The Name Of The Sword (Book 4) (24 page)

“He wasss near,” the snake hissed. “But now he isss gone.”

Bayellgae zipped into the air and flew away. France—Salula, Morgin reminded himself—followed at an easy pace.

Morgin waited for quite some time, afraid to step out of his shadows. When Mortiss reappeared and walked calmly into the clearing, he took that as a sign that the demon snake and demon man did not wait in hiding nearby.

••••

Late in the afternoon Theandrin stood next to BlakeDown on the battlements. In the distance ErrinCastle led a small contingent of armsmen, escorting JohnEngine et Elhiyne, a carriage and six Elhiyne horsemen. When the Elhiyne messenger had come asking safe passage for a group led by AnnaRail esk et Elhiyne, ErrinCastle had insisted that he lead the escort, saying, “We’re promising safe passage, and I’ll not let some hothead break our word.”

The decision to send AnnaRail had been wise. Probably the second most powerful witch in the Lesser Clans, she was highly respected, and known for keeping a calm head. Theandrin had met her many times over the years, and knew the two of them could work together to defuse the border situation.

Theandrin and BlakeDown walked down to the castle yard and were waiting when the group rode through the castle gates. The men dismounted, JohnEngine walked to the carriage and opened its door, then helped AnnaRail step down. They exchanged greetings, though BlakeDown came across a bit gruff. She’d have to talk to him about that.

Theandrin had orchestrated this carefully, including the timing of their arrival. AnnaRail and JohnEngine were shown to their rooms, were given plenty of time to freshen up from their journey, then joined Theandrin, ErrinCastle and BlakeDown for a private dinner.

“How is Lord Brandon?” Theandrin asked. She and AnnaRail had traded quite a bit of information by messenger prior to this meeting, so she already knew the answer to that question.

“He’s doing well,” AnnaRail said. “Though it was close.”

“How bad were his injuries?”

“An arrow wound to his arm,” AnnaRail said, and Theandrin saw she was trying to keep any belligerence or accusation out of her voice. “A twisted ankle and two broken ribs. One of them punctured his lung. That was the most dangerous wound of all. But he’ll heal.”

BlakeDown leaned across the table and snarled, “Our two dead armsmen won’t heal.”

JohnEngine’s eyes flashed and he started to say something, but AnnaRail put a hand on his arm and said, “It was an unfortunate escalation of hostilities, and we feel that both sides must bear some blame.”

BlakeDown pressed her further. “So you accept blame for it?”

If Theandrin had been seated next to him, she would have kicked him. She said, “I think AnnaRail’s point is that they do accept some blame, but not all.”

AnnaRail smiled and didn’t comment.

Theandrin continued, “Both sides acted imprudently. We have two hotheads to blame for that.”

BlakeDown wouldn’t keep his mouth shut. “But our hothead was a minor lieutenant, who may be disciplined. Yours, I believe, was your oldest son, a member of House Elhiyne.”

AnnaRail continued to smile, though Theandrin could see she was finding it harder to do so. “My son’s punishment is that he must face Olivia—daily.”

Even BlakeDown cringed.

By the end of the evening they’d made no progress. The next day they met twice and fared no better. BlakeDown even introduced AnnaRail to Lewendis. JohnEngine bristled at the presence of the yokel, but kept his composure, though he made a visible effort to do so.

What was her husband thinking?

On the third day Theandrin orchestrated a carefully structured evening meal with just her, BlakeDown, ErrinCastle, AnnaRail and JohnEngine present. She had the servants set up a dining table in a small, comfortable room, made sure there was no brandy at hand, and instructed the cook to see to it that the wine was heavily watered. Alcohol would not be allowed to influence anyone’s thinking, especially her husband’s.

The meal started out pleasantly enough. She, AnnaRail and their two sons spoke of the coming winter. Both clans were well prepared, with plentiful grain stores and stocks of smoked and salted meat. But while they spoke her husband brooded silently, didn’t join in the conversation, though at least he didn’t glare at AnnaRail or JohnEngine. Why was he so intent on not finding common ground?

BlakeDown suddenly leaned forward and said, “Enough of this idle talk. We have an issue to discuss, and I’m tired of ignoring it.”

In the silence that followed, both JohnEngine and ErrinCastle made visible efforts to control their anger. AnnaRail took a sip of wine and said, “You’re right, Lord BlakeDown. We should deal with that issue before anything else. We should try to come to terms.”

BlakeDown demanded, “Are you offering terms?”

“We certainly would consider offering some reparation to the families of the dead armsmen.”

