Shifting Loyalties

by Melissa McShane

  Alaric joined her and immediately began pulling his boots off. “That’s not how I expected the night to go,” he said. “Was I wrong to make the decision for all of us?”

  “At the risk of sounding petty, you do that all the time.” Sienne took a boot out of his hand and kissed him. “It was the right decision. These people are living in poverty. How would you like to have your permanent home be a tent? Or sleep on this bedroll forever? Granted, it’s nicer than the bedrolls we have, but it’s not a mattress. And I don’t even want to think about what they’d have to do to get some privacy. Alaric, we have to help them.”

  “I might have known you’d say something like that. You’re a one-woman crusade against injustice.” Alaric put his arms around her and drew her down to lie beside him. “I wish we could do something more vigorous than hugging.”

  “Me too. But if I’m not willing to have sex in a tent surrounded by my friends, I’m even less willing to have sex in a tent surrounded by werebears.” She snuggled in closer to him. “This is pleasure enough.”

  His breath stirred the hair over her forehead. “True,” he said. “Sleep. Tomorrow will be a busy day.”

  She heard his last words distantly, as if they were wrapped in cotton wool, and then she was asleep.

  Sienne woke to something heavy lying across her legs. When she moved them, the weight didn’t shift at all. She opened her eyes and squinted at her feet. A ball of black fur lay curled up over her legs, its small sides rising and falling in rhythmic breathing. Sienne took in a quick, startled breath, waking Alaric. “What’s wrong?” he said, pushing himself onto his elbow.

  “No, don’t, you’ll wake it!” Sienne whispered, but it was too late. The ball of fur uncurled itself and rose to all fours. Its small black eyes blinked at them in the wan light coming through the canvas. It shook its head, rubbed one paw over its nose, and sneezed with its whole body. A shudder went through it, and then a black-skinned baby boy was there in its place. A human that size would have been about a year old. The boy pushed himself upright, wobbling a little on the uneven terrain of Sienne’s legs, then fell hard on his naked bottom. His little face looked so surprised Sienne laughed. The boy’s eyes squinched up, and he let out a howl enough to wake the whole camp.

  Sienne tried to shush the baby, but Alaric gathered him up in his two large hands and held him close. “He’s just startled,” he said. Sure enough, the baby let out one slightly less offended wail, then regarded Alaric with large brown eyes. Alaric matched him gaze for gaze. “It looks like they don’t have control over their shifting when they’re this young,” he said. “I understand now why Clever said the children were in danger from the cold winters.”

  Sienne regarded him, noted how carefully he held the boy, and a pang of unexpected guilt struck her. “How did you learn how to handle babies?”

  “My mother had charge of the infants. Sassaven have to work, and the wizard wouldn’t allow the women to stop working to take care of their babies, once they were past a certain age. So there are a few Sassaven who watch the crèches while the parents work, and my mother was one of them. She enlisted me to help until I was big enough to do a man’s work.” Alaric shifted the baby to his shoulder and rubbed its back. “I resented it for a while. Then I got used to it. Children are interesting, when they’re not being unholy terrors.”

  “I had to care for my little sisters. I never got over resenting that.”

  “Well, this little one probably has someone looking for him.” In that moment, the child sneezed again, and Alaric was suddenly holding a bear cub. It rubbed its black nose against his cheek, then buried its face in the crook of his neck. Sienne, her mouth open to speak, caught sight of Alaric’s expression and her words died unspoken. Once more, she felt guilty, and didn’t know why.

  “Let’s find your mama, shall we?” Alaric told the cub, and crept out, cradling the cub in one arm. Sienne didn’t follow. She sat on the bedroll and stared at the place the cub had lain. Just because Alaric was good with children didn’t mean he was required to have them. Or that he’d want them. Guilt was ridiculous, and besides, there wasn’t anything to feel guilty about. But it took her several moments before she felt calm enough to leave the tent.

