Shadowdance (24 page)

"You haven't danced," Razkili reminded him.

Innowen's mouth curled in a slight smile. Rascal wouldn't let him forget; the Osiri still took care of him. "I know, and those chimes are practically calling my name."

"They make nice music," Razkili agreed. "But it wouldn't be safe in the garden."

Innowen's gaze swept around the upper terrace above the garden, scanning the darkened apartments. He and Rascal seemed to be the only ones awake. He couldn't count on that, though, and he wouldn't risk being seen. There was trouble enough already in Parendur.

"I know a place," he said at last. He turned away from the terrace and went back inside, crossed their quarters, and headed for the outer corridor. "I'll wait for you," he heard Razkili say as he moved into the hall.

He made his way back to the lustral chamber without encountering anyone. The entire palace seemed to be asleep. He bathed in the pool and toweled himself, then gathered his garments and entered the throne room. It was vast and silent. Only a few lamps continued to burn.

The eyes of Ispor's gods stared down upon him. Slowly, he crept around the huge chamber, wondering if he had done wrong never to learn all their names, never to pay them proper homage. Oh, some he knew, of course. Tremyrin, who ruled the forests. The harvest god, Celet. Shokastis, the god of the hunt. He stood before each of these in turn and bowed his head. But they were only a handful, and many were the deities in Ispor's pantheon. He looked up into the stony faces of those he didn't know and offered a silent apology for his ignorance.

He found his shadow upon the wall. It's for them we dance tonight, he told it wordlessly. He looked back to the statues. And if we dance well enough, maybe you gods will lift whatever curse it is that plagues this land.

There was no wind to be his music, yet somehow he could feel it blowing, trying to get in. He could hear its moan as it swept through the Akrotirs, and the chimes in the garden were as loud in his ears as they had been when he stood on his terrace. How they tinkled and rang so sweetly. It was impossible, and yet he heard. He embraced his shadow, cast away all thought, and melted into motion.

The gods stood unmoving in their gloomy niches where the light of the lamps barely touched them. When Innowen finished, he looked up into each of their faces one by one. Nothing showed in their carefully sculpted expressions. If he had pleased them, he couldn't tell.

He left the throne room through the same lustral chamber and washed the sweat from his body and from his hair. Dressed, he wandered through the lower level of the palace. An occasional lamp burned here and there to light his way. The pithoi jars loomed like hulking monsters in the darker corners, and the sea patterns in the floor seemed to shift and waver in the dim flickering glow. He found the state room, where Kyrin conducted the day-to-day business of his office, and the kitchens, which were now dark and empty, though warm from ovens that never went cold.

Eventually, he wandered out into the garden. The wind kissed him and rumpled his damp locks. He looked up and turned slowly around. Razkili was not on the terrace. He considered calling to him, then thought better of it. He might awaken others. There was little enough peace in Parendur; he wouldn't be the one to disturb it.

He drifted along the cobbled path. The slender moon was bright now with only a few clouds to diminish it. It touched the flowers like a healing balm and bathed the fruit trees. At the very center of the garden stood a small well. He lowered the wooden bucket. Deeper and deeper it went, and still deeper, until the rope was almost at an end and Innowen feared that perhaps it had dried up in the long drought. But at last he felt a buoyancy and a sudden weight as it began to fill, and he cranked it back up.

He set the bucket on the side and cupped cool water in his hands. The moon reflected there like a beautiful jewel and gradually vanished as the water sieved between his. fingers. He cupped more water and captured the moon once more. Then a third time, and this time he drank the moon. It was an amusing, wonderful marvel he'd discovered, that he could actually hold the moon. He looked down into the bucket, and the moon was there, too, so he picked the bucket up under one arm and with a shake of his hand began to sprinkle its liquid light on the parched flowers.

Abruptly, he stopped. A soft flurry of notes quivered on the wind. Innowen wasn't at all sure he'd actually heard them. He listened. There was only the dripping of water beads as they fell back into the bucket from his motionless hand. Then they came again, a gently muffled crescendo that made the wind chimes' music seem like the clacking of sticks.

