Here also were gathered the night’s witnesses.
Seeing these people through the murk, Urko, at her side, grunted his recognition. He bowed his farewell to her, and jogged off to join a group of his fellow Napans, together with a mage she knew to be a compatriot of Agayla’s.
And speaking of the servant of the Weaver and an eye of the Enchantress, she too stood to one side. She went to join her and nodded a greeting, to which Agayla merely scowled. ‘What do you want here, Elder?’
‘I am merely curious.’
Agayla snorted her scepticism.
‘And our friend Obo?’
Agayla snorted once again. ‘Only the submersion of the entire island would bring him out.’
While they watched, the churning and spinning tatters of murk and shadow coalesced, rather like a sort of funnel cloud, while two shapes took on solidity and form within. The display of power was of interest to Sister of Cold Nights, as she saw demonstrated a mastery of Meanas. But she sensed far more – something she hadn’t witnessed in ages – the lineaments of an Elder Realm thought lost. Ancient Kurald Emurlahn.
This, itself, was of great note generally as well as to her personally, as it touched directly upon her purposes. Great interest generally, as was affirmed by another figure she glimpsed watching from Shadow itself – no doubt invisible to all else present. Lean and tall, in weathered time-gnawed armour, his face a dried leather mien of bared yellow teeth.
She quickly glanced away. Edgewalker, guardian of Shadow.
The gyre of raw potency tightened and darkened. Energies crackled and snapped about it. It looked as if it consisted of a great mass of shadows all flowing into it from every nook and cranny of the city, and, perhaps, even beyond; mayhap the entire island. Thus it deepened and intensified, until not even her senses could penetrate the dense liquid gloom of dusk at its centre.
The concentration of power amassed impressed even her.
Then, with a boom as of a release of tension, or energies, that struck everyone as a physical blow to the chest, the pressure and ‘presence’ of a gateway passed and the gusting contrary winds began to ease. The shadows drifted away, revealing two figures in the square who had not been present earlier, the two whom she knew from Heng: the short mage of Meanas, and the slim knife-fighter with whom she had spoken before.
Sister of Cold Nights glanced over to where Edgewalker had been watching, fully expecting to see him gone. But he was not; he remained still, and appeared even more intent as he stared across the square. He even carried his sheathed sword in his bony hands now, as if ready to draw. She followed his gaze and had to tense. Four creatures of ancient legend were now edging forward into the square, muzzles low, ears down, clearly stalking the two at the centre. The Hounds of Shadow.
Everyone gathered about the side streets and alleyways backed away as the creatures slid forward on their forepaws, while the slim one, Dancer, shifted to guard the mage’s back, drawing his knives.
She applauded such bravery, but it was useless. There was nothing they could do, nor could, or would, anyone interfere; those beasts could tear anyone and anything apart. Even Azathani had died in their maws.
Agayla, she noticed, had edged closer to her side. Wisely, she had yet to raise her Warren.
‘Can you dismiss them?’ Agayla whispered.
She shook her head.
Agayla crossed her arms. ‘The fools. All that effort just to be torn to bits like all the others before them.’
But Sister of Cold Nights glanced aside to where Edgewalker still watched, intent, almost … concerned? ‘Perhaps not,’ she answered.
The beasts closed from all sides. The largest was mostly grey, though with a white stomach. Female, her blue eyes shone like sapphires, and it appeared as if she limped from some battle. Another bore a darker grey pelt – an offspring? – and his eyes were mismatched, one being a similar blue, the other a golden yellow. The third’s pelt was all a scarred and tangled dirty yellow, its eyes dark, near black, while the last was a black so dark as to appear blue. Its eyes shone a rather alarming blood red.
Dancer said something over his shoulder to his companion then, which Sister of Cold Nights made out as, ‘Now would be a good time…’
She could not help but smile at this last bit of bravado before the end. At least these two wouldn’t shame themselves before being torn in two.
And yet … she kept a sidelong eye on Edgewalker. The ancient – some said the creator of Shadow itself – watched intently, a hand on his weapon’s grip, the other on the sheath, as if ready to draw and stride forward.
Strange, that. He’d never interfered before. Not once, when so many had fallen attempting to master Shadow.
A whisper came to her then. A story she’d heard long ago from a fellow Azathani. That Edgewalker had tired of his guardianship and had been searching for a worthy inheritor all this time.
She eyed the little mage now, wondering; could it really be?
The Dal Hon ancient – though not really an ancient, she saw, as her vision could penetrate his glamour – now fiddled with his fingers at his chest. It was as if he were playing a child’s game of cat’s cradle, but with nothing visible between his fingers save shadows. And to her increasing disbelief, ropes and tangled knots of said shadows now came slithering out of the deeper pools of murk about and lashed themselves tight round the legs of the four beasts.
She would have been dismissive of such efforts were they plain Meanas workings alone, but these carried the unmistakable essence of Elder Kurald Emurlahn; somehow, this mage has mastered both and now had at his command two sources of power to draw upon.
Yet even such unprecedented might was not enough. The eldritch beasts fought and yanked despite their countless bonds, still drawing ever closer to the two men. The potency being brought into existence in the square raised a pressure in the air, making it hard to draw breath. The very stones of the street cracked and burst, heaving and grinding. The rising intensity of the unveiling reminded her of exchanges she’d witnessed long ago, when Elders fought without any regard for the calamities they unleashed.
Even Agayla winced, a hand going to her chest as she panted for breath. Across the way, the old mage she’d met on the dock fainted but was held up by a Napan with him.
Still these ancient monsters could not be brought to the ground. Each struggled onward, wrapped in twisting cords of shadow, snarling and slathering, utterly intent upon tearing these two trespassers to bloody shreds. The little black-skinned mage at the centre of the storm now leaned forward, hands lowering, as if he were pushing something down into the ground before him, straining with redoubled effort.