  Alaric stood talking to a woman who now held the bear cub, or rather the baby it had turned back into. She wore the same drab tunic all the other werebears did, but her hair was red like Clever’s and fell in thick curls down her back. Alaric turned and gestured to Sienne to join them. “This is Faith,” he said, “and her baby is named Stalwart. Faith, this is Sienne.”

  “It’s good to meet you,” Faith said. She had the air of a startled rabbit, as if she meant to bolt if Sienne said the wrong thing.

  “Your baby is sweet,” Sienne said, though in truth she liked it better in its bear cub shape.

  “I apologize for the intrusion. I didn’t think Stalwart would stray so far—but the tent you slept in is normally ours, and he must have been drawn to it.”

  Now Sienne felt guilty again, this time at having evicted a woman with a child from her own tent. “We’re sorry—you shouldn’t have had to—”

  “No, it’s an honor to host you,” Faith protested. “My sister asked us all to show hospitality, and it was my pleasure. Though we did not know any of you were paired.”

  Alaric put his arm around Sienne and drew her close. “Your sister?”

  “Clever is my sister. And Wit is my brother. You might have met my daughter Bloom; she’s one of Clever’s counselors.”

  Sienne didn’t think Faith looked old enough to have a daughter Bloom’s age, but she couldn’t think of a polite way to ask about it. “She seems…young for such a responsibility,” she said instead.

  “She is, but I think Clever intends her to take her place someday, so she’s grooming her early.” Faith looked over her shoulder. “Here’s Wit, with breakfast. I hope you like porridge with honey.”

  Alaric tactfully kept his mouth shut. Sienne, who knew how he disliked porridge, said, “Thank you for feeding us. I’m sure it’s delicious.”

  Wit carried a big iron pot that looked like it could brain someone if swung hard enough and set it on the ground near the fire. “Swift’s bringing bowls and spoons,” he said. “Will you start back to Fioretti today?”

  “There are still things to be worked out,” Alaric said. “We need to make arrangements for a werebear liaison to the king. I need the details of what Clever wants us to request. We’ll probably take half a day in discussions and head out tomorrow.”

  “Clever may want to send emissaries,” Faith said, “which probably means you, Wit.”

  Wit shrugged. “If she says so. She might want Bright to do it. She’s got more authority.”

  “Bright isn’t fully behind this proposal. She might sabotage it.”

  “Sabotage?” Alaric said.

  Faith, who’d relaxed somewhat when Wit appeared, tensed again. “I spoke out of turn. Bright’s loyal. She wouldn’t jeopardize our people by disobeying.”

  “Hmm,” Alaric said, but held his peace. Sienne thought he wasn’t so sure about Bright’s loyalty. She wasn’t sure about Bright’s loyalty. The werebear counselor had been vocal about her doubts about Clever’s plan…but that didn’t mean she was disloyal just because she disagreed. Even so, Sienne thought Bright bore watching.

  “Then if you’re staying for the day, do you want to look at the ruin?” Wit said to Sienne.

  “I thought you said it was empty.”

  “It is, empty of creatures, I mean. But it really did used to be a wizard’s home. There’s a room with mystical writing all over the walls. It might interest you.”

  “Writing?” Sienne and Alaric exchanged glances. “You mean, ritual?”

  “I don’t know what ritual looks like. But magical, certainly. And it would make me feel less guilty about lying to you if it turns out there’s something there you want,” he added with a grin.

  “Well…yes. I’d like to go, if you don�
�t need me today?” she asked Alaric.

  “I would just have sent you with the others to pack up the camp. Go. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

  Sienne nodded. She still felt hungry, but the prospect of investigating a magical ruin overrode that feeling. And if she found something…it wasn’t as if the trip were a waste of time, but it would certainly make her feel better to bring back something that would benefit their quest.

