The King of Light and Shadows by Adrian Cole | eBook

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The King of Light and Shadows

The Omaran Saga: Book Three

By Adrian Cole

OPEN ROAD INTEGRATED MEDIA

CHAPTER 1

Carac

Carac could smell the coming of the thunderstorm and knew with Earthwrought intuition that it would focus over the island of Medallion. From his vantage point high above what had once been the Hasp, the narrow opening to the island's Inner Sea that had been closed up by a colossal landslide, Carac studied the patterns of the clouds mirrored in an already darkening ocean. Like the Stonedelvers, he had a natural fear of the sea and he had never been completely at home on the island, in spite of its size. But now the restlessness of the water reflected the strange mood of the Empire, where the talk was of impending war and of terror in the far west. As the first rumble of thunder spread across the horizon, Carac could smell the rain hanging heavily overhead. In an hour there would be a deluge and it would be bad.

Below him in the shadows he could just see the vague forms of huge Stonedelvers, endlessly removing the rocks and rubble of the landslide, their sworn task to clear the Hasp and again open the Inner Sea to the sea lanes of Empire. Like the Earthwrought here on Medallion, they were loyal to the newly enthroned Emperor, Ottemar Remoon. Carac listened to the growling thunder progressing over the water and the many lines of his broad face spread. He had come to trust the overmen, where once, like all his people, he had hated them and seen only the cruel power of the invader, the tyrant. But the world of Omara had come into a new age, just as the Earthwise councillors had promised. Ianelgon, who had been Carac's Earthwise before his death at Rockfast, had himself promised a new life for the Earthwrought, above ground. Carac had fought alongside Stonedelvers and Men against the enemies of Ottemar Remoon and had been well rewarded. Even so, Medallion could never be his true home, and his thoughts often took him back to the east and his birthlands.

He wound his way down the rocky slopes of Malador to the first of the openings that the Stonedelvers had made and almost at once met two of Aumlac's burly warriors. The Stonedelvers recognized the squat figure and greeted him heartily. Carac was a little larger than most of his kind, about half the height of a Man, though as wide at the shoulder. He had dark, weatherbeaten skin, and broad hands that the Stonedelvers knew had a grip almost equal to their own. His face looked grim, whatever his mood, with its wide features, but his heart was warm and his loyalty unquestionable.

"Carac! What brings you down from the Heights? You spend so much time on watch up there, I swear you're turning into one of us. Why, look, Elgan, hasn't he grown six inches at least?" said the first of the huge figures.

In the early days, Carac would have shown his teeth and retorted rudely to these two, regardless of their great height, but he managed a grin. "Storm coming," he grunted.

They were used to his bluntness; Carac had always been taciturn at best. But they read his concern in an instant. "Heavy?"

Carac understood the dangers of heavy rainfall to the countless tunnels below them. He nodded. "Aye. And the eagles are circling. Already they are moved by what comes."

Elgan, larger of the two Stonedelvers, looked up at the towering Heights of Malador. "Storms do not usually concern them."

"Something else then. I must go below."

Elgan, who had been frowning thoughtfully, suddenly chuckled. "Yes, you'd better see that we've done our work properly. But I think you'll find our fellows have prepared enough drainage channels to bear any rainwater out to the open sea."

Carac waved and disappeared, leaving the two large figures to blend with the scattered rocks above him. The Earthwrought felt an inner glow as he went down into the tunnel system, instantly wrapped by the earth, the smell of it and the knowledge that it lived and breathed for him as any animal might. He was attuned at once to its many life forms, large and small, sensing their abundance. It was true that he had come to love the upper air and the sky, a response he attributed to his people's remote past when they had lived on the surface, but he was a true Earthwrought and here he was most at peace. As he descended, his body began to glow in the fashion peculiar to his kind; they needed no artificial lights.

The upper tunnels were large, but as Elgan had said, there were well constructed minor tunnels running from them in a complex underground web. Teams of Stonedelvers and Earth- wrought had spent many months removing the mountainous debris from this place, but had had to exercise extreme care in ensuring that the Inner Sea did not flood in too soon and cause a fresh collapse. It was true of any rain also and once, a month ago, two smaller tunnels had folded up, although no one had been killed. Earthwrought pride had been stung, of course, and Carac's anger was volcanic, but he had seen to it that the work had been repaired quickly.

Now, as he went below, Carac encountered a number of his fellows, speaking to them in his gruff way, telling them to be vigilant this night. There were Stonedelvers, too, and they were glad of his warnings. After a while he found himself alone in one of the newer side tunnels and he wondered why he should have come here. The construction was good, the earth solid and silent. He was far from the surface and the storm had become a remote whisper at the back of his mind. He turned, seeing a lone Stonedelver pass along a corridor that crossed this tunnel. Something about the manner of the stooped figure puzzled him. Carac would have hailed him, but voices were always kept muted down here, especially where there were new workings.

