Shadows Past: A Borderlands Novel

by Lorna Freeman

  No Captain Javes, though, or Queen Mab’s butterflies.

  Laurel stooped down so that his face was in the wolf’s. “Any words before I rip your throat out?”

  Kveta stared back, unwinking.

  “Good,” Laurel rumbled. Straightening, he shoved the staff into the crook of his arm and raised his paw, his claws extended. But before he could strike, a soft breeze blew through the great hall, bringing with it the scents of autumnal forests, fruit-laden orchards, and ripened fields. There was a soft, quick step in the entryway and a tall figure stepped into the hall.

  “The renegade wolf belongs to me, Cat,” the Lord of the Forest said.

  Twenty-five

  The shouts, demands for release, and wordless raging all stopped, and in the sudden silence I could hear a bird’s song through the thick castle walls. Vaguely wondering if it was the same damn bird I’d heard so many weeks ago in Freston, I stared at the tall and broad—figure—walking towards me. I supposed he could’ve been taken for a man, except for the antlers protruding from his head, his hair and beard being made of moss, and being clothed in leaves and tree bark. As he neared, the smell of autumn grew stronger and I could see leaves appearing under his bare feet, creating a carpet in the riotous colors of fall.

  Apparently I—and Laurel and Wyln—had been wrong about who the stag in the tapestry was.

  I drew closer to Laurel. “Not the Lady’s Consort after all,” I said softly.

  “No,” Laurel rumbled just as softly in agreement. “It seems not.”

  Laurel and I weren’t the only ones watching the Lord of the Forest make his way towards us. Most were still straining to get to whoever they were fighting, their faces distorted in rage. However, there were a few sprinkled throughout the hall who stared wide-eyed, paying no heed to the vines holding them as they contorted to track him. Which included Berenice and Lord Idwal. But instead of wide-eyed wonder, Idwal wore an expression of resignation while Berenice was shaking her head, her low “no” almost lost in the silence of the hall. If the Lord of the Forest heard her, he made no sign as he stopped in front of us. Remembering my manners, I gave a deep bow. As did Laurel.

  “Honored lord,” the Faena said.

  “My lord,” I said at the same time.

  “Cousin?” Jusson asked. The vines summoned by Laurel had covered the king up to his waist, and he had to twist to face us, his sword arm frozen midparry.

  “I am the lord of this place,” the forest lord said before I could, his voice the whisper of the wind across treetops.

  “You’re what?”

  “Long story,” Idwal said.

  Jusson opened his mouth, but before he said anything his gaze drifted over his formerly missing majordomo and servant, and he frowned. “Cais?” he asked, his voice tentative.

  Cais also bowed. “Your Majesty.”

  Jusson’s expression cleared, the saturnine darkness leaving his face. “Cais!” He tried to move, tugging against the vines, and, figuring it wasn’t wise to keep the king trussed up like a roasting fowl, I gave Laurel a hard nudge. The next moment, the vines disappeared. To my relief, Jusson paid no attention to a similarly trussed Munir, Idwal, or anyone else for that matter. Turning, he edged past the vine-entangled Thadro and Suiden and wove down through the immobilized crowd on the stairs, his long strides making short work of the distance between us. “Damn it, man. Where have you been?”

  “I was ensorceled and imprisoned with Finn and Master Laurel,” Cais said.

  “Imprisoned!” Jusson said, reaching us. He clamped a hand on Cais’ shoulder. “Who would dare—” The king broke off, staring at the necklet still held in Laurel’s glowing paw. “I’ve seen that before.” He reached out to take it, but the green man gently pushed his hand aside.

  “Touch not, elf king.” The Lord of the Forest held out his own hand. “Give it here, Cat.”

  Laurel gave a slow blink, then, with a start, quickly handed over the necklet.

  “What is it?” Jusson asked.

  “Evil,” the Forest Lord said. A green light shimmered about the necklet before leaves sprouted over it, covering it completely. There was a sighing, rustling sound as all around the great hall folks blinked and scrunched their faces as though they’d come out of a dark place into the sun.

