by Dave Duncan
"I think you did meet the duke, Father?"
There was an even longer silence, and then Aurolron sighed. "Yes. But you will not report that to anyone--anyone at all, is that clear? Many men have died to keep that secret."
The unseen eavesdropper shivered, but the prince was undeterred.
"Is it fair to me, Father? Look at me. Look in a mirror. When--in a long time, we all hope--you die, you are expecting me to kneel in homage to a bastard, sitting on your throne? I am your son! Would you do that?"
"What are you suggesting that I do?" the king demanded in a low voice.
"Obviously if you disown him, then you would have to put Mother to death," Jarkadon said, "which would certainly provoke gossip. Also Foan, which would mean a military campaign to catch him. I think you already found an easier solution."
Shadow shivered again.
"What are you hinting?" the king asked.
"Ingenious and simple, Father. All you had to do was say yes! But you are a perfectionist for security," Jarkadon continued. "Yet you let Vindax go off along the Rand, and you putNinomarin charge. He sent out proclamations announcing the plans! His family tree is very solid, but his head was carved from the trunk. You were not in character there, Father! And Mother--she detests scandal, I know, but even scandal could hardly upset her like this. She suspects!"
The king was still looking down at the papers. "She fears for his welfare, naturally."
"Naturally? But it would solve the problem, wouldn't it?" The prince was looking very pleased with himself. "However, they have been gone a long time, and they have singles. We should have heard. I began to wonder if you had overlooked something, Father, so I thought I would point it out."
"What?" the king asked, without raising his eyes.
"Harl."
"Harl!"The reaction seemed to astonish even Jarkadon.
"He's good!" the prince said. "I went along on a few of their practice flights, and I admit that I was impressed. And Vindax has put Harl-the-churl in charge. He lets him overrule Ninomar."
"Shadow?" the king muttered thoughtfully.
"Shadow," his son agreed. "Obviously he has kept Vindax alive this long. Perhaps he is too good for you."
A trace of the earlier anger flamed at that, but it was the prince who was in command now. King Shadow had never seen anything like this before.
Then Aurolron seemed to make an effort to assert himself. He picked up the two papers and started to tear them into small shreds. "You are a meddlesome, snooping busybody--but I suppose you inherit some of that from me. Your paternity, at least, is not in doubt. You will find curiosity useful. Who else knows of this? Have you discussed it with that rat pack you favor?"
The prince flushed. "With no one, Father."
"Good," the king said. "Very well, I congratulate you. I agree that I may have overlooked something. Forget this conversation. I shall take steps to uphold my honor, and I suggest that you now be more concerned with your own. You may withdraw."
Jarkadon rose and bowed low, but as he turned for the door, his face broke into a wide smile. Hastily Shadow closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wing of his chair, feigning sleep, afraid to meet the prince's gaze. His clothes were soaked with sweat.
He did not hear the equerry enter across the thick rug, and he jumped quite genuinely when the man spoke. He saw a few grins out in the anteroom. Shadow asleep on duty! Why had he never thought of that before? He must start dropping such hints, and perhaps he would win his retirement yet.
No more audiences were scheduled, only a few petitioners.
The king would not see them.
The equerry withdrew, and the door was closed. For an endless time the monarch sat at his desk and stared at Shadow's chair, making its occupant melt with terror.Did the king know?Had he been pretending ignorance all this time? If he as much as suspected that Shadow had overheard, then Shadow's death was very near.
And which story was correct? The king's mind was infinitely tortuous, and he had switched positions like a moth. Obviously he was betraying one son or lying to the other, but which? Or both?
Aurolron ended his brooding. He reached for the bell rope and summoned his most trusted secretary and another man, whose name was enough to send shivers down Shadow's back--ostensibly an armorer, he also applied his skill with hot iron as one of the royal torturers. The door was closed and then opened almost at once as the secretary scuttled in.
The king waited until the man was ready and then began. "To the crown prince: usual greetings...