  14

  After breakfast, Sienne and Wit headed north and west, into the forest. It took less than a minute for Sienne to feel swallowed up by it. This was true forest, untouched by man. No one had ever taken an axe to these trees; they grew close together, narrow and spindly, their branches interlocking to block out the sun. Nothing else grew beneath their spreading limbs but some scruffy ferns that drooped in despair of ever getting enough sunlight. Sienne rested her hand on one of the tree trunks briefly, and it came away flecked with fresh, green moss that smelled of first summer. She tried not to think about what a fire would do to this forest, with all these trees clinging to each other for support.

  The image brought to mind another image, that of the werebears fleeing from a fire burning out of control. “Do you worry about fires?” she asked.

  Wit glanced over his shoulder at her. “Of course. This place is just waiting for a lightning strike to go up in flames. It’s another reason we don’t want to live here—well, unless we could clear out some of this wood, make permanent buildings.”

  “Is this where you want to live?”

  “It’s as good as anywhere else. Mostly we want to be able to settle down. I think Clever would like us to relocate a little farther south, but that might be impractical, the way the humans are moving. But even the clearing our camp is in now could be a good starting place for a real settlement.”

  “It must be hard, not having a permanent home.”

  “The warriors don’t mind. Our men have traditionally been fond of the nomadic life, only settling down because the women require it. But I think most of them would like home and hearth for the winter. That’s still possible, if your king grants our petition soon.”

  Sienne squirmed inside. “I hope Clever understands it’s not a given that the king will give you what you want. He makes decisions based on criteria nobody else understands.”

  “She knows. And we’re not expecting you to work a miracle. We just want to be heard.” Wit slowed his steps. “We’re almost there.”

  “I thought you said it wasn’t inhabited. Why are you whispering?”

  “I don’t know. This place makes me uncomfortable, is all.” Wit shrugged. “It’s been unoccupied for centuries, probably, and there aren’t any creatures living in it, but it has this…you’ll have to see for yourself.”

  Ahead, the trees thinned out and then ended. Sienne and Wit emerged into a clearing just barely being lit by the sun, finally rising high enough to peep over the tops of the trees. Ferns and tall grasses covered the ground, waving in a slight breeze that came from nowhere. Ahead, a pile of black stone stretched toward the sky, trying to reach it before the trees did and failing. Sienne suspected when the building, whatever it had been, was new, it had been taller. Now smaller piles of stone lay scattered around the foundations, covered with moss and a few shoots of hopeful plants. Sienne walked forward and laid her hand on one pile. It was cold, far colder than the lack of sunlight could account for, and she yanked her hand back as if expecting to leave skin behind.

  “The entrance is over here,” Wit said, beckoning. Sienne followed him around to the east side of the stone pile. From there, it was more obvious that this had once been a keep or a large tower; the walls were less ruined, and there were a couple of intact window holes, the glass long gone. Sienne judged it had been two very tall stories high.

  Whatever doors had once guarded the keep’s entrance were gone, though metal hinges contorted by enormous pressure still clung to the walls, twisted enough to suggest a forced entry. Sienne’s steps slowed as she passed through the gap, but nothing leaped out to grab her. Instead, she found herself in a small courtyard, paved with regular cobbles whose edges were worn down to give the ground a lumpy, uneven feel. “There’s no grass here,” she said. “Usually grass springs up between the cracks when a place is abandoned long enough. Why no grass?”

  “Take a look at the forest,” Wit said.

  Sienne turned and looked back at the forest. “What about it?”

  “Notice the way the clearing begins?”

  “I don’t…wait.” She took a few steps back toward the forest. “It’s a perfect circle.”

  “Oval, actually. But yes. It’s like the trees don’t want to come any closer.”

  Sienne shivered. “Do you really think this place is so…malicious?”

  “Not malicious. Just watchful. Like an old man who still has dignity even though his warrior days are behind him.”

  Sienne turned and looked up at the black stones. “That’s not so bad. And I don’t feel any sense of danger. I hope I’m not wrong.”

  “My people come here all the time, for, um, privacy.” Wit ducked his head in embarrassment. “Nothing’s ever happened to them.”

  “Let’s see what else is here,” Sienne said.

