by Dave Duncan
"She made an understandable choice," he said. "Your bronze is a big, handsome fellow. The silvers need an outcross, anyway, to restore the vigor of the line. Elosa must console herself, and I most happily give IceFire to you, Highness, as a memento of your visit."
"You are very generous, Cousin," Vindax said. "I shall accept on behalf of my father, who is the enthusiast in our family. He will be overjoyed; and I am sure that he will send you the firstborn, as is usual in such cases."
"Your father is a great expert," the keeper said. "The priests uncovered much relevant material in the sacred texts for him. As you know, he can talk on the subject for hours. The progeny will all be bronzes, but breed one of those bronzes back to the silvers and..."
They were at the precipice again.
"And the recesssive characteristics reappear," Vindax snapped. "I have heard my father lecture. I always have a problem knowing which features are recessive."
The duke's face flushed equally red, and they exchanged identical furious glares.
But how, Shadow wondered, did the duke know that the king would lecture for hours?
Late on the third day, close to two bells, the duke and his royal guest sat and drank mulled wine by a roaring fire in the duke's study, a shaggy, incoherent room full of trophy heads and faded frescoes and mismatched furniture. It was a friendly, informal place, reflecting the varied tastes of generations of dukes, all of whom seemed to have added and none subtracted.
Perhaps Vindax thought he could drink his host into indiscretion, but the two of them seemed to share the same remarkable capacity for alcohol as they shared so much else. Ukarres fidgeted on a chair between them, while Shadow sat beside and a little to the back of Vindax, sipping sparingly and bone-weary from the continuous tension. WindStriker was overdue for a kill, and Vindax suggested a hunt.
The duke agreed with enthusiasm and promised good sport--he kept a couple of peaks as his own reserve, he said.
"Not Eagle Dome, though?" Vindax asked.
Earlier that day they had peered out at the distant shape of the great massif which broke the normal slope of the Rand and marked the boundary between Rantorra and the lost realm of Allaban. Sun-bright and faint, more like a cloud than a rock, it had obviously tantalized Vindax.
The duke laughed. "Hardly! Shadow would not approve."
"No-man's-land," Ukarres said, "but not no-bird-land!" It had earned its name in remote ages, he said, from the number of wilds inhabiting it, and now the wilds had taken it again. Its slopes were too steep for cultivation but were well watered and therefore rich in game. The eagles of Eagle Dome had become peacekeepers between human factions, for to attempt a flight around that great jutting mountain was certain suicide.
"Whose side are they defending?" Vindax asked, amused.
"Both, I suppose," the keeper said. "I scouted that way about a kiloday ago, I think it was. They flocked by the dozen--I fled faster than I ever have in my life. Allaban was never an integral part of Rantorra, as you know. In theory it was a vassal kingdom, but in practice it was always more or less autonomous, with its own royal family. Had it not been for the rebels, then your dear...your honored mother would be reigning there now."
They could never stay away from the precipice for long.
"Eagle Dome has always been something of a barrier," he concluded weakly.
"The rebel, Karaman," the prince said. "Have you ever met him?"
"No," the duke said, "but Ukarres has."
The old man looked up from his forward-hunch position and smiled, revealing his scattered teeth. "He's an interesting character, Your Highness--if he's still alive, of course. A religious fanatic, but with a certain charm. He was what you might call a low-key fanatic, I suppose...underpowering? On normal subjects he came across as a quiet, rather earthy man. But not to be underestimated. And a fantastic trainer of birds."
"So the eagles of Eagle Dome stand guard," Vindax said thoughtfully. "To retake Allaban, we should have to fight our way past them first and then take on the rebels."
The keeper frowned. "Are you considering such an attempt, Your Highness?"
"Not seriously at present," Vindax said. "Maybe someday. After all, I am heir to Allaban...also."
The precipice again.
At last Vindax declared himself ready for bed; the duke had drunk him to a draw. Neither man seemed more than tipsy, although they had each downed enough to have laid Shadow on the carpet. The prince hardly wavered as he headed to his room.
