Shadow Walker

by James 'Fel' Galloway

Chapter 4

He never expected to feel like this.

It was a funny thing that sometimes you didn't understand exactly how one felt about someone else until that other person was no longer there. Clover had left two days ago, and ever since she slipped out of the house in the dead of night and headed for Hamon, which was across the inlet of the Great Blue Bay from Stinger Bay at the very tip of the peninsula that formed the northern edge of the bay, Kyven had felt . . . unsettled. Clover was an integral part of his life, and without her there, he was feeling the normal smooth action of the cogs and gears of his life grinding to a halt. She was his casual lover in the way of Arcans, giving her the comfort and physical pleasure she enjoyed. She was also his mentor and his role model. She was a real Shaman, a true Shaman, a woman settled into her role and who was confident and capable. Kyven had Shaman training, but he knew that he hadn't learned nearly as much as other Shaman knew. He was nowhere near as wise as Clover, or any other Shaman. The fox spirit had rushed his training because of the seriousness of the situation, and in that respect, he could not fault her. Things were coming to a head, and the fox needed him, and needed him right now. She didn't have time to train him as thoroughly as she probably would have any other time. Lacking the training, he had looked up to Clover as what he should be, the model of a true Shaman, and he tried to emulate her whenever possible. He knew he would never quite match her maternal nature, because that was her more than being a Shaman, but in other ways, he tried to be as much like Clover as possible.

She had certainly not discouraged him from that. Their talks at night were long and involved, and in a way, she had taken over from the fox to teach him those things the fox either could not or would not. But instead of teaching him magic or harsh lessons, her teaching was about the essence of being a Shaman. It was from her that he had learned about being a Shaman, learned as much if not more than he had from the fox.

The loss of Clover certainly impacted their operations. She did a great deal of communicating with the faceless cell of the Masked in Avannar, trading information with them and knowing how to organize it and sift through it to seek out the truth. Kyven was certainly capable of that himself, but her help gave him more time to focus on his masquerade of being a respectable member of Avannar society, a prominent crystalcutter. Clover helped him perpetrate that deception by giving him free time to pursue it.

But most of all . . . he just missed her. She was his mentor, his teacher, his partner, and his friend. He felt strangely exposed without Clover there, the quiet, gentle, charming presence that guided them all. He missed her so much it shocked him, and the entire first day she was gone, he staggered through the day in a kind of haze that made it hard for him to concentrate.

But, strangely enough . . . it wasn't love. He had laid in bed this morning, woken up by Lightfoot when she came in and decided to sleep in his bed, and analyzed everything he felt about Clover. He was worried at first that it was love making him feel the way he did, that he had somehow fallen for his mentor . . . but it wasn't. He loved Clover, oh yes, but not in a romantic fashion. He loved her as a friend, his deepest and most intimate friend, the one who knew more about him than he knew about himself, the one woman whom he could trust and be honest. Clover really did feel like a sister to him, though in a rather odd and disturbing twist of Arcan culture, a near-sister who shared his bed when she wanted some physical attention. She was a dear, dear friend, and he loved her deeply, but something deep inside him did not see her as a wife. He could love her, admitted that he was sexually attracted enough to enjoy sleeping with her, but she was not for him. Not like that. It was proof to him that the fur on him was only skin deep. Despite his acceptance of Arcan customs and Arcan ways, inside, he was still human, and always would be. Though he had learned well from the lesson of Clet and Stripes that love could transcend the boundary between human and Arcan, the human in him sought out its own.

Danna.

Even now, despite the minars that separated them and the anger and bad blood that existed between them, when he thought of a woman in that fashion, in the terms of love and marriage, the first and only woman that came to mind was Danna. Like a rheumy joint, she was a pain that just wouldn't go away, one to which he'd grown so accustomed that he didn't even think about it anymore.

Ironic, that. The one woman he wanted wanted nothing to do with him, yet the woman who was pregnant with his children, Umbra, barely crossed his mind during the course of a day.

Umbra. Last he'd heard of her, she was comfortably pregnant and living with Firetail, because she was too naïve and uneducated in Arcan ways to be left by herself. Her lack of experience with advanced technology might get her killed. So Firetail had taken her in and looked after her like she was Firetail's daughter, and the report he'd gotten from Haven about it a couple of weeks ago intimated that all was well with her.

Clover. He hoped she was alright. He hoped her mission was swift and without danger, and she came home well and whole next week.

But, he had to go on. He couldn't hide in his shop until she came back. He had the Loremasters on the defensive, running around like maniacs. The murder of a Councilor in his own home who was savaged by a clawed Arcan when they knew that the fox Arcan sported nasty claws, the attack on the general, and the sniper killings of a high-ranking Loremaster and a Loreguard general had had their desired effect. The Loremasters were now terrified, because the mysterious Shaman that had made them look like fools now seemed to have help in the form of a highly trained gunman, and also because they now understood that this was no longer some abstract plan put down on paper and commanded over a map from the safety of their offices and dens. Now, this was immediate, and they were right in the middle of it . . . and they were targets. They had planned a war, the systematic takeover of the Free Territories and the forging of their own nation west of the Smoke Mountains, and they were disconcerted and paralyzed when that war leaped off dusty papers filled with procedures and statistics and started killing them. Now they were engaged. Now they were involved, intimately involved, and their Loremasters tabards and their reputations and the security of Avannar and their Loreguard protectors did not isolate them from the war they were planning. The war had come early, and instead of them moving with stealth and acting out of surprise then settling in behind heavy fortifications to bleed the kingdoms of Noraam until their crystals went dry, the tables had been turned and now they were the ones reeling from a foe that had struck a swift and decisive first blow.

The one thing he'd been doing was keeping up with his intelligence. His Masked compatriots, Shario, and his own foray out into the taverns last night had painted a picture of a group on the defensive. All the Loremasters of any kind of rank were now domiciled inside the Loremaster headquarters, sleeping in offices and wherever they could set up a bed or pallet. Food was being shipped in by the wagonload, and the guards stationed at the bridge, the only way onto the island, were sixty strong. They were afraid now, afraid that the mysterious black fox Shaman, who moved through the city like a ghost, would attack them next. The Circle had pulled in everyone that mattered to them to their headquarters to protect them as they continued to try to find and eliminate the Shaman and whoever he hired to kill those people at the bridge. They did not think that a Shaman would use a gun, not when a Shaman could use magic. They believed that the Shaman had enlisted the help of a sharpshooter to attack the bridge while he did something else, something which they didn't know about.

They knew about the rifle now. The shape of a Briton rifle bullet was nothing like a musket ball, for it was conical and aerodynamic. They knew that whoever killed the Loremaster and the General had a weapon rarely seen in Noraam, a Eusican rifle, and now they were searching for the attacker by trying to track down that gun. They were rare enough that it was easy to track the few that existed in Avannar, and the owners of weapons like that had already received very direct visits from Loreguard detachments.

Shario, that clever rascal, had covered his tracks well. He was not part of that sweep.

He was part of another sweep yesterday, though. He was a respectable businessman now, but the Loreguard knew, or suspected, that the money he'd used to start those legitimate businesses had come by less than legal means, and now the Loreguard were coming down on the criminal underside of the city. They were smart enough to understand that even the black fox Shaman had to have help to do some of the things he was doing, a cell of the Masked buried in the city that was providing him with assistance--or was commanding him, since many felt that Arcans weren't smart enough to run a sophisticated operation, but that cell would need supplies, equipment, and information that could only be acquired through the black market and the criminal underworld. That was a fairly logical conclusion, and also a correct one. So, they were trying to unearth the Masked cell by trying to drag information about them out of the fences, thieves, and black marketeers through which they would be dealing to get their supplies.

But they would come up empty. The only one they dealt with was Shario, and Shario was far too clever to be caught by the likes of them.

Kyven sighed and stirred, and Lightfoot shifted in her sleep and grabbed hold of his shoulder. He was on his stomach with her up against his side, her arm draped over his back to grip his opposite shoulder, but while she slept he laid there and pondered. He shifted to try to get out from under her arm without disturbing her, but she gripped him with her claws, just enough to send a slight shiver of pain through his skin.

"Lightfoot," he called reluctantly. "Let me up."

"No," she answered in a crystal-clear voice.

"It's past sunrise, I have to open the shop."

He felt her claws flex slightly, then they withdrew and she removed her hand from his shoulder. "Thanks," he said as she slid out of bed, rolling to his feet as she settled back into the bed. He leaned over and licked her fondly on the cheek, then wrapped himself in an illusion of himself in a robe as he padded downstairs and into the shop. The others were already awake, Tweak sitting at a bench explaining cutting to Watcher and Lucky as Patches busied herself in the kitchen, the smell of bacon wafting in as pans sizzled within. "Good morning!" Lucky called happily.