  “Evil?” Jusson repeated as he stared about at the frozen tableaus about him, his gaze finally coming to rest on the griffin still holding Kveta in one grip and Jeff and Arlis with another. The griffin chirped again, bobbing its head at the king as it easily ignored my former personal guards’ attempts to get to their feet. Figuring that it wouldn’t do Jeff any good for Jusson to wonder why he was held by the griffin’s taloned claw, I sidled over and this time nudged the beast. It immediately released Jeff and Arlis and they just as immediately rose, both straightening their uniforms, sheathing their swords, and in general pretending that they hadn’t just been trying to gut each other. They weren’t the only ones. All around the great hall those who could lowered their weapons, some with a puzzled air, as if they didn’t quite understand how the swords, knives, and assorted cudgels managed to get into their hands. Most, though, wore the same sullen expressions I’d seen on the brawlers the night we first arrived here. They knew exactly what they were doing and why.

  “It was where we were imprisoned, Your Majesty,” Cais said.

  “In one of the mirrors,” Finn added.

  “Mirrors?” Wyln asked. There was a rustling sound and the enchanter was free of the vines. Instead of navigating the stairs, he floated down to where we were. “This mage has both air and water aspects?”

  “ ‘This mage’ is Kveta,” Laurel said.

  “What?” Wyln, Jusson, and Thadro all said at the same time, while Suiden gave a rumble of surprise, the captain dragon staring over his shoulder at the very human-looking mage still held firmly in the griffin’s grip.

  “But Kveta’s a wolf,” Thadro said from the gallery, his voice echoing in the silent hall.

  “Humans aren’t the only ones who can shape-shift, Eorl Commander,” Wyln said.

  “From male to female?”

  “An illusion,” Laurel said, and started to raise his staff. However, the Forest Lord beat him to it. The green man waved a hand and Kveta blurred for a moment, then came back into focus but this time different. Her body was smaller, leaner than before, and while she still had pale skin, her face was sharper, more feminine, and her hair changed from a shaggy nest to a close-clipped pelt that shone in the morning light. And it wasn’t the only thing that shone.

  “The Qarant prescriber from the anvea,” Wyln said, his eyes narrowed on the jewel-colored hummingbird tattooed on the side of Kveta’s neck. “Which makes me wonder how much of that fiasco was the fault of the water witch.”

  “But the prescriber didn’t look anything like that,” Jusson said.

  “Water mages are good at illusions,” Wyln said. “Some are very, very good.”

  “Just as some are very good at dark magicks,” Laurel said. He flicked his paw at the leaf-covered necklet. “Dragon bone, surrounded by workings of misdirection and amplifiers.”

  “Misdirection and amplifiers?” Jusson asked.

  “The mirrors and crystals, honored king,” Laurel said. “They protect the wearer while magnifying the working—the curse—and at the same time, diffusing it so that we wouldn’t catch on a working was being done, let alone what it was, or where it was coming from.”

  “Like a sour grace note in a welter of music, and so we were the dancers to this piper’s whim,” Wyln said, picking up the leaf-covered necklet and examining it. Then his face changed, darkening, and he suddenly looked as Jusson had just a few moments before. “Fire purges,” he said, his light voice almost dreamy. “Perhaps we should apply the aspect to both the cursed thing and its maker—”

  Let it burn.

  I shuddered. “No, honored cyhn,” I whispered.

  “And so even through the green man’s warding, it taints us,” Laure
l said.

  A startled look crossed Wyln’s face; then he quickly dropped the necklet back into the green man’s hand and moved back.

  “That strong?” Jusson asked as several others also moved a few paces back, giving the warded necklet plenty of space.

  “Yes, honored king,” Laurel said. He did a scan of the great hall, his amber gaze lingering on those who weren’t standing. Or couldn’t. “It’s no wonder that we went mad. I’m surprised that it wasn’t worse.”

  “It would’ve been, Cat,” the green man said, “except for your rune.” He reached over and grabbed Laurel’s paw, tapping the near incandescent rune on the middle pad. “It interfered with the casting of the spell, changing it so that instead of viewing everyone as your adversary, you told the truth as to who your adversaries are.”

