Shadowdance

by Robin W Bailey

  He clenched his fists in the coverlet, struggling to make sense of it, knowing only that some dark desire had possessed his guardian last night and made them both its victim. How could he explain to Minarik? How could he tell such an evil truth, or speak of the deed that had been consummated under his roof? However he disliked it, he knew he had to lie again.

  "We argued," he started honestly enough. "About the Witch, and about my legs."

  Minarik stopped him. "You are crippled, then, as I'd heard." He nodded with sudden understanding as he lifted one of Innowen's arms and examined it closely. "I knew there was something odd about you. See? The calluses on your elbows where no normal man would have them. And the strange, careful way you walk as if any moment you expect to fall. This is the Witch's work, isn't it?" Minarik ran a hand along Innowen's thigh down to his knee. "She made you whole again."

  "Only during the nighttime hours," Innowen said softly. "From sunrise to sunset I'm still half a man."

  Minarik looked long and hard at Innowen, then turned away and rubbed his eyes with thumb and forefinger. After a moment, he turned back again, and his features settled into an expression of great weariness. "None of this explains why Drushen ran away."

  Innowen drew a breath and let it out slowly. "He didn't know about the Witch's part in this. He thought it was some miracle from the gods. But last night I told him the truth." He looked up and met Minarik's gaze with directness. "Drushen's very superstitious, and he'd heard stories about the Witch of Shanalane. He said terrible things, and when I defended her, he said I was abathakati—tainted." Suddenly, he covered his face; he felt shame, but this lie was far better than the truth. "He hurt me." Innowen continued finally. He drew a deep breath and leaned his head back against the wall. That, at least, was no untruth. "And I hit him. I'd never done that before. He took it as proof of my utter corruption and fled." He rubbed a hand over his eyes and looked beyond the window. "Now I'm alone. Drushen won't come back, and I have no one."

  Taelyn stepped closer. "Lord," he said, bending over Minarik. "You haven't slept all night. You should rest. I'll see that the boy is bathed and the room cleaned. The two of you can continue this discussion later."

  Minarik waved him back, then rubbed his eyes as Innowen had done, and rose from the bedside. He shot a smile at Innowen. "You're not the only who needs a bath—I don't know which of us is worse." He sniffed himself and made a face before looking to his slave. "You're right, though, Taelyn. We can continue this, but after we've cleaned ourselves." He leaned down and rumpled Innowen's hair. To Innowen's surprise, he found he didn't mind. "You look after Innocent," Minarik went on, "and when he's presentable, carry him down to the courtyard. See that there's food waiting, too."

  Taelyn protested. "You need sleep, my lord."

  Minarik put on a patient grin. "You fret too much, old friend. I'm stronger than you think. Riding around pointlessly all night is admittedly a bit tiring, but it only takes an argument with Kyrin to stir the blood again, and mine's been whipped to a froth." He looked back to Innowen. "I'll join you in the courtyard shortly." Then turning again to Taelyn, "He doesn't look half as bad as you said."

  Taelyn put on an exaggerated frown. "He perked up deliberately to make me seem like a liar."

  Minarik's grin widened, then he shrugged and left the room. Taelyn followed his lord but returned moments later with the wash basin and a cloth. He poured water from the hydria jar by Innowen's bed into the basin.

  "I like him," Innowen confided as Taelyn pulled away his coverlet and began to clean him. "But the villagers in Shandisti almost never speak of him. Why is that?"

  Taelyn rinsed the cloth, wrung it, and continued his ministrations. "Minarik seldom leaves Whisperstone anymore, except to hunt. This business with Kyrin and the Witch of Shanalane has taken him farther from the gates of his keep than he's ventured in years and years. He entertains few guests, he visits no one, and he stays out of other people's business." Taelyn sighed. "He uses these walls to shut out the whole world."

  "But why?" Innowen wondered aloud.

  Taelyn shrugged. "A woman," he answered glumly. "It's always a woman, isn't it? Years ago he fell in love. None of us ever saw her, mind you. But nearly every night he would ride from the gates when the sun declined, and each dawn he would return. The horse would be half-dead, but his smile would be brighter than the sun itself."

