The Swans' War 3 - The Shadow Roads (28 page)

Alaan came quickly up the stairs, careful to make no sound. "There are three of Hafydd's guards below," he whispered, "one sleeping."Tarn looked at Cynddl, whose face was suddenly grave. They had come there hoping that Elise might be found, for this was the island's ancient landing spot. But Elise was not here.

"We can't leave them here," Alaan whispered. He saw the reac-tion of his companions; they did not like to kill men in cold blood. "They might come upon us from behind"—he looked from Tarn to Cynddl—"and they will not hesitate to kill us."Cynddl bent his bow and dropped the bowstring into its notch. Tam took a long breath and did the same. He hadn't much stom-ach for what they were about to do.

They nodded to Alaan, and he started down the stair, silent as a breeze. The others followed, careful where they placed their feet, Cynddl watching their backs as they went. After a brief descent Alaan stopped. The river could just be made out through the leaves of trees. Tarn thought two dark shapes must be Hafydd's guards, but could not be sure.

Alaan leaned close to his ear, and whispered. "Come down a lit-tle farther where you can see them better. Wait until I reach the bot-tom of the stair, then shoot the guards. If somehow one escapes, I'll see to him." Alaan paused. "They'll be wearing mail shirts."Tarn nodded, and Alaan whispered the same thing to the Fael. All three climbed down a few more stairs, where Tarn could not mistake a black tree trunk for one of Hafydd's guards. He nocked an arrow and placed three others within easy reach. A glance up told him the stair above was still empty. Cynddl caught his eye and turned down his mouth. Neither liked what they were about to do, but these were the same men who had shot Baore and tried to kill them more than once. It was a war, after all.

The call of a sorcerer thrush wafted through the wood—almost enough to make Tarn smile. He pulled back the arrow, sighting carefully, not forgetting that they shot downhill and need not allow so much for the arrow's arc.

"Ready?" Cynddl whispered.

Tarn nodded, and they let their arrows fly. Tarn heard them flash through the leaves but hardly looked to see whether they found their mark. Instead he snatched up another arrow, and set it in place. Beyond the curtain of leaves, a dark form staggered, bent double, but before Tarn could shoot again he saw another moving, quick and direct. Alaan dispatched the man in a stroke and went after another. Cynddl put an arrow in the sleeper, who had not wakened, or moved at all.

When Tam and the story finder reached the bottom of the stair, they found Alaan crouched over one of Hafydd's guards, who had an arrow in his chest, the Fael bow proving stronger than links of iron once again.

"We don't know," the man whispered, trembling with the pain. He choked and spat up blood, then gasped horribly. "We were sep-arated… lost."Alaan took the point of his blade away from the guard's throat and stood up.

"The third man was already dead," Alaan said, a dark look crossing his face. "Kai was here, but escaped in the boat after the guard was killed." He gazed down the river.

"What of this one?" Cynddl asked, afraid to hear the answer.

The man lay, eyes closed, jaw clenched against the pain, sweat bathing his face. He choked again.

"I promised him a clean death," Alaan said. "He's seen men drown in their own blood before."Cynddl and Tarn turned away but had not taken a step when they heard the unmistakable sound of a blade cutting into flesh. Tarn closed his eyes.

"Come," Alaan said, his voice subdued. "We'll give them to the river."The three bodies were dragged to the western shore, crows call-ing from the trees, scolding the men.

Alaan took the guards' swords and daggers and peeled off their mail shirts so that the bodies might drift downstream. One at a time they were slipped into the river, the current taking them in its soft fist. For a moment they lay, half-submerged, then they slid beneath the surface, into the cool, dark depths of the River Wynnd.

"Their war is over," Alaan said gently, as though they were not his enemies. "But ours is not."They reached the bottom of the stair, and Alaan stopped, look-ing up at the sun, appearing to listen carefully. "Quick now, before the stair leads somewhere else."They went bounding up the uneven treads.

"But how do you know where it leads when?" Cynddl asked as they ran.

"It is the gift given to Sainth by his father. Though even so, it took Sainth some study to get the lay of the land here. It is an is-land in flux, the destination of this stairway changing even as we climb it. Hurry, if we don't reach our companions soon it will be a long wait."They found their friends at the top of a short, overgrown cliff. While Alaan and the others were away,they had thrown ropes over stout branches that overhung the river, and using them like ships' davits, had hauled the boat up where it swung gently, well hidden from anyone on water or land.