  Except that’s not what had happened. Not quite. I gave in to the weary aching of my body and, uncaring of Jusson’s presence or the cold stone floor, sat down, resting my throbbing head against my knees, my body shivering with reaction. The griffin gave a small hop, still dragging Kveta as it landed next to me. I looked up once more and caught its gray eyes, and started to frown. The griffin chirped again as it crouched against me, sharing its warmth.

  “But Master Laurel wasn’t there for a great deal of this,” Jusson said.

  “I’m not the only one with the rune, honored king,” Laurel said.

  I looked away from the griffin to see the king, the Faena, and the green man all looking at me. Laurel reached down and, taking my hand, turned it over to show the still glowing truth rune on my palm. The Forest Lord’s rollicking laugh filled the hall.

  “Two truth runes? No wonder it didn’t go as planned,” he said. He bent down to where Kveta lay clutched by the griffin. All the wolf’s malice was gone as she fixed her one good eye on the green man, her face blank. “You were warned once, Wolf. In the forest, you were warned when you and your cohorts attacked the mage—”

  “Attacked?” Laurel asked.

  “Kveta was behind the ambush?” Suiden rumbled from the gallery at the same time, his basso shaking the windows.

  “Apparently so, Captain Prince,” Jusson said.

  “What happened?” Laurel asked.

  “Rabbit was ambushed in the forest yestereve after your ‘disappearance,’ ” Wyln said to Laurel. “And now we find out it was by Kveta and friends. She also attacked later last night. She’s been very busy these past two days.”

  “So she has, setting up ambushments and abductions and attempted assassinations,” Jusson said. “Enchantments and poisonings too, most likely.”

  There was a ripple through the king’s men, aristos, soldiers, and royal guards alike twisting in their bonds, first to look at each other, then down at the captive wolf in growing anger as it dawned on them who’d not only poisoned Captain Javes, but also cast the spell that caused their fellows to fall into the enchanted slumber. Thadro also twisted, tugging at the vines holding him. I watched, tempted to leave him up there. In fact, as far as I was concerned—

  The sea rise up and swallow them.

  Swallowing hard, I reached out and tapped Laurel on the ankle before pointing up at the gallery. Laurel frowned and started to shake his head, but Jusson must’ve seen our byplay, for he spoke.

  “Release him, Master Laurel. Release them all.” Wyln did his own frown and stopped Laurel midgesture. “Are you sure, Iver’son? As was just demonstrated, the working is very potent.”

  “As long as we stay away from it,” Jusson said, “we should be all right—”

  “There’s Munir’s wand, Your Majesty,” I said.

  Jusson, Wyln, and Laurel all turned to look up at the gallery. Except for Wyln and Jusson’s departure, the tableau up on the gallery hadn’t changed. At least not much. Munir was shielded from Suiden and Thadro by Berenice and Princess Rajya. However, the flames surrounded both Her Highness and the daughter of the House had disappeared. The vines had fastened the Turalian wizard so that he faced the dragon and lord commander, but he had craned his head to watch the drama unfolding below. As had everyone else on the gallery—except for Berenice and Princess Rajya. The princess was watching her father, while Berenice had her eyes closed and her mouth set.

  “As I said before, my wand has not been the cause of this disaster,” Munir now said.

  “Whether it was or not, the fact that you’d dare bring such a thing here and then use it says much about you,” Wyln said, once more floating up to the gallery. “Give it here, wizard.”

  “Why should I give it to you—” Munir broke off, gave a start, and began scrambling at his robe sleeve. He withdrew the wand, stared at the leaves sprouting all along its length before dropping it on the gallery floor. Wyln scooped it up.

