A gust of snow crystals ticked against the flat face of the stone beneath her hands and stung her cheeks. Her fingers were starting to ache with the cold despite her woolen gloves, but she didn’t want to go back inside. She’d spent too much time inside these last weeks, what with the cold and the mysterious men lately lurking around the fortress. Her gaze dropped to the steep, grassy slope at the foot of the Holding’s high walls, a hundred yards of cleared ground tumbling down to the front line of the spruce forest that extended south and west and north as far as she could see. Berry pickers, mushroom hunters, messengers up from New Holding, even the wall guards had spotted them during the last week—cloaked riders who’d vanished into the shadows the moment they were seen. Cooper liked it not a bit, certain the men were Rennalf’s henchmen. This morning he’d pressed Carissa more strongly than ever to use some sense for once and go south. She’d refused. He’d lost his temper. She’d lost hers. They were no longer speaking.
So here she was, standing on the wallwalk between two guard stations whose men carefully avoided looking her way, alone, estranged from her friends and miserable, as always. More and more her gaze drifted northwestward to the distant shimmer of the Ruk Pul—the “River of Tears”—and the great northern plain beyond. Balmark lay just this side of that river. She could almost pick it out from here.
A hawk soared into her field of vision, swooping low over the line between forest and grassy slope, then flapping up to circle around, ranging wider with each pass. I wish I could fly away, she thought. Then realized she’d already spent six years trying to do that—and had come away more empty and frustrated than ever.
Cooper thought she just didn’t want to see Abramm again, and he was right. She didn’t. But at the same time she wanted to see him more than anything in the world. In the last weeks she’d at least come to admit that, even if she didn’t understand how she could be so conflicted about it. But that wasn’t why she refused to leave Highmount. Not anymore. With the passage of time and the strangers lurking in the forest, and the increasingly unnerving character of her dreams, her convictions had changed. Although she’d never admit it openly, she was now more convinced than Cooper himself that her husband knew of her presence here.
The problem was, Cooper’s solution to run south was exactly what Rennalf hoped they’d do. She was sure now that Professor Laud was right—Rennalf had known she was here before he came. She suspected he’d stopped by just to rattle her, hoping she’d leave her stronghold and bolt straight into his waiting arms. Her only salvation, she knew—knew—was to stay safe behind Highmount’s walls. And yet, even as she acknowledged that, she also feared that each day spent here brought her increasingly under his sway. Which made no sense. Yet the fear remained, combining with the other to lead to the inescapable conclusion that it didn’t matter what she did. Perhaps she should just get it over with. Go down to the stable, saddle up Heron, and head for that sparkle on the horizon to which she’d sworn never to return.
“Milady? Are you all right?” The guard had left his station to approach her and now stared down at her concernedly.
She must’ve been standing here a long time, for her teeth hurt from being clenched together, her back ached, and she was cold to the core. Philip’s orb, resting against her skin beneath her undertunic, formed the single warm spot on all her body. And the hawk was nowhere to be seen.
“I’m fine,” she told the man, trying to smile reassuringly and failing.
His blond brows drew down farther. “You were . . . moaning, my lady. And you’re shivering awful bad.”
“I’m fine,” she said again, though her chattering teeth belied the claim. She glanced again at the forest’s edge and sucked in her breath. “There’s another one!” A rider, hidden in shadow at the forest’s edge. She had only a glimpse before he vanished, but it was enough to scare her back inside.
The warm moist air of the Great Room hit her like a blow when she entered, stinging her cheeks and making her nose and ears ache along with her fingers. She went straight to the fire, not even removing her cloak as she held her hands before its roaring warmth.
Elayne—Mistress Cooper now—sat in one of the tree-limb chairs before the hearth, knitting the front of a sweater out of delicate gray wool. “How is the weather?” she asked in her soft, alto voice.
“As you predicted,” Carissa said, keeping her eyes on the flame. “Spitting snow with no sign of doing more.” She paused. “I saw another rider.”
The rhythmic click of Elayne’s needles stopped. “Just now?”
