CHAPTER 8
There was no glint to the dark blade, no reflection from the few rays of sunlight that managed to peek through the canopy and hit the sword’s surface. There was only a malevolent darkness, a blackness so complete that all the surrounding light seemed to dim at its presence. And it was heading straight towards Druzeel.
Without thinking, without caring whether he broke his arm, cracked a rib, or split his head open, Druzeel threw himself to the side, to the hard ground beneath his feet. The air was blasted from his lungs when he hit, but he hardly cared. All he did was roll when he landed, away from the dark from, ignoring any pain that his mind had yet to register. His quick action saved his life for his attacker missed him. Unfortunately, Druzeel’s mount had been directly behind him and that dark blade cut into its side, splitting the tough horse flesh as if it were merely decade’s old parchment. Blood splattered the green grass and the mare screeched in terror and pain. Then it bolted, running as fast as it could to get away from the cause of its agony, taking all of Druzeel’s belongings with it, including his staff. It just a few seconds, the animal had disappeared through the brush.
When Druzeel came to a stop, he looked up at his attacker. It appeared to be a being composed entirely of shadow. There were no discernible features, no patches of flesh, and no slivers of armor showing through. The man, if it was a man, was just a form of complete darkness. Along of the edges of the creature Druzeel could make out what looked like armor, straps, and even a scabbard, but the inside was blank, as if the features of this thing before him had been erased with black ink. Was this thing some type of ghost? The blade in the thing’s hand had seemed real enough, especially to his horse, but when the attack had first come, Druzeel hadn’t heard a sound. The shadowy thing before him was silent when it landed and swung at him. The blades of grass around its feet hardly moved at all and Druzeel felt as though any breeze that may flow through the small clearing would pass right through the creature.
At first, he thought he was looking at a shade, an undead creature composed of a vengeful spirit. It could have even been mistaken for a wraith, an even more dangerous type of undead that could suck the life from a person with just a touch, but he discounted those possibilities right away. He did not feel any of the fear or terror that those types of creatures emitted. Just being in the presence of a wraith or shade would cause a man to run in terror. The type of fear that Druzeel was experiencing was a different kind altogether.
Druzeel scrambled to his feet as the shadow man started to stalk towards him, that eerie blade leading the way. As the creature moved forward, as it readied itself for another attack and as Druzeel watched its movements, recognition hit him like a fist. He could practically see the purple veins of evil metal underneath the shadowy blade.
This thing in front of him had the same height, build, stance, outline, and movement as the assassin that had broken into Graeak’s tower! Those motions, the malicious way the thief had moved was forever embedded into Druzeel’s mind. He would never forget that man nor would he forget the feeling running through him as he sat in the corner of his mentor’s chambers, waiting for death to take him. Hells, the thing in front of him could even be the assassin, cloaked in some type of shadow magic, but Druzeel discounted that initial thought. Whatever this thing was, it was not the actual assassin. Though it was silent as death and moved like a practiced thief, something about it told Druzeel that it was just a copy, a shadowy duplicate coming to kill him.
The thing continued to walk forward. Druzeel backed away and looked at his body, searching for some type of weapon. He had a few daggers but he didn’t think those would be adequate enough to harm the creature before him. True, a few of those blades were magically enchanted, but he was no swordsman. He had a few sparring lessons but nothing that had prepared him to fight such a creature. And his staff had run off into the woods. It appeared that he was weaponless and–
Wait a second, he screamed in his mind. You are a weapon! You are a wizard, a wizard trained by the mighty Graeak Loyalar. You’re entire body, your entire mind is a weapon!
If not for the seriousness of the current situation, Druzeel would have slapped himself on the forehead. Apparently, the excitement and terror coursing through his body had addled his wits, but the moment had passed and he was starting to find his sanity again. He reached into his mind and started shifting through his spells, but his search was interrupted when another form emerged from near the creature in front of him.
Initially, Druzeel thought the others had heard the commotion and had finally come to his aid, but it turned out his luck continued to be nothing but bad for the other form that entered the clearing was another creature of shadow. This one looked exactly like the first, with the same dark blade pointed his direction and the same intent of death emanating from its body.
