Shadow's Fate: Shadow's Bastion, #1

A Note On Content:

While this is a fictional story set in a fantasy world, it does contain scenes and discussions of very real things such as child neglect and emotional abuse, kidnapping, poverty and classism, violence, blood, and death, as well as characters that struggle with the loss of loved ones, past trauma, and anxiety/panic attacks. Please proceed at your own risk.

Copyright © 2025 by E.L. Louder

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permission requests, contact skelebunstudios@gmail.com.

The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.

Cover and interior art by E.L. Louder (Skelebun Studios)

1st edition 2025

To everyone who still hopes that perhaps things can be better one day.

Prologue

Aurelia Diancia Marszalek was not a monster.

She repeated this sentiment for the umpteenth time, trying to make herself believe it as she plucked a loose tuft of reddish-brown fur from her forearm with a clawed hand. If there was a technical term for what she was, she had yet to find it. She didn’t own so much as a wolf skin scarf, so vukodlak was out. Too pretty to be a leshy, not pretty enough to be a vila. The Marszaleks’ modest library didn’t keep many books on such creatures, however—her father said such things were a waste of space—so her research was somewhat stifled. She speculated she was only allowed to read at all because no one cared enough to stop her.

The moon spilling through the balcony doors of her third-floor chambers carved a vibrant pool of light into the plush maroon carpet, and Aurelia defiantly bathed in it. No servants were permitted to enter her quarters after sundown—only her father, the Lord Duncan Marszalek, who had her under strict orders to remain in the shadows once darkness filled the sky. Not that he ever visited, either.

She rolled over, eyeing a brownish stain on the carpet near the door. Once, a newly hired maid had entered her room unannounced in the evening, thinking her young mistress might appreciate some tea. The porcelain pot had immediately shattered against the ground, splattering Earl Gray everywhere, and Lord Duncan had been so irate that his face had bypassed red and skipped straight to purple. Aurelia never saw that maid again.

Whatever she was, no one could know about it. It would ruin them, her father said. Ruin him, he meant.

Aurelia curled up in the stream of moonlight, yellow eyes growing heavy. A thin, tufted tail lay gently over her thick-furred thigh, and she stretched out black-hooved feet. Her chamber door would remain locked until morning, when she was in a proper state to face the world. Until then, she was safe.

I heard they stole the pearls right off Lady Nowak’s neck.

"Well, I heard they robbed the Ironhawks’ armory, so now they’re armed to the teeth."

What do they need weapons for? I heard the Spectre can kill with just a look.

Ha! I think you’re mixing bedtime stories with reality, boy, a bald man in a scarlet coat said, swirling his mug of ale. The pub known as the Dragon’s Den was especially rowdy tonight, laughter and tuneless song drowning out most of the conversation. Several figures sat around a table, attempting to converse anyway. Shadow’s Bastion are petty thieves, nothing more.

Perhaps, replied the young man, adjusting the pale blue scarf around his neck. But most rumors have some truth to them. Did you hear about what happened at House Bartosz?

I haven’t, the bald man said.

Oh, I did! said a heavyset woman clutching a goblet of cheap wine. Apparently, Shadow’s Bastion emptied their entire vault. Not a thing remained.

The chestnut-haired boy with the scarf tapped his finger on the table. Yes, but it turned out House Bartosz’s fortunes had largely been gambled away by Lord Bartosz, so there wasn’t much to take…allegedly. Caused a bit of a scandal when Lady Bartosz found out.

Like I said, petty thieves, the bald man repeated.

I dunno, I don’t think I’d want to cross paths with the Spectre of Skala, the woman said, and the others at the table nodded. They say he just appears, takes what he wants, and vanishes without a trace. Ironhawks ain’t caught him yet, anyhow.

The Ironhawks’ efficacy is questionable at best, the bald man said, waving a dismissive hand. Half the people in this room have wanted posters.

I’ve heard, the boy said, that they’ve got their sights set on the Zuraw Ruby next.

The bald man sat up a bit, interest piqued. Do they now? he asked, rubbing his chin. House Zuraw won’t part with that easily. Trust me, I’ve tried.

House Zuraw ain’t dealin’ with you, Cassius, the woman laughed. "They’re too upstanding for that. Everyone knows what kinds of ‘businesses’ you and your pa have got your hands in. You want that ruby, you are gonna have to steal it."

