"But are you in love?"
"Her name is Gleia. She's all the rage at court."
"Oh, Perrin."
"Now, Mother, don't be so sentimental. Were you in love with Father when you married him?"
"No," she admits. "But I wanted better for you. I tried so hard to ..." She trails off, starting to cry.
"Mother," says Silverdun, touching her arm. "You don't have to weep over me."
"I tried so hard to show you another way of living. A better way. I knew early on that you might not accept Aba, but I hoped that you would see that there is more to life than drinking and carrying on at court."
"Don't fret, Mother," says Silverdun, smiling. "I can assure you that I'm perfectly happy."
"And the fact that you are, or think you are, is the saddest thing of all. You were such a bright boy, Perrin. So sweet and so innocent. So good. How did I lose you? What did I do wrong?" She is openly crying now. Silverdun has never wanted to leave a room more.
"You didn't do anything. I'm prodigal by nature. If I was more decent as a child it was only from the nearness of you."
"There's still time for you," she says. "There's still time for you to decide what kind of man you want to be. You're very young yet."
"I'm old enough to be married," he says, a bit petulantly.
"Don't do it, Perrin. Don't marry that woman."
Silverdun is annoyed now. "You don't even know her," he says.
Mother laughs bitterly. "You don't think so? You don't think that I knew a hundred women just like her when I was at court myself? You think me naive, Perrin, but I can assure you that I've seen everything you have and more.
"I'm going to marry her, Mother. It's the smart choice."
"No," she says. "It's the easy choice. There's a difference."
"I shouldn't have come," he says.
"I'm sorry," she says, sitting up straight, wiping her eyes. "I'm so sorry, Perrin. I didn't want it to be like this. I'm just an old widow, sorting through my regrets and praying for forgiveness here in my tiny room."
"Will you come to the wedding?"
Mother sighs. "There isn't going to be any wedding, Perrin. You don't get that?"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Talk to your uncle," says Mother. "And you think me naive."
"Well, this is all very mysterious," says Silverdun. "I'm going to go wait in the house-you know, where the family is supposed to live-and straighten this all out."
"I'm sorry, Perrin," she says.
"For what?"
She only smiles sadly and waits for him to go.
He finds Bresun waiting in his father's study, which Bresun clearly now thinks of as his own, from the framed Nyelcu degree to the hideous stuffed boar's head mounted on the wall.
"We have a problem," says Bresun.
"What's that?" asked Silverdun.
"I was under the impression that you had no intention of ever marrying, Perrin. 'A bachelor unto death,' isn't that what you told me?"
"Things change," says Silverdun. "It seems the thing to do."
"I'm afraid I can't allow it," says Bresun.
"I wasn't aware that you were in any position to allow or disallow me anything. I'm the lord here; you merely manage my estate."
Bresun strokes his mustache and sighs. "You are an immature fool. Did you really think that? Here all this time I was under the impression that you'd figured out what was going on here and had meekly accepted your lot in life."
"And what lot would that be?" asks Silverdun, thinking back to Mother's comment about naivete.
"I am Lord Silverdun, in all but name," says Bresun. "That you carry the title is but a formality. Over the past several years I've transferred all of the leases, all of the deeds, and all of the tax documents into my name. You have nothing except what I give you.
"But if you marry, then an awkward situation is created. Your lady love will no doubt wish to take up residence here at Oarsbridge, which I cannot allow. She will want to squeeze out little baby Silverduns, which does not conform to my plans at all."
"You cannot divest me of my title," says Silverdun. "I want you out of here."
Bresun laughs. "Did you hear what I said? All of those boring documents you've signed for me over the years assigned the ownership of everything you see around you to me. Your title is all you have left. And whatever monies I choose to send you. Which I will continue to send, so long as you call off this wedding."
"I can petition to have the lordship nullified," says Silverdun. "Yield everything to the Crown. You'd end up with nothing."
"And you'd be a commoner, with no money, no skills, and no friends. Do you think your companions at court will so much as look your way if you do such a thing?"
Bresun leans forward at his desk, looks Silverdun in the eye. "Don't try to bluff me, brat. I will destroy you."
