The Swans' War 3 - The Shadow Roads (2 page)

"Tell me the message again," Hafydd said.

Beldor closed his eyes a moment, and slipped back into the nightmare. " 'Wyrr was laid to rest beneath the Moon's Mirror.'That is all." He opened his eyes to the light and filled his lungs with air.

"And those were the Hand's exact words?""Yes. I'm quite sure. The few moments I spent before… that place are burned into my memory. I fear I shall never forget them, waking or sleeping.""No, you shall not. Call in one of my guards."Beld opened the door, and one of the silent guards came quietly in, his presence reminding Beld of the Death's gate, for reasons he could not quite explain.

"Send out word. The legless man who goes about in a barrow— Kai, he calls himself now. He must be found and brought to me im-mediately—unharmed." The guard bowed and turned toward the door.

"And one more thing. Find all the local midwives. I require the corpse of a stillborn child." Hafydd nodded, and the man left.

"Prepare yourself for a journey, Lord Beldor," Hafydd said. "I think we shall take Lord A'denne with us as well.""The traitor?"

"Yes, I like to have one of my enemies in my company—like a whetstone, it keeps me sharp.""What of the war, Sir Eremon?"Hafydd looked up from the gem, which spun slowly on its chain. "It is of no concern to either you or me.

Let Menwyn Wills fight it if he wants. Let him lose. It matters not at all. We've made bargains with the darkness, Beldor Renne. There is no going back."

The raft spun slowly in the current, tracing a wandering path down the broad river. Upon either bank lay woods of oak, pine, and beech, with poplars raising their tall flags along the shore. Dusk crept out from the shadows beneath the western bank and ran like ink over the still waters. No one among the somber company knew where they were, not even the well-traveled Theason. Only Cynddl and Tarn remained awake, watching the shores, quiet in their own thoughts.

"Have you ever known the Wynnd to be so … empty?"Tam asked.

Cynddl shook his head. "No, but I think we're on the Wynnd and not one of its hidden branches, all the same." He raised a hand and pointed. Some distance to the south, smoke candled above the trees on the western shore. "A village," the story finder said. "We might even reach it before dark."As they drew nearer the smoke, a small boat appeared out of the bank's shadow and shaped its course directly for the raft.

"Someone has taken notice of us," Tarn said. "We best wake the others."He gave Fynnol's shoulder a shake, and the little Valeman stirred, looking around, confused. Cynddl woke the others, all of them exhausted and disreputable-looking, their clothes in ruins from their ordeal in the Stillwater and near drowning in the tun-nels. Somehow, Prince Michael appeared the worst for his experi-ence—perhaps because his clothes had been so very fine to begin with. Baore sat up and rubbed sleep from his eyes, then plunged his head into the river, emerging with water running from hair and eyes, his scant beard dripping.

Theason stood and surveyed the river carefully, then pointed. "That is the island that marks the mouth of the Westbrook," he said, and turned to face the others. "Theason doesn't know how he will tell your people that he failed, Cynddl."The little traveler shook his head forlornly.

The boat, containing three men, caught up with them easily, but these were not fishermen, as Tarn expected. They were men-at-arms in Renne blue. Two of them held bows with arrows nocked. They were not wearing armor—that was almost the first thing that Tarn noticed—to his surprise. But then wearing armor in a small boat on the river would have its own dangers: small boats could overturn.

"And where might the river be taking you?" one of the archers asked. He was a big man, with massive hands easily bending his bow. Beads of sweat streamed down shiny cheeks.

"We go to Westbrook," Prince Michael said. "Why do you care?""Because there is a war, though perhaps you lot are too stupid to have noticed.""A war?" Michael raised both hands to his forehead as though he'd been struck by a sudden pain.

"Yes, we've driven the Prince of Innes from the Isle of Battle." He gestured with his arrow. "I'll have your names and your home villages." He seemed to notice Cynddl for the first time. "You… you're Fael."Cynddl nodded.

