Shadowheart (63 page)

Barrick shook his head. Just the thought was exhausting. “I scarcely remember speaking with my own kind, and I don’t feel any strong urge to do it again. Who are they, anyway? Do you know yet?”

Again Saqri seemed to consider. “They are commanded by a prince of Syan. I am told his name is Eneas.”

“Enander’s son? I know of him. He is said to be a good man.” Barrick let his head sag back down onto the cushion. “If I am truly needed, I’ll manage. I’ll come. ...”

“You have convinced me,” said the queen. “Stay. Rest and grow stronger.” She bent and kissed his forehead with a touch dry as paper.

When Saqri had gone the healer named Sunset Pearl came back to Barrick’s bedside with a cup in her hand. “Drink this,” she said. “I think it will do you no harm, and it may do you much good.”

He stared at her. He was feeling truly tired now, struggling to keep his eyes open. “You
think
it will do me no harm?”

She looked back at him sourly. There was something catlike about her, but it was a cat that had seen many years and many disappointments. “I have never plied my craft on a mortal man. Content yourself that if you die in terrible agony I will at least know what not to do with the next mortal.”

He laughed a bit despite himself. “And who do you think will recommend any other mortals come to you if you kill me?” He lifted the cup to his lips, closing his eyes to try to make sense out of the unexpected but not wholly unpleasant flavors.

“You did not come to me by choice, Barrick Eddon,” the healer said, “and I doubt the others needing my help in days ahead will be any different.” Her look was less amused than resigned. “In truth, I expect to see more than a few dead and dying mortals here. Now drink up, Redling.”

The name and its hint of the familiar puzzled him for a moment. He lay back and closed his eyes. “Strange,” he told the healer, if she was still there. “I’m certain someone used to call me that ... but I can’t remember who ...”

The Xixian carrack, or what remained of it, had been driven far onto the sand by the tide, but the big ship still blazed like a Zosimia bonfire, outshining the smaller but still sizable campfire that the Syannese soldiers had made near the water’s edge.

Southmarch Castle lay just across the water. Briony could not quite accustom herself to that thought after so much time away—her
home
waited just across the bay. Just as the burning ship dwarfed the fire Briony shared with Eneas and his commanders, so the torches on the castle’s battlements shone much brighter than the stars above the smoke-shrouded bay.

“Are you warm enough, Princess?” Eneas asked.

She almost laughed. Only a couple of hours before, men had been trying to murder her with spears and swords. “I am quite well, thank you. When are they coming?”

“The messenger said ...” Eneas paused. “Look. They come.”

A strange procession was making its way along the strand toward them by the light of burning Xixian ships that still smoldered on the bay. Some of the Syannese soldiers camped around their own small fires got up and scrambled away, although the Qar did not come close to any of them. Briony could understand their alarm. No one could see so many weird shapes and gaits go past or meet the gaze of those glowing eyes—orange, yellow, green as a will-o’-the-wisp—without feeling that something had changed forever, and not necessarily for the best.

The newcomers slipped up to the edge of the prince’s fire and then stopped. At first Briony wondered why, but then a slender figure dressed in white stepped forward.

“May we share your fire?” The woman’s voice had a strange music—Briony did not understand her words until a moment after she had finished. “I am Saqri, mistress of Qul-na-Qar. You would call me the queen of these folk.”

“Of course, Majesty,” Eneas said. “You are welcome here.”

Saqri beckoned a small group of her own people to accompany her to the fire; the rest, perhaps two or three dozen at the most, promptly sat down on the ground. Relieved, the prince’s soldiers went back to eating their well-earned meals and bandaging their wounds. They had already buried their dead. The Syannese had lost many men, but the Xixians had lost far more.

The fairy queen was not quite what Briony had expected. She was beautiful, of course, with skin as translucent as snow and eyes so wide and black that Briony was frightened to look into them for more than an instant. But although Saqri’s beauty, preternatural stillness, and calm bearing lifted her above any mortal monarch, she was not tall. Briony was at least half a span taller. And even the Qar-woman’s grace did not entirely hide the fact that she was sore and weary.

Eneas offered wine, and to Briony’s surprise Saqri and most of her companions accepted it, although some of them had trouble drinking from cups. When they had been served, Eneas cleared his throat.

“So, Queen Saqri,” he said, “we are grateful for your help today fighting the Xixians, but before we talk of anything else, I must know something. Are we still at war, your people and mine?”

The fairy queen’s mouth pulled tight for a moment in what might have been a smile. “You ask a good question.” For a brief moment the Qar woman’s penetrating gaze left him and turned to Briony, who could not face it and looked away; instantly, she was angry with herself. “The answer, Prince Eneas,” Saqri told him, “is that we are what we make of ourselves tonight, at this fire. But know this ...! Even though we may continue as allies, we will never be friends.” She was looking at Briony again. “Your people—and particularly those who live in this castle—have taken things from me that cannot be replaced or forgiven.” The fairy queen spoke with such feeling that Briony sensed the Syannese knights around her growing wary. “But I am not Yasammez, the dark lady you have already met and whom you already fear,” Saqri told them, her voice turning measured once more. “She is the one who warred on Southmarch ... although I admit I did not discourage her. Her bitterness toward your kind will never heal. But on this matter I have broken from her, and the People follow me.” Saqri spread her hands. “So, Prince of Syan, our peoples are at peace as long as we fight together. There will be no treachery. Not from my folk, at least.”