At the crossing, Carac saw the Stonedelver going below. He did not recognize the giant figure, which was strange, for he knew most of Aumlac's people. Perhaps there were newcomers, although only those who had survived the flight from Rockfast were known to be alive. As the Stonedelver went deeper down into the earth, Carac realized that he was moving in an odd mechanical manner, almost as if drunk or dazed. Perhaps he was injured? Carac was again about to call him, when the Stonedelver turned. Instantly Carac froze, blending into the earth wall beside him. To a Man, he would have been invisible, but to a Stonedelver he might not be.

Carac saw the face of the being ahead, a face almost devoid of expression, as though cut from stone and with no understanding of the life within that stone. Yet the Stonedelver was furtive, bearing a secret of some kind that suggested to Carac that he performed a private task and not necessarily one that his fellows would have approved of. But he had not seen Carac and so turned to continue his descent.

Carac followed, getting as close as he dared to the Stonedelver. At length he came out into a small chamber that had been clumsily scooped out of the earth with no regard for the feel of the surrounding rock. It was like an animal's lair, hastily constructed through flight. It was quite improper: no such working had been commissioned here. From its portal, Carac watched the Stonedelver laboriously probing at the loose soil of the walls. It took him a few moments to find what he sought and Carac guessed he must have hidden it here earlier. Although caked with soil, it could be seen as a length of metal, a rod about the length of a Man's short sword. The Stonedelver cleaned it of earth easily and pushed it through his belt. His face remained expressionless as he turned.

Carac had drawn back, puzzled as to why such a dull thing should be the object of secrecy. He hid himself expertly as the Stonedelver trudged past him; as the big figure began the ascent, Carac sensed the coming of a second, inner storm. This was evil work, he was certain. Instinctively he went down into the chamber and studied the disturbed earth. Clearly there had been much work done here, not of removing and of shaping, but of reckless hunting as if an animal had been trying to dig out its prey. Carac knew that he must follow the Stonedelver, but first he had to make a study of this place. Something about it spoke to him. He closed his eyes in deep concentration and saw beyond the shell of it's walls.

Shock thrust him back. He had seen an intrusion. At once he clawed away part of the wall and in a moment had touched something, withdrawing in horror. His fingers had prodded an outstretched hand, but even as they did so, he knew that the arm of the hand was attached to nothing else. And worse, it was not an arm of flesh and blood, although in some ways it seemed to be. Carac's mind fled back in time, almost as if guided, to a day when he had stood together with other Earthwrought and Stonedelvers and Men of the Empire on the Heights of Malador. He had witnessed the astonishing power of the being known as Orhung, the Created, who had been made by the Sorcerer-Kings of the far eastern lands. It was Orhung who had caused the landslide, the filling in of the Hasp, by so doing saving the vast navy of Ottemar Remoon's allies which otherwise would have drowned in the trap set for it by his enemy. Orhung had sacrificed himself and his power in the landslide and had been buried under countless tons of rock, no doubt crushed and destroyed. And here was proof of that!

Carac knew with certainty that the arm he had touched was that of the broken Orhung. No life, no power, attached to it now. It was, Carac knew, as sterile as bone. The shock of having touched such an object began to recede—after all, it could not harm him. In its place came fresh fear, for he knew now what it was that the renegade Stonedelver had carried away. It was the rod of power that Orhung had used. Was it, too, devoid of energy? Carac felt chilled at the enormity of his discovery. If the rod of power was still charged—

Panic was not in his nature, but he moved remarkably quickly, knowing he had to track the Stonedelver. The being's furtiveness meant menace. It could be personal greed that spurred him, but Carac had heard tales of those who served evil and of how they were manipulated by it. If Anakhizer, the enemy in the west, had given the Stonedelver the task of finding the rod, it could mean untold danger to the Empire.

It was not long before Carac again came upon the Stonedelver, who was now moving down yet another fresh tunnel and not one that had been planned by Aumlac's team, moving on with slow but deliberate pace through the packed earth. Carac drew from his belt a short club, a weapon whose size would have amused many Men, but only those who had not seen Carac use it.

"Hold your ground," Carac called softly, but his voice took strength from the earth. The Stonedelver reacted slowly, almost sluggishly, turning to face the Earthwrought. Carac was a third of his height. No expression crossed the face of the Stonedelver and Carac knew with certainty that this creature had had its mind poisoned. It must not be allowed to leave here with the rod, whatever the cost.

