Lights and Shadows (The Prisoner and the Sun #2)

by Brad Magnarella

  “The boy,” Iliff said suddenly.

  Grier stopped short of mounting his horse. “The lad is fortunate,” he said without turning. “We’ll not show such mercy the next time. We have no tolerance for spies.”

  “He is not a spy,” Iliff said. “He is just a young boy who wandered out. We’d like him returned.”

  “He’s no longer in our care.” Grier mounted and adjusted the reins. “We released him many hours ago. If he’s not returned by now, I don’t know what to tell you. He’s no longer our concern.”

  “We would like to search the lands around our town then,” Skye said. “With your leave. It is dark and he may be lost.”

  “I grant it. We’ll keep our swords sheathed while you search. And if, by chance, we come across the lad first, we’ll escort him to your gates. I tell you this on my honor. But I warn you, do not take advantage of my tolerance. You are to remain far from our camp and the woods—”

  Anger exploded inside Iliff. “Who are you to give orders on our lands?” he demanded. “Who are you to claim the King’s wood? To build on our fields? You are murderous invaders! You have no rights here!”

  Iliff stepped toward Grier, leading with his fists. But the general was quickly curtained by his captains who spurred their steeds before him. They stared down on Iliff from the black shadows of their helmets. Iliff caught one of them easing his hand beneath the saddle of his horse, and in nearly the same moment, he felt Skye’s hands wrap around the inside of his arm, drawing him gently back.

  “Come, Iliff,” she whispered.

  Slowly, Iliff let his fists fall. He watched then as the group of Garott turned their horses and urged them back into the night.

  * * *

  From his perch on the south wall, Iliff followed the wandering lights of the search parties. They moved in clusters of threes and fours. Several of the lights traced the line of the lakeshore, their slow, cautious motion mirrored in the lapping waters. True to Grier’s word, the Garott pulled their patrol closer to their own wall and remained distant from the search. Iliff turned to the Keep, where Skye had gone to comfort Newt’s mother. Though Iliff remained worried for the boy, he was relieved that his capture had not forced their hand after all.

  “Is he telling the truth?” he had asked Skye as they returned through the gate. “Is the boy free of them?”

  “Yes,” she said. “Grier allowed me in enough to show me that.”

  “I don’t trust him.”

  “It seems he has been forthcoming.”

  “Forthcoming? He hides behind a wall.”

  “And we do not?”

  “We are not hiding, we’re defending ourselves.”

  “From what, Iliff?”

  “From them!”

  She stopped and looked at him. There was a flicker of knowing in her gaze that made him feel very close to her and very distant at the same time. He lowered his eyes, suddenly ashamed of his anger.

  “So now what?” he mumbled.

  “We search,” she said. “And we hope that he will be found safe.”

  As Iliff turned back to the wandering lights in the field, he asked himself the same question: Now what? But he was not thinking of the boy this time. He was thinking of their standoff with the Garott and the wall across the field that hid their doings. Why could Skye not see the danger as he did?

  Iliff looked over the stone towers that rose in imposing sequence to either side of him. Lucious claimed to have a catapult for every two towers. What if they were put up now? he thought suddenly. Under cover of night and with the enemy pulled in close to his own encampment? The bombardment could commence at first light. For it seemed to him that the longer they waited, the greater would become the Garotts’ advantage. They had been fortunate with the boy.

  Or had they? he wondered.

  Surely Grier had recognized the opportunity to have the Fythe bargain for him. Why then had he released him? Why not try and draw at least some concession, however small?

  Because they have something else in mind, Iliff thought. Something worse. That is what they hide behind their wall.

  He looked over to the west gatehouse where Stype stood tall, scanning the Garotts’ position. Iliff instinctively hid his thoughts. He could not approach him about the catapults, no; for Stype’s feelings on the matter were as his sister’s. Neither could he go to Horatio, who would not act without the full assent of the Assembly. That left one person.

  * * *

  Iliff rapped hard on the wood doorframe. From inside the cottage feet scuffed and voices fell to whispers. A moment later the door cracked open and a sharp nose peered out. Though the room beyond the doorspace was dim, Iliff could make out the slight swaying of figures suddenly gone still.

