Power's Shadow

by Richard Parks

  “If he hasn’t pried the information out of Count Maton by now, I will be a bit surprised myself.”

  Sela looked grim. “Only if Count Maton saw no harm in it. He hides it very well, but I’ve seen the man move. Count Maton is a swordsman at the very least, and is far more formidable than he wants to appear.”

  “I’ve often thought the same, though I didn’t take him for a swordsman. As for Prince Dolan, don’t worry. I believe he may not be…unsympathetic, shall we say, to Callowyn’s mission. Unlike Duke Okandis. I could be wrong. Regardless, we’ll have to tread carefully where Prince Dolan is concerned. You especially.”

  “Always,” Sela said, “but why me particularly?”

  “Oh, just a hunch.”

  Sela looked puzzled and appeared as if she wanted to say something, but Marta simply turned her attention to the shelves of books and scrolls.

  “Pity, though,” Marta said finally.

  “What’s a pity?” Sela asked.

  “I may have to break my promise to Abon. I don’t think I can leave this place without an extensive exploration.”

  Ω

  9 There is no past

  “Everything is at once simpler and more complicated than one thinks. Yes, this is a paradox, but it is also the way the world works, so best get used to it.” – Tymon the Black

  There were carefully prepared indexes in King Elion’s library and Marta had every intention of studying them, but she went first to the table where Prince Dolan had been working. There were several old volumes that looked like ledgers, a few maps, and even a couple of old-fashioned scrolls, so old and frail in appearance that Marta was a little reluctant to read them. So, of course, they were the first to draw her attention.

  “What are those?” Sela asked.

  “I’d like to know that myself. Give me a moment….” Marta unrolled each in turn long enough to give them a cursory inspection. “This one,” she said, indicating the smaller of the two, “Is a traveler’s account of a visit to the Kuldun Monastery. The other is a Roll of the Dead for those killed in the Battle of Wyrlos.”

  Sela frowned. “Never heard of it.”

  “Few people have. It was just one of many, over two hundred years ago. It didn’t settle anything.” Marta surveyed the table. “You start at that end. We’ll meet in the middle.”

  “Wouldn’t Prince Dolan tell us what he’d found?”

  Marta considered. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. But do you really think he would have left everything this way if he didn’t intend for us to see it?”

  “He confuses me. I said that.”

  Marta sighed. “So you did. Start reading. And don’t ask what you’re looking for, because I don’t know. I’ll settle for anything that stands out to you in any way, for any reason.”

  Marta’s own first object of scrutiny was chosen by the same logic—the Roll of the Dead from an old, forgotten battle, precisely because it seemed to have absolutely no bearing on the matter at hand. Marta carefully unrolled the scroll and read each line as it became visible. She was near the end when she stopped.

  “That’s odd,” she said.

  Sela looked up from a nondescript ledger. “What is?”

  “The name on this casualty list—it’s Tymon the Black.”

  Sela blinked. “Tymon the Black was an actual person? I thought he was just a story. My father used to say things like ‘Clean up your room or Tymon the Wicked will get you. Or Tymon the Monstrous, depending on the mood he was in.’”

  “Oh, he was real enough, and by reputation the most evil sorcerer who ever lived…but then my mother was known as ‘Black Kath,” and it really was because her hair was completely black when she was a girl. I know that much. The thing is, Tymon was allegedly killed at least once before by an ancestor of Prince Dolan’s—Galan, first king of the combined monarchies of Borasur-Morushe…before he became king, that is.”

  “Maybe this Tymon person wasn’t as killed as Galan thought.”

  “Whether he was or not, that was three hundred years before Wyrlos. Tymon could not have still been alive.”

  Sela just shrugged. “Then the scroll must be wrong, or some other person assumed Tymon’s name.”

  “Most likely,” Marta said. “And I understand why Dolan would be interested in the subject, considering how prominently the event figures in the history of his country. But why did he think I might be?”

  “Apparently I’m not the only person who finds Prince Dolan a bit confusing,” Sela said dryly. “I know you see a schemer in Dolan, and you may be right, but perhaps it never occurred to him to tidy up after himself. I do know enough about princes to consider this a likely explanation.”

  “Certainly possible, but don’t think I’m making a judgment—all royal families are schemers as a matter of necessity,” Marta said. “But in Prince Dolan’s case I see it as simply working for what one wants with the tools one has. I know what that is like. We also know he has a fascination with your father’s work, but is that all there is to this? I can’t be certain, and that worries me. He knows what we’re after and could choose to oppose us, if he wants the swords for himself, but so far he’s been helpful.”

  “If he does want the swords for himself, maybe he is using us to help him get them,” Sela said.

  “Keep reading,” Marta said. “I’ll do the same.”

  Marta found two other mentions of the ancient sorcerer primarily known as Tymon the Black, though no references to him being alive. One was a treatise by a priest of Martok on the true identity and origins of the man, but it amounted to nothing but idle speculation so far as Marta could detect. The second reference was a little more interesting. It was an account by a monk of the Kuldun monastery who claimed to have met the man himself.

  The Kuldun Order. Again?