  The courtyard bore the remnants of horse stalls and what Sienne thought might have been a guard post. A door on the right led to a smaller tower, round and narrow, that was now open to the sky and filled with rubble. Another, similar tower on the left didn’t even have a door remaining. An arched double door made of some wood that rang like iron when Sienne knocked on it yielded to their pushing, slowly creaking inward. “Why is this intact when the outer door wasn’t?” Sienne asked. “Since that was clearly battered down.”

  “No idea,” Wit said. “But we always close it behind us when we leave. It feels right to do that.”

  The space beyond was lit only by the light coming in through the open door. “I forgot to bring a lantern,” Wit said.

  “No need,” Sienne said.

  She made half a dozen lights and sent them flying toward the ceiling. Wit’s mouth fell open. “I forgot you could do that,” he said. “I’m not used to thinking in terms of wizardry.”

  “That’s magic, not wizardry,” Sienne said. “But your people are magic. That transformation… nothing wizardry can do conserves mass the way a were-creature does. It might be a lost spell, but I wonder if it was something wizards could only do by creating new magical creatures. Assuming that’s what were-creatures are. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to talk about you as if you’re a thing.”

  “No, I understand,” Wit said. “We don’t have wizards among our people, and I’ve always wondered why not. We have those who commune with God, like your priests, but no wizards.”

  His words struck a chord within her, but it was fleeting, abandoning her before she could capture the thought and examine it more closely. “I can’t think why you wouldn’t,” she said. She took a few steps through the doorway. “I want to see what’s in here.”

  “This is just the antechamber,” Wit said.

  The barren room had a high enough ceiling that Sienne had to call her lights back so they would illuminate the immediate area. In their cold, white light the black stones looked darker, pools of ink that sucked in light and didn’t give it back. The flagstones underfoot, by contrast, were a light gray that felt almost spongy underfoot, soft and yielding in a pleasant way. Doors to the left and right hung open on spaces as dark as the stones, and a plain, blocky staircase at the far side of the room led up into more blackness.

  “Most of these are kitchens and storage rooms,” Wit said, “but over this way is the room I told you about.” He gestured to the right. The door was slightly larger than the others and banded with iron as they were not. Sienne pushed it farther open and sent a few lights ahead of her.

  Beyond the door lay a short hallway that would have terrified her if she’d been the least bit claustrophobic. It smelled of old stone and damp, but not rot or a
nimal waste. She hadn’t seen signs of any animals, no birds or mice, not even insects. She suppressed memories of the acid jelly cube—it couldn’t fit in here anyway—and kept walking. Behind her, Wit stumbled and cursed quietly.

  They reached the end of the hallway, and Sienne stopped just before entering the vast chamber beyond. “Is it just me, or does this seem bigger than it was on the outside?” she whispered. Wonderful. Now she was doing it.

  “We think it is,” Wit said, “but nobody’s ever measured it to be sure.”

  Sienne took another step forward and looked up, far up, to where the domed ceiling made a midnight sky over the chamber. It was definitely taller than two stories, and the ceiling was intact, something Sienne was sure hadn’t been true of the keep she remembered. She made more lights and sent them out into the room, then had to make more lights because the room was much bigger than she’d first thought, at least a hundred feet on its longer side. The spongy flagstones put a little bounce in her step as she walked into the room, gazing up at the ceiling. A few lights darted around it like miniature moons, revealing that it was painted a very dark blue rather than black. It really did remind Sienne of a moonless, starless night sky. Round windows high in the walls let in a wan light that seemed filtered through gauze, or a screen of pine branches. It wasn’t enough to allow her to dispense with the magic lights, but it did reassure Sienne that they hadn’t stepped into some other world of permanent night.

  “Over here,” Wit said. He’d gone right, toward the wall, and now stood with his hands on his hips, staring up at it.

  Sienne joined him and took a long look. “Huh,” she said. White lettering covered the stone walls, broken and interrupted like chalk, except chalk wouldn’t have lasted this long. “It doesn’t come off, does it?” she asked anyway.