Shadowblade: An Epic Fantasy Adventure Romance (A Dance of Fire and Shadow Book 1)

I WAKE NEXT MORNING feeling like I’ve slept better than I have since accepting the deadly gift three days ago. And I slept late. The others are already awake, talking in low voices. They have been joined by a stranger, a slim woman with wisps of fair hair curling round her ears. She is wearing the rough grey dress of a city worker but I can tell from the way she moves like a forest panther that she is part of Marin’s team in disguise. I walk over to join them.

Marin waves everyone to sit. “Ariel, this is Kashia. She has been reporting on developments in the city.”

I notice the way Kashia looks at me and her hand tenses a little as it passes her thigh. She has probably concealed at least a dagger and a throwing knife there, strapped on each side.

She turns her attention back to Marin.

“I’ll let you relay whatever information you feel is relevant and useful.”

So he has already told her about me. Maybe they are going to share at least something of their plans.

Marin draws a rough map of the city in the dust. As he points out the positions of guards on the walls and around the palace I can tell the details are mainly for my benefit. The others must know the principles already and could manage with a much briefer outline of recent changes since the Rapathians took the capital.

Then he updates me with Kashia’s new information on Farang’s murky and treacherous schemes. To my surprise I find this sort of thing interesting and challenging for the first time in my life. It must be the mind-sharpening effect of the Blade’s gift.

It seems that our faithless Chancellor has been covertly aiding the Rapathian Usurper’s plan to invade Samaran for some time. To this end he had carefully planned to get the regular army out of the way of the invading Rapathians on the pretext of protecting King Tandarion. Once the king was effectively captive at Drystream Manor, Farang rounded up everyone his minions could find who would be unproductive as slaves in the Usurper’s grand new Empire. Then he had sent the hapless conscripts out to make an empty show of defending the city.

Having spent a day in the almost non-human role of weapon-in-process-of-construction I can see a bleak logic to this from a traitor’s point of view, except…

“Marin, that leaves our military waiting in the wings, with the king, ready for a counter-attack.”

His face says he wishes it were so. “If only. But they number barely a thousand and in any case, an army is trained to obey its commanders. Just before the invasion Farang lured our two most senior officers to a meeting, with a team of elite Rapathian agents lying in wait to drag them off to the dungeons. Kashia thinks they have been replaced by commanders who are already part of Farang’s scheme. The plan is to use our troops to conquer the Northlands while the invaders tighten their grip on the city and surrounding southern provinces.”

“Gold!” Brac thumps a meaty fist into the palm of his hand. “I always knew we’d be better off without it!”

My father made the journey to the Northlands several times while he was alive and I have heard enough to know that Brac is partly right. Trade in the gold found there gave the Northland clans a grander lifestyle than their ancestors who lived by hunting and fishing, but since the source of their wealth was discovered, they have been forced to fight off several attempts by outsiders to take over their mines. I wonder what change of fortune brought Brac south from his homeland to serve with the Eldrin.

Marin holds up a hand for silence. “Today we divide into two groups, each with a different objective. I’ll brief Ariel and Deris first. Meanwhile, the rest of you get your gear ready and find something to eat.”

As soon as the others have gone, Marin points to his dusty city map again.

“Kashia will go in through the main gate. She managed to establish herself as a wood-carrier just before the invaders arrived. The best way in for you two is to climb the wall here, where the mortar is a little more weathered by the prevailing wind.

“As soon as it gets dark, Kashia will create a distraction just long enough for you to get over the top without being seen. The slave pens are over here.” He stabs his finger into the dust on the north side of the capital, up against the city walls.

“She says there are usually about six guards outside. Once the slaves are freed, you have to make some quick decisions on how to get them out of the city. You have no chance through the main gate but there is a small tunnel in the wall here.” He gives another prod at the dusty map. “Kashia has keys for the heavy doors at either end. It was built for raiding parties to sneak out and attack a besieging army, but going in there is dangerous if the guards on the wall discover where you are. There are safeguards to stop enemies using it to get inside. Holes here and here for dropping boiling oil and rocks from above. Kashia doesn’t know if the Rapathians have found them and kept them armed and ready, but you should assume the worst.”

Joy and amazement at being allowed to free my sister and my people fades rapidly with the discovery that I could be leading them out through a tunnel where they will be either fried or crushed. Or both. I add my own finger to the dust-map.

“Could we make a detour when we reach the top of the wall on the way in? We could run across to the spot above the tunnel and disarm whatever nasties they have in place? It’s not far from where we’ll be climbing up the outside.”

Marin frowns. “I think it would be more dangerous. Almost impossible to keep it quiet and it would alert the guards that you intend to use the tunnel for something.”

He’s right. I need more experience of sneaking over city walls before I can be confident of making the best decisions.

Deris nudges my arm. “I have between now and sunset to teach you how to climb.”

He leads the way to a rocky outcrop deep in the trees. It is steep and smooth and I can’t see any route up the blank rockface. My trainer pushes dark hair back from his eyes, gives the towering cliff an appraising glance and sets off. He seems to be sticking to the sheer surface as if he has glue on his hands and feet. It takes him longer to climb down again. I watch curiously.

“Going down is harder?”

Deris wipes sweat off his palms. “Much harder. You can’t feel ahead with your fingers. Watch carefully. You learn so fast the time we have left should be enough.”

