No one expects a dead man to walk through the front door. This time was no different. The dozen patrons of the Soul’s Lament went silent as the cobbled door whined on its hinges, and Izrak Laav crossed over the threshold, ducking his head as he passed inside.

A trio of men, grim faces flushed, eyes glazed in a half-drunken stupor, sat at a table near the door. Shifting in their chairs as the dead man approached, they whispered as quivering hands hovered over unseen knives. Izrak glanced at the vagrants, the iron studs of his jerkin and mail coat glinting in the flickering torchlight. They withered under the glare of eyeless pits and yellowed gleam of his lipless grin.

The dead man moved on, his pale hand falling away from the pommel of his longsword.

Izrak took a seat at what had become his customary table, in a dark corner at the far end of the tavern. Unhooking his scabbard from his belt, he placed the sword against the moldering wall beside him. Resting his mail-coated elbows on the table, Izrak leaned over, ran his fingertips through the few strands of blonde hair hanging from under his worn-leather skullcap. Of course, whatever soothing sensation this used to bring was now illusory. The dead man could not feel it. Old habits…

Rats scurried across the swollen, rotten floorboards; their scratching blending with the torrents of rain cascading over the walls outside. The incessant drone grew louder the more he sought to block it out.

“Izrak Laav, dread mercenary and favored customer!” A sonorous voice sounded from behind the bar counter. “What can I provide for Nochnoy’s most intransigent soul?”

“You missed your calling as a poet,” Izrak said, his voice a rasp of wind over an endless sea of sand. “The usual, Evpat.”

A snicker cut through the din. “The usual?” One of the drunk men near the entrance called over his shoulder. “What does a corpse need food for?” His companions joined in his laughter.

“Shut it, Yostap!” Evpat slammed a mug he was cleaning on the countertop. “At least he pays. If only the living were so generous… You still owe me two kops for last night!”

Yostap shrugged, waved the comment away. “Yeah, yeah.” He took a pull from his mug and turned back to his table. “You’ll get it.” Chairs screeched as hushed conversations resumed.

Leaning back, the mercenary lifted his head and sighed. The usual. Izrak’s dead gaze drifted towards the ceiling as his thumb ran over the rough woven pouch at his hip. Maybe I have lingered here for too long….

Floorboards whined under the approach of soft footfalls. Izrak looked down. A delicate figure, hooded and cloaked in black, stood at the other side of the table. A pair of ivory hands emerged from beneath the cloak and, as spirits dancing in mist, she signed: May I sit?

“You do not have to ask, Olesia.” She nodded beneath the hood and sat. Izrak looked upon her for a moment. “They still have not restored your voice, even after all this time?”

They do not forgive. You know their punishments are severe. A century is nothing to them. Although, it is rather fitting, is it not? A puppet … without a voice of her own.

Izrak’s fingers bit into the sodden wood of the table—fangs sinking into flesh. “I will find a way to restore your voice. I owe you that much.”

Yemor deserved to die. I regret nothing. You do not owe me a thing, Ferryman.

The mercenary released his grip. “What tidings then, does an Omen bring?”

Olesia lowered her hood. The Omen’s feathered waves of raven hair shimmered in the torchlight, bound at the crown with a silver circlet, a rich amethyst at its center glittering upon her porcelain brow. Her ashen eyes were storms, roiling clouds streaked with flecks of violet lightning. The corners of her mauve lips curled upward as she drew a single bronze coin from the folds of her sleeve. The coin’s face bore a gaunt visage, gazing upwards in agony, with gnarled fingers clawing at the cheeks as its tongue hung limp over a pointed chin.

The Omen set the coin in front of him. Death.

A Coin of Akheron only meant one thing to the undead slaves of The Call. A rogue warrior, a damned soul whose passage over the River had been purchased with their disobedience and treachery. Izrak took the coin. “Who?”

The Black Bear.

“Zheso Strakh… I suppose it was always a matter of time.” Izrak placed the coin in the hidden pocket of his satchel, its soft clink a death knell as it joined the other four. “So be it.” The mercenary stood, clasped his sword to his belt.

Olesia rose from her seat. He was last sighted leaving Ryaz, not two days past, heading south into the Shuvo. Perhaps you may pick up his trail in the forest.