  Taelyn rolled Innowen onto his belly and wet the cloth again. The water was cool, and there was a welcome, comforting pleasure in being cared for. "It went on for nearly the whole of one summer. Then one night, Minarik returned earlier than usual. It was just before the stroke of midnight, and his horse was lathered as if he'd tried to ride the beast into the ground. He just left the poor animal standing untended at the gates and shut himself in his rooms. For three days he spoke no word to anyone."

  "She rejected him?" Innowen asked.

  "No one knows what happened," Taelyn answered. He dropped the cloth in the basin and set it on the floor beside the hydria jug. "When our lord finally emerged again, he was as you see him now, pleasant and kind, from all appearances a man for men to envy, and he went about his life completely as if nothing was amiss. But from that time on, he almost never left the confines of Whisperstone."

  "And no one ever found out who the lady was?" Innowen persisted as Taelyn lifted and carried him to the other bed and set him down.

  Taelyn only shook his head as he turned to strip away the soiled coverlets and sheets. "He never breathed her name."

  "You never tried to find out?"

  Taelyn frowned as he dropped the bundle of bedding on the floor. "My duty is to care for my lord and his house...."

  "You did try," Innowen interrupted with a careful smirk.

  Again, Taelyn shook his head. "No. It was clear Minarik wanted to forget some deep pain. What good would it have done for me, or anyone, to pick at his scabs?" He snatched up one of the clean sheets he had brought and snapped it in the air before spreading it upon the bed. Before it settled smoothly, though, he jerked it away. "Oh, this won't do at all. We'll have to leave the mattress to dry." He folded the sheet again and returned it to the fresh pile.

  Innowen watched Taelyn as he worked. At first, he had thought this slave to be quite a gossip, so freely did he talk about his lord's personal business. But there was something familiar about the way Taelyn spoke of Minarik, some light in his eye, a particular set to his chin. And when Taelyn spoke again, Innowen failed to understand the words, for it was Drushen's voice that filled the room. He saw, then, the love that slave bore for master. But was it Drushen's dark love? That he couldn't tell. It was plain, though, that in Taelyn's heart there was room for nothing else but service to his lord.

  Innowen wondered where Drushen had gone. Even though the hurt and shame of last night were not forgotten, he was worried about his guardian and feared he might never see him again.

  "You're doing it again!" Taelyn said, snapping his fingers under Innowen's nose. "Minarik walks in and you're attentive as a new bride to her husband. Then he leaves, and you're in and out, just the way I found you, like sunshine on a cloudy day. Did you hear what I said?"

  "I'm sorry," Innowen answered honestly, "I didn't."

  "I said, you're too heavy for me to carry all the way to the courtyard. I'm no woodcutter, after all. I'll call two servants to take you down, though they won't be happy about it. Everyone's asleep after chasing about the countryside all night." He disappeared through the archway and returned with clean garments similar to the ones Drushen had given him the night before. "Put these on." He tossed them from the arch and was gone before Innowen could question him further.

  Innowen dressed himself and waited. He tried not to think about Drushen, but time and again his thoughts turned to the old man, until a dark mood began to settle upon him. He shook himself, trying to resist it, but the mood only took a stronger hold. What's to become of me without him? he thought.

  Two strangers entered his room and made
short bows. They looked very tired, and Innowen realized that, like their lord, these men had been up all night.

  "We're to bear you to the courtyard," one of them said, coming forward. The other followed, and together they lifted him upon crossed hands. Innowen draped his arms about their shoulders to steady himself.

  "My thanks," he said courteously when they entered the courtyard and approached the gazebo. A second high-backed chair had been placed directly across from the other, and they lowered him carefully into it. The cushions were luxurious; he ran his hands over the finely padded arms.

  Behind his bearers came three more slaves. One carried a small table, another a silver tray with goblets and an oinochoe jug decorated with an elaborate floral pattern. The third bore two serving dishes, one heaped with small meat cakes, the other with sliced fruit, dates and nuts. Innowen watched steam rise from the cakes and realized he was quite hungry. He licked his lips and inhaled the aroma.

  "Lord Minarik will join you shortly," the last servant informed him. "He wishes that you help yourself until he arrives."