“Where the hells are you coming from?” Druzeel cursed. These things just couldn’t have appeared out of nowhere. They had either been following them, waiting for them, or sent by magical means. Had the assassin been watching them? Was he still in the city when they left or did he have spies watching the gates? Perhaps they were being watched even now, with spells. Druzeel made a mental note to check if they were being watched, if he managed to survive the next few moments. However the things had gotten here, it was clear to him that his odds were only getting worse.
Druzeel shuffled through his spells again, now looking for something he could cast that would hit both the creatures at once. He had a good number of spells that would do the job but he didn’t want to destroy the surrounding area or set the woods on fire. He must have something that could–
His thoughts were interrupted as four more of the shadow thieves entered the clearing. Two came from the bushes, just behind their companions while the other two fell from the trees, landing on the ground as silently as a floating leaf. Every single one had the same appearance and same vicious blade aimed in his direction.
“Knights!” Druzeel shouted, wondering where in the hells the others could be. They surely had heard his horse’s scream of pain. He looked around for just a moment, trying to get his bearings, trying to figure out which direction he had come from, but without his horse to guide him, he knew he was lost. He hadn’t spent much time in the woods and he forgot how easy it was to get turned around. Now, it appeared he was hopelessly lost and about to die.
But he would fight. He would not just cower and wait to die, so he thought hard about everything he had learned, everything he was taught during his time under Graeak’s tutelage.
While being a student at The Fount, only half of Druzeel’s lessons had been actually using and researching magic. The other half was spent in the libraries of the tower, pouring over endless tomes, countless books, and scroll after scroll of ancient history, odd sciences, lost civilizations, and a dozen other subjects. Graeak made sure that his students were well rounded and were knowledgeable in more than just spells and the arcane. One of those subjects happened to be monster lore and the ways to combat creatures of undeath. Druzeel knew that shades, wraiths, and other creatures of shadow were vulnerable to light. Though the monsters in front of him were shambling through the forest in the day, much of the sun was blocked by the leaves above so they were hardly exposed. Druzeel planned to fix that.
He brought to mind one of the most common spells a wizard knows, a simple light spell. Druzeel started the intricate gestures that would bring the magic forth and recited the words that would allow him the energies necessary to send the spell at the shadow thieves. The magic, coming from the very air around him and the earth at his feat, filled him and sent shivers of delight through his body. He felt the spell course through his limbs and travel to his fingers. He raised his hands in the air and pointed at the shadow creatures, but before the spell went off, something very hard and very solid slammed into the back of his shoulder.
Whatever it was slid through his robes and the flesh beneath, to jab at his shoulder blade. Druzeel felt his flesh part and could f
eel the blood already start to flow down his back. His wanted to scream, wanted to shout out in pain, but years of practice had taught him otherwise.
“If a wizard’s concentration wavers while in the midst of casting a spell, even for a moment,” Graeak had told him many times during his years in the tower, “then his spell is lost. What he loses next is most likely his life.” Those hard lessons usually involved Druzeel trying to cast a spell while his mentor, and many others, would shout, scream, throw things and, in some cases, slap him, trying to distract him and lose his spell. Those were some of the most annoying and frustrating times during Druzeel’s tenure, but as the blade cut into his flesh and the pain attacked his mind, he silently thanked Graeak for being so persistent.
He stepped forward, sliding off the blade, which sent another surge of anguish through his body, but he kept the spell. He twisted around and let it loose, not even seeing what was standing behind him, but he had a good idea of what it would be.
The clearing exploded in bright blinding light. Druzeel’s vision was suddenly filled with white and he shut his eyes against the excruciating glare. Though he could not see, his ears worked perfectly and he heard a scream from in front of him–was that two screams he heard?–that froze his blood cold. He had never heard something so horrific and it stung his ears and hurt his brain. Even behind him, the creatures shouted in discomfort, but their screams were not nearly as loud or disturbing as what he heard from the creature or creatures standing before him. Being blinded as he was, he was fearful that the shadow thieves behind him would charge while he was vulnerable, but no attack came, and his vision eventually cleared.
