(Shadowmarch #1) Shadowmarch (105 page)

“She says she will honor her part of the Pact and send the glass to Qul-na-Qar, and that for the moment there will be no more killing of mortals unless the People are forced to defend themselves.” Gil listened as she spoke again, then he replied, more swiftly and ably now, in that same tongue.

“She speaks to me as though I am the king himself,” Gil said quietly to Chert. “She says that by the success of this deed, I have won a short truce for the mortals. I told her that the king speaks through me, but only from a distance, that I am not him.”

King? Distance?
Chert had not the slightest idea what any of this signified. The oppressive strangeness was so thick it made him want to weep, but there was also some stubborn thing in him like the rock that was in his people’s names and hearts, a residue of spirit that did not want to show fear before these beautiful, savage creatures.

The woman Yasammez extended her arm, the mirror in her long, long fingers. The faceless creature called Gyir the Storm Lantern strode forward and took it from her. No words were exchanged, at least none that Chert could hear. Gyir made a bow as he put it into the purse at his waist, then drew his fingers across his eyes in a ritual manner before mounting his great gray horse.

“She bids him take it swiftly and carefully to the blind one in Qul-na-Qar,” Gil explained, as though he could understand silent commands as well as spoken ones. “She says if anything happens to the queen in the glass, then she, Yasammez, will make all the earth weep blood.”

Chert only shook his head. He was having trouble paying attention to any of what was happening now. It was all too much.

Gyir swung up into the saddle and jabbed at the horse’s flanks with his spurs. The beast’s hooves dug into the earth of Temple Square and then rider and mount sped off, vanishing from sight so quickly that they might have been marionettes suddenly yanked from the stage.

After a long silence the woman or goddess or female monster Yasammez spoke aloud again, her voice buzzing like a hummingbird’s wings just inches from Chert’s ear. Gil listened silently. The woman looked from him to the Funderling—her eyes seemed to glow before Chert’s reluctant gaze, like twin candle flames in a dark cave, and he had to look away before he was drawn into that empty cavern and lost forever—then Chert’s companion finally spoke.

“I am to stay.” Gil sounded neither happy nor sad, but there was something dead in his voice that had been fractionally more lively before. “You are to go, since there is truce.”

“Truce?” Chert finally located his own voice. “What does that mean?”

“It does not matter.” Gil shook his head. “You mortals did not cause the truce and you cannot change it. But the place called Southmarch will be unharmed.” He paused as Yasammez said something stiff and harsh in her own tongue. “For a little while,” Gil clarified.

And then almost before he knew it, Chert was snatched up by rough hands and set on the saddle of a horse and within moments Market Road and the city began to fly past him on either side. He never saw the armored rider behind him, only the arms stretching past him on either side that held the reins. Like the orphan in the big folk’s most beloved story, he dared not even look back until he was dropped unceremoniously on the beach beside the caves.

Chert knew he should try to remember everything—he knew it was all important, somehow; after all, his son had given everything but his life for that mirror and whatever bargain it might signify—but at the moment all he could imagine doing was crawling down into the nearest tunnel to sleep a little while, so he would have the strength to stagger home to Funderling Town.

Briony led Chaven through the covered walk and out into the open flagstone courtyard in front of the Tower of Spring. The two guards leaning against the great outer door straightened up in wide-eyed surprise when they saw her. She was too annoyed by this errand and how it forced her to wait before learning Chaven’s news to remember to wish this new pair of guards the tidings of the season, but she remembered on the stairs and promised herself she would make amends on the way out.

They mounted to the door of Anissa’s residence and knocked. A long time passed before the door opened a little way. An eye and a sliver of face peered out. “Who is there?”

Briony made an impatient sound. “The princess regent. Am I allowed to come in?”

Anissa’s maid Selia opened the door and stepped back. Briony strode into the residence; her two guards, after a quick survey of the room, took up stations outside the door. Selia looked at the princess from beneath her eyelashes, as though ashamed to have kept her out even for a moment, but when she saw Chaven, her eyes grew wide with surprise.

He was certainly a surprise to me,
Briony thought.
I suppose it’s been just as long since they’ve seen him here either.
“I’ve come as invited, to have a Winter’s Eve drink with my stepmother,” she told the young woman.

“She is over there.” Selia’s Devonisian accent was a little stronger than Briony remembered, as though being caught off-guard made it harder for the young woman to speak well. The room was dark except for low flames in the fireplace and a few candles, and none of the usual crowd of servingwomen or even the midwife appeared to be present. Briony walked to the bed and pulled back the curtains. Her stepmother was sleeping with her mouth open and her hands curled protectively across her belly. Briony gently rubbed her shoulder.

“Anissa? It’s me, Briony. I’ve come to have a drink with you and wish you a good Orphan’s Day.”

Anissa’s eyes fluttered open, but for a moment they didn’t seem to take in much of anything. Then they found her stepdaughter and widened the way Selia’s had when she saw Chaven. “Briony? What are you doing here? Is Barrick with you?”

“No, Anissa,” she said gently. “He has gone with the Earl of Blueshore and the others, don’t you remember?”

The small woman tried to sit up, groaned, then got her elbows planted in the cushions and finally managed to lever herself upright. “Yes, of course, I am still sleepy. This child, it makes me sleep all the time!” She looked Briony up and down, frowned. “But what brings you here, dear girl?”

“You invited me. It’s Winter’s Eve. Don’t you remember?”

“Did I?” She looked around the room. “Where are Hisolda and the others? Selia, why are they not here?”

“You sent them away, Mistress. You are still full of sleep, that is all, and you forget.”

