All the Paths of Shadow

by Frank Tuttle

  A hundred feet down the stair, the Vonat whirled, dropping his tools, gasping at the sudden blaze of light.

  Meralda caught a single brief glimpse of the man’s wild eyes and open mouth before he lifted his own staff and hurled a gout of fire directly at her.

  Nameless showed Meralda a hidden space, and time slowed about it. The rushing gout of wild flame stopped, beautiful, a blooming crimson flower made of fire and heat and light.

  Meralda flicked it into oblivion with ease.

  The Vonat waved his staff, and the air was filled with knives. They flashed toward Meralda, a school of shiny razors, until she sent them hurtling back toward the Vonat with the merest flick of her hand.

  The Vonat’s staff, a thing of moaning wet bones wrapped in iron, shielded its master with a cloak of ice. The ice broke when the knives struck, filling the Tower with the sound of tinkling and shattering, far below.

  Meralda spoke through Otrinvion’s throat, her voice loud and strong and harsh.

  “How dare you disturb my rest?” she said. Echoes rolled like thunder. “How dare you invade my home?”

  The Vonat rose and shouted a word and surrounded Meralda with a clinging, choking cloud of thick, deadly smoke.

  Meralda dispelled it with a glance. The Vonat sent a wave of serpents slithering up the stair, each hooded and hissing and dripping with venom. Meralda burned them to ash before any could strike.

  A rain of acid hail, a burst of killing wind, a screaming voice that cried madness into the mind and despair into the heart. A second wave of fire. A mass of flying whips. A sudden rain of spears.

  All came hurtling toward Meralda, and all fell before her newfound power.

  So easy, she thought, as each attack failed, as the staves showed her hidden things filled with power.

  Why not strike him down?

  Why not strike them all down?

  The Vonat sent a final burst of hungry shadows at Meralda, and then sank to his knees, breathless and spent.

  “Who are you, to trouble me?”

  Meralda felt the words leave her throat, but was unsure for an instant who spoke them.

  “Who are you, to dare my wrath?”

  Who are you, to use my voice?

  “Is this not what you wanted?” asked a stave.

  “Is it not power you sought?” asked the other.

  I could have it all, thought Meralda. Power in every shadow. No more struggling. No more doubt.

  No more Meralda.

  What was it Tam had said?

  “There will come a time when you must choose,” Meralda remembered. “Choose between power and stealth. Between might and wisdom. Between the easy way, and the hard.”

  Meralda took a deep breath.

  “Behold, son of Vonath,” she said, in Otrinvion’s booming voice. “You would dare intrude, dare seek to ensorcel my home? Then see the price of thy impertinence. Look up, and see!”

  Meralda reached forth and gripped Nam’s chin and forced his head up before imposing her Sight full upon his.

  She showed him the curseworks, showed him the tethers. Showed him the moving, living mass of spells and magics that coursed through the Tower.

  “Fire, Vonat.”

  She showed him the curse of fire, how it would devour stone and iron, such was the ferocity of its burning.

  “Wind.”

  She showed him dark funnels of black wind that fell from a boiling sky before marching across the lands, ravaging everything in their path.

  “Pestilence.”

  She forced the Vonat to see each of the dozen curses.

  She reached out, and gave her tethers a subtle twist, and when it was done the curseworks were aimed right at the heart of Vonath. She showed that to the wizard, forcing him to watch as doom after doom engulfed his homeland before spreading like a rush of fire across the Realms.

  By the time the last curse landed, he shook in her grasp.

  “Each of these shall be loosed upon your lands, should you trouble me once more. When they are done, Vonath shall be a wasteland, a place of bones and ghosts. Do you doubt this, magician? Do you need further proof of my powers?”

  Meralda relaxed her grip. The Vonat sagged, coughing and sputtering, before managing the single word ‘no’.

  “You will depart,” said Meralda, to the sputtering Vonat. “You will depart my home at once. You will trouble me no more. Be gone, meddling magician. Be gone, or taste my wrath.”