In front of him, he saw two more shadow men, both bleeding wisps of shadow. One of them was on its knees, moaning like a hungry zombie as it shambles towards it prey. Its body was filled with holes and part of one of its arms was gone. All that remained were tendrils of shadow, wriggling like dying snakes. The other one was still on its feet, clutching its head, trying to shake the affects of the spell. Though no holes or injures were visible, it was clearly shaken.
Wanting to take full of advantage of their paralysis, Druzeel cast another quick spell, sending a burst of magical energy into the two creatures. The one standing staggered backwards but managed to stay on its feet, looking no worse off than it did previously, but the one its knees screamed in pain as the magic blasted through it. The holes widened and the wisps of shadow were blasted into nothingness. The creature shuddered once then faded away. In a few seconds there was nothing left of the thing but a puddle of black sludge, which slowly started to soak into the ground.
The injured creature leaned up and started to move forward. Druzeel backed away but quickly remembered the six others behind him. He turned and saw that even though they had obviously been hurt by the light, they continued to come at him. He knew he would never be able to get another spell off before they reached him, but he would try anyway. What choice did he have? It appeared the others had abandoned him. He really was alone in this battle.
The ground below him rumbled and a sound like thunder filled the air, coming from behind. Druzeel turned and looked past the injured shadow man walking towards him, to the thick growth of the forest.
A large bush a few yards away suddenly exploded, sending leaves and sticks flying over the area. Thorstar emerged from the cloud of green, astride his giant horse. The man held a look of anger and clutched his giant sword, which Druzeel had learned he called Blood Edge, in both hands. Druzeel silently thanks the gods as the huge warrior spurred his mount onward.
The shadow thieves let loose what Druzeel could only call a growl and stalked forward. Even the one Druzeel had injured turned and moved toward Thorstar, apparently without an ounce of fear for it raised its sword menacingly. Thorstar never slowed. He just leapt off his horse as he neared the injured creature and before he even hit the ground, swung in a mighty overhead chop that cleaved the monster in two. The attack was so strong that Blood Edge sunk into the ground almost two feet. The shadow thief let loose a single groan before its two halves dissolved, leaving behind matching piles of black ooze. Thorstar then rose, ripped his sword from the ground, and eyed his remaining opponents.
“They are shadow copies of the assassin,” Druzeel explained, moving closer to his savior, all the while searching for another useful spell in his mind. Thorstar didn’t respond or hold the slightest indication that he had heard the words. He just glared at the beasts as they let loose a deep hiss and fanned out to surround their newest opponent.
The shadow things moved forward, slightly slower than when they had been approaching Druzeel, a little more caution in their movements. Their faces, where they would have been on a normal person, stared straight at Thorstar, realizing that he was the larger threat of the two men standing before them. But the danger they thought they faced did not come from Thorstar, or even Druzeel, but from behind them, as the other Knights entered the clearing, with swords, axes, and arrows leading the way.
The first into the clearing was Ristil, who came firing a pair of arrows at the closest shadow creature. The missiles hummed from his longbow and struck true, lodging into its shadow flesh right where the thing’s heart should be. The creature grunted but twisted around as if unfazed, bringing the dark sword to bear.
“Well,” Ristil said. “That wasn’t what I expected. Guess I’ll have to do this the hard way then.” He kept coming, dropping his bow and unsheathing his scimitar.
Vistalas came next, also entering the fray letting loose an arrow from his longbow. Having seen the useless result of Ristil’s attack, he aimed a little higher and his arrow slammed into the back of one of the creature’s head, going all way through. Only the fletching of the arrow remained visible, but when the creature rounded on him, the entire shaft could be seen sticking out of its face. It hissed like a snake and started to move towards him.
“Are you blind?” Ristil yelled as he swung his sword at the shadow thief. “What did you think would happen?” His opponent easily blocked his strike, raising its own sword and pushing it away. Ristil hoped backward with a smirk on his face. “They have some skill. Hard way indeed.”
Next to enter the fight was Jannda and Dex, each one brandishing blades instead of arrows or, in Jannda’s case, sling-bullets. Both had seen their companions’ ineffective attacks and decided that a sword and dagger would be the best approach.
