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by Robin W. Bailey

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Paralyzed since birth, a young man named Innowen happens upon a sorceress along the road. She grants him the ability to walk, but there are two conditions—he can only walk between dusk and dawn and, to keep this ability to walk, he must perform a dance in the witch's honor each night.

What at first seems harmless comes with a sinister price. Anyone…  See more details below


Paralyzed since birth, a young man named Innowen happens upon a sorceress along the road. She grants him the ability to walk, but there are two conditions—he can only walk between dusk and dawn and, to keep this ability to walk, he must perform a dance in the witch's honor each night.

What at first seems harmless comes with a sinister price. Anyone who witnesses Innowen’s dance is soon compelled to act out his or her darkest, most horrific desires. Eased of his physical affliction only to be burdened with a moral one, Innowen sets out on a quest to find his nameless “benefactor” in order to lift the curse. What he finds instead are long-protected secrets that threaten to bring down the entire kingdom.

Filled with twists and turns, this grim fantasy from author Robin Wayne Bailey will remind readers that the most powerful magic hides in the dark of night. 

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By Robin Wayne Bailey


Copyright © 1983 Robin W. Bailey
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4976-0768-2


Innowen dragged his crippled body desperately through the darkness and the mud, ignoring the chill, whipping wind and the rain that pelted him. His hands were sore and bloodied from pine needles and thorns and sharp stones. Still, his fingers dug into the road, seeking purchase as he hauled himself a few more painful inches, stripping more flesh from elbows already raw and oozing. His breath came in ragged gasps; he cried out again and again for help, but through the thunder and relentless deluge, his voice came as a weak and pathetic whimper.

Who's there to hear me, anyway? he thought forlornly. Yet for the sake of his guardian he cried out, hurling his shouts against the tempest as he dragged himself with piteous determination through the miserable night.

A blast of lightning, a cobalt flare bright enough to penetrate the tangled canopy of leaves and branches, tore open the sky. For an instant, Innowen saw the narrow road stretching before him and the trees on either side that loomed like mighty soldiers of an era before the Age of Man. Help me, he begged them. Help Drushen! Don't let him die! If only I had legs to run for help!

Darkness closed in again. Thunder ruptured the heavens, and a wind ripped through the forest. At first, in that rasping rustle, he thought the trees had answered his prayer and torn themselves from their roots, that they would sweep him up from the mud and, awakened from an ancient hibernation, march to Drushen's aid. But that was only fever or a moment's wild dream. Neither spirits nor gods answered men so easily. Save for the deafening crashes and the rain and his useless cries, the forest kept its silence.

He couldn't stop a gush of tears. He didn't know how much time Drushen had, how fast the venom in his veins would work. If only Innowen had legs to run! The village of Shandisti was not too far for a man with legs. Or Lord Minarik's keep; his soldiers might help.

But Innowen's legs were worthless. Filled with despair and self-loathing, he pounded his fist against the road, splashing mud in his face and eyes. Without Drushen, he would be alone in the world. How would he get by? He shouted again with a force that left his throat raw. Help me, help! But not a soul traveled the forest road on such a night as this, and if any gods rode the wind, they offered him no solace.

For Drushen's sake, he swallowed his fear as best he could and struggled on his belly toward the village, eating the mud that filled his mouth, wiping rain from his face, with only the lightning to show him the road.

Half a man, that's all he was. Not even that; barely a man at all. He hated himself for his useless legs and for his tears, all his weakness. Now he hated the world because soon Drushen would die, and he, Innowen, would be left alone.

On the verge of exhaustion, he used that hatred like a whip to lash himself onward. Weeping, he dragged his body another inch, clinging to the barest shred of hope while a small part of him prayed. If Drushen dies, let me die, too, here, exposed in the storm.

In heaven, they would be together again, and Drushen would take care of him forever.

"Look here, my lady." A deep voice said suddenly out of the night. "Quite a worm we've found wriggling in the mud."

Innowen looked up just as a bright flash tore open the night and stung his eyes. For an instant, fear gripped his heart, but that emotion yielded suddenly to wild hope as a pair of riders splashed cautiously out of the darkness.

After-images of the lightning dazzled his vision, and he wiped a hand over his eyes. A huge white horse stopped so close that its hooves splattered him with mud. Raising up on his elbows, he stared in wonder at the leather breast strap so richly studded with gold and silver, at the elegantly worked bridle that tinkled with bells and precious glimmering jewels. With an impatient snort, the horse shook its streaming mane, then lowered its head as if to investigate him.