"By our royal command: Terminate your journey at Gorr and do not continue to Ninar Foan. Return with all your companions as fast as practical. You may give your mother's health as a reason, but she is well.
"While you are in Gorr, a man named Ovla will seek audience with you. Admit him privily and receive him in private, with only Shadow present. You may allow a day or two for him to appear.Usual ending. Also, prepare a warrant for the arrest of the holder of Hiando Keep--a baronet, last name Harl. Look it up. And his wife. To be held incommunicado during our pleasure. We will receive the aerie archivist after lunch."
The secretary rose.
"Wait!" the king said. "There is more." He paused until the man was ready once more. "Add this to the prince's letter:I know that this revocation will distress you greatly, but I have good reasons for it, and the man Ovla knows them and will disclose them to you. Then you will understand that I am acting in your best interests only. We have much to discuss when you return, my son, and I regret that I have not taken you into my confidence sooner.That's all. Bring the private seal; I shall have another."
Shadow watched the secretary's stooped shoulders hurry through the door and puzzled on what all that had meant. Even after five kilodays, he could never unravel the spider's webs, the depths of his duplicities. Aurolron prided himself on never having to cancel an order. The feint of a recall, the double feint of that apparently sincere and personal addition to the impersonal command, the irresistible hint of secrets to be disclosed by Ovla...then what? What else would the mysterious Ovla bring?
Now the king had taken pen and parchment himself and was writing--and that was rare indeed. Only the most contrived machinations ever provoked him to use his own hand. For what seemed a long time he sat and wrote, while Shadow cowered in his chair and listened to the pen scratch like a fingernail on a coffin lid.
The king finished, read it over, folded it carefully. He rang once more, and then received the armorer, who smiled at Shadow as he went past. The man enjoyed his work.
"There is a Jion Paslo in the cells," the king said quietly.
"Yes, Majesty?"
The king sighed. "He is very stick."
Not expected to live.
"Any questions, Majesty?"
"None," said the king. "Quick and painless. I expect the warden's report within the hour." He passed over a ring as payment.
The man bowed. "About one hundred breaths, sire."
He paused at the door and gave Shadow another friendly smile. He always did that, and Shadow always wondered if he were being measured for a griddle.
The secretary returned, and the two letters were sealed.
"Both to be sent by the bird from Ninar Foan," the king said. "Take them to the aerie yourself and see that the lord eagler attends to the matter in person."
He rose and wandered along the room behind the secretary, looking amiable.
"Well, Shadow," he remarked cheerfully. "I think we have earned some lunch--are you well?"
"A touch of the grippe, Majesty, perhaps."
Aurolron frowned. "Then we shall send you to bed. We should not want you to become very sick."
Shadow shivered convulsively, as though he had an ague.
Someone was going to be very sick, he was sure, when that letter reached its destination.
Chapter 6
"Give a man the whole sky and he'll break his neck."
--Skyman proverb
WHY did
the world always feel colder when a man awoke from sleep? Shadow climbed quietly up to the top floor of the aerie, shivering and wondering. The sun was the same and the wind was the same, but he had not shivered when he had arrived at Vinok. The two troopers on sentry duty straightened when they saw him; nineteen eagles paid no attention.
The primitive toilets were on ground level, a long way down. No one else was awake, so Shadow moved to leeward and relieved himself over the perching wall.
A desolate place! The Rand here curved away from the sun, almost across the terminator. The lower hills were sheathed in perpetual shade, and the higher peaks glowed against a somber sky. The air was thin and bitter, the sun a bloodstain on the horizon.
He had slept badly, his mattress stretched across the door of the prince's room. That was an excess of zeal, perhaps, but that was no fault in a leader, and everyone in the party knew who made the decisions. Zeal, unfortunately, was little protection from either drafts or frequent giggling and rustling sounds--the countess had been working overtime at cheering up her prince. Raising the spirits by raising the flesh, she called it.
