A Play of Shadow

by Julie E. Czerneda

  “Ancestors Beholden and Blessed,” the truthseer chuckled, tossing a shirt to his host, “you should have seen my room at home. And my first barracks. Took Tir to show me how to make a bed that didn’t fly apart.”

  Devins relaxed enough to smile at this. “You’ll have to show me.”

  “Done. And we’ll do the dishes together. I’m no guest.” Bannan clapped the other man on the shoulder. “Trust me to pull my weight.”

  A warmer smile. “That’ll be more than Roche ever did,” Devins admitted. “He wasn’t one for daily chores. Unless hunting from dawn till dusk counts. Take a seat. I’ll put on the kettle.”

  “Most welcome.” Bannan sat, taking stock of his new home. It looked to have been neglected by both brothers. The rafters were festooned with years of cobwebbing and dust, and dark with soot above the fireplace. The scarred floor appeared to be swept by pushing any dirt under the furniture. The furniture itself—the pair of high-backed chairs, a long table, and grand sideboard—must have come from Avyo with the baron, but the legs were lashed together with leather straps as if frequently broken, and marks on the once-fine table showed where knives had been repeatedly driven into it. Where not covered by worn squirrel and rabbit pelts, the original color of the threadbare upholstery on the chairs was long gone, as was—the truthseer shifted—any cushioning.

  Fixable, all of it. An abundance of possibilities for the long winter ahead, should he find himself idle. At the thought, Bannan rose. Much as he’d appreciated the Uhthoffs’ help—and horses—in the end he’d chosen to bring only what would add to Devins’ kitchen, plus a minimum of clothing and effects for himself. His house toad had disappeared during the packing and wouldn’t be found, leaving Bannan to wonder if the creature planned to stay on guard and keep mice—or whatever else—from nesting in his belongings.

  So long as the creature didn’t freeze.

  Great Gran’s strange mirror he’d left under his bed, well-wrapped. Let the eyes enjoy the view.

  The stores in his larder would stay there until needed in the village, though Dusom had said they’d go in turn to clear the snow from its door, to prevent it being buried beyond reach by midwinter.

  What had fallen outside by sunset, to the top of his boots, was already more snow than Bannan had seen in his life. He couldn’t imagine the amount that must fill the valley by winter’s end. No need. He grinned as he searched one of his packs. See for himself, wouldn’t he?

  There. The last of his brandy. It should go well with whatever hot—

  A thunderous bang shook dust from the rafters. Putting down the bottle, Bannan rushed to open the door before a second kick could break it down, for there was no mistaking Scourge’s version of a polite knock. “Idiot beast,” he began, gasping in the blast of snow and cold. “I was going to tell you—”

  Another blast, this in his ear and hot as fire. “COME!!”

  Heart pounding, the truthseer snatched up his coat and scarf even as Devins came at a run from the kitchen, eyes wide. So Scourge had shared his alert. “Get the others,” Bannan ordered, stamping feet into boots and making sure he had his gloves. “Follow us.”

  Then it was out into the storm, a quick mount, and a leap into the night.

  Torches flared to life throughout the village as they rode through. Voices called one to the other; horses were being brought from their stable. No denying Scourge knew how to raise an alarm.

  Why? Bannan pressed flat against that great neck. “What’s this about?” he shouted.

  “Your sister,” the breeze told him.

  Ancestors Wild and Willful. “She’s come in this?” Of course she’d come in this. What was a storm to Lila Larmensu? He’d have dug in his heels, desperate for speed, but once Scourge stretched out, nothing could have run faster. Best of all, free of the pretense of a horse, the kruar stayed atop the snow, leaving no mark. The village gate passed in a blur and they plunged into the darkness beyond. Bannan shut his eyes, trusting the kruar to see.

  But it wasn’t the kruar’s long legs that brought them sooner than they should or could to the bend in the road. Before Scourge had fully stopped, Bannan dropped to the road, staggering forward, knowing who waited, if not why. “Jenn!”

  “Here.” Hard to hear through the wind, but close.

  “I can’t see you!”

  Then he could, light glowing from her hands and eyes and mouth. She crouched beside Wisp, the dragon in plain sight. He lay limp as a corpse, huge eyes closed, but a reassuring tendril of steam rose from his nostrils.

