The Wounded Shadow

by Patrick W. Carr

  “Of course you do,” Rymark said. “I can hardly wait.”

  “Peace, brother,” Ellias said. “Let me tell you sometime of Master Gerimian. Before the gift came to him he was a beggar in the streets of Loklallin. Can you imagine it? A beggar giving instruction to the greatest minds in the kingdom?”

  “You’re unfamiliar with Lord Dura, Ellias,” Rymark said. “The man is a walking curse. You know, Lord Dura, that you’re something of a legend in Vaerwold. It’s going to take a long time to erase the memories of what happened there. Didn’t your masters tell you to be circumspect?”

  Cailin’s voice came from the stone. “Let him speak.”

  “Is that an order, regent?” Rymark asked.

  “Enough, Rymark,” Ulrezia said. “We already know of Lord Dura’s proclivities. We’re at war. Any weapon that comes to hand is a good one.”

  On my right, Bolt nodded. “Wise woman.”

  “Oh, by all means, speak, Lord Dura,” Rymark snarled.

  I took a deep breath. It didn’t help. “Cesla is working to disguise his deeper purpose. He’s not interested in fighting a war.” Perhaps something of my words or tone struck a chord with Rymark. He managed to remain quiet. “At the moment, victory or defeat in battle is immaterial to him. He has a more immediate goal.”

  “And what would that be?” Boclar asked.

  “He wants to open the prison in the Darkwater,” I said.

  “Who told you there was a prison within the Darkwater?” Rymark asked.

  I ignored the question. “The prison is made of aurium. If Cesla manages to free those trapped inside, we cannot win.”

  “What is the source of your information, Lord Dura?” Rymark’s voice scaled upward.

  I continued to try and bluff my way through, hoping that something I said would be alarming enough to shut King Rymark’s mouth. “Cesla is leading you by your expectations,” I said. “His goal isn’t to fight you—it’s to get enough skilled people into the forest to break the prison.”

  “How do you know this?” Rymark must have been screaming. Even coming from the stone, his voice echoed in the confines of Boclar’s study.

  “Ealdor told me,” I said.

  “Who is he?” Ellias asked.

  There was no help for it. “One of the last of the Fayit,” I said. “If you don’t believe me, inquire of Pellin, Fess, or Toria Deel. They’ve seen him as well, though not so extensively as I.”

  “How convenient,” Rymark said, “that we are unable to speak with them to verify Lord Dura’s story. My fellow rulers, you know his circumstances. Personally, I think it’s possible that the forest has already taken him.”

  “If he had, I wouldn’t be here talking to Boclar. I’d have killed him by now,” I shot back.

  Bolt shook his head. “Someday we have to talk about how you choose your words.”

  “Fayit and fairy tales,” Rymark dismissed. “Just what are we supposed to do?”

  I couldn’t make myself say it. If the existence of the Fayit had garnered this reaction, what would they say when they heard my plan? Boclar, seeing me flounder, leaned forward. “Lord Dura has shared his counsel with me, at least in broad terms.” He paused long enough to give Herregina another wink and smile that made him seem years younger. “Lord Dura requests that all the kings and queens of the north meet so that we can summon the Fayit to aid us.”

  I gaped at the king, who smiled at me.

  “Your Majesty,” Rymark’s voice cut through the din. “I urge you to take Lord Dura prisoner, now, so that Pellin can arrange for the transfer of his gift. There can be little doubt that the vault in his mind is the source of this insanity.”

  Boclar shrugged as though Rymark hadn’t just tried to put a death sentence on me. “He doesn’t look crazy. Perhaps we should hear him.”

  “Has he touched you?” the king of Moorclaire asked.

  “No, Ellias. My mind and my memories are still my own.”

  “Toria Deel and Fess said nothing of this when they were here,” Rymark said.

  “They’ve seen Ealdor”—I was desperate to earn their trust and cooperation—“but we have only recently uncovered evidence of Cesla’s intetions, of his efforts to prevent a gathering of those with the gift of kings. Since I was given no stone, I have had no means of informing them of this new information.”