There he flopped on a chair, folded his arms, and glared blearily at Shadow. "What would he say, do you suppose, if I asked for his daughter's hand in marriage?"
"He might say yes," Shadow said, wishing Vindax would go off to bed and end the day. "Would you like that?"
Vindax pulled a face. "Never! I know what she'd do. She'd marry me fast as a stooping eagle--and then refuse to consummate the affair on grounds of consanguinity."
Shadow thought that seemed likely. "Let Jarkadon have her, then?"Damn!
Vindax did not seem to notice the lack of tact. "Why not? She had the gall today to ask me what color his hair is."
Shadow decided to change the subject. "Let me warn you of something, Prince? When you tell a lie, your right ear twitches."
"Oh, great!" Vindax said, scowling. "Try not to stare at it, will you?" Then he smiled. "Thanks. I appreciate knowing that. But I haven't been twitching too much today, have I?"
"You told Elosa she looked charming in that outrageous dress," Shadow said. "No, there's something else. When you asked the duke if he had ever met Karaman, he said no. But his ear twitched."
"Yes," Vindax said quite soberly. "I think His Grace has been twitching the truth quite a lot lately."
The hunt was to be restricted to a small party: the prince and the countess, the duke and Shadow, and four troopers as escort. When they assembled after breakfast, however, Lady Elosa was already supervising the dressings of Icefire. The duke frowned but did not intervene. Shadow almost exerted his unlimited authority to order her away, but relations were strained enough without making a scene over a badly spoiled brat.
Shadow dressed WindStriker himself, checking every scrap of harness twice. True, the story of a plot seemed to have been unfounded, but few things were easier to arrange than a hunting accident. NailBiter was sulking, not wanting to interrupt his dalliance with IceFire--they preened each other and nibbled combs by the hour, a parody of honeymooners.
Standing in the high aerie, overlooking the drab and pinkish countryside, the duke pointed out the local thermals and upturns, warned of downdrafts, and suggested a route to the higher, sun-bright locales with a good chance for goats, the most sporting of quarry.
Or perhaps, he suggested, the prince would like to try some archery against game birds, leaving the goats for later.
"No!" Shadow said firmly. The troopers must be armed, but he would not have unnecessary arrows flying around his ward.
The duke frowned in astonishment at such insolence; the prince merely smiled and agreed.
They mounted. The troopers launched and took up station. They were followed by the hunters: the duke, the countess, Shadow, the prince, and finally Elosa.
Shadow soared over the town, sparing a passing thought for the frozen poor in this bleak place, then turned into the updraft and began circling, watching as the prince settled in below him, as always. Upward they floated, and then he thought he heard a shout--and saw to his astonishment that Vindax was breaking out of the thermal, as though heading back.
Then WindStriker seemed to balk, beating her wings furiously, and in a moment had taken Shadow's air. What the hell was His Royal Crazy Highness up to?
Reluctantly he urged NailBiter upward, knowing that powered flight would soon exhaust the mounts. Still he could not reach the prince--indeed the gap was widening. An old relic like WindStriker outclimbing NailBiter? Then he knew.
WindStriker swayed and veered above him, and momentarily he had a clear view. Her blinkers
were shut, and the prince's face was white below his goggles. He shouted, and Shadow heard the word he expected: "Bat."
A single mutebat would send an eagle into an hour or more of ecstatic intoxication, hunched down on its perch with its eyes closed, drooling and quivering, its comb blue and rigid. But batmeat took time to act--get a bird into the air before the effects appeared and it was a flying maniac. The drug produced visual hallucinations, so that blinkers had no effect, and the bird would fly where and how it liked, soaring in downdrafts, beating its wings, turning upside down. It was capable of flying straight into the ground. It was also capable of heading to heights or depths where human lungs could no longer cope--and Ninar Foan was already very high for men.
The castle aerie had been cleaned of mutebats; Shadow had noted that with approval. This was human doing--treachery--and there was no recourse. He could only try to follow and hope. WindStriker was old, and NailBiter young and unusually powerful, but NailBiter could not match the frenzy of a batted bird.
