Page 63 of Sun, Moon & Shadow

Thorn dispensed his latest wisdom, and the griping landowners parted ways, disappearing into the crowd. It was standing room only in the hall. Callan squinted, then opened his eyes wide, rubbing a hand over his face to keep himself awake.

The herald announced the next complainant, and the crowd parted, allowing a disheveled male with long, stringy hair and wrinkled clothing to approach the platform where Callan sat on a simple chair set back from his uncle’s throne. The visitor’s bloodshot eyes suggested it had been some nights since he’d last slept. Intrigued for the first time in the hours since the meeting began, Callan shifted in his seat as his uncle acknowledged the male and asked his reason for coming before the throne.

“I am Anders, my Lord. I’ve come from the ice fields of the Whitepeak District.”

Callan knew the place. Roughly two days’ ride from the capital.

“Three days past, my village was attacked.”

“Attacked?” Thorn asked.

“Yes,” Anders said. “By a pack of yaesira.”

Murmurs and whispers rose from those standing closest to the dais, a wave of disbelief rippling out to the four corners of the room. The predatory cats were massive and covered with thick, armorlike scales in place of fur. Native to Silvergard, it was almost unheard of to encounter yaesira in Nivali; the creatures rarely strayed from their established hunting grounds north of the Nephari Mountains.

“How can you be certain?” Thorn raised his voice and held up an authoritative hand to silence the crowd.

“I observed the tracks myself, and some of the townsfolk managed to kill one of the beasts. Its body lies there still.” Anders turned to address the gentry gathered in the hall. “The yaesira slaughtered at least three, but the rest of the townsfolk are missing. No bodies. No footprints in the snow.”

“This is the Shadowbringer’s doing!” The shout came from a stocky, blond male with a long braided beard. Callan didn’t recognize him. “He controls the wicked beasts and sends them to do his bidding.”

“The Realm hasn’t seen an attack by Raven’s Isle in decades. Why would the Shadowbringer suddenly strike again?” a female warrior questioned, her muscled arms crossed over a chest plate of thick brown leather.

“I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation. There’s no sense in spreading needless panic,” Thorn reassured the crowd. “Perhaps the creatures simply tracked a herd of elk down through one of the passes. Gods only know what the conditions are like beyond the northern border.”

Callan rose from his seat and approached the front of the platform.

“If I may speak, my Lord,” he began, bowing his head to his uncle. Thorn waved a hand, granting him permission to continue. “A similar attack was carried out in Tundara only a few weeks ago—”

“That proves it!” the blond male interrupted, instigating the folk around him until everyone was shouting and swearing angry oaths.

“Enough!” Callan yelled, his command instantly bringing silence over the room. Realizing he had overstepped, he glanced at his uncle. Thorn’s mouth hung open for an instant before he collected himself.

“Karlsen, I’ll have you removed from the hall if you can’t respect the rules of Assembly.” His authority re-established, Thorn nodded at Callan to continue.

“The attacks in Tundara and Whitepeak may be unrelated. Or they may be related but have nothing to do with Raven’s Isle. And, yes, there is a possibility both attacks were carried out by the Shadowbringer.”

Callan turned to his uncle.

“My Lord, I ask to travel north to Whitepeak to investigate the circumstances of the attack and determine whether or not Nivali is at risk.”

“You.” Thorn pointed at Anders. “How did you survive to bring this news before Assembly?”

“I was out with a hunting party when the creatures attacked. The others in my group stayed behind in Whitepeak, guarding the bodies in the hopes that someone would be sent.”

“Very well.” Thorn turned to address Callan. “Accompany him north to the ice fields and return with your findings.”

Thorn clapped his hands, and a servant stepped forward.

“See that this man is fed and given a bed.”

The servant led Anders away, and Thorn dismissed the crowd.

Callan turned to leave and make preparations for the journey, but his uncle caught him around the wrist.

“Keep your wits about you, Callan. These are strange times, indeed.”

Less than an hour’s ride remained before Callan and his guide would arrive at the ice fields of Whitepeak. Mercifully, the clear weather had held since they departed the Estate, though the gusting winds blew bitterly cold. Callan had cobbled together a few hours of sleep the night before, stretched out on the hard ground beneath an awning of ancient spruce, his cloak pulled tight around him.