  “The Vigil has always kept its secrets,” Ulrezia interjected. “That’s hardly proof of Dura’s insanity.”

  “Proof?” Rymark practically screamed. “You require proof?”

  The light from the brazier dimmed, and I saw a spasm of pain wash across Boclar’s expression before he could quench it. “Perhaps we should adjourn,” he said quickly. His words tumbled over each other. “We will take up the matter of Dura’s request and its implications again tomorrow. Kings Rymark and Ellias, I thank you for your service. Queen Ulrezia and Regent Cailin, I will speak with you again at the appointed time.” Boclar jerked a nod to Erendella and she darted forward to take the stone from its stand and wrap it in thick folds of velvet.

  Boclar’s gaze latched onto his alchemist. “What’s wrong with the fire, Helioma?”

  She shook her head, panicked, before donning heavy leather gloves and grasping the polished bowl to shake it. The light steadied for a moment, then flickered again. “I don’t know. The powder should have lasted for another hour yet.”

  Erendella snapped her fingers at the rest of us and pointed. “Leave, now!” The light dimmed further, and Boclar edged toward it until the heat from the brazier reddened his skin.

  I stood rooted to my spot. Waiting.

  “If you wish my help, or that of my heir,” Boclar snapped, “you will leave.” A spasm wrenched his expression into something I recognized.

  “Guards!” Erendella screamed. “Guards!”

  The doors flew open, and Boclar’s men poured into the room. “Get them out of here,” Erendella said. “Keep them in the north wing.”

  Half the guards, each of them a head taller than me, ringed us with steel and ran us toward the door. At the exit, I looked back to see the rest of the guards huddled over the supine form of the king as Helioma tried to wrest the last bit of light from her dying powder.

  One of the guards paused just long enough to close the doors behind us, but not before cries shattered in the air with glass-sharp edges of sound, an endless series of screams that scaled upward. Through the open crack of the door I saw men twice my size working to bind the king.

  Guards ringed us with drawn weapons and kept us at a walk fast enough to force Rory and Herregina to a slow jog. More than once Rory’s hands dipped into the folds of his cloak, but each time Bolt or I waved him off. Pride and fear fought to gain ascendancy on Herregina’s expression. In the end, the size and gift of the guards cowed her and she kept pace.

  Gael shifted closer to my side. “Are they going to imprison us?”

  Mercifully, the guards slowed as we put enough distance between us and the king’s audience room to muffle the sounds of Boclar’s screaming. “I don’t think so, at least not in the usual sense.” I needed to plant a seed with the guards. Gifted, they would surely be able to hear me, even at a whisper. “I know what afflicts the king, but I don’t know if he’ll let me free him of it.” I turned from Gael and kept my gaze forward.

  We came to the north section of the citadel and passed through a room that might have been used for entertaining. Currently, only a few menials were present, working by the light of lamps to prepare it for the next day. The guards led us to an exit, a pair of double doors that met at the top in a point. Despite the scrollwork that gave the wood a delicate look, they were thick enough to comprise an effective prison.

  One of the guards waved us through. “We’ll let the chamberlain know of your presence,” he said. “Food and drink will be sent along with anything else you require.”

  The door locked behind us.

  We stood in a vaulted sitting room with doors to private chambers aroun
d the perimeter. I looked at the walls and ceiling. They were of finer, more delicate construction than those in Bunard, but just as capable of concealing any who might wish to spy on us. What I had to do next had to be accomplished with care.

  I took Gael’s hand in mine, stifling the twinge of regret that came with doing so while I wore my gloves. I nodded toward the girls. “I’m sure Mirren and Her Majesty are unused to such exertions,” I said carefully. “Why don’t the three of you retire? I’ll bring the food and drink to you when it gets here.”

  Her voice dropped to a murmur that barely reached my ears. “In other words, you’re planning something and either you need me out of the way or it’s so outrageous you know I’d try to stop you.”