He saw the horse's rider perched high on a soft, beautifully woven cloth-of-gold riding pad. Just as suddenly, he perceived the eerie glow that surrounded her and lent gleam to the gems and luster to the metals on her tack. A warm, wondrous pool of light spread on the ground around her. Innowen felt it like a gentle wave on his skin.

Her hair shone with the same golden light, and it spilled over her shoulders. Her eyes, though, were black, full of a darkness so deep it shamed the night. There was no color in her cheeks, but her lips were redder than roses. They turned upward in a strange smile. One hand parted the folds of her cloak and fluttered to her throat, while her ivory breasts strained against the white silk of her gown. Upon that tender flesh, a ruby hung on a thin chain. It seemed to Innowen that the jewel burned with an inner fire and throbbed with something not unlike hunger.

Innowen caught his breath, unable to move or speak. He had seen few women in his life, and none at all like this one. The heart sprang out of him; he loved her at once. Yet he feared her, too, for he knew her name. In all of Ispor there could only be one such woman.

He gazed upon the Witch of Shanalane.

When she spoke, her voice was a velvet caress: "Vashni, get down and see what this is. If it really is a boy, then it's either mute or afraid of us." The red blossom of her mouth opened in a smile, exposing small, perfect ivory thorns. "We won't harm you, boy," she said, but her words didn't reassure Innowen.

A deeper rumbling answered the Witch. "I still think it's a worm, mistress."

Innowen recoiled as a huge demon rode out of the Witch's shadow on the largest, blackest mare he had ever seen. Lightning glistened on the creature's breastplate and greaves, which were made of black leather and fitted with rings of burnished bronze. As the demon swung down to the ground, Innowen saw the immense sword belted over one hip and the helm bound with a leather strap to his other. Dark braids tumbled over the demon's shoulders as he bent low, grasped Innowen's arm, and tried to jerk him to his feet.

Innowen gave a sharp cry of pain as his shoulder nearly separated from its socket, and another as Vashni, reacting in surprise, dropped him. The muddy road rushed up to meet him as he fell helplessly.

"He's lame," Vashni commented without emotion, looking down upon Innowen, who struggled up onto one bruised elbow. A grim smirk lifted the corners of the demon's mouth. "A poor night for a walk, anyway."

"Enough of your rudeness," his mistress ordered.

The Witch of Shanalane turned her dark-eyed gaze fully upon Innowen, and he froze, unable to look away. A shiver passed through him. Drushen, the storm, the forest, his anguish, all other thoughts suddenly dissolved. Only those eyes, of all else in the world, held any meaning for him.

She's drinking my life, he thought through a strange, blissful haze. His vision blurred, his senses swam, and he felt himself becoming tenuous and thin. Let her. I give it willingly.

But then she let him go—if, indeed, it had not all been his imagination. He shook his head and wiped rain from his eyes.

"We heard your wails even over the storm," she said. Her voice sounded sweeter, richer than the bells that jingled on her bridle. "Are you lost, boy?"

His face burned suddenly with shame: he had forgotten Drushen.

"My guardian is dying," he stammered, wishing with all his soul that he could stand on his feet to speak to this lady. Plainly, she didn't deserve her reputation. The aura that surrounded her was surely the golden light of goodness. Here was no thing of evil. He beheld no witch, but a goddess.

Innowen swallowed hard and continued, the words rushing from him. "He went to gather logs from the woodpile at dinnertime, and a serpent bit his hand. He barely made it back to the cabin before collapsing. I touched his skin—it was so cold! I had to try to get help, but as you see, I can only crawl. Then, this storm came up so fast!" Innowen broke down again and sobbed freely. "He may be dead by now, but please, Lady. Drushen is all I've got in this world!"

Under her steadfast gaze, he felt like a bug pinned in the mud, like the worm for which Vashni had taken him. Again, unwanted tears sprang from his eyes, and he hung his head.

"Mistress," the demon said in a bare whisper, "the soldiers ..."

The Witch's words came like shards of ice that froze the air. "The soldiers are my worry."

Vashni dared to say no more. He turned away, but he looked back just long enough to glare at Innowen with eyes of pure menace.

The Witch put a finger to her lips, considering. Her brow furrowed ever so slightly in a way that did not mar her beauty. "Put him over your horse," she said at last to the demon. "We'll see if his Drushen is alive or dead."

Innowen raised up on his hands and lifted his head as high as he could. "Thank you, Lady, thank you! Please, let's hurry!"

