The Shadow Roads tsw-3

by Sean Russell

  The creature slipped beneath the surface, like the moongoing down into the sea, and Elise rose, staring down into the waters a moment.Orlem stood silently by, his large shadow still as the towering cliffs. Eliseturned and started down the beach toward A’brgail and Toren, who had not amoment to slip away.

  “Wake everyone,” she said as she passed. “We have restedenough. Hafydd makes all speed.”

  Twenty-two

  Menwyn Wills did not like waiting in the dark. Hisguards-and he had brought plenty of them-lit only a single lantern, and itthrew barely any light at all. The moon was a crescent so thin it hung like anarc of silver wire in the star-scattered black. Shifting from foot to foot,Menwyn flattened the tall, dew-slick grass. The scent of the river touched hisnostrils, and the air was damp and almost cool on this warm summer night. Afew feet away the river slipped by, silent as a serpent.

  Menwyn reached down and slid an inch of his sword from itssheath, assuring himself that it would slip free if he needed it. Of course, hehadn’t used a blade in many years, not since he had given up the tournaments,but he trusted that the training of his youth had not abandoned him altogether.Tonight would not be a good night to find that assumption wrong.

  “My lord,” one of his guards whispered.

  Alerted, Menwyn stopped shifting and stood perfectly still.For a moment he heard nothing, then a small splash sounded along the bank, asthough an oar had entered the water. The dark bulk of a boat appeared almostbefore them.

  “My lord?” came a voice from the river.

  “Yes, Vast, is that you?”

  “Do not speak my name. Voices travel far over the river.”

  “Come ashore then.”

  The boat hissed up onto the grassy bank, and Vast steppedquickly over the side. The lantern was brought forward and lifted up where thelight fell upon the faces of the two men. Vast pulled up the hood of thiscloak.

  “Best take that away,” he whispered.

  The Duke reached out and clasped Menwyn’s hand, taking hiselbow with the other.

  “Is it true, then?” Vast whispered. “The Prince of Innes isdead?”

  “Yes. Assassinated by one of his own guards we’re told; butno one believes it.”

  “Hafydd murdered him,” Vast stated.

  “Hafydd or one of his cursed guards.” Menwyn felt the heatof anger course through him. “There is even a rumor that it was Bel-dor Renne,”he whispered.

  Two folding stools were set out for the noblemen, and theysat down by the riverbank, their guards around them at a respectful distance.Menwyn did not really think this was a trap. Vast was not likely to risk hisown life in this way-not that he wasn’t a brave man, but he wasn’t foolisheither. He had no way of knowing how many of Menwyn’s guards lurked in thedarkness-surely he knew it was more than a few.

  “Innes was a fool to strike any kind of bargain with thatsorcerer,” Vast said softly.

  “He was bespelled, that is what I think. His own son triedto warn him, but he wouldn’t listen. I’m sure Hafydd killed the son as well,for Prince Michael went off with Hafydd and didn’t return.”

  Vast shifted on his stool. A guard brought them each a glassof wine, and they toasted. Menwyn could see nothing of the Duke’s face. Evenhis form was impossible to make out. He appeared bent and aged in thedarkness-like some strange creature out of a song. His voice, deep and resonant,seemed to echo out of the river.

  “Innes was a fool not to accede to your demands,” Menwynsaid meekly. “Half the Renne lands; it is a bargain, I think.”

  “Half the Renne lands,” Vast said, “and the right to anyother estates I can conquer upon the western shore.”

  Menwyn took a deep breath. He knew it was outrageous, but healso knew he had no choice. The Renne had beaten them upon the Isle, and Menwynfeared that they would do it again. He lay awake at night wondering where theywould land their forces upon the eastern shore. Wondering what day he wouldwake to find a Renne army bearing down on him, that indomitable Toren Renne atits head.

  “I agree, Vast. But first you must help me defeat the Renne.”

  “That I will do, but does Hafydd not control the Prince’sarmy?”

  “Hafydd is gone. He took a small company of guards, BeldorRenne, and a few others, and disappeared. A captain of his guards was left tocommand the army, but that will change this night. There aren’t a hundredguards, and they are hated. It is all arranged.”