  Meralda looked into the secret places one last time. She saw the Vonat’s travel spell, how he had transported himself directly into the Tower from his own makeshift laboratory in his room at the palace. She saw the killing spell he sought to prepare, making ready to wreak havoc on the Accords.

  And she saw the fear in the man’s eyes. Fear of her.

  “Enough.” Meralda reached out and moved her will just so, and the Vonat was cast screaming out of the Tower, and his killing spell evaporated like so much morning dew.

  The sudden silence in the Tower rang almost like a bell.

  Meralda sank on the stair, herself again, shaking and sweating and tired.

  “Master would approve,” said a stave.

  “Indeed,” said the other.

  “Let’s go home,” said Meralda.

  “As you wish, Mage Meralda,” said one.

  The dark of the Tower vanished, became the warm soft glow of the laboratory.

  Fromarch was there, his face lined with worry. Shingvere, too, not smiling, no twinkle in his eyes.

  Donchen moved to meet Meralda, his hand extended. She took it, and leaned against him as they walked to her desk and her battered old chair.

  “We saw,” said Mug. “I think you may have done it, mistress. Fixed the Vonats as well as the tethers. I don’t think Nam will ever come nosing about the Tower, again.”

  “We’d rather have seen you throw him off the stair, Mage, but you’re the one in the robes now, not us.” Fromarch and Shingvere gathered at Meralda’s desk as she sat.

  Donchen looked down at her and smiled.

  “Well done, Mage,” he said. “I am glad to have you back.”

  Weariness settled on Meralda like a robe made of lead. She felt herself slipping out of wakefulness, felt her head settle down onto her desk despite her efforts to remain upright and alert.

  Donchen’s words sang her to sleep. “I am glad to have you back.” He’d put just a bit of emphasis on ‘you’.

  He understands, she thought. Somehow. He alone understands.

  And then Meralda slipped away into a deep sleep, where she dreamed of eating hay with Tam and flying kites with Tower while Donchen served everyone eggrolls and ghosts.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Special Accord Early Edition,” read the banner on the Post. “Historic Accords Commence Today! Midnight Light Show in Tower—Portends or Pranksters? Crown Denies Rumors of Vonat Pullout! Are Eryans Taking Our Jobs?”

  “What?”

  “I’m just reading the headlines, mistress,” cried Mug. “I don’t write them, you know.”

  Meralda stuck her head out of the water closet door. Her red hair hung in a wet bunch as she toweled it dry. “Which story would you like me to read first?” asked Mug.

  Meralda bent over, letting her hair fall down straight before trying to comb the worst of the tangles out. “Let’s hear what Yvin is denying about a Vonat pullout.”

  Mug scanned the page. “Our rotund monarch denies categorically that only an intense series of wee hours meetings kept the Vonats in the Accords,” he said.

  “Which means that’s exactly what happened,” said Meralda.

  “He also denied that only the combined pressure from all the other Realms, including threats of united military embargoes, kept them here. Interesting. I wonder what spooked them so badly? See what I did there? Spooked.”

  Meralda groaned.

  “Humindorus Nam must be ready to run all the way back to Vonath about now,” mused Mug. “He can’t know his fancy l
ightning spell is gone. Bet he’s worried that if it fires off the dread shade of the Black will loose a barge load of doom all over his homeland.” Mug chuckled. “Mistress, that was sheer genius.”

  Meralda shook her head, remembering the fear in the Vonat’s wizard’s eyes. “I did what I did for the good of Tirlin, Mug. I wish there had been another way.”

  “There was another way, mistress. The long way down. But that isn’t your way, and all things told I suppose I’m glad of it.”

  “Thank you, Mug. I think.” Meralda darted barefoot back into the water closet, where she combed her hair and decided to send for her clothes, since it seemed obvious she’d not be returning home before Yvin’s commencement speech in the morning.

  “Do you think the Vonats will really be scared into behaving themselves, mistress?”

  Meralda shrugged at her reflection.

  “I suppose that all depends on how much sway Nam has with his superiors,” she said. “And how willing they are to believe in ghosts.”

  “You showed him the curseworks, though. Think he can work out a way to see them for himself, maybe show his regents they’re really there?”