  “Bannan!” Jenn moved, lifting her hands, and by their light, he saw limp figures between her and the dragon. “We have to get them to the village.”

  “Them?” He threw himself to his knees beside her, hardly noticing the ground beneath was green instead of white. “Tir?! And—” Words died in his throat. It wasn’t possible.

  But was.

  Heart’s Blood. Lila had sent him a message after all.

  Her sons.

  Horses and men arrived by torchlight, welcome help and oh so needful. Bannan quickly lifted one nephew, then the other into waiting arms. Davi dismounted to help ease Tir in front of—yes, it was Sennic, somehow astride Perrkin. The old soldier put his good arm around the unconscious man. “Are there more?” he demanded.

  Jenn, now flesh and blood, gazed into the blackness beyond the torches, then shook her head. “None I need to find.” At the conviction in her voice, Bannan felt a chill that had nothing to do with the storm.

  Lila wouldn’t have sent Tir alone with the boys. Something was terribly wrong. Where was she? Had she come?

  Was she lying under the snow?

  He refused to believe it—to even think it. Tir would tell him. He’d have the truth soon.

  “Then let’s get out of this,” Sennic ordered, and turned his grateful horse to head for the village and warmth.

  Dusom leaned down to give Bannan his torch. “You’ll bring Jenn?”

  “Yes.” Once they saw to the dragon, who’d disappeared at the approach of the villagers.

  The others safely gone, the truthseer turned to find Jenn running her hands over the ground where Wisp had lain. “He’s gone,” she said worriedly. “He was so cold, Bannan. Barely moving.”

  “Worry not.” The breeze was temperate, though Scourge rumbled, stamping an impatient hoof. “The old fool will be warm enough. He flies the deep earth. It is how dragons elude us.” With reluctant respect. “I’d not known he still could.”

  Putting the dragon beyond their help, while his nephews and Tir—and answers—were on their way to the village. Bannan beckoned Scourge close then tossed the torch into the snow, trusting the kruar’s night sight. Mounting, he reached down to help Jenn climb up behind him.

  Her arms circled his waist as the kruar began to move through the snow and he felt her shiver. “Ancestors Blessed,” he said hoarsely. “How do I begin to thank you?”

  Her arms tightened. “Hush, Dearest Heart. I wasn’t alone. Wen warned me. It was Wisp who found them and saved them; Scourge who helped him find me.” She fell silent.

  It was a question.

  “Werfol and Semyn,” Bannan answered. “Lila’s sons.” Wind caught the words and spun them out into the snow. Snow that would have buried them and Tir, if it hadn’t been for Marrowdell.

  The next question unasked was one he couldn’t answer, not yet.

  Why?

  The Nalynns’ house toad scampered under the nearest chair as they carried in the storm’s refugees. Not Wisp, to Jenn’s continued concern. She’d some doubt when it came to Scourge’s understanding of dragons; certainly hers appreciated warmth when he could find it. But what mattered now were Tir and the children.

  Who were Bannan’s nephews.

  The boys, barely conscious, were tucked into Radd’s bed, warmed stones placed around them. Covie had c
hecked their fingers and toes, pronouncing them sure to be sore but without frostbite, and given them a draught to help them sleep till morning.

  Tir sat on the settee, wrapped in quilts, eyes closed. He hadn’t stopped shivering. The healer tsked unhappily at the condition of his hands and feet, insisting they soak in barely warmed water before she examined them again. Anten had lost three toes one winter and Jenn sincerely hoped that—or worse—wouldn’t happen to Tir. Covie smoothed a poultice on the tips of his ears, also bitten by the cold, and, after gently removing his mask, over patches of white skin unprotected by his wiry brown-and-gray beard.

  Jenn set the mask on a shelf. It wasn’t the crudely hammered one she remembered. Though also of metal, this had been made with skill and care. Soft leather lined it and formed the straps to go around Tir’s head. The old one he’d tilt with a thumb to free his mouth for drinking. This had a clever arrangement that would let him slide the lower portion over the upper. The finish seemed dull until she’d taken a close look, tipping it into the candlelight to find it wasn’t dull at all, but covered in fine detail, like scales. A bit like a dragon, she thought, charmed by the notion. Aunt Sybb’s doing, this was, as would be the sturdy, well-made boots Covie had cut from his feet.