Dex swung sideways, hoping to loop off his target’s head for anything less than a mortal wound would be wasted. He saw the arrows sticking out of the others and knew that he would have to finish these things with a single, mighty chop, but the shadow thieves were not just some mindless beasts. They carried some type of intelligence and his attack was easily avoided. The creature jumped back and slid to the side. It came back in with an attack of its own, nearly splitting open Dex’s side, but the man managed to parry the blade with his own and stepped away. This time when he came in, he approached with a little more caution.
“They have skills,” he said to Jannda, who was facing down her own shadow beast. She moved in quick, jumping all around her opponent, using her small size as an advantage. The thing seemed unaccustomed to fighting such a small creature and was having trouble keeping her in sight.
“So you say,” Jannda joked while sliding her daggers, one in each hand, across the inside of the creature’s thighs. Where the blade hit, the dark substance parted and wisps of shadows started to leak from the wounds. The shadow thief hissed and twisted around, coming straight down with its dagger, trying to skewer Jannda, but by the time its sword fell, she was already out of range, coming around to flank her opponent.
“Come on guys,” Jannda said, rearing back to stab the creature in the back, “you going to let a girl–”
Her sentence was cut short as the tip of an axe blade burst out of the back of her target. If these things had blood inside their veins instead of darkness, Jannda would have been sprayed across the face. Instead, the shadow thief only released a shou
t of pain then suddenly started to dissolve away. It had been so intent on the small halfling running through its legs that it never saw the threat coming up right to its chest.
“Hey!” Jannda exclaimed as Brask pulled his axe back from the cloud of fading shadow. “That was mine!”
“Just shut it and help the others,” the large man said in an annoyed voice. Jannda gave Brask an ugly look but moved to help Dex, coming around to get behind the one he was fighting.
While she moved to the right, Brask moved to the left, bringing his large axe to the aid of Ristil, not that the half-elf needed it. The one he was fighting was bleeding shadow from a handful of wounds while he had yet to be touched. Though the shadow creature did have some fighting abilities and decent sword skills, it appeared to be no match for Ristil’s speed or agility. It also looked like as each creature was destroyed, the others grew weaker, as if they were linked somehow. Indeed, the one Dex faced had noticeably slowed, as had all the others. With the new hindrance, Jannda and Dex easily made short work of the creature. In seconds, it was a pile of black sludge upon the forest floor. The creature’s destruction seemed to be too much for the others to handle.
Ristil sliced his opponent across the throat. Usually that attack would have been useless, but the creature twisted with the blow, right into Brask’s axe, which took it in the gut, almost slicing it in two. Vistalas finished his soon after with a sword thrust to the face and a dagger to the chest.
The remaining two, which stood before Thorstar and Druzeel, were staggering around, looking as if they had had one too many drinks at the Crying Lady. Thorstar rushed forward and swung wide, chopping the one to his left in two. The creature howled in agony then disintegrated. Meanwhile, Druzeel cast a simple spell and sent three balls of energy slamming into the last shadow creature, blasting three large holes in its chest. The holes quickly expanded, like a flame spreading over a piece of parchment, and in moments the creature was no more.
Silence settled over the area. Druzeel looked around the clearing, his eyes falling on each one of the eight piles of black muck. He knew he had been lucky. If the others had not eventually come to his aid, he could have been killed. They hadn’t left him alone after all.
“What were those things?” Jannda asked, leaning over the murky substance, jabbing it with the end of his dagger. It hardly moved. The only response from the stuff was its continued melt into the ground.
“Shadow stalkers,” Druzeel answered as the silence stretched out. A few of the party looked in his direction. He actually paused, waiting for Brask or someone else to make a comment, but the leader of the Knights just kept his eyes on the pile of shadow at his feet, a look of disgust and annoyance on his face. Druzeel knew the source of at least one of those emotions.
“I wasn’t sure at first,” he continued when no one else spoke, “but as they started to weaken as each one was destroyed, I knew what we were facing.”
“A monster?” Dex asked.
“A spell,” Druzeel corrected. “And a powerful one at that. And evil, one used by assassins and thieves.”