  Marta filed that thought away for later, since what really got her attention was an offhand reference in what amounted to pages written about an apparently insignificant interaction, except for one thing—the monk claimed that Tymon had made an offhand remark about having been cursed by a wicked creature called Amaet. Not goddess, not Power—“wicked creature” was the term. On that point, Marta was inclined to agree, since the reference to Amaet was specific.

  There’s no mention anywhere of the Arrow Path witches in the historical records before about two hundred years ago. My mother told me as much and I’ve never found anything to dispute it. Yet this account is at least four hundred years old.

  There was no mention of the Arrow Path, true, but it did mention Amaet, an obscure name known mostly to those who followed the Arrow Path. Some Powers did have their own cult worshippers, and Marta knew that the line between a Power and a god was a thin one, but Amaet had no cult so far as Marta knew. The name could have been a coincidence, but Marta did not believe in coincidences. At least, not since her mother died. In her reading of the monk’s account, Marta wasn’t certain if she’d touched a Law or not. She didn’t feel that sense of pulling that contact with a Law often brought. Even so, she could not escape the feeling that this was something she needed to explore further, that there was a meaning to it that was likely important, perhaps even crucial, to her pursuit of the final three Laws. For the time being, however, she was determined to keep this to herself. The current situation was complicated enough.

  “Have you found anything?” she asked Sela.

  “Maybe…look at this.”

  Sela pushed the ledger she’d been studying over so that Marta could see it and tapped a column. “This is a manifest for a shipment that crossed Conmyre’s northern border eight years ago. I can only imagine how long it took to track down. There must be thousands of these created every year.”

  The shipment itself was nothing especially unusual, for the most part—flour, rice, dried fish, barrels of wine. Non-perishable foodstuffs mostly, other than some cloth and a few kitchen supplies, but there was one line that didn’t fit—an item described only as “ornate sword.”

  “I’ll admit it�
��s an odd thing to include with what looks like a shipment of basic supplies, but – “

  “Look at the stated destination,” Sela said.

  “Oh…the Kuldun Monastery.”

  “What would monks want with a sword?”

  Marta frowned. “The monastery sits on the mountain border separating Wylandia and Borasur-Morushe, and is under the protection of both. They don’t need swords…as swords. Why would they want this one?”

  “Why, indeed,” Sela said. “Unless it had value to them other than its intended use.”

  “I told you that Dolan wanted us to see this, though I’m still not sure why he’s helping us track them down. As I said, that worries me.”

  “I wonder if this is as complicated as it seems. Say he does want to own them, and that’s straightforward enough. Is that what you want?” Marta shook her head, and Sela smiled. “I didn’t think so. Frankly, neither do I. I am content with Shave-the-Cat, as my father meant for me to have it. Prince Dolan isn’t getting my sword, whatever he may think.”

  “Personally, I think you should make it your mission to find out what he thinks,” Marta said.

  “Me? Why?”

  “Because when he looks at me I see contemplation, assessment…caution. Quite right, frankly, but that’s not the way he looks at you.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Sela said, but the faint blush on her face said something else.

  “Of course not. But I believe you’ll be talking to him in any case.”

  “Fine, but don’t read too much into it.”

  Marta was reasonably certain that she was not, just as she was reasonably certain that the “ornate sword” referenced in the manifest was in fact one of Master Solthyr’s swords on its way to the Kuldun Monastery. The monks of the order were archivists, historians, seekers of knowledge. Some were even rumored to be magicians, though Marta had her doubts about that. The point remained, however, that if the sword in question was one of the Seven, the monks wanted it for a reason.

  As much as Marta wanted to plunge completely into the solving of that puzzle, she had other obligations. First of all was Boranac, with whom she had a binding obligation currently manifested in his daughter, on whom so much depended. Obligation aside, Marta considered that a changing relationship between the Five Isles and the rest of the mainland would be a very good thing for all concerned. All she had to do was keep Callowyn hidden and alive until the time came.

  First thing’s first, Marta reminded herself. Still, so long as she was forced to await word from Count Maton before the next risky but necessary steps could be taken, perhaps there was more to learn right where she was. Marta went back to Prince Dolan’s books.

  §

  The door that Kel led her to was what appeared to be a little-used service entrance, poorly patrolled, and Dena gave a silent acknowledgment of Kel’s thieving instincts. The door itself was another matter, and while there wasn’t a door in the world that could stand before a proper application of the First Law, Dena did not want to leave evidence of her presence. She turned her attention to the lock itself.

  “You’re a thief,” she said to Kel. “How are you at lockpicking?”

  “Excellent,” he replied. “And expert enough to know that you’re looking at an example created by Master Polun of Adaria, and I’ve heard of lesser locks placed on kingdom treasuries. The best thief in the world couldn’t pick that lock.”

  “You could have just said that,” Dena muttered.

  “I believe I just did. Though you can be sure that, although this is an archive, not a treasury, whatever is behind that lock is something this kingdom values very highly.”

  That, Dena recognized, was a good point. While proper books in and of themselves had value, such records as were doubtless kept here were not the sort of thing any king would want wandering about for a potential enemy to read. The fact that Kel’s report indicated that Marta and her companion had spent several hours inside only intrigued her more.