"How came you to be traveling with this lot?""Good fortune smiled upon me," the story finder said. "I have no home village, but my name is Cynddl from the Stega. You needn't fear. My friends are all from the far north, the Wildlands, and have no side in the wars of the south.""Is that so?" the man wondered. "You've no weapons?"Tarn's sword was lying on the raft, hidden by the bodies stretched out.

"None," Tarn said quickly.

The man squinted at them. "And you've no belongings?""We had belongings," Prince Michael offered, "but they were lost to the river farther north."The man's eyes narrowed shrewdly. "And have you silver?"The occupants of the raft all looked at each other. "The little we possessed went into the river," Fynnol said.

The man laughed. "Well, at least you've paid for your passage. The river will let you go now. Pass on."The river sentries pulled back to the shore, and the occupants of the raft took up the crude paddles Baore had fashioned for them, using their only substantial edged tool—Tarn's grandfather's sword, which he had given to the enterprise reluctantly.

The ungainly raft lumbered toward the shore, the fragrance of Fael cooking on the breeze and the graceful curves of their tents visible through the trees. Near the low embankment, upon a round rock like the back of a turtle, crouched a small boy. He stared into the waters and rocked gently back and forth.

No adult seemed to be near, and the child could hardly have been more than four.

"He does not look like one of your people," Tam said to Cynddl.

"He's not," the story finder concurred.

"But we know that child!" Fynnol said. "Is that not Eber's son—Llya?""He does look a bit like him," Baore said, breaking his silence for the first time in many hours.

Cynddl hailed the archers in the Fael tongue, and they lowered their bows, calling back to him with relief and joy. Tam could hear the call spread back up into the camp, and though he didn't un-derstand the Fael language, the name Cynddl could not be missed.

The raft took the soft bottom and came to a stop, turning slowly, still pulled by the current. Tarn and the others followed Cynddl ashore, but Prince Michael came reluctantly.

"You do not looked pleased to be here, Michael," Tarn said.

"I have been here before." He looked at Tarn oddly, a crease ap-pearing between his eyebrows. "I came to deliver a warning… from Elise Wills. She had been aided by some young men from the north, and she feared for their safety. They traveled in company with a Fael named Cynddl. And here we all are together.""We received your warning, and we did heed it—in degree. And look, we're all alive." Tarn gave a small bow. "So I thank you."Prince Michael bobbed his head.

The small boy, who had been perched on the rock, had fallen in beside them, almost running to keep pace. He stared up at Baore as though he were a great wonder, making Tarn smile despite his exhaustion and the events of the last few days.

The elder named Nann appeared, and beside her, in his long robes, stood Eber son of Eiresit. His son ran and took hold of his father's leg, peering out from behind the volume of robes.

"You are all safe!" Nann said with feeling. Her eyes closed to creases, and a small tear appeared. "Theason! You found them!""Theason found them, yes," the small man said, not meeting her eye, "but he failed you, good Nann." He met her gaze with dif-ficulty, his own eyes glistening. "Alaan did not escape the Stillwa-ter with his life.""But Alaan lives," Nann said. "He came out of the river just after dawn, looking like a nagar. But rest and food have restored him."Theason's eyes glittered. "Thank the river," the little man said. "Thank the river."

They sat in bent-willow chairs beneath the spreading branches of a massive beech. Colored lanterns cast light upon the somber gathering of Fael and men. Tarn still felt fatigue deep in the core of his body, a slight buzzing in his exhausted mind. They had eaten, but there had been no time for sleep before they were called to a council of elders. The lighthearted Fael were somber that night: Cynddl, Nann, and several others. The outsiders were battered and tired looking: the Vale-men, an unnaturally pale Alaan, Theason, Prince Michael—and to everyone's surprise and relief— Rabal Crowheart, who had wandered into camp an hour before. Even the camp itself was subdued, the murmur of voices and the crackle of fires being all that was heard. There was no music or laughter, as though the appearance of the strangers had brought grief into the wanderers' joyous world.