Even if he could approach, there would be nothing he could do. No bird could carry two men; there was no way to move the prince to Shadow's mount and no way to exchange mounts. The only help he could offer was to keep in view--and watch Vindax die.
WindStriker locked herself into a soaring mode and rode the thermal, higher and higher and higher. Shadow followed with his lungs heaving, his ears popping constantly, his nose starting to bleed. He was gradually closing, for NailBiter had the greater wingspread, but dark spots began to flow in front of his eyes.
He remembered what a guard was taught to do in the prince's predicament: "Tie your reins, close your eyes, and pray loudly."
The thermal was dying cut. Its curve had carded them over darkness, the lower slopes of the Rand, the mountains and chasms below showing only as wrinkled, indistinct patterns of shade. It would be deathly cold down there, where sunlight never shone.
Then the prince vanished into the cloudcap. Shadow felt his senses slipping and knew that he could do no more. Choking for air, he put NailBiter into a dive.
Vindax was gone.
Chapter 7
"Where there's shadow, there's light."
--Proverb
THE castle commons was a vast, dim hall with a barrel ceiling darkened by the smoke of centuries. The tables were of stone, for lumber had never been plentiful near Ninar Foan, but the great ovens and hearths kept the place warm, and the smell of food made it cheerful. Shadow shuffled in across the worn stone flags. He collected a giant tankard of steaming coffee, a large black roll, and a bowl of stew, without looking to see who gave them to him. Then he limped to a convenient stool.
He gulped the coffee, burning his mouth and throat and feeling the lip of the tankard rasp on his unshaven face. His face, raw from the constant wind, burned also, and his eyes were so loaded with fatigue that he could hardly focus. His head throbbed like a drum. All around the room there were others in the same plight, humped by the tables, many being anxiously tended by wives or daughters and some already asleep, head and arms spread out among the dishes.
He laid down the tankard and blearily regarded the stew bowl. He ought to eat, he told himself firmly, but his gut rebelled at the thought.
He had never been so tired in his life.
A cool hand ran its fingers through his tangled hair, slid down the side of his face, and came to rest in the neck of his flying suit. He looked up with a sad smile and leaned his head back against softness.
"Anything I can do?" asked Feysa, one of the royal party.
He shook his head. "It will be a long time before I can call on you," he said. "But thanks for a kind thought."
"You are going to get some sleep, though, aren't you?"
"One more patrol," he said.
Frowns did not suit her lovely face. "Sleep first, Shadow. You'll go to sleep in the sky."
"No," he said firmly. He picked up the spoon and forced some of the meat into his mouth. Then more. He started gulping it down, suddenly aware of being famished.
Feysa vanished as silently as she had come.
"Who is that, Shadow?" It was a boy sitting across from him who spoke, but when he focused the face out of the background haze, it was Elosa, chalky and hollow-eyed in her flying suit. He had not realized that she was there.
"That's Feysa," he said. "You haven't been to bed, either, have you?"
She shook her head. "If you can do it, then I can."
He slowed his eating, partly from table manners and partly because he knew he was being stupid to hog so fast.
"You fly like a man, lady."
"Is that a compliment?" she asked.
He could still smile, apparently; he hadn't known that. "It was intended as one. I'll rephrase it. You're a wonderful skywoman, lady. You look in better shape than any of us."
She smiled back coyly. "Then I'll accept the amendment and thank you. Now, who is Feysa?"
He bit into the tough roll. The coffee was beginning to work. "She's a lady's maid."
"She doesn't act like a lady's maid," Elosa said, frowning.
Shadow took another bite and chewed to gain time, studying her. She was obviously exhausted, as they all were, but he was honestly impressed by her courage and stamina--those could compensate for a lot of woolly-headed romanticism. Elosa was hill-bred--there was granite inside that elfin form. Perhaps he owed her a little wisdom.
"At court, and under her own name, she outranks both the countess and Lady Ninomar," he said.