  I kissed her quickly and without warning. Her eyes widened with pleasure and turned a shade lighter before she could prevent it. “I thought I was supposed to be the one with the gift of domere,” I whispered.

  “You’re not fighting fair.”

  I laughed and kissed her again. Gael could have stopped me if she’d wanted. “Herregina’s going to have questions, a lot of them. Aer willing, we’re headed north to the forest, but if she doesn’t go voluntarily, this is going to go from difficult to ridiculous.”

  “What are you going to do?” she asked.

  I donned an expression of innocence that probably didn’t fit. “I’m going to have a talk with Bolt and Rory.”

  “Nothing more?” she whispered. She used our proximity to trace one finger along my jawline in a slow caress. And she lectured me about fighting fair?

  “Not as far as you know,” I smiled.

  She nodded and leaned in for a quick kiss. “Be as safe as you can.” She turned. “Mirren. Your Majesty.” She curtsied. “If you wish it, we can retire to our rooms and Lord Dura will bring us refreshment when it arrives. I’m sure you have many questions.”

  Herregina’s brows lowered, and she opened her mouth as if about to issue some royal objection, but at the last she nodded. The three of them left, taking the first door on the right.

  Bolt nodded to Rory, and they meandered around the room, looking both bored and impatient as they surveyed the furnishings. After ten minutes they made their way to me where I stood in the center. “I can’t see any spy holes,” Bolt said. “Rory?”

  His apprentice shook his head. “But they’re a lot harder to find on this side,” he said. “That’s the whole point.”

  I kept my voice low. “Can you pick the lock?”

  Rory shot me a withering glance that said I’d just insulted him. “I was the best thief in Bunard, yah?”

  I looked to Bolt. “How well do you know this place?”

  A knock at the door interrupted him, and a moment later, a handful of servants entered under the direction of a lean-faced man who wore his reserve like a garment. “His Majesty sends his apologies, but his illness prevents him from entertaining you in the manner you deserve.”

  I nodded. “No apologies are necessary. The journey here was arduous.” I nodded my gratitude at the trays of food and drink. “You’ve provided everything we require. We will take our rest and meet with King Boclar tomorrow.” I stepped toward the door. “The ladies have already retired for the evening. My guards and I will serve them in your stead.”

  I stopped midstep, pretending an idea had just occurred to me. “A moment,” I said. I went through the rooms until I found a writing desk with ink and parchment. After jotting a quick note and blotting it, I folded it and took it to the head servant. “Please deliver this to Her Highness, Erendella.”

  The servants left, and I waited for the click of the lock. Then I took one of the trays to Gael’s door and knocked. When it opened, I gaped. Gael had changed from her traveling clothes into sleeping attire. While it satisfied the dictates of modesty for Aille or Caisel, it would never be fashionable in the cooler climate in Bunard.

  “Thank you, my betrothed,” Gael said. Her voice dipped into that register that made it hard to think.

  She took the tray and closed the door without giving me a chance to reply. I raised my hand to knock again . . . but thought better of it. She probably wouldn’t answer anyway.

  When I turned, I saw Rory eating like only adolescents could, but Bolt eyed me with an understated smirk. “Never pick a fight you know you’re going to lose.”

  I shook my head, trying to clear the image of the way the silk had clung to Gael’s form. “How am I supposed to know when I’m picking a fight?”

  “Ha,” Rory said. “With you it’s not hard. You open your mouth and say something.”

  I sat and poured myself a glass of wine to go with the meal. “We’re going to wait for a few hours,” I said. “If nothing happens by then, we’re going hunting.”

  Rory and Bolt donned opposing expressions, one gleeful, the other resigned.

  Chapter 52

  “It might help if you shared exactly what you intend to do,” Bolt said.

  “I need to see the king.”

  It was pitch black. I heard a whisper of sound as Rory dropped to his belly next to the door. “There’s no light on the far side,” he said. “But I can’t tell if there are guards or not, and I don’t have any oil to keep the lock quiet.”

  “I’ll take care of any guards,” Bolt said.