When everyone had settled, Nann nodded to Tuath. The vision weaver held a large, covered hoop, her white hair and skin, and pale ice-blue eyes stood out here among the dark-colored Fael, as though she were of some other race—a people that lived among the ice and snows of the distant north.

Tam thought Tuath was reluctant as she removed the cover of her embroidery hoop, revealing her vision. Tam, and everyone else, recoiled at the sight. The light exposed a partially completed crea-ture, with ivory chest and belly like a snake, skin faintly scaled and somewhat blue, a serpent's tail, and, upon its four-fingered hands, dark claws. No hair could be seen upon this thing, and its face was malevolently demonlike—though Tam would have to admit that it was also quite human. It was muscled like an animal of the wild, lean and hard.

"What is that!?" Cynddl demanded, sounding like a man who'd had the breath knocked from him. Tam could see the story finder's eyes flick to the thing, then away, as though he couldn't bear to gaze at it too long.

"I don't know," Tuath answered, pale lips curling back in revulsion for what she'd created. "We were hoping that Alaan might tell us."Alaan stared at this terrible portrait and seemed suddenly more ashen, his lips tinged with blue, as though a nagar lay just beneath the surface.

"Alaan… ?" Nann prompted.

The traveler took a deep breath and leaned back in his chair. "A soul eater," he whispered, then closed his eyes. "A monster. Only one has ever walked the surface of the earth, created by a sorcerer from a spell given to him by Death—or so the tales say.""Why has this thing appeared to Tuath now?" Cynddl asked. He slouched in his chair, and though he had eaten and bathed and wore fresh clothes, water had not washed away his fatigue, nor had his clothes covered it.

"Because one will appear, I would imagine," Alaan said. "Isn't that what a vision weaver does—sees things that might be?"Tuath nodded, uncertainly, Tam thought. "It might already exist," she said softly.

"Hafydd has made a bargain with Death," Fynnol said, surpris-ing everyone. "I-I saw it … in the tunnels. Hafydd found me and held a sword to my throat, trying to find out what I knew about Elise Wills and her allies." He looked around at the others defen-

sively. "Samul Renne appeared, and Hafydd spoke to him as though they were allies. I thought it was all up for me, but a shadow appeared… Not really a shadow but a darkness that seemed to press back the light. Out of this darkness came a voice claiming to be the Hand of Death. Even Hafydd fell to his knees before it. The shadow offered Hafydd a bargain. He could live for many lives of men if he would deliver two sorcerers to him.""Sianon and Sainth," Alaan said.

But Fynnol shook his head. "Wyrr and Aillyn," the little Vale-man said, causing Alaan to become very still and alert.

"These two are already dead—if they ever lived at all," one of the Fael elders said.

"That is not quite true," said Eber son of Eiresit. "They sleep, but they are not dead.""Nor are they alive," Alaan answered. "Not in any way that we understand." The traveler stared down at the ground a moment, his manner stiff and grave. "Let me tell you a tale. A very ancient tale that even the story finders do not know." He pressed the fingers of his hands together and touched them to his dark-bearded chin. "It began with a swan, a black swan who became known as Meer, and a sorcerer who was called Tusival. 'Tusival First Born,' he was some-times called. Like many creatures of that distant age, time had little sway over them, and they lived on and on, year after uncounted year.

"But one day Meer was wounded by hunters and only just man-aged to escape. Luck was with her, however, for Tusival found her and nursed her back to health. Ever after, the swan stayed near the sorcerer, watching him.

"One night, Death came to Meer out of a rainstorm. 7 see you watching Tusival,' Death whispered, ' Tusival who saved you from me. But you are a creature of the water and air, and he is a man and a sor-cerer. You shall never know him as you are. But I can offer the gift you desire. I can make you a human—as beautiful as you are now. But by night you will become a swan again—an evenswan'" ' You have come to tempt me, but I know you, Death,' Meer said. 'What is the price you will ask for this?'" 'Your children will be born from a clutch of eggs—those hatched by day will take human form, like their father, those born by night will be evenswans, as their mother will be' Death paused, staring at her from his dark cloud. 'And they will all be mortal, coming at last into my kingdom, where they will serve me!