Before he could say another word, the breath rushed from him as Vashni seized the rope belt around his waist and jerked him from the mud. Innowen flushed with anger, feeling as if he'd been cut in two, as the demon heaved him roughly over the black mare's withers. What must the Lady think to see him treated like a piece of meek baggage! And the demon used no riding pad, but rode bareback. A sweaty froth coated the mare's hide, unpleasant and creamy warm against his skin.

Innowen bit his tongue to keep from crying out or protesting. He'd found help for Drushen. Only that mattered. For his guardian's sake he kept silent. A wrong word and they might shove him back in the mud. Where would he be then? Where would his guardian be?

The Witch of Shanalane addressed him: "Do you live down this road, boy?"

Innowen started to snap. He was no boy. But then he mastered himself. He could not be angry with such a lady. From his awkward position, he did his best to look up. "Yes, that way. Just off the road you'll see a narrow path. Drushen is a woodcutter, and we live in the deepwoods."

A burst of lightning illuminated the forest, and the wind suddenly bent the trees until timbers cracked and splintered. Innowen stared, wide-eyed, as a strange realization struck him. He held up his hands. "The rain!" he cried. "It's not touching us!"

The Witch smiled as she waited for Vashni to swing onto his horse and guide his mount up beside her. Innowen found himself nose to knee with this strange woman, and her scent swam intoxicatingly in his nostrils. "Of course not," she said. "It's my storm. It's supposed to slow my enemies, not ruin my garments. What's your name, boy?"

He swallowed again and told her.

"Innowen," she repeated with a small laugh. "Like Innocent." She looked toward Vashni, and Innowen heard the demon's low-throated chuckle. "Well, hold tight, my Innocent. We'll waste no time reaching your guardian."

He didn't get a chance to answer or to protest the nickname. Boy was bad enough, but Innocent! Vashni's huge mount lurched forward, bouncing him painfully on the demon's knee. Again, the breath rushed out of him with a whoosh; starry lights burst dizzyingly in his vision, and tears burned his eyes.

Still he felt good. Soon, he would be at Drushen's side again. He hadn't failed his dearest and only friend. This time he had won a victory over his crippled, useless body, and his heart swelled with pride.

They raced with bone-jarring speed. Mud splashed up toward his face, never quite touching him. The storm smashed the forest, beat the branches of the trees until they hung thick with water. Yet no drop of rain dampened his skin.

The wind was a different matter. It stung his flesh and pulled his hair. He tried to look ahead, but he couldn't bear its force directly in his eyes. It filled his ears with a terrible rushing roar as it whipped past.

The horse's motion made breathing difficult. Innowen bounced helplessly, held in place only by Vashni's huge right hand, which pressed into the small of his back. Innowen's lungs burned until he feared he would cry out. Instead, he choked and gasped for what little air he could draw and bit his lip against any sound or outcry.

From the corner of his eye he glimpsed the Lady. Far ahead, she glowed like a wild torch in the darkness. Her hair streamed, and her cloak flowed behind her. At a bend in the road, her horse slipped in the treacherous muck, nearly unseating her, but she recovered easily, and her unexpected laughter drifted back to him like cymbals and wild bells on the night air.

Never in his young life had Innowen met anyone like her, and he knew in that instant that he loved her with all his heart. He couldn't explain his passion, and he wondered if it might be some strange magic. But he knew it with certainty.

Caught up in wonder, he almost missed the boulder and the old tree that marked the path to his cottage. The Witch of Shanalane sped past them. Only the strange radiance that surrounded her gave Innowen any warning as, for just an instant, his landmarks stood illuminated against the gloom.

"Wait!" he cried. "To the right! Take the path!"

The Witch seemed not even to slow. She jerked on her jeweled reins and wheeled her steed in an impossible circle. Into the thicket, she briefly disappeared. Then, her light could be seen winking between the trunks and the branches and the leaves. Nothing restrained her speed.

Innowen marveled at her courage. The woods were thick along the path. A low limb would certainly sweep her from the animal's back. Didn't she care?

Vashni's hand pressed him down with greater force as they, too, turned onto the path. The world spun crazily for a moment, and Innowen thought the black mare had slipped. He screamed and dug his fingers into Vashni's leg. The huge demon only chuckled as he crouched low over Innowen, bringing his face close to the horse's neck as they plunged into the woods.

The forest closed around them, but the canopy of leaves seemed less dense than Innowen thought it should be. There were no limbs to menace them, no roots to trip them. He knew the path well; Drushen had often carried him along it to the road where they would meet and chat with travelers. But now the way was clear. The trees seemed to bend away, to part for them.

