Shadowrise s-3

by Tad Williams

Olin Eddon had the bloodless look of a man living a nightmare, and staggered a little as he walked. His guards moved closer to help keep him upright.

  "Is Hesper dead?" Vash asked.

  "Ah, I hope it is not so." Sulepis shook his head. "I would like to think he will pass his last month or so before the poison kills him dwelling on what it means to cheat me and knowing that I will come back at my leisure and devour his little country like a sweetmeat." He paused and turned to gaze back at Gremos Pitra, an expression of great serenity on his long face. "After this, the people of Jellon will crawl to me on the day I return. They will beg to become slaves of Xis."

  "Not everyone in the north will beg to become slaves," Olin said darkly. "You may find that many would rather die than bend their knees to you."

  "That too can be arranged," the autarch told him. "Now come, all of you-step lively. It has been a busy morning and your god-king is hungry."

  Qinnitan was still reeling when the nameless man dragged her out into the sunlight and began to lead her across the docks. Poor Pigeon limped beside them, his hand dripping blood through the makeshift bandage, his little face emptied by the shock of what had happened.

  How could it be? How could all she had suffered and survived have given them only that few moments of freedom? Were the gods utterly evil?

  Spare us, great Nushash, she prayed. I was a priestess in your sacred Hive. I have only tried to do what was right. Heavenly bees, protect us!

  But there were no bees, only smoke and flecks of burning sail wafting on the wind. The ship that had brought them here was all but gone, only a bit of its burning forecastle still above water, the mast long since burned black and collapsed. Hundreds of people crowded the waterfront, shouting bits of the story to each other, staring as survivors were pulled from the water by men in small boats.

  Some of them were innocent sailors, she thought suddenly, like the men on Dorza's ship. Some of them might have been good men. Dead because of me…

  It did no good to think about it-no good to think about anything. She was being taken to an unimaginable punishment at the hands of the autarch and her only hope of escape had proved futile. Even if she were to dive into the water, this nameless, relentless killer would only dive in and pull her back out again. Perhaps if she swallowed as much water as she could…

  But that would leave Pigeon alone, she realized. This monster would give him to the autarch to be tortured… killed…

  Suddenly a horrifying pain stabbed at Qinnitan's arm. She shrieked and staggered a step or two, then fell to her knees. For a moment she thought her captor had grabbed her elbow and broken it, but he was on the other side, holding the other arm. He tried to yank her back upright, but her limbs were as limp and boneless as wet string.

  Blackness swam before her eyes and she hung her head, thinking she might vomit. The pain in her arm was growing fiercer, as if a sliver of the burning ship had been driven into her like a nail into soft wood, as if the joint in her arm were being carved with a sharp knife.

  "Gods! Stop this!" she cried, or thought she did, but she was tumbling down into blackness and could not be certain of anything any more.

  Shadows moved around her, eyeless things murmuring words she could barely hear.

  "Tears…" whispered one.

  "Spittle…" said another.

  "Blood…" quavered a third in a voice so low she could scarcely make it out.

  Her arm burned as if the bone had become a white-hot poker. The darkness swung around her in a wild dance, and for a moment she saw the face of the red-haired boy… Barrick!… but he clearly did not see her, although she tried to call to him. Something covered him and kept her from him-a frozen waterfall, a cup of glass-and her words could not travel to him. Ice. Solid shadow. Separation…

  Then the world wheeled back into place around her, the cry of seagulls and the shouts of people on every side snapping into place like the last piece of a wooden puzzle. The hard, gray planks of the dock were beneath her hands and knees. Somebody was pulling her roughly to her feet, but she was not ready and almost fell again; only the strength of that powerful, iron-hard arm held her upright. The pain in her own arm was fading but she was still breathless with its memory.

  "What are you playing at?" her captor, the nameless man, shook her hard. He looked around as though someone might notice, but no one on the dock was near enough to hear, even if they would have cared. We must look like a father with two willful children, she thought. Behaving badly.

  Something struck her then-not more pain, but a realization: if she continued to walk this path there was no hope. She could feel it, feel things closing in, possibilities withering, so that only death stood at the end of the road-death and something more, something worse. It's waiting, she realized, although she did not know what it was. Something hungry, that was all she knew for certain, and it was waiting for her in the darkness at the end of her journey.

