Page 3 of Hexes & Heartstrings (Shifters of Bastion Keep #2)
Sidestepping the descending claw with the help of a flap of his wings, Sergiy thrust his spear out one final time, shattering the exoskeleton of the elephant-sized shadowling.
His older sister took advantage of the opening he'd created, using her broadsword to pierce deep into the beast's flesh.
She must have struck something vital, because the crab-like monster immediately shuddered and fell still, its body rapidly disintegrating into the black dust that spawned it.
"Awoo!" Marka cheered, bumping shoulders with him. In the monochrome of the Umbral realm, her golden werewolf fur appeared nearly white. "Now if only you had done that maneuver at the start like I'd suggested, we'd have been done ages ago!"
Sergiy rolled his eyes. His sister might be far too comfortable with teasing him, but he loved her more than he could put into words, no less because of her always having his back.
He nodded to her, then turned back to the field of combat.
With their leader slain, most of the smaller shadowlings were scuttling deeper into the shadows, vanishing once they were out of sight.
"Yacob," he called out, and he saw the leader of the Flamewrights drop his heavy mace down on a small shadow that was trying to nip at his ankles. There was a crunch, muffled by the oppressive atmosphere of the Umbral, and then the massive werewolf approached.
"Warlord," he said, his ears swiveling as he listened to their surroundings
"I'm thinking that we've cleared away enough of the trash in the area and can move on. Thoughts?"
"Aye," he said in a gravely tone, and Sergiy noticed Marka nodding as well. "Most of 'em have run off, besides."
He gestured, and Sergiy saw one of the crabs move beneath the deep shadow of a tree. Not only did it vanish from his sight, but also his acute shifter sense of smell.
"No spirit king, either, more's the pity."
"There might not be one," Sergiy said. "I think this month's incursion might just be wildlife.
Still, I'm not getting the impression that these crabs were migratory.
It feels more like something forced them out of their own habitat until enough of them surfaced around the anchor and triggered the alarm. "
"They did seem more like scavengers," Marka said, sheathing her sword at her back. "Not aggressive enough to be predators, nor intelligent enough for traps or spirit bargains."
"We may encounter whatever forced them from their home, but in the meantime, the penumbra seems safe enough to introduce the new recruits."
The other two pack leaders voiced agreement, so Sergiy bellowed out the order to regroup at the anchor. His voice didn't carry far in the sound-diminished atmosphere, but he pushed the command out from his unique role as their alpha, a wordless intent understood by all.
Finding their way back wasn't difficult, since the surface level of the shadow realm was merely an imperfect copy of the natural world.True, individual rocks and trees and distances between points might change on a daily basis, but the gross geography remained the same.
Once the thirty guardians returned to the anchor point, Sergiy took one last look around, his drake tail lashing, then shifted through the ephemeral gate as easily as he shifted between forms.
Colors returned now that he was back in the natural world, always a shock whenever he spent more than a few hours on the other side.
The sky overhead was clouded, the stars and moon covered, but there were battery-powered lanterns set around the area.
Two humvees were angled towards the road, their cargo of food and water already unloaded beside the anchor itself—a five-foot tall obelisk inscribed with runes, the source of their means of traveling between spirit realms.
As he appeared, several of the guardians leapt to their feet. The four auxiliary shifters in charge of the vehicles from his brother's pack were more subtle about acknowledging his presence, as was the older recruit, but the two unblooded trainees were abrupt in standing to attention.
"M'lord," Isabel said, a chestnut-haired dwarf who always had a hard time meeting his, or anyone's gaze. Her head regularly hung downcast, and he'd never heard her speak in any tone but deferential or apologetic.
Beside her, a young human slammed a fist against his own chest, doing a terrible job of disguising his aggravation. Dorian's scowl was plainly visible through his spotty goatee, and he kept running a thumb over his spiked knuckles.
Their third man, Ivar, was in his mid-forties. Long braided hair, head-to-toe Norse tattoos, and a direct attitude that reminded him a lot of Russ's dad.
Sergiy waved Dorian's salute off. "Stop with the television stuff, we don't stand on ceremony in the field. It's a waste of focus and energy. We've cleared the immediate area, so it's safe enough to bring you across. Are you three ready?"
