Shadowmarch

by Tad Williams

“Perhaps. But out of great fear and danger, heroism and beauty can come, too.”

  “I am not your man for heroes,” said Chert. “Give me a soft seam and a hot meal at the end of the day.”

  Chaven smiled. “I am not so fond of heroism myself,” he said, “but there is a part of me—my curiosity, I suppose—that dislikes too much comfort. It is, I think, the despoiler of learning, or at least of true understanding.”

  Chert suppressed a shudder. “Whatever sort of lessons the Rooftoppers spoke of—Old Night! That has a terrible sound. And the Lord of the Peak who warned them, some Rooftopper god, no doubt In any case, those are the sort of lessons I would rather avoid.”

  “The Lord of the Peak?” Chaven’s demeanor seemed to grow a little cool. “Is that what they said?”

  “Y—yes—didn’t I tell you? I must have forgot. They said the truth of all this was spoken to them by the Lord of the Peak.”

  Chaven stared at him for a moment as from a distance, and Chert feared he had offended somehow against their old but constrained friendship. “Well, I expect you are right,” the physician said at last. “It is some god of theirs.” He moved suddenly, rubbed his hands together. “It is good of you to bring this all to me.Your pardon, but you have given me much that is new to think on, and I have more than the royal family’s physical bodies in my care.”

  “It . . . it was strange to see Prince Barrick. He is so young!”

  “He and his sister are both growing older quickly. These are harsh times. Now I hope you will pardon me, good Chert—I have much to do.”

  With the distinct feeling that he was being hurried out, Chert had almost reached the door when he remembered. “Oh! And I have something else for you.” He fumbled in the pocket of his jerkin, withdrew the unusual stone. “The child Flint, the one you met—he found this near the Eddon family graveyard. I have lived with and worked with stone as man and boy, but I have never seen anything like it. I thought perhaps you could tell me what it is.” A sudden thought: “It did not occur to me, but it was with me when I met the Rooftoppers. Their little Nose-man said he could smell evil. I thought perhaps it was the scent of the shadowlands still on Flint . . . but perhaps it was this.”

  Chaven took it, gave it a quick glance. He did not seem impressed. “Perhaps,” he said. “Or perhaps it was all part of the incomprehensible politick of the Rooftoppers—they are an old race about which we know little in these days. In any case, I will examine it carefully, good Chert.” He gave it another look, then slipped it into one of the sleeves of his robe. “And now, good morning. We will talk longer when I am not just come back from the countryside.”

  Chert hesitated again. Chaven had never before made him feel unwelcome. He wanted to probe the unfamiliar situation like a sore tooth. “And your journey went well?”

  “As well as could be hoped. The fever that struck the prince has come to many houses, but I do not think it was what I once feared—something that comes from beyond the Shadowline.” He stood patiently by the door.

  “Thank you for your time,” the Funderling told him. “Farewell, and I hope I will see you again soon.”

  “I shall look forward to it,” Chaven said as he closed the door firmly behind him.

  *

  The sky was high and clear today, but cold air stabbed down from the north and Briony was glad of her warm boots. Not everyone seemed to approve of her manlike choice of clothing: woolen hose and a tunic that had once been Barrick’s; Avin Brone took one look at her and snorted, but then hurried into the day’s business as if he did not trust himself to comment on her apparel. Instead, he complained about the fact that her brother apparently could not be bothered to attend.

  “The prince’s time and reasons are his own,” Briony said, but secretly she was not displeased. She had reasons to hurry, and although she did her best to attend to the matters to be settled, the taxes to be assessed, the countless stories whose only desired audience was her royal self, she was distracted and paid only intermittent attention.

  Finished, she stopped and went to a meal of cold chicken and bread in her own chambers. She would rather have had something warmer on such a day, but she had an assignation to keep . . .

  What a way to think of it! She was amused and a little ashamed. It is business— the crown’s business, and overdue. But she couldn’t completely convince even herself.

  Rose and Moina were in a frenzy of disapproval of her behavior today, both her immodest, masculine garb and her choice of meetings. Although they were neither of them forward enough to say much, it quickly became clear that the young noblewomen had been intriguing between themselves and would not be sent away without a fuss. After Briony’s heated words were met with fierce resistance—but couched in the terms of purest obedience to their mistress’ commands, of course—she gave up and allowed them to accompany her. It is just as well, she told herself. It is perfectly innocent, after all, and now there will be no whispering gossip. But she couldn’t help being just the smallest bit resentful Mistress of all the northern lands—well, alongside her brother—and she could not have a meeting without being surrounded by watchful eyes, as though she were a child in danger of hurting herself.

  He was waiting in the spice garden. Because of the argument with her two ladies, he had waited longer than she would have liked. She couldn’t help wondering whether chill weather like this felt more cruel to someone brought up in hot southern lands, but if Dawet dan-Faar was suffering, he was too subtle to show it.

  “I had planned we would walk here,” she said, “but it is so fearfully cold Let us go across the way into Queen Lily’s Cabinet instead.”

