The Nightblade Epic Volume Two: A Book of Underrealm, page 20
A shiver ran down Loren’s back. Chet’s brow furrowed as he looked back and forth between them.
“Another Shade?” he said. “That seems cause for a little concern, at least.”
“Constables tracked down his dwelling within the city,” said Eamin. “He stayed alone at an inn near the western gate, and arrived two weeks ago. It seems likely he was a lone informant, sent to spy on our doings and report to his masters. But they will receive no information from him.”
He quickly turned the conversation to other matters, and soon had Chet and Gem talking animatedly. But Loren thought only of the Shade for the rest of their meal, and for the rest of the day besides.
“I think I will go into the city today to retrieve my dagger,” she told Chet, as they sat together in his room later.
“Why?” he said. “The guard around our room has been doubled, and the palace is on high alert. The Shades would not try to attack us again.”
“It will give me some peace,” she said. “I have thought of it often, and though I trust Xain’s friend Aurel, still as long as the dagger is gone from me I feel as though something is missing.”
He slid closer, and slipped a hand about her waist. “Are you sure? Is there any way I can persuade you to stay?”
She slapped his hand and kissed him, and when at last she pulled back he was smiling. “No, there is not, brigand. I will return presently. If you remain awake, then you may do all the persuading you want.”
Her black cloak had hung unused on a hook by the door since almost the first day they arrived. Now she went to fetch it, wrapping it around herself before slipping out the door. She and the others had been given free rein to explore the Seat—all but Xain—and so the guards hardly glanced at her as she slipped past them and out into the night.
Guards challenged her at the gate, but she told them she only wanted to go for a stroll. They let her into the streets, which were now lit by torches against the darkness. Though the sun had set many hours ago, still there were plenty of wanderers, and she soon lost herself in the crowd.
She remembered the route they had taken to reach the silversmith’s shop, and soon found herself standing before his large red door. As they had done last time, she slipped around the back to knock on the service entrance. Aurel opened it after just a few knocks, peering out at her from the warm glow of his home.
“You … you are Xain’s friend,” he stammered. “Forgive me, my memory …”
“Loren,” she said, with an easy smile. “I have come for my things.”
He blinked twice, and then whirled and scampered into the workshop. “Of course, of course! Come in, come in. They have been kept safe, of course, for I heard about all those goings-on at the palace. So glad to hear you and Xain were not beheaded after all.” He gave a little cackle, and Loren forced a smile.
There was a crack in the floor she had not noticed, and into it the smith drove a metal spike. This he levered up until one of the stones came loose. Beneath was a shallow hole, and in the hole was her box. Aurel fetched it for her and placed it gingerly in her hands.
“There you are, girl. No one knew it was here, and no one knew what was inside—not even me!” He gave another odd little giggle.
“Thank you,” said Loren in earnest, for just to hold it was a relief. He turned away discreetly while she fetched her dagger and the packet of magestones from the box. When she was done, she closed it and handed it back to him.
“I am in your debt. If ever I can be of service to you—”
“Do not make me laugh,” said Aurel, waving his hand. “Anything for a friend of Xain. Come and visit whenever you wish, or if you ever need goods of silver.”
“I shall. And if anyone asks me who is the best silversmith in all the nine lands, I will tell them it is Aurel of the High King’s Seat.”
He kissed her cheek at that, and she vanished back into the night. Ducking into a back alley, she pulled forth one of the magestones and bit into it. She drew her dagger and held it reversed in her hand.
The dark streets lit like day, and the torches became like tiny pinpricks of light, weak and ineffectual compared to the illumination provided by her own sight. Now she moved with greater confidence, running through the darkest streets as she made her way west.
Once she reached the gate, she looked about for an inn. She soon discovered a problem: there were too many. The Seat was grander and more populated than any place she had seen before, and offered plentiful places for travelers to stay.
She found an old man leaning in the doorway of a shop, tugging at his beard as he watched her pass by. Loren stopped short, went to him, and gave him her friendliest smile.
“A good evening, friend. I heard tell the constables came through here, searching the room of some dead man. Can you tell me what inn they went to?”
“I heard something that sounded like that,” said the old man. “But age is the great poison of memory, they say, and has only one antidote.”
Her smile lost some of its warmth, but she dug into the purse at her belt and drew forth a gold weight. “Is this the antidote?”
The old man snatched the coin with a flourish. “It may well be. The very inn behind you, called the Shining Door, is the one you seek.” And he walked away, clicking his heels on the stones of the street.
Loren threw back her hood and stepped into the common room of the Shining Door. It was bustling with occupants, and in the commotion no one gave her a second glance. She studied the room, wondering if she would have to pay another gold piece to find out which room the Shade had paid for. But when she took a look upstairs, she found that unnecessary. One door hung loose, slanted on its hinges, and the jamb was splintered where it had been kicked in by the constables.
Looking over her shoulder to ensure she had not been followed, she ducked into the room. No lamps were lit—a welcome advantage, for while the darkness would keep anyone in the hallway from seeing her black cloak, it was no proof against her sight.