  Boots could be restitched. Could a family? Jenn looked at Bannan. He sat on the bed beside his nephews, his eyes never leaving their faces. Every so often he’d touch their hair or cheek, as if making sure they were real. Her heart ached for him.

  Tir’s lips moved and Covie beckoned to her.

  Jenn leaned close. “Li-l-la,” he whispered, teeth chattering. “Let—r. P-poc—”

  “Bannan!”

  He came at once, crouching to meet Tir’s barely open eyes. He put a hand on his shoulder. “Easy, my friend.”

  “Tir’s brought a letter,” Jenn told him. “It’s in his pocket. I think he said it’s from Lila.” Tir nodded at this and tried to smile; his badly chapped lips cracked, beading with blood.

  “Ancestors Blessed—” Bannan bowed his head, eyes closed, and shuddered.

  Tir understood before Jenn. Losing his smile, he managed, “Li-i-la d-didn’t come!” with all the vehemence he could muster. “I’d n-never leave h-her. S-sir.”

  “I know.” Bannan looked up, his eyes suspiciously bright. “Don’t call me that.”

  “M-make m—me.” Another smile. “S-sir.”

  The truthseer shook his head. “We’ll discuss your poor attitude later. Rest.” His voice grew husky and low. “You’ve earned it and more, this night.”

  Jenn went with Bannan to the dining table, where Kydd and their father were sorting what had arrived with their new guests. “A fight,” Radd said quietly, pointing out dark stains and tears.

  Kydd glanced at Tir. “He won, or the owners of these coats would still be wearing them.”

  Men had died, that meant. Jenn wanted to be sorry, but wasn’t, Tir having saved the boys and himself from more than the cold. “There’s a letter for Bannan in a pocket of Tir’s coat, Poppa. From his sister.”

  Peggs, coming from the kitchen with a tray of hot drinks, overheard. “Ancestors Witless and Wanton. That letter best contain a good reason for risking these poor boys in a storm,” she declared fiercely, “or I’ll be writing their mother, baroness or not!”

  “Peggs!” Jenn admonished, keeping her voice low.

  “I hope it does too.” Bannan laced his fingers through hers.

  Radd, having the coat, was already searching the pockets. He straightened with a frown. “Nothing. I’m sorry.”

  “Let me try.” The miller passed him the garment. Instead of going through its pockets again, Bannan flipped open the front of the coat, kneading the lining with his fingers until he felt whatever he sought. Taking out his knife, he made a small slit, then pulled free an envelope crusted with wax seals. “Lila makes Sennic seem a trusting sort,” he commented wryly.

  Cracking the seals to open the letter, he read it then and there. Peggs silently handed mugs to her husband and father, another to Jenn. She gave Covie hers and the one for Tir, since by the look of him, the man was sound asleep, then came back to stand near Bannan, leaving his close by on the tray.

  The truthseer shook his head, thrusting the letter at Jenn. “Ancestors Perplexed and Puzzled. Does this make any sense to you?”

  Jenn took the baroness’ letter and read.

  Little Brother,

  I send you greetings, salutations, and your nephews.

  High time they saw a real winter, and life beyond the estate. Emon would agree with me, were he here, but he’s been sent to Mellynne to talk their merchants out of suspending trade, improve the rhetoric between our governments from shouting and threats to mere shouting, and basically save us all from Ordo’s latest folly. He took Cheek and Scatterwit. They’ll keep him entertained between sessions.

  As for the boys?

  Hearts of my Ancestors. By this letter, I, Baroness Lila Larmensu Westietas, hereby place my sons, Semyn and Werfol, wholly in the care of my brother, Bannan Marerrym Larmensu, to live with him in Marrowdell until such time as I, or my husband, Baron Emon Westietas, come and retrieve them, or until adult by law.

  This I declare my heart’s will, by my seal in blood.

  Do you good, brother, having them around. They’re fine boys, if too biddable of late. I blame the new staff. Your nephews know how to be Westietas. Teach them what it means to be Larmensu.

