Текст книги "All the Paths of Shadow"

Автор книги: Frank Tuttle

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Текущая страница: 23 (всего у книги 23 страниц)

Chapter Nineteen

“Special Accord Early Edition,” read the banner on the Post.“Historic Accords Commence Today! Midnight Light Show in Tower-Portends or Pranksters? Crown Denies Rumors of Vonat Pullout! Are Eryans Taking Our Jobs?”

“What?”

“I’m just reading the headlines, mistress,” cried Mug. “I don’t write them, you know.”

Meralda stuck her head out of the water closet door. Her red hair hung in a wet bunch as she toweled it dry. “Which story would you like me to read first?” asked Mug.

Meralda bent over, letting her hair fall down straight before trying to comb the worst of the tangles out. “Let’s hear what Yvin is denying about a Vonat pullout.”

Mug scanned the page. “Our rotund monarch denies categorically that only an intense series of wee hours meetings kept the Vonats in the Accords,” he said.

“Which means that’s exactly what happened,” said Meralda.

“He also denied that only the combined pressure from all the other Realms, including threats of united military embargoes, kept them here. Interesting. I wonder what spooked them so badly? See what I did there? Spooked.”

Meralda groaned.

“Humindorus Nam must be ready to run all the way back to Vonath about now,” mused Mug. “He can’t know his fancy lightning spell is gone. Bet he’s worried that if it fires off the dread shade of the Black will loose a barge load of doom all over his homeland.” Mug chuckled. “Mistress, that was sheer genius.”

Meralda shook her head, remembering the fear in the Vonat’s wizard’s eyes. “I did what I did for the good of Tirlin, Mug. I wish there had been another way.”

“There was another way, mistress. The long way down. But that isn’t your way, and all things told I suppose I’m glad of it.”

“Thank you, Mug. I think.” Meralda darted barefoot back into the water closet, where she combed her hair and decided to send for her clothes, since it seemed obvious she’d not be returning home before Yvin’s commencement speech in the morning.

“Do you think the Vonats will really be scared into behaving themselves, mistress?”

Meralda shrugged at her reflection.

“I suppose that all depends on how much sway Nam has with his superiors,” she said. “And how willing they are to believe in ghosts.”

“You showed him the curseworks, though. Think he can work out a way to see them for himself, maybe show his regents they’re really there?”

“Tower believes he can make them visible, if he sees that they’re trying.”

“Well that ought to buy us fifty years or so of good behavior. Oh, look. Your boyfriend is heading this way. Looks like he has breakfast.”

Meralda pretended she hadn’t heard. In a moment, though, Kervis knocked at the door before announcing Donchen.

Meralda turned out the water closet light and hurried out, wishing her hair was dry. Donchen rolled his cart into its customary spot and smiled at Meralda.

“Good morning, Mage,” he said. “I trust you are rested?”

“As much as one can be, sleeping at one’s desk. That smells wonderful!”

“Thank you. It’s a special meal, based on an old family recipe. I had to raid the ship’s stores for some of the ingredients. I do hope you find it palatable.”

Meralda cleared her desk and scooted her chairs into their places. “I’m sure I’ll find it delicious,” she said. She watched Donchen open the cart and begin to dispense the contents, and saw him wince when he reached for a silver bowl of steaming rice.

“Are you all right?”

Donchen ginned ruefully. “I assure you, Mage, I am in perfect health.”

“Ha,” said Mug. “You limped the whole way down the hall, and you were favoring your right arm, too.”

Meralda put her hands on her hips.

“Tell me. No more obfuscations.”

Donchen nodded, and sagged, resting his left hand suddenly on the serving cart.

“There were those who were displeased with the contents of the list I gave you, Mage.” He winced. “They made the unfortunate decision to fly in the face of tradition and attack a sohata. I’m afraid they nearly spoiled our breakfast, in doing so. But I believe the Chongit sauce will prove acceptable, despite this…”

Meralda pointed to Donchen’s chair. “Sit,” she said. “At once. You were assaulted? By the ones you named?”

“Not all. Only nine. They nearly caught me by surprise. I do tend to become distracted when I’m in the kitchen.”

