The Door Into Shadow totf-2

by Диана Дуэйн

  way Cillmod could forestall a revolt by the Four Hundred and their starving tenant-farmers. Anyway, to continue: There were also reports for some time of sorcerers and Rodmistresses visiting Prydon. More sorcerers than Rodmistresses, of course. There's one sorcerer in particular—"

  "Someone who either claimed to be of Lion's Line," Free-lorn guessed, "or who claimed he could get Cillmod into Lionhall without dying of it, and show him how to reinforce the Bindings."

  "Exactly. The second was what this sorcerer claimed. Rian, his name is. But then something peculiar happened. The man never went into Lionhall at all, as far as my spies can tell. Neither did Cillmod. Nevertheless, starting about a year ago Rian became a fixture at what now passes for the Arlene court." Eftgan took a drink of barley-water. "Other odd things — the Four Hundred have become very quiet re-cently. When you robbed the treasury at Osta, for example, it became apparent then that you weren't dead after all. Nat-urally there was a clamor for your return. But it died down very quickly." "Why?"

  "I believe because the families who called loudest for your crowning were suddenly beset by Fyrd — the thinking variety." Mutters of distaste were heard round the table. "Rian," Segnbora said, very quietly to herself.

  The Queen nodded. "I have no doubt that we're dealing here with a person whom the Shadow occasionally inhabits and controls. The man has a past and a family just as he should, but he's the center of too many odd occurrences. Where his influence appears, Cillmod's neglect usually breaks out into full-fledged malice."

  Lorn, who had finished his porridge, set down his spoon. "What else has friend Rian — or rather, the Shadow — been up to?"

  "You know the problems the Reavers have been having with the weather, their crops, and their game? How they are being forced northward? That's obviously the Shadow's work. There's something else, too. Starting about six months ago, it seems that emissaries — mostly mercenary captains — were sent over the mountains in to Reaver country to strike a bar-gain. In return for making incursions into the Kingdoms when ordered, some of the hardest-pressed Reaver clans were pro-mised loot, cattle. . and land in Arlen in which to settle."

  All around the table, there was silence. "The Shadow's purpose is apparently to keep Darthen busy with war until something special happens," Eftgan said. "My guess is that 'something' is the collapse of the Royal Bind-ings."

  The silence in the room erupted into cries of disbelief. The end of the Royal Bindings was unthinkable. Such a calamity would turn the Shadow loose in the Kingdoms as It hadn't been loose in centuries, since the Lion and the Eagle first bound It.

  Lang looked at Freelorn. "I can't believe anyone would knowingly do this to his own country! Can it be Cillmod doesn't know what the failure of the Bindings will mean?"

  "Could be," Lorn said. "After all, he's not trained in the royal sorceries. Perhaps the true nature of the destruction that would follow is being hidden from him somehow. In any case, if this is the Shadow's purpose, it must not be allowed."

  The firmness of his resolve sent a dart of sharp pride through Segnbora. The others, equally moved, quieted. Eft-gan nodded her approval. "First of all, what are we doing about the Reavers locally?" Freelorn asked.

  "I've spoken to Herewiss about the possibility of closing off the Chaelonde incursion route with a sealing," the Queen said. "That would cause the Reavers a great deal of trouble right away. Without it, they'd have to go as far east as Araveyn or as far west as Bluepeak itself to get into the Kingdoms. Araveyn is practically in the Waste; they wouldn't bother. And Bluepeak is in Arlen, meaning that Cillmod would have to march Reavers all the way through his own country to attack

  Freelorn stared at Eftgan, his shock growing greater by the moment.

  "Look at this," the Queen said, gesturing around the room. It was comfortable enough, on a bright summer morning, but definitely not luxurious. "If I'd had the sense to marry out of the royal line young, I could be spending my day sitting on silken cushions in some mansion in Darthis, eating roast orto-lan and botargoes on toast, taking lovers, going to the races in the daytime and to parties at night. But instead I let them make me Queen."

  Segnbora took a long drink of her barley-water, to hide her rueful smile.