  “Who’s there?” came Lucious’ guarded voice.

  “It’s Iliff.”

  “Iliff?” A pause. “We’re meeting now.”

  “Then I’d like to come in,” he said, still breathing hard from his sprint across town. “You’re likely meeting about the very thing I’ve come to you for, Lucious. I want to get the catapults in position. Tonight. Their wall must be gotten down.”

  Lucious turned back to the room and said something. There followed several murmurs, and in the next moment, Lucious drew the door wider and pulled Iliff’s arm. “Yes, yes, come inside,” he said. “Quickly, though.”

  As Lucious closed and bolted the door, the figures began to emerge from the gloom. They were members of the militia, six of them. They stood back from Iliff, shades of distrust in their color.

  “It’s all right,” Lucious said, entering their circle. “Iliff is of the same mind as us. He can be trusted.” He gripped Iliff’s shoulder. “And you can trust my men, for neither do they like whatever is going on behind the enemy’s wall. We have been talking attack for some time.”

  “The catapults. Is there a way to get them up tonight?” Iliff asked.

  “Perhaps,” Lucious said. “But there’s another matter to address first.”

  “What is it?” But Iliff was afraid he already knew. He saw it in the way the men shifted, in the way their eyes roamed the floor now. They wanted his endorsement to overthrow the Assembly. They knew as well as he that they could not attack so long as the voting body stood in their way. Iliff felt his mouth go dry.

  “Here.” Lucious took his arm again.

  The men stepped apart so Lucious could guide him to the rear of the room. Iliff felt the men closing in the space behind him. Upon stopping before a door that Iliff believed led to the foundry, Lucious removed the bolt and pulled it to. But it was not a fiery darkness that opened before them. It was a narrow storeroom. On the floor, beneath rows of crammed and cluttered shelves, lay the woman’s son, a cloth stuffed in his mouth, his arms and legs bound with cord.

  Chapter 21

  “What’s this?” Iliff cried. The image of the boy seemed to swim in front of him for a moment before returning to focus. He crouched to go to his side, but Lucious restrained him.

  “He is all right,” Lucious said.

  But even in the dimness of the claustrophobic space, the boy did not look all right. His skin was pallid and marred with what appeared to be bruising. Mussed, damp hair hung to where his eyes quivered behind clenched lids. Beneath the gagging cloth, he made no sound.

  “Is this how you found him?” Iliff asked, his hatred for the Garott swelling inside his chest like a hot iron.

  “We found him this morning,” Lucious said. “Before the call went out that he was missing. He was caught slipping through the postern gate when the scouts returned. The guards seemed not to see him but two of my men here did. They seized him and brought him to me.”

  Iliff turned slowly from the boy to Lucious. “You…?”

  “He’s been to the enemy,” Lucious said. “And maybe not for the first time.”

  “He’s just a boy!”

  “Even so, we have to know what he has revealed to them.”

  Iliff shook his head and started
to protest, but his tongue felt thick in his mouth and no words would come. He’s inside my mind, Iliff thought. He’s muddling my thinking. He tried to push Lucious out, but could not.

  “I know this appears harsh to you,” Lucious said. His face seemed to expand while the men behind him became distant, as though they were standing inside a long tunnel. Iliff was vaguely aware of Lucious’ grip on his arm. “But I know something of treachery. This is how it begins. People stealing in and out at night, no good account of their whereabouts. It was in just this way that I became wise to Depar, your predecessor. I caught him coming in late one night. When I pressed him, he gave some feeble story. But I tell you, Iliff, he had the stink of the Garott on him.”

  “Hearing…” The word barely escaped Iliff’s lips, but Lucious seemed to pick it up in his thoughts.

  “A hearing?” Lucious laughed. “Do you think the Assembly will put this lad to a hearing? They will say the same as you, that he is just a boy. Then back to his coddling mother he’ll go and we’ll know nothing.”

  Iliff struggled to turn toward the boy. He could feel Lucious breathing at his back.