" 'Aiye! You are cruel and heartless!' Meer lamented. 7 will not give my children to you. No, they will live as I do, untouched by age!

"Death retreated then, a hissing whisper reaching her. 'We shall see!

"And Meer continued to watch Tusival, something stirring within her that she did not understand. In time, Death came to her again. And again he offered to grant her deepest desire. 'You shall know the love of men,' he whispered. 'You shall know the depths of it and bear you children out of that love! But again Meer refused him, though not so quickly.

"Finally, Death came to her, saying her mortal children would live many spans of common men, and finally she agreed, for her love for Tusival was great, and the yearning she felt had become a torment.

"By moonlight Death performed his magic, and where the swan had been a woman swam in the waters, her mass of black hair afloat on the surface. She walked out onto the bank, and Death could not bear it. He who was heartless and cold was bewitched by the sight of her, heartbreakingly beautiful as she was. He poured out his heart to her, saying that he had never felt such passion stirring within before. That he was like a man awakened after a lifetime of sleep.

" 'And what would become of our children?' Meer asked. 'They would come to me,' Death said. 'You would all come to me and dwell in my kingdom!

"And Meer spurned him then, saying, 'You shall have them soon enough! She went then to Tusival, who lost his heart to her, for he had never known a woman so captivating, and yet, despite her dark beauty, he felt he knew her.

"Soon she was with child, and it was then that she told Tusival who she was and of her bargain with Death, and Tusival cursed Death and vowed to thwart him or to have revenge upon him.

"Three eggs the evenswan laid, and watched over them in both her forms. 'Those born by day shall take human form,' Death had said. 'Those born by night shall be as their mother!

"Two eggs hatched before sunset—boy children, both—but the third was hatched by night, and from that egg came a dark-feathered swan, a changeling who, by morning, became a girl child, as human as her brothers. But the joy of the parents was tempered by their bitterness, for one child was a changeling, and all three would be mortal.

"But Death had not done with them, yet. Spurned by Meer, his wound festered in his dark kingdom. One night he ranged out into the kingdom of the living, and, finding the swan child, Sianon, aswim on the river, he drew her down into the waters to drown and carried her back to his kingdom. But others had seen this act of treachery and told Tusival, who wept bitterly.

"Saying that Death had broken his word, Tusival vowed that he would have his daughter back. Twice he led armies to the gate of Death's kingdom, but both times his army broke upon that cold stone. Bitter and angry, the sorcerer swore that Death would never have his sons, whom he named Wyrr and Aillyn.To this end a great spell was made to wall Death into his kingdom, and Death never again walked beyond the borders of his dark land." Alaan looked up at the others. "When he had made his great spell, Tusival col-lapsed from the effort, saying, 'There… never again will Death set foot in the kingdom of the living, nor see its light nor feel the warmth of humankind.' But an old man, Tusival's servant in the arcane arts, was touched with the sight, and he was troubled and stared off into the dark distance. 'No,' said the old man, 'Death will escape in time, and when he does the kingdom of the living will fall.' "There was silence among the Fael elders and their guests. They shared glances, despairing and brief. The whole camp had fallen quiet, so that only the river could be heard, whispering as it wan-dered south toward the sea.

Nann leaned forward, her chair creaking. A skein of hair had es-caped a tight braid and stood out from one side of her face, adding to the appearance of fear. "Cynddl told us that servants of Death were abroad in the hidden lands, snatching living men into the darkness." She paused as though to catch her breath. "Has it begun already? Has Death escaped into our world?"Alaan was drawn back to the conversation from some distant place. He gave his handsome head a little shake. "No, Nann, not yet, but there is some breach in the spell that isolates the kingdom of Death from the kingdom of the living. There can be no other explanation. The spell is breaking down or Death has learned to defeat it. If Tuath's vision is true, Death will have a sorcerer create a soul eater, almost certainly to destroy Aillyn and Wyrr. How a soul eater can destroy Wyrr, who joined his spirit to the river, I don't understand."Llya sat forward in his father's lap and began to move his hands.