Meralda moved to stand beside him. He looked up at her, his customary half-smile growing. “They are no longer a threat, Mage. Not to me, nor to the Accords. You asked once what the House of Chentze intended to do with them. I believe they intended to do nothing. Better that the traitors be slain by a sohata, you see. Better for Chentze. Better for the families of the conspirators. Not so good for me, perhaps, but as you can see, I have survived.”

The man just fought and possibly just killed nine people,thought Meralda. She remembered her own moment, on the stair.

And then he finished making breakfast.

Meralda put her hand on his.

“The sauce will not retain its subtlety, if it gets cold,” said Donchen. “And we both have a very long day ahead.”

Meralda squeezed his hand, and finished setting her makeshift table.

Donchen dozed in his chair.

Meralda pretended to fuss over her nearly empty plate and watched him sleep.

“The captain is heading up the stairs, mistress,” whispered Mug.

Meralda sighed and rose. “Coming to see me, I imagine.”

“Doubtlessly.” A knock sounded at the doors.

Meralda moved quickly to them. “Come in, Captain,” she said.

The captain tramped inside. “I suppose you’ve heard,” he said. “Something scared the whole Vonat wing nearly back to Vonath last night. Lights in the Tower, too. I don’t suppose you know anything about that?”

Meralda feigned an innocent smile. “Not a thing, Captain.”

“Good for you, Mage. Oh, the king sends his regards. And a message. ‘Well done.’ He asked me to tell you that in person. But of course you don’t know what it means.”

“I certainly don’t.”

The captain nodded. “Of course not. By the way. The Vonats have locked their best wizard in a closet. He keeps ranting about phantoms and curses and swatting at thin air. Claims two wingless black crows are following him. Wingless crows, ha.” The captain’s weary face split into a grin. “Never liked that man.”

“I only met him once,” said Meralda. “He seemed a bit unstable.”

The captain slapped his knee. “Well. I’ve delivered my message. I’m off. Probably won’t see you again before commencement, Mage.” He stuck out his hand. “But I want you to know this, Meralda Ovis. All those things you haven’t done, and don’t know anything about? Good work. Damned good work.”

Meralda took his hand and shook it.

“Mage.”

“Captain.”

He let go of her hand, and marched out, still grinning.

Kervis stuck his head in the door. “Mage?”

“Yes, Kervis?”

“This might not be a good time, but-well, Tervis and I-we got you something. For being so nice, and all.”

The Bellringer’s face flushed suddenly crimson.

Meralda laughed. “Well, come in and let me see it! You too, Tervis. I see your shadow.”

The Bellringers marched in, their eyes on the floor.

Kervis held a small box wrapped in white paper in his hand.

“It’s not much,” said Tervis.

“But we hope you like it,” finished Kervis.

Meralda took the box, and unwrapped it carefully. Inside was a silver necklace, and on it was a single silver leaf, that shone in the light.

“We thought it would remind you of Mr. Mug, and the time we fought the rope men,” said Kervis. “You saved us all that day, Mage. This is our way of saying we’ll never forget.”

Tears welled up in Meralda’s eyes. She blinked them back and fastened the necklace around her neck.

“Thank you. Thank you both,” she said. “I’ll treasure it always.”

The Bellringers smiled and Kervis grabbed his brother’s sleeve and they hurried back out the door.

“Mistress!” cried Mug. “Mistress, come quick!”

Donchen stirred, suddenly alert, and leapt to his feet.

Meralda hurried to his side. “Mug, what is it?” She searched the glass for any signs of Vonats in the Tower, or on the stair.

“My eye! My new eye!” Mug waved an eye bud in front of the glass. “It’s opened! And it’s yellow!”

Meralda laughed. Donchen relaxed, and leaned against her, his arm going around her waist.

“I wished for a yellow eye and I got one,” said Mug. “I’d say your spring has some magic left after all, Donchen.”

“Perhaps it does,” he said. “I once drank from it myself.”

“What did you wish for?” asked Mug.

Donchen hugged Meralda tight. “Only those things I seem to have found.”

“Mistress,” said Mug, gazing at her with his new yellow eye. “You look…mage-like.”

Meralda frowned. Her deep blue robes hung shapeless about her. The wool was hot and she was sure it was making her neck turn red and itchy. The sleeves were too long, despite her instructions to the royal seamstress that they be shortened and tradition be hanged.