  "I had to be Queen," Eftgan said again, "and now look what I've got for my troubles. Battlefield food and soldier's quarters, five days out of the ten. Back home in Darthis are three children I hardly ever see, because by the time I'm finished meeting with my ministers all morning, presiding over court-justice all afternoon, and receiving visits — I should say, 'complaints'—from the various members of the Forty Houses all evening, it's long past the children's bedtimes. I say nothing of my bedtime. My husband has to have a separate bedroom so that my reading won't keep him awake all night. In the daytime he has to throw people out of his wineshop because they don't want to buy his wine, they want to buy appointments with me. Even he aches at the end of the day." Freelorn had at this point just gotten around to closing his mouth.

  "So do I," Eftgan said. "Sometimes I do more than ache. I get wounds, too. A Queen has to be first in every charge and last in every retreat. . " She pulled aside the shoulder of her surcoat, looking under it with a momentarily abstracted air. "I was knifed here, once— No, of course you remember that; you were there. Herewiss stopped the crossbow quarrel, but I got the knife of the Reaver before that one." She pulled the surcoat back in place and spent a moment looking around her plate to find the butterknife. "Bad enough to have to put up with that kind of thing from your enemies. But sooner or later it comes from your own people … in Darthen, at least. One day when you're hammering out your crown in the Square,

  somebody whose crops failed last year comes out of the crowd and runs you through. Or worse, the rains won't come, and all the wreakings and all the royal magics refuse to work. Then there's only one thing that will save the land from famine." She looked down and began slowly buttering her bread. "So you take the knife, and call the person who loves you best in the world to witness the ceremony; and pierce the sky's heart by piercing yours, and cause it to shed rain by shedding blood, and bring the breath of the stormwind by breathing out your last. . "

  Eftgan's tone all this while had been light, almost matter-of-fact. Now she looked up at Freelorn and, in the profound silence that had fallen around the table, said, "This is a stupid job to go hunting for, Lorn. You were smart to stay away from it as long as you have." Segnbora listened hard and could have sworn that people were holding their breaths. Only Lorn looked at all normal. The amazement had worn off him; his face was set.

  "Eftgan," he said, "I ran away from Arlen because I was afraid of being tortured to death. I still am. But I notice that I'm not running in the opposite direction."

  At that Eftgan paused to bite into her bread. She chewed 'eflectively, and swallowed. "You've had a lot of help."

  "I have," he said, with only the swiftest glance to one side t Herewiss. "What is it they always say about lovers? That they usually know your mind better than you do." It was Freelorn's turn to pause now, looking around the table for honey for his porridge. He pointed, and Lang passed it to him. "Herewiss always knew what I wanted — what I really wanted — better than I did. It's a good thing, too. If he had been one of those spineless anything-you-say-dear types, I'd probably be peacefully dead in a ditch somewhere now. In-stead I'm here, with Fyrd and Reavers on three sides and the Shadow on the fourth." That got a smile out of Eftgan.

  "You're right to question my motives and intent." Freelorn ate a spoonful of porridge. "Yes, Herewiss called the tune. And yes, I followed his lead toward kingship because it was convenient, and I was confused. But the confusion isn't so

  much of a problem now." He took another spoonful, throw-ing a quick glance out the window at the great silent mass of Adine. "Dusty will probably still be the strategist of this group's business, the brains. But I'm this group's heart. I've forgotten that, once or twice, I know. A prince gets used to having things done for him. But i
n the past couple of weeks I've seen my loved almost die for me — for my cause, rather — three times. I suspect I'm done being a prince. It's my turn to be a king." Lorn took a long drink of mulled wine. "And as for you, Eftgan. . if you don't like your job, you should abdicate. Maybe afterward you could take up carting slops."

  Eftgan, who was also drinking at that moment, spluttered and choked — then, when she had finished choking, began to whoop with laughter. "Oh Goddess!" was all she managed to say for a while. When she was calmer, she wiped tears of merriment out of her eyes. "I guess I left myself open for that. Freelorn, your hand! Keep this sort of thing up, and we'll do very well together."

  They reached across the length of the table to touch hands. "Truth," Lorn said, sounding rueful, as if the speech had cost him something, "and beauty. A perfect match." "Flatterer."

  "Now, what about that news about the Reavers that you promised us?"

