Shadow Over Avalon (21 page)

“No need. I have witnessed your voluntary offer and accept on behalf of our commander. Take the room at the top of the stairs for tonight; I’ll escort you to barracks tomorrow morning. Now I intend to get some sleep, unless there’s anything else?”

“I’d like to register my reassignment with the Archive, if you don’t mind.”

Ector nodded. “There’s an interface in your room. Goodnight.”

The room was a revelation. Fitted out as a guest room, with a double bed, dressers on either side and a vanity table with a mirror and a low stool, it was more suited to a female guest.

Arthur trusted this man, an individual who was popular with all the acolytes, and someone he had always regarded as a friend. They enjoyed learning warfare strategy from him when he had time to volunteer his services, which had ended when Morgan came along to claim his attention. Seer elders went tight-lipped over Morgan, and Arthur knew Ector needed permission to produce a child – and not with just anyone, it had to be a high ranking seer. A child of such a union could be guaranteed an elevated psi factor, so did this child come to Ector’s care because she was one of the head-blind, judged without telepathic skills?

And then there was the Archive. It played its own game. There existed puzzle pieces here that he needed to fit together, and he would have to play this game out before he got them all.

Ector had a manual implant link fitted to the interface in Arthur’s temporary haven. It took time to connect, but he managed with the aid of a hand-held mirror and the screen turned to a reflective surface. There was a sensation of triumphant glee from the Archive when it joined him. First point to his side.

“Arthur, do you wish a return to Sanctuary without being observed? I can deactivate security screens.”

“Is it your intent that I return?”

“Ector upset you with his interference. I can manage him, so there is no need for you to honor your promise.”

“I formally register volunteering for Elite corps duties,” Arthur declared, knowing he was baiting it. He had just scored his second point on intercepting an important slip: the Archive had been snooping.

“Is this your decision, or Ector’s? Take time to consider this move carefully.”

“I have. I will not be limited by Sanctuary any longer.”

“No regrets?”

“I’ll miss Circe. She won’t speak to me unless I take the vows, but you know this already. I can detect your subtle probing after an extended absence from link.”

“I am sorry I intruded, Arthur. I did not want you swayed by others. I have uploaded your resignation from Sanctuary and registered you with the Elite corps.”

“This pleases you? I haven’t the power to snoop,
I
have to ask.”

“Shadow was also angry at my intrusion. I prefer Ector’s more civilized approach. He ignored my presence until he ran out of patience.”

“What now? I swim to your current?”

“No, Arthur. I observe individuals, I don’t manipulate them. Free agents are far too refreshing for any interference.”

“I want continued access to Shadow’s file, since I get to choose. Commence.”

*

Earth Date 3874

Shadow lay concealed by a bush, scant cover on this chalky hillside, watching a dust cloud in the distance while Thor occupied himself on the other side of the hill securing their mounts. She heard faint sounds as he crept around the brow. He wriggled under the bush to join her, crushing low-growing heather in his wake. Shadow breathed deeply, enjoying the rich smell.

“I cursed the dry weather, but now it serves us well. Can you make out anything?” he said.

“Riders. See the other cloud to the right?”

Thor shaded his eyes with his hand. “Yes, not on the trail. They’ll meet just at the head of this valley.”

Shadow picked a stalk of grass to chew as she watched. She wouldn’t have bothered with signs of others in transit if they went toward High Fort; these did not. Two riders now aimed for a megalith in the center of the valley, just off to the left of the main trail. They wore no tabards and traveled light. Shadow stretched out her mind over the distance.

Intrigue and secrecy – a message they wanted lay hidden by that rock. Her brothers looked to the right as another rider, also Brethren, rode down over a slight rise to them. The first two seemed surprised. Shadow pressed harder; frustrated she could get nothing past basic emotions. Ector had said head-blind Terrans were easy, but something blocked her probe. The newcomer seemed just as closed, except Shadow sensed a quest-search from him.

“An ambush?” Thor asked.

“Brethren. Wait.”

“Go visit with them,” he suggested.

“No. Better this way. Not know of our traveling party yet.”

“I wish you’d take the time to speak plainly. You can when you want to.” He threw a rock at a low flying bird, missed, and swore.

Shadow, not intending to aggravate him, continued, “The first two did not expect a third. Going down there will tell I have company. Might spoil their plans. This way we see where they go.”

“Don’t you trust your brothers?”

“We are all bought. They work as I.”

Shadow turned back to the group. The latecomer looked familiar, yet she could not make out his features enough to place him in her ragged memory. His bright thatch of hair reminded her of someone. The other two were strangers to her. One of them dismounted to take something from the base of the rock. They split up, two headed for High Fort, and the loner turned south.

“Well?” Thor demanded.

“Not our problem. Two different missions.”

“How can you tell from this distance?” Thor said. “They might not even be Brethren.”

Shadow rolled over on her back, enjoying the sight of white clouds against an azure sky. She considered how shocked Thor would be if she answered.

“Hellcat. Don’t you dare go to that Brethren place of yours to daydream when we should be riding trail.”

“Not yet, our dust might turn them.” Shadow rubbed at her neck where her collar chaffed against tight shut membranes. The heat didn’t help.

A hard hand snapped round her wrist. Thor leaned over, frowning. “Never touch raw wounds with dirty hands. I’ve got the makings of a poultice in my saddlebags. Bare the area.”

Shadow laughed, thrusting aside his hand. He would die of fright if he saw those structures working.

“No common ground between us, not even a genuine offer of help? You Brethren hate us that much?”

“Hatred follows fear, not indifference. Nothing left of value to lose. Tend our own hurts. Owe no fort-man.”