Crowheart, as always, appeared quietly fascinated with anyplace they traveled. Dease, still gray-faced with smoke, climbed up onto the island's low shoulder and smiled weakly at Tarn. The Renne had not yet recovered from his ordeal in the river, and their hours of paddling had left him utterly exhausted. Tarn thought Dease went forward only on pride.

Gear was quickly gathered up and portioned out, and as they packed their gear, Fynnol came over and began fussing with his pack beside Tarn.

"So, what happened?" he said quietly. "You look as grim as I can remember, Cousin.""We found three of Hafydd's guards, though one was already dead. We shot them and Alaan finished the last of them after he'd answered some questions.""One of Hafydd's guards divulged information about his master!""Nothing particularly useful.""Ah." Fynnol hefted his pack up and swung it into place. "And where are we going now?""We are following Alaan. And I would stay close if I were you. This island is like the River Wynnd; its paths don't always lead where you're expecting, or even to the same place twice.""Should we be on the lookout for this soul eater?" Cynddl asked Alaan.

Alaan stopped packing his gear. "Not yet. It can't exist by day. Hafydd will create it after sunset, and by the last hours of darkness it will have begun to die, passing the peak of its strength in the mid-dle hours between sunset and sunrise."Tarn shivered. "How do we fight this monster?" he asked.

"You don't. It can't be harmed by any weapon devised by men.

Its skin is more impenetrable than the finest mail, and it's stronger than the nichmear, though not as large, or so the stories say." Alaan looked suddenly troubled. "Listen, all of you. This thing that Hafydd will make is of the ancient world and more powerful than we can understand. You cannot hope to stand against it. It killed Tusival, the most powerful sorcerer who ever lived. If we can't stop Hafydd from creating it…" He did not finish; nor did he need to.

"I suppose the question, then," Fynnol said, "is, how do we kill Hafydd?""A more reasonable proposition," Alaan answered, "but still not easily done. If Elise is here, we might prevail against Hafydd, the two of us, but if he finds us one at a time, we shall be lucky to survive.""He has never caught you yet," Crowheart offered, breaking his silence.

"No, not in this life," Alaan said softly. "There is one possibil-ity. The spell to create a soul eater would be very complicated—too complicated to perform from memory. It will be written down, in a book, most likely. Even the book would not be easy to destroy, but if we meet Hafydd, that book would be more important than any of our lives—mine included."

Menwyn Wills stood at his field desk studying a map of the River Wynnd. His finger traced the gently winding river, seeking a small creek.

"Vast has earned his reward," he said.

A counselor of the Duke of Vast stood looking on. "He has kept his part of the bargain, your grace."Menwyn straightened, gazing down at the map, seeing the land the way an eagle might from high above.

"Unfortunately, the Duke hasn't given me much warning.""It couldn't be helped, your grace. The Renne debated too long.""I'm sure they did." Menwyn tapped a finger on the map. "Vast is certain this is the place?""Yes.""Then we'll prepare the welcome." Menwyn moved slowly around the table, his eyes still fixed on the map. He crossed to the western shore, Renne lands, and began noting the names of towns,the borders of estates, which had been drawn on the paper so that he could begin dividing up the lands.

"If the Renne were smart, they would stay on the western shore and wait for us to cross. They might defend the river against us … for a time.""They are wagering everything on a quick strike, your grace.""It is more than that. After the debacle on the Isle of Battle they think me a bungler. But it was Innes who planned that… and your Duke was with the Renne then. If the Prince had listened to me, Vast would have been on our side, and he would have turned the tide of that battle in our favor. That mistake has been corrected." Menwyn Wills put his finger on the Westbrook, tracing it from its source to Castle Renne, near its mouth. "Can you carry a warning to Vast? Is it possible?""It would be difficult. Time is short, and the riverbank is watched.""You must try, all the same. Prince Michael of Innes appeared at the home of his cousin not a day ago. He was seeking support-ers among his father's officers and allies—hoping to wrest control of the army from me." Lord Menwyn glanced up from the map to see the reaction of this man. "Fortunately, this cousin had decided to join the victorious side sometime before. He sent word, and a company of men-at-arms was sent to his house.""Luck sides with the virtuous.""I hope you're wrong. The Prince was rescued while being brought to me. We haven't managed to find him yet, despite all our efforts."The man had no platitude for that but shifted uncomfortably.