“Yes. The guard didn’t see him, though.”
“In broad daylight. They’re getting bolder.”
“Yes.” Carissa heard the needles start up again as she unfastened the ties of her cloak and let it fall into Peri’s hands, the girl having followed her from the door. She stood for a time in silence, listening to the fire snap and the needles click.
Then Elayne said quietly, “We don’t have to go to Springerlan, my lady. We can go to Sterlen. Rent a place on the outskirts. No one has to know who you are, and you needn’t see your brother at all.”
Suppressing a shudder, Carissa stripped off her gloves and gave them to Peri. “I can’t afford to leave now,” she said, holding her bare hands to the fire.
“Not with all the repairs this place still needs.” It was a lame excuse, and she knew it, for there’d be precious little repairing done once the snows started. Elayne knew it, too.
“My lady, you’re not safe here. Besides, with everything else that’s going on—the raids, the rumors of that army Rennalf’s gathering—Felmen feels that Abramm needs to know.”
Felmen. Carissa was still getting used to hearing Cooper addressed by his first name, still found it odd sounding and wrong. She grimaced. “I’m sure that, as king, Abramm has his own ways of gathering information.” He’d made it clear enough back in Jarnek what he’d thought of Carissa’s attempts to help him, hadn’t he? “You should never have come. Everything you’ve done only makes things worse. . . .”
“Not if there’s a secret border-lord rebellion being hatched against him,” Elayne pointed out.
“I doubt Coop can tell him any more than his own spies have already seen for themselves.”
Her front almost too hot for comfort, Carissa turned to warm her back, glad Elayne was concentrating on her knitting. A few moments later, though, the woman admitted her husband had more reason than to report on border matters. “He wants to see his king, my lady. It’s been four years.”
“Coop swore an oath to Raynen, not Abramm,” said Carissa. “With Raynen dead, he has no king. If he owes fealty to anyone, it’s to me.”
The needles continued to click for a time. Then Elayne said softly, “My lady, Felmen was liege-sworn to Abramm before you even left Jarnek.”
And now, finally, Carissa looked at her, a sinking feeling in her middle. Liege-sworn?
Elayne put down her handwork to meet Carissa’s gaze. “When you originally left Springerlan, Raynen had charged Fel with killing Abramm should you find him. That’s why he worked so hard to prevent you from succeeding. He failed, and so, after Abramm defeated Beltha’adi, he tried to make good on his oath. And a poor job he did of it, too, hoping Abramm would kill him in the process, I think, or if not that, then afterward.” She glanced down at her knitting, adjusting the needles a bit. “When your brother offered forgiveness instead, Felmen gave him his oath.” Mistress Cooper paused. “And took the Star, as well.”
So that’s when it happened.
“He never told you,” Elayne went on, “because you were so against anything Terstan. He was afraid you’d cut yourself off from him, too, and have no one.”
It was a lot to digest, a lot Carissa did not want to think about, so she turned away and collapsed into the other tree-limb chair, saying nothing. She’d known for some time that Cooper wore a shield, but she’d had no idea he was liege-sworn to Abramm—and she felt somehow betrayed.
“Even if yo
u do not wish to see Abramm for yourself, my lady,” Elayne murmured after a moment, “or care about the good of his reign, could you not at least go down for Felmen? He is in agony over this, for he understands how few real supporters your brother must have. And the things going on up here have made him very uneasy.”
“If he’s sworn to Abramm, why doesn’t he just go to him?” Carissa asked bitterly. “Why concern himself with me at all?” He’s already deserted me. Might as well make it official.
“He won’t leave you here alone, my lady. And even if he would, Abramm has charged him with staying by you.”
And that brought her up short. “Abramm charged him? You mean he’s only stayed with me because he was ordered to?”
Mistress Cooper looked pained. “My lady, Felmen loves you like his own daughter. He would have asked for the assignment even if it hadn’t been given. And it breaks his heart to see this rift between you and Abramm. He longs to see you reconciled, and knows that won’t happen with you hiding up here.”
