The Swans' War 3 - The Shadow Roads (16 page)

The cells smelled of mold, damp stone, and candle smoke. Toren took the lantern from the guard and hung it on a rusted hook.

"Dease?" came a voice from within the cell.

"No, Cousin, it is I."

Samul's face, paler than Toren remembered, appeared in the barred frame of the small window. "Toren.

No doubt my reputa-tion for hospitality has drawn you.""Yes, that was it," Toren said.

Samul gazed at him a moment, saying nothing. Samul's thoughts were always hidden, and here, in the shadows, Toren could not hope to read his cousin's face. Rage might lurk behind those eyes, but Toren would never know. After all, Samul had plot-ted to murder him, and Toren had not guessed it.

"What brought you back, Cousin?" Toren asked. "You agreed never to return to Renne lands. Have you forgotten our bargain?""Have you forgotten that I saved you from Beld?"Toren paused. "I remember that you tried to murder me, Samul."Samul took a step back, almost disappearing into the gloom of his cell. His voice echoed a little against the hard walls. "Yes, but then you were betraying us to the Wills—all your vain at-tempts to make peace. If you'd listened to me, you'd be ready for the war you are fighting now. You were wrong, Toren, and I was right.""Yes, in some ways you were right, but when I disagree with a member of my family I don't try to murder him.""And how many lives will be lost because you were pursuing an impossible peace with an intractable enemy? Your death would have saved lives."Toren shook his head sadly. There would be an undeniable logic to Samul's argument. Beld might have tried to murder him from ha-tred, but not Samul. He would only have done it out of conviction.

"I cannot trust you, Samul Renne," Toren said softly. "You shouldn't have come here."He could hear Samul's breathing—exasperated.

"I was spewed out of a little hole in the earth into a shallow stream," Samul said disdainfully. "A patrol found me as I made my way to the river. I had no idea where I was. Certainly, nothing would have induced me to set foot on Renne lands, for our bargain was still sharp in my mind."Samul appeared at the window again, the shadows of the bars drawing dark streaks upon his face. "Coming here was an accident, Toren. I swear it."Toren nodded. He did not really doubt it. Samul was too smart to have returned to Renne lands. "What will I do with you now, Samul?"Toren said. "I swore that if you returned to Renne lands, you would pay for your plot against me. What will I do with you now?""Can you not let me go?" Samul whispered.

Toren paused a moment, sadness settling upon him like a weight. "If you were me, is that what you would do?" "No," Samul said. Toren could see him shake his head. "No. It's not what I would do." Their silence filled the dank chambers. The guard coughed at his post. Toren could hear Samul breathing raggedly, wondering if he had just pronounced his own death sentence.

"You could let me escape. I would disappear, Toren. You would never hear my name again."Toren did not answer. It was the easy decision—and leaders could not always take the easy way. What message would Samul's release send? That Toren Renne was so softhearted that he could not even execute his own assassins!

"I can't let you go, Samul. You know that.""Then why have you come here?""I don't know. To find out why you were here. To tell you my-self what will be done.""And what will be done?""You shall meet the executioner, and I shall weep for your loss, for the love I feel for you."Toren turned and started down the passageway between the narrow cells. He had not gone five paces when Samul called out.

"You might cut off my head, but I am still loyal to my family, despite all that you might think. I will give you this one last gift, Toren Renne: another matter where I am right and you are wrong. I have been speaking with Lord Carl across the corridor. Vast is a traitor. Carl A'denne is telling the truth. Vast will betray us."Toren stopped only an instant. "Vast will not betray us," he said, and went on.

At the top of the stairs he met Dease, who hurried down a corridor bearing a paper, folded and sealed.

"A Fael brought this," Dease said. "It is from A'brgail." Toren broke the seal and opened the letter,walking a few paces into the light of a lantern.

Lord Toren:

I have just arrived at the Fael encampment where the Westbrook meets the Wynnd. Elise Wills is here, and much is afoot. I think I will be off this night, and would like the honor of your counsel before I set out.