"I don't see why we had to wait," Dorian said, crossing his arms. "I could've handled myself against the shadowlings just fine."
"Tough talk for a little pup," Yacob growled, appearing with the sound of tearing paper as he crossed the void between realms. He leaned down, putting his muzzle right next to the new recruit.
"I trained you. Your fighting skills are adequate.
Your teamwork is adequate. But if you turn tail when confronted with actual danger? You'd put your pack at risk."
Sergiy nodded. "Patience is more than a virtue, it's a must for a guardian.
There are plenty of shadowlings and spirit kings that if you rush in half-cocked, you'll get your packmates killed as they try to rescue you from your own folly.
You don't rush into confrontation any more than you'd blindly shoot a firearm before making sure you had the right target. "
Sergiy waited until the rest of the warband joined them before giving the order for a water break.
"Good hunting so far," he said as the three packs of shifters drank from canteens or tin mugs, a few eating their brought snacks.
"We'll stay here another day in case we catch sight of a spirit king or whatever riled up the wildlife, but I'm not feeling any major hostiles nearby, so we'll move on to phase two. "
After a check over his warband to make sure no one was injured enough to require a medical evac back to the keep, he, Yacob, and Marka organized their packs.
Marka would hold their position on both sides of the anchor, Yacob would begin patrolling the Umbral for signs of hostiles and the scent of any spirit king, while Sergiy would take the new trainees out on a search—more of a sight-seeing tour, really.
Once he had his pack rounded up and the trainees inspected for a second time, he turned towards Dorian, Isabel, and Ivar and assigned one of his packmates to each.
"Stick with your mentor," he told them, watching as his second-in-command, Bridget, whispered a few encouraging words to Isabel. "If they say jump, you jump. If you see them run, you run faster, and ask why later. Understood?"
Auguste turned towards Ivar, putting his hands on his hips. "That's right, old man, you just stick with me."
The former guardian with over a decade of experience but who had just rejoined them after a fifteen year absence, shrugged, his quiver rattling. "Don't you worry, young pup, I'll make sure nothing happens to you."
"Sounds like he already knows the score," Cadmus the werepanther laughed, nudging Dorian in the ribs.
Auguste opened his mouth to respond, then furrowed his brow, looking at Sergiy suspiciously.
Holding back a grin, Sergiy thrust his spear into the air. He made sure to meet the gaze of each of his pack, then pounded the butt against the ground before shifting across the void.
"Welcome to the penumbra layer," he said after everyone had crossed.
"It's brighter than I thought it would be," Isabel said, snuffling her now ursine snout as she peered around cautiously in her werebear form.
"Day and night affect the Umbral differently than our world," Sergiy explained.
"There's no sun or moon here. Night time makes the shadows deeper, and a lot more shadowlings are active.
Right now we're on the uppermost layer, the penumbra, so the danger is less.
Think about it like swimming on the surface of the ocean.
But if you wander too far or step into the deep shadows, you might find yourself sinking down, where it's much more dangerous.
Shadowlings love to bait you that way, so don't be tricked.
Ivar, do you have the lantern? Go ahead and light it. "
The archer did so, using a match to light a special watchman's oil lamp. He soon had it ready, its flame casting silver light around the immediate area.
"Listen up!" Sergiy said, and his pack attended to him.
"We're hunting after a uniquely powerful spirit king, the shadow of a former lord of Bastion Keep.
High Priest Roland and our trio of witches have given us the means with this lantern.
Ivar, listen to the flame. If you feel like it's guiding you somewhere, tell us so we can heed.
Everyone else! We're scenting a drake shifter that isn't myself or my mother.
He'll smell like burnt tar, or rusted iron.
Stay at least in pairs, and don't go so far that you're out of sight of the lantern. Let's move."
Leading the way, Sergiy started the exploration. There'd been three months of regular patrols with almost nothing to show for it, but he had a good feeling about today.
Somewhere in this expanse of shadows was a former lord of Bastion Keep, Kerry Wintersbane. Fallen to corruption, he'd attacked the castle, but had been bound by two of Bastion's willworkers, Roland and Lux, and Sergiy himself had slain his corporeal form.