  They left him alone in the gazebo. He stared at the warm cakes but decided to wait for Minarik. The table was close enough, though, and he filled one goblet. To his surprise he poured, not water, but wine. He had seldom tasted wine. Drushen had not been able to afford it.

  No, he would not think of Drushen. He sipped the wine, savoring its potent, unfamiliar taste. It wasn't as wonderful as he'd expected, but he had a feeling he could grow to like it. He took another sip and gazed up at the sky, so blue and cloudless for this time of autumn. It was comfortably warm, too. He studied the walls of Whisperstone block by block as they rose high around him, noting with disinterest the small shuttered apartment windows that dotted its heights. He ran his fingernails over the chair arms and over his unfeeling thighs. At last, he munched a single date.

  "Did you taste the cakes? I have the best kitchen staff in the land." Bearing a small bowl, which he placed on the table near at hand, Minarik stepped into the gazebo and smiled as he sat down in the chair opposite Innowen. He had bathed and changed. His garments were regal cloth-of-gold, and he shimmered like one of Ispor's gods. He poured wine into the other goblet, lifted it, then spilled a small quantity on the boards at his feet before he drank. The red liquid quickly ran between the cracks.

  "Why did you do that?" Innowen asked, lifting his own goblet.

  "Men die, are placed in the earth and become, in time, no more than the dust at our feet," the Lord of Whisperstone explained with a mixture of solemnity and amusement. "So spill a little wine to wet the lips of those who've gone before us."

  Innowen considered Minarik's words, then tipped his own cup. No doubt the nobles had many customs, he reflected, which common people could ill afford. Most of the folks in his acquaintance would have blanched at such a senseless waste.

  "Not too much," his benefactor cautioned with a grin. "The dead have a notoriously dull sense of taste, and this is a very rare vintage." He took another sip from his own cup, then set it aside and reached for the bowl he had brought. He lifted from it a wet, white cloth, wrung a bit of water from it, and leaned toward Innowen. Gently, he passed the cloth over each of Innowen's hands, then over his own, and returned it to the bowl. He reached for a meat cake. "Now try one of these," he suggested. "I promise you, they're wonderful."

  They were indeed. Some were stuffed with bits of venison, others with pork or lamb. Some were seasoned with expensive spices that Innowen had never sampled. He ate four cakes and washed them down with wine. Then he ate four more. When his belly was full, he settled back in his chair. He couldn't remember ever feeling so stuffed. Nevertheless, he forced down one mote cake for politeness' sake. It wouldn't do to let Minarik think his food was unsatisfactory.

  While he ate, Minarik watched him. Innowen successfully ignored him while he eased his hunger. As he munched his last cake, though, it began to bother him. No word had been spoken during their meal. Innowen consumed his final crumb, licked his fingers, and waited patiently for his host to finish a last bite of fruit. When it was gone, Minarik leaned forward and refilled both their goblets.

  "You've been very kind to me," Innowen said somewhat shyly. He tasted the wine once more, then put it aside. Rare it might be, and with food the taste was not too bad. But just to drink? Maybe he would grow to like it, and maybe not.

  Minarik also set his cup aside. "Then maybe we can be honest with each other," he said, settling himself more comfortably in his chair. "Tell me about the Witch of Shanalane."

  Innowen frowned. "Is that the price for kindness these days?" he dared. "Betrayal? I know why you were up all night. You were hunting for her."

  Minarik nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving Innowen. "I, my soldiers, my servants, any man who could ride." He hesitated, then put on a wry grin. "Except Taelyn. He hates horses, so I left him here to coordinate incoming reports."

  "You didn't catch her, did you?"

  Minarik snorted. "Of course not. She's long gone from these parts. You and I know that, but it's tougher to convince Kyrin." He looked away suddenly and drew a slow breath. "I'm not asking you to betray her, Innocent. Just tell me about her—how she looked, what she did, what she said. Anything you feel comfortable talking about."

  Innowen regarded the man across from him, noting the change in Minarik's mood, Though he tried to disguise it, there was the subtle tension of a military man on the verge of gaining information. It was there in the way he leaned slightly forward in his chair while trying to appear relaxed, in the way he kept his hands unnaturally still. Innowen peered straight into his benefactor's eyes, wondering just how much he could trust Minarik.