“Powerful?” Vistalas said with skepticism. The others shared his disbelief. “They didn’t last very long once we started pounding on them.”
“They are not meant for straightforward combat,” Druzeel explained. “They usually come upon their prey during the night, when most of us our asleep, and use their superior numbers to overwhelm their foes. Their entire purpose is assassination, quick and quiet. If they are caught in the open, their effectiveness is drastically reduced, and once you kill one, the others are quick to weaken.”
“Like a spider web,” Jannda remarked. “Strong as a whole but once you start to cut the strands, the entire thing eventually collapses.”
The others nodded in agreement as the last of the sludge soaked into the ground. All that was left was a black stain and even that was slowly fading away. In a few minutes, there would be no proof that there had been anything fighting the group. The stalkers were indeed the perfect assassination weapon.
“So what you are saying,” Brask said, his voice thick with irritation, “is that they stalk their prey and wait for some idiot to go off on their own before attacking them.” His eyes found Druzeel. “Is that what you are saying?”
Druzeel wanted to come back with a strong reply, something to show that this had not been his fault, but couldn’t. He knew he should not have gone off on his own. He knew this battle could have turned out very differently. One of them could have been hurt or killed. He had been stupid and Brask was calling him out on it. He hadn’t thought about his actions. His inexperience had really shown through. Though he hated to admit it, Brask was right this time, so he just looked down with shame and nodded.
“Next time we might just let you die,” Ristil said, driving the point home, further adding to Druzeel’s humiliation.
“Actually, this was a good thing.”
All eyes turned to Dex, thinking that he was once again coming to Druzeel’s aid, but the man just shook his head and turned his eyes to Vistalas. The others followed his lead and stared at the rogue with shock. Though everyone knew that Brask would be surprised at the man’s words, it was Druzeel who wore the biggest look of amazement.
“What?” Druzeel found himself saying.
“What you did was indeed foolish,” Vistalas said, his voice letting Druzeel know that he was by no means defending his actions, “and I would strongly recommended you never do it again or as Ristil said, we may leave you to your fate, but this little ambush probably saved us a much harder battle.”
“Explain,” Brask said, not at all enjoying the current conversation. Nothing that made Druzeel’s action seem positive was something he took pleasure in.
“As our foolish wizard just said,” Vistalas explained, continuing to let Druzeel know how much of a fool he thought he had been, “these creatures usually come during the night, while their prey is asleep. Imagine if they had fallen on us while we slept. Imagine if we actually had to battle them during the darkness, in their element. Druzeel’s mistake brought them all out in the open and allowed us to dispatch them easily. This time, his foolishness worked to our advantage.”
Brask looked at Vistalas then his gaze fell upon Druzeel, who was quick to avert his eyes from the disapproving stare. Though Brask didn’t like it, Vistalas’s explanation made sense. If the stalkers had caught them at night, one of them could have been grievously injured or even killed. He didn’t think much of Druzeel, but he valued each of his men. The realization that Druzeel’s mistake had actually benefited them made him hold back the vicious scolding he had been planning.
“Do I even need to say anything?” he said in a hard voice, directing his words at Druzeel.
“No,” Druzeel said, eyes still down.
“Good,” Brask said sternly, like he was a father teaching his son a lesson. He turned toward the others. “Back to camp. Dex, Ristil–help him find his damn horse. He obviously can’t be left alone without finding trouble.”
Thorstar mounted his horse and led the beast back towards their camp, with Vistalas and Brask following close behind. Jannda walked by Dex and slapped him on the thigh.
“Have fun,” she said with a smile and walked after the others.
“Thanks,” Dex replied. He walked next to Druzeel, who stood watching the others disappear through the brush.
“Come on,” Ristil said with annoyance and moved to where Druzeel had last seen his horse. How the man knew where to go, Druzeel couldn’t say. With the fighting and commotion, Druzeel couldn’t tell one track from the other, let alone what direction his horse had originally gone, but the half-elf seemed to know exactly where he was going, so he followed in silence with Dex right beside him.
