‘The node!’ the young mage – who still appeared an ancient – exploded. ‘The locus! The heart!’
Dancer eyed the surrounding slopes and eased the blades in their sheaths about his chest, thighs, and neck. ‘And what does all that rubbish mean in plain language?’
The little man flapped his hands in mute frustration. Finally, he slammed his stick into the sands. ‘You have heard, I hope, of the Throne of Night?’
‘Yes. In songs and legends.’
‘Well, exactly,’ the mage announced, as if it were all common sense.
‘Exactly what?’
The Dal Hon spluttered, flapping his hands. ‘Well – Light and Night had thrones, yes?’
Dancer nodded. ‘So they say.’
‘Well … so too must Shadow, then!’
Dancer drew a blade, a razor stiletto, and thumbed its edge. ‘I understand that’s all more poetry than history.’
Kellanved examined his ebony walking stick, huffing. ‘Well … yes. However, each must possess some centre of power. Some locus. Call it what you will. Control that, and one controls the entire Realm!’
Dancer pushed the blade home into the sheath at his left wrist, nodded thoughtfully. ‘Our path is disputed.’
Kellanved now tapped his fingers upon the silver hound’s head of the walking stick. ‘Yes. Well. An inconvenience. Once we have—’
Dancer raised a finger. ‘No. They must be handled first. And we cannot do that while on the run.’
Kellanved set his chin atop the stick as if pouting and stared into the guttering fire. After a time he sighed, resentfully, ‘Oh … very well!’
Dancer eased his shoulders, and the joints cracked with the strain of his tension. Inwardly, he allowed himself a satisfied nod.
Very good.
He sat across the fire to rest. ‘You will keep watch?’
The mage nodded. ‘Yes. I will keep watch.’
*
The next day – if the slight brightening of the monochromatic grey of Shadow could be called ‘day’ – Dancer became aware of the dot in the sky of the strange flying creature which, from time to time, seemed to have been trailing them.
‘It’s back,’ he announced to Kellanved, who merely waved his stick, unimpressed.
This time, however, the shape flapped ever closer, becoming ever larger, until it plopped down ahead of them in a very ungainly fashion, raising dust as it paced about. Dancer thought it an ugly cross between a bat and a pelican. Kellanved, for his part, stopped before it and rested his hands atop his walking stick. Then he actually addressed it, saying invitingly, ‘Yes?’
To Dancer’s surprise, and profound unease, the creature drew itself up almost haughtily and cawed, ‘Welcome to Shadow.’
Kellanved merely nodded, as if this were an everyday occurrence. ‘Our thanks. Welcome indeed.’
The bat-thing now cast its tiny glistening black eyes about the desolate surroundings, then lowered its knife-like head to croak, ‘I know what it is you seek.’
Kellanved glanced to Dancer, his brows raised. ‘And that is…?’
The beast actually looked to the sky as if exasperated. ‘Shadow House, of course!’ It bounced from one clawed foot to the other. ‘Shadow House, you fool!’
Now Kellanved shot Dancer a rather bemused look. He gave an exaggerated knowing nod. ‘Ahhhh! Shadow House. Of course!’
The creature calmed, bobbing its hatchet head. ‘I will take you.’
‘Why?’ Dancer demanded.
The beast squawked, flapping its ragged wings of black skin. ‘What? Why? I offer you the Realm and you ask why?’
Kellanved stilled. ‘The Realm, you say?’
‘Why?’ Dancer asked again, his voice now hard. He glanced about, wondering whether this was a delaying tactic. Were enemies closing upon them even now?
‘Tell me more about the Realm,’ Kellanved invited.
‘Why?’ Dancer repeated, firmly, eyeing the horizons.
Kellanved sighed, his shoulders slumping. ‘Very well. Why?’
The beast’s gaze shifted right to left. ‘Ah, well…’ It rubbed its wings together and lowered its head even further. ‘There are secrets within. Secrets that you must share with me!’
Kellanved turned to Dancer. ‘There you are. Secrets.’ He pointed his walking stick ahead. ‘Do lead on.’
The creature bounced into the air, laughing a bird-like croak as it went. ‘This way!’
Kellanved strolled onward. Dancer pressed a hand to his forehead, then reluctantly followed. ‘I don’t like it,’ he complained.
The Dal Hon mage waved the stick about to indicate the leagues of empty rocky hillsides. ‘Which of our many options would you prefer, then?’
Dancer gritted his teeth. ‘Fine. We investigate then leave, yes?’
Ahead, Kellanved nodded absently, already humming to himself.
They travelled for what seemed to Dancer to be far too long; eventually the hounds would arrive, as they always did. And he saw no likely cave or retreat anywhere within reach. Once more they were gambling on Kellanved’s being able to shift them elsewhere and Dancer did not like it. One failure and that would be it.
Ahead, a dark line appeared to be nearing – some sort of break in the monotonous rocky desert landscape of this region of Shadow. Dancer was now leading Kellanved, who limped, wincing in his tattered shoes, and so he paused, gesturing ahead. ‘Our destination?’
Kellanved came alongside, winded and sweating. He shaded his gaze. ‘Very possibly. There is something there. I sense…’ He trailed off as above the dark shape of their guide was now stooping towards them, its thin wings flapping furiously.
As it passed overhead it squawked: ‘Run!’
Dancer caught his companion’s eye. Shit.
They both ran.
Dancer, however, soon pulled ahead of the limping, huffing mage and so he halted, kicking up dust and stones, cursing. He drew his heaviest blades, searched the hillsides behind for signs of movement.
Quiet this time. Getting smarter.
‘Hurry,’ he snapped at Kellanved, who’d halted with him.
‘If I’d known we’d be tramping all over I’d have worn different shoes, I assure you.’
‘Just run,’ Dancer snapped, impatient.
But the mage merely shook his head, gesturing ahead, panting.
Reluctant, dreading what he knew he’d see, Dancer slowly turned about. Ahead, two shapes fully as large as colts had risen from among the rocks, each shaking sand from its back. One bore savage scars across its black muzzle, while the other’s mismatched eyes blazed yellow and blue.
Hunting as a pack. Should’ve known.
He raised his twinned heavy parrying gauches while turning full circle. From each direction a hound now closed. He counted five. Driven? Can we have been driven like rabbits into this ambush?
‘Get us out of here,’ he mouthed to Kellanved.
Overhead, their erstwhile guide had taken off, flying like an arrow for the dark line far off on the horizon. And Dancer wondered … could they have been following it? How smart were these things?
‘How many are there of these beasts, do you imagine?’ Kellanved asked.
‘Just move us!’