Shadow

by Dave Duncan

  Sald needed to know what he was required to do--where to stand, when to sit, how much to drink when he tasted the wine--but his mind was still caught up in the thought of the Rand. "How long?"

  "About a hectoday, there and back."

  A hundred days in the air: new country and watch after watch of soaring, finding the thermals, analyzing the terrain--his heart began to pound at the thought. It would be the adventure of a lifetime and the best thing NailBiter could get. It would not give Sald back his freedom, but it would help.

  Vindax had apparently misread his expression. "Don't worry--you cover me, but the others will cover you."

  "Why?" Sald demanded, and his stupidity provoked royal impatience.

  "Because otherwise you'll crack like an egg."

  Sald bristled. Was his courage being questioned? Or his skill? He was as alert as any, and NailBiter would see danger long before he would. "NailBiter can dodge anything in the sky," he said--and stopped.

  Shadow's job was to not dodge: a great honor and a very short life expectancy.

  Vindax read his expression correctly this time and nodded in grim satisfaction. He headed for the door without another word.

  The crown prince's enforced absence from public view was ended. He walked out to play his role in the life of the court, followed one pace behind, as always, by Shadow.

  Chapter 2

  It's an ill wind that changes direction."

  --Proverb

  "

  ELOSA? Elosa! Wake up!"

  Elosa opened her eyes and blinked up at her mother. Jassina, on the cot in the corner, awoke with a scream.

  "Quiet, you stupid girl!" the duchess snapped. "Leave us!"

  Jassina scrambled to her feet and ran, stumbling, to the door. It thudded shut behind her.

  "I don't believe I heard you knock," Elosa said.

  "Very likely not," her mother agreed. "Put your wrap on and come with me. It's important."

  There was only one important thing around Ninar Foan at the moment. "The prince? You've had word?"

  "Yes. Hurry!"

  Obviously the duchess was not about to explain. Elosa put on an expression of wounded, dignity and took her time. The dingy pink lighting did nothing to improve her bleary-eyed feelings, nor did the gray stone walls and threadbare carpet. She had been evicted two days before from her own room, which was much larger and more fancy--and sunside. She found it hard to sleep without sunlight shining in her window; her father took the church's precepts seriously and required that all the castle drapes be closed during the third watch, but even as a child, Elosa had sneaked out of bed when her parents had left and let the sun back in.

  She slipped into her blue vicunya wrap, which was conveniently lying on the chair by her bed, then sat before the mirror and started to brush her hair. Normally Jassina did that for her. She was hoping that the delay would annoy her mother enough to make her say what all this was about, but the duchess had moved over to the window, a brooding, angular figure in moody brown colors. What her father had ever seen in the woman was a constant puzzle to Elosa--too tall, faceted in flat planes and sharp joints, her colorless hair pulled back in a bun, and a constant air of suppressed despair. Although perhaps that was worse lately?

  Elosa herself had inherited not only her father's glossy black hair but also his trim skyman frame--she was deliciously tiny and proud of it. In her leather flying suit she looked like a boy, very fashionable among the aristocracy, and she came from the very highest levels in the aristocracy. Her mother, a mere earl's daughter, did not.

  "There was an eagle in the sun today," the duchess muttered. "That always means bad news."

  "I expect if you were feeling less liverish you would have seen an onion or a floor mop," Elosa retorted, tossing the brush away. Obviously the hair strategy was not going to work. "Now, do I get an explanation?"

  Her mother strode to the door, tapped, and opened it. That tap gritted in Elosa's ears. She had not merely been evicted from her own room and forced into sharing with Jassina, but the anteroom which should have been her maid's was now occupied by aman,and she had to pass through it to enter or leave her own.

  At least he was awake and dressed. Sir Ukarres rose with difficulty, leaning on his cane and bent sharply at the hips. One side of his wrinkled ocher face was permanently pulled down, giving him a quizzical expression; the eye on that side was blind. He was as ancient as the Ark, but also impossible to dislike for very long at a stretch. As well as being a distant relative, Ukarres was seneschal, and it was he, not the duchess, who was making arrangements for the crown prince's visit; that lady had no excuse at all for her bad temper and frayed nerves.