“That won’t happen regardless of where I am,” Carissa snapped. She stood and went back to the hearth, standing in a silence filled with the fire’s crackle and the bump and thud of the butter churn being worked in the kitchen.
They said nothing for a time. Then Elayne released a long low breath behind her and murmured, “Why do you hate him so, my lady? Surely not just because he chose to wear a Terstan shield?”
Carissa felt herself growing tight and tense again. “That shield ruined everything,” she said bitterly. “He was supposed to come back to Kiriath a hero and take up the crown. He would’ve been a great king.”
“But he has come back and he is king.”
“Only until that shield on his chest is discovered. Or, more likely, is revealed by Abramm himself.” Carissa’s voice shook with emotion. “Then he’ll be forced out in disgrace. It may already have happened.”
“And it may not have. It may be they’ll find out and not depose him.” Elayne paused, then added, “Eidon is with him, my lady.”
“Aye!” Carissa cried, her tone more biting than ever. “The same way Eidon was with the Throckmortons and Professor Laud. The same way he was with Raynen.” She turned from the fire to face the woman behind her. “I saw the curd in Ray’s eyes, heard the madness in his voice, and I will not watch that happen to Abramm!” Even now the memory of that awful moment when Raynen had broken down completely, raving about spies and birds, twisted knifelike in her heart.
“What happened to Raynen was a tragedy,” Elayne said gently. “But one of his own making. Neither the curd nor the madness is inevitable, my lady. They are the result of many, many decisions made over a long period of time.”
“And what about the Throckmortons and Laud? I suppose you’ll say their sufferings were their fault, as well. Or that they should be grateful to be alive and free and honored to have been smitten. Never mind they lost everything. Never mind they probably won’t survive the Kolki Pass.” She scowled and shook her head. “If that is how Eidon stands by his servants, all the more reason to believe Abramm has already been cast down! And if he can’t save himself, how can he possibly save me?”
Mistress Cooper held her gaze evenly, but after a moment a look of dawning comprehension came into her face. “It’s not Abramm you hate, is it?” she said finally. “It’s Eidon himself.”
Carissa’s laugh was tight and brittle as she turned back to the flames. “It’s difficult to hate someone when you don’t believe he exists. As for Abramm— I gave up everything for him, and he turned me away. That’s not something easily forgiven.”
Elayne had no answer for that. After a moment her knitting needles began to click again. Carissa held her hands out to the fire, staring at the rings glittering on her fingers. Rings she had acquired on her travels—the starfire from Andol, the little ruby from Thilos, the other three from the great bazaar in Draesia. Trinkets meant to bring her pleasure and, as with all else, failing to do so. Behind her Mistress Cooper spoke again, very softly. “Will you tell me about your dreams, my lady?”
“My dreams?” Carissa turned from the hearth.
“Peri says she’s found you three nights now, standing before the open window, shutters thrown wide to the night, staring and moaning, and she could not wake you up.”
A chill washed up Carissa’s back. “Perhaps it is Peri who’s having the dreams.”
“She says other times you toss and moan in the bed, and even with the shutters closed the room is like ice.” Click, click, click. “That it all started after Rennalf was here.”
Another chill. “I fear his dark powers touch your dreams,” Laud had said. Carissa wrapped her arms about her chest. “I know my sleep has been unsettled, but I’m sure it’s just the uncertainty of everything. I would have remembered getting up and opening the shutters.”
“What about Rennalf? Do you dream of him?”
“I told you, Elayne, I haven’t had any dreams.” But suddenly she wasn’t so sure, as recognition seemed to stir in her soul.
“They say he’s a powerful warlock,” Elayne remarked. “That he summons the ells to do his bidding. The ells can speak to people in their dreams.”
The barbarians and many of the border folk believed the ells to be servants of the dark gods that lived in hill and sky, spirit folk possessed of mystical powers that could be harnessed and used by men who learned the secrets of commanding them.