"Mornin' boys, mornin' Tweak," he said. "Keep the door closed, I'm opening the shop."

"Breakfast is almost ready!" Patches called from the kitchen.

When he stepped through the door and looked through the glass of the window, he saw Yoris and a few Loreguard outside. As he opened the eave of the counter, he dislodged himself from the illusion enough to enact the power of the amulet and take on a human form. His experience with Shario had proved to him that he had to be very careful around enemies, and if Shario could puzzle out his Arcan nature through subtle clues, so could someone like Danna . . . and the Loreguard certainly had others as smart as Danna working for them. He felt his muscles and bones turn to cold water as he was poured into a new mold, and then he felt a little cooler when the feeling faded and left him naked and human under the illusion. He still did not wear clothes for fear that they would interfere with his shadow powers. Once he was settled, his illusion paused to give a big, languid yawn and stretch, as underneath it he kicked his heel against the door several times, a signal to those in the shop to evacuate immediately, then he advanced onto the door and opened it, then stepped outside. "What are you doing here so early, Yoris?" he asked, feigning sleepiness.

"Odd for you to open so late, Artisan," one of the guards said coolly.

"Eh, I've had no business for weeks anyway, so I figured what the hell, why not sleep in," he said dismissively, then he yawned. "It's not like I'm missing anything."

"Well, I'm about to give you some, Kyven," Yoris told him, and the tone of his voice wasn't . . .normal. Kyven's instincts woke up at that point. There was something, something wrong here. Either they were spooked by the murders of the Loremasters or it was directed at Kyven himself. That, and these men, they didn't feel like normal Loreguard. He didn't know why he felt that way, but he did, and he knew better than to ignore those kinds of feelings and instincts.

Kyven realized that he had to be very, very careful here. He wouldn't dare open his eyes to the spirits without an illusion covering him, but he didn't need to do so to heavily suspect that one of these men had a truth crystal hidden somewhere on his person. From here, he had to be very careful to speak only the truth . . . from his point of view. So he had to choose his words carefully.

"Well, come on in and I'll take a look," he invited. "I can have my cook make you some breakfast if you want." And if Tweak was doing what he was supposed to do, he had the boys hustled out of the shop.

"This time we have to go to the building, my friend," Yoris told him. "What we need you to appraise isn't something they would let me bring out."

"Okay, now you've got me curious, my friend, given what you've brought to me," he said. "Let me go get some clothes on. Come on in, no need standing around here when you can sit down and wait for me."

"Certainly," Yoris said with a smile.

Patches was standing by the kitchen door in the shop, and thankfully, everyone else was gone and the shop left in the same condition it always appeared when Yoris visited when he came in. The other benches were covered, with only Kyven's own bench looking to be used. "Still no apprentices?"

"I was just about ready to bring some before all this crazy stuff started happening," Kyven said frankly. "Timble's begging me to take a few of them. Master Holm was too stern to let us get away with anything, but Timble's not quite so harsh. Yet, anyway," he chuckled. "I think you can make some coffee for the gentlemen while I get dressed," he said to Patches.

"Coffee," she nodded, scurrying back into the kitchen.

Yoris looked around. "Where is that handsome coyote?"

He saw that this could get ugly quick, because that was a question that he could not answer without either lying or saying something that they could check by going back through the logs of the checkpoints around his shop. "Out running an errand, I think," he answered carefully, which was technically true. "She should be back soon." Also technically true, compared to the complexity of her task. If she was back in a week, given what she had to do, that was definitely soon.

"You think? You don't know what your own Arcans are up to?" one of the guards asked pointedly.

"My coyote is a very clever Arcan, so I give her latitude I don't give the others," he answered simply, which again was technically true. He'd never trust the others with the kinds of things Clover did. "If she's out, then she certainly has a good reason to be out, and she'll be back home as soon as she's finished. I have no doubt what she's doing is important and needs to be done, especially how dangerous it is out on the streets right now for an unescorted Arcan."

"That's a little strange, Artisan."

"Before all this insanity happened, I saw Arcans on the street unescorted all the time," Kyven said flatly, giving the man a direct look. "My Arcan went out by herself before. What makes it so suspicious that I let her do the same thing now? The only thing that's changed is that there's suddenly a Loreguard checkpoint on every corner. Her ability to do her chores without my supervision certainly didn't change. The only thing that changed is your stupid checkpoints making it hard for her to do those chores without being hassled. Now let me get dressed. Be right back."

Upstairs, Kyven found Tweak and the boys hiding in their room. He opened the door and looked in, then nodded. "Go to the attic and hide, and don't come out until Patches says it's safe," he ordered. Tweak nodded soberly and herded the two young boys across the hall and through the narrow door at the end of the hall that led to the attic, closing the door behind him, then he went into his room. Lightfoot was already gone, most likely up on the roof so she could keep watch, so he sat on the bed and considered options. If he was going into the headquarters of the Loremasters, he couldn't take any chances . . . and that meant clothes. He wasn't going in there as anything but a crystalcutter, but he was absolutely sure he'd be searched and inspected, and he didn't want to have to worry about holding an illusion on top of everything else. While in his human form, the fox said he was absolutely undetectable, human in every way, and even the foxhead medallion would vanish and be absolutely undetectable itself . . . which was true. It wasn't around his neck, and he honestly had no idea where it was. So, if they were taking him into the lion's den, he wanted to be as normal as possible.

So, he pulled his human clothes out of the wardrobe, an outfit which he used as a basis for his illusions quite often. A soft blue cotton shirt with laces on the neckline went over his head, and soft underclothes went under a pair of rugged denim pants. He pulled on a pair of soft moccasin boots, then grabbed a light vest from the wardrobe and padded back downstairs, feeling a little odd to be wearing clothes as he pulled the vest on.

In the shop, things were quiet and a little tense. Patches was serving coffee to the Loreguard, who were giving her hard looks even as their eyes surveyed the shop's interior coolly. These were not normal guards. These were . . . different. They were almost unusually interested in his shop, and their eyes took in everything.

"Where are your other Arcans?" Yoris asked. "The ferret and that little cat of yours?"

"Doing something I don't think you're old enough to hear about, Yoris," he answered directly, which made Yoris laugh. He took a sandwich of bacon and eggs, his breakfast, from Patches with a nod, and she rushed back into the kitchen.

"You let them rut like animals?" another guard asked.

"Why not?" he shrugged. "They're going to do it anyway. I keep them all in the same room. This way, they think I'm kindly for letting them do something they'd do no matter what."

"Why does a lone shopkeeper have so many Arcans?"

"I fell into it, as it were," he answered simply. "I needed help running the shop but didn't want to bring any apprentices until I was set up, so I got some Arcans to do the chores apprentices would usually do. I only wanted two, but I was convinced to take four. I gave in, and I'm glad I did. The two extra mouths to feed isn't cheap, but there's a lot to do around here and they pull their weight. It makes it worth it to keep them around." And all of it was perfectly true. He'd only wanted two to come with him to start out with, but he ended up with four. He just left out what they were brought to do. Again, perfectly true . . . from a certain point of view.

"I'm sure you have papers for them?" one of the guards pressed.

"Papers?" Kyven asked, then he laughed. "My collar is on them. Why do I need papers?"

"They don't bother with papers in Atan, Grel," Yoris said simply. "It's a small village where everyone knows everyone. Kyven's collar is all the proof of ownership he needs."

Kyven could tell they were obviously digging, but he couldn't really do anything about it. To push to leave would make it look like he was uncomfortable, and his past experiences with anyone but Yoris had been less that cordial, so he remained tight-lipped and terse with the guards while remaining friendly and amiable to Yoris. So, he simply ate his sandwich as the Loreguard and Yoris sipped at their coffees without much enthusiasm. After a few minutes, after Kyven finished his sandwich, Yoris stood up. "I think we should get going," he prompted.

Kyven was escorted out of the shop in a way that almost made him feel like these men were encircling him. Yoris and the one named Grel were in front of him as the other five came up behind, and they gathered in a loose semicircle around him that would make it impossible for him to bolt as he closed and locked the door. There were horses and an open buggy carriage waiting on the street, attended by a young boy who was the driver of the wagon and an eighth soldier who was tending the horses. Kyven was invited into the buggy ahead of Yoris, and the two of them settled in as the Loreguard mounted. They then started down the street with four guards in front and four behind.

