Lights and Shadows (The Prisoner and the Sun #2)

by Brad Magnarella

  Could that be? Iliff thought. Are there already those who have known nothing but the walls their entire lives? He was considering Gilpin’s words about the dangers of defensive walls becoming a prison when, from behind him, the front door began grating over the floor.

  Chapter 22

  Iliff left the boy and flew the length of the room. He reached the door before Lucious could cross the threshold.

  “He’s up,” Iliff whispered quickly. “He’s talking.” Holding fast to the door, he stood tall so as to block Lucious’ view of the far wall. He hoped too that the boy would not be able to see past him to the men.

  “What has he told you?” Lucious demanded.

  “He is innocent. He went out the gate on a friend’s dare,” he lied. “The Garott captured and interrogated him, yes, but he had nothing useful to reveal. It’s why they released him.”

  “And you believe him?”

  “I do.”

  Lucious looked at Iliff for a long moment, his expression twisting until it began to form an odd angle with his neck. Iliff steeled his mind just as cold pressure manifested between his eyes.

  “Get him to repeat it to me,” Lucious said. He tried to force the door wider. “I’ll be able to tell whether or not he’s being truthful.”

  “Come now,” Iliff said. “He’s been through enough already. It’s time we returned him to his mother.”

  “We’ve been talking,” Lucious whispered. “The men and I.” He eased his weight from the door a bit. “Whether or not he acted innocently, he’s still a danger to us. No, listen to me, if he’s done it once, he’ll do it again. This going and coming unseen—it makes us vulnerable. What good are our defenses then? What good are the walls? You, more than anybody, should understand this.”

  “The boy will not do it again,” Iliff said. “I’ll make him promise.”

  “But just that he can,” Lucious said with a huff. “It’s reason for gravest concern. Don’t you see that?”

  “It’s done, Lucious. Let us release him.”

  “We will, we will.” Lucious pressed his face closer to the door so that he was speaking almost in Iliff’s ear. “But there’s an opportunity here, Iliff. You ran to me this evening asking if the catapults could be gotten up. You stood where I now stand. And I tell you, yes, they can be gotten up.” His breath was thick with excitement. “There is a way, there is a way—but only if we keep together.”

  Iliff said nothing.

  “I will not lie, Iliff. I’ve considered other means for getting this war on. This voting, this Assembly, it’s held up as some kind of triumph of rule. But what’s the use of any such system, I ask, if it leads to the defilement of the very good it’s supposed to protect? But no matter. There’s a better way now.” Lucious’ eyes shifted. “And he stands behind you.”

  The boy had come forward and now stood, thin and pale, near the table at Iliff’s back.

  “The Garott are planning an attack,” Lucious whispered. “You know this. You feel it, as I do. It will not be like the last time when they underestimated our defenses, our fight. They will not err so again. Be assured, when they move, when they aggress to the Assembly’s satisfaction, we will have already lost. Your walls are strong, Iliff. But the Garott are cold-blooded and too many.”

  Lucious’ words struck fear in Iliff. He pictured the Garott pouring through breaches. He saw them climbing the walls of the bluff, overwhelming the Keep, overpowering everyone inside.

  Lucious pressed himself even closer. “It is known that the Garott held the boy. If he was found harmed—or worse—that should be considered aggression enough, don’t you think? We could launch our offensive then. Launch it first and catch them by surprise. But our window is small, Iliff.”

  Iliff became aware that the boy had moved again. He now stood behind the door, dim and diminutive in Iliff’s periphery.

  “With your help I can get into his mind.” Lucious’ words were mere breaths now. “It is a small sacrifice, Iliff. One done for your walls, for the Fythe. The boy would feel nothing.”

  “Lucious, I…” Iliff stopped and looked toward the boy. Silent eyes peered out from the corner. When Iliff turned back to the door, he did not slam it, but pushed it firmly closed, forcing Lucious out. He drew the bolt a mere instant before the door rattled in its frame. Soon it concussed with blows.