BlakeDown pressed her aggressively. “We’re on the verge of war, and you offer reparation for a few unlanded armsmen?”

Theandrin decided to step in. “We don’t need to be on the verge of war. We’ve had similar issues before, though I grant you it’s been quite some time. And in any case, we have a common enemy in the Greater Clans, and they’d love to see us at war.”

“Why do you say they are our enemy?” BlakeDown asked. “Certainly they are the enemy of Elhiyne, but I see no reason they need be the enemy of Penda.”

JohnEngine stood and leaned forward, his hands on the table. ErrinCastle’s mouth opened in surprise. Even Theandrin had trouble hiding her astonishment.

JohnEngine said, “You’re insane if you think you can ally with the Decouix king.”

Theandrin and AnnaRail both tried to speak, but BlakeDown shot to his feet, leaned across the table, his nose barely a finger’s breadth from JohnEngine’s. “And you’re insane if you think you can draw Penda into your little war with Valso.”

BlakeDown spun about, crossed the small room, kicked the door open and stormed out.

The next morning the Elhiyne’s departed with nothing accomplished. And that evening Theandrin and BlakeDown had a monumental argument.

24
The One Shadow

Cort splashed water on her face, wiped it with a towel and looked in the polished brass mirror on the wall. Behind her Tulellcoe was busy unpacking their gear, laying it out on the bed in their small room. She’d dearly love a real bath, but the inn they’d chosen in Durin was of medium quality. They dare not take a room in one of the better inns. Someone might recognize Tulellcoe.

They’d arrived the night before, too exhausted from the long ride to do anything but grab a quick meal in the common room, climb under the sheets and fall asleep.

“I could use some breakfast,” she said. “And do you know of any place around here where I might buy a hot bath?”

Tulellcoe looked up from their gear, smiled, was about to say something when the knock on the door startled them both. Cort crossed the room, leaned close to Tulellcoe’s ear and whispered, “You stand to the side where you’re not visible from the hall and I’ll answer it.”

He nodded, lifted a dagger out of their gear and put his back to the wall behind the door. She stepped up to the door, opened it a crack and peered out into the hallway. A woman stood there in a long cloak with a hood thrown over her head, her face hidden by shadows beneath the hood. Behind her stood two Decouix armsmen. Her clothing spoke of money and the clan.

Cautiously, Cort asked, “What may I do for you, my lady?”

The woman hesitated, then spoke softly. “May I come in?”

Cort glanced at the two armsmen, and the woman added, “They’re simply body guards. They’ll remain out in the hall.”

She turned her head and spoke over her shoulder. “Please wait farther down the hall. This is a private conversation.”

The two armsmen strode to the end of the hall. The woman leaned toward Cort and whispered, “I wish to speak to Tulellcoe.”

If this woman already knew, they had nothing to lose, so Cort stepped back and opened the door wider to admit her. She stepped into the room, Cort closed the door, the woman threw the hood back and turned to Tulellcoe. She had raven-black hair, an angled face drawn by strain and tension, though even then she was quite beautiful.

In a wispy, ethereal voice she said to Tulellcoe, “Darling, it has been a long time.”

Tulellcoe’s face softened with compassion. “Yes, Haleen, it has.”

Cort knew that name, knew that Valso’s sister stood before them.

Tulellcoe asked, “How did you know I was here?”

She took a step toward him. “Oh my darling, do you think it’s possible for you to come to this city, and I not know it? Don’t worry, I’ve told no one . . .” As an afterthought she added, “. . . especially not my brother.” When she’d said that her voice had hardened with some unpleasant emotion.

She turned and looked at Cort, examined her carefully. “I see you have a new love.” She smiled and turned back to Tulellcoe. “I’m glad. You deserve someone nice. But that means you haven’t come to see me, so why have you come?”

“We’re just passing through,” Tulellcoe said.

She stepped toward him, reached out and ran a finger along the line of his jaw. “It’s his wife, isn’t it? My cruel brother is holding her captive, and you’ve come to rescue her. You were ever the gallant one, something I always liked about you.”

Tulellcoe started to say something, but she held up her hand and said, “You needn’t deny it.”

She held her hand out, saying, “I made this for you.”

Tulellcoe extended his hand, palm up. She dropped something into it and said, “It’s a small charm. When you need help, touch it to your forehead and I’ll know, and I’ll meet you here the next morning, or I’ll send a messenger with word on how we can meet.”

She turned toward the door; Cort opened it and held it for her. She paused and turned back to Tulellcoe. “I’ll help you get into the castle. You see, I hate my brother even more than I loved you. He took our child from me.”