"Odd that you'd bring so many guards if you're not carrying anything, Yoris," he noted.

"Ghastly business," he answered grimly. "They didn't want me to come out at all, but they know that you don't . . . deal well with anyone but me."

"I take it this has to do with that rumor that's been flying around about the shooting at the bridge?" he asked. "I heard it was some crazy man with a pair of pistols that did it, and he jumped in the river before they could catch him." Which was indeed one of the rumors flying around.

"The honest truth, my friend, is they have no idea who did it," he answered with a conspiratorial look. "But yes, this is part of the precautions they're having us take now. That's also why they want you to come to the building rather than me come to you. They figure that an Artisan is less at risk than a Loremaster on the streets right now."

"Lovely," Kyven said darkly. "So they want me to take the risk. Remind me again why I work for you, Yoris."

He chuckled. "Because I pay you twice list."

"That's a good reason," Kyven noted, which made Yoris laugh.

After moving through several checkpoints, they reached the bridge. Kyven was right that he was thoroughly searched, and then they passed a probe over him searching for any magical or alchemical auras, something he'd have been hard pressed to defeat using an illusion. He was almost thankfully relieved that he had made the right decision in putting on clothes.

What he wasn't prepared for, however, was when one of the guards grabbed his arm and pulled it out, and then a knife blade was dragged over his forearm. "Ow! Hey, what the hell?" Kyven demanded as a line of blood appeared on his forearm. A guard touched a crystal-tipped delicate wand-like device to the blood, and the crystal tip turned red.

"He's clean," the guard announced, letting go of him. Kyven yanked his arm back and put his hand over the shallow cut.

"Clean? What the hell did you cut me for?" he asked hotly.

"To make sure you're human, my friend," Yoris said seriously, holding his arm out for the man. Kyven saw that even Yoris was cut and checked. "The Shaman that has invaded the headquarters can somehow hide behind a magical mask that makes him appear to be human. So they make sure that everyone that goes to the island is what they appear to be."

"Oh. Well, warn a man next time. That hurt!" he complained, filing away this bit of information away as yet another obstacle to overcome the next time he came here to plunder.

After they got back in the buggy, they were driven to the building, to a side entrance near the Loreguard barracks. To Kyven's surprise, they were all cut and checked again by guards at the entrance, and once cleared, Kyven followed Yoris not upstairs, but downstairs. The Loremasters' office of crystal management was in the basement, near the vaults they had where they kept their crystals and devices. So, the move downstairs didn't surprise Kyven at all. They walked along a low-ceilinged yet comfortably wide passageway that was obviously underground, until they entered a wide, spacious room where bench after bench was laid out at equal distances, and each one was manned by a crystalcutter, plying his trade. There had to be sixty cutters down here, and the tink tink of hammers and chisels filled the air almost like chiming music.

Kyven looked out over the cutters with sober eyes. This was, by far, abundant proof that the Loremasters were about to undertake something major, if they needed so many crystals cut.

"What is it, Kyven?" Yoris asked as Kyven stopped and stared.

"Yoris . . . what's going on?" he asked in a low whisper. "This . . . this isn't normal."

"I honestly don't know," he said soberly. "I just know what I was told to do, and so I'm doing it. Follow me, my friend."

Kyven was brought to a bench, but a bench in a small room off that main room, a tiny room with a door on opposite walls, a well-appointed bench, and a strong light over it. The room seemed like it would be stuffy and uncomfortable, but the air was fresh and seemed to be circulating, and a look up showed the small holes in the ceiling through which that air was flowing. A young woman came through the other door carrying something in her hands. "Sit, my friend," Yoris said, and he did so as the rather handsome young lady brought a tray out and set it on the bench. On the tray was a sixteen point black crystal . . . and Kyven was acutely aware of the eight Loreguard that had come from the shop file into the small room behind him. "This is what we need you to cut, my friend. What can you do with it?"

Kyven put everything else out of his mind as he picked up the crystal, felt it tingle under his fingers. He rifled around on the desk until he came up with a jeweler's glass, a necessary tool for a black crystal, then put it to his eye and held the crystal under the light. It had an erratic internal structure of shifting alignments that weren't quite internal flaws or planar faults, but would hamper the flow of energy in the crystal if not cut very carefully to take those into account. This kind of crystal was the kind that tested a cutter, since what Kyven could see was not something the average cutter would look at, or much consider. He would cut the crystal in a pattern based on the three flaws near the center of the crystal and the two planar faults running along its left internal plane, ignoring those shifting alignments underneath, which would be a very bad cut for the crystal. "This one's a tricky little bugger," he noted aloud. "But I can cut it at weight."

"What our own cutters suggested, but given the value of the crystal, we decided your special skills were needed," Yoris said with a smile.

"Glad to have a paying contract," Kyven chuckled. "I assume you want me to cut it now?"

"Please. Given the current situation, they don't want the crystal taken from the building."

"Fear the Shaman might attack the holder and take it?" he asked with a wry chuckle.

"The very thing," Yoris nodded soberly.

"We've heard you have more than a passing connection to the Shaman running loose in Avannar, Steelhammer," one of the Loreguard said as Kyven turned back to the bench.

"Yeah," he said honestly. "They said a rare black fox Arcan escaped from the Blue Ring of Avannar, and it used my name. I think I know why."

"And why is that?" another pressed.

So this was what they were after. Kyven settled himself on the bench, surveying the tools, then he started picking them up and testing them. They weren't his tools, and a cutter had to know his tools if he wanted to be a good cutter. The pause gave him time to organize his thoughts so he could evade the truth crystal while giving them enough to dissuade them. "Well, as I'm sure you know, after I bought out my contract, I left the shop. I told them I was prospecting, but the reality was I'd just had something of a traumatic experience in my life and I needed a little time to sort it out."

"What kind of trauma?"

"A friend of mine was killed by an Arcan infected with the Touch," he said, which was an honest interpretation of the events. He had been unsettled by that attack when he left. It wasn't the primary reason he left, but it was there, and thus it was technically true. "I didn't see it happen, but I was there to find him. It was ghastly," he said with an honest shudder. "I'd never seen anything like that before in my life. Anyway, I geared myself up for some prospecting, not really knowing what I needed, I had to get advice, then I struck out on my own . . . for all of a few days. Not two days after I left Atan, I had no horses, I had no gear, and I had no supplies. Guess I just wasn't cut out for life in the wild," he chuckled. "Anyway, while I was out there, I met an Arcan."

"The black fox?"

He shook his head as he weighed a hammer in his fingers. "It was a wolf, actually. A really big black wolf. It wasn't very nice, or very friendly, and I don't think it liked me very much. It was clearly wild, but it was smart. And it helped me."

"Helped you?"

He nodded. "Brought me food, even taught me a little bit about living in the wild. I wasn't about to put my nose up for it, either. I still think it's odd that it helped me when it didn't like me very much."

"And that's it? It helped you then wandered off?"

"It taught me how to hunt and how to live in the woods," he said calmly. "It stayed with me for a while, and sometimes, when it wasn't being particularly irritating, sometimes we'd talk a while. Now that I know what I know, I think it could be said that the fox sent that wolf to me to help me so it could learn about me, and use me. I mean, not long after that, a black fox Arcan using my name escapes from the blue ring, and I thought nothing could escape from the blue ring. I guess a Shaman can," he shrugged. "And now there's a black fox Arcan running loose in Avannar. At the time, I didn't say much about the wolf helping me, because it was literally keeping me alive. After that fox showed up here, I guess I was too worried about you Loremasters blaming me for the fox when I had no idea at the time that I was helping it indirectly, so I kept my mouth shut. Now that I have so many Loreguard standing audience over me cutting a crystal, I think now you want to know what I know, so I'm telling you what I know. I guess I should have thought more about what kind of price tag was hanging off that help, because I'm sure as hell paying for it now."

And all of it completely true. From a certain point of view.

"A pretty outlandish story," one of the Loreguard said in a strong voice. But he knew they were looking at each other without even looking, he knew they were looking at the one with the hidden truth crystal, who was no doubt nodding that he had spoken not a single lie.

"I know, which is why I've kept it to myself," he answered evenly. "If people found out I had a connection to the black fox Arcan, even an unknowing one, it would cost me business and friends, and may even get me run out of Avannar by my neighbors. Don't you think I was only smart for keeping my mouth shut?"

"You should have come forward!" one of them protested.

"And lose my shop and have to go back to Atan in disgrace, or maybe even end up in the Black Keep?" Kyven drawled as he picked up the crystal and set it in the holder. "What would you have done in my position?"

