He knew the route by memory, but he wasn’t off his guard for all that. His eyes were quick to spot differences in the dimness, even so small a thing as a pigeon roosting where it had not before. A short while later, he arrived at the house from where he’d leap for the city wall. This house was closer than all the others, close enough for him to take the hurdle over the street below and grasp the top of the rampart. If it were not for the fact that he needed this particular house, he’d tell Ugoth to tear it down. It had been built far too close to the city fortifications.
Once on the rampart, he sped with sure feet along the edge until he drew level to a tree that should have been chopped long ago. It was a young tree, as trees go, and had been ignored for this reason, but once more it was a perfect prop for a fleeing thief in the night. The tree was a good ten feet lower than the wall and also several yards away, but it had a branch within his range to grab.
The sun crested the horizon. Because he had to get off the wall before he was spotted and because no evidence must remain behind, the grappling hook was out of the question. Only the insane leap would suffice.
He threw the grappling hook past the tree and dared the feat, just as he’d dared it all the other times. He grasped the branch and flew from there to a second, his momentum carrying him up in a somersault before he met the lower limb. He thumped to the ground, rolling to take the shock off his legs, and then he ran from the wall, snatching up the rope and hook as he passed.
He slowed when he dipped into a valley. Here, a small woodland provided cover. A gurgling stream twisted down the centre. He paused within to catch his breath.
He knew they searched for him already. His gang of protectors would have created an uproar once they’d realized he was missing. There was no way for him to sneak back into the monastery. He had well and truly roasted his balls. All he had left to protect his secret were bald lies and bluster. He didn’t like it, but he was going to use both.
Despite making this decision, he remained motionless within the woods, his mind caught on the why of his awakening, which had not been a sense of urgency or Nicky shifting next to him as they’d slept, but the silent, powerful call of the other lover who still desired him. Not even Nicky’s arms had protected him from it. His response to that mystical plea disturbed him most. He’d half risen from the bed in his sleep, arching up in an agony of wanting. Coupling with Nicky hadn’t alleviated the urge. It was there, a chain binding him to Tehlm Sevet, the Shadow Master.
He looked down at the trickling creek, watched the flickering shadows of leaves and the rays of the rising sun that played on the endlessly moving surface. The bright glints reminded him of sharp things, blades brilliant from honing, beautiful beckoning seductresses waiting to bite the admiring victim.
He slipped one of his daggers out and stared at it. A ray shone on the metal and flashed up in his eyes. Without thinking, without questioning the need, he began to dance. He danced until they found him.
***
Ugoth squeezed out from between his royal guards, moving very slowly until he managed to lift himself onto his pillow without shifting the blankets and letting in a draft that would awaken them. Cautiously he crept off the bed. Emelle rolled into the empty space he’d left. Minelly mumbled a protest as she lost her older sister’s back. Uthel just turned to the other side. None of the children awakened. Ugoth heaved a silent sigh of relief and headed toward the sitting room.
He paused in the doorway. In the dim light of a small glow stick, Eshaia sat in an armchair waiting for him. Hiding his surprise, he shut the door and padded closer. She sat stiffly, her head high. He smelled the cosmetics she’d applied before he discerned them on her face. She had tinted her cheeks to make them rosier, but her skin was flushed and the blush looked overdone. She was not in a nightdress and robe. She had dressed as if to walk into the throne room. She was dressed as a queen before an audience. She was dressed for battle.
He stood before her in his nightshirt and scowled. “Why are you here? Is something the matter with Ethel or Lilyene?”
“Nothing is the matter with the babies,” she said coldly.
“Then why are you here?”
“I am here because you have forced me to discuss her!”
“Her? Who do you mean?”
“The slut! The whore! The woman you have turned into a wife, while I look the fool before the entire court.”
“Oh, her,” he said. “She’s not your concern.”
“No. Normally, I would agree.”
That surprised him. “Would you?”
She ignored the question. Her tone and her words frosted him as she continued. “Normally, I would agree. But you! You have taken court business to her whorehouse! You conduct meetings within the walls of her den! With your ministers! Your military officers! With everyone! And what do they do? They go home to their wives and tell them all about the slut whom you honour more than your wife. You have made me look a fool before all the peers!” She stood, eyes dark with outrage. “You have shamed me before everyone. You have shamed your queen. You have shamed the mother of your children. You bastard!”
He had reddened listening to her tirade, partially from shame, but also from anger. He was unused to being upbraided by anyone other than one person, and she just wasn’t Brother Herfod. “Shut up,” he warned her.
“I will not! You will give her up.”
“You will go to one of the hells first.” He turned to retreat into his room.
“What shall I tell Emelle when she asks, Ugoth?” she inquired.
He paused with his back to her. “What do you mean, woman?”
“She’s been asking,” his wife answered with deceptive calm. “I think I shall tell her. I shall tell her, and I shall tell little Uthel as well the next time he demands where his father has gone every day and almost every night. I shall tell them all!”
He stalked back toward her. “You will tell them nothing!” he spat.
Despite his menacing attitude, she didn’t cower before him. “I will do as I see fit, just as you have done. You have left me nothing but this one weapon. The rest of the kingdom already knows about your whore.”