It was now forty-five days since they had left Ramo, and Vindax was still alive. The wild birds--and they had seen several flocks--had avoided so large a group. If wild men were planning violence, Shadow's precautions had confounded them so far.
His business ended, Shadow wandered over to the nearer guard.
"Good sky, trooper."
"Good sky to you, Shadow." It amused the troopers that he need not be saluted and yet could overrule a vice-marshal.
NailBiter and IceFire had stopped nuzzling each other. Shadow stared hard along the ridges rightward, seeing nothing but barren rock and rare wind scrub. "We are about to have visitors," he said.
The trooper blinked and turned to look. "I see nothing, Shadow."
"Nor do I. But I'll go and warn the others. Make spaces, in case they have spares."
Smiling to himself, Shadow headed for the steps. The eagles were all gazing rightward, and their combs were flickering as they did when they got excited. They could see something, and the timing was right--it must be the reply from Ninar Foan.
The trooper was still staring blankly at the hills.
It was a uniformly shivering and rumpled party that assembled on the aerie floor shortly afterward: gritty eyes, hunched shoulders, and--with four exceptions--bristled faces. A scent of wood smoke and scorched goat meat was drifting up the stairwell. Shadow's stomach knotted at the thought of more goat, and he was pleased to see that the newcomers did include two spares. The duke had thought to send supplies.
A spare would follow its mate without trouble--usually--but landing was tricky. Many a rider had been savaged on the perching wall before he could dismount. Shadow felt a quiet satisfaction at having ordered the troopers to clear spaces--the only safe place to land when there were spares loose was between two other birds, both safely hooded. The spares circled a few times, angry at not being able to perch next to their mates, and then settled down as close as possible.
Five eagles; three men. The first man rode a spectacular male silver; he must be the duke, Shadow decided, and his guess was confirmed when Elosa ran forward to hug him as soon as he cleared the bars.
But the duke did not merely return her hug momentarily and then gently set her aside so that he could approach the prince--which would have been proper. Nor did he boot the young lady all the way to Allaban--which might have been a natural parental reaction. He held her for a few minutes as though he were comforting a small child. Or were they getting their stories matched? The back of Vindax's neck began to grow hot as he waited.
Then the duke stepped away from Elosa, pulled off goggles and helmet, and advanced.
And the welcoming party froze like the ancient rocks of the Rand.
Tired and dusty in his flying suit, this man was Alvo, duke of Foan, keeper of the Rand, hero of the battle of Allaban, premier noble of the realm--and possible traitor, seducer of his sovereign's wife.
It was bitterly unfair, Shadow thought. Rarely do two men truly look alike, be they brother and brother, father and son, or cousin and cousin. Family resemblances are usually subtle, a feature here and a mannerism there. A skilled and keen skyman, the duke had retained his trim, athletic figure; even appproaching middle age he still looked youthful, and his body and his face were the body and face of the prince. There were differences: lines on the forehead and slight sags below the eyes. His neck and shoulders had thickened, he held himself with the greater authority of age, and he lacked the quick restlessness of the younger man, but the similarities far outweighed the differences. The beak nose, the bushy brows, the dark, deep eyes--seeing that astonishing identity, it was suddenly very hard to believe in a freak throwback in third cousins once removed.
Even if they were father and son, then nature was being infinitely ironic: Shadow had never seen father and son look quite so much alike. Remembering Jarkadon's resemblance to the king, he wondered if Queen Mayala had some curious property of not imparting anything of her own looks to her sons--and realized that he was now a believer.
"Your Highness," Elosa mumbled to the dusty floor, "may I have the honor of presenting my father, His Grace, the duke of Foan."
The two men bowed. Normally they should then have embraced, being relatives, but neither seemed capable of moving his feet. The duke's windburn showed like red blotches on white paper; his face was rigid. Shadow could see little of Vindax's face, but he suspected it was no more relaxed.