I’m almost glad Donchen isn’t here to see me in this wretched thing,she thought. Especially if I break out in hives because of it.

He’d simply said he had to go, and that he’d be close by for the Accords. Meralda wondered where he’d gone, and why. But something sad and wistful in his voice left her unwilling to question him further.

“I wish I could go with you,” Mug said. “I feel as if I should be there. Your big day and all.”

“I need you here, Mug. Keeping an eye on the Tower.”

Mug tossed his leaves. “True. Still. I’ll be glad when this is done, mistress. I miss the kitchen windowsill.”

Fromarch stuck his head in the door. “Well?” he asked. “Are you decent?”

“I might as well be wearing a tent,” said Meralda. “Do come in.”

Fromarch darted inside, accompanied by Shingvere.

Fromarch was clad in a simple, but poorly fitted, black robe. Scuffed black work boots peeked out from beneath, and the wrinkled collar of a white Phendelit dress shirt showed at the neck.

Shingvere, though, was dressed in a flowing red and black Eryan mage’s robe, complete with billowing sleeves and a blood-red sash. His hood was thrown back, his beard was trimmed and combed, and his eyes twinkled above his broad smile.

“Mage Meralda, you look wonderful,” he said. “Shame that robe doesn’t fit a bit better, you’d have half of Erya proposing marriage right there in the stands.”

“What the devil would she want with a lot of half-wit Eryans,” grumbled Fromarch.

Meralda raised her hands. “I’m glad to see you both. I haven’t had a chance to thank you for keeping the Vonats busy, these last few days.”

Both mages guffawed and exchanged grins. “Haven’t had that much fun in years,” said Fromarch.

“We put a basilisk in their swimming pool,” said Shingvere. “’Tis a crying shame that didn’t make the papers.”

“I do not want to know,” said Meralda. “At least not yet.”

“We’ll have a beer soon,” said Fromarch. He shot a look at Shingvere. “Think she knows yet?”

“Knows what?”

“She doesn’t know. He didn’t tell her. That rascal.”

Meralda frowned. “Who? Tell me what? What rascal?”

A trumpet blew. A knock sounded at the laboratory door. “They’re telling us we need to go,” said Kervis, through the door. “If you please, I mean, ma’am.”

Before Meralda could speak, Fromarch and Shingvere whirled and hurried out, chattering idly in tones that clearly conveyed their amusement with themselves.

Meralda glared at their backs and hurried to collect her things.

The trip to the park took nearly three hours.

Traffic was choked to a near standstill. Soldiers, some Eryan, some Phendelit, most Tirlish, lined every street and stood on every corner.

Every carriage, even Meralda’s, was stopped and inspected and then stopped and inspected again. The guards were polite and efficient and Meralda was sure nothing escaped their watchful eyes.

If the Vonats intend to start trouble today,she mused, they’ll need to be very clever indeed.

The Bellringers stared out their windows on either side of Meralda, their faces alert and wary. Meralda scanned the streets for Donchen, but if he was there, he was concealed.

The Tower loomed up finally, rising above every other rooftop. The park wall hove into view, its dancing gargoyles still clad in various scraps of Vonat underwear.

It’s nearly all over,thought Meralda. I should be happy.

She thought of watching the Hang five-master sail away, and her heart sank like lead in her chest.

He’ll be leaving soon. I’ve avoided facing that. But once the Accords are done, once the Hang go home, will I ever see him again?

I don’t even know his full name.

“Mistress,” said Mug, his voice tiny and distant over the din of traffic and the rumble of the carriage. “Mistress, I found Donchen. Thought you might be wondering where he is.”

Meralda lifted the speaking device to her lips.

“Thank you, Mug. Where is he?”

“He’s with the Hang. Just milling about, all dressed up in fancy robes of some kind. He doesn’t look happy. Also, he keeps looking about, watching for someone. Wonder who that could be?”

“Thank you, Mug.” Meralda put the device back into her bag.

She thought of the Hang ships leaving again, and pushed all thoughts of Donchen away until her carriage finally reached the park.

From the park down the walk to the stands took another full hour. Meralda spent most of that time resisting a growing urge to scratch at all the places the robes made her itch.

At last, though, she reached the stands, and was ushered to the lofty seats reserved for the king and his retinue.