  "She was beautiful," he began cautiously.

  The Lord of Whisperstone gave a barely perceptible nod.

  "She glowed with an ivory light," he went on. "It almost hurt my eyes. Her lips..." He stopped, picked up his winecup and took a drink. He held the liquid in his mouth for a long time.

  "Her lips?" Minarik pressed.

  Innowen swallowed. "Like a flower," he answered finally. "Like a rose."

  "She touched you?"

  Innowen thought back. "I think so. I don't know. Maybe, when she healed my legs." He took another drink, unmindful of the taste.

  Neither said anything after that, and Innowen grew slowly aware of the silence. He turned the cup nervously between his hands, stared at the ruby contents, and waited. Minarik sat with his eyes closed, his lips a thin, taut line.

  At last, his host spoke. "Dark-haired. Dark as the night." Minarik said it as if it were a fact.

  "Blond," Innowen contradicted.

  Minarik pursed his lips thoughtfully as he shook his head. "What about your legs? You say she healed you, and I believe that. I know she's a woman of great power. Yet, now you're—" He almost said crippled. Innowen saw his mouth start to form the hated word, but Minarik caught himself: "—incapacitated once more," he finished tactfully.

  Innowen leaned back in his chair and bit his lip. "She said 1 would be whole again, that I would walk." He gripped the arms of the chair suddenly until the muscles stood out on his arms. "She was half as good as her word. From sundown to dawn my legs are as good as any man's."

  "And with the sunrise," Minarik interrupted, "you are crippled once more." He didn't dodge the word that time.

  Innowen nodded.

  "But no less a man," Minarik added with great seriousness.

  Innowen shrugged, then bit his lip again and closed his eyes.

  As before, the silence grew between them. Innowen heard the rustle of the lord's crisp raiments and the sound of pouring wine as Minarik refilled his cup. The breeze whispered ever so lightly through the vines that grew on the gazebo. In the sky, a pair of birds fluttering over the courtyard called to each other, their song sweet and distant.

  "You think you love her, don't you?"

  The words cut the stillness and Innowen's heart like a fine bronze edge. He opened his eyes, and his gaze locked
with Minarik's. "I know it," he answered firmly. "I can't help myself."

  Something flickered in Minarik's eyes. Innowen froze, held himself perfectly still, not daring to move for a long moment. Then, slowly he let out a breath. With a sudden insight, he understood the bond he shared with Whisperstone's lord.

  "You love her, too," he said gently. "She's the lady from your past, the one Taelyn told me about."

  "Taelyn talks too much," Minarik answered, rising. He leaned against the side of the gazebo, and it gave a small creak under the burden of his weight. Abruptly, he changed the subject. "What do you plan to do, Innocent, now that your guardian is gone?"

  "My name is Innowen," he calmly corrected. Then he put his chin into one palm and thought. "I've got to find her," he announced. "I don't think she knows that her magic went wrong, that I can't walk by day." He scratched his chin. "And she said something about seeing my destiny in a bowl of water. I think I want to find out what she saw."

  Minarik folded his arms across his chest as he regarded Innowen. "What about your guardian?"

  Innowen looked away. "I guess I have to find him, too."

  Minarik picked up his winecup, drained it, and set it back on the table. "Wait here," he instructed, as if forgetting how unlikely it was that Innowen would go anywhere. He left the gazebo without another word, crossed the courtyard, and disappeared inside.

  Innowen folded his hands in his lap and stared at them. He hadn't told Minarik everything. He hadn't told him about the dancing, how he had to dance to keep the Witch's spell intact. That was as much dishonesty as lying, wasn't it? He had never lied before he met the Witch. Since then, he'd told many lies, and one lie just seemed to lead to another. Could it be true, as Drushen had tried to warn him? Could her dark magic corrupt him so easily?

  He gazed upward. Through the gaps of the trellis that made the gazebo's roof, the sun shone down and warmed his face. He stared at the sky, and suddenly he hated its soft blue color. He wished for the blackness of night, wished for life to return to his legs. Why hadn't the Witch told him about the sun? Had she even known? So many questions plagued him.