Cassius laced ring-crusted fingers in front of him, only the smallest hint of a frown crossing his face. Give it time, he said. I’ve met that bumbling fool Henrik called a son. House Zuraw will crumble on its own under him.

You keep dreamin’, the woman snickered.

The boy with the scarf scanned their surroundings, then leaned forward, resting his chin on one hand. Not to engage in too much more gossip, he said, lowering his voice, but rumor has it that Shadow’s Bastion can be hired, for the right price.

Cassius quirked an eyebrow, the movement so slight it was almost imperceptible. I don’t suppose, he said, that you’ve also heard how one would go about contacting them?

The boy smiled. I might have.

Chapter 1

This was it; it was over. They were finally going to get caught.

Kasper paced back and forth in the small space, trying to rein in the growing sense of panic as Emil fiddled with the dial on the safe. After weeks of planning and reconnaissance, everything had checked out—the layout of the house matched the blueprints they’d lifted from the architect’s office, and the number of guards had been consistent over the past several days. Meanwhile, as the disgruntled footman they’d bought a few rounds for at the pub had kindly let slip, Lord and Lady Czajka had left to visit family in the countryside yesterday morning, leaving their staff lighter than usual.

This safe, however, was apparently a recent addition, and it was taking up time they hadn’t left themselves. Please tell me you’re almost done.

Listen, this is delicate work, the chestnut-haired boy replied, shifting his powder blue scarf out of the way to put his ear against the door of the safe. One wrong move and it might just lock forever.

Kasper bit his lip as some confused shouts from down the hall signaled their dwindling time. The diversion the others were creating was relatively simple: their illusionist, Bellow, snuck in ahead of them dressed as a new cook and made it appear as though the kitchens were on fire. The spell lasted twenty minutes at best, though. Luka, meanwhile, lowered the blood pressure of a few maids enough to make it look like they’d passed out from smoke inhalation, so others would get tied up tending to them—but they’d be bouncing back by now as well. Finally, Mora had contorted her way through a narrow vent, dropping into the security center and disabling the magical alarm on the trophy room door so Kasper and Emil could get in and grab as many of House Czajka’s sapphires as they could carry.

But instead of the jewels being on display and easily plucked from racks, all they’d found inside was the safe. Kasper fought to stem the flow of potentially horrible outcomes leaking into his head before it became a flood.

You’re panicking, stop it.

They needed this score. A purse here and a necklace there were much lower risk, but the reward wasn’t enough anymore, and their endeavor at House Bartosz had turned up far less than they’d hoped. At this point, leaving the Czajkas’ empty-handed was only a marginally better option than a noose.

Stop it. Breathe.

By the way, I had a very interesting conversation at the Dragon’s Den earlier, Emil said.

Whatever it was, it can wait, Kasper replied.

It was a job offer—

"Focus, Emil."

He huffed. Well, that would be much easier if you would stop that blasted pacing.

Kasper stopped, the ends of his tattered black cloak fluttering back into place around his boots. It wasn’t like he’d been making any noise. Tugging his hood further over his face, he squinted down the hall, searching for signs of movement. The kitchen fire would have dissipated by now, and the staff would be starting to investigate. Meanwhile, Bellow should have snuck Luka and Mora out the back, disguised as employees, to wait for Emil and himself.

Except, they were still dealing with this gods-damned safe. Kasper hoped the twin deities of fortune were having a good laugh at them right now.

Something else nagged at him the longer Emil played with the dial. A few days ago, rumors had begun circulating that the Czajkas’ sapphire mines had dried up, and their fortune was fading fast. They’d spent so long preparing that he wasn’t calling off the heist over some unfounded gossip, but if they’d come this far for an empty safe…

A shadow appeared across a candlelit wall around the corner. Emil—

Done, Emil said as the safe swung open, revealing piles of jewelry and loose gems. Kasper breathed a sigh of relief as they hurriedly began stuffing bags full. House Czajka had made their fortune off the backs of the workers in their mines, and bought their estate in the Fantazja and their place in Skala’s high society with it—they could part with a few gems.

Kasper snagged a stray earring as it began to roll away, pausing to examine it. The metal clasp felt flimsy, and the sapphire didn’t exactly sparkle in the dimly lit room. He squinted at a tiny smudge on the gem’s surface, but hastily dropped it in the bag at the sound of approaching footsteps. We need to go, he hissed, grabbing Emil as he pocketed the last of the gems.