  Qinnitan regained her balance and waited until the man took his hand off her to grab at Pigeon, then she turned and ran as fast her unsteady legs would carry her, straight toward the edge of the dock, not slowing even at a shout from her captor. The planks were wet and she almost slipped and tumbled into the water, but managed to stop herself by grabbing at a post. She held onto it, swaying, then raised her hand as the man began to walk toward her, dragging Pigeon behind him.

  "No!" she said with as much strength as she could muster, the word a harsh croak in her sea-roughened throat. "No. If you take another step before you hear me out, I'll throw myself in. I'll swim for the bottom and drink in so much ocean I'll be dead before you reach me."

  He paused, the look of rage on his unexceptional face changing to something else, something colder and more calculating.

  "I know I can't get away from you," she said. "Let the boy go and I'll do what you want. Try to bring him along and I'll kill myself and you can take my body to the autarch instead."

  "I make no bargains," said the nameless man.

  "Pigeon, run away!" Qinnitan shouted. "Go on, run. He won't come after you. Run far away and hide."

  The boy only stared at her, the shock of his injuries changing into something much more heartbreaking. The man still held his wrist. Pigeon shook his head.

  "Go!" she said. "Otherwise he'll only keep hurting you to make me do what he wants. Run away!"

  The nameless man looked from the boy to her. He bent and picked up a piece of coarse rope that lay in haphazard loops on the dock like an exhausted snake. "Tie one end around your waist and I will let the boy go." He flipped a coil of the rope toward her.

  "Pigeon, move back," she said as she bent to pick it up, but the boy only stared at her, his face full of helpless misery. "Move back!" She turned to the man. "When he is at the edge of the dock by those steps, I'll tie it around my waist. I swear as an acolyte of the Hives of Nushash."

  The man actually laughed, a harsh rasp of amusement. Something was different about him, she realized for the first time-something odd, as though he had lost a bit of his stony outer armor. He was still terrifying, though.

  The man nodded. "Go ahead, then." He called over his shoulder to Pigeon. "Run, child. Once I see that rope tied, if you are still on the dock I will cut off the rest of your fingers."

  Pigeon shook his head again, violently, but Qinnitan thought it was less in negation than in desperation. "Go away!" she shouted. A few people at the other end of the dock turned, their attention finally distracted from the fire in the harbor. "I cannot live with your suffering, Pigeon. Please-it's the best thing you can do for me. Go!"

  The boy hesitated half a dozen heartbeats longer, then burst into tears and turned and ran away across the broad dock, his bare feet banging on the planks. Qinnitan considered throwing herself into the cold green water again, but whether it was the horror of nearly drowning earlier or the feeling that she had somehow changed what lay before her, if only a little, she tied the rope around her waist and then let herself be pulled toward the nameless man.
Pigeon, she was relieved to see, was no longer in sight.

  The only person left in this world who loved me, she thought. Gone now. Qinnitan let the man lead her off like an animal going to holy sacrifice, away from the sparking chaos of the harbor and back into the shadowed alleys that ran between the narrow buildings clustered beside the docks of Agamid.

  19

  Dreams of Lightning and Black Earth

  "One Deep Ettin killed with hot oil and dragged from its tunnel at Northmarch was more than twice the height of a man. King Lander later brought the bones back to Syan as a trophy.The monster's hand was said to have been as large as Lander's great shield."

  -from "A Treatise on the Fairy Peoples of Eion and Xand"

  She was digging desperately through dark earth, but every time she caught a glimpse of her twin brother's pale, sleeping face he sank farther into the soil and out of her reach.

  Once or twice she actually managed to touch his garments before he slid deeper into the ground, but no matter how hard she worked or how fast she threw aside the dirt she could not catch up to him. Barrick seemed alive but unaware of her, writhing as though trapped in a frightening dream. She called to him over and over but he wouldn't or couldn't answer.