Dyan.
It was her pipes he heard, he knew it. But where was she, where did the music come from? He turned and turned. No lights burned in any of the apartments except his own. A fragment of a song floated down into the garden, and he turned again. Where could she be?

He waited and waited. When he had nearly given up hope, another song began. This time it didn't stop. It settled upon him like a veil, obscuring his senses. The garden itself seemed to shiver. He set the bucket down and shut his eyes, slowly beginning to turn and turn as the piper wove music around him.

When it stopped, he nearly fell down. He opened his eyes, but the garden continued to spin. He fought to steady himself until the dizziness passed. He drew a deep breath and let it out. A bead of sweat rolled into the corner of his mouth, and he tasted his own salt.

Then he screamed inside and shot a glance toward the terrace outside his apartment. Razkili was not there, thank the gods, and all the other apartments were still dark, too.

Innowen hugged himself, though the air was warm, and began to shiver. Rascal hadn't seen. No one had seen him.
You fool!
he cursed himself, and again,
fool!
He looked up at his apartment once more and bit his lower lip to still its trembling.
If Rascal had seen him dancing.
.. He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his fists.
How could you be that careless? Stupid fool!

He ran from the garden back into the gloom of the palace. When he achieved his rooms, he rushed out onto the terrace and found Razkili curled asleep on one of the couches. He looked into the garden. Its beauty was gone; instead, it was a place of entrapment and danger. He glanced at Rascal again, and down at the garden, and at a bottle of wine on a table between the couches. He picked it up and drank while he paced.

When he was quite drunk, he shook Razkili's shoulder. "Wake up," he said thickly. "Let's go to bed."

"Innocent!" Razkili sputtered, rolling over quickly and sitting up. "I'm sorry, I fell asleep."

"Shut up!" he snapped, heading for his bedchamber. "You don't know what you're talking about. You never make any sense. Why don't you ever make any sense?"

He fell atop the coverlet, and the night lasted well into the next day.

* * *

It was late afternoon when he finally woke up. He felt stiff and sluggish. When he started to swing out of bed and discovered that his legs were useless, he called Razkili.

Moments later, the Osiri appeared at the threshold.

"About time, you drunken sot," Razkili said, grinning. He crossed the room and sat on the edge of Innowen's bed. "Minarik came by, but when he saw you lying there like a slug, he decided to come back later. He brought our packs and baggage, though. Do you want me to carry you to the terrace? There's bread and cheese if you're hungry. Wine, too, if you really want it."

"No more wine," Innowen answered. He reached up and locked his arms around Rascal's neck and let himself be lifted from the bed and carried to one of the couches on the terrace. He settled back into the cushions and drew a thin sheet across his hips. It was a scorching day. The sun's brightness stung his eyes. Razkili brought a tray with dry bread and goat cheese and set it on the small table close at hand. There was also a pitcher with a beautiful urfirnis glaze full of water, and clean ceramic drinking cups.

He heard the scrapings of hoes and shovels and rakes from the garden below as slaves continued their efforts to save the flowers and fruit trees from the drought. Razkili heard it, too. He peered over the side, watching them, and whispered to Innowen. "Have you noticed," he said, "that none of the slaves talk? They can't. Kyrin's had their tongues cut out."

"How do you know that?" Innowen asked from the couch. His head ached, and he rubbed his temples.

"I tried to question the one who brought me breakfast, and he showed me his mouth." Razkili leaned back against a pillar and sighed. "I asked Minarik about it, and he told me they were all mute, every slave in the palace."

"That's sick," Innowen muttered. "Why'd Kyrin do it?"

"No one knows. Your father thinks he's gone crazy."

They sat on the terrace together. The bread and cheese went untouched, but Razkili brought the bottle of wine, and they mixed it with a lot of water. It proved refreshing, but not too potent, as they traded impressions of Ispor and Parendur and the people they had met.