  I need to know what Marta found out today, and whatever that is will be inside.

  “Mistress, I could only watch from a high window. I know that Marta and her companion looked at several books and ledgers. Which ones? Well…one was bound in red leather. The rest were all dark, including what looked like accounts ledgers. Even given that we can gain entry, how do you plan to locate these?”

  “I think I will have help,” Dena said. “We will see. As for the rest, I don’t want to break the lock—and believe me, I could—so I must rely on you again.”

  Dena was quite aware of the passing of time, and while that section of the building’s exterior appeared to be sparsely patrolled, that did not mean that there wouldn’t be a city guardsman passing by sooner or later. She studied the way the door fitted and found it frustratingly well-made except for the rightmost bottom corner below the hinge, where she saw a small sliver of greater blackness and judged its size.

  “Gnat,” she said, and now Kel was a small black insect buzzing the air around her face. “Through that crack,” she said, “and if you’re not through it by the time I count thirty, you’d best be on this side again.”

  Kel, even as a gnat, clearly understood her meaning. He landed on the threshold and immediately disappeared into the crack as Dena started counting.

  Thirty.

  “Man,” she said aloud, and was somewhat relieved that there was no sudden eruption of blood from the bottom of the door. Instead after a short delay she heard a satisfying click as Kel opened the lock from the inside. The door opened just wide enough to admit her and Dena walked through as Kel closed the door softly behind her.

  “It was fortunate that this particular lock was designed to be opened easily from the inside,” he said. “Some of Master Polun’s creations require a key on both sides.”

  “Luck is one of the many things I’ve never been able to count on,” Dena said.

  “Have you ever noticed how very large the world is?” Kel asked. “Especially when spiders are the size of haystacks?”

  “Stop talking and look for those books,” Dena said.

  “Even in this poor light I see more than a score of them with red covers. Where did you want to start, Mistress?”

  Annoying as he could be, Kel had a point. Dena knew they didn’t have very long before either dawn or a guard came by, and the chances of them locating any of the ledgers was next to none, as there were several thousand of them scattered around on the shelves, all bound in a similar fashion. On the other hand, books bound in red leather were finite. “Look for one that appears to have been moved recently, a disturbance of the dust, anything.”

  This proved easier than Dena had feared, but in the end the search produced two books which told her absolutely nothing. The most interesting was account of a meeting with a famous dark magician five hundred years in the past, but there was nothing there about the Laws. She’d known from the start that this particular path was likely to end against a wall of stone, but being right did not make her feel any better about it. She'd hoped to feel a pull of the Law when she was anywhere near it, but that was a foolish idea. Unless she read the same piece of information that Marta had, there was nothing to create the necessary link.

  Even assuming that there was some information here of significance to the search for the Laws, I would need to know what Marta knows in order to recognize it.

  And there she was, back to the crux of the matter—now as before, at least one step behind Marta. At this rate, Marta would find what she was looking for, and Dena likely would not.

  That has to change.

  “Kel, we’re leaving.”

  “Good. By my estimate, we have but ten minutes before the guard returns.”

  “Can we lock the door behind us, or do I need to make you a gnat again?”

  “I can set it to lock, if it is all the same to you. I’ve seen enough spiders from the gnat’s perspective.”

  Dena understood. She was starting to feel the same
way.

  §

  Marta, alone for the moment in their cabin aboard Blue Moon, tried to sum up what she knew of the seven named swords. She, or rather Sela, had Shave-the-Cat and Leafcutter. Sunset currently resided with Callowyn. Assuming that Prince Dolan’s drawings and Sela’s interpretation of them were both correct, the prince had possession of both Sunrise and Bonebane. That left only two unaccounted for—Sunlight-on-Water, and Part-the-Breeze. A sword that could have been either of those two was sent to the monks of the Kuldun Monastery as part of a regular shipment of supplies.

  Marta sighed. It wasn’t much of a lead, but it was all she had. She didn’t have much time to brood on the subject, since there was a tap at the door.

  “Lady Marta? You have a visitor,” Callowyn said.

  “You come in too,” Marta said. “I have a feeling that this concerns you as well.”

  Callowyn entered into the cabin, followed by a young man wearing clothes of good quality, but bearing no insignia or other identifying marks. Marta didn’t need them—she immediately recognized one of Count Maton’s attendants.

  “The audience has been arranged,” the man said without other preamble. “Three days from now, on the third bell of the afternoon.”

  “Has transport also been arranged?”

  “Within the hour, Lady.”

  “I will be ready,” Marta said, and dismissed the messenger. Once he had departed, Callowyn turned to Marta.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Not me. You. Count Maton is sending a carriage. The premise is that I will be traveling to his residence, but I’m not going…at least not yet. You are, to reside temporarily under the good Count’s protection. How do you feel about veils?”

  “I’ve never worn one.”

  “You will be when you leave the ship.”

  Callowyn frowned. “Tell me again while I’m doing this? We’ll pretend that you informed me earlier and I simply forgot.”

  “Because it’s no longer safe for you here, if it ever was. By now, Duke Okandis suspects that you are in port…rumors have been spread. Before the audience, he’s going to know it for certain.”