She went to the bed, hoping the sheets had not yet been changed. A quick sniff told her that was unlikely. Running her hand along the pillow, she found what she was looking for: a few pale hairs clinging to the fabric. These she picked up before leaving the room and making her way outside.
A moment’s search revealed the nearest torch, which she pulled from the wall and carried into an alley far from sight of any major street. She held the blade of her dagger over the flames as Jordel had taught her, until the air above the blade wavered in the warmth. Then she dropped the hairs onto the metal, where they fizzled and vanished in a puff of smoke.
The black designs on her dagger began to twist and shift, coiling around each other as though they were grasping for something. Then they snapped together, all pointing in one direction: east.
Loren grimaced. This was the magic Jordel had taught her, and now it told her several things. First, that there had been more than one Shade, for the one they found in the palace had been killed. The dagger would not reveal a corpse. Second, the other Shade—or mayhap there had been more than two?—was a wizard of some description, for the magic only worked upon them. And third, the other Shade had left the inn. Mayhap they had even left the Seat.
She owed it to herself at least to search, and so with the dagger acting as her compass, she ran through the city. She never faltered or stumbled, for in her eyes the streets were as bright as day. So she made her way tirelessly eastward, running at the loping, easy pace she had learned after years of running between the trees of the Birchwood.
But at last she reached the city’s eastern end, and before her loomed the gate that led to the docks thrusting out into the Great Bay. Still the designs on the dagger pointed east.
Mayhap it meant the Shade was on the other side of the gates, on a ship but still on the Seat. Loren doubted it. More likely the Shade had fled when their companion was killed, and was even now far away on the sea—mayhap in Dulmun, mayhap even farther. Wherever they were, they were beyond Loren’s reach, for the guards would not open the gate for her now, at night.
Shoulders slumped in defeat, Loren turned and made her way back through the city to the High King’s palace, and spent a fitful night thinking of the Shades.
SOME DAYS AFTER THAT, THE Lord Prince Eamin visited them once more. He had taken to wandering listless about the palace, slouching in his stance and dragging his feet. When he and Xain would sit together and drink wine, Loren overheard him confide to the wizard that he was bored out of his skull, and would much rather be on the road with his mother’s army than cooped up here like some prize hog. But today when he came to them, there was a bounce in his step and a rare light in his eyes.
“We received the first messenger back from the army,” he told them. “They reached Redbrook some days ago, and now march west for Wellmont.”
“They have made good time,” said Xain.
“They are fighters, and have sat here on this island for years and years, with no wars to fight,” said Eamin. “They were eager. The letter says the Dorsean army has already retreated from Selvan lands, and its generals have sent messages to the High King’s army begging for mercy.”
“Have they guessed that we know of their scheming with the Shades?” said Xain.
“That is what it sounds like,” said Eamin with a shrug. “And more is the pity! The first time we have marched to war, true war, in my lifetime, and it is over before a single battle can be fought.”
Loren found herself looking askance at him. She did not see it as any great loss to have avoided a battle between such mighty armies. But then, the Lord Prince was just the sort of man to long for the glory of battle. As he himself said, he had never truly fought in one. It was a curious thought, that she had seen the horror of war when such a great man had not.
“In any case, my mother—Her Majesty—thinks it might be a ruse. So we will accept their surrender, but proceed with caution just the same. The Dorseans will present all their military leaders, who will be put to the question by the constables’ most able practitioners for any connection to the Shades. Those who are found guilty will be executed.”
“A neat affair,” said Xain. “Though there will likely be more work to do afterwards. The Shades undoubtedly have pockets all over the nine kingdoms. None may be a threat in and of itself, but if united by the Necromancer their power could be disastrous. I do not think you need lament our current absence of war, for the fighting will surely—”
His words died on his lips as horns blared across the walls of the palace.
They all sat there frozen for an eyeblink. Then everyone tried to rise at once, making for the door. It flew open and they nearly fell out of it in their haste, but then the guards were there, blocking the way with their weapons.
“The wizard must remain,” said one of them. “By the orders of the High King.”
“He is allowed to leave with an escort, you twit,” said Eamin.
“While there are horns upon the wall, he shall stay,” said the guard. “Forgive me, Lord Prince, but I obey Her Majesty.”
Eamin looked as though he might argue it, but Xain pushed his shoulder. “Go. I will remain here. Only do not leave me waiting forever!”
Then they were all running down the hall, and soon they reached the courtyard and took the steps up to the wall. Chet was leaning heavily on Loren as they moved, and his breathing came hard, but still he kept pace with the rest of them.
“The horns come from the east!” said Eamin. “Quick!”
He ran along the wall until he reached the eastern battlements, and there slid to a stop with his hands on the stone. He leaned out, looking with squinted eyes across the sea. Loren and Chet joined him a moment later, searching in silence. The bay was shrouded in mist, for it was still early morning, and at first they saw nothing.
Then at last, they burst forth from the mist. Thousands of sails, lining the horizon from north to south. It was a fleet of Dulmun ships, each of them mightier than the Long Claw that had brought Loren and her friends to the Seat, and all ready for war. Though the distance was great, Loren could see the soldiers and sailors running back and forth across the decks as they prepared for a landing.
