give me three ropes.”

  She fastened three hanks to her climbing belt, then clambered over the ledge and down.

  “What th—?” muttered Arton.

  Moments passed and moments more, stretching out in time. Then Rith declared, “There she is,” and pointed upward and to one side.

  High on a ledge above and stepping forth from shadow came Ky, her main gauche in hand, no sign of ichor on its black blade.

  Carefully Ky worked her way across the face of the mountain, disappearing from view as she came to the high overhang. More time passed, and then they heard the chanking of a rock hammer driving in a piton or two. Moments later a rope came snaking over the lip and down. Then Ky’s face appeared, and she called to them, “All set and well anchored . . . so what are you waiting for?”

  “Hold!” wheezed Arton in the lead. “I’ve got to rest. It may look easy, but I’ll swear, this is the most difficult slope I’ve ever tried to scale.”

  Wearily, Arik looked at the gentle pitch of the smooth, slippery stone, then his swimming gaze sought out but failed to find Pon Barius below, the mage waiting to be hauled upward. “Have we come to another ward?” Arik croaked.

  “Quite possibly,” the old syldari called back. “What have you encountered?”

  “We’ve come to a slippery slope, and it’s wearing us out,” answered Arik, gasping for breath. “Can’t seem to get a firm grip anywhere. We keep sliding back.” Arik cast an exhausted glance at Arton. Barely able to raise his head, the master thief sat in a slump at the base of the glossy incline and panted and blearily looked back, his eyes filled with fatigue. Arik then hoarsely called down, “Arton looks as if he’s about to pass out.”

  “Get down and away from that slant!” shouted Pon Barius. “It’s the second ward!”

  Wearily, Arik turned to find Arton lying back against the tilt, his eyes closed, his muscles slack, his mouth drooping open, drool dribbling down his jaw.

  Fatigue sapping every fiber of his being, Arik crawled to Arton and grabbed him by an ankle; then, hauling backward with all his might, weakly, ineffectually, he dragged at the thief, barely moving him before his own energy gave out and he fell toward unconsciousness. And as he spun down into oblivion, he felt someone pull him scraping and bumping down the face of the mountain and away from the stone above.

  The nex
t Arik knew, he was lying on his back, his head in Lyssa’s lap. “Unh,” he groaned, “what happened?”

  “I got to you both in time,” said Lyssa, tilting her head toward Arton, Kane kneeling at the thief’s side.

  “What about the ward?”

  “Pon Barius is nullifying it even now.”

  “What is it?”

  “Great fatigue and permanent sleep if you don’t get away.”

  Arik lay a moment longer as energy seemed to pour back into him. At last he slowly sat up; all seemed normal. Finally he twisted about and pulled Lyssa’s face to his and kissed her. “Thanks, love,” he whispered, as she held onto him tightly. He kissed her again and murmured, “As much as I would like to remain in your arms forever, I think I need to see to this mission.” She held him tight a moment longer then reluctantly released him.

  Arik stood and looked at Kane and Arton. The thief was just now opening his eyes. “Kane?”

  Kane turned to Arik. “He’ll be all right in a moment, now that he’s away from that ward above.”

  “Good,” said Arik, giving the warrior-healer a sharp nod of appreciation.

  Arik glanced upslope. Ky and Rith knelt on the mountainside somewhat ahead. Beyond them, in the late afternoon sunlight Pon Barius stood at the base of the glossy slant. “Is it safe?” he called up to the ancient mage. At a wave from Pon Barius, Arik clambered up past Ky and Rith and to the old syldari’s side.

  “Perhaps you ought to tell us of the remaining wards before we come to them,” said Arik as he eyed the smooth and deadly expanse of rock sloping upward.

  Pon Barius shook his head. “Afraid not, my lad.”

  Arik stepped before the old mage and stared down at him with eyes as hard as flint and gritted out through clenched teeth, “Wizard, you put us all at hazard with your secrecy.”

  Pon Barius flung up a warding hand and shied back from the warrior. “All right, all right. I said I had my reasons, and they are this: y’see, I need to conserve my energy since the full Circle is not here to help me. And these wards, well, they are easier to nullify after they are tripped, and they trip more easily if you don’t know what’s coming. Besides, we are almost there and I’ll be with you the rest of the way.”