Tulellcoe gasped and staggered back a step as Haleen turned and walked out through the door.

••••

The Kingdom of Dreams had changed, had become a strange place of simple dreams without the clarity Rhianne had seen through Rhiannead’s and Erithnae’s eyes. She drifted without purpose, her dreams controlling themselves as dreams were want to do. She found Sabian deserted except for the occasional glimpse of another dreamer, translucent and only half there.

“My lady, you must awaken . . .”

She found no signs of the great battle that had nearly destroyed Sabian. There were no bodies lying about, neither jackal nor defender. The dirt of the castle yard seemed undisturbed, unmarked by foot or paw or hoof.

“My lady. Please. The king demands your presence. You must awaken.”

Rhianne opened her eyes as Geanna shook her gently, forced herself to focus on the present. She needed to contact Morgin, and knew the only way she might do so was through the Kingdom of Dreams. But how could she get a message to him to meet her there when she could no longer control her dreams? She suspected now that her earlier sense of reality and control had come about only because he had been there.

Her handmaidens moved quickly, dressed her, combed her hair and set it elaborately atop her head, applied her makeup and had her ready for Valso in short order. Six Kulls escorted her to Valso’s workshop on the third floor of the castle, where Carsaris and Valso waited, with the demon snake curled on its perch in the far corner. Valso sat on the edge of the heavy, wooden table he used as a workbench. Carsaris stood attentively nearby, and again she saw unease and fear in the sorcerer’s demeanor.

When she entered the room, Valso said, “My lovely Rhianne, today you’re going to see something quite instructive.”

He turned to Carsaris and said, “Summon that recalcitrant archangel.”

It appeared that Rhianne would not be the center of attention this day, so she slipped quietly to one side and put her back to a wall, trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible.

Carsaris didn’t do anything obvious, but in a heartbeat a faint tendril of smoke appeared in the center of the room, accompanied by the smell of brimstone. The small coil of smoke swirled about, then thickened and grew until it took on the shape of a man. Bit by bit the smoke took on finer form and detail, and Rhianne recognized Metadan, whom she’d dreamed of through Erithnae’s eyes.

The archangel bowed deeply to Valso, lowering his head and extending his arm with an elegant flourish. “You summoned me, Your Majesty?”

As the archangel stood straight Valso smiled at him pleasantly. “Metadan, I’m always humbled by your grace and beauty.”

Metadan gave a slight nod of his head. “You flatter me, sire.”

“Show me that sword of yours.”

The archangel hesitated, and Rhianne noticed he carried no sword. “As Your Majesty wishes,” he said. He held out his hand, and in a blink a magnificent broadsword appeared, its hilt in Metadan’s outstretched hand. The blade dripped blood from the steel, drops of it splashing on the floor between Valso and the archangel.

Without looking over his shoulder at the snake, Valso said, “Bayellgae, is that the blade you told me about?”

The snake uncoiled and sprang off its perch, darted across the room to hover between Valso and Metadan. “No, massster. The blade I sssaw wasss the blackessst of night, a dark blade for a dark purpossse.”

Valso’s smile hardened and turned into a menacing grin. Then that thing Rhianne had sensed before entered the room. Valso seemed to swell, and his magic threatened to overwhelm her. When he spoke his voice came out in a rumble like thunder on the horizon. “You should not have chosen to defy me.”

Metadan cringed, but said nothing.

That thing continued speaking. “It appears you can find him easily, on just a whim. And the snake tells me you are teaching him to fight the obsidian.”

Metadan dropped to his knees. “But I—”

The thing roared, “Silence.”

Metadan lowered his eyes.

Valso paced slowly around Metadan, speaking in that thing’s voice, “What punishment shall you have?” As he spoke a wisp of smoke rose from one of Metadan’s ears. “I thought you had learned the price for disobedience, but apparently I must teach it to you again.”

Metadan raised his chin, his face contorted in a grimace, and he cried out, “Ahhh!”

Tendrils of smoke rose out of his mouth and nose, from his eyes and ears. He screamed, the sword vanished and he fell to the floor. He curled into a fetal ball, sickly yellow smoke coiling upward from his body. Rhianne thought he might burst into flames, but he simply continued to smoke and wither, screaming and begging, wasting away little by little. She closed her eyes and looked away, bile rising up into her throat as Metadan’s pleas slowly diminished.

After silence filled the room, Rhianne waited several heartbeats, then opened her eyes. Valso stood over Metadan’s withered corpse. In that thing’s voice he said, “So, you can find him easily.”

To Rhianne’s utter horror the corpse opened its desiccated eyes and said, “No, master. When he wants me, only then do I feel the pull of his need.”