Carac moved forward and the Stonedelver hissed. It had no weapon other than the rod, but made no attempt to use it. Instead it bunched its huge fists and prepared to rebuff the Earthwrought with them. There was no doubt in Carac's mind that in a normal contest, a Stonedelver would easily better him, even without a weapon. But this being was unquestionably slow. Carac did not ask for the rod: it would have been a waste of words. Instead he chose direct attack, hoping to take the Stonedelver utterly by surprise. His club cracked against the side of the huge being's right knee and the Stonedelver immediately put out an arm to steady itself on the wall of earth beside it. But there was no cry of pain.

Carac had glided back, expecting an arm to reach for him. One blow from that fist would kill him, he knew. The Stonedelver growled, but there was something wrong with it. It could only follow its prime purpose, or so it seemed. One hand reached out, but Carac stepped in and swung his club again. It glanced from the fingers, cracking their bones mercilessly. Grimly, Carac realized he was going to have to kill this monster. He could not afford pity; he had seen too much horror in the past, the awful Ferr-Bolgan of the west and the remorseless will of their master.

As he struck again, Carac saw that little pain registered with the Stonedelver. It fell to its knees, its bones fractured by the expert blows of the tiny figure. One blow to the skull, Carac thought, swift and merciful. Whoever this Stonedelver is now, he was once one of Aumlac's people and deserves a clean death. Carac waited for the opportunity, knowing it would soon come.

Abruptly the earth about him heaved, as if great beasts burrowed in it. A fall of earth forced Carac back a few paces and in a moment a whole section of wall had been pushed aside. From out of it came a number of figures. Carac was about to greet them, until something made him retreat further. He thought they were Earthwrought, and so they were, but more than that. From around him now, as if being shaped by the very air of the tunnel, came a score of them. They were indeed Earthwrought, but not of Carac's kind. Their skins were strange to him, for although they were thick and veined, they were very pale, obscenely so, their manes of hair longer and far less dark than usual for their kind. They wore harnesses studded with jewels, something few Earthwrought had time for, and their faces were daubed with scarlet paint, glyphs of an unknown language. To emphasize their uniqueness, they carried not clubs, the traditional Earthwrought weapon, but swords, thin and pointed as the sting of a giant bee. For a moment Carac's confusion obscured their identity: in a clearer moment he might have known them. But he did not doubt they were enemies.

Three of them menaced him with their shining steel. Others set about killing the stricken Stonedelver. They did not do so with relish, but were as efficient as surgeons. There was little blood. One of them took the rod and passed it to the creature that commanded them.

Bemused, Carac swung his club, barely keeping his assailants at bay. He backed down the tunnel to a place where no more than three of them could attack him at once. Thought of the rod had temporarily passed from him as he fought for his life, for he knew these creatures meant to kill him. They were silent, though their ferocious expressions made their intentions clear. Behind them Carac glimpsed their companions making good their retreat as the earth swallowed them. At least, Carac thought, I have no more than three of them to deal with. But a darker thought came with it: they were confident of a killing.

Among his own people, Carac was regarded as an exceptional warrior, and during his sojourn below the mountains of the Slaughterhorn in the northwest he had had to keep his wits about him or fall prey to the hated Ferr-Bolgan, Anakhizer's grim servants. Even so, he rarely met warriors with swords. The three before him were not novices, and although the sword was customarily alien to the Earthwrought, these three were fast and accomplished. They had been selected for that reason, Carac guessed. One of them had sliced through the flesh of his arm before he had seen the move coming. He retaliated by catching the wrist of a second with a difficult back-handed blow. The bone did not break, but the assailant was forced to change hands.

Carac had stepped back to a place where the three attackers could not comfortably press him at once. He had the stamina to fight them for as long as necessary, but his concern was that the main body of them was in swift retreat. The rod of power would be lost and that must not be permitted. One of the attackers lunged a shade too carelessly and Carac brushed the sword aside before spinning his club back and bringing it down on the shin of his opponent. The tunnel echoed to the cry of pain. Carac's elbow shot out and connected perfectly with the temple of the injured Earthwrought, who tumbled into another, deflecting what would have been a deft lunge. Carac had taken a number of bad cuts, but his opponents realized he was not going to be an easy victim. Their doubt began to show. Carac saw it and let out a roar that served two purposes: it was both a challenge and a cry for help. It galled him considerably to have to shout to any fellow who might be listening, but he had little choice. The sound shook the tunnel and the last of the uninjured assailants was momentarily caught unawares, thinking the roof might come down. Carac struck with great speed and agility, his club forcing down through the out-thrust sword, striking flat upon the skull of his opponent. Almost at the same moment Carac was knocked sideways by the rush of one of the others, and he flung his arms around him to prevent the killing strike of steel. Both of them tumbled to the earth, and although Carac prevented the sword from reaching him, he now saw the last assailant waiting for his moment to make the fatal thrust.

(Continues...)

Excerpted from The King of Light and Shadows by Adrian Cole. Copyright © 1988 Adrian Cole. Excerpted by permission of OPEN ROAD INTEGRATED MEDIA.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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