By the time the guard found the empty safe, the room was empty as well. Kasper and Emil watched the confused man from the shadows of the rafters above, pressed against the wall. Kasper was nigh invisible, dressed in nearly solid black, but the earthy tones Emil wore under his cloak were meant for picking pockets and disappearing into crowds, not darkness. He silently prayed to Belobog that the guard didn’t look up.

Finally, the man hurried off to alert his fellows to the theft. As soon as he was out of sight, the thieves began sidling along the wooden beams to the exit. Their escape route was through the master suite, which would likely be forgotten with the Lord and Lady out of town—at least, that’s what Kasper was crossing his fingers for. They made their way to the upper floor, dodging servants who had noticed something was amiss and that the new cook had mysteriously disappeared.

When they rounded the corner that led to the suite, according to the blueprint, Emil nearly collided with a servant coming the opposite direction. Before the woman could open her mouth to scream, Kasper had clamped a damp rag over it. He caught her as her eyes rolled back and she collapsed. The anesthetic on the rag, made from a particularly exotic and expensive Rusindran plant, typically wore off after a few hours, so they propped her against a wall and ducked into the Czajkas’ bedchamber.

Drawn curtains made the room pitch black in the night. Kasper drew a nub of a candle from one of his many pockets, and whispered a word in a language no one spoke anymore to ignite the enchanted hunk of wax. Despite looking like it was on its last legs, the candle wouldn’t burn out until he deactivated it, nor would it burn the holder—but it was still liable to set the room on fire, so he kept it close to his chest.

House Czajka’s master suite was typical for a manor of its type, containing a curtained four-poster bed with a floral brocade bedspread in the family’s signature sapphire blue and white, varnished birch furniture, and a bearskin rug in front of the marble fireplace. A chandelier glittered with yet more gems as the candlelight struck it.

You suppose that rug’s worth anything? Emil wondered aloud as they skirted around the bearskin.

I’m not carrying it back to town to find out, Kasper replied.

"I was thinking it’d look nice in front of our hearth."

Kasper grimaced as the rug’s glass eyes caught the light, giving the bear’s face a flicker of life while the rest of it remained a flattened approximation of an animal. I don’t like when the furniture stares at me.

Truthfully, nothing in this room was much to his tastes; the ostentatious display was good for little more than impressing the Czajkas’ wealthy cohorts in the Fantazja, or pawning to get the one thing the family had that they actually needed: money. Their funds were running so low that a spider had moved into the lockbox Kasper hid the proceeds from their work in, and its web took up more space than the remaining coins.

They tiptoed across the suite, pausing only for Kasper to pull Emil away from a three-tiered jewelry box on the vanity. They’d gotten what they came for; the more they disturbed, the more likely they were to leave behind evidence. Finally arriving at the balcony door, he slipped a dark-gloved hand around the curtain to unlock it, and they slid outside.

The night greeted them with a pleasant breeze. These last few days of spring were arguably the least miserable time of year in Koszalin, and were only a brief respite between wet, icy winters and the sticky summer heat around the corner. Their small nation technically had four seasons, but the two reasonable ones were often so short you could blink and miss them.

Violets swayed in the beds below the balcony, and Kasper was careful not to crush any as they slid down a rope to the ground—less for the plants’ sake and more to keep their exit route concealed. From here, they only needed to make it across the stretch of manicured lawn and past the fence at the edge of the estate.

Weren’t the others supposed to meet us here? Emil said, brow furrowing.

Not if we took too long, Kasper replied. I told them to go ahead if we didn’t make it by the time the spells wore off. He wasn’t about to let them all get caught when only one part of the plan had hit a snag.

So, how exactly do we get out of here without being seen? We were going to use Bellow’s glamor, Emil asked.

That was Plan A, Kasper said. Plan B is…less glamorous. He nodded towards a round metal plate in the ground nearby.

Emil followed his gaze. You’re joking, right?

Am I ever?

It’s almost summer, Kas; it’s going to be a nightmare down there.

Kasper shrugged. It’s either that, or we make a run for it and hope no one puts an arrow in our backs—and let’s be honest, they’re going to catch you first.