Eneas nodded. “Nor mine, I swear. So then, let us put the past aside and talk only of things that matter now. What do you plan? Has the autarch truly gone down into the ground under the castle, as I hear?”

“Tomorrow’s sun brings Midsummer’s Eve,” Saqri said. “The day after is Midsummer, and when Midsummer ends, the hour we fear will be upon us. The year begins to die. The sun begins its slow journey away from the earth and the spirits of discord rejoice.” She raised her hand as if in warning. “If the southern king, Sulepis the Autarch, defeats the few Funderlings who still resist him and reaches his goal in the depths beneath the castle by midnight of Midsummer’s Day, he will be able to perform the ritual. He will open the gate of dream and free the gods.”

“I have never heard of such a thing, not even in old tales,” said Eneas. “Why would he do it?”

“It is said the southern king wishes to command a god ... but this Sulepis may not wield as much power as he thinks.” The Qar woman spoke quietly, but everyone at the fire strained to hear. “He may open a door that cannot be shut again. And there is nothing ... nothing ... to give us promise that the gods who come through will be awake and sane.” Saqri made an odd gesture, hands spread on either side of her face. “In any case, though, it is certain that if the way to the gods is opened, it is this world—
our
world—that will suffer.”

“Then we will help you, of course,” said Eneas. “Strange as it all still seems, I have seen much to convince me today. We must fight with you to keep the autarch from his goal.”

“Yes, you must fight with us,” Saqri said. “But not
beside
us, I think. Your knights are not best suited for the battle beneath the castle ...”

“Why this slander?” Lord Helkis demanded. “Our good men of Syan have held a wooden guard tower against a Xixian army ten times their number—you saw them on the field today! They fear nothing!”

“You misunderstand me.” Saqri held the Syannese noble’s stare for a moment until he dropped his head in a mixture of fury and shame. “I did not say they were not capable or brave, I said they were
not best suited
. Can they see in near-darkness like our Changing tribe? Can they make their own light in the depths like the Elementals? Can they break stone with their fingers like the Deep Ettins?” She extended her own hand, palm up. “Your men are brave, but the best of them are horsemen. In the steep black depths they would quickly become less than their best. Here beneath the sky, in Southmarch itself, they can make certain that Tolly the Protector does not throw in his forces on the side of the autarch.”

“Surely no northerner, no matter how corrupt, would do such a thing,” protested Eneas.

“But he already has.” She said it with such calm that Briony knew even Eneas would believe her. “Our luck was good, though, and the two of them fell out over something. But when a creature like Hendon Tolly sees how things are going, he will fight fiercely to preserve his own life. If he attacks us from behind, that alone could slow us enough to allow the autarch the time he needs ...”

“But how do you know so much about the plans and doings of mortals?” Briony asked. “About Tolly and the Xixians?”

“I know much about you, too, Briony Eddon,” said the fairy queen. “Do not forget, until this moment our peoples have been at war. You may know little of the Qar, but it does not follow that the Qar also know little of you. We have long had ...” She trailed off.

“Spies?” Briony demanded. “So—you, too? Is there anyone in this failing world who has
not
made my family’s business their own? And why should I trust you, madam, to decide how my own castle is to be defended?”

“Trust? I have told you nothing that you cannot see for yourself. Prince Eneas, your men are horsemen—they would be wasted in the dark, cramped tunnels. Go to the castle. Find Tolly and kill him or imprison him. If you can do that, then feel free to send help to us through the gate to Funderling Town.”

Briony turned to Eneas. “Don’t do it!” The look on his face made her want to shout. Surely he could not so easily trust these fairies, who only weeks before had tried to throw down Southmarch and had killed so many of its citizens!

“Wait, I begin to understand,” said the fairy queen. “It is your father, is it not, child? He is the true matter we discuss.” Saqri pinned her with her gaze, and this time Briony could not escape it. “You want to march with us into the depths because your father is there—because you hope to save him from the autarch’s clutches.”

“No!” Briony said, although the fairy woman was absolutely right. “You know nothing about him ...!”

“On the contrary—I know more about your father than I know of almost any other mortal. But that is not the point.” Saqri reached out and clutched her arm. Briony tried to shake herself free but felt suddenly weak as an infant. The fairy woman’s voice took on a harsher edge. “Look at me, child! Your family is at the center of many things, but I can tell you this—it is not held for you to save your father. I am not one of my people’s Gray Egrets—I cannot peer through the future’s veil—but I feel strongly and clearly enough
how things must be
to tell you that. Do not waste your warriors’ lives on a selfish gamble, Briony Eddon. It could be that we Qar will find him and free him, but his fate will come to him whether you are beside him or not.”

Tears filled Briony’s eyes; she blinked, then wiped them away. Saqri’s voice grew quieter now, almost kind. “I cannot say I feel sorry for you—not after what your family has done to mine—but I do know something of loss, and I also know something of confusion. For a long time I did not know whether to hate or forget. I have come now to believe hate is useless ... but so is forgetting. Those who forget too easily are the toys of fate.”

Briony’s tears threatened to overspill again. “But what should I
do
?” she asked, and was not even certain to whom she spoke.

“Live, Briony Eddon,” the fairy queen told her. “Live and remember. Remember and
learn
.”