  "Elosa!" he said in his whispery voice. "Please forgive this imposition. It distresses us greatly to disturb you like this, and before three bells, too."

  "I had not noticed that so far," Elosa replied.

  "Are you going to leave him stand there all day?" the duchess demanded, closing the door.

  "I thought you were in charge," Elosa said. "Uncle, please sit. I shall be quite comfortable here." She perched on the bed.

  The old man eased painfully back into his chair. The duchess stepped over to the window and stared out at nothing once more. Ukarres leaned both hands on his cane and studied the floor for a minute, as though uncertain how to begin. He did not even have a carpet over the flagstones, Elosa noticed.

  "Elosa, my dear," he said at last. "You are very close now to your seventh kiloday, and therefore adulthood. I have regarded you as an adult for some time now, and I hope I have treated you as such? What I have to tell you is very much adult business. We are relying on you for discretion."

  That was more like it. "Of course I shall respect your confidence, Uncle."

  Ukarres nodded and gave her his scanty-tooth smile. "Good! We have just had word that the prince is making better time than expected. He has sent word that he will reach Vinok today. If the hunting is good, he will remain there a day or two. Otherwise he will be with us by first bell tomorrow."

  Elosa's heart started a little solo dance in fast time. "That is good news."

  Sir Ukarres hesitated. "Yes...and no. Of course the whole place is in a panic now--we were not ready."

  He seemed to dry up, and Elosa felt a twinge of uneasiness. "What's wrong?"

  The old man glanced at the duchess, who was still looking out the window, and then back to Elosa. "Have you not noticed? You remember when the royal courier first brought the news that the prince was coming?"

  Elosa would never forget that excitement, that moment. They had all been dining in the great hall when that scarlet figure had appeared in the doorway. She would never forget--he was the first royal courier she had ever seen. "Of course, Uncle."

  "I don't think your father has smiled since."

  What? But it was true that her father had seemed strangely preoccupied lately. And her mother was certainly bitchy.

  Now it was Elosa who glanced at the duchess's back and found no help there. "You mean he doesn't welcome the prince's visit, Uncle?" she asked.

  "It is a grave responsibility," he said. "And not only have we just had news that the prince is almost upon us, but there is also word of danger. Remember, this is in confidence." His voice dropped, although it was never much more than a whisper. "There will be an attempt made on his life when he is here--here at Ninar Foan."

  Elosa gasped. "The rebels? They wouldn't dare! And how could they? The castle is impregnable! Uncle, you are joking."

  He shook his head. "We have clear warnings of treachery, Elosa, within the castle itself."

  "But..." The idea was too absurd, and yet surely he must be serious. "Then you must guard him!"

  "Oh, he is always well guarded," Ukarres admitted. "I do not for a moment say it will succeed. But even the attempt would be a disaster for the honor of your father's house." He shuddered. "Think of the king's vengeance!"

  "Vengeance?" Elosa snapped. "Uncle, you forget your history--the king owes F
ather an eternal debt."

  "It is not history to me," Ukarres said sadly. "And debts, being orphans, die young."

  "But..." she said again. "But the castle servantry are all father's thralls and have served us all their lives! Who?"

  "We don't know. Your father does not know."

  "Elosa," her mother said, wheeling around. "He is worried to death. You must have noticed how ill he looks? Or don't you even see--"

  Ukarres held up a hand to silence her. "Your parents--and I--are extremely worried. We take this very seriously. Your father has decided that Vindax should be warned--advised not to come here."

  Not come? It was unthinkable. All her life she had known that her destiny was to marry the crown prince. After all, she was the daughter of the premier noble, and there was a great dearth of eligible girls within Rantorra and even in the adjoining kingdom of Piatorra. She had all the qualifications: breeding, rank, age, beauty. When that royal courier had appeared, she had been certain that he was bringing the invitation to court which she had long dreamed of. And instead the prince himself had been coming to Ninar Foan. No crown prince had ever done that--nor any king of Rantorra, either, without an army. His reason was obvious. And now he was to be stopped?