  “Tower believes he can make them visible, if he sees that they’re trying.”

  “Well that ought to buy us fifty years or so of good behavior. Oh, look. Your boyfriend is heading this way. Looks like he has breakfast.”

  Meralda pretended she hadn’t heard. In a moment, though, Kervis knocked at the door before announcing Donchen.

  Meralda turned out the water closet light and hurried out, wishing her hair was dry. Donchen rolled his cart into its customary spot and smiled at Meralda.

  “Good morning, Mage,” he said. “I trust you are rested?”

  “As much as one can be, sleeping at one’s desk. That smells wonderful!”

  “Thank you. It’s a special meal, based on an old family recipe. I had to raid the ship’s stores for some of the ingredients. I do hope you find it palatable.”

  Meralda cleared her desk and scooted her chairs into their places. “I’m sure I’ll find it delicious,” she said. She watched Donchen open the cart and begin to dispense the contents, and saw him wince when he reached for a silver bowl of steaming rice.

  “Are you all right?”

  Donchen ginned ruefully. “I assure you, Mage, I am in perfect health.”

  “Ha,” said Mug. “You limped the whole way down the hall, and you were favoring your right arm, too.”

  Meralda put her hands on her hips.

  “Tell me. No more obfuscations.”

  Donchen nodded, and sagged, resting his left hand suddenly on the serving cart.

  “There were those who were displeased with the contents of the list I gave you, Mage.” He winced. “They made the unfortunate decision to fly in the face of tradition and attack a sohata. I’m afraid they nearly spoiled our breakfast, in doing so. But I believe the Chongit sauce will prove acceptable, despite this…”

  Meralda pointed to Donchen’s chair. “Sit,” she said. “At once. You were assaulted? By the ones you named?”

  “Not all. Only nine. They nearly caught me by surprise. I do tend to become distracted when I’m in the kitchen.”

  Meralda moved to stand beside him. He looked up at her, his customary half-smile growing. “They are no longer a threat, Mage. Not to me, nor to the Accords. You asked once what the House of Chentze intended to do with them. I believe they intended to do nothing. Better that the traitors be slain by a sohata, you see. Better for Chentze. Better for the families of the conspirators. Not so good for me, perhaps, but as you can see, I have survived.”

  The man just fought and possibly just killed nine people, thought Meralda. She remembered her own moment, on the stair.

  And then he finished making breakfast.

  Meralda put her hand on his.

  “The sauce will not retain its subtlety, if it gets cold,” said Donchen. “And we both have a very long day ahead.”

  Meralda squeezed his hand, and finished setting her makeshift table.

  Donchen dozed in his chair.

  Meralda pretended to fuss over her nearly empty plate and watched him sleep.

  “The captain is heading up the stairs, mistress,” whispered Mug.

  Meralda sighed and rose. “Coming to see me, I imagine.”

  “Doubtlessly.” A knock sounded at the doors.

  Meralda moved quickly to them. “Come in, Captain,” she said.

  The captain tramped inside. “I suppose you’ve heard,” he said. “Something scared the whole Vonat wing nearly back to Vonath last night. Lights in the Tower, too. I don’t suppose you know anything about that?”

  Meralda feigned an innocent smile. “Not a thing, Captain.”

  “Good for you, Mage. Oh, the king sends his regards. And a message. ‘Well done.’ He asked me to tell you that in person. But of course you don’t know what it means.”

  “I certainly don’t.”

  The captain nodded. “Of course not. By the way. The Vonats have locked their best wizard in a closet. He keeps ranting about phantoms and curses and swatting at thin air. Claims two wingless black crows are following him. Wingless crows, ha.” The captain’s weary face split into a grin. “Never liked that man.”

  “I only met him once,” said Meralda. “He seemed a bit unstable.”

  The captain slapped his knee. “Well. I’ve delivered my message. I’m off. Probably won’t see you again before commencement, Mage.” He stuck out his hand. “But I want you to know this, Meralda Ovis. All those things you haven’t done, and don’t know anything about? Good work. Damned good work.”

  Meralda took his hand and shook it.

  “Mage.”

  “Captain.”