"Well, you're being pretty chatty now," one of the said.

"Because I'm not stupid, sir," he said simply as he picked up a pencil and made a couple of notes. "It doesn't take eight Loreguard to escort Yoris around, you've hovered over me like I was a criminal that would escape at any minute, and I doubt any of you are adherents of crystalcutting to where you're here to watch me work. If anything, there should be a group of other cutters in here watching me, because I have certain specialized skills that aren't taught in the average shop, and they'd get a chance to learn something," he noted dryly, glancing at Yoris, who was decidedly red-faced. "You're in here to gently interrogate me without being blatant about it because you found out that the black fox that escaped from Alamar used my name. I knew it was coming eventually, so I told you the truth. I'd rather tell you the truth now rather than get dragged to the Black Keep and have the truth dragged out of me by a pain stick. And I think I can prove that pretty easily. I am the king of Itana."

From behind him came a sudden high-pitched whine of the truth crystal reacting to such a blatant, bald-faced lie, faint but clearly audible in the quiet room.

"Mmm-hmm," he hummed calmly as he finished his notes, and one of the Loreguard cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Now, you've heard the truth out of me. So you can kindly leave and let real cutters take those chairs."

"Not until you answer how you knew the black fox used your name before coming to Avannar, so you'd know not to say anything," one of them pressed.

"Simple. I heard about it in Atan, when I went back to get ready to come here," he answered. "Didn't you hear about what happened?"

"What is that?"

"The black fox showed up there, after I sent the letter to Holm telling him I was trying sailing instead of prospecting," he said. "Being chased by a hunter and a group of Loreguard being led by a woman. The fox escaped into the forest, the hunter and the Loreguard went into the forest after it, and they haven't been seen in Atan since. Timble tells me in his letters there's all kinds of rumors flying over what happened, but the village isn't really sure."

"Captain Pannen," one of them said quietly.

"This is new information to me," one of them said. "Go through what your partner told you."

"Sure," he said, then he related the story of how the black fox had been attacked by the hunter in the streets, chased into the mine area, and then escaped, being careful to use neutral terms that could be interpreted by the truth crystal as truth so long as he was careful about how he presented the information. By using terms like it was said that and rumor is that rather than I heard or other direct, first-person statements that the truth crystal would interpret as dishonesty. He also left out the part about the fox being in a collar, so as not to bring any unpleasantness on Virren.

"Well, that does explain a couple of things," one of them said as Kyven prepared to make his first cut. "Why didn't the Loremaster in Atan forward that to us?"

"He may have, and it was part of what was taken or destroyed in the attack," another said in a low tone.

"What ship did you sail on, Steelhammer?" one of them asked curiously.

"A Flauren Arcan trader," he answered honestly. "It was named in Flauren, never did really find out what it meant. They didn't like me much, but they were desperate for hands, so they took me. I learned a great deal, but I was glad to be done with them when it was over."

"Did you like sailing?" he asked curiously, in a less hostile voice.

"It wasn't that bad," he answered honestly. "It's hard work, though. Now I know why you never see a fat sailor."

The man chuckled. "Tell me about it, I served in the Stinger Bay Navy for two years before joining the Loreguard."

"So, when that ship was taken over, were you on it?" one of them asked casually.

"Eh?" he asked in sincere surprise.

"A Flauren Arcan trader in desperate need of hands? That's the ship that was sunk, because the Arcans had somehow gotten loose and taken it over. And it sailed shorthanded because a whole bunch of the crew were killed by some Nurysian maniac."

"Sounds interesting," Kyven said mildly, going back to the crystal. "There was a full crew on my ship when I left it." Yes, a full crew . . . of Arcan females. "Makes me wonder how the Arcans could sail the ship. That's not something Arcans are usually taught."

"Oh, I can answer that for you, Steelhammer," came a slightly mocking response. "They had help."

"From?"

"You."

Kyven laughed, looking back at them. "Me? I'm a crystalcutter, not a sailor. I wasn't very good at it."

"You know, that's the part that really fried my eggs for quite a while," the same man said casually. "At least until last week, when we got an Arcan in from down Cheston way that turns out was on that ship. Little raccoon, very talkative little female. I must say, her description of you is pretty accurate."

Holy fuck. The Arcans on the beach! Some of them had just sat there, waiting for someone to come and catch them! He had completely forgot about them! They'd seen him! If the Loreguard had managed to get one of them, she would tell them all about what happened.

He had a cold, cold feeling in the pit of his stomach. If they'd known that before coming to his shop, then everything they'd done up to now was just getting him to talk to see what he gave up before they sprang the trap on him.

"I spent four months investigating that case because of the murders of the sailors at the dock, and it burned my beef trying to make sense of it. Then the ship gets captured by its cargo and the Stinger Bay Navy had to go out and sink it. The whole thing was really confusing, made no sense at all, at least until I just happened to cross paths with a little raccoon working on a plantation down Riyan way investigating the murder of a Loreguard soldier. Scared little thing. The instant I came into the room, she started singing about a raven-haired human with green eyes who killed the crew of a ship she was on and took it over, who was there because the ship was carrying a Shaman. She told us all about how the human taught the Arcans how to manage the sails and then run the ship aground. You are the spitting image of the description she gave, Steelhammer, and you just admitted that you were on a Flauren Arcan trader. So that means that the human who said he was from the Masked, the human there to recover a captured Shaman, was you."

"An interesting story,"' Kyven said idly, putting his hand on the black crystal, feeling the power inside it. "But given that everything I told you was the truth, how does that match up with what you believe? Let me say it again for your truth crystal. When I was discharged from the ship, it had a full crew."

"Yes, but a full crew of who, Steelhammer?" the man asked. "You don't think we can't tell a man who's talking carefully to get around a truth crystal?"

"Put any man on a hot seat, and he's going to squirm," Kyven answered evenly. "Even when he has no reason to be nervous." They had him, and he knew it. Deception would no longer serve him. Now, came the time for guile. His back was to them, hiding his eyes, but there was an unknown here. They had searched him more than once on the way to this room, and as such they were certain that he had no alchemical devices. So, the gamble was, was one of those men carrying a magic sniffer that would detect it if he opened his eyes to the spirits? He wouldn't need it, for they believed him to be unarmed, and therefore powerless. They had no inkling of just who or what he was, and in this desperate situation, that was his last available weapon.

He wasn't kidding himself, though. He knew he'd never get off the island alive. Even if he got out of this room alive, there were too many men between him and the city to get past without being discovered. What mattered now was making sure that he created enough of a scene that Shario would know what happened quickly, so he could sweep in and collect Patches and the other children and get them to safety. His life was over, now came only protecting those he left behind.

So be it. He accepted it not with fear and terror, but with the calm dignity of a man who had more at stake than his own life.

He was glad now, glad that Clover was out of Avannar. Shario would take good care of Patches and the boys, and Patches knew what to do if Kyven was ever killed or captured. She would do what had to be done.

I guess you're going to be irritated, my treacherous totem, he thought wryly, remembering what he told Watcher. Because all that time you spent training me looks like it was wasted.

There was nothing left now but the gamble. He put down his hammer, and opened his eyes to the spirits, almost expecting some alarm to whine behind him and then a bullet to rip through his brain a second later. A second went by, and another, and another, and there was no alarm, there was no pistol shot. Clearly, they had come in without a magic sniffer, and that fact was going to give him his last chance at misdirection and guile before all hell broke loose.

First, he built an illusion of himself and the chair in which he was sitting and laid it over himself so smoothly there wasn't even a shimmer. He then slowly, carefully got out of the chair while keeping the illusion there, making sure his illusion muted any possible sound of the chair as he got up. He then built a second illusion, an illusion of a mouse, and carefully separated himself from the illusion of himself and attached himself to the illusion of the mouse. The illusion sighed, then chuckled ruefully as he worked himself along the wall, the little black mouse moving slowly and carefully as it worked its away around the men in the chairs behind the workbench. "After all this, I get caught by the very ones I was there to save," his illusion declared, turning to look at the men, who were now looking quite smug.

Now came the second bit of guile. Now that it was the illusion talking and not him, then the truth crystal would not react to any lies the illusion spoke, because those words weren't spoken by a living thing. Truth crystals didn't react to any sound that didn't come from a person. "You set a fine trap, gentlemen, and it seems that I walked right into it. Well done. I am found and captured."

"So it was you, Steelhammer," the man declared.