With a parting smile, Olesia lifted her hood, her spectral face shrouded in shadow once more. She rose, and darkness seethed around her as the torchlight flickered, then dimmed, covering the tavern like a pall. All sound faded to a distant whisper. Then, the creeping shadows collapsed back into the center, and the Omen was gone. The patrons of the Soul’s Lament peered about, eyes narrowed, scratching their heads, as though waking from sleep.

The mercenary looked at the old barkeeper as he was heading into the kitchen. “Never mind the food, Evpat.” Izrak left three kops on the table and moved towards the entrance.

Evpat spun about. “But Avdoya just finished cutting the pork. What shall I do with it?”

A flash of lightning silhouetted Izrak as he opened the door. Heedless of the rain pouring in through the portal, he glanced back over his shoulder at the vagrants. “Feed it to the dogs. For they will not have my bones to gnaw upon.” Prowling winds howled, and the mercenary stepped out into the storm.

PROLOGUE

I

A PATH FORSAKEN

A crimson dawn bled into the pale blue of a waking sky. Terrible in its majesty, the endless expanse of the heavens was clothed in royal raiment of topaz, ruby and sapphire, adorned with a rubrous crown of burnished gold. In the valley below, stirred by the gentle caress of night’s final breath, the emerald shrouds of ancient pine, oak, aspen and birch, huddled close together, whispering amongst each other of eldritch secrets not meant for the ears of mortal men. And so it was, as Izrak Laav passed among their creaking boles, that he listened, and drifted quietly through the arcane realm of Shuvo.

* * *

As the sun reached its zenith, the mercenary came to the crossroads of the merchant road, its broad lane furrowed with deep ruts and littered with the detritus of Enostran’s ever transient purveyors. Izrak peered at the twisted signpost stooping over the junction. Less than a league to the southeast lay the forest city of Novogor, and to the west, the Old City, whose name had long faded from memory.

The main road continued south to the port city of Sevast. Built from the ruins of an ancient sea fort, Sevast’s high walls and crenellated battlements, as well as the restricted access provided by towering cliffs on either side of the harbor, offered protection to the exiles and corsairs who sought refuge there. Control of Sevast was ephemeral, the city wild and violent, knowing no true master. Just like him.

Izrak adjusted his cap, slipped on thick black-leather gloves and pulled the hood of his cloak overhead. He continued south along the main road.

The mercenary had walked about a mile when a phantom memory flitted by on the periphery of his vision. He stopped, turned to face it, his hand moving for his sword. But his hand fell away when he saw the girl. No more than thirteen, her flaxen tresses were tangled, her hazel eyes wide with terror. I know you… I have seen your face. Beads of crimson trickled from scratches marring her ruddy cheeks. Billowing in the breeze, the girl’s soiled white shift was in tatters, her feet caked in mud. Why is she here? Izrak stepped forward. The girl staggered back, then turned and ran. Why does she flee?

“Wait—” Just as the mercenary called out, a gale tore through the trees, lifting dead leaves and sprigs from the ground in a whirlwind around him, obscuring his sight. He tried to break away from the verdant barrier but was held fast. Looking down, Izrak saw roots churning the dirt at his feet, wrapping around his boots. What devilry is this? And just as quickly, the gale dissipated as the leaves drifted to the loam, and the roots crept back into the earth. The girl was gone.

The baying of hounds resounded in the woods behind him, followed soon by the shouts of several men as they approached. A pair of black hounds broke through the line of pines hedging the road. Izrak stood still, hand resting on his sword. Baying turned to low growls as the hounds stalked closer, then whined as they realized what he was, suddenly backing away.

A middle-aged man, with grizzled hair in a rough-spun tunic beneath a leather vest, stepped onto the road. He was quickly joined by two young men in similar garb, one blonde, the other red of hair; their eyes glinted with malice, and cruel smiles split their ruddy faces. All were armed with short swords. The hounds circled behind them and stood with hunched bodies trembling.

The older man glanced at the blonde. “What’s with the dogs?” The blonde shrugged his shoulders. Grunting, the older man looked back at Izrak. “Listen, friend. Did you see a girl pass you by on the road? Or in the trees?” His voice was strained, tinged with fear. His eyes narrowed; beads of sweat rolled over his creased brow. “Well?”