"This isn't over," says Silverdun.
Back in the City Emerald, Silverdun sits in his sumptuous townhouse and weighs his options. Is everything Bresun told him true? He imagines it was. Bresun is a clever, careful man.
Is he truly willing to yield his title? One look around the townhouse answers that question.
He sends a message sprite to Gleia canceling the wedding, and avoids her usual haunts, and in a few months the whole thing is all but forgotten.
Honestly? He's relieved. He never wanted to get married in the first place.
The next day dawned foggy and wet. The mountains were no longer visible. It was chilly and breezy, and the fire had gone out during the night. Everything was damp, and Silverdun was forced to conjure up witchfire because there was no dry wood. Witchfire was hot and gave off light, but food cooked on it always had a strange taste, and spending too much time in its warmth became unpleasant.
There was no good humor in camp that morning. Je Wen, who seemed unflappable, gave them all a wide berth, packing up camp on his own while the others stamped around in their boots trying to fend off the chill.
"It will grow warmer during the day," he said.
Silverdun tried to catch Sela's eye, but she studiously avoided him, making idle conversation with Ironfoot whenever he came near her. Timha said nothing at all. Only pulled on his elegant, impractical boots with a grimace and stood waiting.
The second day was slow going. In places it became necessary to climb, and neither Timha nor Sela was an expert climber. Silverdun thanked whatever gods had provided him and Ironfoot with their newfound strength. He'd never felt better. At least, not physically.
As Je Wen had promised, the day grew warm, and the fog was entirely gone by midday. They walked and climbed, falling into a rhythm that lulled Silverdun into the mirage that this was the whole world. That life was just this. Everything else seemed far, far away.
After the sun went down, they found a comfortable, dry cave to sleep in. It turned out that Ironfoot and Je Wen knew some of the same tunes, though with vastly different words. They sang anyway, Je Wen in Arami and Ironfoot in Common. The bawdy words of the Seelie versions made Je Wen laugh, and his laughter was contagious. Even Timha was persuaded to join the chorus of one that he knew as well. Silverdun had no aptitude for singing, but listened contentedly, happy to have something to take his mind off of things. When they reached Elenth tomorrow, they would be rejoining the world, and all the troubles that came along with it. The call to war would still be resounding in Corpus. The Einswrath would still be a threat.
And there was the matter of their near capture in Preyia. It was too reminiscent of what had happened in Annwn. They'd been expected; in both circumstances, someone had alerted the local constabulary of the Shadows' presence.
The singing continued into the night. He watched Sela watch Ironfoot and Je Wen, studiously avoiding his gaze. She smiled, but he could still feel an echo of their connection, and he knew that there was no mirth behind that smile. Whatever contentment he'd felt earlier in the evening had been drowned out by worry, and when Silverdun finally slept, it was ag
ainst the protestations of a troubled mind.
The next morning was cold again, and the fog had become a light rain. A few minutes after they stepped out of the cave they were drenched, and all of the previous evening's bonhomie was washed away. They continued to climb.
Just when Silverdun was certain that Timha was about to give out entirely, Je Wen stopped at the top of a steep embankment. It was midday, and the light rain had given way to a flat, glaring sunlight that warmed them somewhat but didn't entirely remove the chill.
"There," said Je Wen. "Elenth."
Silverdun looked down and saw a wide valley. At the base of the mountain upon which they stood, tilled fields reached out toward a small city nestled against the hills on the other side of the valley. The valley glowed in the sunlight. In the distance Silverdun could see farmers dotting the fields, tiny wagons and horses coming in and out of Elenth. He realized that they hadn't seen anyone other than the Arami in three days.
"Civilization at last," said Silverdun. Part of him wished there were another three days still to go.
"Quiet!" snapped Je Wen. It was the first time Silverdun had ever seen him not looking placid. He had his head cocked to the side, listening intently.
"What's happening-?" started Timha.
"I said quiet!" snapped Je Wen.
Everyone stood still. Silverdun looked at Ironfoot, who shrugged.
"We must move," said Je Wen. "Quickly. We must get down from here."