He grabbed her by the throat, his face twisted in an animal snarl. “You cold bitch!”
She struggled with his fingers, startled, amazed. Ugoth, her perfectly distant, perfectly dispassionate husband, was choking her to death.
“Papa?”
For a second he froze, but then his fingers dropped from Eshaia’s neck. She coughed with her hands raised protectively.
“Yes, Uthel?” he said. He didn’t turn about. He didn’t dare. He couldn’t let his son see the vicious beast he’d become.
His wife stared with a mocking cast to her expression. Her eyes seemed to glow with triumph. She panted softly. The red marks of his abuse were evident on her neck.
“What are you doing to Mother?” Uthel asked. “Why were you hurting her?”
“I was overexcited, Uthel,” Ugoth said calmly. “Like you were the other day with the pony.”
“Oh. But you punished me for hitting the pony,” Uthel said, his little boy’s voice high and innocent. “Who will punish you?”
“Mother will, darling,” Eshaia answered firmly. “Run back into the room, my dear. Shut the door behind you.”
“But you were the one he was choking!” Uthel protested.
“I know, sweeting,” she said reassuringly. “But Papa won’t do it again. Will you, Papa?” Her icy glare dared him to answer otherwise.
He didn’t take the dare. He didn’t want his children to hate him. “No, son,” he said. “I won’t. Go back in the bedroom as your mother directed.”
“All right, then,” Uthel said, dissatisfaction obvious by his pouting tone. Ugoth heard the door thud shut.
Eshaia smiled. It was a vindictive, gloating sneer. “You will give her up!” she dictated, almost hissing the angry words from between clenched teeth.
“I won’t!” Ugoth hissed back. “
But I will take the king’s business back to this castle. Be satisfied with that, Queen Eshaia, or I will see you worse than embarrassed.”
Her smile twisted into a grimace of hatred. “You bastard! I thought I loved you! I thought you loved me!”
“Then you fooled yourself with fantasy,” he snarled. “We were married for reasons of state. I will give you back your dignity. Do not demand my heart. It was never bound by duty.” She stared, her face a white mask of hurt. He didn’t care that she bled her torn heart from her eyes. He stalked away from her.
Without a word of protest, she watched him shut the door to his inner chamber, but when he had gone, she spat her contempt on the rug. “You bastard!” she hissed for the third time. “I will have you and that whore pay.”
She marched to the outer door, swung it open and strode out into the hall. She returned to her own chambers. There, she went straight to her writing desk. The missive she wrote was short and to the point. In the tiny side room, she shook her sleeping maid awake and thrust the letter at her.
“Take it to Ufrid,” she commanded. “And make sure no one knows of it.”
“To Ufrid? But he’s not here in Durgven,” the maid protested.
“I know that!” Eshaia snapped. She pulled the necklace off her neck and tossed it at the woman. “Use that to pay your way. Ugoth gave it to me. Use it! Use it to bring Ufrid back to me. Do not betray me, Fammi!”
“I would never!” the maid cried, her hurt over the suggestion evident. “We’ve been together since we were but girls. I will take your letter to Prince Ufrid. I won’t betray you.”
Eshaia looked down at her, her expression yet cold and imperious, but then the anger crumpled. “Oh, Fammi! He never loved me!” she wailed. “He never did! If it weren’t for that bastard monk, I could love someone else. I could have Ufrid. Ugoth just uses me for bearing children. I am nothing but a hole for him to deposit his seed. I am nothing to him at all!”
“Oh, my poor darling!” Fammi said, rising to cradle her mistress in her arms. “You don’t worry. We’ll set this right. Yes, we will. He’ll not get away with shaming an Omeran princess. That low-born Ulmeniran piece of dirt.”
Eshaia nodded agreement upon the woman’s shoulder. Fammi patted her again, but after a few moments set about putting her distraught queen to bed, reassuring her constantly that Ufrid would find a way to make his brother pay. They would all find a way to make him pay. Yes, they would.
***
“I tell you, he’s in there,” the white witch said again. “You came to us for help. Why are you doubting our word?”
“Why would he go into a bit of woods when the city is up yonder?” Keth retorted. Truthfully, he acted doubtful because he was almost sick with worry. He headed into the dell even as he spoke, afraid of what he might find within the woods.
“You still haven’t said why you all need to protect him so fiercely,” Uma called after him.
The rest of his compatriots spread to the sides, their strides purposeful and hinting danger. Each removed the pairs of iron-tipped staves from out of their harnesses, deadly intent in their motions. They were ready to rush to Brother Herfod’s aid. If it were necessary, they were ready to kill.
“You promised to say in exchange for locating him,” Uma reminded, staring at their backs with immense interest.
“We’ll keep our promise,” Keth called back. “Now be quiet!”
She shut her mouth and followed. Pell and Zini crept after her.
“You know it’s got to be something terribly important, the reason they look after him so,” Pell whispered. “They’ve been searching since before sun up. I heard them thumping the door to ask the Virginal Sisters.”
“We know,” Zini hissed back. “They have no clue where he’s gotten. See that? They’re all so pale, they look like ghosts. They’re terrified for him.”
