Tide of Shadows and Other Stories Read Free

It was dark when they named him leader; perhaps they could not see his fear through the shadows that veiled his face; perhaps they only saw the light of the moon reflected in his eyes and mistook it for hope.
    They are all that remain after the Massacre. His brothers are dead, nearly eighty of them. His enemies are dead also, though their number is unknowable. A meaningless battle fought on the whims of rich politicians living in opulent mansions in the safety of cities far from the battlefields—eager only for iron and gold. So, the remaining few of his once proud mercenary band flee through this labyrinthine forest, destination unknown.  
    He cannot tell them that they're lost. They probably know.
    He misses the beautiful women back home—long of limb, skin the colour of coffee. He misses his wife and his two daughters. Are they happy? Still alive?
    His son is dead. Killed in battle. Butchered with gold coin tinkling in his pocket. Life is not just, nor is death. Gold is of little use to a ghost.
    "Hail, good sir!"
    In the quiet of deep night, the voice is clear. The amber-skinned scout. He does not remember rising, but Tahir is already running toward the call.
    The fool!
    He slows, tries to make no sound.
    In the clearing are three men. One dead, two whispering fiercely. They are tall and strong of arm. Men as mountains. Golden hair brushes their broad shoulders, twisted into knotted dreadlocks. One gestures to the darkness, away from Tahir's sleeping companions.  
    More men are hidden in the shadows.
    Tahir turns and runs back to camp. When he is close, he yells an alarm to his stirring companions.
    A spear stabs suddenly from the shadows, nearly gutting Tahir, but a heavy swing of his sword knocks the spear to the ground. The spear’s owner is a looming giant, now drawing an axe. Moonlight catches on the metal scales sewn to his armour. Tahir's first thought is that he is betrayed from within his own camp. But it's not Eyvindur—the Northman he has been travelling with. This one has red hair and a missing eye.
    The giant swings his heavy axe. Tahir dodges, narrowly missing his death for a second time in mere seconds.
    Thud! The giant grunts, curses as his axe catches in a tree. Tahir tries to think of some witty comment, but he has never been clever. Instead, he buries his sword in the helpless Northerner.
    Eight kills.
    A powerful blow takes Tahir in the shoulder and sends him tumbling. The cold ground catches him, momentum flips him onto his back, takes the wind from his lungs. Something snags as he slides—the sound of snapping wood, the burn of tearing skin.
    An arrow juts from his shoulder, its haft broken in by the fall. No blood trickles from the wound. Numbness spreads down his arm. He stands and faces the darkness, lifts his blade with his good arm. His shield is back with his bedroll, a hard pillow—useless now. The confused yells of his roused companions fill the night.
    A shadow cuts through the dark. Another arrow. As in a dream, time seems to crawl, but still Tahir is too slow to move from the arrow's path. It buries itself in his other shoulder. He does not hit the ground this time, but his sword falls, dropped from his numb hand.
    He has failed. What good is a leader who leads his followers to death at the hands of raiders in the night?
    He can hear someone crashing through the forest. A battle cry, loud as a roaring lion. One of the barbarians gestures wildly to the forest behind Tahir.
    A third arrow. Right into his gut. He falls. Pain and numbness somehow together.
    He never wanted to lead. He should have said no. But if not him, who? Who was left?
    A tall man appears from the shadows, one of the golden-haired barbarians. He holds a bloody blade. Quiet anger pulses in his eyes. For a moment, Tahir wonders what thoughts run behind those eyes, what compulsions and lusts fuel this warrior in the dead of night.
    He is lost, Tahir knows. His eyes show panic hidden under bravado. Fear beneath a slick