She climbed past the Phendelit contingent, who nodded and waved. She passed through the glowering ranks of the Alons, who muttered and stared, although Red Mawb did at least nod to her in greeting. The Eryans were friendlier, with several calling out her name and doffing their hats to her as Meralda climbed past. The Vonats, who insisted on occupying seats higher than the Eryans, met Meralda with glares and exchanges of whispers.

Finally, she passed within a shout of Donchen. He waved to her, smiling, and she waved back before the press of the crowd behind her forced her to move on.

The Bellringers were seated at the bottommost rank of the king’s seats. Meralda continued on alone for another half-dozen rows, until she was seated a single rank below the king and queen themselves.

She looked out across the park and struggled to catch her breath.

Not a single patch of green grass showed anywhere. It was as if all five kingdoms of the Realms had somehow dispatched their entire citizenry to take up positions standing in the park.

Hats. A sea of hats. Half bore feathers, half showed flags. All shaded eager faces upturned toward the king.

The noise was deafening, as each of the spectators shouted above the others, until the whole of the park was filled with a growing, thunderous din.

Slowly, the stands filled, as the delegations from each of the Realms took their places. The Vonats stalked in last, their glowers and glares obvious.

Absent from their ranks was Humindorus Nam.

All the while, the shadow of the Tower swung slowly and inexorably over the stands. Mug read off the time at fifteen minute intervals, and Meralda felt her stomach tighten into knots as she realized her shadow moving spell, which was untested and hurried, would be seen by all the Realms in just a few moments.

The king began to leaf through the pages of his speech as the edge of the shadow fell across the podium.

“Mistress,” said Mug, his tone edged with fear. “Mistress. Oh no. mistress, Tower says someone is meddling with the tethers.”

Meralda’s heart froze as she fumbled for the speaking device.

“Tower. The old tethers or the new?”

Mug spoke in the background before answering. “The old ones, mistress. They’re doing the same thing you did. Trying to latch something to the flat.”

“From where? Inside?”

“Tower can’t tell. But no, not inside. From a distance, somehow.”

“Nam.”

“Probably. mistress. Tower says unless he’s stopped, you’ll need to attach your tethers in the next few minutes.”

Meralda stood. She saw the king eye her quizzically, saw a dozen guards tense and look her way.

“Nameless,” she whispered. “Faceless. To me.”

The staves fell into her hands. People about her gasped and stared.

“I’m off to move the shadow,” she shouted, with a smile. “Pray continue, Your Majesty.”

Yvin didn’t blink. “Tend to it, Mage,” he said. “Just as planned.”

Meralda nodded, and the staves lifted her up and whisked her away.

Wind howled in her ears. The robe of office flapped so hard it stung. The air grew cold and then damp and then dry again.

“I need to know where he is,” she said, to the staves. “Show me.”

Tirlin wheeled below her. Meralda extended her Sight, using secret spaces to enhance it, make it more subtle and sensitive than she’d ever dreamed possible.

The city shone below her, laced with magics, old and new. Most were simple household magics. Water was heated. Milk was cooled. Fires were kept from creeping out of hearths. Toys danced and moved.

Others were larger, more complex. Some filtered out the lifting gas for dirigibles. Some pumped water. Some kept lamp gas from leaking and burning.

But that one. That one, blazing a peculiar shade of green, sending tendrils of influence from a tiny basement room in east Tirlin toward the Tower. What was that?

Meralda flew toward the light, watching it solidify around the flat.

Saw it begin to bite into the tethers, one by one.

Meralda willed the staves down, and down they soared, hawk-quick, owl-silent. She saw a single face as she passed, mouth open in shock behind an apartment window, and then she was back on her feet, standing outside a weather-beaten door.

She extended a hint of power, and the door exploded, sending splinters flying in every direction.

Meralda stepped through the ruined doorframe.

Humindorus Nam glared back at her, his staff of bone glowing and hissing in his hands.

A mound of skulls sat atop a table before him. The skulls chanted, issuing dry whispers from between grinning, clacking jaws. Atop the heap of skulls a bright light played, and from that light led the strands of power that ravaged the tethers.

“Why?” asked Meralda. “What would drive you to do this, knowing the consequences?”

