The Shade

[PepsiWhirda]

Something had Nyx distracted. Whirda saw the way she would go rigid, listening raptly to something no one else could hear, the way she bristled like she was preparing for an attack, the storm that raged behind her eyes. She didn't even seem to notice the mayor's affliction.

He seemed normal enough to a casual observer—even cordial. All it took, though, was a closer look to see something was terribly wrong. Even in the humid gloom of the Moors, he wore thick wool clothing, cinched tightly at the ankles and wrists. His hands were concealed by silk gloves, his ankles by boots, his face by a thick layer of concealing makeup. But Whirda caught sight of the skin above the mayor's high collar. The skin was gray and splotched with disease, the skin sloughing off in flakes. Though he was polite and assertive, his voice was paper thin, like dry leaves caught in the wind. The monocle did nothing to hide that his eyes were bloodshot and tainted by jaundice.

And if all that wasn't enough, there was the distinct air of death clinging to him like a parasite. It bled from him into the air, like pus from a suppurating wound.

"If he helped your town so much," Whirda said, her voice knife sharp, her tone unrelenting, "wouldn't you wish to confer the same benefit on other peaceful members of the realms?"

Something flashed behind the mayor's eyes, too quick for Whirda to pin down. Malice? She bristled like a threatened predator, but she fought to suppress the feeling. Time was running out in the Tangled Green, and the mayor seemed like their best chance of finding the professor.

"I have no evidence that you are peaceful, Whirda Windstrom, armed and armored as you are in my presence. Are you in the habit of approaching dignitaries in full combat garb and requesting their absolute compliance? To me, that feels like a threat." His smile was sickly sweet. Whirda suspected beyond his honeyed exterior, his life was considerably less saccharine.

"Dignitary?" Whirda snorted. Before she could continue, Nyx placed a hand gently on her chest. She fell into disgruntled silence.

"My companion is, er, a little less politically minded than I am," the blood mage said, her words calm and measured. "We of course don't mean to threaten anyone."

The mayor remained silent, but bade her to continue with a contended dip of his head. Whirda felt like cutting his throat right then and washing her hands of the entire thing.

"And we understand, sir," Nyx went on, "your reluctance in helping us. In a place like the Moors, I'm sure you can't be too careful."

"That, my dear, is an understatement," the mayor chuckled.

Whirda marveled at the way Nyx could seemingly woo the man with no difficulty. Politics was a skill she had long forgotten and fought never to reacquire. Now she began to regret that decision.

Nyx laughed politely before continuing. "I'm certain it is. It's just—it's just, we've seen the blight in the Green first hand. It devastates the forests and costs the elves resources they cannot spare in this time of war. If we can't find a cure soon, it may consume the entire realm."

"You are cunning, Nyx, I'll give you that," the mayor said. "But Darkshire is no friend of elves, or ally of the Tangled Green. I see no reason why it should be any concern of mine."

Nyx hardened, a rigidity of demeanor taking over similar to the ones Whirda had witnessed since they reached the Moors. But this time, she was focused, on the mayor and on the mission at hand. "The defense of Darkshire is important to you, is it not?"

"My dear, I have dedicated years of my life to the defense of this town. There is nothing more important to me."

Whirda saw what Nyx would say before she said it, and she continued to silently applaud the clever blood mage. eg^g

"Well, as I said, the elves expend considerable resources simply to slow the blight's advances. If the blight were to be eradicated, those resources would be, uh, freed up, wouldn't you say?"

The mayor took pause at that, rubbing his gloves hands together in consideration. "Yes, I suppose they would." Another sugary smile had Whirda wishing she could vomit in a "dignitary's" presence.

"On Lady Tyrande's divine authority, I am told to promise you a portion of those resources—archers, mages, and swordsmen—to bolster your defenses. Perhaps even to push back your invaders and reclaim lost territory."

"What guarantee do I have that Lady Tyrande will be true to her word?" the mayor asked dubiously, but the hopeful—greedy?—glint in his eye couldn't be missed.

Whirda saw that Nyx would falter and interjected. "The elf queen's word is her bond, sir. That may be all the guarantee we can promise you, but it seems substantial when all we ask is to speak with the professor."

Something about Whirda seemed to raise the mayor's hackles. The whole room seemed to react to his scowl. The torches flickered violently, as if buffeted by heavy wind. Shadows gathered thick in the corners, and darkness drew in close around them. For the first time, Whirda detected a steady scrape-thunk from the next room—the unmistakable sound of skeletal feet taking slow, shuffling steps on the wooden floor.

After a few long seconds, everything went back to normal. The mayor's face split into a wide grin. "Good enough for me!" he boomed. "Unfortunately, the professor is away at the moment. I am not certain when he will return, but when he does, I would be happy to arrange an audience."

"Where is he?" Whirda asked.

The mayor sobered. "Tragic thing, tragic thing," he muttered. "During the last invasion, two of our little ones were abducted by agents of the shade, Ebyn Thul. He feeds on them, you see—on children. The professor took it upon himself to slay the shade and bring them back.

"I have dealt with shades before," Whirda said. "No one man can slay a shade, much less a professor."

"Professor is merely an appellation, my dear," the mayor said. "Professor Van Helsing is a skilled warrior as well as an adept scholar."

"Nevertheless, he will need help." The idea of the professor, purportedly the one man who could cure the blight and free Whirda of her debt to the elves, being killed in battle shook her to her core. "We can help him deal with the shade, and bring him back all the quicker. Quicker to cure the blight, and quicker to deliver on Lady Tyrande's word."

"You say you have dealt with shades before?" the mayor asked, scratching his chin. His gloved hand came away smeared with skin-colored makeup.

"And all manner of creatures of the night," Whirda affirmed.

"As have I!" Nyx, now feeling left out, piped in.

The mayor considered this for some time. Through the windows of the hall, Whirda watched the night fall. In dusk, the town grew, if possible, even more shadowy and grim. Finally, he spoke.

"Very well. If you are as proficient as you say in dealing with shades, it would be irresponsible of me not to accept your help."

"I agree," Whirda said icily.

"Whirda!" Nyx growled, and Whirda flashed an innocent look.

"The shade's den is somewhere northwest of here. Perhaps a day's travel, if the professor's hunch was right. That is all the information I have, I'm afraid."

Whirda was already walking out of the chamber. She answered over her shoulder, dismissively, "Expect our return in two days. You have been... most helpful."

"Two days!" the mayor called after her. "And I expect Lady Tyrande to deliver on her word."

Whirda didn't answer, and the chamber doors banged shut behind her a moment later.

Nyx flushed red with embarrassment. Whirda's tactless approach to negotiations, however successful, wore on her as the days went on. "Sorry, uh, sir. Two days!" She followed Whirda out the door, leaving Dobson and the mayor alone in the hall.