  “Did you know I was once wed?” Lucious asked. “That I had a young boy and a little girl?”

  Iliff nodded. He had heard the stories.

  “Then you should know my regret. I could have seized Depar right there. I could have forced the plot from his weak mind. But I didn’t. I decided the matter was better left to the King and the Assembly. But they did nothing, Iliff. Nothing. Not a moment passes that I do not curse my stupidity.”

  While Lucious spoke, images assembled themselves in Iliff’s head. He saw a young Fythe man who he understood to be Depar. He saw tall timber walls. And then the Garott were burning them down, pouring through them. He felt people pulling on him, keeping him from his cottage where flames leapt blood-red. Where his wife, his good wife, his children cried out for him. The images became torn by rage. Such rage. Iliff felt his mind screaming. Felt something snap—

  And then the images were gone, wrenched away.

  “What does he reveal?” Iliff asked, breath rushing back into his words.

  “The boy?” Lucious said. “Nothing. The enemy has confused his thoughts, there is that, but he is also willful. There must be royal blood in him somewhere. He keeps me from the deeper parts of his mind, from the places the enemy might not have corrupted.”

  Iliff observed the way the boy’s pale fingers curled beneath the cord at his throat. Iliff fought to control his emotions, his expression. He turned to Lucious.

  “Might I try?”

  Lucious snorted. “You haven’t the ability.”

  “To enter his thoughts, no,” Iliff said in a low voice. “But I might coax him into talking to me.”

  “He’ll cry out if we remove the gag.”

  “Not if I convince him that I’m here to release him, to return him to his mother. He knows me, Lucious. He knows that I’m on the Assembly. He’ll trust me.”

  Lucious stood frowning over the boy.

  “He will,” Iliff repeated.

  “All right,” Lucious said at last. “But keep the gag ready.”

  Iliff did not move.

  “What is it?” Lucious demanded.

  “You and your men. I must ask that you go outside.”

  Lucious stood firm.

  “Please,” Iliff whispered. “He mustn’t hear you. He mustn’t know that you’re near. Look at the way he trembles.”

  Lucious grunted and pushed his arms toward the men. “All right,” he said. “Outside. Go on now, all of you.”

  As the dim forms of the men trudged off, Lucious looked back at Iliff, his stare picking up just enough candlelight to give it an edge. “You have half an hour,” he said, then turned and filed out with his men.

  * * *

  Iliff waited until the door had closed before dropping to the boy’s side. He fought to loosen the knots that bound him.

  “Newt,” he whispered.

  The boy shivered. Iliff untied the cord and pulled the wad of cloth from his mouth. For a moment the boy’s mouth hung agape, as if his jaw had been stretched beyond recoil. The barest threads of breath went in and out. Iliff sat and gathered the boy onto his lap. His small body was soaked with perspiration. Iliff brushed the hair from his brow and patted his cheeks. “Newt!”

  The boy’s lids fluttered for an instant, then closed.

  Iliff removed a flask from his belt and held it to the boy’s lips. A clear liquid trickled into the back of his throat, causing him to gag for a moment and then swallow. The drink was klyte, a favorite among the guards, for it had the power to stimulate the senses. Within a few moments the boy began to feel warm in Iliff’s arms, and color flushed his cheeks.

  “Newt!” Iliff said again.

  When the boy lifted his lids this time, he kept them open. He appeared surprised to find Iliff holding him, but he did not cry out. Instead, he smacked his mouth slowly, as though trying to return some moisture to it. Looking about, he brought one hand to his throat and clutched Iliff’s shirt sleeve with the other.

  “It’s all right,” Iliff said. “You’re safe.”

  “The men…?”

  “They’re gone.”

  “Mother…?”

  “She is near.”

  Iliff lifted the boy from the closet and sat him against the rear wall. He squatted beside him. “There now,” Iliff said. “Stretch your arms and legs out. You’ll need to move them a bit before you can stand.”

  The boy winced but did as Iliff said. Iliff looked around. Though he could hear the ticking of metal in the foundry, there was no door to get there. The front door was the only way in or out. He imagined Lucious and his men milling just beyond it, impatient to get back inside. Iliff looked down at the boy, who was working to straighten his legs. Can’t they see his youth? Can’t they see his innocence?