  “Here,” Iliff said to the boy. “Help me with the table.”

  The boy took one end, and together they dragged the table before the door. They went about the room then, grabbing items to pile on top of it—metal armor, weapons, pots, a locked chest, whatever they could find. Within minutes the pile hid the door, muffling the blows and angry cries beyond. Iliff pulled the boy to the back of the room.

  “Whatever happens, stay close to me,” he told him.

  Long minutes passed. The rattling would intensify, then settle down before renewing with even greater fury. At length the commotion ceased altogether. Iliff waited. He signaled to the boy to stay put. He was in the act of creeping forward to listen when the door barked and the table leapt. A chainmail shirt spilled to the floor. Iliff rushed to reinforce the table, but the door barked again, forcing the table out farther and dumping more items from it.

  They’ve found something to batter the door, Iliff thought.

  He threw his weight against the table. From beyond the door came labored voices and the heavy trot of feet. When the table jumped, it knocked Iliff to the floor. The trunk crashed beside him; fractured blades spilled around him. Before Iliff could get onto his feet, the men battered the door a fourth time, this time snapping the bolt. The table skidded toward him. Iliff rolled to the side and peered up to see a foot enter the door space and then a hand. The door strained against the table. Iliff picked up a notched sword, its hilt black with oil, and crouched in the middle of the room.

  “Stay behind me,” he called to the boy.

  The table scraped in another inch. And now Lucious’ red face craned through the door space, straining to peer inside. His burning eyes found Iliff and the boy. Iliff held up the sword, but it only seemed to incite Lucious further. He twisted his body past the door.

  “Come no farther,” Iliff warned.

  With a final heave, Lucious wrenched past the table. He quickly got his feet and faced Iliff.

  “Stand aside,” he breathed.

  Iliff steeled his thoughts and pointed the sword at Lucious, his hand numb from clenching the hilt. Lucious drew his scowl into a thin smile and stepped forward until his chest touched the point of the blade.

  “Go ahead,” he said.

  Iliff tensed his arm, but as Lucious continued to press forward, he found he could only draw the blade back. Lucious made a harsh sound like a laugh. Past his drenched hair, his face showed sharp and vicious. But looking on it now, Iliff felt sympathy. For here stood a man who had lost those he loved most dearly. Lost them to a race whose essence swam inside his own blood. There was violence there, yes, but also anguish. Deep anguish. Iliff had felt it, had experienced it. And with Lucious’ next step, he let the blade fall away.

  “Now then,” Lucious said, narrowing his eyes to the rear of the room.

  Behind Iliff, the boy screamed. Iliff turned in time to see him fall forward, the palms of his small hands to his brow. Without thinking, Iliff wheeled and swung the sword with all his strength. He allowed the slick hilt to twist in his hand at the last moment. The flat of the blade slammed into Lucious’ head and sent him crumpling to the floor. Shouts sounded from the doorway.

  Iliff called to the boy and pulled him to his side. The rest of the men barged inside and tried to encircle Iliff while staying a safe distance from his sword. Iliff backed toward the wall.

  “As a member of the Assembly,” he cried, “I order you to stand down!”

  “No…” came Lucious’ diminished voice. He remained on the floor, one hand holding his temple. Blood glistened darkly between his fingers. “If they leave, the Garott will hold the advantage. The town wi
ll fall. Is that what you want?” He craned his head toward Iliff. “Is that what you want?”

  The boy pressed himself into Iliff’s side.

  “If the Garott wish to attack,” Iliff said, “let them attack. And if we fall, we fall having fought a heroic fight. But to sacrifice the most innocent among us, there is no heroism in that.”

  “If we fall, everyone will be sacrificed,” Lucious promised.

  “We don’t know that,” Iliff said.

  “Everyone.”

  Iliff thought of Skye. He thought of the radiant little girl by the lakeshore and the strong, elegant woman she had become. In both she was pure. Iliff saw now that her purity came not from denying her blood ties to the Garott, but rather in seeking to reconcile with them. That was why light poured from her. That was why he found her so beautiful.

