The Wounded Shadow

by Patrick W. Carr

  That much was certainly true. “But time flows differently here. An extended conversation in the delve takes but a heartbeat or two in the real world.”

  She tucked her chin to her chest and looked at me through her dark lashes. “And what would you say here that cannot be said there?”

  I kissed her.

  “I’ve always enjoyed the fact that you’re a man of few words.” She laughed. “But you could have kissed me there as well.”

  I smiled and swam in the glorious blue of her eyes. “I wanted to tell you that I regret not taking you as my wife when you suggested it. I thought I needed to concentrate on this task, but that was my pride speaking, thinking that I had to be the one to defeat Cesla and the Darkwater. The truth is it’s not up to me. It’s up to Aer—however, and if, He intends to do it.”

  She sighed. “Think of all the opportunities we missed. The beds in Cynestol were very comfortable.”

  I kissed her again. “I can’t rewrite the past,” I said, “but I’m yours whenever you wish.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “This,” I said. Like any man, I’d imagined what union with my betrothed would be like. There, in the privacy of the delve, I let those imaginings flow through the bond, images of sight and touch and all the senses, the future hope that had given me strength.

  I blinked and found myself in the midst of our camp. Gael had broken the delve and stepped away, staring at me with her eyes wide and a flush on her cheeks. She exhaled quickly, almost a pant. I couldn’t tell whether she was angry or pleased, but I knew I’d crossed a line that couldn’t be uncrossed. My betrothed knew exactly what, and how, I thought of her.

  “Lord Dura,” Gael said, “you are the biggest fraud on earth.”

  “I . . . um . . . how so?”

  Her brows lowered and a dangerous tint came into her eyes. “For months you’ve bantered with me, pretending embarrassment at my flirtations.” Her hands balled into fists, and she shot a pointed glance at my head. “Is this how you’ve pictured me in your thoughts?”

  I’d never been able to lie to Gael, but I was tempted to try anyway. “Yes,” I said, “many times.”

  She closed the distance between us so quickly that I didn’t have time to defend myself, her fists coming for my head. I tried to brace for the blow, but at the last second, her hands opened and she cupped the sides of my face and kissed me, laughing. “Oh, Willet, do you think to shock me?” She shook her head at me. “We’re betrothed. If you’ve never seen how I’ve imagined you, it’s because you never looked deeply enough.”

  She stepped back and looked around the camp. “It’s time to go.” Looking at me, she laughed. “It’s customary during wedding vows for the bride and groom to hold hands during haeling. That should prove interesting. I do hope you’ll be able to make it through the ceremony without spilling anything.”

  I didn’t respond. I was too busy wondering what imaginings lay in Gael’s thoughts that I hadn’t seen. Then a different thought occurred to me. For months I’d cudgeled my brain, trying to figure out a way for Gael and me to enjoy centuries of life together such as Toria Deel had desired with Volsk. The prospect of outliving her by centuries had daunted me. I didn’t wish to face the reality that she would grow old while I remained young. Now, I realized there might be another way. Of course, while it solved our problem from Gael’s point of view, it did nothing to solve it from mine.

  Chapter 60

  A mile down the road, Bolt and Rory were waiting for us. I made to dismount, but Bolt waved at me, telling me not to bother. He and Rory grabbed a couple of spare horses and swung up to join us. With a word to Queen Erendella, we were thundering north at a canter, working to put distance behind us.

  “Nothing?” I asked.

  He looked more than a little annoyed, the planes of his face harder than usual. “No. Rory and I aren’t gifted trackers, but with no more of a head start than they had, we should have been able to run a couple of them down. It’s like they disappeared.”

  “What are the chances that every one of the people who came looking for us last night had been trained in woodcraft?” I asked.

  Bolt snorted. “Most of those in Cesla’s army are common men and women who wandered into the forest looking for treasure. I’m guessing few were trained in anything.”

  That description might have been apt enough to describe me ten years earlier. “That means someone taught them.”

  “Cesla?” Rory asked. “Do they teach you how to track in the Vigil?”

