The Office of Shadow (22 page)

A few evenings later, during one of their map studies, Jedron-com-
pletely out of the blue-snapped Silverdun with a cloth map, using it like a
whip. It caught Silverdun in the eye, blinding it for a full day.

Jedron refused to discuss Ilian, or the man Than had killed (or indeed
whether this was the other recruit), or even mention Ilian's name. After the
first day, he had Silverdun take Ilian's meals to him, while Jedron decided
what to do with him.

The basement was small, with a cell in one corner. Ilian had been
dumped in the cell, beaten and bloodied, wearing only a loincloth.

The bars of the cell were of cold iron. When Silverdun was a boy, he'd
thought that cold iron was actually cold. He was disabused of that notion
when he touched a bar of it on a dare at boarding school. Upon touching it,
the flesh of his fingers leapt away, seemingly on its own, tearing itself in its
hurry to avoid the touch of the metal. The amused school physician had
explained that re, the magical essence, had a deep disaffinity for cold iron, was
intensely repelled by it. Silverdun had developed a huge blister on his finger
and hadn't been able to use re for a week.

At first, Ilian simply took the meals, which were mainly bread and water,
without speaking, and handed Silverdun his waste bucket in exchange. He
looked Silverdun in the eye, questioningly, but said nothing.

Then one morning two weeks later, when Silverdun brought him his
breakfast, Ilian spoke.

"How is he?" he asked, taking the small dry loaf through the bars.

"What?" asked Silverdun.

"How is Jedron? His moods. Has he become more withdrawn? Begun
drinking to excess, that sort of thing?"

"What is it to you? If I recall correctly, you were attempting to murder
all of us a few weeks ago. Your concern seems misplaced."

"I care deeply about Jedron. He is my oldest and truest friend. But you
must understand that he is not what he once was. He sometimes becomes
irrational, paranoid. As a teacher and a former Shadow himself, he has no
peer, but the truth is that his advancing age, the isolation, and the guilt over
his actions have taken their toll."

Silverdun let this sink in for a moment. Could Than be telling the truth?
His heart began to sink in his chest. If Jedron was truly mad ...

"I saw you kill a man," said Silverdun. "And you tried to poison me."

"Are you sure that's what you saw?" said Ilian. "Did you actually see me
kill Ironfoot?"

Ironfoot. The other recruit. Silverdun thought back. He'd seen torches.
He'd heard screaming. The smoking pit, the bones. "I saw enough."

"And how do you know it was I that put the iglithbi in your brandy?
Did it ever occur to you that Jedron did himself? One of his little tests?"

Silverdun had to admit that Than was convincing. But wasn't this exactly
what a clever liar would say?

"Tell me what happened to this Ironfoot, then. The one I saw. The one
whose bones you collected from that pit."

"Why don't you ask Jedron that question?" said Ilian. "If that doesn't
convince you of his madness, I don't know what will."

This conversation was beginning to unnerve Silverdun. He liked to know
what he was dealing with.

Silverdun looked down and realized he was still holding the tankard containing Ilian's water. "You're a fairly good liar," he told Ilian. "But I've been
a nobleman long enough to see through even the best liar."

"Not the best liar," said Ilian. "For Jedron is the best of them all."

Than leaned close. "Soon his paranoia will turn toward you, Silverdun.
When the old madman tries to murder you in your sleep, don't say I didn't
warn you, you idiot."

Without thinking, Silverdun hurled the tankard between the bars with
all his strength, catching Than on the temple. Ilian's knees buckled, and he
fell to the floor.

Silverdun stormed out of the room and up the stairs to the top of the
tower, where he found Jedron sitting at his desk, with a glass of brandy in his
hands.

"Dammit, Jedron," Silverdun barked. "I want you to tell me what the
hell is really going on around here."

Jedron made no response. He had fallen asleep at his desk. In all the time
he'd been at Whitemount, he'd never seen Jedron unconscious.

"Jedron!" Silverdun called. The old man stirred and sat up, fixing a dark
gaze on him.

"Get out," he said. When Silverdun began to protest, Jedron hurled the
glass of brandy at him. This time, however, Silverdun managed to duck.

After leaving Jedron's room, Silverdun left the tower and returned to the
stone steps he'd discovered on the night Than had drugged and beaten him.
It was sunny and breezy out, and in the light of day the stair seemed far less
ominous. There was no railing, he saw, and he wondered that he had made it
to the bottom that night without killing himself.

The sea was loud at the base of the steps, where the stone expanse overlooked the water. The stone table was still there, as was the pit. Silverdun
peered down into the pit. It was about four feet deep, and empty save for a
layer of caked ash. It was scorched on the bottom and the sides.

He jumped in, and his boots sank into the muddy ash. He knelt and took
some of the stuff in his hands. It was thick, like clay. The inside of the pit
smelled damp and somehow cruel, a malevolent acridity.

Something white glinted in the sun, and Silverdun stepped carefully
toward it. Half buried in the sodden ash was a tiny white object. Silverdun
picked it up and held it up to the light. It was a bone, a small one. A toe or
a finger bone, perhaps. Apparently Silverdun had seen exactly what he
thought he'd seen.

Silverdun brushed off the bone and slid it into his pocket. The last evidence of Ironfoot's existence. Whoever he was. Something was going on here,
something that neither Than nor Jedron would admit, and Silverdun was
going to find out what it was.