"The odd thing about this was that the young prince was ac-companied by a Renne—Lord Archer Renne, apparently." He looked up at the man. "Do you know him?""Only by reputation. He is … reclusive. It's said he suffers from an injury he received in the tourney some years back.""Exactly. The Prince's cousin thought this man looked re-markably like Samul Renne. In fact, he thought it was Samul Renne, though he had seen him only once before and some years ago.""Samul Renne was executed, your grace. I witnessed it myself.""Then you're certain? You saw Lord Samul die?"The man hesitated a moment. "I saw the head fall into a basket. I was some small distance off, in a window." He thought. "The gal-lows was obscured by black hangings—a custom of the Renne, I was told.""So you didn't see the axe fall?""No. I saw Lord Samul and Carl A'denne led up onto the gal-lows platform, along with a thief who had assisted in Lord Carl's escape. They were men going to their deaths—I could see the fear, even though they bore themselves well. A moment later the execu-tioner went to work and the heads fell rather gruesomely into a bas-ket. It could have been no other.""Would you wager your life on it?"The man stood looking foolish, blinking rapidly. "I did not ex-amine the heads up close. It was early morning, just before sunrise. The light was poor.""Then you should pass this along to Vast: if Lord Samul's death was feigned, then Carl A'denne's might have been as well. And if that is the case, the Renne believed Lord Carl … and are playing Vast for a fool. Warn the Duke of that, and find out if Archer Renne sits safely at home. I need to know if this information Vast has given me is true—or if it is a Renne deception." He put his finger on the small creek where it met the River Wynnd. "When I meet the Renne I don't want any surprises."

The white eye of a nagar gazed at her, then blinked closed.

The moon, Elise realized, slipping behind a lid of clouds.

She was sinking through liquid so black, it was like the space be-tween the stars. And then she was falling, hard, like a stone through the air. She struck and lay for a moment, dazed.

"Orlem? Orlem… ?" Her whisper echoed in the dark. She pushed herself up into a sitting position, the world spinning. "But I was with Slighthand. …" A flash came from above, and she looked up.

"Impossible," she heard herself say. Another flash a moment later showed the same thing—what appeared to be water, but above her, as though she looked down into a pool. It took a bit of an effort to gain her feet, for her leg had been hurt in the fall. Elise tried to reach up, but what appeared to be water was too high— just out of reach. Another flash revealed her surroundings. She was in a round chamber with walls of natural stone—but the floor… the floor was an ancient mosaic, partly buried in sand and pebbles and old leaves. A dark arch led into a tunnel and opposite it a narrow stair had been carved from the natural stone. It fol-lowed the curve of the wall up into the pool overhead. Darkness returned.

Elise shook her head, trying to clear it, and hobbled stiffly in the direction she hoped the stair lay. Her hands found the stone wall in the darkness, then another flare of lightning illuminated the cham-ber. She had missed the stair by a good distance.

"I'm half in a daze," she muttered to no one, and felt along the wall until she encountered the stair. It was almost impossibly nar-row, forcing Elise to climb with her back against the wall and her toes off the treads. She moved up, one step, then another, her stiff leg threatening to collapse each time she put weight on it. In a mo-ment she reached the water, which, when illuminated by a glare of lightning, appeared to wash back and forth above her like water in a glass. She took a step up and felt cold liquid touch the top of her scalp. Another step, and she was in water—Sianon's natural ele-ment for the last age of the world. A few more steps, and she kicked free, swimming up, up toward the world above.

"Bring the child to me," she said, gesturing to Baore.

Toren Renne and his companions stared at Elise dumbly for a moment. A flash of lightning revealed her, up to the waist in water, skin unnaturally pale, eyes waxen and strange. The appearance of this half nagar among them disturbed the men-at-arms, who all stepped back. Some made warding signs.

"We have no time for superstition," she snapped, climbing out of the water and approaching Eber and Llya. "The pool is an en-trance to a tunnel. Below the water, perhaps eight feet, there is air, the water suspended overhead by a spell the likes of which I have never seen. I will take the child, then Eber, but the rest of you must jump in. Carry your weapons or something heavy. Let yourself sink down, and be prepared to suddenly drop another eight feet onto a smooth stone floor." She swept up Llya. "He will be safe with me, don't worry," she assured his anxious father.

Elise took two steps and plunged, feetfirst, into the pool. No one moved to follow.

"We must do as Lady Elise says," Orlem announced. He sheathed his sword and leapt into the waters behind her, disap-pearing in a splash.