Your servant, Gilbert A'brgail Toren looked up to find Dease watching him closely.

"Will you have a horse readied for me, Cousin? I will ride to the Fael encampment within the hour.""I will have guards ready to accompany you as well."Toren nodded. "Do you know where I might find Fondor?""In his rooms, why?""I must arrange an execution." Toren set off down the pas-sage.

He found Fondor in the company of Lady Beatrice, both seated by a cold hearth, now barred with steel against chimney sweep spies. Toren looked at the letter again. It was from Kel—intelligence from his many spies.

"But why would Hafydd go off now? We are at war."Fondor shrugged. "I don't pretend to know the mind of that blackguard. Kel says that the army and the allies of the late Prince of Innes are unhappy, restless. They resent Hafydd, and now that he is gone they see a chance to take control of the army again.""It sounds like wishful thinking to me," Toren retorted. He looked down at the letter again. "If A'denne has gone off with Hafydd, then his son, Carl, is either mistaken about his father's loy-alties, or he is lying. And this legless man—""Kai, whom we had here beneath our roof and whom we let fall into Hafydd's hands," Toren's mother said. She put a hand to her brow a moment and gave her head a quick shake.

"And this about Beldor…" Toren said. "Beldor was snatched up by one of Death's servants. If the rest of this letter is as truthful as that, how reliable can it be?"Fondor looked at Lady Beatrice as though he worried Toren was raving. "Kel thinks this news is reliable,"Fondor said, "and Kel is not often mistaken.""Yes," Toren said softly. "Yes. You're right. Kel is not often wrong." He stood up and walked to the window, looking out at the final light of day, the growing shadows. "I will go out to the Fael encampment and speak with A'brgail and Lady Elise," he said.

"And I will see to the execution," Fondor said. "I hope you're right about this, Toren.""So do I, Cousin."Fondor made a quick bow to his aunt and went out, his boots echoing down the passage outside. Toren listened to them fade before he turned to find his mother regarding him. He often thought she must have been very beautiful in her youth, and her poise and grace were undiminished by time. But her face was so careworn now. It made him sad to see it. The burden of his father in his tower was great. It would almost be better if the man died, instead of coming back to sanity every now and then—like a man coming back to life, then dying only to be reborn. One could never quite stop grieving— or hoping.

"Yes?" Toren said after a moment.

"There is one other matter I think you must attend to," she said.

"Only one?"

"One that matters. You need to visit Llyn"—she took a deep breath—"and make her realize that her hopes for you are vain."Toren began to protest, but then realized that his mother would not listen to this, now. When she had set her mind to a thing, there was no denying it.

"But Llyn has so … little," he said weakly.

"Lord Carral loves her," Lady Beatrice said.

"But he is a Wills."

"Then let her become a Wills!" his mother snapped. "It matters not.

She deserves more than her books and her garden. You know she does." Toren nodded. "When I return from the Fael." His mother nodded, her face softening. She even favored him with a small smile.

Toren stared at the embroidery hoop Tuath held up to the lanternlight. For a moment he closed his eyes and felt the slight soothing this brought.

Tuath flipped the cloth covering back on her work of horror.

Immediately, Toren lifted his wineglass, feeling the wine, dry and slightly bitter, on his tongue. "There is no news to lift the heart," he said, lowering the glass. "Monsters abroad and sor-cerers reborn, our land about to be overrun." He looked around the group—Fael and men. "I feel I have fallen into a tale of old, a tale of heroes—but I don't feel that I measure up to the heroes of stories.""We have not been tested, yet," A'brgail said softly.

Lady Elise sat upon a Fael chair, pillows and rich coverings around her, yet she was still dressed in men's cast-off clothing, mended and worn. Her gaze was far away, and Toren felt sympa-thy for her. This was certainly a time to test her, a girl who had likely thought that life would consist of little more than marriage and the vain conspiracies of her family.