“Have it your way, dark sister.” Thor spat on the hand that had touched her, wiping it off on grass. “Lief found a group of men curious about bedding you. It cost him bruised knuckles to convince them they didn’t need dark brothers screaming for blood. I think he wasted his effort. If they’d gotten close enough, they’d have lost interest. Just what are you?”

“Not human.” No, not human by his standards, nor ever had been – a bag of skin hiding fish and metal masquerading as Brethren, a cadaver lingering among the living. Thor should have hit a raw spot. People loved, hated, cried, and laughed with joy; Shadow knew how empty she had become. There had been a time when feeling started to return, and then Boy had shut her out. She tried to cry, but tears didn’t come, never came now, and she walled off that last spark of soul. She was not a living being, just a tool to function for others.

“I am human, and should’ve known better,” Thor said, quiet voiced. “Maybe it’s that pretty face that makes it so hard to accept you’re Brethren. I know Outcasts won’t take help, and I was wrong to offer. I was doubly wrong to hit back with such a low blow. Pax, wild one?”

Shadow couldn’t breathe. A mad moth flew wildly inside her head, flitting with blind ecstasy around those two words. A face formed inside that desolate void and said, ‘Pax, wild one.’ Blue eyes pleaded, the windows of the soul begged for mercy, and had it been given . . . ? Did she kill?
Disengage—disengage!

“Hey, cat? I said sorry—a fey Outcast! What do you see?” Thor was up on his knees in a moment, leaning over with both hands digging into her shoulders.

“Winding trails to hell.” The vision was a mere fragment of a moment in time.

“You’re going to die?”

“Fortune falls where it will.” The sweet stench of death was in her mind. She didn’t know whether she saw the past or the future. Danger lurked nearby. A reassessment adjusted her plans as Thor backed off.

“We reach High Fort tonight?”

“Yes,” Thor said.

“Tell Lief I trade for harness and saddle. Better if I seem a free agent. Who knows what work is on offer?”

“Clever. Why don’t you tell him yourself?”

“Getting too near priests. I can feel words slipping away. Soon mute.” Shadow stood up, shading her eyes against the sun to spot the course taken by Brethren. They had not changed direction.

“Is it safe to ride?”

Shadow nodded, starting back for her mount.

All through the remaining daylight hours, she picked at the edges of her vision. When they rejoined the main party before sunset, she slipped back to rearguard position without waiting to be told. All Outcasts rode thus when entering forts.

As night closed in she made out the glow of High Fort, and heard that noise in her mind, the same one she had heard in Grimes. She resigned herself to becoming dumb again as Lief came riding back to her, reining in his mount to keep pace.

“Terms agreed. Stop a moment,” he requested.

Shadow brought her mount to a halt, watching in amazement as he cut marks in her reins with his belt knife, then slashed her saddle with a small cross hatch. A spoiling of gear to indicate transference of ownership to an Outcast.

“Wise call, hellcat. My father hadn’t intended a trade of harness. What is this Thor tells me about working arrangements?”

“Not work near . . . you. Must seem free,” Shadow managed.

“Already dumb? Damn, I wanted more information! How can I learn who tries for me if you can’t speak?”

“Tell . . . name.”

“What if I ask the priest to release your tongue?”

Shadow shook her head. How to tell him not to ask; priests mustn’t know she could hear their interference.

“We’ll work round it. Don’t like priests, do you, hellcat?”

Again she shook her head.

“Surprising what one notices on a trip. There’s a certain style of eating people have. Silvers aren’t so bad, but Bronze Bands resemble pigs at a trough. I watched you . . . dine. How does a Gold Band lady sink so low?”

Shadow looked at him, shocked. Her fragmented memory didn’t allow a recollection of her past life, but he was right. Her manners at the table were better than most other people.

“I thought as much. I would’ve traded my soul for a War Maid with your looks. Yes, hellcat, I mean it. Whoever let you go was a fool. And don’t look at me like that, I haven’t developed a death wish.”

“Dragon Duke,” Shadow reminded.

“I asked him if he’d got any Outcasts at Tadgell. There wasn’t one to hire at High Fort this summer, and I’d heard he welcomed them. That’s why I wondered if you were his creature when you turned up.”

“Not an . . . insult.” She could not guess why Dragon had taken offence at a simple question.

“I didn’t think so, but he drew on me. Alsar had him hauled off to cool down somewhere. You ever been to Tadgell? A fort set in sea cliffs, near the Western badlands?”

Shadow knew of the badlands. There could be half a score of forts along the west coast cliff. Her concept of locations remained limited to a very few she had seen on Ector’s map, and a vague memory of High’s placement: impossible to forget the position of High Fort. She shrugged, spurring her horse after the main party.

“Hey, cat! Wait up,” Lief called. He galloped up to her side to keep pace until they slowed at the tail of the company.

“I don’t want a running feud. If the Dragon Duke still wants my blood, can you tell him I didn’t intend to cause offence?”

“Pass . . . the word.”

Enjoying new smells and the strolling entertainers, Shadow steered her mount through the throngs of talking, laughing, shouting people and strolling musicians; all battering her senses after the quiet of open land. A group of idle soldiers lounged outside a large, brown tent. A ranking trooper lay just inside the open flaps, sprawled across four bags of straw. Shadow dismounted, walking to him.

The man sat up. “Itinerant or working?”

“Grimes outrider.”

“Itinerant, then. Your food and board for however long it takes to find outside work in exchange for keeping the peace here, or you can leave right now.”

“Terms?”

“No other contracts within High Fort. Keep your weapons to prevent duels. No Gold Band men are to hack each other into small pieces—retainers don’t matter. Kill any lower orders, wherever originating, if a Gold Band is threatened.”

“Time?”

“Clear out at your own convenience. We want your kind working with us to make this a blood-free celebration. Any prior commitments?”