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Back The Shadow Arts
Chapters (46)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. Epigraph
  4. HARD RAIN
  5. I.
  6. II.
  7. III.
  8. IV.
  9. V.
  10. VI.
  11. VII.
  12. VIII.
  13. IX.
  14. X.
  15. XI.
  16. XII.
  17. XIII.
  18. XIV.
  19. XV.
  20. XVI.
  21. XVII.
  22. XVIII.
  23. XIX.
  24. XX.
  25. XXI.
  26. XXII.
  27. XXIII.
  28. XXIV.
  29. XXV.
  30. XXVI.
  31. XXVII.
  32. XXVIII.
  33. XXIX.
  34. XXX.
  35. XXXI.
  36. XXXII.
  37. XXXIII.
  38. XXXIV.
  39. XXXV.
  40. XXXVI.
  41. XXXVII.
  42. XXXVIII.
  43. EPILOGUE
  44. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  45. About the Author
  46. What’s next onyour reading list?

The blackness along the horizon. He had taken it for some vast forest. But now he saw: it was creeping closer—still a great distance away but coming fast. As he stared, he began to see the tangled darkness consisted of countless figures, running furiously in their direction. Now some of the creatures seemed to stretch out wings and take flight.

Things! Zia thought at him, with a grin. Then, glancing again at the approaching wave, she pursed her lips in a pensive frown. Father—

TAP-TAP—TAP.

The sudden knocking sounded huge and hollow, booming from within the cliff behind the gate-maker. As they all stared, the shadow of the gate began to materialize, appearing in the rock face like a developing photograph.

Curse your trickery, creature. The gate-maker had an exultant, furious look. My men call me now!

The tall man stood. No. It is my man, and he calls for us.

Die, vile entity. The cloaked figure twisted his hands violently in opposite directions. The tall man gasped and staggered, clutching painfully at his chest. Zia sprang for the gate-maker as Beckman shot two fat white fists at him, wrapping his hands in wire. Blue light crackled back along the coils, causing Beckman to arch his back in a long spasm. The tall man straightened painfully, lifting his cane.

The four of them started fighting in a flailing, struggling scrum.

They crashed into Alex, almost sending him over the edge. He backed up, looking from them to the ocean of figures seeping across the plain, the shapes hurtling through the air, getting closer.

He looked to the gate made of shadow. It was fully there now: sharp, solid black. Already, a whirling tunnel of light was growing within it.

Nowhere else to go.

Alex watched the fighting figures blocking the thin path between him and the gate. Every few seconds, as they lurched back and forth, there was just enough space at the edge for him to squeeze by. He poised himself, then darted forward.

As he shoved past, Beckman knocked into him, causing his right foot to slip over the precipice. Alex stumbled. He refused to fall. He drove down hard with his left foot and used his broom handle like a cane to drag himself forward, and then he was past them, and he was jumping into the swirling light, and there was a faint voice calling him, growing louder, guiding him, and he grabbed at that voice like a lifeline and pulled himself on.

XXXV.

THE IMP

And then he was falling forward, shocked by the rush of air in his lungs and a suddenness of darkness and cold. The voice was gone. There was a curious, blaring sound, high and tinny, and a flicker of flame.

But Alex clung to his racing thoughts. He knew von Sudenfeld was waiting beyond the gate, probably the bald man, too. He’d have only one chance to get past them. But he had surprise on his side.