Izrak said nothing.

“Are you touched? Matvan asked you a question.” The red head sauntered forward, poised to draw his sword. “Did you see a girl?”

“Maybe he didn’t, Vasi,” the blonde said as he stepped around to the middle of the road, cutting the mercenary off.

Vasi chuckled. “Sure, Resh. Or maybe the fool’s hiding her.” He pulled his blade. “We’ll make him talk. One way or another.”

Leather whined as Izrak’s grip tightened around his own sword. Vasi lunged. The mercenary’s blade flashed from its scabbard, and Izrak stepped to the side, parrying. Vasi stumbled past him. The same instant, Resh charged, sword raised. He thrust. Izrak shifted, avoiding the strike, sending his fist crashing into the man’s face at the same moment. Resh went sprawling at Matvan’s feet. Vasi recovered and rushed Izrak from behind. The mercenary took a step to the left, evading his overhead blow. The mercenary hooked the man’s arms and threw him over his shoulder. Vasi crashed face up into the dirt. Before he could move, Izrak pressed the point of his blade to Vasi’s chest, just above the heart.

Resh climbed to his feet, blood oozing from his split lips, and inched forward. Izrak lowered his hood. Resh faltered as the color drained from his face.

Matvan seized him by the shoulder. “Enough! Both of you!” He pulled Resh behind him, turned back to the mercenary. “Forgive my foolish sons. Please, let him go.”

Izrak lifted his sword, and Vasi scrambled over to his father. “They would do well to refrain from assaulting strangers on the road.” He sheathed his sword. “What is this all about?”

Matvan furrowed his brow, glared at the two men huddled by the hounds. He looked at the mercenary and pointed a shivering thumb over his shoulder. “We’re from Novogor. My… daughter, Elishei, ran away just before dawn. We’ve been searching for her all morning. She has long blonde hair, hazel eyes. Dressed in white. Tell me you’ve seen her?”

“With these hounds and those swords, one would think you were hunting the girl.”

“There are many dangers in the forest. Wolves. Bears. And darker things…” Matvan cleared his throat. “They’re only meant for our protection.”

“I see.” Izrak’s hollow gaze lingered on the men for a moment. He closed his fingers around the pouch on his belt. “Yes, I saw her. Just before you came upon me. Fleeing west.”

Baring his teeth, Vasi growled. “Damned corpse! Why didn’t you just say so?”

Matvan cuffed him, grabbed him by the collar, his face going red as he spoke in his ear. He turned back to the mercenary. “Perhaps you might join us. We could use another man. There will be payment, of course.”

“No.”

“What? Why not?” Resh said through the bloody cloth he pressed to his lips.

“I am engaged in another task.” Izrak turned away. “I cannot waste any more time here.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Have you seen another of my kind pass through Novogor?”

Resh spat blood at the mercenary’s feet.

Izrak moved on along the road. “May you find favor in your search.”

The mercenary had not gone far before a swift gale rushed out of the east, heading in the direction of Matvan’s small band. Izrak halted, listened. He heard the ferocious baying of the hounds, the shouts of the men, both consumed by a ravenous, preternatural howl.

Stay out of it. Their fate was not his concern. Every second he delayed, Zheso moved further beyond the mercenary’s reach. Should he fail in his hunt for the rogue warrior… There are punishments even the dead may fear. The hounds had gone silent. Izrak kept moving, the shouts of the men growing desperate. What difference does it make? Suddenly, the image of Elishei’s terrified face flashed through his mind, and a tremor wracked his desolate soul. Cila…

Drawing his sword, Izrak grunted. “Curse it all.” He dashed from the road, a phantom passing through the trees. Only the terrified cries of the men remained to guide Izrak’s pursuit as he followed them into a glade.

Mangled and torn, the bodies of the hounds lay nearby. Matvan and his sons were huddled together, backs pressed against a large stone outcropping at the far edge of the glade. Vasi held his shoulder, blood streaming down his wounded arm. Resh clutched at gashes on his broad chest. But it was a gray wolf the size of a draft horse that gave even the dead mercenary pause. Slaver seeped from between the wolf’s fangs as it stalked closer, the air quavering with its menacing snarls.