"It was me, but I'm not Kyven Steelhammer," the illusion said with a slight smile as Kyven got behind the men, and moved quickly yet quietly towards the door. "Oh, he's still alive, most likely somewhere in Eusica by now, and he has no idea he was replaced. We had him targeted to be replaced with an agent of the Masked since he was a boy, and our agent kept a close watch on him, at least until he was killed by a Touched Arcan. I made sure he got on a ship heading far from Noraam for quite a while, captained by a friend of the Masked who promised to keep him out of Noraam while we were using his identity. I wonder if he's a good sailor by now," the illusion mused. "Quite the cover, isn't it?" he asked conversationally. "I was trained specifically to take his place because I look just like him, trained to be a master cutter myself. What better way to hide in plain sight than to be an employee of the Loremasters? It put me right inside where I could keep a close eye on you."

"My, we're talkative now," one of them said with a smile. "There's a great many things we're going to talk about, Steelhammer."

"No, we're not," Kyven said simply. "Because in just a moment, I'll be dead, and I'll take all those secrets with me when I die. You think we don't go around without being able to keep our secrets?"

"What are you going to do, try to hold your breath until you pass out?" one of them asked with a scornful laugh.

"No, I'm already dying," he said calmly. "I've been Sealed, gentlemen. When I said I've been found and captured, it deactivated the Seal, and now the poison the Seal has held back is killing me. Thank the Trinity it will be a painless death."

"Get a healing bell in here now!" the tallest of them snapped as all nine men suddenly burst into action. But they all skidded to a halt when the illusion seemed to pick up a chisel and held it to his temple.

"Not so fast, gentlemen," the illusion said softly. "Or you lose what little time you do have and you'll miss my last taunting confession and what little information it will give you. I'll be dead long before the healing bell gets here." The illusion smiled as they all hesitated, even Yoris. "I'm sorry to be something you didn't expect, Yoris. I did like you, my friend, and I apologize for the trouble I'll cause you after I'm dead and they try to figure out just how much you knew about me. You were alright for a Loremaster. You deserve better than to be mixed up with them.

"So, here it is, gentlemen, my dying confession. I did it. I'm the cell of the Masked in Avannar you've been turning the city inside out trying to find. And I didn't need any help . . .after all, I've been inside the whole time, right among you, passing on everything I've heard to the Masked." As his illusion talked, keeping their attention, Kyven carefully and quietly opened the door under his tiny illusion and pulled it just enough to slip through, doing so and keeping his eyes on his illusion through the door with his spirit sight, maintaining the necessary visual contact required to use his magic. He couldn't cast an illusion to any place he could not see. The illusion's forehead suddenly sheened over with sweat, and the illusion's eyes seemed to turn a bit glassy, even as Kyven used his spell of cold to freeze the door in its frame, making it impossible for them to get out. The door rimed over in sudden frost, but none of the cutters in the cavernous room, intent on their crystals, seemed to notice that curious event. "Is it hot in here?" the illusion asked in a slightly vacant tone, and started to blink owlishly as the chisel in its hand drooped noticeably.

At that sign of weakness, one of the men lunged for the illusion, his hands aiming at the chisel. But the man passed right through the illusion and crashed headfirst into the edge of the desk, hitting his head on the lip and crumpling to the floor like a boned fish.

"Surprise," the illusion said with sudden clarity, smiling like a misbehaving boy. "And you thought you had me." Kyven edged along the wall, looking through it with spirit sight to maintain the illusion.

"Impossible!" one of them shouted. "How did he fool the detectors and get a device in here?"

"Did you really think I came into this room with you?" the illusion asked with a scornful laugh. "You lost me between the door and this room. While you've been toying with this, I've already gotten off the island. Good luck finding me. For that matter, good luck getting out of this room."

Kyven cancelled the illusion, then created a new one over the door, covering the frostbound door and smothering it in an auditory illusion of quiet . . . and not a second too soon, for a few of the men rushed for the frost-covered door, grabbed the handle, then howled in pain and recoiled at the deathly cold of the metal ring. As one man vigorously waved his hand back and forth as if burned, another pounded on the door with his fist, and almost all of them screamed at the top of their lungs . . . but those sounds were cancelled by the illusion over the door which replaced the men's reality with a reality of Kyven's own choosing.

Despite the good start, he still knew he'd never get off the island. They had too many men out there, and the alarm would be raised the instant he left the big room and could no longer hold the illusion over the door. He could try in vain to escape, or he could do what he needed to do to protect his precious friends back at the shop. All he could do now was do as much damage as humanly possible before they killed him, which would alert Shario and Lightfoot and protect the others.

He got all the way across the room before he cancelled the illusion over the door and rushed for the passage, moving far faster than a mouse could manage. The instant he did, the banging on the door became audible, and cutters and two Loreguard stationed in the room looked to the icy door.

And that was all it took.

Almost immediately, alarm bells sounded in the passageway. Kyven managed to get to the stairs and up them and onto the first floor before a wave of Loreguard crashed down those stairs, heading for the focal point of the disturbance, even as guards flooded the hallways and took up both static positions at intersections and formed roving patrols that were armed with both sniffers and mana grounders, devices that dispelled alchemical devices and magic in a cone in front of the crystal lens of the device, smaller versions of that large device that protected the tower, an alchemical device that defeated other alchemical devices, and also Shaman magic. All it would take would be for either of those to get anywhere near him, and he'd be discovered, so he moved fast. He would do the same thing he did last time, attack the sixth floor, but this time he'd stay and fight, setting more fires, until they killed him, in hopes that he started so many fires that they couldn't contain them all and it destroyed the building. But the only way up there would be outside, so he needed to get out so he could use the blessing to climb up the outer wall to the roof.

Getting there, that was going to be the trick. He was a good fifty rods from any office with a window, and the halls were filling up fast with soldiers. He stayed flat against the wall and edged along as men rushed by him, thankfully not having turned on their devices yet or not bothering to use them in what they thought was an empty hallway. He got nearly halfway to where he knew offices would have windows when one of the rushing men edged a little too far from the middle of the hallway, and his elbow brushed against Kyven's stomach as he tried to get out of the way.

So close . . . so close.

"Hold it!" the man said in sudden surprise, skidding to a halt. But he never managed to turn around, for Kyven killed the entire patrol literally in their tracks, his blast of withering cold hitting them from behind and freezing them solid in the blink of an eye. The frozen men tumbled to the ground like tipped-over statues, and another patrol of men further down the hall, the way Kyven had come, saw the men seize up and collapse. Kyven still wasn't visible to them, still hidden under his illusion of a mouse, but his attack was more than visible.

"He's in the main east hall!" Kyven heard behind him as he turned and fled. "He's invisible! Seal off the passageway!"

He knew soldiers would converge on the passage, so he dashed towards the way out. But he took no more than five steps before a large contingent of soldiers appeared in front of him, the lead man holding a grounder out to stave off a magical attack. He skidded to a halt and looked behind him, and saw the men who had spotted his attack rushing towards him. He was trapped in the hallway, and trapped in a way that would make his magic useless.

Maybe his magic . . . but not his shadow powers.

Kyven abandoned his illusion at the same time as he abandoned the power of his amulet. He felt his body turn to icewater as it flowed into a new mold, felt the Arcan body replace his human one. When it was over, when warmth returned to his muscles, he caused an explosion of shadow to fill the hallway, concealing him and making the soldiers cry out and skid to a stop before they plunged into it. Kyven dropped to all fours as one of the men panicked and fired a shot into the cloud of shadow, which buzzed over his head and struck a guard on the far side in the shoulder. The man screamed in pain as another man angrily called for no shooting, and that gave Kyven a critical moment to let the shadow flow into him, through him. If he was ever going to learn how to do what his totem did, move through the shadows, it had to be right here, right now. If he didn't, he was dead, and he was dead long before he could warn the others. If he failed, then Patches, Tweak, and the boys were also going to die.

He could not fail.

He centered himself, feeling the shadow, feeling it not just around him, but inside him, felt it move through him. He needed to join fully to the shadows and melt out of the physical world, then move from one shadow to another and emerge somewhere else. He knew what he had to do. He was one with the shadow. He was the shadow, even as the shadow was him. He had to melt utterly into the shadow, completely become the shadow, join fully to the shadow. He could feel the cool wash in his fur start to flow deeper into him, below his skin, into his muscles, all the way down to his bones, felt himself becoming one with the shadow--

And then there was light. Bright, blasting, blazing light, saturating his eyes, behind his eyes, flooding through him the same way the shadow had . . . but this was not light. It was pain.