"What's going on?" asked Ironfoot.
"A quake is coming," said Je Wen. "A big one."
Silverdun looked around him. They were in a narrow pass between two thick boulders on a wide, uneven ridge. Loose rocks were everywhere. The slope downward in front of them was steep and rocky. It would require them to pick their way with care.
"Come!" shouted Je Wen. He started down the slope without looking back.
For a minute it seemed as if Je Wen had been wrong. They picked their way down the mountainside with no hint of anything awry.
Then Silverdun pitched into the air as if he'd been thrown. He heard shouting. There was dust all around him. Sela screamed.
Something roared beneath him, bellowed, rattled the air. Silverdun landed hard, smashing his hip and shoulder against solid rock. The pain was numbing, vibrating through him, matching the vibration of the earth below.
Another ear-splitting bellow, and now the ground fell away beneath him only to let him crash onto it a second time.
"Silverdun!" came a voice through the roar. He felt a hand on his shoulder, saw a face. Je Wen was reaching across to him. "Jump to me!"
Silverdun looked down and saw the dirt at his feet shake and disintegrate, pouring downward into darkness. He leapt toward Je Wen and landed on a narrow ledge that swayed but didn't topple.
"Where are we?" shouted Silverdun. "We have to find the others!"
"This way!" Je Wen called back.
It was nearly impossible for Silverdun to find his footing; every time he found a place to step, it jumped away from him. Je Wen didn't seem to have this problem; he stepped where the ground was heading, not where it was.
Sela screamed again, and Silverdun lurched forward. He saw her hair before he saw the rest of her, a gold swirl in a maelstrom of dust. She was hunched beneath an overhanging boulder as rock and dirt poured down around her.
"Come with me!" shouted Je Wen. He reached for Sela and pulled her toward them. He thrust her into Silverdun's arms and pointed. "Go that way! "
Je Wen stepped forward. The ground lurched beneath his feet, and he dropped to his knees. A thick slab of a boulder slid down on top of him with an ugly thud. Sela screamed; Silverdun wanted to.
Je Wen was dead, his chest crushed.
"Run!" shouted Silverdun.
They carefully crawled past Je Wen's body onto a solid, level place. With a final crash, the ridge rumbled and then fell still. Dirt and rocks cascaded around them from higher up the peak, but the ground had stopped moving. The quake was over.
Silverdun and Sela sat down hard on solid rock, both gasping for air. Dust had settled in Sela's face and hair, and tears streamed down her cheeks. They sat that way, staring at each other, for a long moment.
"Help!" came Ironfoot's voice, cutting through the dust. "Silverdun! Sela! Je Wen!"
Silverdun was up and running, leaping across the new landscape of the ridge toward the sound of Ironfoot's voice. Dust was still thick in the air. "Slow down!" shouted Sela, but Silverdun kept running, the panic that had only just begun to settle now rising up in him again. He tried Ironfoot's trick of reaching in, found his panic and quelled it, but not by much.
"Ironfoot!" he shouted, now unsure where to go. The ridgeline here broke in two, split by a steep cleft.
"Over here!" came Ironfoot's voice, strained. "Hurry, dammit!"
Silverdun ran toward Ironfoot's voice. The dust parted, and he stopped just before falling over a ragged cliff. A thick stream of rocks and dust was spilling down over the edge. Silverdun looked down and saw Ironfoot clinging to the barest of handholds on the cliff face with four fingers, the open air beneath him. The ground was at least a hundred feet below. Ironfoot held Timha slumped in his other arm, and the leather satchel hung on his wrist.
"Get me the hell out of here!" shouted Ironfoot.
"Is Timha alive?" Silverdun asked, getting down on his stomach.
"He's breathing," said Ironfoot. "But neither of us will be if you don't get us up!"
Silverdun reached down. His fingertips went down just far enough to graze Ironfoot's handhold.
"Careful!" shouted Ironfoot.
"What now?" asked Silverdun, the panic again rising. He reached in and damped it down again; this time it was easier. In a few seconds, he was calm again.
"You could let Timha drop," said Silverdun soberly. "Better him than both of you."
