Shadowlands (7 page)

“
Querida
, I did not bring the Hunt to the Shadowlands, no matter what this Nik might think. And I am only one Rider. What does he—or you—think I can do?”

Truthfully, that had already occurred to me, back when Nik first spoke to me, but I’d had a little more thinking time since then.

“Okay, sure. But there
are
more of you. What about this Nighthawk?” I was still connecting the images around him. “He’s got something to do with this Exile, with the Prince who lost the war,” I said. “He’s a guard or something.”

“A Warden. That is what they are called.” Alejandro bent to pour himself fresh tea, and held up the pot, glancing toward me. I shook my head. “When Dawntreader, the Prince Guardian and Keeper of the Talismans, was exiled, his
dra’aj
was bound, so that he could not use it to return, or even to Move himself from place to place here in the Shadowlands.”

“But that would have made him vulnerable to humans, so they sent these Wardens along with him, to keep him safe?”

“Exactly.” Alejandro smiled. He loved it when my ability helped me understand quickly.

“But there’s something more,” I said. “He did something else to the Guardian, the bad guy did, something that makes you a little nauseated.” Alejandro’s nose wrinkled. “You might as well tell me.”

“Somehow the Basilisk Prince removed the Exile’s memories.”

I shivered, but I was nodding. “It makes sense,” I said. And it did in a horrid way. “Talk about making sure that your enemy can’t turn the tables on you. I mean, he didn’t just exile the guy from his home, he exiled him from
himself
.” I rubbed my arms as another chill ran up my spine. “So if this Basilisk guy sent the Wardens in the first place, why would he send someone to attack the one in Granada?”

“They were searching for the Exile, but, in fact, he was at that time here in Toronto.”

“In Toro—Ah, but he’s not here now. And everybody knows it, which is why it’s safe for
us
to be here.” Except that after what I’d seen today, maybe it wasn’t as safe as Alejandro had thought. I licked my lips. We were only here in the first place because of me, because something the Collector had once said made me think my family might be here.

“Precisely. The Banishment was ending—it may even be ended by now. After we destroyed the Rider who had been sent to menace Nighthawk, he sent a message to the Warden who was here, closest to the Exile, warning her of what was afoot and in order to save him from those who would capture and make use of him, she was forced to take him through the Portal to the Lands.”

I nodded. “Okay. So then what happened?” Alejandro frowned. “Oh,” I said. “No one knows.” He inclined his head with his red eyebrows raised in the way that meant “precisely.”

“So Nighthawk can’t help us?”

Alejandro shrugged. “He is Warden to the Exile. That is his duty.” He stood up and walked from the couch to the TV cabinet, from the TV to the front door, from the front door back to the couch, where he stood staring narrowly at something in the air in front of him. As usual, all his movements were quick, graceful, precise.

“In the face of what you have told me, it may be I have made an
error in bringing you to this city.” Alejandro pressed his lips together and shook his head. “If the Hunt is here, perhaps with the followers of the Basilisk Prince, and preying upon humans…”

I put my empty cup down on the coffee table and went to him, put my arms around him, and rested my forehead on his shoulder. I wouldn’t get much from him now; over the time we’d been together I’d touched him so often I already knew practically everything there was to know. But if there was anything recent, anything different…

[A flash of turquoise in the sun, his
traje de luces
; a sharp angle of blade, his
estoque
, poised, dark brown eyes narrowed as he sighted down the bull’s neck for the spot to place his thrust; where were the other
toreros
? Why was Alejandro alone? Where was I?]

“Oh, no, you don’t.” I backed away far enough to look him in the face, but kept hold of his arms. “You’re not going to stick me somewhere safe and take on the Hunt by yourself.” He opened his mouth and I stopped him with a lifted index finger.

“So you’ve been bored, huh? You’re actually disappointed the Collector didn’t send someone after me. Living with me’s just not exciting enough for you, huh?” My eyes felt hot, as if I was going to cry, though I couldn’t have told you why. “Well, listen to me.” I jabbed him on the chest with my finger. “I’m going nowhere. And you’re not taking on the Hunt by yourself, no matter what you think.”

Alejandro looked at me from under his brows, but a smile was forming on his lips.

“We find help and we fight, or we run together,” I said, making it clear that I was emphasizing the
we
.

“You would help me fight the Hunt?”

I swallowed, my mouth suddenly dry. My life with the Collector was fresh in my mind today, and I have to say part of me wanted that safety, that security back. But then I remembered Elaine, and I looked at Alejandro, and the glint of adventure and daring in his eye, the glint that had appeared there the day that I met him, the day that my life had changed.

“
You
saved
me
,” I said.

“Ah, so this is now my fault.” But he was smiling as he said it. He looked at me carefully, and he must have seen what he was looking for in my face, because he nodded. “Very well. But we need to know
more. Is it only the Hunt? If there are Riders searching through the Shadowlands, followers and henchmen of the Basilisk Prince,” he shrugged, “it was they who likely brought the Hunt with them, and they are dangerous in themselves. Perhaps it is best if I go—”

I pressed my lips together, took a deep breath and let it huff out, more exasperated than angry. “I’m sorry,” I said. “But I’ve really had more than enough of being protected.”

Alejandro’s smile was very soft. I had the feeling he’d had this discussion many times in the past. “You are free now,” he agreed. “And that means free to risk yourself.”

I kept my voice quiet, afraid that otherwise it might shake. “I’m really not saying all this just to prove how brave I am,” I said. “Not even to myself. And it’s not that I don’t understand how dangerous things can be. I’ve seen the worst there is in human beings.” I patted his hand with my free one. “I know you had to rescue me, but—”

Alejandro laughed and swung me around, shaking his head. A lock of his reddish-blond hair fell forward and he brushed it back off his face. “I was merely your instrument. I could not have saved you if you had not reached out for me. You knew what I was, and you were not afraid. If you had been the cowed, enslaved child he thought you to be, he would have been able to dispose of you.” He believed it, I could tell.