“Give me a moment,” she said quietly, and then ducked away from Chet to run for a torch that sat, unlit, in the wall. She pulled it out, then used her flint and tinder to light it before thrusting her dagger into the flames. It had been days since last she used it, and she had no idea if it would still work. But it did, for the designs twisted upon themselves almost immediately, and just as they had before, they all pointed towards the east.
Loren cursed and stomped out the torch before running back to the others. “The Shade the guards found in the night,” she said breathlessly. “He was not alone. His companion fled the Seat and went east to Dulmun, there to raise this fleet.”
Eamin stared at her in wonder. “How could you know that?”
“Trust only that I know it,” said Loren. “This is not some insurrection by Dulmun, but a planned stroke by the Shades.”
The air erupted with horns again, making Gem jump. He stomped his foot and shouted at the spires atop the palace. “Yes, we have heard you! You may stop blowing now!”
“Those are not the same horns,” said Eamin, looking fearful. “They came from the west.”
Wondering what could possibly be going on now, Loren took Chet’s arm again and helped him along as they followed the others in a mad run to the west wall. When they reached it they stopped, and Loren felt hope flee her. Before them lay the narrow strait between the High King’s Seat and the shores of Selvan. And upon those shores, still pouring out of the Birchwood forest, came a great army of Shades in grey and blue, mounting their boats and making ready for an assault upon the island.
THEY RAN BACK TO XAIN as quickly as they could. Loren had already started putting the pieces together in her mind, and when they reached the wizard, Eamin said what she had already begun to suspect.
“It was all a ruse,” he said, gasping from their run. “The Shades meant for us to think that Wellmont was their doing. They meant for you all to warn the High King, so that she would send out the Mystics and the greater strength of her own army to put a stop to the fighting. They never meant to start a war between Dorsea and Selvan. They always meant to take the Seat.”
Xain’s eyes were wide, and for the first time since she had known him, Loren thought he looked truly terrified. “They will sack the city. They will kill anyone they can get their hands on.”
But Loren herself felt sick, as though she could barely keep down her gorge. “It is our fault. We thought we were warning them, but we were only delivering the very message the Shades wanted us to bring.”
Eamin shook his head quickly. “You cannot blame yourselves for that. You could have done no differently than you did. We have been outfoxed, as simple as that.”
“Nothing is simple. I have doomed the Seat, and mayhap all the nine kingdoms. All because I thought to assume Jordel’s place, and take charge of a war I was never prepared to fight.”
“You did just what he would have done, and so you cannot insult yourself without insulting his memory,” said Eamin. “So ask yourself now: if Jordel were here, what would he do?”
Loren swallowed, eyes darting around, trying to think. She could only picture the sails coming in upon the horizon, and the shapes of grey and blue pouring from the Birchwood. “He would … he would save the High King. That is the only thing we can do. She must survive.”
“Just my thought,” said Eamin. “Let us see to it.”
They went to the door, but once again the guards stopped them. There were three of them, two swordsmen and a wizard, and their faces were hard.
“I am sorry, Lord Prince Eamin,” said the one who had spoken before. “I cannot disobey the High King.”
Eamin looked over his shoulder as though exasperated. But he fixed Loren with a knowing look. She nodded.
Quick as a blink, Eamin seized the guard’s tunic. His forehead came crashing down on the bridge of the man’s nose, and the guard crumpled to the floor. Loren leaped past the other for the wizard, whose eyes glowed white as she reached for her magic. But Loren knew she was a firemage, and Jordel had taught her something of how to deal with them. She clapped her hand over the woman’s mouth to keep her from speaking, then drove a fist into her gut. The light died in her eyes, and as Loren punched her in the jaw, those eyes rolled backwards. The woman collapsed.
Behind her, Eamin had already knocked the other guard unconscious. “A poor reward for doing their duty,” he said. “I shall have to remember to make things right with them, if any of us survive this.”
Then they were flying through the halls of the palace, which had erupted into a torrent of confusion. Soldiers, guards, and servants ran every which way, none of them seeming to know which way to go. But everywhere they went Eamin cried, “Warriors, to me! To your Lord Prince and the High King! The rest of you, flee the Seat! To me! To me!”
They heard him, and armed soldiers in plate stopped their scrambling to follow. Soon they had a fair little procession making its way through the palace, until they came to the throne room and found it guarded by men with spears. They leaped forwards to attack, but stopped when the saw the Lord Prince, and raised their weapons.
Eamin kicked open the door and ran in, Loren and the rest at his heels. The High King stood by her throne, and to Loren’s amazement a squire was helping her into a suit of plate armor. But she looked at Eamin and the rest of them as though this were any ordinary afternoon upon the island, and raised an eyebrow as if in mild interest.
“Lord Prince Eamin,” she said. “Have you any more news about what is happening, or must I continue listening to counselors who have no counsel?”
“Erin!” Xain saw his son standing among the courtiers clustered near the throne and went running for him.