Slowly, an iodine fire spread across the sky. To the south, they could barely see the Akrotir Mountains over the palace rooftop. The peaks shimmered like flame in the sunset, flame that cooled and finally went out as twilight advanced.

Innowen felt life return to his legs. First, it was just the sensation of the sheet across his hips. He curled his toes, flexed his knees. He bit his lip and sighed with relief and gratitude. It was always at this moment that his fear was greatest, that the sun might set and his limbs would still not move, that the magic, whatever it was, would be gone. But it was not gone. He sat up, eased the sheet back, swung his legs over the side of the couch, and stood up. Razkili stepped closer, and Innowen saw in his eyes the same dark fear and the same relief. They embraced wordlessly, laying their heads on each others' shoulders.

A slave appeared from the outer corridor and waited to be recognized. Innowen saw him first and beckoned for him to enter, noting the small wax tablet box he carried in one hand. The slave passed it to him, bowed, and backed up three paces.

Innowen opened the box and read the message his father had scrawled in the soft wax. "We're invited to dinner," he told Razkili, who remained on the terrace, "in Minarik's quarters." He turned back to the slave. "Tell him we'll..." he hesitated then, feeling a slight heat rise in his cheeks. "I'm sorry. You can't tell him anything, can you?"

"Of course, I can." The slave looked him straight in the eye, all his apparent humility vanished.

"You can talk!" Innowen said with some surprise. Razkili came in from the terrace, a look of confusion on his face. Innowen's brow furrowed. "But we thought—"

"I'm not a slave," the man interrupted. "I'm one of your father's captains, his bodyguard if you will, at least while he's in Parendur. However, it would cause trouble if Kyrin knew how little Minarik trusts him, so I play the slave and keep my mouth shut so no one suspects."

"And carry messages for him?" Innowen suggested. "And spy for him?"

The captain arched an eyebrow and cocked his head at an angle. It was answer enough.

"A man who does not speak hears much," Razkili said.

"Another immortal gem of wisdom from the scholars of Osirit," Innowen noted. "Tell my father we'll join him shortly. As you can see, I'm not quite dressed for dining."

The captain left, and they took time to share one more cup of wine while the evening was still quiet. Then they prepared themselves for supper and walked the empty corridors to Minarik's quarters. Taelyn was there, also.

"How's Veydon?" Razkili asked.

"Better," Taelyn answered, directing them to the table. "There's a woman with him constantly. She sewed the wound and treated his fever. Wouldn't take gold. For payment she wanted a stag, meat to feed her family. Five men hunted half the day. She made a broth from it, though, for Veydon, and makes him eat it, too."

Minarik appeared from another chamber and joined them at the table. At his seat was a bowl of water and a cloth. He carried the bowl to each of his guests and washed their hands. It was a perfunctory gesture, however, performed quickly and without ceremony. He dropped the cloth Back in the water, splashing some on the table, as he set the bowl aside. With custom sufficiently observed, he sat, and they began to eat and talk.

"Another army is gathering in the north," Minarik informed them. "I attended Kyrin's court today when his spies made their reports. They're camped where the River Semene flows down from the Akrotirs." He took a sip from his wine cup.

"That close?" Innowen said in surprise.

"Could they be part of the siege force we broke up?" Razkili asked.

"More likely the siege force was part of this larger army," Taelyn answered. "In fact, the siege itself may have been a diversion to prevent Kyrin from noticing the greater threat that was crossing the mountains."

"You think they came from the coast?" Innowen looked from Taelyn to Minarik and took a bite of bread.

"The spies think they gathered there," Minarik answered. "They may have been building their ranks for a long time. But the recruits seem to be from all over, even from lands beyond Ispor's borders."

Innowen, Razkili, and Taelyn exchanged glances. "Exactly what my spies reported about the siege force before we attacked them. Could someone be gathering all the warring factions into one massive army?"