  "Obviously," Ukarres said, "such things cannot be said in public. Nor can they be written--the honor of your house is involved, my lady. It is a shameful thing, but less shameful than the alternative. Your father will take the message himself."

  Just for a moment she was suspicious. The problem with Ukarres, Vak Vonimor said, was that he did not know a bowstring from a knot; but her mother would not engage in trickery, and she could think of no motive for the old man to make up such a story.

  "When?" she demanded.

  He looked surprised at the question. "After two bells, when everyone is asleep...and the meeting with the prince will be more private while most of his party are asleep also. Nobody else knows this, of course, my dear. The preparations are going ahead, but tomorrow there will be word of some crisis in Ramo which demands the prince's return."

  "Why are you telling me this?" she demanded.

  "Because I know how disappointed you will be," he said. "I thought a day to prepare yourself..." His wrinkles deepened in an understanding smile; somehow the lopsidedness made his smiles irresistible. "I know it must be a blow for you, my dear. I am sure that the prince will send for you to come to court, afterward."

  She was about to say that she would go to Vinok with her father, and then stopped in time. Her father would refuse. "Peddling my wares?" he would ask, and she could hear his scornful tone quite clearly. No, she had a much better idea.

  "Thank you, Uncle," she said, rising.

  He struggled to his feet. "My sorrow, to be the bearer of bad tidings. And now it is almost three bells. I shall be prompt for breakfast, for the first time in memory."

  "I must go and see about the flowers," the duchess said.

  "And I must get dressed," Elosa said.

  She hurried toward her room, worried that her face might reveal her excitement. As the door closed behind her, Ukarres and the duchess glanced at each other and exchanged nods.

  Elosa scrambled into her flying suit without even summoning Jassina to assist her. She, not her father, would warn the prince! Her father had rescued the queen; she would warn the queen's son! Poetic! Ironic! And she knew she looked best in a flying suit--first impressions were important.

  She would soar in over the hills, lonely, heroic. She would kneel to him, her raven hair falling loose as she pulled off her helmet. If he was any sort of man at all, that would stun him.

  How to stop her father, though? She could leave a note for Ukarres, but that might be discovered too soon, in time for pursuit. No, she would lay a false trail.

  She headed for the aerie. Three bells had not yet rung, and she met no one; all were asleep, she assumed, until she neared the top of the stairs and heard the noise.

  Normally the aerie was a peaceful place, four walls of stout bars supporting a high pyramid roof. A man could step between those bars; an eagle could not. Around the central stairwell, within the caged area, was the piled litter of generations--tables and bins and bales and discarded harnesses and helpful clutter which would always yield up a useful scrap or gadget when required.

  Beyond the bars on all four sides lay the terrace, flanked by a low wall whose top provided perching for the birds. Always fifty or so of them stood there, still and silent giants, their backs to the room, staring out over the world like enormous silhouetted gargoyles. The wind blew gently from darkward, even and constant, stirring small motions in the birds' feathers, swirling tiny ripples in the mute dust which coated the floor and gave the aerie its distinctive musty, bitter smell.

  Silent giants, the birds preened themselves, and they preened their neighbors' heads, but mostly they just stood. Once in a while a bird would shift from one foot to the other, clanking the rungs of its leash, or bend its head to snatch a pebble from the range pot, or feak its beak against the parapet; but mostly they just stood, staring out into the world as though thinking grave thoughts. Their eyes glared fixedly, but sometimes their heads turned to try another view. Much of the time they showed no movement except the eternal restless ripplings of their scarlet combs. As a child she had wondered greatly what they thought and what they watched. The castle and town were spread below them, so they could know everything that happened in the world of men--if they cared. Certainly no one moved within the aerie but the birds knew; nothing could creep up on an eagle. At times all the heads would line up, and it was likely then that goats or sheep were moving on the distant hills. A bird could see a smile farther than a man could see a man, so it was said.