“Hsst!” Uma warned. “Keep it down! I feel something odd!”
“So do I,” Pell said.
“It’s coming from the same place as him,” Zini went on. She held up the small jar. A single one of Brother Herfod’s short red hairs floated against the same side of the jar as the direction she walked. “Yes. He’s in there with it.”
“Hsst!” Uma warned again.
All three witches pulled up. The monks had halted. The men stared inward through the trees in utter astonished silence. Their threatening staves lowered as if their arms had loosened with shock.
“He’s dead,” Zini said. “I knew it.”
“Look!” Pell cried. “Oh! Look!” She rushed forward, shoving in between two monks to get a better view. The young men did nothing to stop her. Uma rushed after her. Zini, her certainty dashed, pressed up against their backs and stared in through the trees. He was there. He was ….
He was just incredible!
He danced. He danced with shadows and with rays of light. He danced with knives, sharp and deadly. The blades cut through the shadows, caught the rays of light and twisted the two together. His feet left faint blue tracks on the earth, and his arms created a pattern of radiance that meant something familiar, but the familiarity faded before the significance could be grasped. The space within the copse was a maze of tortured light and darkness, a bizarre blue symbol repeating and fading throughout.
Keth, too amazed by far, ended the dance. “Why did we ever think we could get as good as him?” he said loudly.
Brother Herfod stopped cold. He stared at them, a strange luminosity shining from his eyes. As they watched, the shine slowly faded and became hazel, clear but unexceptional. The shadows slipped out of the light rays. The beams flickered out of existence, and the blue symbol disappeared entirely. Brother Herfod blinked. He sheathed his daggers and moved forward, the glow absent from his eyes.
“Bad timing,” he muttered, passing straight through the stunned lot of them. “I almost knew …!”
He felt as if he’d almost pulled out of that accursed rock! The Shadow Master had struggled hard to keep him in their spiritual prison, struggled very hard, but it had been when he had stopped trying to fly free that Marun had nearly lost him. Desisting with direct resistance, he had danced just for the dance, and then the feeling of almost knowing something had commenced. Despite all the power in his grasp, Tehlm Sevet’s spirit had slowly lost purchase upon the soul of his former slave.
And Herfod? He had been so close to … to what? He just did not know at all.
“Brother Herfod?” Keth called.
Herfod lowered the hand he used to rub a sudden ache at his temples and looked back. “Yes?”
“Why were you doing that?”
“How were you doing that?” Uma interjected.
“And why are you wearing a Pek assassin’s costume?” Zini added.
Herfod noticed the witches for the first time. He straightened his weary shoulders and frowned at them, then shifted his gaze to his guardian monks. They blushed with embarrassment. He guessed that, having failed to locate him themselves, they had called on the white witches to track him down. He looked at all the expectant faces, took a deep breath and answered their questions.
“Keth, I had a bad night and needed to calm myself. Uma, I have no idea. Zini, I am a Pek assassin. You all keep your mouths shut about it.” He wheeled about and stalked away.
“Oh!” Pell cried. “Oh! I’m having an orgasm!”
Zini heaved a great snort of irritation and caught her before she tumbled. Uma gaped after Brother Herfod. His gang of stunned underlings gaped at each other.
“He’s a Pek assassin?” Keth said, stupefied. “What’s he doing in the monastery?”
“Good question,” Uma responded. She rushed after the flame-haired mystery, begging him to slow down.
He did, but he was ill tempered about it. “What now?”
“How did a white-skinned northerner become a Pek assassin and a Turamen monk?” she asked.
“By many twisted strings of fate!” he snarled. “Be quiet about it, I said!” He faced a
bout again.
“Are you him?”
He stalled in his tracks. “What do you mean?” he said without turning.
“Are you him?” she repeated. “The one he can’t live without? You know who I mean.”
He did turn then. “And how would you know anything about that?”
He spotted the gang and the remaining two witches moving to catch up. His arm shot out, and his forefinger pointed them back. They froze. Herfod grabbed Uma’s arm and pulled her further away.
“What do you know of it?” he hissed.
“I listened to a Carmet monk tell a story back in Lordun,” she told him. “A very strange story that he said he wasn’t supposed to tell. A little more wine and he told me all of it.”
“And what was all of it?” His regard was deathly cold. She had no doubt he was the one in the story. She wanted to back off, but his grip and his menace prevented it.
“He said that Marun had a boy, a beautiful flame-haired boy who could kill with such grace you would almost want to beg him to take your life. He said Marun loved the boy so much he went mad from it. He said the sorcerer lost him and has been searching for him since.” She stared up into his baleful eyes and dared the truth. “I know it’s you. No monk twists shadow. But this boy of Marun’s might. You were the boy.”
“Are you going to spread this to anyone else?”
“Would you kill me if I did?” she countered.
His hurtful hand dropped from her arm. “I don’t kill my allies,” he said. He turned to walk away, but she forestalled him.
“Wait, Brother Herfod. I would offer my services.”
He scowled. “You already did that.”
“To the monastery,” she corrected. “This is just for you.”
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