  “Are you hurt?” he asked him.

  The boy shook his head. He watched as Iliff looked him over. There was more coherence to the boy’s gaze now, to his general bearing. Iliff placed his hand on the boy’s thin shoulder.

  “Don’t you worry,” Iliff said gently. “I’m going to help you out of here.” The boy nodded. “But you must tell me some things. The men will not let me carry you from here until you do.”

  The boy’s recovering colors began to falter. He closed his eyes.

  “You are not in trouble,” Iliff said.

  The boy remained still. Iliff looked back to the front door.

  “Your mother is waiting to see you, Newt. She is very worried.”

  Mention of his mother stirred the boy again. He opened his eyes and looked on Iliff with a child’s longing. Though he had not wept to this point, he appeared on the verge now. He opened his mouth.

  “I don’t remember anything, sir,” he said, his hoarse voice almost a whisper. “I swear it.”

  “I believe you,” Iliff said. “I do.” He waited a minute. “But go back for a moment, Newt. Go back to the gate. Do you remember going out through the gate?”

  The boy nodded.

  “You were captured, weren’t you? Do you remember that?”

  The boy nodded again.

  “You were taken to their side? You were taken behind their wall?”

  Another nod.

  “There is a man there. He has scars on his face—look at me now, Newt—a scar here, here, and another long one here. Do you remember seeing someone like that?”

  “Yes.”

  Iliff crouched until he was almost eye level with the boy. “That man is far from us now, Newt. He cannot get inside these walls. Do you understand? We are safe here. There is nothing for you to fear.”

  “But the men…”

  “The men? Oh, yes, the men.” Lucious and the militia. His own people. “You needn’t worry about them, Newt. Even if they come, I will not leave you.”

  The boy’s eyes fluttered and his brow creased. Iliff saw that he was retreating inside himself again. He gla
nced back to the front door. The boy is right to be afraid, he thought. Lucious will not relent. He will dig and dig until the boy is broken and his mind ruined. I must get him talking.

  “He… he may have asked me something,” the boy said. Iliff turned toward him and nodded in encouragement. “But I don’t remember. I only remember him looking at me. And then he was in here.” He pointed to the space between his eyes. “I tried… I… but I couldn’t keep him out.”

  “It’s all right, Newt,” Iliff said. “What did he want?”

  The boy sobbed once and shook his head. Iliff remembered his first encounter with Lucious. The way Lucious had torn through his thoughts, exposing the images of his past, one after another.

  “Did you see anything?” Iliff asked. “In your mind? Did you see anything here?”

  The boy started to shake his head again, but stopped. Sudden recollection surprised his face. “The town,” he said. “The cottages and lanes. I saw people taking their things up to the Keep.”

  “The moving of the young and old,” Iliff said.

  “Yes, that was it!”

  “Was there anything else?”

  The boy tensed his brow in fresh concentration, seeming to forget his circumstances for the moment. “I’m sorry, sir,” he said at length. “Nothing more’s coming. I just remember seeing the town.”

  “What about the walls?” Iliff said. “The Keep? Do you remember seeing those?” Certainly those would be most important to Grier, he thought.

  The boy shook his head. “I just remember them carrying me back outside… ordering me back to the town. And then…” He looked about, his eyes suddenly large in the gloom.

  “It’s all right,” Iliff said. “Come now, let’s get you standing.”

  He lifted the boy beneath his arms and held to him as he staggered on his bony legs. He appeared even smaller standing. The boy set his back against the wall and used his hands to support his knees.

  “While we get our legs,” Iliff said, “I’d like to know what prompted you to go out through the gate.” He looked hard at the boy. “Why did you leave the safety of the walls?”

  The boy dipped his chin and raised his shoulders slightly. “I don’t know,” he said. “It’s just… I’ve never been outside the walls. I’ve only ever heard stories.” He lifted his face to Iliff before hiding it again. “I guess I… I guess I just needed to see for myself, sir.”