  “Ah, Menwyn, your reputation is well deserved. But what willyou do when Hafydd returns?”

  “Hafydd and a handful of guards can’t stand against a wholearmy of Innes and Wills men-at-arms. Unlike that fool of a Prince, I am notunder Hafydd’s spell. I will happily have him killed if he dares return.”Menwyn thought he saw Vast nod in the darkness.

  “Then let me tell you this, as a show of good faith,” Vastsaid. “Lord A’denne is a traitor. He made a bargain with the Renne. I know thisbecause I was there. And one other bit of information: Prince Michael of Inneslives. He is in Castle Renne as we speak and has offered his service andknowledge to Lord Toren.”

  Menwyn cursed. “That isn’t good news. A’denne I don’t careabout. His son, Carl, ran off, and Lord A’denne was taken by Hafydd, for whatreason I don’t know. But Prince Michael … he will have supporters among his father’sarmy and among his allies …” Menwyn cursed again. “I wonder if we might notfind an assassin who will solve this problem for us?”

  “The Renne aren’t fools. The attempt on the life of LordCar-ral has them wary. Prince Michael will be well guarded.”

  Menwyn cursed again. “We will have to spread the rumor thatthe Prince is dead and that the Renne claim otherwise to undermine ourconfidence.”

  “Yes, that might be believed,” Vast whispered, “for a while.Perhaps long enough.”

  “What will you do now?”

  “I will return to Westbrook and learn Toren’s intentions. Itis almost certain that they will hear of the Prince’s death and Hafydd’sdisappearance. They will try to move an army across the river to take advantageof this confusion. I will send you a message telling you the time and place.Your army is larger and better prepared. Let them land by night, and at firstlight drive them into the river. One short battle, and the Renne will beruined. We will cross the river and besiege Castle Renne, then divide theirlands between us.”

  Menwyn reached out and put a hand on the Duke’s large shoulder.“Vast, your name shall ever be honored among the Wills.”

  “Yes, I shall be known as the great traitor, but in twohundred years who will care?”

  Twenty-three

  Samul woke to a jangle of keys and the ancient lock of hiscell turning. The door creaked open on rusty hinges, and a lantern swung intoview, its smoke-stained glass emitting only the vaguest light. He proppedhimself up on one elbow, shading his eyes against the glare.

  “Light a candle,” a guard said. A servant hustled in and seta tray on the small desk to take up one of the candles sitting there. He litthis from the lantern and put it back on the desk, where it flickered fitfully.A second servant laid a suit of clothes over the back of his chair. Somewherehigh up above, the castle bells tolled-four in the morning.

  “What is this?” Samul asked groggily.

  “It is your last meal,” the guard said. “Eat up and dress.You have an appointment with the executioner at five.”

  The servants turned and bustled out, the guard behind them.

  Samul bolted out of bed.

  “But I’ve been told nothing of this!” he shouted.

  The door thumped into place, and he heard the keys jangleagain. “I know nothing of that, your grace,” the man mumbled.

  “Call Lord Dease!” Samul shouted through the barred window. “Imust speak with Dease!”

  The guard withdrew the keys from the lock. Samul couldhardly make out the man’s face in the poor light.

  “Lord Dease has gone off with Lord Toren. No one knows whenthey’ll return. I can take him no message.” The guard lumbered off d
own thepassageway, the dim light of his lantern disappearing into the dark tunnel.

  They came to fetch him before the bell tolled five. Samul wonderedif this was a nightmare, for nothing felt real. Every little sound washeightened, the stones in the walls all seemed to stand out in the dim light.Two others were taken from their cells then; a noblemen and a small,dark-haired man.

  “Lord Samul, I expect …?” the nobleman said.

  “Lord Carl-I see your face at last.”

  The two bowed to each other. Samul saw that the little manwas trembling, near to collapse. Lord Carl put a hand on his shoulder.

  “So this is what I’ve brought you to. I can’t tell you howmuch I regret it, Jamm.”

  “It would have come to this eventually,” the little mansaid, trying to steady his voice. “At least I go in good company.” He tried tosmile but failed.

  It was a silent procession-at least there was no speech.Every footfall seemed like the note of a dirge to Samul. Even the pendulouscreak of the lantern swinging on its handle was as clear as a lark’s song inthe early morning.