Just ahead stood the cottage. Firelight trickled through the cracks of worn shutters and through the partially opened door. The Lady had arrived before them. Her mount waited untethered, breathing heavily. Her shadow moved within the cottage.

Vashni jerked his own horse to a halt, flung his leg over Innowen's head, and jumped down. He hauled the boy down and tossed him over one shoulder. At last, Innowen dared to protest—uselessly. The demon kicked the door open wider with the toe of his boot, glanced around disdainfully at the furnishings, and grunted before he deposited his squirming burden on a stool that stood beside a rickety table.

In the darkest corner of the cottage, a figure sprawled on the only bed. The Witch stood over it. Innowen noticed immediately that her strange glow was gone.

"Drushen?" he whispered, afraid his guardian might already be dead. "Drushen?"

"Shut up," the Witch ordered quietly. "He's very weak. We're almost too late."

Drushen struggled up onto one elbow. Ropes of black hair turning gray clung to his sweat-drenched face. His moist eyes gleamed as he looked past the Witch and spied his charge. "Child, my child," he managed thickly. "I feared the storm had claimed you." He clutched suddenly at the Witch's sleeve and pulled her closer. "Take care of my Innowen, please! He needs someone. I beg you!"

The Witch gently pushed Drushen back on the bed. "Hush. You'll care for him yourself." She tore away the sleeve of the old man's tunic and lifted his arm to better see the puncture marks of the serpent's sting, two tiny wounds just above the right wrist. Abruptly, she called to her demonic companion. "Vashni, get a better fire going in that hearth. I need warmth and light, and these few candles aren't enough." She gestured at the two sticks on the mantle with their pathetic flames. "Then bring my smaller riding bag. You know which one."

Vashni obeyed at once. Without a word, he gathered logs from a basket that sat near the door, thrust them into the hearth, and began to prod and stir the coals.

The Witch unlaced her cloak and started to cast it aside. Then, noticing Innowen on his stool, she changed her mind. "You're shivering," she observed, draping the expensive garment over him. "Don't worry, my Innocent," she whispered. "The old man will live. The bite is a bad one, but the venom hasn't yet reached his heart."

Innowen only nodded. He was back in his familiar cottage, the one-room world which made up most of his existence, and he had found help for Drushen. Although rainwater dripped from strands of his hair and ran into his eyes, and mud slicked his clothes and skin, he found comfort in these surroundings and security in the presence of this Lady who had stolen his heart.


Excerpted from Shadowdance by Robin Wayne Bailey. Copyright © 1983 Robin W. Bailey. Excerpted by permission of OPEN ROAD INTEGRATED MEDIA.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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Meet the Author

Robin W. Bailey, a lover of fantasy and science fiction for as long as he can remember, has devoted years of his life to writing in the fantasy and science fiction genre. His works include Swords Against the Shadowland, Shadowdance, Frost, Bloodsongs, and Skull Gate. Bailey served as the central/south regional director of the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America for nine years and was been the president of the organization for two years, from 2005 through 2007. He is also one of the founders and board members of the Science Fiction and Fantasy Hall of Fame and a member of the Kansas City Science Fiction and Fantasy Society. He is an avid book collector and a fan historian. Bailey’s interests include music, martial arts, bodybuilding, soccer, and cycling.

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4.8 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 4 reviews.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
A really great book. I've read this one 3 times now.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I expected this to be the first in a series. I was very surprised when I hit the 350p mark and realized that the story was just getting started. Normally, that would be a bad thing, but this one was written well enough that I wanted to know more about the characters and what was coming. The dance sequences were interesting, the homo-erotica all suggestion and I'm still not certain how I kept getting drawn along, but I was disappointed when it was over and more so now that, looking up the author, I've verified that there's no sequel!
Guest More than 1 year ago
I really enjoyed reading this book. I read it two years ago, but now it has just dissappeared. I have been trying to find it again, but I cannot find it anywhere. This truely shows how amazing Robin Wayne Bailey's imagination is and he is a master genius. I cannot wait to find this book again and to read others that he has written. Mr. Bailey, you have captivated my mind and deserve all the praise in the world for your works!!!
Guest More than 1 year ago
'Shadowdance' was an amazing book. Once i started reading it I couldn't put it down. I just wish Robin Wayne Baily had more books like this. This is the only one I have read. Although it shows true originality and shows Robin's vivid imagination. I loved it to no end.