  “If they do, nobody’s mentioned it to me,” I said. “But we’re not really fighting Cesla. The fool did the one thing he wasn’t supposed to do. He delved the Darkwater and opened himself to the Fayit imprisoned there.”

  “How strong are they?” Gael asked.

  “There’s no way to know,” I said. “My conversations with Ealdor never touched on them, except to say that if the prison is breached, the war’s over.” I pulled a breath heavy with mist and the scent of cedar. “I think the Exordium of the liturgy gives us the best clue. After their war, the Fayit divided their gifts, talents, and temperaments among their offspring until they felt they were weak enough. Imagine someone possessing all of them,” I said. “They would be so much more than human.”

  “That’s what Laewan meant,” Rory said. “Just before we killed him he said he would show us the depth of our diminishment.”

  I tried to imagine fighting someone equipped with every gift, talent, and temperament that Aer had created—and got just far enough in the process to feel sick. “I think I’d rather not find out.” I looked at Bolt. “Can we push the horses hard enough to escape their net?”

  He shrugged. “That depends on whether or not the people coming after us can find mounts. If I were them, that’s what I would do.”

  “They’re probably still trying to hide,” Rory said. “How can they possibly catch up to us?”

  I looked at Bolt. “You tell him.”

  “Training a replacement didn’t used to be like this,” he grumbled. “All I had to do before Cesla’s sin was beat my apprentices black and blue until they learned to keep me from doing it.” He turned to Rory. “If they find horses and track us, they’ll run us down long before dawn tomorrow. We’ll have to stop at nightfall. They won’t. So, tell me, apprentice, what should we do?”

  Rory’s eyes narrowed in thought. “I’ve never had to deceive someone smarter than me before.”

  I laughed. “Modest.”

  But Rory didn’t laugh. He just looked at me with that brown-eyed stare that saw everything. “Pretending to be less than I am isn’t modesty. It’s a lie.” He looked at the earth on either of the road. “How well can a gifted tracker follow a trail?”

  Bolt’s expression grew sour. “Well enough to make it look like magic, even without the Fayits’ help. I’ve seen men who could look at hoofprints and tell you how heavy the rider was.”

  “So you’re saying there’s no way to lose them?” Rory asked.

  “Not if they’re that good.”

  He sighed. “And since we’ve seen them, they’ve seen us.”

  As I watched Rory think through the problem, I willed our mounts to go faster, but a horse can hold a canter for only so long and a full gallop for even less. At a signal from Erendella’s captain, we dropped into a trot.

  “We need a village, a river, and supplies,” Rory said.

  Bolt caught my eye. “What do you have in mind?”

  Rory waved a hand at our company, some twenty strong. “There are too many of us. We can’t help but leave a trail a blind man could follow. If we leave the road, there’s no way they’ll miss it,” he said. “The earth is soft enough to betray us. We need to buy enough horses at the next village to split up without making it look like we have. We can load the horses so that the weight is the same and then divide. We can send the queen’s guards one way while the rest of us head the other. A stream or a river would help cover th
e deception.”

  Bolt nodded in approval. “It’s not perfect, but it’s probably the best we’re going to be able to do.”

  Rory looked offended. “It’s a pretty good plan, yah?”

  “As far as throwing the trackers off the scent, it’s fine,” Bolt said. “But how are we going to disguise the fact that we bought up most of the village’s horses? That’s pretty hard to miss.”

  “Mirren and I can take care of that,” I said, “but it’s still going to be obvious something happened. We’re going to leave a lot of muddled villagers behind us.”

  “And we’re leaving the bulk of our protection behind,” Bolt added. “I’m not a big fan of voluntarily putting myself in a weaker position.”

  It took me the better part of two hours to convince Erendella of the necessity of the plan. She kept echoing my own concerns, and try as I might, I couldn’t shake my fear of fighting a being vastly more gifted than anyone in history, but on the outskirts of Cleofan, we split our forces.