He had been joined to the shadow, but that shadow had been banished by the light, banished by a grounder as it was brought to bear against the cloud of shadow . . . which was a creation of the innate magic of the shadow fox. The loss of the shadow so suddenly when Kyven was joined to it was like a sledgehammer to the head, robbing him of his senses and blasting pain through him. He wilted on all fours, his arms and legs trembling as he tried to make sense of a world that had turned to chaos, but then bright lights popped in his skull, and he knew no more.



The men on both sides stood and stared for a long second as they gazed down at the inert form of the black fox Arcan, the Shaman . . . but he didn't seem so powerful now. One of the soldiers had bravely plunged into the cloud with his musket, and the instant the cloud had been scattered by a grounder, he took up his musket and slammed the stock into the back of the Arcan's head, sending him sprawling senselessly to the floor.

They had captured him at last.

The man who had knocked him out kicked him in the side hard enough to roll him over on his back, and they saw that he was indeed out cold. But it was also unmistakable that it was the Arcan they were seeking, for the black fur with the white ruff and white tips on his ears were complete proof. This was the Shaman that had attacked the building three times, and had to be the one responsible for the murder of a Councilor, a high-ranking Loremaster, a general, and was the one that attacked General Fourpost.

And what was the best of all, they had caught him alive. All they had to do was put his eyes out before he woke up, and he would be powerless, and a treasure trove of vital information for the Loremasters.

The man holding the grounder grinned, looking to one of his companions, even as the officer behind them ordered the man with the musket to take his knife out and cut out the Arcan's eyes. The man with the grounder never took it off the Arcan, but despite that, despite being cut off from both alchemy and magic, something happened.

The body of the Arcan suddenly erupted with bright light. The man with the grounder quickly thrust the device out even further to make sure he had it aimed at the Arcan, but it did no good, it did nothing to dim that light. Other men with grounders joined their devices to the first man, until three grounders were aimed at the Shaman, but they were absolutely useless. The light infused the entire body of the Arcan, so bright that it made the men flinch away. The light flared incandescently for just a brief moment, and then it faded away to nothingness.

When they looked back at the Arcan, they gasped in consternation and shock.

There was no Arcan laying there now. Now, laying in the exact same position, was a human.

A human? A human? How was that possible? The Arcan was knocked out! He couldn't have used magic, he had three grounders pointed right at him!

It made no sense!

The officer gaped, then gasped. "No!" he screamed when the man he'd ordered to take the Arcan's eyes dropped down with his knife, hurrying to complete the task. "No, don't! Not til we know what the hell's going on! Leave him whole, just keep the grounders on him!"

"They didn't do no good before!"

"I know, but something's very strange here," the officer said grimly, looking down at the black-haired man. "We leave him whole until someone higher up the chain decides what to do."



Humming to herself, Patches washed the last pan in the sink, even as her mind was focused on lunch. She wasn't really worried for Kyven, because he'd just gone to cut a crystal for the Loremasters, so she busied herself with the mundane tasks of the house servant. She didn't mind all that much, though. She'd been cooking and cleaning since she could remember, and it was something she understood, something that made her feel useful. She wasn't brave like the others. She really didn't do anything here except take care of Kyven and Clover and make sure they had good food, even as Kyven taught her all about being a crystalcutter. But, slight as her duties were, it made her happy to feel like she was contributing to their little group. If she could free up her Kyven's mind from little things and let him focus on the bigger things, well, that was just fine with her.

Outside, there was a strange sound. She looked towards the kitchen door, saw Lightfoot move through towards the lobby, but she paid it little more mind after that. Lightfoot was . . .scary. She was nice enough, but she was always so quiet, and the way she looked at people, like they were mice, it was a little scary sometimes. But, she couldn't deny that she felt safe knowing Lightfoot was around. Lightfoot would investigate, and if there was any trouble, she'd handle it.

It wasn't trouble . . . well, not really. Tweak stood up quickly and looked towards something she couldn't see, but then she heard Lucky gasp. "Come out quickly!" Shario's voice called, and it wasn't his usual jovial voice. "Clover! Patches! Come out!"

"I'm here, Master Shario," she said, scurrying out into the main shop. Shario was standing near the door to the lobby, and his expression was . . . foreboding. He was looking at Watcher and Lucky, his expression dark. "What do you want? Master Kyven isn't here."

"I know, my little chef," he said grimly. "Where is Clover?"

"Out," Lightfoot said gruffly "Away from the city until next week."

"Damn," he growled. "Well, then it falls to me, she must catch up to you. Come quickly. You must be away from here! They are coming!"

"Who?" Lightfoot asked.

"Loreguard. I just got word, my Arcan friends. Kyven has been captured."

"But, but they took him to cut a crystal!" Patches protested, dread rising in her.

"Be that as it may, I know that the Loreguard have captured the black fox Shaman," he said. "Any minute, they will show up here, for I have no doubt they have connected the Shaman to our unfortunate friend. I promised him I would care for you should something happen to him and Clover, my little chef. He left me instructions, and I will carry them out. So come, quickly, all of you! I will honor my promise to our friend!"

Patches almost felt like her world was shattering. Kyven . . . captured? How? How? He was so clever, so sneaky! He was so convincing with his illusions! She had seen him talk his way past nearly anyone! How had they managed to make him reveal himself, then manage to capture him? He had always seemed so, so, so invincible! It just couldn't be right. It couldn't be!

A rough hand grabbed her arm and shook her. She blinked and saw Lightfoot in front of her, the cat's face emotionless. "Go," she commanded. "Take the boys and go. Everything else must stay here."

"Lightfoot," Shario warned. "You will not stay."

"I'll catch up," she said in a dark, dangerous tone. "Meet me at Plum Lane at sunset. I have a duty."

"The shop?"

She simply nodded.

Shario sighed. "Very well, my little thief. Be very careful, and I'll see you at sunset."

She nodded again, turned, and rushed towards the steps to the cellar. Patches knew, she knew what she was going to do. Kyven told all of them what had to be done if something happened to him, and that was destroy all evidence of what had gone on here, and burn the shop to the ground. Patches knew that Lightfoot would risk her own life to stay behind to make sure it was done, even sacrifice herself to see it through to the end. That was how she was.

That was how Patches wished she could be, so incredibly brave.

She stood there numbly for a moment, but the look of fear and concern on Shario's handsome brown face shocked her to action. Dear spirits, poor Kyven! Was he dead? Did they kill him? Or was he still alive, and facing a torture chamber where the first thing they would do would be to put out his eyes to rob him of his powers, then spend his last hours in this world screaming in pain before he died? He knew they would never make him talk. He was too strong. They would kill him trying to make him talk, but he'd never say a word.

"Kyven," she sniffed, then she burst into uncontrollable tears, burying her face in her hands.

Shario's strong arm encompassed her. "I know, my little chef. Come. We must do what we can to honor his wishes, and foremost among them was that you would be safe. So come. Come. I must get you safely to Atan, and we have little time before the Loremasters close off the city or send word ahead. So come, my little chef. I will take care of you."



Damn that man!

Danna Pannen scratched vigorously at her arm, an arm covered in fur, as she rode along at the head of a long column moving steadily to the south. She was at the vanguard of a mismatched, rag-tag mob of Arcans who tried very hard to be soldiers, but didn't do very well at it. It certainly wasn't for lack of enthusiasm or determination, though. They tried very hard, but being a soldier wasn't as easy as most people thought it was. There was a great deal to learn, and they hadn't had much time. Firetail had uprooted them from Haven and told them they had to start moving, else they wouldn't be in position to oppose the Loremasters when they came over the mountains. It was a long, long way from Haven to Deep River, a journey that would take an Arcan army a month or more, but would take a human army even longer.

She had to admit a grudging respect of the Arcans, though she'd never say that out loud. So many volunteered to serve in the army, to protect Haven, that they had to turn most of then away. It gave them the chance to go through all the Arcans and pick the ones that would be the best soldiers, the strongest, the fastest, the smartest, and enrolling many of the rejects into support roles such as livestock wranglers, supply wagon drivers, quartermasters, cooks, and attendants that helped the army in any way it could as it moved and camped. On top of those conscripts, they had a core of several thousand fighting Arcans, the militia of sorts that protected the lands of Haven before this emergency. These were grizzled, seasoned, tough Arcans who were very deadly in a fight, and on top of that, the vast majority of them were very intelligent. Those were now her officers in this army, leading elements of conscripts because they understood fighting and would be able to make critical battlefield decisions that might win a battle. All of them, fighting Arcans, conscripts, and the support workers, were dedicated and focused on the task, a task even Danna had to admit was necessary.