  Show them a dragon. I may have promised.

  However far we are apart,

  Keep Us Close.

  Midway down the page, beside the formal declaration, was a rusty brown thumbprint. Blood. Lila’s blood.

  Jenn thought the letter made perfect sense in one way: Lila had sent her sons to live with Bannan. In any other, it made none. She found herself agreeing with Peggs. Sending children into danger wasn’t what anyone should do unless—and this must be what put such unfamiliar strain on Bannan’s face—the risk would be greater, had the boys stayed at home.

  She gave back the letter. “Who are Cheek and Scatterwit?”

  “Emon’s crows.” Bannan ran a distracted hand through his hair. “Heart’s Blood.” He passed the letter to Radd, who read it in silence then passed it to Peggs, Kydd leaning over her shoulder. Covie took it last, after looking to the truthseer for his consent, given with a nod.

  As the healer read, Peggs gazed at the bed and the sleeping boys, her expression going from distress to one Jenn knew very well. Determination. Sure enough. “Poppa,” she commanded briskly, “Kydd will bring down your summer hammock and the heavy quilt. The boys should stay where they are tonight. And Tir.” Who, having slumped over on the settee’s cushions and begun to snore, would have been cruel to move, were it even possible. “I’ll put on extra porridge and bread for the morning. Covie, let me know whatever you need.”

  “I will.”

  Radd and Kydd nodded in complete agreement, the latter heading off on his mission to collect bedding for his father-by-marriage. Jenn hid a smile.

  Bannan bowed his head. “My thanks.”

  Peggs handed him his neglected but still-steaming mug. “Jenn will help me put out a supper.” A frown as she assessed her sister’s damp state. “After you change, Dearest Heart. As for you, Bannan, you’ll stay the night, of course. Kydd can fetch you anything you might need from Devins’.” With that, she spun on her heel and headed for the kitchen.

  Where everything could be fixed. Jenn shook her head in admiration.

  Radd chuckled. “I wouldn’t argue, if I were you.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it,” replied Bannan, who seemed overwhelmed. “Though I regret disrupting your home.”

  “Speak no more of that.” The miller’s eyes rested on the sleeping boys. “They were sent to you, but they’ll be cared for by all of us. Now come. Sit with me. You too, Covie. Tell us about y
our nephews.”

  Her father saw how Bannan struggled to keep his worry in check. Not the least of those worries must be what the villagers would think of having new mouths to feed this of all winters. Radd would reassure him. They’d manage.

  Another worry, Jenn took care of as she followed Peggs.

  Sweet dreams, she wished the boys, as she’d learned to do, as only a turn-born could.

  So Marrowdell would let them stay.

  Why, Lila?

  Surely Tir would know. Must know. However desperate he was for that conversation, Bannan let his friend rest. In all their years together, he’d never seen Tir Half-face so spent. A lump filled the truthseer’s throat each time he thought of how close he’d come to losing all three.

  As for the dragon, Jenn, and Scourge? How had they known?

  Ancestors Forlorn and Forsaken. What if they hadn’t?

  Busy staring into his cup, he started when the neck of a bottle appeared in his view. He glanced up as Kydd, smiling, tipped a generous dollop of amber liquid into his tea before doing the same for Radd and Covie. “Try this before the food comes,” the beekeeper advised, pouring his own.

  “My thanks. To families, wherever they are.” The healer took a goodly swallow. Village rumor, namely Hettie, said the mail had brought encouraging news from the demas if not directly from Covie’s now-distant son. Roche had apprenticed with a respected lens maker, in an Ansnan town on no map Bannan had ever seen. Dema Qimirpik had vowed to keep his eye on the young man.

  “Ancestors Blessed and Beloved, watch over them all,” the truthseer agreed earnestly, taking his own drink. A welcome burn down his throat nestled in his stomach; most welcome, after being out in the storm. “Thank you for your care, Covie.”

  She nodded graciously. “Thank me by keeping an eye on Tir. He’ll need to stay off those feet for a few days, and keep applying the medicine I’ve brought. His toes are soft, still.” This with a confidence that warmed Bannan even more than the drink. “They’ll blister, badly, and forever feel the cold, but he shouldn’t lose them.”