  The envoy smiled and bowed. Perhaps he was indeed glad to go somewhere warmer. “But you seem to have dressed for the weather,” he commented, looking her up and down.

  Briony was disgusted to find herself blushing.

  The cabinet room was modest in size, just a place where Anglin’s granddaughter had liked to sit and sew and enjoy the smells of the spice garden. At first all of Briony’s guards seemed determined to join her in the cozy little paneled room, but this was too much, she sent all but two out again. This pair took up positions near the door where they could watch Rose and Moina doing needlework, then all four of them settled down to keep a close if covert eye on their mistress.

  “I trust I find you well, Lord Dawet?” she asked when they had both been served with mulled wine.

  “As well as can be expected, Highness.” He sipped. “I confess that days like this, when the wind bites, I miss Hierosol.”

  “As well you might. It is very unwanted, this cold weather, but the season finally seems to have changed. We had been having unusually warm days for Dekamene, after all.”

  He seemed about to say something, then pursed his mouth. “And is it truly the weather that causes you to be dressed this way, Highness?” He indicated the thick hose and the long tunic—one of Barrick’s that he never wore—that she had so carefully altered to fit her own slimmer waist and wider hips.

  “I sense you do not approve, Lord Dawet.”

  “With respect, Highness, I do not. It seems to be a sin against nature to dress a woman, especially one as young and fair as yourself, in this coarse manner.”

  “Coarse? This is a prince’s tunic, a prince’s doublet—here, see the gold fretwork! Surely it is not coarse.”

  He frowned. It was a much greater pleasure than she would have guessed to see him discomfited—like watching a supercilious cat take a clumsy fall. “They are men’s clothes, Princess Briony, however rich the fabric and workmanship. They make coarse what is naturally fine.”

  “So the mere fact of what I wear can make me less than fine, less than noble? I fear that leaves me very little room in which to maneuver, Lord Dawet, if I am already so close to coarseness that a mere doublet can carry me to it.”

  He smiled, but it was a surprisingly angry expression. “You seek to make sport of me, Highness. And you may. But you seemed to ask whether I app
roved, and I would be honest with you I do not.”

  “If I were your sister, then, would you forbid me to dress this way?"

  “If you were my sister or any other woman whose honor was given into my keeping, yes, I would certainly forbid you.” His dark gaze suddenly touched hers, angry and somehow demanding. It was startling, as though she had been playing with what she thought was a harmless pet that had suddenly shown it could bite.

  “Well, in point of fact, Lord Dawet, that is why I asked you to attend me.”

  “So it is not ‘we’ and ‘us,’ Highness?”

  She felt her cheeks warming again. “We. ‘Us.’ You overreach yourself, Lord Dawet.”

  He bowed his head, but she glimpsed the tiniest hint of a smile—the old one, the self-satisfied one. “I have been unclear, Highness. I apologize. I simply meant that you did not say ‘we,’ so I wondered if this was not then an audience with you and your royal brother, as I had been given to understand. I take it that instead you wish to speak more . . . informally?”

  “No.” Damn the man! “No, that is not what I meant, although of course I act today as co-regent and with my brother’s approval. You make me regret speaking to you in a friendly way, Lord Dawet.”

  “May the Three Highest bring rum on my house if I intended any such thing, Princess—if I intended anything other than respect and affection. I simply wished to know what sort of meeting we are having.”

  She sipped at her wine, taking a moment to recover her confidence. “As I said, your remark about me being a woman in your care was to the point. Only a few weeks gone, I might have been just such a forlorn creature, sent with you to marry your lord, like . . . like a bit of tribute. Do not forget, Lord Dawet, you come here as the ambassador of our enemy.”

  “You have greater enemies than my master Ludis, Highness. And I fear you also have friends who are even less trustworthy than me. But forgive me—I have interrupted you. Again, I am unforgivably rude.”

  He had flustered her again, but the anger gave her something to grip, a certain leverage. “It is finally time for the crown of Southmarch and the March Kingdoms to return an answer to your master, the Protector of Hierosol, and his offer of marriage. While my older brother was regent, there might have been a different answer, but now, as you may guess, the answer is no. We will ransom my father with money, not my maidenhood. If Ludis wishes to beggar the northern kingdoms, then he will find that when the Autarch comes to his front door, Hierosol will get no assistance from the north. Rather, though we hate the Autarch and would not ordinarily wish to see him gain even a handful of Eion’s soil, we will rejoice at the defeat of Ludis Drakava.” She paused, slowing her breath, making her voice firm. “But if he sees another way—if King Olin might be released for something less than this exorbitant amount of gold, for instance—then Ludis might discover he has allies here that will stand him well in days ahead.”

  Dawet raised an eyebrow. “Is that the message you wish me to give him, Princess Briony?”

  “It is.”

  He nodded his head slowly. “And do I take this to mean that I am no longer a prisoner? That my escort and I are free to go back to Hierosol?”

  “Do you doubt my word?”

  “No, Highness. But sometimes things happen beyond the echo of a prince’s voice.”

