He pushed his way out of the dense stand. All was quiet now, the camp deserted but for new figures whom he merely glimpsed before ducking back into cover. He pushed through to the other side of the stand and ran, raising Meanas to cloak him as he went. A drifting haze of Mockra-laid mental confusion, distraction and a profusion of false trails lay revealed before him. It would have completely defeated him had not he and Sour worked together so long that they automatically allowed paths for each other through their defences and traps. He raced on, sensing their direction already.
They had gone to ground in a clearing at the centre of a ring of thick trunks that the locals called raintrees. He dropped his disguise of shadows, making Ostler and Dee jump — even though Sour had no doubt warned them he was on his way.
‘They’re comin’,’ Sour announced.
‘All right.’ He waved to Ostler and Dee. ‘You two, take off. We’ll cover you.’
The two sheathed their swords, picked up the litter, and ran.
He and Sour started after, more slowly, interweaving a mesh of Meanas and Mockra with hidden snares of Thyr from Sour.
‘I think they’re good,’ Sour panted. ‘What a punch that gal has! My ears are still ringing.’
‘Focus on the job,’ Murk growled.
‘Right. Still, great legs on her.’
Together they spread such a maze of confusion, distortion and misdirection that Murk was certain no one could possibly win through. Yet whenever he cast his awareness to their rear he found them, and closing.
‘Can’t shake ’em,’ Sour gasped, near exhaustion. ‘How’re they doin’ it?’ He sounded close to weeping his fear and frustration.
‘Must have a tag on us somehow. Somethin’ …’ Murk hit a fist to his forehead. ‘The damned shard! They’re tracking it. Must stand out like Burn’s own tits. Gotta change the plan.’
Sour halted, hands on a broad leaf cut by deep serrations as long as a murderer’s blade. ‘How’s that?’ he asked.
Murk gestured ahead. ‘Tell Dee to turn the game.’
‘On it. Just like that time in Mott.’
Murk snapped his fingers to urge his partner on. ‘I told you never to mention that Hood-damned place!’
Sour hurried away, muttering, ‘Okay, okay. Just ’cause the apes caught ya! Sheesh.’
Dee and Ostler took charge of the ambush. They impatiently waved Murk and Sour to the litter. Moments later a skinny gangly fellow came crashing through the brush to run right into Dee, who wrapped a forearm round his neck. The fellow squawked but quietened down when Dee pressed the blade of his heavy parrying gauche to his bulbous Adam’s apple.
Two more figures emerged and the first punched Murk’s breath away because he recognized him from stories he’d heard. Skinner. Fucking Crimson Guard renegade. What was he doing here? He’d heard they’d left Jacuruku. This could be it for us. We’re outclassed.
So struck was he that he missed something and now Skinner charged Ostler.
‘Gotta do it, Murk,’ Sour whimpered, revealing that he also knew whom they faced.
He said some stupid last words and took them into Shadow.
They emerged still within the confines of the forest of the Azathanai. The image of Celeste shimmered here as if awaiting them. ‘Hello,’ she greeted them, smiling, pleased to see them. ‘Who are those others?’
‘They’ve come to take you away. Bring you to your … ah, parent.’
The girl-shade giggled. ‘Parent! How quaint. I’m sorry, Murk, but that comes nowhere near our relationship.’
Distracted, he murmured, ‘Well. Have to start somewhere.’ Can’t stay here — gonna be entombed for ever by these damned trees. ‘We have to move,’ he told Sour who answered with a you’re damned right nod.
A patch of the woods nearby roiled and blurred as if melting. Murk stared, stunned. I don’t fucking believe it! The Crippled God priest appeared and lunged for the litter. He and Sour eyed the rearing dark figure of Skinner who emerged looking like the ghost of Hood himself. The Crimson Guard Dal Hon gal followed but the transition was hard on her: she fell to her knees, gagging. Still, her D’riss Warren sizzled about her as an aurora of blue flames.
‘Sacred Queen,’ Sour squawked, a hand going to his mouth.
Murk shifted to kick the damned priest away.
‘Do not move,’ Skinner warned.
The priest was untying the straps. Murk couldn’t help trying to smack him aside. He saw the surrounding branches and roots stirring, but slowly. Far too slowly. To one side, the flickering image of Celeste watched the newcomers as if they were rare exotic animals while none of them even spared her a glance — not even the priest. They can’t see her either. Only I can. Her choice, I suppose. And this filthy priest is about to get his hands on her! Have to do something.
That they had physically brought the shard through into Shadow gave him an idea. It ought to bring someone who could stand down even Skinner. Abyss, from the stories and rumours he’d heard among those who knew Shadow he could stand down anyone.
The Crimson Guardsman said something but Murk wasn’t listening; he was concentrating his power. Because he had nothing to lose, he sent a summoning. The instant he did the D’riss mage was on him. She hit like an avalanche and all he knew was a hammer slamming into his stomach knocking him backwards, then a spike driving into his head. Everything was lost in a burning sea of pain.
He came to holding his head. He unclenched his arms and peered up, blinking. They were still in Shadow. Celeste stood over him, studying him with her big green eyes. ‘You are in pain?’ she asked.
His head felt like it had cracked open. He swallowed the pasty coating in his mouth and ventured a weak, ‘Yeah …’
‘It appears quite incommoding. Not a good adaptation.’
‘What was that?’ Sour asked. ‘You okay?’
He shifted to sit up — carefully. ‘She’s here. You can’t see her?’
Sour peered around. ‘No. I guess only you can.’
‘Ah. So … give it to me. What happened.’
The fellow rubbed his bulbous nose, smearing his green and grey face paint. ‘Well. The scariest guy I’ve ever seen showed up and kicked them out of Shadow.’
‘He was here? He came!’ And I missed it! I can’t believe it! How could I-A thousand unanswered questions. What an opportunity … He shook his head and winced.
‘Yeah,’ Sour answered, then he frowned, confused. ‘Who?’
‘Edgewalker.’
Sour’s brows, one higher than the other, rose. ‘Oh! I heard a him. I hear he’s the worst reason you should never trespass in Shadow.’
‘That is how you know this being, then?’ Celeste asked. ‘A menace?’
Murk blew out a breath while probing the back of his head. ‘Yeah. Why?’
‘He is not threatening. He only makes me sad.’
Murk gave her a hard glance, but, seeing that she would say nothing more, turned his attention to the surrounding forest. ‘The trees aren’t moving against us,’ he murmured, surprised.
Sour nodded, eager. ‘Yeah. Your Edgewalker guy told them to leave us alone.’
Murk jerked, amazed, then held his head to contain the blazing pain that spiked there. He told the forest of the Azathanai to leave us alone? Who is this guy? He’d heard stories, of course. Garbled versions that circulated among the apprentices and equally absurd speculations in written legends. How it had been he who had slain the first king of Kurald Emurlahn, Elder Shadow, and how he was now cursed to wander it for ever. Or that he had shattered Emurlahn in the first place, damning himself in the process. And now Celeste says he makes her sad. No one knew the truth of all those events lost so far in the mists of the ancient past. And Edgewalker himself certainly wasn’t talking.