  “Release them,” Jusson said again, and a moment later the vines disappeared. Most remained standing, though there were several who collapsed to join those already on the floor. I watched dispassionately, wondering if hostilities would break out again between those still on their feet. But those still disaffected seemed content for now with glowering stares and sullen looks. Well, all except for Suiden. The captain rushed up the few remaining stairs and plucked Princess Rajya away from Munir. Then, with his other claw, he picked up Munir. Ignoring the wizard’s squawks, Suiden backed down off the stairs and quickly made his way towards us as those in front of him scattered, his wings lifted for balance, as much as the griffin had done just a little bit ago. Groskin and the rest of the Freston patrollers had fallen in with the captain—as had the Turalian soldiers. For a moment, it looked as though Groskin was going to object. Then looking at the princess being carefully carried in her father’s grasp, he remained silent.

  Idwal had also pulled his daughter away from Munir. But he and Berenice came down from the gallery much more slowly, Berenice looking as though she was being towed by her father as she dragged her feet like a reluctant child as they moved around the injured folk, her expression not quite a pout, while Idwal looked grim.

  To my surprise, however, Thadro didn’t immediately join the king. Cutting across Idwal and hurrying behind Suiden, he instead snagged Groskin and some of the less-injured-looking soldiers. After a moment of hurried conversation, Groskin led a mixture of troopers, King’s Own, and aristos’ armsmen as they double-stepped out of the hall, the muffled thumping of their boots against the wood stairs coming through the open doors as they left the castle.

  “They’re going to search Kveta’s ship for Captain Javes and the tainted rum, Your Majesty,” Thadro said, joining us. He let out a sigh, rubbing his neck. “It was the one place we hadn’t personally looked.”

  “There was no reason to have done so—we all took Kveta at her word,” Jusson said absently, his gaze on the floor. Bending down, he picked up the blackened assassin’s knife and stared at my blood, which stained the blade.

  “She is false,” the green man agreed. “And for her falseness, her life is forfeit—”

  Jusson’s head jerked up. “What?”

  “He is the Lord of the Forest, Your Majesty,” I said, once more resting my forehead on my knees.

  “So you said,” Jusson said.

  I lifted my head. “This all belongs to him.”

  “What does?” Jusson asked.

  “The forest, the lands,” I said, waving an all-encompassing hand. “This.”

  “Mearden belongs to him?” Jusson asked, his light voice rising in shock and surprise.

  “I am its lord,” the green man said.

  “I can explain, Your Majesty,” Idwal said at the same time, he and Berenice finally arriving next to the king.

  “So explain, Mearden,” the king said. “Who is this Lord of the Forest and why is he dispensing justice in your lands?”

  “He is my daughter’s betrothed,” Lady Margriet said.

  Twenty-six

  If Jusson were anyone else, I would’ve said he goggled. But that was all right, because I was doing my own gaping—along with everyone else. Lady Margr
iet stood at the top of the gallery’s staircase, a gaggle of castle women servants with her. The servants’ faces were apprehensive as they stared down into the great hall, taking in the aftermath of the fight. However, Her Ladyship’s gaze was fixed on us as she swept down the steps and they scrambled after her. I could see the castle healer with them and she and the other servants split off as soon as they reached the bottom, going to the injured. But Lady Margriet sailed towards us and for the first time, I didn’t notice what she wore. My attention was on her face, which showed no trace of her sparkling vivacity. Instead, her expression reminded me of honored Moraina’s when the dragoness had enough and was about to put a taloned foot firmly down on the offending parties.

  Or worse, my ma when she had reached the end of her patience.

  I found myself shrinking back into the griffin’s feathers, resisting the urge to close my eyes so that Lady Margriet could not find me in the dark. Jusson, realizing that his mouth was hanging open, drew in a deep breath, but before he could speak, Idwal took his life into his own hands.

  “Now, Margriet,” he began.

  “Mama,” Berenice said at the same time, proving she was just as foolhardy as her father.

  “No,” Lady Margriet said. “Listening to you two has accomplished nothing.” She waved a hand, encompassing the great hall. “Except a wrecked House.”

  “This is not my fault!” Idwal thundered. “The king brought this madness—”

  “And who invited His Majesty here?” Lady Margriet asked. “And more important, why was he invited?”

  “Mama,” Berenice tried again.