  “Avin Brone, the lord constable, knows my wishes . . . our wishes. He will return your men’s arms. Your ship is prepared already, I think.”

  “Your castellan was kind enough to arrange that no harm should come to it, and that I could keep on it a small crew to see that things stayed in order.” Dawet grinned. “I confess that although I will in many ways regret leaving, it is good to know I will have my freedom again, even though you will be one guest the less.”

  “Guest, indeed. Whatever you believe, Lord Dawet, I do not think you can say we treated you much like a prisoner.”

  “Oh, a valued prisoner, at the worst,” he said. “But that is small solace to one who has spent years of his life living on horseback, never sleeping in the same place twice.” He stirred. “Do I have leave to go and begin the preparations?”

  “Of course. You will want to sail before the weather turns for good.” She was oddly disappointed, but knew this was happening as it must. He and his Hierosoline company were a distraction in the castle; they attracted rumor and hostility as honey drew flies.Yes, he was a very distracting presence, this Dawet dan-Faar. Now that Brone had convinced her and Barrick beyond doubt that there was no way the envoy or his company could have been materially involved in her brother’s murder, it made no sense to keep them and feed them through the long winter.

  He bowed, took a few steps backward, then stopped. “May I speak frankly, Highness? Princess Briony?”

  “Of course.”

  He glanced at the guards and her ladies-in-waiting, then came back and sat on the bench beside her. This close, he smelled of leather and some sweet hair oil. Briony saw Rose and Moina exchange a look. “I will take you at your word, Mistress, and hope you have played me fairly,” he said quietly. “Listen carefully to me, please.

  “I am glad you did not accept the suit of my lord Ludis. I think you would not have found life at his court very enjoyable—mostly, I suspect my master’s interests and amusements would not have been to your taste. But I hope someday you can see the southlands, Princess, and perhaps even Xand . . . or at least those parts of it not choking under the Autarch’s control. There are beauties you cannot imagine, green seas and high mountains red as a maiden’s blush, and broad jungles full of animals you can scarcely imagine. And the deserts—you will remember I told you something of the silent, stark deserts. You may become a great queen someday, but you have seen little of the world, and that seems to me a shame.”

  Briony was stung. “I have been to Settland and Brenland and . . . and Fael.” She had been only a child of five when her father took her to visit Merolanna’s relatives—she remembered little except a great black horse given to her father by Fael’s lord as a present, and of standing on a balcony above the sea watching otters at play in the water below.

  Dawet smirked—there was nothing else to call it. “Forgive me if I do not count Settland and Brenland among the gods’ greatest triumphs, my lady.” Abruptly the smile dropped away. “And my wish for you to see more of the world is in part an idle and selfish wish . . . because I wish I could be the one to show these things to you.” He lifted a long, brown hand. “Please, say nothing. You told me I could speak honestly. And there is more I would tell you. “ His voice dropped all the way to a whisper. “You are in danger, my lady, and it is closer to you than you think. I cannot believe that Shaso is the one who killed your brother, but I cannot prove he did not either. However I can tell you, and tell you from knowledge, that one who is much closer to you than me means you ill. Murderously ill.” He held her gaze for a long moment; Briony felt lost, as though she were in an evil falling dream. “Trust no one.”

  “Why would you say such a thing?” she whispered harshly when she had found her voice again. “Why should I believe that you, the servant of Ludis Drakava, are not merely trying to stir unhappiness between me and those I trust?”

  The smile returned one last time, with an odd twist to it. “Ah, the life I have led means I deserve that many times over. Still, I do not ask you to act on my words, Princess Briony, only to consider them—to remember them. It could be that the day will come when we can sit together once more and you can tell me whether I wished you ill this day . . . or well.” He stood, donning his guise of easiness again like a cloak. “I hope you will be more suitably dressed, of course.” He took her hand in a most ostentatious manner, brushed his lips upon it. Everyone else in the room was staring openly. “I thank you and your brother for your generous hospitality, Princess, and I grieve for your loss. I will give your message to my master in Hierosol.”

  He bowed and left the cabinet.

  “I am quite sick of watching the two of you murmur,” Brio
ny growled at her ladies-in-waiting. She didn’t quite know what she was feeling, but it was not pleasant. “Go away. I want to be by myself for a while I want to think.”

  *

  By day the dark-haired girl Willow came back to herself a little, although in some ways she seemed so childish that Ferras Vansen wondered if her problems were solely caused by having crossed the Shadowline—perhaps, he thought, she had already been a bit simpleminded Whatever the case, under the small bit of sun that leaked through the clouds she became the most cheerful of the generally silent company, riding in front of Vansen and chattering about her family and neighbors like a small child being taken to the market fair.

  “She is so little, but she is the most stubborn of the lot. She will push the other goats away from the food—even the biggest of her brothers!”

  Collum Dyer listened to her babble with a sour expression on his face. “Better you than me, Captain.”

  Ferras shrugged. “I am happy she is talking. Perhaps after a while she will say something that we will thank Perin Cloudwalker we learned.”