  "Well. . let's take this in order. There's more news than just of Reavers. When you left Arlen, Lorn, what was your understanding of the way things stood with the Lords-Householders, the Four Hundred, concerning your succes-sion to the throne?"

  "Mixed. There would've been no question of the succes-sion if I had been Initiated, taken by my father into the Lion-hall on the Nightwalk. But he put off the ceremony, until finally it was too late. When he died, the Four Hundred split on the issue. I had been spending a lot of time out of the country, helling around, and there was some question about whether I'd be a fit ruler. The army split 011 the issue too, and with Arlene regulars assigned to each household the situation quickly became volatile, as you can imagine. No one wanted a civil war, so the Householders hesitated. . which gave

  Cillmod time to step in with his mercenaries and make the whole question moot."

  "Yes, and when he made you an outlaw, you and Herewiss and the rest fled the country." Eftgan sat back in her chair. Segnbora knew much of the rest of the story, and listened jwith only half an ear as Eftgan filled in details for Freelorn. Cillmod had done well enough for several years. He took the throne and bore Stave, though he didn't go into Lionhall. Likewise, he reaffirmed the Oath with Eftgan's father, who was still alive and ruling then. It was around the middle of his fourth year that the crop failures began. The next year the crops were worse, and the next year worse still. Then the failures began spreading into Darthen as well. The royal sor-ceries, and the Great Bindings, were wearing thin.

  Eftgan's father had been unwilling to help Cillmod beyond the reaffirmation of the Oath: He was among those who hoped that an uprising

  would eventually bring Freelorn back. But by the time of Eftgan's first crowning the situation was unbearable. Unaware of Freelorn's whereabouts, Eftgan wrote to Cillmod and offered to repair the Royal Bindings herself. Amazingly, he refused. Segnbora looked up from her food in surprise at that, as did the rest of Freelorn's company.

  "He said that inquiries were being made in Arlen for a surviving heir to the Lion's Line," Eftgan explained. "He had put about the story that you had died, did you know that?" "No!"

  "Later there was even proof of it: a mangled head sent from the torture chambers of Dariw of Steldin, whom you eluded at Madeil." "Hmmm. . Do ghosts eat? No? Then there must have been a mistake."

  "Must have been. Anyway, Cillmod was apparently unsuc-cessful in finding any other children in the Lion's Line. Which is fortunate, since I'm sure he would have killed any that he found. Another question, Lorn: Do you have any children outside of Arlen?" Freelorn shook his head sadly. "I only fulfilled the Responsibility once," he said. "My daughter died in infancy."

  "Well enough." Eftgan chewed some bacon. "I ask because Cillmod's search for an heir took some strange turns. For example, some of the searches were conducted by large j groups of mercenaries who crossed the Darthene borders and went after our granaries. It was the only way Cillmod could v forestall a revolt by the Four Hundred and their starving tenant-farmers. Anyway, to continue: There were also reports for some time of sorcerers and Rodmistresses visiting Prydon. More sorcerers than Rodmistresses, of course. There's one sorcerer in particular—"

  "Someone who either claimed to be of Lion's Line," Free-lorn guessed, "or who claimed he could get Cillmod into Lionhall without dying of it, and show him how to reinforce the Bindings."

  "Exactly. The second was what this sorcerer claimed. Rian, his name is. But then something peculiar happened. The man never went into Lionhall at all, as far as my spies can tell. Neither did Cillmod. Nevertheless, starting about a year ago Rian became a fixture at what now passes for the Arlene court." Eftgan took a drink of barley-water. "Other odd things — the Four Hundred have become very quiet re-cently. When you robbed the treasury at Osta, for example, it became apparent then that you weren't dead after all. Nat-urally there was a clamor for your return. But it died down very quickly." "Why?"

  "I believe because the families who called loudest for your crowning were suddenly beset by Fyrd — the thinking variety." Mutters of distaste were heard round the table. "Rian," Segnbora said, very quietly to herself.

  The Queen nodded. "I have no doubt that we're dealing here with a person whom the Shadow occasionally inhabits and controls. The man has a past and a family just as he should, but he's the center of too many odd occurrences. Where his influence appears, Cillmod's neglect usually breaks out into full-fledged malice."

