Shadow and Light

by Peter Sartucci

Duke Darnaud and Boerga; they knew I would be there. They were waiting for me.

  He stopped between one pace and the next, in the shadow of a fig tree leaning over a courtyard wall. Only one person had known he would be leaving the Palace by the Diplomatic Gate and Messenger Street. His stomach churned and he tasted acid at the back of his throat; the world suddenly seemed made of knives. He shrank into the tree’s shadow, into his own Shadow, then looked across the cobbles and up. The top of Chisaad’s tower loomed over the neighborhood. Mage-lit windows glared at the pale moons.

  Oh no. Please no. Magister wouldn’t betray me like that.

  But even Mother Gee had betrayed him to Ymera. He remembered Mage Yellow’s bitter words.

  “He’s survived eighteen years as Royal Wizard, and that takes more lies and dealings than a peasant like you can imagine.”

  Kirin crouched against the wall while his thoughts raced.

  I did what he wanted. I kidnapped the Prince out of his own Palace. Magister replaced him with a golem. What if . . . what if that was the whole point?

  Kirin wrapped his arms across his chest in an agony of doubt. Holy Haroun help me! What do I do now?

  The top of the wizard’s tower blinked and drew Kirin’s attention back to it. A moment later he saw someone moving between a mage lamp and the windows. Two someones, throwing shadows on the glass.

  He said he would put spells on the Prince to disguise his face and voice, so I could bring him home with me, and then a spell to keep him inside. But what if he isn’t doing that at all?

  Kirin shivered. I have to know what’s really happening.

  He stood up, wrapped his Shadow close about him, and glided toward the tower.

  A carriage waited at the curb in front of the wizard’s residence. The yawning coachman wore the Governor’s livery. Kirin felt sick; if this scheme included Ap Marn it must be even more twisted than he’d thought. In the courtyard three bodyguards lounged on the front step, gossiping and waiting. There would be no getting in unobserved by the front door.

  Kirin slunk around the block to the alley behind the house. Tower and house both blazed with spells that had been strengthened since yesterday. A barred gate denied entry to the delivery tunnel leading into the back courtyard and he couldn’t possibly squeeze over or under its heavy timbers. The tower had a rear postern door opening into the alley, also firmly shut; he remembered that Chisaad kept it barred on the inside. The rectangular tower had no windows on the outer side at all for the first two floors, only a small window in the back stairwell above the postern door.

  It stood slightly open.

  He measured the distance with his acrobat’s eye. About twenty feet up to the window, too high to jump, but the massive door frame below offered a path.

  This could be a trap.

  He stopped, stared at the glass panes. Nine of them, arranged three by three in a wooden frame. There should be a latch on the inside and the gap could pass a hand to release it.

  Magister might have told the Duke where I’d be. If he did, then he tried to get me killed. Maybe this open window is a trick.

  Kirin hesitated. Another thought followed.

  If I don’t find out what he’s really doing, I’ll have nothing to tell my family except that I helped kidnap the Prince and then Duke Darnaud tried to kill me. Maia and Sevan would believe me when I say the wizard betrayed me; would anyone else?

  I have to know more.

  He gulped, steadied himself, and began to climb the door-frame.

  The spells didn’t notice him, but their glow distracted him, he had to strain to ignore it. Slow centuries had worn away the mortar, in some places the gap between the cut granite blocks ate as much as three finger-widths deep and half that wide. He found enough purchase to make it to the windowsill and slip into the back stairwell. Voices drifted down from above, indistinct. He began to ascend, his soft buskins making no sound on the stone treads.

  He found a tiny landing and a door at each floor. The door into the tower’s top floor had been shut but not barred. He tried to remember the big room, pictured the decagram in his mind, the table where the golem had rested, a lot of book shelves, but no back door. Some of the bookshelves had been pushed back to make room for the decagram and left standing in untidy disarray; this door might be behind them. Gently, slowly, he pressed the wood panel open, bit by bit. He prayed it wouldn’t creak.

  The voices became clear. The room was brightly lit but the door got none of it. He had guessed right, two large bookshelves had been shoved in front of it, only an arm’s-length away. One had spilled books and scrolls to leave a gap at waist height that he could look through. He slipped through the door, knelt and stared.