  The company made their way in near darkness up a narrowstair. At the top a small company of guards waited. Without pause they went on,marching in step down the corridor.

  Samul thought the Renne blue of the guards’ surcoats was themost beautiful color he had ever laid eyes on. As beautiful as the sky on asummer’s day. A dim gray light illuminated the high windows.

  “Will we be executed before the sun rises?” he asked theguard. He had not seen the sun in days, and suddenly it was important to see itonce more.

  “I don’t know, sir,” the guard answered softly, no doubtbreaking his orders not to speak with the condemned.

  Samul made every effort to bear up, not wanting anyone tosay he faltered at the end. He had made his decisions and now must accept theconsequences, but at the same time a small voice within him cried, Thesecannot be my last minutes! I’m not ready to make an end of it yet. I’mnot ready!

  Doors opened into a small courtyard. Samul knew the place: “thebone yard” it was called. It was a cheerless square of gray paving stones andempty-eyed walls, for only a few windows stared down into the place. No onewanted a room with such an outlook. No garden softened the harsh rectangle, notree offered shade, or climbing vine broke the blankness of the stone.

  The little company turned and passed through the doors. Carl’scompanion sobbed once but then took hold of himself and bore up. Samul lookedover at the young nobleman. His back was straight, and his hands were steady.There was a pale sheen of sweat upon his brow, and his eyes were wide, like aman surprised, but otherwise he carried himself with admirable dignity. Samulonly hoped that his own appearance did not suffer by comparison.

  A scaffolding, hung with black cloths, stood at one end ofthe courtyard, and below the cloths, three baskets waited side by side. Samul’snerve almost failed then, but he tore his eyes away and walked on, his feethardly seeming to hit the ground. Each step seemed to happen slowly, the heelof his boot striking, the ball of the foot touching sometime later.

  Fondor waited at the bottom of the steps, his face grim andfilled with sadness. Samul remembered that Fondor had been his protector whenhe was a small boy, shielding him from the bullies among his larger cousins.

  The company stopped at the foot of the wooden steps. Fondordrew a ragged breath. “Have you anything to say, Cousin?” he asked.

  Samul leaned near to the larger man, so that he mightwhisper close to his ear. “It was Dease who was to have murdered Toren,” hesaid, “but he would not shoot, for he knew it to be Arden. Beld knocked himdown and took the shot himself, believing it was Toren.” He stepped back andgained some small satisfaction from the shock on Fondor’s face. “Thank Deasefor all the concern he’s shown me.”

  Samul turned away and mounted the stairs, Carl and his guideclose behind.

  It was dark within the black hangings, but in the dim lightSamul could make out the executioner in his black hood, axe in hand. Moreguards hovered over three wretched-looking men who stood with their handsbound, one rocking quickly from foot to foot, so frightened he could barelystand.

  They will execute common criminals on the same scaffold!Samul thought indignantly. It was an intentional insult, he realized. A finalmessage from Toren, who had certainly ordered it.

  High up in a narrow window stood the messenger from the Dukeof Vast. He had been brought here that morning, having arrived soon after hislord had heard that Carl A’denne had made his way across the river to CastleRenne. The aging Renne counselor who stood beside him cleared his throat.

  “You will take Lady Beatrice’s thanks to the Duke. Thisyoung traitor might have done much harm if the Duke had not found him out.”

  The messenger nodded. “The Duke will be much gratified.”

  “There is also a small gift-a token of Lady Beatrice’s affection.”

  The messenger performed a small bow.

  A dull thud was heard through the dirty glass, and a headtoppled into a basket. Another dull report with the same result, then a third.

  “That is the end of A’denne, his young guide, and also LordSamul Renne. What a time of treachery we live in,” the old counselor added.

  “So it is, but you have paid these traitors back in full.” Themessenger hesitated, glanced once more through the smudged pane, then turnedaway.

  The two men proceeded down the hall thinking about breakfast.

  Samul’s gaze turned toward the three blocks set out at theedge of the scaffold. His eyes closed involuntarily, and he turned his face uptoward the sky. Opening his eyes, he saw only the featureless gray of the earlymorning. No hint of blue.