His scrawny companion scoffed. It is not my fault you have those long, spindly legs. Or that I don’t.

Kas rolled his eyes. Either come on or find your own way out.

The Skalan sewer system was of questionable quality at the best of times, and the city didn’t exactly smell like roses, but the one place it always worked properly was the Fantazja. The manors and estates of Skala’s filthy rich citizens were spread out enough that it kept the actual filth moving through the tunnels below, and even they didn’t dare skimp on maintenance costs, lest a pipe back up and create a new fountain in one of their gardens. And luckily, the blueprints of the Czajka estate they’d ‘borrowed’ were very detailed, down to the underground layer.

They emerged just outside the bounds of the estate, near the main road, where the others would be waiting at their secondary meeting location—the Dragon’s Den. Built into a cave a short distance off the road leading east out of Skala, the tavern was a hotspot for the city’s unsavory types. It was frequented by so many brigands, mercenaries, mobsters, and thieves that the town guard avoided it like the plague, instead choosing to focus their limited efforts on more important things, like chasing beggars out of the town square so the Fantazja didn’t have to see them when they rode through in their opulent carriages.

As Emil and Kasper pushed through the heavy wooden door to the pub, a stocky blonde a few years older waved them over to a table, occupied by himself and two others, with a half-empty tankard of ale. Sorry, we weren’t sure how long you’d be, so we got started without you, Bellow said, already a bit ruddy-cheeked.

This wasn’t meant to be a social outing, Kasper muttered, adjusting his hood and scanning the room for any signs of trouble. Other than a small bar brawl in the corner, everything looked normal. A few surrounding tables idly watched the two drunkards messily attempt to hit each other, but most ignored them.

Well, we had t’blend in, Luka said through a sip of wine, their lilting accent making them sound more intoxicated than they likely were. Then again, they’d probably been there for a solid hour, and it was much harder to see a flush on Luka’s face. Kasper opted not to mention that as the only brown-skinned, long-eared Goradi in the room, their blood magician did not, in fact, blend in with the crowd of pale, round-featured Koszali.

Mora sniffed once, wrinkling a delicate feline nose. Ugh, you went with Plan B after all? I thought you were joking.

He most certainly was not, Emil said dryly. Speaking of not blending in, Kasper counted only two catlike Tarkovians in the pub aside from Mora—one was a barmaid, and he was fairly sure the other was a member of Nightsong.

Kasper sighed and took a seat at the table for appearances’ sake. We shouldn’t stay long. I don’t want to be nearby when they figure out what happened and the road is crawling with Hawks.

All the more reason to stay put, Bellow said with a grin, swirling his mug. They aren’t coming in here.

There’s a first time for everything, Kasper deadpanned. The brawl in the corner had now devolved into what could generously be called a slap-fight, the two men flailing their arms incoherently in each other’s general direction. Based on some half-intelligible shouts, it sounded like it had started as a debate over who was paying for the next round, and both refused to let the other lay down their coins.

Oh, live a little, would you? Emil said, sitting down next to him and plucking the wine out from in front of Luka, earning a glare from the dark-haired magician. After tonight, we can afford it. We won’t have to steal anything else for, what, months? Maybe a year?

Kasper snatched the wine from Emil’s hand and set it out of reach. I am not carrying all four of you back home because you got carried away preemptively celebrating.

Hey, leave me out of this, Mora said, swirling a glass of water with a clawed hand. Her green eyes narrowed in concern when they settled on him. At least get something to eat, though.

Not right no— Kasper began, only to be betrayed by a growl from his stomach. Mora gave him a withering look and flagged down a waitress.

Whatever your special is for my friend here, she said with a fanged smile, and the waitress scurried off to the kitchen. While Kasper was busy making sure his team lived to see another day, Mora had made it her mission over the years to make sure he did, and wouldn’t hesitate to quite literally twist his arm to get him to take care of himself. It was usually less painful to let her have her way. So, you guys got everything?

Emptied the safe, Emil said proudly, and Kasper shushed him.

There was a safe? That wasn’t in the blueprint, Bellow said, taking another sip of his ale.

It sure wasn’t, Kasper grumbled, tapping his fingers on the table, careful to keep his hood covering as much of his face as possible. He brushed a strand of dark hair out of his eyes as he watched the brawlers on the other side of the room finally wear themselves out and collapse onto a table, sending several pints of ale clattering to the rough stone floor.