  The prince lay naked on the table with his wrists and ankles bound, still unconscious. The wizard did something to his head while talking to former-Governor Ap Marn.

  “There, the anchor is ready. The final step is to link the spells on my golem with the spells on his mind, so the golem knows everything he knows.”

  Chisaad whispered something and made a gesture. The Prince twitched, groaned, rolled his head back and forth, and awoke. Kirin stared in horrified fascination at the glittery spider nestled amid bloody hair on the top of Prince Terrell’s head.

  * * *

  Terrell awoke from bad dreams to find himself muttering incoherently. His head pounded with the worst headache he’d ever known and he wasn’t in his own bed. He turned his head side to side as he took in the surroundings. A strange room with two familiar faces leaning over him: Ap Marn and Chisaad.

  “Wh- what happened?” he asked through the headache. “Where am I?” Then, belatedly discovering his bindings, he demanded, “What’s happening?”

  Ap Marn chuckled. “You replaced me, so I replaced you, young fool. Enjoying the sensation, My Lord?” An ugly bite freighted the words and an uglier glare filled the Gwythlo Lord’s eyes. “I hope not, because it’s about to get much worse, and that worse will last for as long as your bitch of a mother lives. After that we won’t need you alive anymore.”

  Terrell flicked his gaze to Chisaad. “Conspiracy, Chisaad? Why?”

  “Because I need you alive until the Choosing, Your Highness. Don’t bother asking more, you wouldn’t understand. Meanwhile we’re sending you to a place we’ve prepared for you. I’m afraid you’ll find the accommodations rather rough, but you’ll have an excellent view of our ancestors’ folly.”

  “Accommodations?” Terrell pressed, desperate for information. “Ancestor’s folly? You mean the Scarp? Or Purification Lake?”

  “Oh, very good, Terrell, excellent deductions from very little evidence. Shimoor would be proud of you.” Chisaad smiled. “But still a few miles off. You expressed a wish to see ruined Silbariki, so I’ve arranged it. I’m afraid you can’t be allowed to wander around—it’s half-underwater anyway—but you’ll be able to see the most impressive part from your prison.”

  Terrell tried to surreptitiously test the knots while the wizard spoke, but Ap Marn caught him at it and laughed. “Don’t bother, boy, I still know how to tie a good knot.” The ex-Governor looked at Chisaad. “Do we really need him awake for this?”

  Yes! Terrell thought; the next few minutes might hold essential clues he would need to escape.

  “No,” said the wizard calmly, twisting the lid off a canister.

  Dung! Terrell turned his head aside as Chisaad slapped a familiar-smelling rag across his face. He tried to jackknife himself off the table with his legs but Ap Marn held him; he tried to hold his breath, but the fumes worked their way with him anyway. His last sight was of a pair of familiar black eyes staring at him through a shelf half filled with books. For an instant he saw himself struggling against his captors’ grips. Then the drug took him, and his consciousness spiraled down into darkness.

  * * *

  Kirin bowed his head, nauseated as much by the brief renewal of the mind-link as by the conspirators’ words. Three times, it happened three times! The Prince’s t
ightly-controlled terror shook his soul. He fought the urge to vomit despite the emptiness of his stomach.

  When he looked up again, Ap Marn had brought one of his men into the room to lift the sleeping Prince. The big Gwythlo carried him to the decagram under Ap Marn’s direction, the wizard joined them there. With a swift flash of power, they were gone.

  Kirin fumbled his way back into the stairwell, barely retaining the presence of mind to shut the door behind him. He nearly fell as he descended the stairs, caught himself and breathed deeply, then made it back to the little window. He had to dash tears out of his eyes before he looked out to make sure nobody waited below. It took several breaths to calm himself enough to descend the wall. He lost his grip only at the end. He dropped the final few feet to the pavement and caught his balance with long practice.

  Then he ran blindly through the streets of the city with his Shadow drawn around him like a fraying cloak, his mind churning as badly as his gut.

  This is my fault! What do I do?

  CHAPTER 31: MAIA AND KIRIN

  “You will all remain quiet or your children will die.”

