Lord of the Shadows

by Jennifer Fallon

  “You've got until second sunrise tomorrow, Kirsh. After that, the matter is out of my hands. There will be no quarter given.”

  “And no quarter asked,” Kirsh replied.

  Dirk stared at him, thinking that if anybody had suggested that he might one day face Kirsh over a battlefield, he would have laughed at him and called him mad. But then war was a particular type of madness. Especially one as unnecessary as this one.

  “Kirsh…”

  Kirsh didn't answer him. He turned his horse and cantered toward his escort. Rees watched him leave and then turned back to glare at Dirk.

  “Mother would be proud of you.” It wasn't meant as a compliment. Rees's voice was bitter, almost petulant.

  “I wonder what she'd think of you,” Dirk retorted, surprised at how angry Rees's taunt had made him. “Tell me, did you stay and watch your own mother burn or did you simply walk away once you'd issued the order to have her killed?”

  “Morna deserved to die, Dirk. She was a traitor and a harlot.”

  “She was our mother, Rees.”

  “She was your mother, Dirk. She was never mine. Morna abandoned me. For you she gave up everything. Don't you dare sit there and try to make me feel guilty for seeing justice was done.”

  “There was nothing just about burning your own mother alive, Rees.”

  “And where is the justice in abandoning your husband and child to run off with a lover?” Rees asked resentfully. “You might hold Morna up as a paragon of virtue, Dirk, but to me she was nothing more than a treacherous whore who tried to raise her lover's bastard as another man's son.”

  “You couldn't possibly remember her leaving Elcast, Rees. You were barely old enough to walk when she left you to join Johan.”

  “I remember when she came back, though,” Rees said. “I remember when you were born. And I remember spending the rest of my childhood being pushed aside for you.”

  “That's nonsense.”

  “You were always her favorite. She used to brag about how special you were. I wonder what she'd think of you now? Lord of the Suns! You've made a mockery of her whole pitiful cause, haven't you? You haven't just turned your back on her, you're actively aiding her enemies. You should be grateful I killed her. At least she can't see you like this.”

  Dirk had not felt the urge to hit anyone so badly since the morning Belagren died and he'd slapped Marqel. He knew what Rees was doing. He was trying to provoke him. Trying to justify his own role in this fiasco.

  “Dhevyn is free, Rees,” he pointed out, keeping his temper by sheer force of will. “You're the one siding with her enemies. Kirsh is backing the wrong horse, and you know it.”

  “Kirsh is fighting you, Dirk. That makes his cause as right as it can be in my eyes.”

  There was no reasoning with him. But Dirk couldn't walk away from this without trying. He owed Wallin Provin that much.

  “You have a wife and child, Rees. Have you thought about them?”

  “You poisoned Faralan against me.”

  “I didn't need to, Brother. You did that yourself, the first time you took part in the Landfall Festival. Don't try to blame me for the fact that Faralan has a better sense of what's right and wrong than you. Still, if you want to stay here and get yourself killed, then so be it. Perhaps your son will make a better duke than you.”

  “With you there to guide him, I suppose?” Rees asked scornfully. “Well, if I do get myself killed, at least you'll finally have a chance at Elcast.”

  “What?”

  “You're a second son, Dirk. The spare heir. You were never going to amount to anything unless I died. And now, here's your chance, except… oh, that's right, you're not Wallin's son. You're Johan Thorn's bastard, aren't you? So you can't claim Elcast. Is that why you did this? Is that why you became Lord of the Suns? Because you could never have rank or prestige any other way?”

  “I was never jealous of you, Rees. And I never minded being a second son.”

  “So you say. But I've seen what it's done to others. Kirsh is willing to go to war with his brother. Look at Alexin Seranov. He couldn't inherit Grannon Rock, so he seduced the queen. You're all as bad as each other. All of you, just sitting like vultures, waiting for your elder brothers to die. Just waiting in the wings for your chance at glory. And if it doesn't happen quick enough for you, then you'll just make it happen some other way.”

  Dirk shook his head, unable to believe his brother's bitterness. Had Rees always thought that way, or was this anger something new? Something Antonov had fostered in him after Wallin died? There was no way of knowing and no time to waste finding out. Rees had taken sides, not against the Lion of Senet, not even against Dhevyn. He had taken sides against his brother.

  “I'm sorry you feel that way, Rees,” he said, unaware of how cold and unaffected he seemed to his older brother. “But if you insist on joining Kirsh in this venture, then I can offer you no more quarter than I offered him.”

  “I expect none,” Rees retorted, just as coldly.

  Dirk was hardly expecting any other response, but Rees's answer disappointed him. He nodded wordlessly in reply, wondering how Rees could look so much like Wallin, and yet have so little of his father's compassion. Or even good judgment.

  “Good-bye, Rees.”

  His brother did not return his farewell. He simply turned and rode back to where Kirsh and their officers were waiting without looking back.

  ryk was waiting for Kirsh when he got back to the camp, all but jumping out of his skin to know what had happened when Kirsh met with Dirk. The boy fetched him wine when he entered the tent, without being asked, and then waited expectantly while Kirsh drank it down.

  “Did you speak to him, Prince Kirsh?” Eryk burst out when the silence got too much for him. “Did you speak to Lord Dirk?”

  “I spoke to him.”

  “Is he all right?”

  “He's just fine, Eryk. Doing very nicely for himself, your Lord Dirk.”

  The boy frowned at Kirsh's tone. “Are you still mad at him, Prince Kirsh?”

  Kirsh sighed and gave his cup to Eryk for a refill. “I don't know, Eryk. I don't know what to feel anymore. I don't even know who to be angry at.”

  “You can be angry at me if you want,” Eryk offered manfully. “Then you don't have to be mad at anyone else.”

  Kirsh smiled at the offer. “Dirk wants you to go back to his camp. You can if you want.”

  “Don't you need me here?”

  “There may not be a ‘here’ by tomorrow if the prophecies prove untrue.”

  “But Marqel is always right,” Eryk assured him. “At least all the advice she's given me has been good. Well, some of it I never really got to put to the test, but she was right about everything else in Nova.”

  Kirsh sank down heavily onto the stool as Eryk chattered away behind him, tidying up the tent as he talked, which to Kirsh's mind, had been tidied more than enough for one day. There had been too much said in his meeting with Dirk, too many things to digest, to worry about Eryk's feeble attempts to reassure him. But he didn't stop the boy from working. Eryk needed something to keep him occupied.

  Kirsh wished he could find something to distract him so easily. The weight of the future before him was almost unbearable. How did it ever come to war? he wondered. How did I end up here, facing the man I once counted as my best friend leading my brother's army against me?

  What irritated Kirsh most were the doubts that plagued him. Suppose Dirk was right? Suppose there was no Voice of the Goddess? It was obvious Misha believed the Baenlanders' heresy now. Was that because the Shadowdancers had poisoned him? Or was he simply prepared to believe anything about them that fitted with his notion of their perfidy? Maybe he'd been manipulated by the Baenlanders while captive among them? It wasn't an uncommon thing, a hostage growing to sympathize with his captors. Perhaps that's what happened to him…

  Or perhaps his father's whole life had been based on a lie. Perhaps there was no Goddess at all. Perhaps Belag
ren had lied to his father and Marqel was perpetrating the lie for her own purposes. Rudi Kalenkov obviously thought she was lying. He'd said as much yesterday in the cavern when he'd tried to explain the problems they were having with the translations. Was he right? Had Marqel merely taken a leaf out of Dirk's book and pretended to read the inscriptions, safe in the knowledge there was nobody who could refute her?

  He couldn't believe she would do that to him. He was angry at himself for even allowing the doubt to fester. He loved Marqel. He believed in her. Kirsh told himself that over and over, but found it little comfort. He wished he had even a fraction of his father's unwavering faith. His total lack of doubt. For Antonov there had been no decision to make, no question he was on the right path. He had done what he had to. He had killed his own son and slept easily, content he had done the right thing.

  So why is it so hard for me to believe I'm doing the right thing, too? Perhaps Antonov never had to deal with anyone like Dirk Provin. All he'd had to contend with was a couple of discontented kings and a madman …

  Kirsh tried hard to find the same inalienable belief in the righteousness of his cause within himself. It was impossible. He was assailed on every side by doubt. Rudi thought Marqel was lying. Dirk was certain she was. Even Rees Provin was here for his own reason, not because he believed in Marqel or her divine mandate.

  I wanted to make a name for myself, Kirsh thought sourly. And so I will. But will I go down in history as the greatest defender of the faith that ever lived, or simply the most gullible fool that ever walked Ranadon?

  “Anyway, after Nova, I tried to tell Mellie what Marqel told me to say but I never got the chance, 'cause they wouldn't let me near the house or anything, and besides, we spent most of our time in the Straits doing pirate stuff …”

  “What are you rattling on about, Eryk?” he asked absently. Eryk's constant chatter was making it hard to concentrate.

  “About Nova,” Eryk answered, as if he expected Kirsh to remember. “After she showed me the right way to touch Mellie.”

  “Who?” Kirsh asked in confusion.

  “Marqel.”

  That got Kirsh's attention. “She did what?”

  “Don't you remember, Prince Kirsh? It was just after you got beaten up. I met Marqel in the marketplace and she said she'd give you the message that Lord Dirk and me was safe, and then I told her about Mellie and she was real understanding and she showed me what to do … which was really nice of her, cause I didn't know anything but she was really patient about it and—”

  “Whoa!” Kirsh cried in alarm. “Slow down a bit, Eryk. Are you telling me you met Marqel in Nova? That she …and you …” Kirsh couldn't bring himself to say it. The mere thought was too dreadful to comprehend.

  Eryk nodded gravely. “There's not many friends would do something like that for you, Prince Kirsh.”

  Kirsh was staggered. Dirk might lie to him, even Misha's word could no longer be trusted. But not Eryk. He had no political agenda. He wouldn't make something like that up. He didn't have a deceitful bone in his body. Kirsh dropped his head into his hands to gather his thoughts for a moment, and then looked up at the boy.

  “Tell me what happened when my father died, Eryk.”

  “He was praying when I took him his tea,” Eryk answered, a little puzzled about Kirsh's abrupt change of subject. “I left it for him, and then I came back here to clean your boots.”

  “Did he ask for the tea?”

  “Of course he did,” he nodded. “That's why I took it to him. Marqel said—”

  “Marqel gave it to you?”

  “She said Prince Antonov wanted peppermint tea. She was really good to him, Prince Kirsh. I don't think I know anybody nicer than Marqel. Except maybe Caterina.”

  Kirsh stared at the boy for a long time before he rose to his feet. “Eryk.”

  “Yes, Prince Kirsh?”

  “I want you to go back to Dirk.”

  “Don't you want me here any longer?” he asked, looking a little hurt.

  “I need you to take him a message for me.”

  Eryk brightened a little. There was a world of difference between being sent away and being a royal messenger.

  “Did you want me to bring back his answer?”

  Kirsh smiled grimly. “I don't think there'll be any need for that, Eryk. I know what his answer will be.”

  irk met Misha's generals after his fruitless parley with Kirsh and Rees to inform them there was little hope of a peaceful solution. They took the news stoically, torn as they were between the prospect of a good fight and the thought of going to war against one of their own. After giving the men orders to meet again later that day with their battle plans, Dirk dismissed them and went for a walk down by the lake. Jacinta found him there about an hour later, sitting on the shore, staring out over the sun-kissed water, deep in thought.

  “Hiding again?” she asked as she came up behind him.

  Dirk glanced up at her and nodded. “I'd be running away if I thought it would do any good.”

  Jacinta walked forward and studied the lake for a moment before sitting on the ground beside him with a sympathetic smile. “The meeting didn't go well, then?”

  “Not particularly.”

  “What happened?”

  Dirk turned his attention back to the lake. “Kirsh wants to fight.”

  “And your brother?”

  “He's not in it for the Goddess. He just wants to fight me.”

  “It's not your fault, Dirk,” she said.

  He looked at her and laughed bitterly. “Then whose fault is it?”

  “This situation is not something you can lay the blame for at any one door, my lord.” She always referred to him as “my lord” when she thought she was right, he noticed. “Antonov, Belagren, Misha, Kirshov and even Paige Halyn have all contributed to getting us here.”

  He shrugged. Perhaps she was right. It didn't make him feel any better, though. “You know what really irks me?”

  “The lack of decent sanitation in this place?” she suggested.

  Dirk smiled briefly at her attempt to cheer him. “What irks me is that I seem to be able to do anything I want if I lie about it. The first time I try telling the truth, I end up going to war.”

  “Then perhaps you should have thought up a plausible lie.”

  “You may be right,” he agreed. “I think Kirsh would have found it easier to deal with a plausible lie than the truth.”

  “Are you so sure he doesn't believe you?”

  “He's going to fight, my lady.”

  “Yes, but that might be his male pride talking, as much as anything else.” Jacinta was silent for a moment, considering her words carefully. “Kirshov Latanya doesn't have his father's unshakable faith in the Goddess, Dirk. He believes in himself. You may find he acknowledges a lot more of the truth than he's willing to admit.”

  “That doesn't help us much if he's still prepared to fight over it. In fact, that just makes it worse. I can understand—even admire—a man fighting for something he believes in, but to fight for something that he doesn't? Where's the logic in that?”

  “Well, there is none,” she shrugged. “But that's my whole point. He's not like you. Kirsh is ruled by his heart, not by his head. He's doing what he believes, in his heart, to be honorable, even if his head is telling him the complete opposite.”

  “And when did you become such an authority on the inner workings of Kirshov Latanya's mind?”

  “You forget I served in Alenor's court. I know him well enough to guess what he's thinking now. I'm guessing that he's wishing for a way out of this that doesn't involve going to war against his own brother.”

  Dirk shook his head. “Kirsh wants to fight. And he'll keep on fighting until the Shadowdancers are restored or Marqel is dead.”

  “Then why don't you sneak a team of assassins into his camp and remove her?” Jacinta suggested.

  Dirk stared at her in surprise. She didn't seem to be joking. “Are you serious?”r />
  “Quite. If the solution to this problem is Marqel's death, then why not do something to facilitate it?”

  “You expect me to order Marqel killed in cold blood?”

  “How many more will die if you go to war?” she asked pointedly.

  “I can't,” he said with a shake of his head. “And not because I don't have the will to order Marqel's death. I'd strangle her myself if I had the chance. But even if I killed her now, Kirsh would still fight. He'd be after vengeance. And I don't need a martyr. I need the Shadowdancers discredited, not sanctified. I want Marqel led through the streets of Avacas in chains, not carried through them on her funeral pyre.”

  “And that's the difference between you and Kirshov,” Jacinta noted. “In your heart you want to murder her, but your head is telling you different. And you listen to it. Have you ever done anything impulsive?”

  “Lots of times,” he replied, not sure he liked what her question implied.

  “I doubt it,” she chuckled. “I don't think you've ever done a thing without considering the consequences.”

  “I left Elcast and came to Senet,” he reminded her. “Trust me, I had no idea of the consequences of that particularly impulsive act.”

  “And how different a world we would live in now if you had stayed at home,” she mused. “Is that why you blame yourself? Do you trace all the tangled threads of this mess back to that one decision?”

  “It's difficult not to.”

  “You're too hard on yourself. You said the other day this might have happened even without your interference. Misha was being poisoned by the Shadowdancers long before you came on the scene.”

  “But Marqel wouldn't be High Priestess.”

  “You don't know that for certain,” she said. “Alenor told me Kirsh met Marqel on Elcast. It was he who asked Belagren to take her into the Shadowdancers. She might not have gotten to the top so fast without your aid, but you've no way of knowing if it might have happened anyway, even without your help.”

  “Did Misha really send you here to deliver dispatches?” he asked, curiously. “Or to keep my spirits up?”