  “Was that really the best we could do?” Gael asked as she watched Erendella’s men leave by the north road. “Most of those mounts are ready for pasture.”

  “Or the tanner,” Erendella said.

  I couldn’t help but agree. “They can buy more at the next village. They’ll get a few leagues out of them.”

  “We hope,” Bolt said.

  I nodded. “If we didn’t, we would have given up a long time ago.”

  Rory knelt, looking at hoof impressions in the earth, comparing the village mounts to ours. “I can’t tell the difference,” he said. “Will they be able to?”

  “I don’t know.”

  We mounted and put the nose of each horse east. Gael rode next to me with Mirren on the other side. Rory took point, despite the low likelihood of meeting a dwimor here in the pastures and fields of northern Caisel. Erendella and Herregina rode behind me with Bolt guarding our rear.

  The fact that I rode with the most concentrated collection of gifts in the north failed to cheer me. Mirren and I were spent. The presence of so many armed men and women passing through the village had aroused the curiosity of most of the populace. We’d had to muddle the memories of nearly every resident, at least those we could get to. The children who’d seen us had sensed something amiss and had run away before we could touch them.

  We crested a hill a few hours after noon, and I heard Rory’s shout of satisfaction. Below us lay a small branch of the Dirgewater. “Thank Aer,” I said.

  Bolt rode up beside us to take a look. “It’s about time something went right, but there’s bound to be farms along the banks. We won’t be able to completely disguise our passing.”

  “At least it will buy us some time.”

  He nodded. “Let’s get the horses into the water and ride north until dusk. When we leave the river, do it separately, and look for rocks so you can hide the tracks.” He sighed. “We’ll still have to find a place to hide our camp.”

  The rolling farmland of this part of Caisel didn’t offer much in the way of forests, but we managed to find a hollow between two hills that offered concealment. The fold of land had caught the windblown seeds of a few trees and brush so we were able to hide the horses.

  “Will they find us?” Gael asked.

  I pretended confidence I didn’t have. “No, I don’t think so.” If they found our tracks coming out of the river, they’d be on us before daybreak.

  She tapped me on the head. “Whatever Ealdor put in here is the key to defeating Cesla and the Darkwater. You have to live.”

  I hoped she would stop there, but she didn’t, of course. When Gael wanted to make a point, she didn’t do it by half measures.

  “My life isn’t as crucial,” she continued. “I’m not going to ask you to be less than you are, but don’t die for me.”

  The argument wasn’t one either of us could win, so I let it go. If Cesla’s men found our tracks, they’d be coming from the west, so we put the horses to the eastern side of the little stand of trees, and the six of us bedded down for another dark camp.

  Two hours into the night, I woke and stumbled my way to Erendella.

  “Your Majesty,” I called softly.

  “Yes?” Erendella answered, but so did Herregina on her far side.

  “Have you contacted Rymark recently?” I asked.

  She might have shifted in the darkness. “There’s trouble in Treflow.”

  “What is it?”

  “Treflow is the closest major city to the forest,” she said. “Gold fever hit there pretty hard, and Toria Deel and Fess haven’t returned yet.”

  “So he has no way of knowing who’s been to the forest,” I said. “The tidings keep getting worse.”

  “Not all of them,” Erendella said. “Queen Ulrezia is only two days away, and Pellin has returned from the southern continent.”

  “Is there any word about Regent Cailin and Brod?”

  “No, I’m sorry, Lord Dura.”

  I gnawed the inside of my cheek. “We need all six.”

  I heard what might have been a soft chuckle from Erendella. “It’s amusing to think that we and all the kings and queens before us have been so wrong about our place in history.”

  “How so?” I asked.

  “Lord Dura,” she said, “you’re being polite. I’m sure you’ve noticed a certain arrogance in the kings and queens of the north.”

  “I’ve seen it in nearly everyone who holds power,” I said. “But King Laidir was a man of uncommon humility for all the power he held.”

  “I wish I had known him better,” she said. “Still, it’s humbling to realize that my position as queen is hardly the gift of divine right that our history claims. Instead, it’s a creation of the Fayit, an artifice against the evil of the Darkwater.”