I run my hands over the smooth rock and find tiny flakes and bumps of crystals. Most of them seem too small to be any use. I watch Deris. His tall, lean form seems to flow upwards, three points of contact while a hand or foot moves to the next hold. I feel a surge of exhilaration running through my limbs as if I’m already dancing up the smooth surface.

“Can I start?”

“No! Wait till I get back on the ground and I’ll spot you, stop you breaking an ankle if you fall.”

As soon as he is beside me again I reach for the holds and the humming energy in my limbs finds its outlet as I stretch upwards. One move, gliding against gravity, two, three––

A thin rock flake breaks off as I pull up and I’m airborne. I feel Deris’ hands push against my back, breaking the speed of my fall before I hit the ground. I let my knees give way and roll over on the grass, unhurt.

“Thanks, Deris. I didn’t see that you were testing each hold as you climbed.”

“After a bit of practice it becomes automatic to test as you grasp it. Then you have to remember where it is so your foot can use it.”

“I’m guessing you were given this mission because you’re the best climber in the group?”

He grins, maybe relaxing a bit since Marin decided to trust me for this operation.

“I always get to do the climbing. But watch out, you’ll probably be the best climber by the end of today and then you can take on the role.”

“Only if we can avoid getting boiled in oil on the way out of the city.”

He hunches his shoulders. “Don’t remind me. Maybe your rapid intellect will find a solution before we actually get to that part.”

I set off upward again, willing my limbs to learn with every new push towards the sky.

THE EMPEROR ASHUR PURMUT the First stands in the Royal Palace of Corinium, surveying his surroundings with distaste. So crude. Plain stone walls partly covered with silk tapestries. Not a bleached stone or portrait-carving in sight.

If he can get this conquest properly established he will order the whole place torn down and rebuilt in a style more appropriate to his new expanded realm. Not that he will live here of course, but it would make the right kind of statement if one of his mere regional administrators could be based in a place boasting twice the size and grandeur as this.

Perhaps he should have a column raised in the city’s central square with the legend of his achievements carved upon it. How his legions swept aside vast and powerful hordes of the city’s defenders and then poured in through city gates opened in rapturous welcome from the largest crowd to ever greet their new overlord. How the conquering emperor had been borne in triumph up the steps to the palace.

The deposed king is due to be brought to him this evening in chains, ready to acknowledge defeat and then formally and publicly hand over his kingdom to become a vassal state in the greatest empire the world has ever known. Once that is done and witnessed, all members of this useless royal family will have their heads on pikes as traitors on the city walls before they can become figureheads for rebellion.

And that sly worm Farang can join them. He has played a useful part but that task is now almost complete and Purmut has been getting an uneasy sense that the traitor is playing a double game. At first it had seemed that the promised role of Regional Administrator was enough of a lure, but during these last few critical weeks something has felt off-balance. Perhaps Farang is more intelligent than he appears. Perhaps he has already worked out that Administrators are always chosen from the ranks of Rapathian nobility. Never, ever, from the inferior citizens of a defeated race.

Purmut studies his reflection in the tall mirror. This is a more pleasing prospect to look upon than the clumsy hall in which he stands. He has brought the heavy scarlet and purple robes with him for the formal ceremony of royal submission. And the change in his personal appearance is working well, reflecting his enhanced status as the conqueror of kingdoms.

The tawny lion’s mane that might now be associated with his merchant background has been set aside, his hair now dyed black and tightly curled as is his square-cut beard, giving more character to his weak chin and pale face.

He hears a nervous cough behind him and turns. The mud-spattered messenger looks as if he would rather be anywhere than here.

“The delegation you sent to collect the royal family, your Eminence.” The grey-faced man hovers uncertainly.

“Stand up straight you imbecile! Try to look as if you are part of an imperial court. Keep them waiting for an hour then bring them in.”

Silence. Then, “I fear that will not be possible, your Eminence. They were not at Drystream Manor as Farang promised. In fact, the place was deserted when we arrived there.” The messenger stands rigidly to attention. They both know that he has just condemned himself, that the guards outside the doors will block any hope of escape.

A livid flush of anger heightens the bulging veins on the Emperor’s pudgy face. The messenger waits for the jewel-encrusted dagger to be hurled in his direction. This is what usually happens to couriers who bring bad news.

The Usurper’s hand moves towards the glittering hilt, then pauses. More information could be useful here.

“Go and find General Akadian. Tell him exactly what you discovered, and then accompany him back here with a plan. Within the hour.”

The messenger bows before backing respectfully towards the door as custom demands, no doubt hoping desperately to get through it and out of sight before his shaking knees deposit him in an undignified heap on the richly carpeted floor.

The Emperor turns back to the mirror, a sense of satisfaction wiping away the moment of vicious anger on finding that his pet traitor has failed him. Cold calculation has won out. He is finally in control, of the Empire and his own reactions. He will soon discover what has gone wrong with his carefully laid plan and remedy it. Then he can amuse himself deciding on a suitably creative way to arrange for Farang’s demise. Preferably something very slow and very public. More satisfying than the covert removal of the Queen and Prince Tieran by Farang. Fourteen years ago stealth was an advantage, but now, oh yes now, a great public show is what is needed.

Yes. This could be working out extremely well. Simply a case of getting the timing right. Finding the critical point where he can turn the anger of the defeated populace into outrage against the traitor, deflecting it away from their new Emperor.

Soon they will be hailing their Rapathian overlord as a hero.