One of the young men from the wildlands hovered a few paces behind her, and the giant, Orlem Slighthand, sat in a chair to her right, as though that was his rightful place. A white-bearded old man named Eber was seated next to them in the circle, and beside him three Fael elders whose names he had already forgotten. Gilbert A'brgail sat, with two of his gray-robed Knights standing behind his chair, two-handed swords drawn but point down on the trampled grass.

The snow woman returned to her seat, placing her embroidery hoop beside her. Toren found it difficult not to stare at her. Her beauty was cold and otherworldly, but beguiling.

"Alaan will try to find his way to this place," Elise said. "This place where Wyrr sleeps.""And where is that?" Toren asked.

"I wish I knew," Elise said.

A small boy, who had been standing on the edge of the conver-sation, slunk into the circle of light and crawled into the old man's lap. He began to move his hands strangely.

"What does he say, Eber?" one of the Fael elders whispered.

Eber nodded as the boy stopped. "Llya says that he can lead us to the waiting isle, now. That is where Hafydd will go to make his soul eater."The Fael elder shivered visibly, and everyone present seemed completely distressed.

"Who is this child?" Toren asked.

"He is Eber's son," the vision weaver said. "Llya hears the voice of the river.""Our river? The Wynnd?"Tuath nodded. "Though I would not call it ours," she said. "The great sorcerer Wyrr joined his spirit to the river. That is the voice that Llya hears."Toren looked back at the small boy, who seemed almost repel-lent to him.

The boy began to move his hands. "The voice in the river is … murky,'" the father translated. "Its words are muddled, confused, al-

most riddles, but Llya says it will lead him to the waiting isle, now. There is no time to be lost. Hafydd will go there and perform his outrage. The lands will be overrun." The child leapt off his father's lap, moving his hands wildly. "Boats, he says. We must have boats and leave this night." The old man swept the boy back up into his lap, holding him close, pinning his arms. Tears streamed down his cheeks and into his white beard—crystals upon snow.

Boats were found that night, and they were on the river at first light, bows parting a low mist that swirled in their wake. Toren took to a boat with A'brgail, Dease, and six men-at-arms, half the num-ber Renne, the others Knights of the Vow. They also brought Thea-son, for none of them were experienced watermen; nor did they know the hidden lands. Ahead, Toren could see Elise, standing in the stern of her craft, Baore and Slighthand at the oars with another small company of men-at-arms in gray or Renne blue. The old man, Eber, sat in the bow, Llya by his side. How reluctantly the man had agreed to let his son lead them.

The day was overcast, but windless. Along both shores poplars and willows stood above the low fog. Toren looked over to the east, wondering if the enemy would see them and whether they would send boats to intercept.

"Too foggy on the eastern shore for us to be noticed," A'brgail said. He was looking at Toren and reading his thoughts, apparently.

"I'm sure you're right." Toren sat down on a thwart. "Are we mad, do you think? Shouldn't we be staying here and fighting en-emies we know exist?"A'brgail shook his head. "You were in the Stillwater, Lord Toren. You know this war is not about the Renne and the Wills— not anymore."Toren closed his eyes at mention of the Stillwater. "It seems like a nightmare, now," he said, "not something that really happened— that really could have happened." He had not even returned to Cas-tle Renne that night—there had not been time, or so he told himself. There was a part of him that thought perhaps he was avoiding the talk he had promised to have with Lady Llyn—the talk he had promised his mother. He had sent a note to Lady Beatrice explaining briefly what he had learned and where he went, but even so, he did not expect her to understand.

Overhead a gull circled, its cry echoing over mist-laden waters. Men strained at their oars. Toren rose to catch sight of the other boat. Only Elise could be seen, standing wrapped in a dark Fael cloak, the mist swirling about her waist.