  I shook my head. “A construct, perhaps, but the gift does more than just provide a last hope. It provides the people of this continent with wise rulers.”

  “Wise?” she asked. I couldn’t see her, but I could hear the smile in her voice.

  “Well, I hope so—most of the time, anyway.”

  “I would like to be worthy of that hope, Lord Dura. Thank you. I will keep the scrying stone at hand. If I hear anything, I will let you know.”

  Hearing the note of dismissal, I went back to my blanket. Gael put a hand protectively over me but didn’t offer any conversation to go with the gesture, and I fell asleep.

  I couldn’t breathe.

  Frantic, I reached for the hand covering my mouth. Warm breath covered my ear. “Don’t move,” Gael said. “They’ve found us.”

  Bolt crouched a couple of paces away. The sky lightened from a sea of black to charcoal. Dawn would be coming soon, but not soon enough.

  A figure materialized. Rory.

  “There’s only the one,” he whispered. “He passed by our hiding spot and then doubled back. I don’t know if he heard us or smelled the horses.”

  “Where there’s one, there’s more,” Bolt said.

  But Rory shook his head. “Not anywhere close. I would have seen them from the top of the hill.” He paused. “It’s not one of the men we saw before.”

  “Willet Dura!”

  I flinched. “That’s probably not a lucky guess.”

  “Willet Dura,” the man’s voice called again. “I know you’re there and your scout has already confirmed I’m alone. Will you parley? You may bring your guards.”

  “If you move,” Bolt said. “I’ll knock you unconscious.”

  I looked at Rory. “Is it Cesla?”

  “No,” he said. “This fellow is short and probably in his thirties. If he wasn’t wearing a uniform, I’d spot him for a tanner or some such.”

  “Willet Dura,” the voice called again. “Dawn approaches and our opportunity for conversation is short. Will you waste it?”

  I looked at Bolt.

  “You know this has to be a trap,” he said.

  I nodded. Already the sky showed hints of blue and all but the brighte
st stars had winked out. “Yes, but what kind?” I looked at Rory. “You’re sure he’s alone.”

  He nodded. “And unarmed as far as I can tell.”

  Bolt let loose with an impressive string of curses.

  “You never told me you had a talent for language,” I said.

  “I should have stayed in Arinwold,” he said. “I liked it there. Quiet. Mostly sheep. No fool-headed reeves to watch over.” He looked at Rory. “You’re coming. If this fellow even blinks wrong, kill him.”

  “Not you,” I said to Gael. “If anything goes wrong, you have to get Mirren and the queens to Treflow.”

  She nodded, but her eyes were slits. “We’re going to talk later, and I can guarantee you’re not going to enjoy it.”

  I walked out of the thicket with Bolt and Rory. In the predawn morning, I saw a solitary figure in Owmead’s colors, standing where the hills flattened out to level ground. A bird cried once, a questioning call that went unanswered.

  “How close do we have to be for you to guarantee a kill?” Bolt asked Rory.

  “From ten paces in, I won’t miss.”

  We stopped at eight.

  “Greetings, Lord Dura,” the voice said. “I’ve come to offer you terms of surrender.”

  “Why should I accept anything but unconditional surrender from you?” I asked.

  The man smirked. It might have been a trick of the light or its absence, but it seemed an intelligence old beyond imagining glittered in his eyes. “Glib to the last,” he said. “Gabbanal Ador, Ealdor’s brother, thought to show me the back of his hand when I surrounded his forces and called for his surrender. Time has no meaning for us, but I took enough of it to teach him all the variations of pain before I let him die.”

  Cold spread through my middle, as if I’d swallowed a lump of ice. “But you were defeated yourself, Atol. Were you not?”

  The man laughed. “Do you think to cow me with Ealdor’s knowledge? I have given myself a name that no one knows.” He cocked his head. “You really don’t understand. Allow me to enlighten you. Your battle against me is hopeless, Lord Dura. In fact, each day—”