  Once in a while a mutebat would swoop down from the rafters to snatch up a pellet and whir back again. Once in a long while a bat would fly too close to a great waiting beak and then--snap!

  There were browns and bronzes and silvers. The browns wore the livery of their country cousins, the wilds, the original stock. Bronzes were common, and she had heard tell of some that verged on gold. Silvers were very rare, and Ninar Foan had worked for generations on its silvers; her own IceFire was almost pure, the best silver in Rantorra, her father said. Only a few dark pinions marred her blue-white splendor, and the scarlet comb shone above it like a ruby. IceFire had been Elosa's sixth kiloday present. Breeding birds was a long-term task; they were likely to outlive their owners and their owners' grandchildren.

  Her happiest childhood memories were of this aerie, playing in the litter, watching the birds. How excited she had been when one arrived, a vast spread of wings obscuring the sky! And even more excited when one departed, its gallant rider aboard, leaping off into space and suddenly not there. One of the first things she had been taught was that the bars were the limit; step through the bars onto the terrace and the birds would eat you. She had not really believed that then, although she did now, but within the cage she had played until that day when her father had first taken her into the sky. She had been barely past her second kilo, and yet she remembered every moment. That day the eagles had stolen her heart.

  The aerie was not peaceful now. Elosa stopped at the top of the long stairs in astonishment. The place was total bedlam, men and boys running around with loads and getting in one another's way. A line of boys was sweeping up the dust, raising hideous, choking clouds of it, turning everything gray. The familiar junk pile had almost vanished, being systematically dragged over to darkside and hurled. Vak Vonimor, the eagler, was loud in argument with several helpers, apparently rehashing yet again the best method of ridding the aerie of mutebats, and tempers were rising. Men were tidying and stacking equipment: saddles and harnesses and hoods. As fast as one group formed a neat pile, it seemed, another would move it. The birds were twisting their heads back and forth, disturbed and fretting.

  The prince was coming, and Ninar Foan's aerie was getting its first real reorganization in a megaday. Typical of men, she thought, to leave i
t until almost too late.

  She surveyed the chaos for a few moments in silence and then took the bird by the beak. She marched over to Vak himself.

  "Master Vonimor!"

  He glanced around, rolled his eyes, and muttered something which Elosa decided not to have heard.

  "My lady?"

  "Be so kind as to have IceFire dressed at once," Elosa said firmly.

  "My lady..." Vak Vonimor was not a patient man, and it was said that he feared only the keeper himself--and his daughter. Today perhaps only the keeper. "His Grace instructed us to move the birds, my lady. And to make the place ready. He assured us that no birds would be flown today." His round face was picket-fenced with dust and sweat; it did not, however, look too convinced of victory.

  "I have decided--he has agreed that I may fly," Elosa replied.

  "IceFire is not due for a kill today," Vonimor muttered, yielding to the inevitable.

  "I was not planning to hunt her, merely to get away from all this...this mayhem."

  He rolled his eyes again. "Very well, my lady. Cover?" He glanced around. "Tuy! Dress IceFire and take...take ThunderClaw."

  The youth addressed broke into a wide grin and dashed away before Vonimor could change his mind. Elosa scowled, but it had no effect. Vonimor knew very well what she thought about Tuy Rorin. He had been a young hellion when she was a young hellion, only slightly older than she and more hellionish, given to pulling hair and jumping out at girls from dark corners. Now he was more inclined to pull girls into the dark corners, scything a promiscuous swath through the chamber and scullery maids. His mother was a cook, his official father the gateman, but even as a child he had obviously belonged elsewhere, and he had announced his arrival at puberty by developing the charm, the great hooked nose, and the bushy black brows that were unmistakably of the House of Foan. Her father had sown several such around the town and castle in his youth, and Elosa preferred not to be reminded. None of them resembled him as Tuy Rorin did, fortunately. A cook's son...half brother? Ugh!