Druzeel knew the half-elf was annoyed at having to help him, but neither he nor Dex were trackers and they needed his skills. To help calm the situation, Druzeel kept quiet, following without question. He said nothing. He just kept his eyes straight, watc
hing as Ristil scanned the bushes, the trees, and the ground in front of him. As they continued to follow the horse’s path, Druzeel was starting to make out the trail. The horse had run away in fear, not caring about what it ran into or through. Broken branches, crushed leaves, and snapped branches were prevalent all over. Unfortunately, Druzeel also saw spots of blood on the ground. He hoped his mount had not died at the end of its panic.
“You may be gifted in the ways of magic,” Dex said while walking next to Druzeel, “but you have a lot to learn about being on the road. This lesson was painful, but one that was sorely needed.”
“I know,” Druzeel said. “I’m sorry.”
“Useless,” they heard Ristil remark up ahead of them.
“Give it a rest,” Dex said in annoyance. “He’s learned his lesson.”
“He’s been learning quite a few lessons in the past few days, hasn’t he?” the half-elf responded to his fellow Knight. “Lucky he’s not dead.”
“You were young once to,” Dex responded.
“Young, yes,” Ristil said. “Stupid? No.”
Dex raised an eyebrow. “I find that hard to believe.”
“So does everyone else,” the half-elf replied, turning his head. Both Dex and Druzeel caught the edge of a smile on his face. Then he turned back around, concentrating on the trail.
“Regardless of my age or inexperience,” Druzeel said, aiming his words at Ristil’s back, “I have learned and promise it will not happen again.”
“Promises, promises,” Ristil commented. The two men behind him did not respond. They just kept walking, trying their best to ignore him.
“I heard you say that those creatures back there were shadow copies of the assassin in the tower?” Dex asked.
“Yes,” Druzeel said. “The spell makes a copy of your body and weapons and creates a shadow. The more powerful the caster, the more copies that you can make at one time. The stalker doesn’t have your memories or emotions, but retains a certain amount of your skills, which is how I was able to recognize the assassin. The stalkers had his same stance and movements. Though the spell is powerful, if the stalkers are forced to fight multiple opponents, they can be easier to kill. Like I said, they are usually sent against one or two opponents during the night. The spell links each creature, but once they start to die the link starts to crumble, weakening the chain.”
“They must have been stalking us for quite some time,” Dex said.
“Yes,” Ristil added, “waiting for some fool to get separated from the group.”
“So, the assassin knows we are following,” Dex surmised, ignoring Ristil’s comment.
“Yes,” Druzeel said, also ignoring Ristil’s barb, “and he appears much more powerful than I originally thought. It takes quite a bit of skill to cast that spell, be it from a scroll or book.”
“Well it’s a good thing we have a powerful wizard with us, doesn’t it?” Ristil said. “I’m confident your magic is much stronger than the assassin’s. There’s your horse.”
Dex and Druzeel looked away from each other and saw Ristil pointing to another small clearing ahead of them. The horse stood in the center, nibbling at the grass. A foot long gash decorated its side and blood painted the ground below it, but thankfully, the animal still lived.
The three companions walked into the clearing and looked over the horse. Ristil stood off to the side, arms crossed in impatience. Dex examined the wound while Druzeel stood in front of his horse, trying his best to keep it calm. The horse just looked at him with indifference and it gnashed the blades of grass between its blunt teeth.
“Will she be all right?” Druzeel asked.
“Yes,” Dex responded. “She’ll live, but you may not be able to ride her for a few days. That wound is nasty and will need time to heal.”
“He ain’t riding with me,” Ristil said, quick to respond.
“Come on,” Dex said, taking the reins. “Let’s get back to camp and treat the wound. Then we’ll talk about our next course of action.”
Druzeel followed Dex, Ristil, and his horse from the clearing, heading back to camp. He didn’t like the thought of having to ride with someone else for he knew there would hardly be a volunteer in the group. Whoever it was he would have to ride with was sure to be put in a foul mood. He had already upset them enough and did not look forward to doing it again, even if he couldn’t help the situation. With one horse lame and another weighted down, it would add time to their journey. It was just another inconvenience for the group and something else that they could blame him for.
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