But now Anissa noticed Chaven and again she showed surprise. “Doctor? Ah, is it truly you? Why are you here? Is something wrong with the child?”

He joined Briony by the bedside. “No, I don’t believe so,” he said, but with little of his usual good humor.

Anissa detected this and her face tightened. “What? What is wrong? You must tell me.”

“I shall,” said Chaven. “If the princess regent will allow me a moment’s indulgence. But first I think she should call in the guards.”

“Guards?” Anissa struggled hard to get out of bed now, her skin pale, voice increasingly shrill. “Why guards? What is going on? Tell me! I am the king’s wife!”

Briony was completely bewildered, but allowed Chaven to move to the door and invite in young Millward and his stubbled comrade, both of whom looked more nervous to be in the queen’s bedroom than if they had faced an armed foe. Selia moved to where her mistress now sat on the edge of the bed, the queen’s pale little feet dangling down without quite reaching the floor. The maid put a protective arm around Anissa’s shoulders and looked defiantly back at Chaven.

“You are giving fright to me,” the queen said, her accent thicker now, too. “Briony, what are you doing here? Why are you treating me so?”

Briony didn’t answer her stepmother, but couldn’t help wondering if she had been too quick to let Chaven have his way. Perhaps he had disappeared because he was deranged. She caught young Millward’s eye and did her best to hold it for a moment, trying to let the guardsman know to watch her, not the physician, while waiting to be told what to do.

“If you are innocent, madam, I will beg your pardon most devoutly. And in no case will I harm you or your unborn child. I wish only to show you something.” Chaven put his hand into his pocket and produced a grayish object about the length of a child’s thumb. Now that he had moved into the light, Briony noticed for the first time that the physician’s clothes were ragged and dirty. She felt another stab of doubt.

Chaven held out the stone and both Anissa and her maid Selia shrank back as though it were the head of some poisonous serpent. “What is it?” Anissa pleaded.

“That is indeed the question,” said Chaven. “A question I have worked hard to answer. It has taken me to some strange places and to some strange folk in recent days, but I think I know. In the south it is called a
kulikos
. It is a kind of magical stone, most often found on the southern continent, but they occasionally make their way north to Eion—to the sorrow of many.”

“Don’t touch me with it!” Anissa shrieked, and although Briony was puzzled by what the physician was doing, she could not help feeling that her stepmother was reacting too strongly.

Chaven looked at Anissa sternly. “Ah, you know of such things, I see. But if you have done nothing wrong, madam, you have nothing to fear.”

“You are trying to bring a curse for my baby! The king’s child!”

“What is the point of this, Chaven?” Briony demanded. “She is about to give birth, after all. Why are you frightening her?”

He nodded. “I will tell you, Briony . . . Highness. One of the workers on your brother’s tomb brought this stone to me because he thought it strange. I thought little of it at the time, I must sadly admit, but there have been many things on my mind since Kendrick’s death. I know I am not the only one.”

Briony glanced at the two women huddled on the edge of the bed. The chamber felt odd, as though a storm hung just above them, making the air prickle. “Go on, get to the point.”

“Something about this thing troubled me, though, and I began to wonder if it might be one of a certain class of objects mentioned in some of my older books. I discovered that the place it had been found was in a direct line between the outside window of a room near Kendrick’s chambers and the Tower of Spring—the tower in which we now find ourselves, a building almost completely given over to the residence of the king’s wife and her household.”

“He is talking in madness,” Anissa moaned. “Make him stop, Briony. I am getting so frighted.”

The physician looked to her, but Briony’s heart was beating faster now and she wanted to hear the rest. “The windows of those chambers are all high above the ground,” she reminded him. “Brone searched them all. There was no rope left behind.”

“Yes.” The room was warm. Chaven was perspiring, his forehead glinting with sweat in the candlelight. “Which makes it all the stranger that I should find the mark of something having landed in the loose soil at the edge of the garden beneath that window. The marks were deep, so that even though many days had passed, they had not disappeared.”

Briony stared at him. “Wait a moment, Chaven. Are you suggesting that Anissa . . . a woman carrying a child, the king’s child . . .
jumped out of the upstairs window?
All the way to the edge of the garden? That she somehow killed Kendrick and his guards, then jumped down and escaped?” She took a breath, held out a hand as she prepared to have the guards arrest him. “That is truly madness.”

“Yes, make him go away,” Anissa wailed. “Briony, save me!”

“He is frightening my mistress, the queen,” cried Selia. “Why don’t the guards stop him?”

“It is certainly much like madness to believe such a thing, Highness,” Chaven agreed. He seemed very calm for a lunatic. “That is why I think you should hear all my tale before you try to understand. You see, I knew I could not make anyone believe a tale like that—I did not really believe it myself—but I was frightened and intrigued by what I had learned about
kulikos
stones. I decided I must know more. I went in search of knowledge, and eventually found it, although the price was high.” He paused and wiped at his forehead with his tattered sleeve. “Very high. But what I learned is that in the south of Eion they believe a
kulikos
stone summons a terrible spirit. So powerful is this ancient dark sorcery, so dreadful, that in many places even possessing one of these stones will earn the bearer death on the instant.”

Listening to such words by flickering candlelight, Briony felt as though she were in some story—not a tale of heroism and heavenly reward like the one Puzzle had just sung at the feast, but something far older and grimmer.

“Why do you say all this foolishness to my mistress when she is not well?” demanded Selia in a shrill voice. “Even if someone has done some bad thing and then run past the tower where she lives, what is that to us? Why do you say that to her?”

The guards standing by the door were murmuring to each other now, confused and a little fearful. Briony knew she couldn’t let it all go on much longer. “State your case, Chaven,” she ordered.