Valso shook his head sadly. “Such a fool.”

He looked up from the archangel’s shriveled carcass, and again she saw madness in his eyes. He looked at her and said, “It appears I have many alternatives. I have the snake and Salula, and now I have the archangel. When next your husband needs his aid, he’ll teach the whoreson a lesson of death.”

••••

Morgin sat in his small camp south of the Lake of Sorrows and pondered the magic of shadows. In the Kingdom of Dreams when the jackal captain had taken Rhiannead captive, and Morgin had faced him in the clearing in the Living Forest, the shadowwraith had helped him traverse a distance of 20 paces in an instant. Soann’Daeth’Daeye had stepped from one shadow to another, even though the shadows were separated. Morgin had assumed it was a thing only a shadowwraith could do, but the sensation he’d felt at the time had been both unusual and memorable, and that had haunted him. He decided to see if he could repeat that feat without the aid of the shadowwraith.

Morgin had chosen a small clearing for his camp, nothing as large as the clearing in which he’d faced the jackal captain, but he didn’t need much room for this. He stood facing the ring of stones he’d assembled for a fire pit, closed his eyes and tried to recall every detail of the sensation he’d felt that day in the Kingdom of Dreams, a stomach twisting rush as if falling from a great height. He cast a shadow on the other side of the fire pit, cast one about himself and tried to repeat that feeling, but nothing happened. He tried several times, his frustration growing with each failed attempt. He finally gave up and decided to eat a light lunch.

It was while rummaging through his saddle bags that he recalled Soann’Daeth’Daeye’s words that day in the Kingdom of Dreams:
All shadows are but one. To walk in one is to walk in them all.

He abandoned the thought of lunch and decided to try one last time. Again he cast a shadow on the other side of the fire pit and one about himself, but this time he didn’t try to repeat that sensation. He simply decided that the two shadows were one and the same, and that all he needed to do to cross the distance was take a single step from one to the other. He did so, his gut tightened and he staggered as he felt the sensation of falling, but he caught himself, straightened and looked about from within his shadow.

It appeared that nothing had changed. He stood within one shadow facing another on the other side of the fire pit, his gear carefully stacked on the far side of the clearing. But then he recalled that when he’d started this experiment he’d been standing in the shadow near his gear with his back to it, not the one in which he stood now.

He spent the afternoon experimenting, trying to determine if there was a limit to the distance he could cross in a heartbeat. He had no trouble traversing 50 paces or more, but that was about the limit of the distance he could see through the forest growth. At one point he tried to picture a shadow in Elhiyne in an attempt to cross the intervening leagues without wasting days doing so, but that effort proved fruitless. He concluded that to step from one shadow to the next, he must see the other shadow. And that limited him to a distance of about a hundred paces.

That night, as he curled up in his blanket, he drifted off to sleep with a deep sense of satisfaction.

Morgin awoke just before dawn, ate a quick meal and packed up his gear. He’d just finished saddling Mortiss when Harriok arrived with Jack the Lesser riding beside him. “Can’t let you find Kathbeyanne without me,” Jack said. “The two of you would probably end up walking in circles and eating sand.”

“I thought it would be good to bring Jack,” Harriok said. “He knows the sands better than me.”

They’d brought one of the small pack animals they called a chakarra, primarily to carry extra water skins. The two whitefaces helped Morgin pack up his gear, he saddled Mortiss, and they headed into the forest east of the Lake. With the three of them on horseback, they made much better time than the tribe had in the spring, and reached the Plains of Quam by late afternoon.

Jack shielded his eyes from the sun and looked out at the flat, featureless landscape that stretched before them. “Might as well use the last few hours of sunlight. We can make a couple more leagues before nightfall.” He nudged his horse into a walk.

Jack led, followed by Harriok with Morgin in the rear. But only about three hundred paces out onto the plains Jack pulled his horse to a halt, and sat in the saddle looking at something on the ground. When Morgin caught up to the whitefaces, he looked down and saw a few bones bleached white by the sun, among them a human skull. Most of the bones had been scattered by scavengers, but among them were a few rags of coarse, black cloth.

“Kull cloak?” Harriok asked.

Jack nodded his agreement.

Morgin stood up in his stirrups, tried to recall that night so long ago, hoped for some sort of distinguishing landmark. But out on the flat expanse of the plains, one location looked just like any other. He nudged Mortiss into a walk, and she meandered slowly eastward. After about 20 paces he spotted an old rusted sword lying in the dry grass and he pulled her to a halt. Harriok and Jack stopped beside him.