Shadow and Sword Read online

  Shadow and Sword

  N. K. Carlson

  Copyright © 2022 by N. K. Carlson

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  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods,

  without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial

  uses provided by copyright law.

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  ISBN: paperback 978-1-956183-93-1

  Library of Congress Control Number

  2021951561

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  Any references to historical events, real people or real places are used factiously. Names, characters, and places are products of the author’s imagination.

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  Cover Design by Diana TC, triumphcovers.com

  Edited by Melanie Doan and Ashley Olivier

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  First Printing Edition 2022

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  Published by Creative James Media

  Pasadena, MD 21122

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Epilogue

  For Andrew and Benjamin,

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  "The darkness is passing and the true light is already shining."

  Chapter One

  Smoke burned Reith’s eyes as he dashed through the trees. The horror of it all brought tears to his eyes, and not just because of the smoke. They streamed down his face as he continued his headlong sprint deeper into the forest, away from the death and destruction behind him.

  An aching stitch formed in his side as he ran and sweat and tears mingled with ash clouded his vision, but he could not stop his headlong flight through the woods. He couldn’t. Not if he wanted to live.

  “Run,” had been the instruction. The singular word was simultaneously whispered and shouted from that horrible gray face, as if one man spoke and a thousand other voices joined in. Reith shuddered at the memory, trying to shake the image from his mind’s eye as he ran.

  He had no care in the world other than putting as much distance as possible between himself and the horrors behind him. Trees and branches flew past him, narrowly missing him as he dodged to and fro. A few grazed his arms, legs, and face, but thankfully, the midafternoon sun illuminated enough of the forest for him to avoid the worst of the sharp tree limbs trying to trip him.

  Despite this good fortune, he was in unfamiliar terrain, completely lost. In all of his hunting trips, he had never come this far west. His trips tended to be east of Coeden, his hometown. He had always found the game to be more plentiful to the east.

  Reith didn’t see the stream before he hit it at full speed. The water pulled at his feet, tripping him. He stumbled and stepped on a slippery rock, lost his balance, and fell forward on his face with a splash.

  He pushed himself up and stood in the midst of the cold stream for a moment, sputtering water out of his mouth. It was up to his mid-shin. All thought of the command to run was driven from his mind, washed away by the refreshing flow of the stream.

  “At least nothing is broken,” he muttered to himself.

  Reith checked his pack, sighing in relief that it wasn’t too wet. The two dead rabbits were still hanging off of it from his morning hunt and his bow and quiver of arrows were dry as a bone.

  He surveyed his surroundings and he realized everything seemed foreign to him. Where am I? He shook the water from his shaggy hair. Then he remembered the map.

  He opened his pack, thanking Heaven that the inside was dry. He pulled out a small leather tube with a string tied around it, holding it together. Pulling the string, a leather tube sprang open to reveal two small pieces of parchment. He removed them and spread the first one out on a flat rock. It was a map of the entire continent of Terrasohnen. He quickly rolled this one back up and unrolled the second. This one, he knew, was a map of the area. He saw the names of the towns, Coeden in the very center, Suthrond many miles south and east, Palander to the north. The southern edge and western edge were blue, marking the Great River, which flowed north to south and the Rammis River, which flowed down from the east to meet the Great River. Reith put his finger on a point a short distance from Coeden. Here I am. But now what?

  He rolled the maps up and tied the leather roll around them before sitting down beside the edge of the stream. It was then that the weight of the situation hit him like a charging bull. Once again, tears filled his eyes, and hot water streaked down his check to join the bubbling stream, drops among many flowing toward the sea.

  The loneliness of the forest was oppressive, like a blanket on a hot day. It pressed in on him from all sides. The vastness of the space between him and everyone and everything he had ever known made his head spin. He realized then just how alone he was, and the tears flowed harder. Everyone was gone. No one had survived.

  He was all alone except for the wicked, horrible laugh that kept forcing itself into his mind. The Gray Man, he thought. The Gray Man’s laugh was like a sinister song repeating over and over in his head.

  When the tears dried up, Reith washed his face, arms, and hands. The water ran black with soot as he scrubbed. When he was finished, he plunged his face into the cold flow and took a long drink. Then he began setting up his camp. This is as good a place as any to camp for the night, he thought as he gathered fallen sticks to build a fire.

  While the fire heated up, he skinned one of the two rabbits with practiced hands and washed the meat in the stream. He took the flat rock that he had unrolled the map on and placed the meat on it, then put that next to the fire to roast.

  As the meat was cooking, Reith took inventory of everything in his pack. He had a dozen arrows and his bow, a knife, flint and tinder, an extra shirt, a sweater, one whole dead rabbit, and a water jug. Water was no problem, as long as he was near the stream. If he went west, he’d run into the Great River and would have plenty of water. It was the lack of shelter that worried him. It was early spring, so the nights could still get cold. There was also the potential problem of rain, but he decided to simply ignore that worry for now.