Elosa studied his face gravely. "Explain."
He shrugged. "The countess is the prince's mistress, right?"
Obviously she had not known that, and a trace of color crept into her pale cheeks. He outlined a little palace politics.
"And Lady Ninomar?"
"Well, the countess obviously could not travel alone, so Lady Ninomar came also. Not his real wife, I shouldn't think."
Elosa bit her lip and said nothing.
"And two ladies cannot travel without a lady's maid. So Feysa. There happen to be three main factions in the palace at the moment, and each one got to place a lady in the party. It was all carefully planned."
"Spies?"
"Certainly," Shadow said. "Reporting what the prince says, who he favors, spying on each other. Some of the men are spies also, of course."
"I see." She looked very prim and suddenly very young again. "And whose mistress is Feysa?"
"Mine."
Now she truly turned pink. "Nice for you."
"Yes and no," Shadow said. He was deathly tired, and suddenly his bitterness overflowed in a torrent. "I had no say in the matter. I was told that the lady in question was coming and I would service her as required. Very practical--if she were assigned to anyone else, there would be arguments over precedence. Furthermore, I have no time to myself, as the others have--I attend the prince three watches out of three. So the others can find their own entertainment. Vindax was quite blunt--he did not want his bodyguard getting too horny to think straight."
"That's disgusting!" Elosa snapped.
"I agree," Shadow said. "At the palace it works the same way. The countess--whoever she happens to be at the time--comes at third watch to the royal bedroom. She is always attended by a maid, who sleeps in the anteroom--where I sleep. I tried to complain and was told to shut up or I would cause a scandal. Sometimes they're very pretty. I understand that I'm regarded as a great improvement on my predecessor, so now they roll dice for me. Flattering, isn't it?"
Elosa turned very red and said nothing.
"As Shadow I have no life of my own, lady. My body functions are part of palace politics, I'm a naive little country boy, and I don't approve. I rapture the ladies provided, but I don't approve."
"Why are you telling me this?" she demanded angrily.
He took a long draft of coffee, watching her. "Because I think you could benefit from some truths about the court. If you get the choice--stay away from it."
She tossed her head, but before she co
uld speak a voice behind her said, "Leave us, Elosa."
Vindax!Shadow's heart jumped and then sank again. It was only the duke, bristly and sore-eyed like all of them, hair tangled and clothes filthy. He sank down on the stool his daughter had left and nursed a mug of coffee. Vice-Marshal Ninomar materialized at his side. Then a tapping noise sounded behind Shadow, and Ukarres hobbled up. Some days he seemed more crippled than others, and this day he was using two canes. Despite his haggard senility, he alone looked as though he had slept within living memory.
That left only one missing, and in a moment Vak Vonimor, the rubicund eagler, hurried in to join the meeting.
"Rorin's back, Your Grace," he said. "That's the lot."
Shadow's stew bowl was empty, polished, and he thought he could eat more, but it would put him to sleep.
"I suppose the big question," he said, "is whether we extend farther or quarter the same ground yet again."
The others glanced at the duke.
"No," he said. "First we're going to take a break. The men are past their limits; we all are. Why we haven't had accidents, I don't know. Even the birds are exhausted, and I've very rarely seen that in my life. Sleep for men, rest for birds. In another watch we'll start again."
"I have to agree," Ninomar said in his fastidious, military fashion. His close-trimmed mustache was drowning in encroaching stubble.
"And I say we fly one more patrol," Shadow said firmly. "He's been two days out there. If he's lying injured, then every hour counts. While we sleep, he dies. No, we keep going."
"Shadow?" said a voice like leaves blowing over stone.
"Seneschal?"
"Have you ever known a man to survive a batted bird?"
"No," Shadow admitted. "But it can happen, and this is no ordinary man."
"You're looking at one," Ukarres whispered. "It happened to me. I survived. No--half of me survived...sky sickness. They said I was lucky; I have often wondered about that. I have very few parts that work properly. I hurt all the time."