“I’m sure I would remember if ells had spoken to me,” Carissa said. “And if he is a warlock”—just saying the words sent another shiver through her— “well, then all the more reason to stay where we’re safe. If he sees our every move, what good is fleeing?”
“He cannot see our every move. Nor are we helpless to conceal ourselves from him.” Elayne’s needles stilled again, and she stared at them for a long time before looking up. “I fear he seeks to draw you to him, and that eventually you’ll go to Balmark all on your own.”
Carissa smiled. “It’s a long way to Balmark, Elayne.”
“Not by the Dark Ways of the Warlocks, ma’am. And Felmen suspects there’s a gateway up the pass. Perhaps in the old watchtower.” She paused. “You are still wearing that staffid warder Philip gave you?”
Carissa scowled at her, annoyed again. “Has Cooper told you everything?”
Elayne ignored the question. “It will provide you some protection. But really, it would be better for us to leave.”
Carissa said nothing to this, and presently Elayne returned to her knitting. They spoke no more of it, but Elayne evidently relayed the conversation to her husband, for Cooper did not join them for dinner as he usually did, claiming a need on the northern wall required his attention. He ate quickly in the kitchen and disappeared, leaving the women to dine alone in silence, Carissa alternating between guilt over depriving her beloved guardian of his opportunity to see Abramm and indignation that he’d given her brother his fealty four long years ago and never told her. It felt as if everyone were conspiring against her, talking about her behind her back—even her sleeping habits were subject to discussion and evaluation!
She went to bed early, as always, hoping she would feel better in the morning. As always. Sometime in the night she was jerked awake, gasping for breath. The air was thick and chill, and the fire must have gone out, for heavy darkness filled the room, pressing down upon her as if an ox had settled onto her chest. She lay rigid beneath her elk-hide cover, pulse pounding as she listened to a silence so complete not even Peri’s breathing broke it. Had the girl gone down to the main hearth to get warm?
Wait. She sat up, almost surprised that she could, trying to hear past the blood rushing in her ears and the rasp of her own breathing. There. A faint, high wail, like the wind keening through the towers up the pass. Except there was no wind tonight. Shoving the elk skin aside, she stood and strode to the window, where she unbarred the shutters and pushed them outward with a creak, a brief, alarming sense of déja` vu stirring within her. Beyond the wallwalk ou
tside, the steep, barren slope descended like a swell of ice to the forest’s dark edge. Snow-covered peaks ran northwestward to her right, gleaming feebly beneath a sky as black as a hole to the underworld.
It was singing. Long high notes in a minor key, following a patternless melody. And this, too, felt familiar. It grated across her senses like steel across slate, raising the hairs on the back of her neck. From the wallwalk came the scritch of footsteps as the guard patrolled his circuit. He met his fellow halfway to the corner tower and they halted briefly in quiet conversation.
The song grew louder, promising comfort, relief, and a sense of belonging, even as it filled her with aversion. A tingling started over her heart, spread across chest and shoulders, and ran down her spine and the backs of her arms. Perhaps she should close the shutters and go back to bed.
She stayed, caught by the tantalizing hope that somehow all her sad, lonely days would soon end, and her life would be changed forever. The music grew louder, but the guards paid no heed. Out over endless forest, something flickered, vanished, then flickered again, and a skein of crimson light undulated across the horizon, pale at first, but growing steadily brighter. Another joined it, then another. Crimson, violet, azure, each wove among the others with serpentine grace. Her breath caught. The eerie music played over her like icy wings, and the tingling at her breast became a tiny fire.
Below her, one of the men said, “There’s those lights again. Remember I was tellin’ you?”
“Aye. They’re winter lights, like I said.”
“Never seen winter lights like that before. And not this early in the season, either.”
The mystical serpents drew nearer, vast veils of color billowing overhead.
She stared enrapt, floating on tone and light, on long plaintive purples, discordant trills of scarlet, and low vibrating blues. They filled her mind, her heart, her vision, drawing away the weight and wetness of her flesh, until she became as dry and light as a puffball, ascending into the empty hole of sky to dance among them—
The Shadow Within Page 24