  She touched something at last and her fingers curled in the damp cloth of her brother's shirt, but when she braced herself and pulled up hard, what appeared out of the black loam like the cap of a mushroom was not her brother's pallid features but those of Ferras Vansen. Shocked and startled, she let go, but as the soldier disappeared back into the dirt the earth beneath her abruptly collapsed as well. She fell down into smothering, gritty dark.

  She was in a tunnel, bits of white roots worming down from the rocky soil above her head. A flash of silver now appeared ahead of her-just a glimmer, but enough for her to recognize the thing she had chased before… in another…

  When? She couldn't remember. But she knew it was true, and knew that the silvery thing had eluded her once more. She was determined it would not happen again. Still, although she scrambled after it as quickly as she could, she was not meant for traveling on all fours while the thing she chased clearly was: it remained always a turn ahead of her, giving her only glimpses of a pale, fluttering, brushlike tail.

  Then she stumbled and bumped against the wall. The tunnel fell in on her and Briony Eddon woke up.

  She shook her head, disconcerted to find she was wearing a heavy headdress-why would she wear such a thing to bed? Briony opened her eyes to find herself in her sitting room. Her ladies were sewing and talking quietly among themselves. She had fallen asleep sitting up, in midday, and probably drooled on herself as well like some ancient crone.

  Her friend Ivgenia was watching her with a little smile on her face. Briony hurriedly wiped at her chin. "How terrible I am, how rude!" she said, sitting up straight. "I must have dozed off. Why do you look at me so, Ivvie? Did I say something terrible in my sleep?"

  "Oh, Highness, no." The smile widened. "Poor thing. Too many late nights."

  "You're teasing me. It was only one late night-and it was the last night of Greater Zosimia. You are the one always telling me I should go out and be seen by the people of the court."

  "And you were seen. And you even danced! No one will ever again criticize you for holding yourself aloof, my dear."

  "Danced? " Briony winced a little. She had intended no such thing, but the revelries had come at the end of a long, tiring day and she had clearly taken at least one cup of wine too many. "You make it sound terrible. Did I make a fool of myself?"

  Ivvie smiled again. "You attracted much attention, but it was the sort many of the other girls envied, I think."

  "Stop. You are cruel."

  "We shall see. Your secretary has a few things for you to look at."

  "What? " She really did feel terribly thick-headed. These nights of poor sleep and strange dreams-forests, digging, dark tunnels full of roots-were clearly taking a toll on her. Still, that was no excuse for playing the fool.

  Feival Ulian had been standing in the doorway with his arms folded on his chest. He had taken to court life very quickly: no other secretary or cleric in Broadhall dressed so well or so colorfully. "Have we finished our little beauty nap?" he asked. "Because there are several messages awaiting your reply-and a few other things as well." He rolled his eyes. "One of the packages is addressed to 'The Lovely Dancing Princess'-I suppose that's you."

  "Oh, dear. You'd better let me see it." She took the small fabric-covered box from Feival. "What is it?"

  Ivgenia giggled. "You goose! Open it and find out."

  "Is it a gift? It says it's from Lord Nikomakos." She fiddled it open and drew out a small velvet bag.

  "He's an earl's son-the one with the yellow hair you spent so much time dancing with last night." Ivgenia laughed. "Surely your Royal Highness didn't drink so much wine that you can't remember him at all?"

  "I do remember. He reminded me of Kendrick, my… my brother. But he wouldn't stop talking about his hawks. Hawk, hawk, hawk… Why should he send me…"-she lifted it out of the bag-"Zoria preserve me, why should he send me a gold bracelet?" It was a lovely thing, if a trifle gaudy, the kind of ornate work that she seldom wore by choice-a twining white rose, the blossoms picked out in pale gems. "Oh, merciful goddess, are those diamonds? What does he want from me?" She was horrified-she would never drink wine in public again. Instead of sounding out the nobles who might be sympathetic to her family's cause and could help put gentle pressure on King Enander, as she had meant to, she had apparently made a spectacle of herself to shame the worst provincial.

  "Are you really such an idiot, Highness?" Ivvie demanded.

  "I mean, certainly I know what he wants, and I suppose I'm flattered, but…" She stared fretfully at the bracelet. "I must send it back." She thought she could actually hear Feival pursing his lips in disgust. "Are all of these gifts from him?"