  The advice Vereinen had given him many times popped into his head. Worrying about something you can’t control is like shouting at the wind to quiet down. Reith even imagined it as Vereinen would have said it, in that slow and even tone of his, while looking down and scribbling on a piece of paper. The thought of his master made him smile.

  After dinner, Reith cleared a spot on the ground several feet from the fire of branches, leaves, and rocks for his bed. When he finished this, he took his shirt off and washed it in the stream, then hung it up to dry on a tree branch. He put on the spare shirt and sweater and laid back against his pack.

  What he wouldn’t give for a story from Vereinen right now. Vereinen’s stories were legendary in Coeden. He told of long-ago wars, heroes, and villains. Many nights, the town tavern was full of children and adults alike, listening to the chronicler’s stories.

  It was at this moment that the loneliness struck again. Survival and flight had driven the ache from Reith’s heart, but now it came back with a vengeance at the memory of those happy nights listening to tales surrounded
by friends and family. Now they were all gone and he felt abandoned.

  He hung his head, trying to control his emotions. A sudden rage came over Reith, and he hurled his knife at a tree, where it stuck, quivering. He screamed into the gathering darkness. Birds took flight out of nearby trees, but all too soon, the forest went still and silent, as if the scream were hanging over it like a fog. It was as lonely as ever.

  Reluctantly, he began to sift through the events of the day. His mind began to play them like a vivid dream.

  At dawn, he had packed his bag and went out hunting. He was sure to avoid waking up Vereinen. He tiptoed out of the house and gently shut the door behind him. The sun peeked over the horizon and the shadows were long. Dew covered the ground. He remembered how it had glistened in the sunlight. It’s strange what the mind remembers, he thought. This was another piece of Vereinen wisdom, learned over a lifetime of talking to people about what they remembered.

  He hiked through the woods, going east as always. For an hour, he remained on the main trail, a trail he blazed while hunting the past few years. Hunting was one of Reith’s favorite activities. Just him, the forest, and the prey. It was simple, elegant. The long walks and the waiting gave one time to think.

  He left the trail to check his traps, which were laid out in a large circle around an open glade in the midst of the forest. By now, sunlight poured down through the leaves and beams of light illuminated the ground. Two of his traps had caught rabbits. He hung the fresh kills on his pack and reset the traps. He remembered that he had made a mental note to move the traps the next morning. I’ll never do that now, he thought. Some fox will enjoy those rabbits.

  After resetting the traps, he walked down a smaller, less worn path, away and to the left of the main one. Ten minutes on, he came upon his favorite hunting tree. About ten feet up, the tree forked, leaving a perfect seat for a watching hunter. He hung his bag on a lower branch and swung up into the tree. After a few seconds of effort, he pulled himself up and settled in. And he waited.

  To make time go by, he mentally reviewed his lessons with Vereinen. As a chronicler’s apprentice, there was much to learn. The previous day, Reith had been hard at work memorizing the human kings and queens of the first epoch. Ranab, Elza, Driden, Pire, the names still came easy to his mind. But what useless information now that he was alone in the woods for the foreseeable future.

  After a few hours of fruitless waiting at his favorite tree, he had set off further east, hoping that his luck would change. He found a spot, not quite a hole in the ground, but more of an impression in the soft dirt that was protected by fallen logs. It was a good place to see but not be seen. As with before, after a few hours he had nothing to show for his efforts. He stood up and stretched his limbs that were stiff from inactivity. He judged that it was slightly after noon. After a quick bite to eat, he started back toward Coeden.

  Reith walked the well-worn, familiar path, lost in his thoughts about the morning hunt and of long dead monarchs. About a mile from the town, he reached the top of a small rise that had few trees. He paused for a break at the top of the hill, retrieving his water jug from his pack. As he tilted it back, his eyes caught a glimpse of the sky. Above the trees, in the direction of Coeden, he could see thick, black smoke rising. Fire.

  He raced back through the woods. Fires in Coeden called for all hands on deck. He raced back to help put it out. As he jogged to town, the smell of smoke grew stronger. I hope it’s not burning anything important, he thought.

  Reith heard them before he saw them. Harsh, loud voices. They were not the voices he had been expecting. He had expected the voices of the men of Coeden, perhaps the baker, blacksmith, or Vereinen, but these voices were strange. He could not make out what they were saying. He stopped running and crept to the fringe of the forest, fear coursing through his body. He stayed hidden when he saw who the voices belonged to. A group of men, soldiers by the look of them, though none were in uniform, were organizing and preparing to march out on the road heading north. There were roughly fifty that he could see. Some were loading a cart with bundles. Others were carrying torches, lighting anything that wasn’t already on fire. Around them, the houses and buildings of Coeden were ablaze, spewing smoke to the heavens. No familiar faces were in sight.