"What is it?" Nann asked nervously. "What does the child say?""He says that 'he knows where Wyrr sleeps^ " Eber answered, his voice soft and filled with sadness.

"Who knows?" one of the elders asked.

"Death knows," Alaan said, gazing thoughtfully at the child. "And now Hafydd will know as well.""Why does this matter if Aillyn and Wyrr passed from this world an age ago?"Alaan rubbed his fingers to his brow. "If it matters to Death, there is a reason. Only Aillyn and Wyrr might have the knowledge to restore the spell that walls Death into his shadow kingdom." He looked over at Eber. "Does Llya speak to Wyrr, good Eber?"Eber shook his head. "Llya hears only the mutterings of the sleeper. Bits of dream and nightmare, nothing more." The man drew his son closer, within the circle of his arms, as though he would protect him.

Llya must have understood the question^ for he began to move his hands. Eber watched a moment, then translated. "He says the sleeper does not hear. He is like Llya, in this."The gathering was silent a moment as everyone was drawn into their own thoughts.

"Where doesWyrr sleep?" Cynddl asked.

"I don't know," Alaan replied. He looked to Llya, but the boy shook his head.

"Then there is only one person who might answer that," Alaan said, "if she still lives." He rose to his feet. "I have rested long enough." He bobbed his head to Nann in a small bow. "I must make a journey now, before Hafydd can unleash the soul eater—a dangerous journey.""But what can this thing do?"Tam asked. He pointed a finger atTuath's disturbing creation. "If it seeks sorcerers who have long passed from this world, why should we fear it?""Death has not sent this thing after Aillyn andWyrr for no reason. He means to escape his prison and tear down the world we know." Alaan drew himself up, and Tarn could sense his resolve. "You don't understand the danger. Only once before was a soul eater created, and it slew the great Tusival and dragged his carcass back through Death's gate. This thing is monstrous. As pitiless as a viper. It is a bringer of death. If I can't stop it, if I can't find the places where Wyrr and Ail-lyn have been laid to rest, then it will have them, and there will be no hope of repairing the spell that walls Death into his kingdom.""But how can Wyrr and Aillyn be any threat to Death?" Cynddl asked.

"I don't know," Alaan said, and he looked thoughtfully at Llya. "Keep that child safe at all costs. I will be gone at least a fortnight. Perhaps longer.""Will you go alone?" Crowheart asked, speaking for the first time that night.

"It will be a dangerous journey," Alaan said. "The most perilous I have undertaken, but I will ask no one to accompany me, for I won't have their fates on my conscience.""I will go, all the same," Rabal said with finality. He sat back in his chair, as at ease as a man who'd just volunteered to walk to town.

"I'll go," Cynddl offered. "You'll need an archer if the way is so perilous.""I'll bring my bow as well,"Tam said. "There is no going north for me now, not with what I've learned."He turned and looked at his fellow Valemen. "I'm sorry, but there is no choice for me.""Well, I won't be left behind because I'm the only one with common sense," Fynnol said, but his manner belied his words. He looked haunted and frightened.

"I'll stay here," Baore said, "for I have offered my service to Lady Elise Wills."Prince Michael stood. "If they will have me, I will go with Alaan and the others.""I would gladly take you, Prince Michael," Alaan said. "But if you truly oppose Hafydd, then your knowledge will be needed by the Renne.You must stay and offer your service to LordToren, or whoever commands the Renne forces.""Against my own father… ?" the Prince said softly.

"He has allied himself with Hafydd," Alaan answered. "How can you choose otherwise?"The Prince nodded and hung his head.

"We must go into Westbrook, this night," Alaan said, clapping his hands together. "We'll need to find almost everything for our journey—horses, weapons. I leave at first light."