"I didn't go to all this trouble to collect him only let him go now," Ironfoot grunted. It was taking all of his Shadow strength to hold on. He put his mouth to Timha's ear. "Wake up, you son of a whore!"
Timha lifted his head and opened his eyes. "Do not move," hissed Ironfoot. "What I want you to do is-"
Timha screamed and jerked, kicking out with his feet. Ironfoot swayed out from the cliff face, digging in with his fingers. Blood began to ooze out from beneath his fingertips where the sharp edge of the handhold cut them.
"Dammit, I said don't move!"
Timha froze. He shut his eyes.
"Now listen," said Silverdun. "Timha, I want you to reach up, ever so delicately, with your left hand, and take mine. And when I say delicately, I mean as delicately as the wooing of a swordsmith's daughter."
Shaking, Timha slowly, slowly reached his arm up. Ironfoot growled in pain, his face red with exertion.
Silverdun reached out and grasped Timha's wrist, and pulled as hard as he could. He grunted and dug in-Timha was heavier than he was. For a few harrowing seconds he believed that Timha was actually going to pull him over the edge. Then Timha's arms were both up on the cliff top and Timha was scrambling up and away.
Silverdun reached down once more. Ironfoot's fingers were slipping, the blood making the handhold impossible to maintain.
"Take my hand!" shouted Silverdun.
"I don't think I can," Ironfoot whispered. "I'm almost empty, Silverdun." His free arm dangled at his side.
"Reach in and strengthen your muscles," said Silverdun. "You know how; you taught me."
"I don't have any re left."
"Then take mine," said Silverdun.
"How?"
"When we were at Whitemount, Jedron did it to me," said Silverdun. "It must be possible." Silverdun pushed out toward Ironfoot, not really knowing what he was doing, just pushing raw essence. Something grabbed at him, began to suck at him, just as Ilian/Jedron had. Without the cold iron bars repelling the re, it was slower, but just as certain.
"I can feel it," Ironfoot muttered. He lifted his free arm, wincing at the pain, and raised it, inch by
inch, over his head. Silverdun grabbed him and pulled, and that was when Silverdun realized his mistake. He'd given all of his strength to Ironfoot and had none left for himself. Ironfoot was far heavier than Timha was.
"Pull!" said Ironfoot, his eyes wide.
"I'm working on that," said Silverdun. "Just a moment."
"Silverdun, you bastard!" shouted Ironfoot. His hold began to slip.
Silverdun felt something moving over him. A hand reached down and clasped over his. Sela's hand.
"Together now," she said.
A minute later, the four of them-Silverdun, Ironfoot, Sela, and Timha-lay on their backs on the flattest part of the ridge they could find, all breathing heavily.
"Where's Je Wen?" asked Ironfoot.
Silverdun allowed his silence to answer the question.
"He had a pregnant wife," said Ironfoot.
"That he did."
Ironfoot let out his breath and closed his eyes. Blood dripped from his fingertips onto the dusty rock.
You can't change what is, but you can always make it look like something it isn't.
-Master jedron
ust before sunset they shuffled off of the lowest hill into a row of wheat. They were bloodied, covered and caked with dust, their clothes torn.
They headed toward a farmhouse at the end of the field, next to a stout green barn. A few cows raised their heads to watch them approach.
A farmer was out in the yard behind the house, throwing out grain to the chickens. He looked up at them and froze.
"What now?" said Ironfoot.
"I'll handle him," said Sela, stepping forward.
The farmer stood and watched them approach.
"What can I do for you?" he said. Silverdun couldn't imagine what he must be thinking. Three bloody, disheveled men and a beautiful woman, all covered in dust, appearing in his barnyard.
"We were out for a walk in the mountains," said Sela, her eyes all apology. "It was foolish, I know. One of those impetuous ideas a girl has from time to time. We were caught in the quake.
"Yes, we felt it down here, for sure."
"We'd be extremely appreciative if you'd avail us of your pump, and perhaps some fresh clothing," said Silverdun. "We'd be happy to pay you."
The Office of Shadow Page 30