Nam spat. “They speak of peace,” he said. “Reconciliation. A joining with the Realms.” He shoved his staff of bone down deep into the light, where it smoked and screamed. “They would surrender. Surrender, to the likes of you.”

“We’re not asking for surrender. We’re not at war.”

Nam’s staff howled in agony. Meralda smelled the sudden stench of burnt hair and watched as blisters rose up on the man’s arms from the heat pouring off the light.

“We’ll be at war in a moment,” said Nam. “Let your shade’s curseworks fall. Let them burn away the weakness that chokes the heart of Vonath. Let them make us strong again, so we might ride forth and strike you all down!”

The man’s arms turned black and began to sizzle, and he shoved them harder against the light and laughed.

Meralda raised Nameless and Faceless. “Don’t make me do this,” she said. “I don’t want to kill you.”

Nam coughed blood, gripped a muttering skull, and raised it toward Meralda.

“I, on the other hand, don’t mind killing you at all,” said Fromarch.

The old wizard raised the Infinite Latch and shouted a word.

Meralda found the hidden place that slowed time. Even slowed, she was barely able to enclose Fromarch and herself in a sphere of safety, before the combined forces of what Fromarch would later claim were nine hundred and seventy industrial grade thermal spells reduced the tiny boarding house, the mound of skulls, and Humindorus Nam to a fine snow of ash that fell until the next rain finally washed it from the sky.

Meralda bore Fromarch and herself away from the lingering heat before returning to normal space.

The aging wizard blinked. “Still alive. Imagine that.”

Meralda glared. “What were you thinking?”

Fromarch shrugged. “I was thinking my hands are too old to care if they’ve got blood on them,” he said. “My gift to you, Mage Meralda. Now I’m well and truly retired. I see a pub.” He took a step away. “Don’t you have a shadow to move? A kingdom to save?”

“You are incorrigible.”

Fromarch waved, dropped the latch, and ambled away.

Meralda snatched up the latch. “Back to the stands,” she said, as Fromarch vanished inside a tavern. “Quickly.”

The staves caught her up, and the street and the tavern and the blossoming cloud of ash fell away below her.

The king didn’t blink as Meralda settled back into her seat. He merely nodded her way, as though flying mages were as commonplace as sparrows or rain in modern metropolitan Tirlin.

As her neighbors in the stands gaped and stared, Meralda smiled and brought the speaking device to her mouth.

“Tower isn’t sure what you did, mistress, but the interference has stopped.”

“The tethers?”

“Failing as we speak, mistress.” Mug paused. “Yours will have to replace them any moment now.”

“I understand. Tell Tower I am ready.”

“Good luck, mistress.”

The shadow of the Tower engulfed the last column of seats, and the podium moved into its center.

The king nodded.

Meralda rose.

She raised her Sight. Her shadow moving spells hung ready, shimmering in the dark, gossamer tangles of cobwebs moving in a gentle wind. Meralda could see the black masses of Nameless and Faceless flitting to and fro amid them.

Meralda spoke the word of unbinding, and the tangle of spells stretched and pulled and took shape.

The crowd gasped. Applause broke out, grew, became a thunder that drowned out the voices from the park.

Meralda opened her eyes.

The Tower’s shadow was gone, pierced through its heart with the bright light of day.

Donchen’s eyes met hers. His smile was warm and wide.

“You did it,”he mouthed. “Mage Meralda.”

Meralda smiled back, and the crowd stood and kept applauding.

“The tethers,” shouted Mug. “Beginning to tear. It’s now or never, Meralda.” He said something else, but his words were lost in the roar of applause. “…I love you, you know that.”

“I love you too, Mug,” said Meralda.

As the king took the podium, Meralda called the staves to her, and spoke the words that woke her tethers.

“Welcome to Tirlin,” shouted the king.

Meralda watched the curseworks whirl.

One by one, she watched the ancient tethers fail.

The new spells took hold. The curseworks wobbled.

Wobbled, but did not fall. Before the king was done speaking, they stabilized, soaring above an unknowing Tirlin as smooth and sure as kites on a string.

“Mistress,” piped Mug, from her bag. “Mistress. Tower says the you-know-whats are showing no significant signs of instability. I think that’s his way of saying you’ve saved the Realms.” Meralda heard Tower speak in the background. “You’ve done it, mistress. The tethers are holding. Better than the old ones, according to Tower. Throw yourself a parade. It’s done.”