"Fondor and Kel can fight a war," A'brgail said. "You needn't worry. You left them a good design. Put that out of your mind. We travel to the real war, now. I only hope Alaan will find us.""You were cursing him before, your half brother."The knight nodded solemnly, his manner pensive. "I do not condone what he did, but it is too late to concern ourselves with that now. We must stop Hafydd by whatever means. I will worry about Alaan then—if any of us survive."Within the hour high cliffs rose to either side of the river, though Toren knew full well that there were no such cliffs below the Westbrook—not for many leagues at least. The mist persisted late into the morning and a light drizzle fell, making the floorboards and thwarts shiny and slick. Toren had his oarsmen keep close to the other boat, for in this fog and poor light they could easily be separated. Without Llya to guide them he didn't know what might happen. They could be lost in the hidden lands forever.

The cliffs seemed to close in on them, cutting off much of the faint gray light. The stone was dark with rain and streaked with slick streams. Pressed into this narrow space, the river flowed more quickly, sweeping the boats along. The oarsmen were glad of the rest, and Theason, who had been hunching silently in the bow, scrambled aft to take the tiller with apparent confidence.

"Do you know this place, good Theason?" A'brgail asked, rais-ing his voice to be heard over the river.

The little traveler shook his head. He sat straight at the helm, his face serious, but his eyes seemed to dance, looking here and there,as though he had just returned to a home from which he'd long been parted. The rest of the company were anxious, wondering where this unnatural child led them, worried that the speeding river would become dangerous. Toren found himself imagining rapids, towering waterfalls.

But the river did not change, though it snaked through the gorge at good speed. Toren wished they were on horseback, for he was a masterful horseman. Boats, though he had traveled in them many times, were not to his liking. Unlike many, he could swim, so he didn't fear the water itself. It was just that the river was unpre-dictable, worse than the maddest horse. It could suck you down into its depths and never let you up.

He glanced again at Elise, who remained standing in the stern of her boat even though the river swept them along at speed. She was of the water, now, while he was of the land. A difference much greater than that between Renne and Wills.

Along the base of the cliff, low gravel beaches appeared, and the river began to broaden a little. Toren's boat drew nearer the other, and he could make out the faces of the seated men, who all seemed to be drowning in a mist. He gazed out ahead, where Elise watched, and there in a thinning patch, thought he saw something white, almost human. A face gazing back at them, then a move-ment of the arm as though beckoning them on, before it disap-peared into the swirl.

At dusk they drew the boats up on a bar of gravel and made a camp. Toren was glad to find solid ground beneath him and stood gazing at the gorge.

"I hope we don't have to climb up there," he said to A'brgail.

The knight was opening a bag, but stopped and stared at the cliffs. Ferns and even small trees grew on ledges and out of cracks—bits of green scratched on the monolithic gray, like isolated words scattered over a page.

"Only a spider might climb that," A'brgail said. "If we can't pass through by boat, we'll die here.""A comforting thought, Gilbert."The knight went back to his task, and Toren walked a few paces down the bar to the very tip, the gravel curving back behind him toward the cliff. The mist, which had persisted all day, continued to swirl ever so slowly over the waters, shadow turning it dark.

Elise, still dressed in her long cloak, stood twenty paces away on the far side of the bar. She was staring fixedly at some point down-river, and Toren crossed over to see what it was that so fascinated her. She heard his boots grinding through the gravel and gave her head a shake.

"What is it you see?" Toren asked.

A sad, quick smile touched her lips. "I see a river leading I know not where. I fear there will be branches, and I will be forced to choose—my choices will mean that some will live, while others will die.""It is ever so for those born to power, my lady.""I was not born to this power," she said bitterly. "It was forced upon me by Hafydd, though he did not know it.""Everything he touches is harmed."She nodded.

"Your father knows you're alive, now," Toren said.

"You told him—"

"Lady Beatrice told him. She thought she must."Elise nodded; her blond curls were gathered into a knot behind her head, only a few managing to escape, and these bobbed with her every movement. Something caught her eye, Toren could see, and he looked out over the water, where something dark moved.