One thing she couldn't fault the Arcans for, and that was their mobility. They moved fast, even this large, disorganized mob that she laughably called an army.

She knew what it would mean for Haven if humans pressed past the Smoke Mountains in any great number. There would be war between the two, war instigated by the humans as they encroached on Arcan lands. She had to admit to herself that she didn't want to see that. In the time she'd been in Haven, she didn't feel like this was her home, but she had come to care for the Arcans in her own way. She had enough compassion for them to feel that they deserved this place, a place where they could live without fear or enslavement, and while she didn't like the idea of fighting her own people, she couldn't deny that she felt the Arcans deserved a chance to make it on their own. For that reason, and only that reason, she had formed this army. She still didn't think she'd lead it against her own people when the bets were on the table, but she had given the Arcans their chance.

The army was designed based on everything Danna knew about the military, and it was not modeled on the Loreguard. Danna was a student of history, part of her inquisitive nature, and she had based her army on historical models, taking the best and most practical elements of armies of history and combining them into a system that worked for the Arcans. The army was built on elements that she'd first called squads, but the Arcans had decided to call packs . . . and that term stuck. A pack of 12 Arcans was led by a sergeant, three packs were led by a lieutenant, and a congregate of 12 packs was led by a captain. Most armies had similar small divisions, but when the time came to fight, they tended to operate in much larger formations. This army would not. It was based on the small element, and it would operate the same way. Communication was no problem, because of the Shaman. A single Shaman could use a spell that caused every Arcan in the army to hear the same command, and it could not be heard by anything but an Arcan. The Shaman could also direct those orders to specific elements, which would give the commander the ability to quickly and securely communicate with any part of the army in real time, which was a critical and huge tactical advantage in modern warfare. Human armies relied on alchemical talkers, which could be attacked and disrupted by other alchemical devices . . . or by Shaman. Her army would have complete communication, and the commander would have total control of the army at all times.

Weaponry . . . that was another matter. The primary weapon of this army was the Shaman. A single Shaman could devastate an enemy position with magic, but they had many more uses than that. Shaman had gone out and used their magic to tame many of the dangerous animals of the plains, and now the army had a component of enthralled Wolverans, Ursoraxes, Tauron, Lupans, and Cougrans. A single Wolveran was a nightmare with which no sane man would want to tangle, yet the Shaman had brought fifteen of those nasty brutes into the army, where they acted like friendly puppies and were surprisingly easy to manage. Add to those the massive bear-like Ursoraxes and four packs of wolf-like animals the size of horses known as Lupans and six buffalo-sized big cats that looked like gigantic versions of rock lions, and they had a nasty, nasty core of monsters that would fight on their side. In addition to that, Shaman were supporting the war cause as well. Because they had spells that could shape metal and other items, they were producing the parts that gunsmiths and alchemists needed for their devices far faster than they could be manufactured by normal means, which had dramatically accelerated the production of weapons for the army. A single Shaman could create every part needed for a musket in about three minutes, and then it just came down to a gunsmith taking those parts and assembling them into a finished product. Shaman acted in both direct roles to fight in the battle and support roles to help the army coordinate, communicate, and operate, and that made them highly valuable to the cause. As far as mundane weaponry went, the Arcans were armed with anything they could find, and unfortunately, that meant they were underequipped. Some of them had muskets or pistols, some of them had alchemical weapons, but some had no weapons but knives, clubs, spears, or their teeth and claws. They had organized what weaponry they had so every pack had at least one musket and at least one shockrod or other alchemical weapon, but there was little more. The alchemists and gunsmiths of Haven were working around the clock without rest to produce weapons, but even with the help of Shaman to quickly produce the parts they needed, there weren't many alchemists or gunsmiths in Haven and there were thousands of Arcan soldiers who needed weapons. They were trying their very hardest, but sheer numbers were hard to ignore. Every day, boxes and cases of new weapons caught up to the army, but Danna had done the math and she knew that by the time they reached Deep River, only half of the army would be armed with ranged weapons. Without more ranged weaponry, their tactics would revolve around night attacks where the Arcans would attempt to get within melee range before being detected, deal damage, then retreat, classic guerilla tactics. And Arcans were outstanding guerilla fighters. They could see in total darkness, had powerful senses, and the vast majority of them could move with surprising stealth when necessary, even when encumbered with battle gear. Danna was certain that she could get half her army up to a position's outer perimeter before the sentries had any idea there was anything amiss. With that kind of stealth, an Arcan army could blindside almost any opponent, which got them around the greatest advantage of the enemy, their artillery and muskets.

The Arcans had one true advantage over the invaders, and that was numbers. The army behind her numbered nearly 200,000, where she was sure that no more than 20,000 men were marching in from the east. After all, the Loremasters believed that there was nothing out here but the occasional human frontier village and roaming wild Arcans. They had no idea that there was a large nation of coordinated Arcans on this side of the mountains. They would send only what men they needed to secure their position, saving their armies for the east side of the mountains, where the kingdoms of Noraam posed a much greater threat that they could see. But she knew well history, and had read of more than one battle where a vastly outnumbered force with a technological advantage defeated a much larger but more primitive one. Danna had the advantage of numbers, but she couldn't just throw her superior numbers against a fortified position. She had to manage those numbers very carefully, avoid a direct battle until she as absolutely convinced she could win with a minimal of losses to her side. Until she was sure of that, they would use their superior numbers to surrounded the invaders, then settle in and starve them to death while sniping at them using guerilla attacks conducted at night.

She knew that the invaders would be heavily outnumbered, but she had to save every soldier she could, for one simple reason. When the humans learned of an organized Arcan army on the west side of the mountains, they would march over them in force to destroy it. She had to keep a tight control on things and take absolutely no risks whatsoever, because she was going to need every soldier, every musket, and every shockrod she could get her hands on after they defeated the initial expeditionary force. This was just the first skirmish. The real war would be later, and that would be war of defense as the Arcans protected their home from a human army determined to wipe them out.

It had certainly been a challenge to organize. The Arcans had determination, but no training and no equipment. She was riding at the vanguard of an army armed primarily with sticks, and leading them against a well trained, highly disciplined opponent armed with muskets, cannons, shockrods, and death machines. Given those options, when it did come to fighting, everyone knew that their only chance was to attack from surprise and get among the enemy before they could bring those weapons to bear, because in hand to hand combat, Arcans had all the weapons they needed without picking up a single thing. A death machine could kill hundreds, maybe thousands of soldiers with one use, but it was useless if the enemy was intermingled with friendly troops . . . unless the field commander was a ruthless bastard. And ruthless bastards didn't keep the loyalty of their men for very long.

But battle would be the last resort. Their plan was to let the invading army settle in Deep River, then cut it off using their superior numbers and choke them, starve them to death through the winter. An army had to eat, and there wasn't enough food in Deep River to feed an army through the winter. After the humans were weakened, if they didn't surrender, then they would attack Deep River, but do so very, very carefully, for the invaders would have had all winter to fortify the town against assault.

She hated it when he did this to her, made her wear Arcan fur. It never felt right to her. Kyven said he'd gotten used to being an Arcan, but she sure as fury did not feel right like this. She couldn't walk right when she was changed, and she couldn't speak clearly, and unlike him, she certainly didn't get any perks out of it. She didn't get better senses or more strength. It was nothing but skin deep, forced into an Arcan shape but not getting any Arcan benefits, getting the worst of both worlds out of her "bargain."

That fucking fox. It was all her fault! She was the one that had approached Danna, speaking through Firetail, and she'd made it sound so logical, that she would be protecting Kyven's life. She still had no idea why on earth she ever agreed to this, but at the time it seemed like a good idea. Well, it sure as hell wasn't a good idea now.

She hated this. Hated it! The fur was always itchy, and her deformed legs made her walk like a drunken sailor, and she couldn't speak clearly to save her life, and she scratched herself with the claws more than anything else. And even when she tried to get used to it, usually right as she started getting the hang of things, poof, she was herself again, and it was like she forgot it all and had to start over the next time she changed.

And she never knew when! That was what really baked her potato. There was never any warning it was going to happen, just bang like a musket shot, and she was changing. Once it had happened when she was in the privy, and that had not been pleasant! At least the changes were painless, just a weird feeling like her bones turned to water . . . but the threat of being changed at any time often made her go around without shoes at first, since her boots were never made to fit an Arcan's deformed foot. She'd gone barefoot for nearly a week, until a cobbler made her a pair of soft moccasin-like half boots that could contain her Arcan foot when she changed, yet still fit her human foot comfortably. The threat of changing made her a little short-tempered sometimes, if it had been a while since it happened, but always after she returned to herself, changed back to a human, came the calm, easy period where she was much more friendly . . .since she knew it would be at least as long as she was an Arcan before she could change again.