  Maia heard the Gwythlo woman’s imperious declaration and believed her instantly. The weathered woman and the silent cowled man at her elbow had growled at the DiUmbra family as soldiers poured into their quarters and rousted everybody out of bed. Those pale-skinned men waved unsheathed swords to herd the family into the corridor. Maia clutched baby Grigor tightly and he mewled a protest.

  The woman’s eyes fixed on her like a beast sighting prey. “You. Are you his woman? Is that child of his seed? Tell me!”

  Maia cringed, then forced herself to raise her chin. “I’m Maia Sule DiUmbra. My son is Grigor Sule DiUmbra. My husband is Kirin Sule DiUmbra. What do you want?”

  “Him,” the woman said unpleasantly. “The rest of you are means to that end. You,” she pointed to Grandfather and the other men of the family; most of them wore loincloths or nothing in the hot summer night. “Take your women into your rooms. Lie on the floors with the doors open. Do not show yourselves at the windows, do not cry out, do not speak at all. Your children will be held in there,” she pointed to the family dining room. “If you are silent, if you are still, if you obey,” she stressed the last word, “they will be released unharmed. You have my word on that, and my promise of vengeance if you disobey me.”

  She glared at them all and Maia could practically feel the magic crackling in her, and the rage. The combination terrified her. This Gwythlo had to be stronger than any priestess Maia had ever met. The swordsmen held their blades point-up and ready. Grandfather, tense with outrage, opened his mouth, but Grandmother grabbed his arm and squeezed it. He shut his jaws with a snap and stalked with her into their room. The rest of the family did likewise with many backward glances. The Gwythlo woman allowed Carlai and Sevan to keep their baby with them, but separated Ger and Silla from their five children. The Gwythlos swept Attir in with the smaller kids, who clung to him and his two eldest cousins for reassurance. Attir’s mouth firmed as he gathered them to him and led them into the dining room, head held high.

  “Not you.” The blonde woman turned back to Maia. “You and your whelp stay near me.”

  Maia looked beseechingly at Sevan as he shepherded his wife and child into their bedroom. He looked torn as he hesitated in the door, hands opening and closing helplessly and as stark naked as Carlai. But the pale cowled man raised his sword and gestured with it. Sevan dropped his gaze and followed his wife.

  “Now.” The woman said coldly, staring at Maia with hard blue eyes. “You will take me to your room.”

  Maia bowed her head and did as directed while her mind raced. She settled herself on the bed pad and gave baby Grigor her breast while the woman hung a lantern from a clothes-peg and arranged it so that it lit the bed and window but left the door-end of the room in shadow. The woman stood and stared at her and the baby like a reptile. Maia found it impossible to hide her fear.

  “Half-bloods are abominations,” the Druid suddenly announced. “Mingling pure Gwythlo blood with you darkies ? It’s like mating with hyenas!” She spit as if she couldn’t get the taste of the words out of her mouth fast enough. Abruptly the woman knelt on the end of the bed. “Hold still,” she hissed as Maia tried to shrink away. Then the Gwythlo laid one rough hand on the baby’s head. Maia could feel the magic flowing around them both.

  “Ahhhh.” The woman drew back her hand as if she had touched something foul. “You lay with him and begat that willingly, didn’t you?”

  “He’s my husband!” Maia objected. “I love him!”

  The woman shook a finger at her. “Answer only the questions I ask, slut. You enjoyed rutting with that tainted blood, didn’t you?”

  Maia raised her chin in defiance. “My husband pillowed me with kindness and consideration every time. Could anything be more joyous this side of heaven?”

  The woman slapped her. “Demon-lover.”

  Maia tasted blood where her teeth cut the inside of her cheek, and wisely kept silence. But in her heart the fear that had taken root the moment these pale strangers awoke her, now blossomed. This one wants my husband dead and our son with him.

  The cowled man slipped into the room and nodded to the woman. Maia looked down at baby Grigor to avoid both their gazes while she listened.

  “You have your outside men hidden well?” the woman demanded of the Gwythlo man in that language. “They must not frighten him away.”

  “Am I a babe?” the man answered in the same tongue, his voice a surly whisper. “Look to your own task. Are you sure he will come here?”