  He let go of her hand, and marched out, still grinning.

  Kervis stuck his head in the door. “Mage?”

  “Yes, Kervis?”

  “This might not be a good time, but—well, Tervis and I—we got you something. For being so nice, and all.”

  The Bellringer’s face flushed suddenly crimson.

  Meralda laughed. “Well, come in and let me see it! You too, Tervis. I see your shadow.”

  The Bellringers marched in, their eyes on the floor.

  Kervis held a small box wrapped in white paper in his hand.

  “It’s not much,” said Tervis.

  “But we hope you like it,” finished Kervis.

  Meralda took the box, and unwrapped it carefully. Inside was a silver necklace, and on it was a single silver leaf, that shone in the light.

  “We thought it would remind you of Mr. Mug, and the time we fought the rope men,” said Kervis. “You saved us all that day, Mage. This is our way of saying we’ll never forget.”

  Tears welled up in Meralda’s eyes. She blinked them back and fastened the necklace around her neck.

  “Thank you. Thank you both,” she said. “I’ll treasure it always.”

  The Bellringers smiled and Kervis grabbed his brother’s sleeve and they hurried back out the door.

  “Mistress!” cried Mug. “Mistress, come quick!”

  Donchen stirred, suddenly alert, and leapt to his feet.

  Meralda hurried to his side. “Mug, what is it?” She searched the glass for any signs of Vonats in the Tower, or on the stair.

  “My eye! My new eye!” Mug waved an eye bud in front of the glass. “It’s opened! And it’s yellow!”

  Meralda laughed. Donchen relaxed, and leaned against her, his arm going around her waist.

  “I wished for a yellow eye and I got one,” said Mug. “I’d say your spring has some magic left after all, Donchen.”

  “Perhaps it does,” he said. “I once drank from it myself.”

  “What did you wish for?” asked Mug.

  Donchen hugged Meralda tight. “Only those things I seem to have found.”

  “Mistress,” said Mug, gazing at her with his new yellow eye. “You look…mage-like.”

  Meralda frowned. H
er deep blue robes hung shapeless about her. The wool was hot and she was sure it was making her neck turn red and itchy. The sleeves were too long, despite her instructions to the royal seamstress that they be shortened and tradition be hanged.

  I’m almost glad Donchen isn’t here to see me in this wretched thing, she thought. Especially if I break out in hives because of it.

  He’d simply said he had to go, and that he’d be close by for the Accords. Meralda wondered where he’d gone, and why. But something sad and wistful in his voice left her unwilling to question him further.

  “I wish I could go with you,” Mug said. “I feel as if I should be there. Your big day and all.”

  “I need you here, Mug. Keeping an eye on the Tower.”

  Mug tossed his leaves. “True. Still. I’ll be glad when this is done, mistress. I miss the kitchen windowsill.”

  Fromarch stuck his head in the door. “Well?” he asked. “Are you decent?”

  “I might as well be wearing a tent,” said Meralda. “Do come in.”

  Fromarch darted inside, accompanied by Shingvere.

  Fromarch was clad in a simple, but poorly fitted, black robe. Scuffed black work boots peeked out from beneath, and the wrinkled collar of a white Phendelit dress shirt showed at the neck.

  Shingvere, though, was dressed in a flowing red and black Eryan mage’s robe, complete with billowing sleeves and a blood-red sash. His hood was thrown back, his beard was trimmed and combed, and his eyes twinkled above his broad smile.

  “Mage Meralda, you look wonderful,” he said. “Shame that robe doesn’t fit a bit better, you’d have half of Erya proposing marriage right there in the stands.”

  “What the devil would she want with a lot of half-wit Eryans,” grumbled Fromarch.

  Meralda raised her hands. “I’m glad to see you both. I haven’t had a chance to thank you for keeping the Vonats busy, these last few days.”

  Both mages guffawed and exchanged grins. “Haven’t had that much fun in years,” said Fromarch.

  “We put a basilisk in their swimming pool,” said Shingvere. “’Tis a crying shame that didn’t make the papers.”

  “I do not want to know,” said Meralda. “At least not yet.”