When he returned to the tower, he found Jedron in the main room,
oiling the crossbows. When Silverdun entered, Jedron carefully returned the
weapon he'd been cleaning to its peg on the wall and boxed Silverdun's ears.
"Where in the queen's hallowed hole have you been?"

"Looking for answers," said Silverdun. "I had a very interesting conversation with Ilian earlier."

"Did you," said Jedron, a statement more than a question. "And what,
pray tell, did my erstwhile servant have to say for himself?"

"He told me to ask you what happened on the night I was drugged. The
night I saw Ironfoot killed."

Jedron laughed. "Ironfoot killed, eh? Than is trying to confuse you; can't
you see that? It's the oldest trick; divide your enemies and have them do your
fighting for you."

"Then tell me what happened that night." Silverdun held up the bone
he'd discovered earlier. "Tell me why I found this in that pit!"

Jedron slapped the thing out of Silverdun's hands. "That does not concern you!" He shoved Silverdun against the wall, hard.

"There is a conspiracy at hand, boy," said Jedron. "There are dark forces
at work throughout Faerie. Mab's Einswrath is only a symptom."

He began breathing quickly. "There are the religious fanatics: the Arcadians
and the Chthonics. The rebels in the Western Valley. There are certain actions
that must be taken that might seem shocking. Things that will cleanse."

"What are you talking about?" said Silverdun.

"When you're ready, you'll understand," said Jedron. "But don't you dare
question me in my home. Do we understand one another?"

He didn't wait for Silverdun to answer, but instead stormed upstairs to
his office, and didn't emerge for the rest of the afternoon.

It was dark when Silverdun returned to the dungeon carrying the tray for
Ilian's supper. Than stood against the wall of his cell, eyeing Silverdun with
a curious expression that Silverdun couldn't fathom.

"That was a nice shot you took earlier," he said, pulling back his hair to
show off the crescent-shaped welt where the tankard had struck his forehead.
"I didn't see it coming."

"Your master trained me well," said Silverdun.

At this, Than smiled. "You've been an apt pupil," he said.

Silverdun reached through the bars and placed the fresh bread and water
on the floor while Than stood against the far wall. "Eat," he said.

Ilian ate, looking at Silverdun all the while.

"Would you like the pisspot now?" Than asked politely.

"No. I want to show you something." Silverdun took the bone from his
pocket and held it up in the dim witchlight of the cellar. "What do you make
of this?"

Ilian's frustrating smile returned. "I suppose you could make a necklace
out of it, or a very small whistle."

Silverdun ignored the witticism. "I found it in the pit, the one in which
you claim no one was murdered. And yet this is a bone, is it not?"

Ilian's smile faded. "Let me see it," he said.

"Tell me what it is."

"Give it to me and I'll tell you what it is."

Silverdun sighed and reached carefully through the bars, the bone in his
fingers. Than reached for it, then instead grabbed Silverdun's wrist and
pulled, hard. Silverdun had no way to brace himself and so plunged face-first
into the cold iron bars.

The pain was intense and immediate. Just as he'd remembered, it felt as
though a legion of lightning-fast ants were fleeing from the points of contact,
down through his body, away, away from the cold iron. This time, however,
they didn't stop; the ants continued down his arm and leapt from his wrist
into Ilian's hand. Here was a different kind of pain, a pain of rapid depletion,
as if something inside him was draining out of him.

It was re. Than was stealing his re, using the cold iron bars to flush the
magical essence out of Silverdun's body.

Silverdun felt the way he did after overusing the Gifts in too short a
time; physically depleted, yes, but emotionally and spiritually depleted as
well.

Before Silverdun could react, Than had taken what re he needed and used
it. Silverdun felt a nauseating sway, and the world tilted sideways and backward. Than let go of Silverdun's hand and Silverdun fell back. There was a
deep, sickening feeling of vertigo. He looked around and realized that he was
inside the cell, not outside it. Than had used re to do this. Than possessed the
Gift of Folding.

Silverdun breathed heavily. Than was no mere manservant; that was for
certain.

Silverdun backed as far from the bars as he was able, until his back was pressed
against the cool stone wall of the cellar. He'd been behind iron bars before,
trapped in the wastes of the Contested Lands with Mauritane and his merry
band of fools, by humans of all things. If he could get far enough away from the
iron, concentrate, he could breathe in enough re to get himself out of the cell.

But it was no use. The bars were too close, and there was no re to be had.

"Dammit!" shouted Silverdun, smashing both fists against the wall
behind him. Than was loose in the tower, and perhaps this time Jedron
wouldn't be able to best him. And there was another part of Silverdun that
knew that Jedron would be furious with him for allowing Than to escape.
Maybe it would be better if Jedron didn't make it.

Shut up, Silverdun.

He eyed the bars of the cell glumly; he could almost feel their repulsion,
even from here. There was something curious about the way the dim light in
the room hit the bars at chest height. They looked as though viewed through
a prism, or through a glass of water, the bars seeming to jog slightly to the
right for a few feet, then resuming their course above. As sometimes happened to him during times of stress, Silverdun found himself focusing on this
odd optical illusion rather than the problem at hand. A trick of the mind,
perhaps, to stave off despair.

Silverdun stepped forward to examine the trick of light more closely, his
curiosity momentarily dispelling his discomfort. When he looked more
closely, he smiled.