Meralda let go her staves. They took to the air, darting and wheeling and chasing and gone.

“Welcome to Tirlin,” said the king again, in closing. “We look forward to a bright future together.”

Meralda put her face in her hands and cried.

The stands emptied slowly. Meralda waved her guards away, though the Bellringers remained close by her side until she ordered them to go and eat supper and then go home.

The park, too, slowly disgorged its crowds, leaving nothing but handbills and sandwich wrappers and bright bits of trampled ribbons behind, being scattered by the wind. A small army of trash-men, burlap bags hanging empty at their waists, set about spearing litter with pointed sticks and placing it in their bags.

A child with a familiar kite ran among them, and this time his kite soared skyward with no hint of hesitation.

I can’t even stand up,thought Meralda. I’ve never been so exhausted in all my life.

A shadow fell upon her, and she looked up to find Donchen at her side.

He sat, his hands in his lap, his eyes on the darkening sky behind the Tower.

“Quite a long day,” he said. “Especially for you, I gather. Trouble at the last moment?”

Meralda nodded. “Nam. Went after the tethers. Nearly killed us all.”

Donchen nodded. “But here we are. Thanks to you, I assume.”

Meralda remembered that awful moment when Fromarch loosed the latch. “I’d rather not speak of it.”

“Then we shall not. Ever, if you wish it.”

The child’s bat-winged kite darted and swooped Donchen waved to the child, who waved back and shouted a greeting lost in the breeze and the distance.

“There is still much unresolved,” said Donchen. “I regret I have been unable to learn the identity of the man who used hidden spells to gain entrance to your king.”

Meralda shrugged. That seems so long ago, she thought.

“What was the point of all this, anyway?” she asked, after a long moment watching the Tower’s shadow reform.

“The Accords?”

“No. The Vonats. Those among your people who worked with them. The spells in the Gold Room. All of it. Why?”

Donchen sighed. “Politics, for the most part, I suppose. My people are staunch traditionalists. This new partnership with the Realms is upsetting to some of those in power.”

“I’ve noticed something, Donchen.”

Donchen smiled. “And what is that, Meralda?”

“You’re very careful with your words. You said ‘for the most part.’ Which implies there’s something more.”

“Does it really?”

“It does. Is now the time you stop being forthcoming?”

Donchen shook his head. “All I have are suspicions. Suspicions, rumor, and scraps of legend. None of it makes sense, even to me. But I tell you the truth, Mage Meralda. When we’re both rested, we’ll have a nice meal of sweet and sour pork and then we’ll find a comfortable couch and I’ll tell you all of it, rumor and legend alike.”

“Fair enough.” Meralda brushed back her hair. “You’ll be leaving soon, won’t you? Going home, I mean. Back across the Sea.”

Donchen shrugged. “One day. But not soon. Perhaps not ever. Politics are involved, I’m afraid. One of the reasons I’ve spent so much time here in the Realms.”

“Fromarch and Shingvere hinted at some dark secret concerning you,” said Meralda. “Please don’t tell me you’re heir to the throne.”

Donchen laughed. “Hardly. Well, only in the most oblique manner possible.”

Meralda turned to face him. “What?”

“I am the second son of the second son of a House that once rivaled Chentze,” he said. “Que-long is childless. The shuffle for power has already begun.” He shrugged. “I want no part of it.”

“Your status as ghost?”

“All of us in line for the throne share it,” he said. “It is meant to protect us from assassination. And perhaps to teach us self-reliance. In any case, my ghosthood expires next year. If I am in Hang when it expires, my own very personal expiration is likely close behind.”

“So you’re a prince?”

“In a manner of speaking. But a most reluctant one. I prefer the kitchen to the throne room. Would you be able to keep company with a humble chef, I wonder?”

Some last vestige of the shadow moving spell careened past and engulfed Meralda and Donchen in a brief, warm burst of light.

Meralda moved closer, turned Donchen’s face toward hers, and drew him into a kiss.

He took her hands in his.

The light failed. The Bellringers grinned and elbowed each other and turned suddenly away.

“Welcome to Tirlin,” said Meralda. “Let’s stay and watch the sunset.”