  I heard the soft clink of Rory’s picks, and Bolt drew a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh. “That you want to do this in the middle of the night says you suspect something important enough to merit imprisonment. Pellin’s not here to bargain for your release, and even if he was, he might choose not to.”

  “The king’s illness comes under my authority,” I said.

  Bolt whispered a curse. “Why do you think that?”

  “The solas powder. The light isn’t strange or exotic the way I’d expect it to be for court. It gives off the same color as the powder Myle gave us in Bunard. It’s artificial sunlight. Boclar is using it to keep his vault from opening.”

  Bolt sighed. “That would explain why he’s here and not with his army.”

  “Why would he go into the forest?” Rory asked.

  “That’s pretty high on the list of questions I intend to ask him,” I said.

  “Fair enough,” Bolt said. “But why now? You could just wait until he sends for us.”

  I didn’t answer, choosing instead to let Bolt come to his own conclusion.

  His hand found my upper arm without any fumbling, and I envied him his gift. Tomorrow, I’d have bruises there. “What are you planning, Willet?”

  “Right now, I want to speak with the king. I might need the use of both arms tomorrow,” I added.

  He let go at the same time a soft click came from Rory’s direction. He opened the door to empty darkness beyond. “They didn’t guard the door,” Rory said. “That’s bad.”

  Bolt grunted his agreement. “They’re probably giving us the opportunity to hang ourselves.”

  “Can you get us to the king?” I asked Bolt.

  “Maybe. I know where the royal quarters used to be, but if they’ve been moved or if the king has elected not to use them for some reason, we’re going to be reduced to wandering around Boclar’s citadel. I’ll let you imagine what will happen to us when we’re caught.”

  “Let’s focus on the next step,” I said.

  “We’ll need to retrace our way back to the audience chamber,” Bolt said. “Boclar’s apartments are east of it.”

  Rory stirred beside me. “I’d like to know why they’re keeping this wing of the citadel so dark.”

  Before I could answer, the metallic ping of flint striking steel prefaced a flare of light bursting in front of me.

  Pain lanced through my eyes and I screamed. Bolt crashed into my shoulder, sending me sprawling, and I heard the whine of steel as he drew.

  “I can’t see!” Rory screamed.

  “Put down your weapons,” a voice commanded, “or Lord Dura dies. I have half a dozen men with crossbows trained on his heart. You can’t take them all
before one of them fires. At this range they can’t miss.”

  Bolt’s shove had put me thirty feet away and left me in a heap. I blinked, trying to see, but my eyes were filled with the green afterimage of solas fire. I stood and bowed toward the voice. “Good evening, Your Highness,” I said lightly. “I assumed my message had been misplaced, so I elected to come see you.

  “If I wished to see you, Lord Dura, I would have told you.”

  “You did tell me,” I said. “You locked our door but left it unguarded.”

  She laughed, but there was no sound of humor in it. “You misinterpreted my father’s trust for license. You may see him in the morning.”

  I lifted my hands. “Forgive me. Customs are a bit different up north.” I blinked a few times in quick succession and thought I could make out dark blobs that might have been people. “You and your father need me tonight, Your Highness. What happens if the powder runs out?”

  To her credit, she played her hand until the end. “I don’t think the apothecaries are in any danger of running short of anguicaine powder, Lord Dura.”

  I didn’t answer her in kind. Erendella might use any excuse to deny me. “That’s not the powder I’m referring to, Your Highness.”

  “I could have you shot and tell my father you were mistaken for thieves,” she said after a moment.

  Silence fell in the room, and I felt rather than heard Bolt and Rory tense. Smudges of light intruded on my vision. How well could Bolt and Rory see?

  “Is the solas powder burning for him now?” I asked.

  “No,” she said softly. “We have to husband what we have. There’s not enough to last each night.”

  “There’s nothing I can do while he raves,” I said. “But if you have even a few minutes’ worth, I can help you.”

  Silence stretched while I tried not to think about a half-dozen crossbow bolts punching through me as if I were wet parchment.

  “Your guards will be returned to their quarters,” Erendella said.