  “Yes,” the woman answered in a low voice. “The land-wights tell me this is the seat of his heart; he will not willingly stay away from it for long. If we must wait for dawn, we will. Be sure all the other rooms are dark. We must draw him in thoroughly. If we do not get him inside these walls he will escape again.”

  The big Gwythlo grunted angrily. “Do not forget who gives the orders, Druid.” But he left the room.

  Maia suppressed a shiver. Whatever that man may want, she wants Grigor and Kirin to die. What can I do? He may be home any moment!

  Baby Grigor refused the nipple and began to hiccup. Maya put him against her shoulder, deliberately holding him in a position which made him cry.

  The Druid scowled at her. “Quiet that noise.”

  “It’s too hot and stuffy,” Maia explained. “I wish we had a breeze.”

  The Druid hesitated, visibly calculating, then nodded decisively. “Display yourself at the window,” she directed.

  She means to dangle us like bait, Maia thought, fighting her fear while her thoughts raced. She knew what happened to both bait and fish in the end. But the window offered her opportunity, too.

  Maia stood in front of it, shifting Grigor down against her stomach where he would be more comfortable. He burped loudly and stopped crying, began to drowse. Her eyes grew accustomed to the night outside. The clouds had cleared, and both moons lit the Inn’s courtyard. She stared at the empty space while desperately hunting for the flicker of shadow that would mean her Kirin had arrived. Half praying he would not be there, half fearing he would.

  * * *

  Kirin slipped through the back alleys in his moving blot of Shadow. He hadn’t seen any sign of Duke Darnaud and his Druid since escaping the fight. He hoped that meant they had given up on killing him.

  Hah, he sneered at himself bitterly. I know too much now. I’ve got to get Maia and Grigor and escape the city. Or maybe go tell Mother Gee and let her tell Ymera? But Ymera sent me to Chisaad; she might be in on his plan. I wish Pieter was here. Who can I trust? What am I going to do?

  He vaulted over a garden wall into the Inn’s courtyard and headed for the exterior stair at the building’s north end. Then his eyes caught sight of Maia standing in the window of their bedroom holding Grigor, and he changed course to pass below her.

  She made no sign that she saw him, though she was used to his Shadow and
knew the difference between it and normal moon shadows. Then, before he could whistle to her, she did something that froze his voice in his throat.

  She dropped the baby out the window.

  His heart skipped a beat before he realized that she still held Grigor with her levitation talent. The baby slowly floated down through the night air like a leaf. A wail burst forth as Grigor wobbled above the paved yard and drifted farther from the Inn. Maia had to be straining her small talent to hold him at such a distance.

  Kirin raced to get beneath his descending son. Why—

  A man’s voice shouted, a woman snarled. Maia’s straining body leaned against the window frame. With shocking suddenness Kirin saw a length of steel blade burst from her belly as someone skewered her from behind. Her levitation failed; baby Grigor wailed as he plunged.

  Kirin caught him.

  Then Maia tipped forward and fell four stories from the window. She landed with a thud like a sack of flour hitting the pavement and drops of her blood splashed him. Kirin’s heart went numb. Duke Darnaud roared from the window above and brandished a bloody sword.

  Eight men appeared out of the Inn’s west wing and moved across the courtyard in a line toward Kirin, waving their swords like a moving hedge of steel. Two more came out of the alley to the Serpentine and blocked it.

  Rage and shock warred in his heart as he clutched his crying son close. He wanted to run toward Maia but knew it was useless. Instead he charged the nearest of the two men. His Shadow ravened forth faster than a panther’s leap. It seized the swordsman’s throat and drank his life in one gulp. The man’s sword fell from limp fingers and bounced on the pavement as he collapsed, dead before he hit the cobbles.

  The forbidden rush of blood-power almost knocked Kirin off his feet. Like Gerlach ten years ago, only now Kirin knew what he tasted. A life—memories of sweet apples, savage frozen winters glittering in wan northern sunlight, a welcoming yellow-haired girl in a hayloft, first taste of wine and oranges and strong Silbari curry, pride in a sharp sword and the blood shed by it, a glorious lord to follow—and ashen bone-pale death.