  Iliff dropped the sword and lifted the boy into his arms. Though the militia members tensed, none of them came forward to detain him. And when Iliff carried the boy past them, they rocked back on their heels. He did not turn to see if they pursued him. He did not even turn when Lucious called after him from the littered floor, his voice small and pitiful.

  “Wait…”

  Chapter 23

  The boy held tightly to Iliff all the way up the ramp. As news of his return spread among the guards, the search outside was called in and a large crowd emerged from the Keep. The boy’s mother rushed through and, in a fit of laughter and weeping, hugged Iliff while gathering the boy into her own arms. Newt said nothing. He simply pressed his face against her shoulder and nestled there, as though never meaning to leave her warmth and protection again.

  Horatio came running up. “Where was he? Is he harmed?”

  “He should see a healer, but he is all right,” Iliff said. He drew himself to Horatio’s side. “I need to speak with you. Skye and Stype as well.”

  They met in the captain’s quarters in the Keep. Horatio had Stype summoned and Skye joined them shortly. “I have been to see the boy,” she said. “His mind was strained, but there is no damage. He is sleeping now.” She took her seat among them. “Should we not call the entire Assembly?”

  “No, not yet,” Iliff said. “Much of what I’m going to tell you concerns your uncle. I think it better you hear it privately first.”

  Iliff gave his account, from the moment he arrived at Lucious’ dwelling to when he left with Newt. He told them of the boy’s capture by the Garott and their interest in the lay of the township. He also told them of Lucious’ interrogation of him, of his plan to use the boy to incite warfare.

  “I got no pleasure from striking him,” Iliff said. “In many ways, I understand him, pity him, even. But I fear he will make more trouble because of this. He may even attempt a takeover. War with the Garott means everything to him.”

  “Not to worry,” Horatio said. “Lucious is not so powerful as he believes, or would have others think. He has some influence with the militia, it’s true, but none among the guards. Any adventure he is planning would be quickly put down.”

  “And even within the militia he is monitored,” Stype added. “Our father knew well Lucious’ mind. He placed several trustworthy men around him. I will ask them to be especially vigilant.”

  The news relieved Iliff.

  “There is something else,” Iliff said. He had been weighing the matter ever since leaving Lucious’ dwelling with the boy. Now it was decided. “I am ready to support the truce. It will not be without problems, no,” he said. “But I agree with Skye. I believe it to be the right way forward.”

  He looked on Skye before turning back to Horatio. For the first time since Iliff had known him, the captain’s stern face opened into an expansive smile. He laughed and slapped Iliff’s knee.

  “From catapults to truce talk,” he exclaimed. “And both in the same day!”

  * * *

  Following their meeting, Iliff walked Skye to her room high in the Keep. Their footfalls echoed along the corridor in slow tandem. The hour was late. Skye took Iliff’s arm.

  “What changed your mind?” she asked.

  Iliff smiled at what he was about to say. “It was the boy, in fact. Newt. When I asked, he told me that he went through the gate to see what was out there. That was his reason. He just wanted to know.” Iliff ran his hand over the stone of the corridor. “These walls, Skye. I built them to keep us safe, to keep the horrors outside. But I see now that to maintain them as I have is to distort the very virtues they defend. Given time, even the most innocent among us would be confused for an enemy. A boy like Newt, for instance.”

  Or the boy I once was, he thought.

  “Do you not still worry about the Garott?” she asked.

  “Yes, of course,” he said. “They remain dangerous. But it’s also true that Newt suffered far less at their hands than at the hands of his fellows. That’s something I’ve also considered.”

  They arrived outside Skye’s room. Iliff stood facing her. “But more than anything, I trust you. I trust your insights into the nature of your races. In the end, your diplomacy will prove more helpful than any defenses I could ever build. I see that now.”

  Smiling, Skye rose toward him. She kissed his cheek very close to the angle of his mouth. She stayed there a moment, her fingertips alighting against his chest, before easing away.

  “I will call a meeting of the Assembly in the morning,” she said. “We will vote then.”

  “Yes, in the morning.” His head rocked with her closeness. “Very good.”

  “Sleep well, Iliff.”

  “Goodnight,” he murmured.

  She turned one final time, her eyes shining beneath the low stone archway, before retreating and pushing her door gently to.

  * * *

  The vote of the Assembly was unanimous. Even the representatives for the leatherworkers and blacksmiths spoke ‘yea’ for truce. For the first time in as long as Iliff could remember, the members cheered and embraced one another. Their colors, held so tense for so long, showed brilliantly around them in their sudden relief. Iliff felt his own tensions dispersing as well, as though fresh air were being breathed inside him. He watched Skye moving along the bench, hugging each member in turn, her smile seeming to give light to even the farthest corners of the room. When at last she came to him, she held him the longest.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  He nearly told her he loved her, nearly whispered it to her, but he shied from the words at the last moment.

  Within the hour, they were all gathered outside the west gate. The head farmer held a basket of assorted breads; the fisherman, a bundle of dried fish; and the weaver, a colorful tapestry. They awaited the arrival of Grier and his captains.

  Skye came to Iliff’s side. “I went to check on Lucious at his dwelling on the way here,” she said. “He does not answer, but the militia assures me he is not badly hurt. There are guards outside his door now.”

  “That makes me feel better,” Iliff said.

  They turned and watched the group of horsemen approaching, Grier at the lead. The horsemen pulled up and all dismounted. “Have you found your lad?” Grier called as he removed his helmet.

  “Yes,” Skye said. “He is safe.”

  “Good, I’m pleased to hear this.”

  “You should also be pleased to know that the Assembly has voted this morning,” she said. “We accept your offer of truce. Indeed, we embrace it. We believe it the best way forward for our races.”

  Grier looked from Skye to the Assembly. The smile that stretched his lips was tight, almost rigid, as one who was not accustomed to such expressions. He went around and seized several of their hands.

  “Thank you,” he said, accepting the three gifts. “I have long hoped for this moment, though I admit, I wasn’t sure it would come.” He bowed before Skye. “And I thank you, my lady. Your willingness to meet put us on this path. May your faith and courage be a model for us all in the coming years.”

  Several of the Assembly members spoke up the
n. They expressed their pleasure that both sides had chosen truce instead of warfare. They spoke hopefully of the coming trade.

  “Yes,” Skye said. “We should begin by arranging a formal meeting of our leadership.”

  “I’m content to meet anywhere,” Grier said. “A neutral site can be decided upon, if it pleases you. Perhaps outside your walls? Once the terms have been settled, we’ll return your lands and move to the far side of the lake as first proposed.”

  “Yes, very well,” Skye said. The others voiced their agreement.

  Iliff, who had been watching from the rear of the group, came forward now until he stood before the general. He looked on his sweep of gray-black hair, on the scars that marred his rugged face.

  “I want to apologize for last night,” Iliff said. “The roots of your races are common and go deep. I had no right to come between you.”

  Grier extended his arm toward Iliff. “I accept your apology,” he said.

  But before Iliff could grasp his hand, Grier made a choked noise, as though trying to cough, and moved his hand to his neck. The gifts spilled from his arm. Eyes swelling, Grier looked from Iliff to the members of the Assembly. It was only when he turned to wave his men forward that Iliff saw the shaft protruding from his throat.

  The Assembly murmured in confusion. The second arrow passed close enough for Iliff to hear it. Grier doubled over and fell to the ground. The Garott captains, who had mounted their horses, spurred them into a ring around their general, forcing Iliff back. From beneath their saddles, they drew slender swords. Horatio turned and looked wildly up and down the length of the wall.

  “Hold your fire!” he screamed. “Hold your fire, blast you!”

  But the guards along the wall appeared just as perplexed as he was. The arrows had not come from any of their bows.