  “Lord Samul …” a guard said, “this way.”

  A hand touched his shoulder, and Samul tore his gaze awayfrom the sky. The guard gestured toward a stair that led back into the castle.

  “What?” Samul said stupidly.

  “This way, sir.” The guard took his arm gently and led himdown the stairs.

  Samul glanced back once to see the first criminal ledforward to kneel before the block, then he was inside.

  Fondor waited there in flickering lamplight. Behind him cameCarl A’denne and the little thief who served him. They were hustled past anddown the passageway.

  “Wh-what goes on?” Samul stammered.

  Fondor leaned close to him and spoke in a harsh whisper. “SamulRenne is dead. You will cease to use that name, and you will never-never-returnto Renne lands. I have a task for you, Cousin, and if you will perform it,Toren will not feel he let you go in vain.”

  “Whatever it is,” Samul said, “I will do it.” His kneesbuckled then, and he would have fallen had not Fondor reached out and kept himon his feet.

  Carl A’denne could not quite catch his breath. He and Jammwere hustled into a small dim room, and the door slammed behind them. A singlewindow, barred, was set high into a wall.

  Jamm began to sob, shoulders shaking almost silently. “Whattrick is this they play?” the little man lamented.

  “I know not,” Carl answered, gazing around-a tallyman’sroom, with tables and ledgers. The sound of the executioner’s axe came dullythrough the door. Jamm collapsed against a wall.

  A moment later the door opened, and Fondor Renne stepped in,his manner grim and determined.

  “What game is this?” Carl demanded angrily.

  “Vast will think you dead,” Fondor said. “One of his minionshad a poor view of your execution from a high window. Though the head that fellinto the basket was not so fair, it would pass as yours in such poor light.”Fondor leaned back against a table and crossed his arms. “I’m sorry not to havewarned you, but there are spies within Castle Renne and you had to look likemen going to your deaths. Anything less would have been remarked upon.”

  Carl leaned back against the wall, bracing his hands on hisknees.

  “Take a moment to compose yourself,” Fondor said kindly. “Itwas a cruel trick, but you are alive this day, and the Renne h
ave no thoughtsto end your lives.”

  Carl forced himself to breathe. Another dull “thwack” washeard-the third, he realized.

  “Who were those men?” Carl said weakly.

  “Criminals who had been sentenced to die. Don’t concernyourself-the Renne are not so cruel as to have taken innocent lives to preserveyours.”

  “But what now?” Jamm asked.

  “Under the circumstances I will excuse you for notaddressing me properly,” Fondor said. He rocked back against the table, whichcreaked from his weight. “My family have a proposition for you. The Isle ofBattle is ours still because of your warning, Lord Carl, but that is not enoughto earn the reward you asked.” Fondor put a hand to his chin and seemed toconsider his next words. “The world has changed since we made our bargain. ThePrince of Innes was assassinated and his son, Prince Michael, has become ourally. When we made our bargain with your family, Lord Carl, the Prince of Inneswas our enemy, and we gladly agreed to cede you half his estates. But now …now his son is our ally and his estates have all been taken. What are we to do?”He raised a bushy eyebrow. “And I there is more. Even with the elementof surprise on our side and Hafydd off somewhere, our armies are no match forthe armies of Innes and Menwyn Wills. We won on the Isle of Battle because theywere not expecting us to land in force, but they won’t allow themselves to behumiliated again. They will attack in greater numbers in a place where we willnot have a canal to protect us.” He gazed at Lord Carl a moment, his face linedand serious. “We are desperate. That is the truth.”

  He glanced at Jamm and offered him a small smile of encouragement.

  “Here is our proposition,” Fondor went on. “Prince Michaelhas nothing, as he well knows. Even the information he has offered is of smallvalue. Without Renne support he has no hope of recovering his estates. So wehave made a bargain with him. If he will travel east of the river and makecontact with men he believes will be sympathetic to his claims-officers whoserved his father, and other allies-and if he can bring these men over to ourcause, then we will support his claims after the war.” Fondor took a longbreath. “But if you will aid him-if you will be his guides and his guards, LordCarl, you will receive from Prince Michael estates enough so that yours willequal his.”