  Instinct told Reith to stay hidden. He slipped behind a large tree, his back against it, head turned and his ears strained.

  He tried to calm his breathing and the racing of his heart so he could hear what the men were saying.

  Reith struggled to make out anything specific before a cold voice pierced the air. “Is there any sign of him?” It sounded as if someone had squeezed every last drop of warmth and color from the voice. It was icy, sharp, and gray, if a voice could sound like a color.

  “No, sir,” a second voice replied. “We have searched the entire town, but there has been no sign of your man.”

  Reith slowly edged around his tree to try and catch a glimpse of the speakers.

  “And what did you do with the rest of them?” the icy gray voice asked again.

  “We killed them all. As you commanded, sir.”

  Reith’s heart skipped a beat. Killed? All of them? How? Why? Vereinen too? All of these questions bounced around his head. Fear coursed through his veins, heightening every sense.

  “I can’t say I am entirely pleased,” was the cold response. Reith remained frozen in his spot, not daring to move lest he be seen and killed too. “If Vereinen has escaped, it shall be your life for his.”

  I’ve got to find Vereinen, and quick!

  Reith circled to the southern end of the town, creeping in the shadows of the trees and keeping out of sight. The voices of the men slowly died down as he got further from them. He only had two goals: remain alive and discover the truth of what had happened. He crept between two houses, both on fire, rather than by the road. There was no one around. All of the buildings were engulfed in flames. He walked down this side road, staying as close as he could to the houses to avoid being seen, but not too close to avoid burns. He soon reached the corner and carefully looked toward the town square. Here, most of the buildings were smoldering ruins. These ones were burned first.

  Reith still hadn’t come across any living person, aside from the armed men he’d seen earlier. Fear coursed through his veins, heightening his senses. He was ready to run at the slightest provocation. He pulled out his bow and notched an arrow, just in case.

  He slowly walked down the road toward the town square. His eyes darted this way and that, looking for signs of movement. He saw nothing, but every so often he paused to listen. Aside from the crackling of the fire, he heard nothing.

  At last, Reith carefully peered around the corner of a smoldering building and looked out into the square. His eyes immediately fell upon a large mound of bodies. He looked around for any sign of the men, and seeing nothing, he rushed forward. His eyes saw but his brain did not understand. There was the butcher, Ferrell and his family, the blacksmith, Brage and his wife, Kina, and a dozen other familiar faces. Bull, the tavern keeper, Jelp, the tanner, old Tom who’s second best bow was Reith’s.

  In horror, he circled the pile, each step bringing to sight another familiar face. Some had been killed with arrows, which were still jutting out of them. Others were killed by swords and spears. Blood soaked all of the clothes and pooled on the ground around the pile. Reith sank to his knees, bile rising in his throat before spilling from his lips.

  When he was finished throwing up, he dragged himself away. He couldn’t bear to look anymore. He walked, with no plan of where to go, all thought of the men who had done this temporarily driven from his head by the grief they had caused. He found himself unconsciously approaching his childhood home, where he had lived with his father and mother until three years ago, when they had died of the fever and he had gone to live with Vereinen as his apprentice. As Reith approached, he could see the flames engulfing it. Sadness at the loss of his old house overwhelmed him, and he mentally chided hi
mself for getting emotional over a building. He stood there for a few minutes, watching it burn.

  Then a thought came to his mind. Where was Vereinen? He hadn’t seen his face and body among the others. He turned and ran toward Vereinen’s house, intent on finding his master.

  Vereinen’s home was set apart from the rest of the town, hidden by a grove of trees. Reith soon reached the house without being seen. It was, mercifully, unharmed.

  He stepped in the front door and whispered his master’s name, “Vereinen? Are you here?”

  There was no reply.

  Reith walked through the kitchen into the study. The shelves were full of books, though three were conspicuously missing, the three volumes of the Epochs of Terrasohnen. Vereinen’s life’s work was a history of Terrasohnen in three volumes, divided by each epoch. As an apprentice chronicler, Reith was slowly learning all he could from his master.

  Either Vereinen took them, or someone else did, Reith thought to himself. And I doubt it was these attackers if they don’t know where Vereinen is.

  He rotated on the spot, looking for anything else out of place, some sign of a struggle, some hint that Vereinen had escaped. Vereinen usually kept a cluttered study, but Reith was familiar enough with it to notice anything out of place. His eyes scanned the shelves, over the familiar spines of books and the curve of scrolls. Everything seemed in order. Then he noticed a green flower vase on the bottom shelf behind the desk, several inches away from where it normally perched. He stepped closer and noticed there was a circle with no dust where the vase had been. He picked up the empty vase and felt a rustle inside it. After reaching in, he pulled out a small piece of paper that had been folded over four times. Inside read: