by Dave Duncan
At the far end of the cabinet the king was sitting at his desk with the royal breeder and the deputy royal breeder, talking bloodstock. Birds! Shadow hated birds and had never flown in his life.
The cabinet was an egg-shaped room, high and huge, decorated in white and gold and blue. Normally the king worked outdoors, but he was very careful not to establish a pattern. He changed his work place at random and never announced in advance where he was going unless there was some big formal function planned. Today he had chosen the cabinet--and he seemed to use that only when he had some particularly dark purpose in mind. Shadow thought of it as the spider's parlor, for the tiny king in his white clothes always reminded him of one of the nasty little bleached spiders that turned up under rocks. From the very nature of his position, Shadow must know all the royal secrets, but the cabinet provided an exception. What the king said or heard there was not overheard by Shadow.
Or so the king thought.
That day the king had talked taxes with the chancellor and honors with Feather King of Arms, and now he was wasting hours with the royal breeder, which was what he seemed to enjoy most of all. Nothing nefarious had hatched so far.
The doors were at the wide end of the egg. Anyone coming in was first faced with a big wooden chair, almost a throne, elaborately carved, high-backed and winged and imposing. That was Shadow's seat. The arrangement was deliberate. A would-be assassin who had eluded the guards outside would certainly be in a hurry and probably nervous, and he would see that chair and an occupant dressed like the king--chances were, he would strike there in error. That would give the real quarry a little extra time.
To see the king it was necessary to step around that chair, for the royal desk and a group of flanking chairs stood at the far end of the hall, the narrow end, a long way from the doors.
There were other exits from that room, two of them, behind the desk: hidden doors. One led up to a makeshift aerie on the roof. Aurolron never used it and had had it netted over, but some of his predecessors had kept birds there. Another exit led down to the labyrinth of secret passages which wormed through the palace like giant termite tracks.
Five kilodays as Shadow--it was time now to give him an honorable retirement, a better peerage, an estate, and the royal thanks. Any decent monarch would have done so long since, but not Aurolron. And Shadow did not dare suggest it. A hundred times he had almost broached the subject, and always he had backed away. He feared that his retirement would be arranged to a wooden box.
He knew too much.
And he knew a lot more than the king thought he knew.
He was not a brave man. He often wondered what he would do if he saw the flash of the sudden stiletto, whether he could ever find the courage in that split second to move in front of it. If he had time to think, then he probably could, for when a king of Rantorra died by violence, then Shadow was guilty of high treason and the penalty for that was much worse than a stab wound.
The king made a joke, and his companions laughed heartily.
There were eight windows along both sides of that big room, carefully slanted so that the sun did not shine in directly but caught instead the sides of the deep embrasures and illuminated the room by reflection. The king could see out the windows from his desk; a visitor coming in saw no windows, only the royal dais glowing brightly ahead of him, subtly magnified by the taper of the egg shape. Whoever had designed this place had been full of little tricks like that.
Shadow was standing on the darkward side, staring up at the mountains behind Ramo. He had a good view of the palace aerie and the birds that came and went constantly. Horrible, savage monsters!
Ironically, it was his very dislike of the brutes which had landed him in his terrible job. Almost five kilodays earlier his immediate predecessor had died in an attack by one of those terrors--not a wild, even, but one of the royal stock which had escaped from the aerie and then launched a deliberate attack on the royal party returning from a hunt. With a peculiar irony, it had chosen the king himself for its target, almost as though it knew. Shadow--the previous Shadow--had acted in the heroic tradition of his line, blinkering his mount and steering it into the attacker's path. His bird had fallen with a broken wing, and the fall had broken his neck.
The court had been loyally horrified at the attack and loudly joyful that His Majesty had escaped. Baron Haunder--there! he had thought that name--Baron Haunder had rejoiced with the rest of them and had been discussing the matter with a group of friends when he had been summoned to the Presence.
The king had been badly shaken. Never before or since had Shadow seen him show fear, but that day he had been trembling.
Baron Haunder had begun his congratulations on the royal good fortune; the king had cut him off with the terrible words: "You are to be Shadow now."
He thought briefly of that eager, fresh-faced kid who had been made Prince Shadow less than seventy days ago. He had looked ready to die of shock. He wondered if his face had looked like that. Probably.
"But why me?" the horrified baron had demanded.
"Because you know how to keep your mouth shut," the king had said.
In his terror, he had argued. "I have never flown a bird, Majesty!"
"And we never shall again," the king had said. "It is an unsafe practice for a reigning monarch. If Shadow cannot fly, then we cannot, so we shall not be tempted to change our mind." He had meant it, too. Before that day he had been a keen skyman, but thereafter he had confined his interest in the eagles to their care and breeding. He had flown no more.
Baron Haunder had been heard of no more. Only Shadow.
The royal breeder was gathering up the papers--the schedules and the genealogies and the lists. The audience was almost over then, and Shadow wondered who came next. Perhaps now he would discover what unsavory matter had provoked the king's choice of the cabinet for this day's session. He walked across and sat himself quietly in his high-winged chair.
"...progress in pairing SaltSkimmer and RockEater?" the king asked.
Shadow knew one secret which the king did not. Any word spoken at that royal desk was clearly audible in Shadow's chair at the far end of the hall. It was another of the clever tricks built into that room, a brilliant use of freak acoustics stemming from the curves of the walls. Perhaps it had been an accident and some long-dead Shadow had discovered it and suggested putting a seat for himself in that exact spot. More likely it had been deliberate and the kings had once known of it. Aurolron certainly did not, and if he ever discovered that he had been overheard there for five kilodays, then there would be a new Shadow within the hour.
The conversation about pairing droned on.
What sort of a man had he been, King Shadow wondered, when he had been a man and not merely a shadow? Not like that dashing young trooper the prince had chosen, that was certain. Not handsome, even then, when he had had hair. A politician, an impoverished noble with a minor title and a real need for a favorable marriage, a schemer. He had lacked looks and charm to win such a marriage by romance--women had never liked him. To be honest, he had been planning a little blackmail as soon as he found the right key. A great collector of gossip, a fair manipulator, he would have worked his way up in the murky world of court politics quite well, given a little more time. One day he would have found a suitable heiress with a suitable secret, and then he would have proposed and been accepted.
Five kilodays! Any decent king would now retire him with a better title and an estate and marry off one of the royal wards on him, some supple maiden aged about six, with firm little conical breasts.
Once he had recovered from the initial shock of being appointed Shadow, he had rather fancied himself as chief of the secret police. If the king never flew, then Shadow's duty must be to become familiar with the palace jungle and know what stirred in the undergrowth.
Wrong! He had quickly discovered that there was already a chief of the secret police: the king himself. His knowledge and the extent of his spy network had astounded Shadow. Two assassinat
ion attempts had been made on Aurolron early in his reign, but none since. Would-be conspirators were invariably outconspired by their intended victim and died to the dirge of their own screams and the savory smell of themselves cooking. Shadow was merely the last possible line of defense, the human shield, and his longevity had been due to Aurolron's skill, not his--the dangers had never reached so near.
Little white spider.
The royal breeder and his deputy retired at last, bowing. They did not even glance at Shadow as they opened the door and went out.
He got a clear view of the anteroom through the doors, and he knew at once who was next. The equerry came in, stepped around the chair, and bowed.
"Your Majesty, His Royal Highness Prince Jarkadon awaits your pleasure."
Shadow turned his head. In the prisms hidden in the wings of the chair he could see the king at the far end of the room, and he saw the royal nod. The king did know of those spy holes; indeed, it had been he who pointed them out to Shadow. Any visitor would believe himself unobserved when he was beside the king's desk--if Shadow was in his chair, as he usually was, out of sight and mind. But the visitor would not be unobserved, so no silent overpowering could succeed.
Jarkadon stepped in, jauntily dressed in green and blue, a flaxen-haired, blue-eyed younger version of the king. He paused for a moment as the doors were closed behind him, and he eyed Shadow thoughtfully as one might eye a watchdog or a drawbridge. Shadow decided he was tense and trying not to show it. Then he walked around the chair and bowed toward the king.
He was nasty. Jarkadon had been a nasty child, and now he was a nastier adult. His father could still handle him, but he would be serious trouble for Vindax when he succeeded. Shadow trusted him even less than the king, if that were possible.
Queen Mayala, now, was a human being. Too nice a person for her position and hopelessly ground down by her husband, but basically decent. She never failed to give Shadow a smile when they met, and no one else did that. Yes, he could have liked Mayala were she not queen; her recent deterioration pained him.
Vindax was headstrong, too inclined to clash with his father in ferocious arguments that he must inevitably lose. He was smart, and charming when he chose to be. He was not truly trustworthy--none of them were--but certainly a better prospect for future king than Jarkadon would ever be.
Shadow made himself comfortable and prepared to enjoy a juicy royal outburst. The court was agog with a new scandal--and here was the prime suspect.
No! Jarkadon was going through a full ritual approach, with bowing and gestures, which was a mockery when father and son were alone, an impudence almost. But it was a petitioner's ritual, meaning that he had asked for this meeting. Curious! Aurolron took ceremony seriously and did not interrupt, although he frowned. Then the prince had reached the desk.
"What was all that for?" the king snapped, pointedly not inviting his son to sit.
"I come to crave a boon, sire," Jarkadon said. "Did I make any mistakes?"
"You have three minutes."
The prince nodded inquiringly toward the back of Shadow's chair.
"He can't hear," the king snapped. "What do you want?"
"My birthright," Jarkadon said.
Shadow wondered if he had heard correctly. Perhaps the king did also, for there was a long pause.
"Sit down."
"Thank you, Father." The little bastard was always cocky, but his impudent manner was even more marked than usual. He was being given the famous royal stare and not wilting at all.
"Talk," the king said.
"Well," Jarkadon said, leaning back. "It began with Mother, of course, and her curious reluctance to let her favorite son visit Ninar Foan. She thought she was being subtle, but it was obvious. I even mentioned one day that you had changed your mind, and she dropped two kilodays in front of my eyes--and put on three when I confessed I was lying."
"You little bastard," the king said quietly, and the prince chuckled.
"Hardly me, Father! But it made me curious. When you sent a courier off with news of the impending visit, I decided to have a chat with him as soon as he got back. He seemed to take a long time returning, so I investigated the aerie and found a bird wearing Foan's anklet. Of course the courier would have exchanged mounts."
"Of course," the king said.
"But the rider was nowhere to be found. Sir Jion Paslo? If Vindax can associate with commoners, I assumed I could. But he had vanished. I was told he had gone to Hollinfar, a very dull place, from all accounts, given over to sheep raising and similar obscene practices."
"You found him, though."
"Yes," the prince said. "The fourth cell on the right as you pass the thumbscrews."
Never, in five kilodays, had anyone spoken to the king like that, and his response was ominous. "The jailors you bribed are now in the third and fifth cells, respectively."
Jarkadon merely shrugged. "An occupational hazard of the corrupt. Yes, I did talk with poor Jion--implying that I might secure his release, of course. I gather that the resemblance is incredible."
The king's angry glare was perceptible even to Shadow at the far end of the room.
"If you studied bloodlines, in birds or in people, as I do," Aurolron said, "then you would know that such resemblances can turn up in quite distant relatives, and they are related, distantly."
"Closely, I suspect."
The royal fist thumped on the desk, and then both men turned to look at the back of Shadow's chair. The king half rose and then settled back uneasily. To order Shadow out of the room would be unprecedented, and therefore cause for speculation.
"You realize," the king said, "that any other man who said that would be guilty of high treason. However, I suppose that it does concern you, so I shall be lenient--just this once. We will discuss it, and then the subject will never be raised again! Is that clear?"
"Certainly," Jarkadon said. "If I may make a couple of comments afterward? Please explain, Father."
Now the king's face was white with anger. Anyone else in the kingdom would be groveling at this point. Shadow was shaking and perspiring as though he had a fever.
"I also talked with the courier. Of course your mother knew, and that is why she is so upset. Obviously there is going to be gossip when it becomes known. I have never doubted your mother's honor--and I am appalled that you would. I have accepted Vindax as my son, and I shall continue to do so. Resemblance or not, I can assure you that it was physically impossible for the duke of Foan to have fathered him. Your mother is notoriously unpunctual but even she could not carry a child for five hectodays. She was a virgin when we married, anyway. Foan has never been to court. Yes, there will be gossip when Vindax and his party return. But not in my hearing."
The king leaned back and glared.
"Why did you let him go?" Jarkadon asked, still unruffled.
"Because it must come out eventually. It is a miracle that it has not already done so." The king paused and then spoke reluctantly. "He was born blond; his hair grew in dark. The facial resemblance became obvious only when he reached adolescence, although the duchess came to court when he was a child, and she noticed even then, I think. She could not take her eyes off him. That was when I...when I suspected."
Jarkadon nodded. "You have met the duke, though?"
"Never," the king said.
The prince chuckled. "And you didn't warn Vindax, did you?"
"No." Again the king paused. "Perhaps it was unfair, but it is his problem, and I thought it would be a good test for him. He, I am sure, will not think evil of his mother. But then, he is a man of honor."
Jarkadon's fair-skinned face reddened.
"I am the fount of justice," the king said. "I try many cases myself, and invariably I try cases dealing with inheritance among the nobility. The law is quite clear and quite universal: A child born in wedlock is legitimate unless the husband can prove beyond doubt that he could not have fathered it. In this case, I can prove beyond doubt--should anyone hav
e the temerity to ask me--that Foan could not. There is nothing left to discuss."
Shadow was paralyzed with terror and yet more fascinated than he had ever been.
"Oh, we are not talking certainty," Jarkadon said. "I do not claim so. But we are talking of a direct male line unbroken for forty generations--on so polished a scutcheon, even a fingermark will show up. Especially one made by the wrong finger."
"Be careful!" his father warned between clenched teeth.
Yet Jarkadon seemed to relax even more, and clutched his knee with both hands. "Around day 1108 of your reign would be the fateful moment, wouldn't it? 266 from 1374: I have been doing research, you see. Or later, possibly--he was a small baby."
The king did not speak.
"Schagarn," the prince said. "And Kollinor?"
There was a long silence while the monarch stared at his son and Shadow wondered who or what or where Schagarn and Kollinor were. Obviously the king knew and they were words of power--the silence was very long, and when Aurolron broke it, his tone had changed.
"How did you find out about those?"
Jarkadon slipped a hand into his doublet and produced a piece of paper. "All those interminable records you keep of your feathered pets, from egg to pillow. I never could see the point of them--until now. This is a copy, of course, but you can call for the original. It is an extract from the journey record on a bird called DeathBeak, one of your mounts in those days, apparently, I see that you rode it to Schagarn and then it went to Ninar Foan. It returned later--with a message, I suppose, or else it had started pining. The name of the rider who took it from Schagarn has been scratched out, but it must have been a very short name. 'Foan,' perhaps?"
He laid the paper on the desk, and the king stared at it. Then he almost snarled. "Your mother was never at Schagarn," he said. "And the duke never went to Kollinor. I know that for granite fact!"
"Quite possible," Jarkadon agreed. He pulled out a second paper and laid it beside the first. "Another copy, of course. WindStriker. Remember her? Day 1165?"
Aurolron was always most dangerous when he was quiet, but now the silence dragged on, and it seemed to be the king who was at a loss for words.