“So,” he said, clapping his hands. “We do not run away, we gather intelligence, and look for reinforcements. This Nik, you say he wishes to meet with me?”

I looked at the clock on the mantel. “He’ll be here in about half an hour.”

Alejandro smiled. “You were so sure of me, then?”

I smiled back. “I guess so.”

I let Nik in the front door and showed him into the dining room. Alejandro stood in the kitchen, watching us from the pass-through.

“Valory has told me how you helped her, and I thank you.” He tilted his head. “There have long been rumors of humans who hold themselves apart from the rest of their kind. Long-lived humans, with a strange origin, and even stranger appetites.”

I could almost hear the words that vibrated in Alejandro’s mind.
Vampiro. Hombre lobo.
I could only hope Nik wasn’t that good at reading people.

“We call ourselves Outsiders.” Nik’s tone was dry as the tundra in winter. I guess he was.

Alejandro gave a slow nod, picked up a tray of coffee, cups, and heated milk to carry it into the dining room. “I have met one of you before,” Alejandro continued as he set down the tray. “She was not disposed to converse with me.”

“‘Not disposed to converse with you.’ That’s about right.” Nik sank into the chair I’d pulled out for him, his eyes on Alejandro. “None of you have ever been of any real use to any of us.”

Alejandro spread his hands. “I know of no reason for this animosity.”

Nik turned his head away, lips compressed to a straight line. But turning the way he did meant he was looking at me, and I saw his face soften. Maybe he remembered he was here asking for help.

“
You
brought those things here. You
Riders
.” The word came out hard, but maybe not as hard as it could have. “The Hunt. You let them loose on us.” He tapped himself on the chest. “And when we came to you for help, you sent us away.”

“I assure you, it was not I who brought the Hunt here, nor have I ever been approached by any of your kind for help.” Alejandro frowned at his cup of
café con leche
. “This is not to say that I might not have refused them help, if I felt I had no reason to give it.”

“But you’ll help now?”

Alejandro was quiet for long enough that I could hear the ticking of the clock in the living room. Then he nodded.

“Why?”

“Because it is Valory who asks me.”

N
IGHTHAWK HAD THE TYPICAL COLORING of a Sunward Rider. His hair and sharply pointed beard were a deep auburn, his eyes amber, and there was a sunny golden tinge to his skin. Wolf was Moonward himself, and he hoped this would not bring any trouble with it. Given the High Prince’s attitude, it was unlikely her fellow Warden had any strong Ward prejudice. Still, it was not unknown for fights, even wars, to erupt between Sunward, Moonward, and Starward Riders.

The variations in skin, hair, and eye color that Wolf had seen in the Shadowlands meant that neither he nor any other Rider in any way stood out among the humankind on the basis of coloring. Height was another matter. The High Prince had warned him that Riders in the Shadowlands took some pains to make themselves appear more human, and that meant shorter.

Wolf looked around him and decided that the Sunward’s study suited him. It was a small room, with a single window on the house’s interior courtyard. The walls were lined with bookshelves, and the furniture consisted of an oak desk made untidy with papers and open books, a swivel chair, a drinks table, and two comfortable armchairs
upholstered in soft, well-worn leather with a round pedestal table between them. The deep blues and reds in the rug that covered the center of the tiled floor glowed in the light from two shaded lamps.

“Truthsheart is a Healer, and after the Great War, a Healer is what the Lands need.” Hawk’s satisfaction was evident in his tone and the glow of his expression. “And she has lived here, passing herself as human. That is needed also, now that the Portals are to be open again.” Hawk shot a glance at Wolf. “They are to be open again?”

“That is more than I can say. My mission is to find others like yourself, those who were left behind or who went into hiding when the Exile began,” Wolf said. He had another goal—almost more a hope—but he had not even told the High Prince of it.

“So you bring to all the message you have brought to me?” Hawk rose again, pulled a bottle out of a small cold box, and took two short, tapered glasses out of a cupboard. He poured out two servings from the dark bottle and passed one to Wolf.

“I am also to give warning that followers of the Basilisk Prince have been escaping into the Shadowlands, and all here should be wary of them until they are found.”

Hawk stopped with his glass halfway to his mouth and fixed Wolf with a sharp glance from his amber eyes. “But if the Cycle has turned, it will have turned for them as well.”

Wolf shrugged one shoulder. “Better to say the Cycle
turns
. The process is not yet complete. The Basilisk’s followers may fear to accept the new Prince.” Wolf took a sip of the liquor, raising his eyebrows in approval. “Do not doubt, however. The Cycle
is
turning, I have seen it with my own eyes,” he said. “Solitaries and Naturals both are welcomed to the High Prince’s court, and into her
fara’ip
. The works of the Basilisk are being undone. The
dra’aj
of the Lands spreads in abundance, the High Prince has manifested her Guidebeast—as indeed have others. I myself have seen her Dragonform, and the Phoenix of the Guardian Prince. And some among the Wild Riders have manifested as well.”

A tension Wolf had not even noticed left Hawk’s shoulders, and the older Rider smiled, an expression so sweet and warm, that Wolf found himself smiling back.

“I long ago gave up any hope that I would survive to see such wonders,” Hawk said. “A new Cycle, my old comrade made the
High Prince.” He pressed his lips tight, and shook his head in slow arcs. “And she sent you first to me?”

“And then to the one called Graycloud at Moonrise.”

“Who will be of great help to you. Most of the ones who remained behind are known to him. His name is now Alejandro Martín. He was living in Madrid, but he has taken his human ward to North America, to a city called Toronto.”