With inhuman speed, Izrak charged across the glade, unhindered and silent even in his armor. Lifting his sword, he roared. The wolf snapped massive jaws at him, its yellow eyes blazing with amber fire. Izrak thrust his blade; the wolf ducked its head at the last moment, the strike catching its brow. Izrak’s blade clipped the wolf’s ear as the savage beast leapt away from him. Lips peeled back in a vicious snarl over fangs long as fingers, hackles bristling as the wolf crouched—a hissing dragon coiling before the attack.

Blade gleaming in the sunlight, the mercenary kept his sword trained on the beast. “Leave. Now. I will find the girl,” Izrak said without shifting his gaze.

Resh leaned in towards Matvan. “We can’t trust him. When Orved hears of this—”

“Shut your mouth.” Matvan’s face was scarlet, veins bulging in his neck. He looked at Izrak. “We can help you.”

“Your sons are wounded. They will need your help to get back. Unless you want to die like your hounds, run.” Smoldering embers flared in the pits of Izrak’s eyes. “Go!”

Breaking away from the rock, the men ran towards the nearby trees. The monstrous wolf lunged as they fled, but the mercenary stepped in, flashing out his sword and slicing into its muzzle. Shaking its head, the beast growled, then lunged again, snapping its maw shut where Izrak had just been standing. Stepping to the side, the mercenary thrust, plunging his blade through the beast’s hide, between ribs. He struggled to pull it free. What is this? Heaving on the sword, it came away coated in a viscous, amber fluid.

With a whine, the wolf staggered back. Then, the hairs of its fur receded, and flesh roiled as howling winds coursed through the glade. The wolf shrank and stood upright upon its hind legs, paws turning to gnarled hands and feet. A man’s form took shape. Shrouded in robes of moss and lichen, the figure stood at over seven feet; his skin was bark, dusk-brown, furrowed and thick, with a beard of vines and branches. The eyes were the hollows of an ancient bole, deep and shadowed, set above a broad nose of knotted wood. A wreath of leaves and thorns adorned his crown.

Izrak wiped his blade on his cloak. “Who are you? Why did you attack those men?”

“You intervene in affairs you do not understand. No, this does not concern the dead.” The spirit’s voice was the rush of wind through autumn boughs.

“Where is Elishei?”

“You cannot save her. Leave this place, or you will never leave it again.” The spirit dispersed into a whirlwind of leaves, flowing into the west, then vanished among the trees.

Following its course, Izrak chased after the winds. Deep in the forest, trees rustled while branches snapped and groaned; the forest seemed to close in around him. A dense mist rose from the ground, curling around the thick trunks of massive oaks. Vaporous fingers tugged on the mercenary’s cloak, grasped at his limbs. His movement became sluggish, strained. Golden sunlight turned to gray haze. He lost all sense of time and direction was lost. An old sensation crept into the mercenary’s petrified heart, one primal, that even the dead cannot escape.

Fingers clutching the woven pouch on his belt, Izrak stopped and uttered a prayer his mother had taught him as a child. She said this prayer would always protect me. Four centuries have failed to prove her false. Izrak turned around, continued his path.

And the mercenary suddenly found himself back on the merchant road, the afternoon sun shining through the verdant canopy as he stood once more before the signpost at the crossroads. The mist had cleared away, seeping back into the earth. Izrak looked towards a stand of birch just beyond the road, watched the shadows of the trees creep over the loam. Her path through the woods is lost to me. I will not find her that way. Shifting his gaze, he looked at the signpost. The Old City. One lost could hope to find shelter in those ruins. Haunted as they may be….

Cloak billowing on a fell wind, the mercenary set off west along the forsaken path.

About the Author:

Lee Patton is a Christian and Army veteran from North Dakota. His work has been published in The Literary Fantasy Magazine and The Penmen Review. Fascinated with mythic tales of mighty heroes and dark terrors, Lee dwells in the realm of fantasy, where faith and courage are carried on the edge of a blade. In his free time, Lee is reading vintage Sword & Sorcery, exercising, and learning the Russian language.

Heed The Call and discover more at:Deathless Realms – Fantasy Tales of Lee Patton.

A Valley of Shadow Schedule:

• Part One: 28 Feb. 2025

• Part Two: 28 March 2025

• Part Three: 25 April 2025

• Part Four: 30 May 2025

• Part Five: 27 June 2025