  "From him and others," her friend said.

  "Then I must send them all back."

  "Truly? All of them? " Ivgenia held out a large parcel wrapped in cloth. "Even this one from Prince Eneas himself…?"

  Briony took it and opened it. "It's a book-A Chronicle of the Life of Iola, Queen of Syan, Tolos, and Perikal. Of course-the prince and I spoke of her the other day."

  "How romantic," Feival said with a certain asperity.

  "So are you going to keep it?"

  "It is a very thoughtful gift, Ivvie-he knows I am interested in such things. Iola lived in secrecy for several years when young because her family had been usurped during the War of Three Favors."

  "Which means you want to keep it, Princess. What of the bracelet? Do you still mean to send it back?"

  "Of course. I hardly know the man."

  "So you will keep a book and send back a jeweled bracelet? Do you wonder why half the court thinks you have set your cap at Eneas and the other half thinks you mad?"

  It stung. There was something in what Ivvie said, of course-Briony did have some feelings for the prince, and it had been clever of him to give her such a gift instead of something merely pretty. Eneas understood that she was not like other girls.

  Which made what she planned to do to him even more terrible.

  "What about these others? There are half a dozen more letters and gifts." Ivgenia held out a carved wooden box. "This is pretty."

  "I don't want any of these." Briony shook her head. "You open it."

  "Truly? May I keep what's in it…?"

  "Ivvie! You are terrible! Very well, I might as well know-what is it?"

  "It's… empty," said her friend, but her voice sounded odd. "Oh. I've hurt myself. On the clasp." Ivgenia held up her finger to show Briony a single drop of blood like a carnelian bead. A moment later the girl swayed and then fell heavily to the floor.

  Briony didn't like the formality of Broadhall's Great Garden at the best of times, but today it felt utterly barren and oppressive.

  It wasn't the size, although it covered many acres, but
the tamed, controlled nature of the place. None of the hedges or ornamental trees were taller than a person's head, and most were far shorter; between them lay only geometric arrangements of low box hedges and careful, concentric flower gardens. You could stand in any part of the gardens and see almost all the rest, including who shared the garden with you. Perhaps the Tessians liked it that way, but she preferred a little more solitude, especially now, when it felt like malicious eyes watched her everywhere she went. The much smaller residence garden back home had several little hills and stands of tall trees that effectively divided the space into many separate locations-a world in miniature, as her father had once called it. (He was talking sourly of how parts of it had been allowed to go to seed, but what he said was still true.)

  "I am sorry to keep you waiting, Princess." As Eneas emerged from the back of the scriptorium Briony had a momentary view of a legion of beetle-black scribing priests sitting side by side at the long tables, hard at work. "And even more sorry to keep you waiting at such an unhappy time. There is no way I can express my sorrow and shame that such things should happen in my father's court-and twice! Please, how is the Lady e'Doursos?"

  "She will live, thank the gods, that is what the physician told me… but she will be a long while getting better." Briony fought back tears for what seemed like the hundredth time in the last few hours. She was so tired she felt as though she were made from frail glass. "It was a near thing. I sat up with her all the night as she passed in and out of her fever. I thought many times we would lose her, but it seems the sharpened piece of the clasp only barely pierced her, or it might have been the poison was weak." Briony still could not guess who had tried to murder her this time. Surely Jenkin Crowel had been frightened out of trying such tricks again, but if it hadn't been the Tollys' envoy then who could be behind it?

  "We must praise the Three Brothers for that blessed bit of good fortune, then." Eneas offered Briony his arm. "Will you walk with me? I am mightily tired of the sound of pens scratching. I have been sending letters to every garrison between here and Hierosol about the autarch's attack. A damnable amount of work." He colored a little. "Not that I had to do all the copying myself, thank the gods!" He was speaking swiftly now, as though afraid to let silence fall. "I must get one of those writing machines the pamphleteers and poets use-or stamping machine, I suppose it should be called, for they work by stamping out letters and words as a royal seal stamps signs into wax. It would certainly speed the giving of orders to our field commanders…" He shook his head. "Listen to me, prattling on when you have just survived an attack on your life!"