"A black swan," Elise said, realizing that he'd seen. "A symbol of the House of Tusival and his heirs.""But they have been gone from this land for hundreds of years.""We are no longer in your land, Lord Toren.""Perhaps it is an omen?""Of what, I wonder," Elise mused.

Toren turned and looked at her. She was pretty, though not beautiful, he thought. Her face was a bit too long, and thin, her nose inelegant, yet she had a presence, a calmness that touched him. The air of sadness about her was thicker than the mist, and it was not feigned or imagined. Tragedy haunted this young woman. He almost wanted to move away, as though it might strike any who were close, but at the same time he wanted to put his arms around her and offer comfort.

Poor Lord Carral, he thought, as if the man did not have enough sorrows to bear.

"Do not be concerned, Lord Toren," she said, perhaps sensing his unease, "I am flesh and blood, as filled with feelings as any." She turned and met his eye. "I am just… filled with centuries of mem-ories, of a life rich and too recklessly lived. Only vaguely do I re-member the river, all the long years she slept there. The life of Elise Wills—my life—seems hardly a flicker to me now—a life briefer than a winter morning. And yet that is the life I long for. To have it back—my foolish cousins, my hateful aunts. I would choose it all if I could."Toren nodded as though he understood, though he didn't, and he was profoundly aware of it. He felt suddenly small and very human speaking to this woman.

Another smile appeared on Elise's face. "Do you know, I once thought that we should marry and do away with our families' fool-ish feud.""Perhaps we should."Elise shook her few escaped curls, her smile disappearing. "No. Elise Wills you might have condescended to marry to achieve peace… but this creature who stands before you now… She is a monster.""You are no monster.""Oh, I am. You can't imagine the things that Sianon did. And these are my memories now, my past. No, Lord Toren, you are wise to be repelled by me.""I do not find you repellent."Elise smiled wickedly. "Oh, don't you? Then perhaps we should consider marriage." She saw the change of his face and laughed. Her hand touched his arm. "Don't worry, Lord Toren, you are safe from me. I don't know how, but I lost what heart I have to a boy from the wildlands."Toren looked over at the big Valeman who was bent over the kindling fire, fanning it with a handful of green leaves.

"No, not poor Baore." She turned her gaze on the Valeman as well. "I don't know what I'll do with him. Perhaps you might take him into your service? I fear he is in danger with me. Everyone is in danger with me."She turned and walked away along the very edge of the gravel, little hands of water lapping up at her feet.

Dinner was somber, the strangeness of the place affecting every-one. The men-at-arms were uneasy and kept their distance from Eber, Llya, and Elise. They must have seen the swimmer as well, Toren thought, and knew full well this gorge wasn't on the river below the Westbrook. Toren had warned the men before they set out that they might travel into strange lands by arcane means, but they clearly hadn't believed a word. They were honest men, but the arcane frightened them—and for good reason, Toren thought. He was not at ease himself in this place. Only Theason found the jour-ney to his taste, drinking in the sights, his eyes glittering. The quiet little traveler had come alive that day, and now busied himself about the encampment like a man newly in love. He examined the few plants supported by the gravel as though they were treasures, and even climbed some distance up a cliff to fetch down a flower— all in near darkness.

Two fires had been built, one for the men-at-arms, where the Renne mingled with A'brgail's somber Knights, and another for everyone else. The Knights of the Vow kept glancing at Orlem Slighthand, who sat still and silent across from Toren. He seemed a legend come to life, to Toren, massive and powerful, wielding a two-handed sword as though it were made for one. Too many things seemed to be emerging from the past, Toren thought, not all as welcome as Slighthand.

I

Eber came back out of the darkness, having put his son to rest a short distance away. As he settled onto a log, firelight flickered on Eber's long, pale beard, so that it looked like his face was sur-rounded by flame.