"Well met, Cousin," the prince said at last.
The duke took a deep breath and then made an appropriate speech. Vindax replied in a monotone. Neither took his eyes off the other.
Then Vindax seemed to shake himself. He proceeded to present his companions.
Prince and duke and Shadow stood in the tiny bedroom cubicle. Vindax had passed from shock into quivering rage. The older man had recovered his composure and seemed to be totally at ease.
"I deeply regret the misunderstanding, Highness," he said. "My wife and Sir Ukarres agree that they spoke with her, but only by chance meeting. The rebels were mentioned in passing, but there was certainly no talk of plotting or treachery. Young girls sometimes come up with strange fancies. They have romantic ideas."
The back of Vindax's neck turned pink--he did not like that obvious fiction. He did not reply.
The duke smiled cheerfully. "And your royal parents, they are in good health? The queen? It has been a long time since she illuminated my halls with her beauty, since I said farewell to her--at Gorr."
Deny, deny!
"She has been failing lately," Vindax said. "I think she was distressed at the thought of my journey. She may have thought that I would fall in with questionable characters."
The duke ignored the barb. His voice had a rough, country sound to it; the prince's carried the softer lilt of Ramo, but the two were one voice.
"And His Majesty?"
"Well, thank you, when we left. You have never met my father?"
"No," the duke said. "I never had the honor."
There was the obvious moment to extend the king's invitation to court, but it did not come. Instead Vindax suddenly snapped, "We are strangely alike, you and I!" Tension raised his voice above its normal pitch.
The duke laughed. "So I was informed by the royal courier,Cousin.He was quite astonished."
"He did not inform your daughter; she was very astonished."
That shaft struck; certainly the duke would have dragged all the details out of Tuy Rorin. He colored.
"I repeat, Highness, that she has romantic notions. You are most welcome to my home. You will be quite safe--as prince and as relative. Our hospitality is genuine and heartfelt, although conditions will be more humble than you are used to."
There was a pause, and then Vindax obviously came to a decision--anger was useless, and the situation must be resolved with at least a public display of fellowship.
"So humble that you and
I must share a dressing room, Your Grace?"
Foan blinked. "Certainly not, Highness. Why?"
"We could save on a shaving mirror," Vindax said.
And so Crown Prince Vindax flew on to Ninar Foan, a bleak and forbidding castle looming over a drab town, its rough stone walls swept by the chill winds of the Rand and lit by a reluctant red sun.
The proprieties were observed--there were formal presentations and a dinner in the great hall. The participants went through their paces like puppets, royal party and castle dwellers alike. It was unfair! Even an unusually close resemblance could have been tactfully ignored in public and passed off with a wink in private but not this twinlike identity. There were eighteen in the royal party. They would not all remain silent; they could not all be put to death. There had been others; thinking back, Shadow could remember looks of shock and disbelief from some of the gentry they had visited, the near or far neighbors who knew the Keeper. Already the word must be working its way back along the Rand like an infection, heading for the court.
The scandal made his job harder, now and in the future. If Jarkadon did not already have a faction of his own, then he certainly would soon, whether he wanted it or not. He would. The death of Vindax might seem like a very logical and desirable solution to many people: the duke, the queen, the king, Jarkadon, the duchess, Elosa...the list ballooned in his mind. Surely none of those was capable of murder, but the thought must be there, and there were always fanatics and overeager supporters.
Three days of festivities were three days of vigilance. In one sense, Shadow had an easier time than the rest, for his attention had to remain fixedly on the problem of safety and he had no time for brooding about politics, no need to edge around verbal precipices.
There was a reception for the local gentry, who stared aghast at this younger reflection of their duke.
There were discussions of crops and taxes, of justice and order, and those were safe subjects.
There was a tour of the aerie to examine the celebrated Ninar Foan silvers. The duke was gracious over the problem of NailBiter's illicit seduction; he had more serious problems than that to worry about.