  Lorn, who had finished his porridge, set down his spoon. "What else has friend Rian — or rather, the Shadow — been up to?" "You know the problems the Reavers have been having with the weather, their crops, and their game? How they are being forced northward? That's obviously the Shadow's work. There's something else, too. Starting about six months ago, it seems that emissaries — mostly mercenary captains — were sent over the mountains in to Reaver country to strike a bar-gain. In return for making incursions into the Kingdoms when ordered, some of the hardest-pressed Reaver clans were pro-mised loot, cattle. . and land in Arlen in which to settle."

  AH around the table, there was silence. "The Shadow's purpose is apparently to keep Darthen busy with war until something special happens," Eftgan said. "My guess is that 'something' is the collapse of the Royal Bind-ings."

  The silence in the room erupted into cries of disbelief. The end of the Royal Bindings was unthinkable. Such a calamity would turn the Shadow loose in the Kingdoms as It hadn't been loose in centuries, since the Lion and the Eagle first bound It.

  Lang looked at Freelorn. "I can't believe anyone would knowingly do this to his own country! Can it be Cillmod doesn't know what the failure of the Bindings will mean?"

  "Could be," Lorn said. "After all, he's not trained in the royal sorceries. Perhaps the true nature of the destruction that would follow is being hidden from him somehow. In any case, if this is the Shadow's purpose, it must not be allowed."

  The firmness of his resolve sent a dart of sharp pride through Segnbora. The others, equally moved, quieted. Eft-gan nodded her approval. "First of all, what are we doing about the Reavers locally?" Freelorn asked.

  "I've spoken to Herewiss about the possibility of closing off the Chaelonde incursion route with a sealing," the Queen said. "That would cause the Reavers a great deal of trouble right away. Without it, they'd have to go as far east as Araveyn or as far west as Bluepeak itself to get into the Kingdoms. Araveyn is practically in the Waste; they wouldn't bother. And Bluepeak is in Arlen, meaning that Cillmod would have to march Reavers all the way through his own country to attack

  Darthen. Tactically, a sealing is a good idea. The question is whether it can be done."

  "It can," Herewiss said. "But right now the timing's bad. I wouldn't dare try it with Glasscastle imminent; we'll have to wait until it passes. Which brings us to another problem— sealing off the peak of Adine so that no sorcery of the Shadow's, or anyone else's, can bring anything down out of Glasscastle onto our heads. That, too, I can do; and I'll do it tonight. My only fear is that the sudden removal of access to a place where our mortal world and an
other world touch might cause Power imbalances. In a place as delicately bal-anced as Barachael is, with its years of warfare and piled-up negative energies, that can be dangerous."

  "I know," Eftgan said. "But it can't be helped. My true-dream made it plain that the next time someone passed into or out of Glasscastle, so great a disturbance would follow that the Kingdoms might not survive."

  Herewiss looked gravely at Lorn, and then back at the Queen again. "I'll do what I can, madam," he said. "I hope it'll suffice."

  "It's more than I could have done, that's for sure…." Eftgan pushed her chair back from the table. "I leave the matter in your capable hands. I should be back from Orsvier tomorrow, and we can worry about sealing the pass itself then. As for you, Arlen—" She fixed Freelorn with a hard, smiling look. "I stand on the Oath. As soon as I get this unfought army off my right flank, and yours, then it's 'the Eagle for Arlen and the Lion at i bay/ I trust you two will be willing to deal with this flank, should it become necessary today."

  "Darthen," he said, returning Eftgan's look without the smile, "you know how my loved has been handling this so far. And I agree with him. I'd prefer not to shed blood, Arlene or Darthene."

  "Cillmod's had no such compunctions," Eftgan said. "Nei-ther have the Reavers, and right now there are Reavers corn-ing here, and Reavers at Orsvier. You two clear this flank, I'll clear the other. Then we'll have leisure to consider what to do about Arlen. When we campaign, there I'll be guided by your judgment; you know your land best."

  Freelorn nodded, looking solemn. Eftgan turned to the corner and picked up something that stood against the wall — a big old iron fireplace poker, its haft studded with rough white diamonds. It was Sarsweng, the battle-standard of the Darthenes. "I have to get my work done," the little fair woman said. "My husband hates it when I get home late. The Lady be with you all 'til I get back—"