She still cursed at her stupid decision, and wondered what hair got in her oatmeal that made her agree to such an idiotic thing.

"Stop scratching," Firetail said lightly, padding along beside her walking horse.

"I hrate this," she growled through her Arcan muzzle, with which it was so hard to make normal sounds! "Hrate it! Whren I gret my hrands on that fox, I'm gronna strrangre her!"

"Well, I think you look quite handsome, dear," Firetail told her with a light smile.

"Oh, shut up," she snapped. At least riding as an Arcan wasn't bad, she noticed. They'd started out from Haven two days ago, and it was a blissful two days without changing, spent in the saddle or in tents. She still wasn't entirely sure about this insanity, but Firetail had managed to talk pretty fast to keep her here. The idea of attacking her own people with an Arcan army really didn't sit well with her, but the one thing she couldn't deny was that what the Loremasters were doing was against the treaties they had signed, and the Arcans absolutely could not permit them to gain a foothold in the wildlands. She still hadn't decided what she was going to do, but for now, she had agreed to ride with the army, to continue to command it until they got down closer to the Loremasters, when she'd decide if she was permanently betraying her own people or if she was holding to at least some shred of her humanity and dignity.

Humanity and dignity. Both had been tested since she'd agreed to help Kyven, because it put her face to face with one of the Shaman's spirits. Looking at it, being able to see it, and listening to it speak had shaken her faith in her religion a little bit. Danna had heard very bad things about this spirit, this fox, that she was a dark, uncaring bitch, and speaking with her had cemented that impresson in her mind. She seemed . . . cold. There was no warmth in her voice or her words, and when she broached the idea of Danna helping Kyven, it was all about logic, not about compassion for Kyven. Kyven had once told her that this spirit all but owned him, and didn't care a whit about him. Kyven was her possession, her pet, and her concern for him was more like a warrior's concern for keeping his musket clean and serviceable more than it was concern for a living thing.

And she knew he was right after talking to her just once.

Maybe that was why she agreed to help, because Trinity, someone had to show Kyven a little compassion. She couldn't deny that helping Kyven would keep him safe, and so she agreed to help, because some little corner of her wanted him to be okay, wanted him to live.

Wanted him.

She gasped as a sudden cold wave washed through her. Her bones and muscles seemed to turn to cold water, and she felt herself, well, pouring into another shape. She was almost giddy with delight when she realized that she was returning to her normal form, and she was looking forward to about two hours of freedom from the fear of changing at any second. "That's better," she said, shrugging her shoulders, then pushing her hair from her face.

Firetail stopped dead on the road, which caused Danna to rein in her horse and look back. She had the strangest expression on her face, and she was looking down, in front of Danna. Danna glanced in front of her horse, and to her surprise and malevolent glee, that damned fox was sitting in the middle of the road! Now she was going to give that spirit bitch a piece of her mind!

Her eyes blazed with sudden green light, and the amulet around Danna's neck suddenly burned like fire!

She was changing again, but this time it wasn't the cold water feeling, it was like someone poured boiling water into her bones! She gasped, gave a shuddering retching sound, then literally screamed as the amulet around her neck blazed forth with sudden incandescent light, a light that burned into her, infusing her with power, a light that both scoured something inside of her away, and replaced with with something new, something different. She felt her muscles lose all control, felt herself falling from the horse, and then she was laying on the ground as the blazing light brought pain, and that pain scoured rational thought out of her.

It lasted only a few seconds, but to Danna, those seconds were an eternity of agony. But mercifully, the pain eased along with the light, and she was able to think again, to move. She was in Firetail's arms, and the old cougar looked down at her with shocked eyes.

Wait a minute . . . why was there a muzzle at the bottom of her vision?

She held her hand up, and saw the black fur and the claws. She'd changed again? It was too soon! The amulet wouldn't let Kyven change again so soon after changing back.

"Spirit," Firetail said both reverently and hesitantly. "What has happened?"

"He has been captured by the Loremasters," she answered dryly. "I have returned what I took from him. He is human again."

"Whru--whrat happened?" Danna asked as her head cleared and she could think again.

"I have taken from you what I took from him, female, and restored it to him," the fox intoned in a sonorous voice, her unblinking eyes staring into Danna's own. "He is human again, and you are now the Arcan that replaces him. For now."

"Whrat? Yrou mean I'rm stuck lrike this?"

"Until such time as I have what I want from you," she answered with a sniff.

"Whrat does that mrean?"

"A race cannot be built by only one," she answered bluntly. "When you produce your first litter of shadow fox Arcans, you will give them to Umbra to raise, I will restore your humanity to you, and you will be free. Until then, Danna Pannen, you belong to me."

"Whrat?" she gasped, outraged. "That wasn't whrat yrou said!"

"You did not listen, and made a foolish bargain," she answered, nonplussed.

Firetail, however, wasn't listening to that. "Spirit, what happened to Kyven?" she asked.

The fox turned her gaze to the Shaman. "He was foolish, and will now pay for his lack of wisdom. But it is of no moment. He has served his purpose. I have no more use for him."

"Whrat? Kyven was captrured?" Danna gasped.

"Yes. Fear not that he will betray us, I have wiped such dangerous things from his mind and replaced it with information that will send them down the wrong path. He will tell them what I wish them to know, no more. Once he gives to them what I wish them to hear, he will have served his purpose," she sniffed impassively.

Danna could barely comprehend it. "Yrou, BITCH!" she screamed, suddenly struggling against Firetail to lunge out and grab that mangy bitch by the neck and shake her til her head fell off! How could she be so cruel? Kyven had done everything she told him to do, and now she was just throwing him away like he was nothing!

The fox just stared at her with those glowing eyes, slightly amused, then she just vanished. Danna could only stare after where she had been fear and shock and outrage and cold fury churning all mixed up inside her. Kyven . . . captured? They would put out his eyes, then torture him until he told them everything, then they'd kill him! Kyven. Kyven!

"Nro!" she said desperately. "Nro, nro, nro, NRO!"

"Shh," Firetail said gently, keeping firm grip on the newest shadow fox Arcan. "Calmly, child, calmly. It will be alright."

"Nro it won't!" she said, bursting into tears. "They'rr kirr him, Firretrair!"

"If that is the way it must be, then that is the way it must be. We can only hope he dies well, child."

"Hrow can yrou say that!" she demanded in a choking voice.

"I say that because I love him, child," she answered in a sad voice. "There is nothing we can do for him now, child. All we can do is pray to the spirits that they take him quickly, so he does not suffer, and he dies with dignity and honor. For an Arcan, that is a very important thing. We do not fear death when it is a death of our own choosing. Because we love him, we can pray that Kyven's death may be so."

Overwhelmed, Danna broke down into wracking sobs, clutching at Firetail like a child. He was going to die . . . he was going to die . . .

And she never once told him how she felt about him.



Moving through the realm of the spirits, the shadow fox padded down a familiar path, her feet steady and her mind occupied.

The seeds were sown, both the truth and the lies. Now, as always, came the waiting for the harvest.

Only then would they see the lies within the truth, and the truth within the lies. If they could even understand what they were seeing. Sometimes mortals were very dense creatures, which made it that much easier for her to manipulate them.

It was good. Her Shaman was in the hands of the enemy, right where she wanted him, and despite what she told the mortals, his mind was completely untouched. That was said mainly for their benefit, as much as her pretended indifference to his fate was naught but a goad prodding Danna Pannen to admit a truth within herself. In time, her Shaman would be in the perfect position to do the most good, though he would not understand that until the time came. Returning his humanity had come at the proper time, and would itself serve its purpose in the game about to be played with the Loremasters, just as much as what she did not take from her Shaman would serve him well at the proper time, and be the key instrument through which he would serve his purpose. Danna was now hers, having foolishly bargained away her freedom just as her Shaman had done, and the female would remain hers until it pleased her to let her go.

Guile and deceit.

The fox was content with the progression of things, and would now turn her mind to the last piece of her puzzle, which would also be both the most challenging and the most enjoyable prey to stalk.

Toby Fisher.

Unlike her Shaman or Danna Pannen, the hunter was neither naïve nor foolish. He would be a difficult prey to catch.

But catch him she would. In time, he would belong to her.

It was inevitable.

Chapter 5