The waitress returned with the night’s special—a dish of thick-cut pork and kielbasa boiled in sauerkraut, with a side of rye bread. At the scent of the food, a whiskered nose appeared over the edge of Mora’s shoulder, followed by the brown and white splotched body and wormlike tail of a small animal: her beloved pet rat, Ru. The rodent sniffed the air, and Mora caught her in one hand as she attempted to jump down and scurry across the table, plopping her back onto her shoulder whilst continuing her conversation with Luka about the finer points of the various daggers they’d collected.

Kasper picked at the food in between keeping a wary eye on the entrance and the rest of the crowd. While the others chatted and laughed, he switched from drumming fingers to tapping a foot against the floor—the longer they stayed there, the more likely it was someone would wander in looking for them and the thousands of brąz worth of jewels they had. Eventually, he pushed the still mostly uneaten plate towards Bellow, who wasted no time digging in while they both pointedly ignored Mora’s disapproving glare.

Thankfully, she gave up and pulled the waitress aside to ask for their bill. Alright, you lowlifes, let’s get out of here before Emil starts doing terrible card tricks and gets us thrown out, she said, standing. Some of the tension dropped out of Kasper’s shoulders.

"They’re not that bad," Emil said.

Didn’t you get tossed out last week for pissing off that merchant with them?

He was angry because he thought I took his pocket watch, not because of the card tricks.

"Did you take his pocket watch?"

No, the fellow from the Snake Eyes I was playing poker with took it; I won it fair and square. He crossed his arms. However, he neglected to inform me the original owner was still in the room when that game took place.

So when did you start tossing cards around? Luka asked.

A distraction while I slipped out the back. Unfortunately, the cook got a hold of me first, Emil explained. I had to give the watch back, but I don’t believe he realized his purse was missing until after I was gone. He snagged the check from the waitress with a smug smile and began counting coins onto the table. I’ll have to thank him for tonight sometime.

Can we please leave before you get any more bright ideas? Kasper said, standing impatiently next to the table, still tapping his foot.

Yes, yes, we know you’re no fun, Emil said. Fine, let’s go home.

Chapter 2

Aurelia yawned and squinted as the first rays of light hit her face. The Lady Dawn, Zorza Utrenica, had seemingly managed to rouse the sun for yet another day—she just wished they could be a little less bright about it.

She’d fallen asleep on the floor again. Picking herself up, Aurelia rubbed her eyes and looked in the large mirror at her vanity. Wavy copper hair stuck up in all directions, and there were some funny divots pressed into her cheek from the carpet as sleepy brown eyes blinked back at her.

She smoothed her hair out, twisting thin braids into either side and tying them together behind her head, while another loose braid she’d tied in the night before hung over her shoulder from behind her ear. Satisfied, she traded her oversized nightgown for a loose, plain, emerald green dress, the skirts mostly concealing a set of breeches and riding boots. Thankfully, no luncheons or tea parties filled her calendar today, so she thought she might spend her morning out on her favorite horse—preferably as far away from Marszalek Manor as she could get without leaving the grounds.

Good morning for a ride, miss, came a raspy comment from near her feet. Awful nice outside.

A small creature blinked up at her with beady black eyes. Good morning, Vivi, Aurelia said as the house spirit, with her pointed snout, red headscarf, and chicken-like legs, set to work lacing up her boot for her. She’d discovered the manor’s resident kikimora as a child, and had quickly found benefit in staying on Vivi’s good side. The sprite cheerfully traded interesting gossip she collected during her daily tasks—either cleaning or making a mess of the home, depending on her mood—for a reliable supply of sweets and milk from the kitchens.

Vivi’s intel had proven invaluable for determining which servants Aurelia could trust, and which would sell her out to her father if she stepped out of line—the kikimora had even once caught a grizzled old butler spying on her changing, and had promptly shattered the priceless vase he hid behind. The butler was dismissed, and Aurelia made sure Vivi was rolling in pastries for weeks.

As the sprite began picking nearly invisible crumbs from the carpet, Aurelia moved to the basin in her washroom. Her attempts to wash the sleep from her eyes and carpet marks from her face produced mixed results, and a few silly-looking depressions remained no matter what she did.

Adjusting a strand of hair to