Shadowguard

Border towns were a cesspool of corruption, and Pendel was no different. Behind its well-tended gardens and neatly paved streets lurked a darkness that was not at all misplaced. Those old enough to remember the days before Arden Ashburn assumed his position wisely held their silence. They buried the town’s darkened history with half-truths and thin lines, the younger generations blissfully ignorant of the atrocities committed.

The older generations said nothing of the destitution and depravity, of the bloodshed and disease, that once choked the streets. Before Arden, the people of Pendel were not simple, unassuming folk; they were criminals - thieves and murderers and cheats and liars - unsavory in every sense of the word. No one was safe from Mikha’s gaze or the extent of his reach. The Guard feared him. The capital abandoned them, wrote them off as a lost cause, and left them for dead.

When the dust settled, the townspeople, at least those who survived, swore to never speak of their past. They set aside their weapons, burned their bridges - then burned the ashes. False identities and carefully woven lies washed the blood from their hands. Their children, and their children’s children, were never to know the truth.

Evelina played her part, spinning tales of a sleepy town on the verge of financial collapse before Arden swept in and took them all under his wing. It wasn’t a complete lie; Mikha and his men hoarded their riches while the rest of them wasted away in the streets. Arden had come in, much like a storybook hero, spouting pretty words of nobility and promises to save them all from the darkness that smothered their miserable existence.

The first time Arden proclaimed his desire to see Mikha fall, back when they were scraggly children sweeping the streets for scraps like a pair of starved rats, she laughed in his face. She laughed until her cheeks ached and tears blurred her vision. Arden was a fool, a complete and utter fool. Pendel couldn’t be saved. Mikha couldn’t be killed.

Ten years later, he cleaved Mikha’s head from his shoulders and sent Shroud running for their lives.

For the first time in nearly fifty years, Pendel knew peace. Children no longer feared for the day when men in black cloaks arrived at their doors to whisk them away. Houses became homes, businesses were honest once again. The Guard, headed by the newly knighted Cane Swiftbrook, established order. Five years later, Pendel held its first election, and Arden began his first term as mayor.

With his death, three decades of relative peace shattered in an instant. The younger generations voiced their outrage (though few believed her precious daughter responsible - she made certain of that), but the elders fell into stunned silence. Fear seized the town in a vice grip, the implications of Arden’s murder loud and clear.

Pendel’s dark past reared its disgusting head. Arden’s demise presented Shroud with an opportunity to retake their old stronghold. Somehow, her daughter ended up at the heart of it.

And here she was, drinking tea on Pala Ashburn’s balcony.

“You truly think Shroud’s behind this?”

Arden’s wife was not well. Dark circles, further accented by the deep umber of her skin, hung beneath her eyes. Her hair was a bird’s nest, her frizzy coils, streaked through with gray, sticking out at odd angles. She aged ten winters in two weeks, the lines of her face sharper and more pronounced than ever. Her teacup shook slightly in her hands as she raised it to her lips.

“With Windmore involved? After what happened twenty years ago? It can’t be anyone else,” Evelina hissed. She slammed her fist down on the wrought-iron patio table, the dishware rattling. “Damn it all, I knew I should’ve gutted the bastard, but no. Arden and Ronan just had to insist otherwise.”

“You gave up killing,” Pala said, taking a delicate sip from her cup. “We all did. More than that, it would blow your cover and you can’t afford that. Windmore hasn’t figured out who you are and if he does, and the capital finds out —“

“I’d be dead, but at least Arden would still be alive.”

Pala pressed her lips into a thin line as she set her tea aside and folded her hands in her lap, her thumb twisting the thick silver band on her right pinky. To anyone else, she might have appeared nervous or unsettled, but Evelina knew better. The last time Pala Ashburn wore that ring, five men were found dead.

That was ten years ago, after the third failed attempt on Arden’s life. Three days later, one of his political rivals was discovered hanging from a tree in the forest, a crate’s worth of dirty secrets at his feet. No one spoke of the incident. The Guard labeled it a suicide, citing family tensions and financial struggles. To those who knew, however, the message rang clear.

“Maybe, maybe not,” Pala sighed. “Windmore is neither clever nor skilled enough to pull off an assassination. He was a pawn, albeit a useful one, I’m sure.”

“Pawn or not,” Evelina said, “I’m figuring this out, for both their sakes.”

“No, Evelina. This is not your fight.”

Rage shot through her. Evelina slammed her hand onto the table once more. Her cup clattered to the floor, bursting into a shower of glass and tea. “Not my fight? My brother’s dead and my daughter was almost murdered!”

Pala, long having since grown accustomed to her outbursts, didn’t flinch. She merely picked up her own cup and set it on the smaller side table behind her. Evelina huffed. She must be losing her touch.

“They thrust the torch into your daughter’s hands,” Pala clipped. “If Shroud really is behind this, as you suspect, the best thing you can do for her is to stay in the shadows.”

Evelina sucked in a breath, infuriated by the audacity of her statement, but before she could voice her disapproval, Pala continued, “Everna already has a target on her back. She doesn’t need you making matters worse for her, especially now that Shadowguard is involved.”

Shadowguard.

Evelina scowled. The self-proclaimed band of do-gooders and nosy want-to-bes wasn’t good for anything but ignoring problems. They branded themselves as protectors of the region, but when they were needed most, they slunk into the shadows and watched as the world crumbled around them. Only when it posed an immediate threat to them, did they finally decide to crawl out of their hole.

Where were the region’s oh-so-gallant protectors when Shroud took over Pendel and turned her home into a festering pool of crime? Where were they when children were snatched off the streets, sold off like objects, whored out, or turned into bloodthirsty killers? Where were they when people died by the hundreds from disease and starvation?

“Why her?” Pala asked after a heavy silence.

“That’s the golden question, isn’t it?” Evelina said, a dry smile playing at her lips. “There’s nothing special about her.”

“You’re not paying enough attention or choosing to ignore it,” Pala sighed. “If Shroud still ruled these streets, they’d have snatched her up a heartbeat. Shadowguard seems to think the same. I’ve gotten reports of their agent keeping tabs on her.”

“I’m aware,” Evelina spat. “I caught the rat slinking around the tavern a few days ago. He left a letter for my daughter. Asked her to meet at the west gate, alone.”

A ghost of a smile touched her face. “Everna gets a letter from a man and you’re sour about it? And here I thought you wanted her to marry.”

“Marry a man, yes. Not some shadow skulking scoundrel. She’s too pure for that.”

“The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

“Ronan is not a scoundrel. A lumbering idiot, perhaps, but not a scoundrel,” Evelina said, nothing but fondness in her voice.

“I was talking about you.”

“Oh, piss off,” Evelina scoffed. “Everna is nothing like me, thank the gods. She’s not like any of us, and I intend to keep it that way.”

“And you and I both know the world, nor Shroud, cares about your intentions.”