Shadowfall g-1

by James Clemens

  He pulled her tighter. “I wouldn’t have left. Not for anything.”

  She nodded into his chest, continuing to sob, but it was less an aching, wrenching thing and more a release. He held her like that for a long time. She let him. Though too much time had passed between them, though they were not the same young man and woman from before, in this moment, they mourned as one, for a baby… and a larger part for themselves.

  Finally Kathryn found she could breathe. She slowly extracted herself from Tylar’s embrace.

  “If I had known…” he offered.

  Kathryn turned to the window, still blind to the panorama and too tired but knowing there was much still to do. She wiped the last of her tears. “I think that was why Ser Henri told me about Yaellin,” she said slowly. “I don’t even think he ever told Castellan Mirra. I think he sensed the wrong he did to you, to the baby, to the both of us, and sought some peace, sharing his own pain of family lost, of a son born out of wedlock, born out of passion.”

  “And this Yaellin was chosen to be a Hand to Chrism?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Over many cups of mulled spice wine, Ser Henri told me much. More than he perhaps meant to. But who can say?” Kathryn turned from the rail. “He told me of his love for a woman named Melinda mir Mar, then the headmistress of the Conclave of Chrismferry.”

  “I remember her,” Tylar said, surprised. “A tall woman of chestnut hair and comely of feature. She had visited a few times to Tashijan when I was squiring.”

  Kathryn nodded. “He was vague on how it all started. He was the warden of Tashijan, she the head of one of Myrillia’s finest schools. The Conclave grounds still holds one of the largest libraries and scholariums. Henri’s interest in alchemy had him visiting its stacks. The two had long talks into the night on a thousand matters large and small. To quote Ser Henri, ‘We were like of mind and spirit.’ ”

  Tylar nodded. “Is that not the way it always starts…”

  Kathryn glanced to him, realizing that once the same words could have described them. But that was long ago. Was it still true? She cleared her throat and continued. “Though Henri didn’t say it aloud, I think what drew them was a shared passion that went beyond lust. Each was burdened by the responsibility to guide and raise the young of Myrillia, both wanting the best for all. And at some point, they crossed that line from close companions to something warmer. They kept their trysts in secret. He visiting her, she him. Then, despite precautions, she grew with child. She bore a son. She never told anyone who the father was. Henri wanted to marry her, but she had refused. It seemed her duty to the Conclave and Myrillia’s future surpassed all else in her heart. But Henri understood. He would not have given up his wardenship either.”

  “And the child? Young Yaellin?”

  “His mother raised him in the school, even trained him in the ways to serve a god as a Hand. Then when he was old enough, at eleven birth years, she and Henri told him of his parentage. He was angry, lashed out against his mother. Henri ended up taking him back to Tashijan to learn the ways of the Shadowknight.”

  “He trained at Tashijan?”

  “For three years,” Kathryn answered. “Then something happened. I don’t know what. Even deep in his cups, Ser Henri would not divulge it. Henri and Melinda took a journey together to the hinterlands.”

  Tylar glanced sharply at her. “The hinterlands? Why?”

  “They had some duty there, something done in utmost secrecy. In the telling, Henri’s face turned dark and shadowed of brow, clearly remembering that journey. A year after returning from their sojourn, Henri returned Yaellin to his mother.”

  “Why?”

  Kathryn turned to Tylar. “Henri swore me to secrecy on this next matter, but I think it bears telling now. Whatever happened in the hinterlands required Henri and Melinda to commit an act of great heresy.”

  “What?”

  “Henri took his son, not even marked with his first stripe, and trained him in secret. He then blessed him with alchemies to give him the full Grace of an ordained knight.”

  “Yaellin was knighted?”

  “In secret. None knew. Henri was skilled enough in alchemies to gift the boy with shadowplay but still keep the gift hidden. After the boy was ready, Henri sent him back to Melinda and the Conclave. He was presented to the next moon ceremony and was chosen by Chrism’s Oracle.”

  “Then what did you mean before that he was not exactly chosen?”

  Kathryn licked her lips. “They paid to have him chosen.”

  Tylar shook his head-not in denial, but in shock that Henri would participate in such deceit. He knew it was not totally uncommon for a rich family to arrange a position for a son or daughter. While an Oracle, blinded by blood alchemies, served as the eyes of his god, such men were not without a will of their own, without their own vices. Including greed. They could sometimes be plied by gold to sway a choosing.

  “So Henri bought a position in Chrism’s court for his son,” Tylar said. “A son secretly blessed into knighthood. Why?”

  “Like I said before, some secrets Henri would not divulge. All he would say was that his son was set to guard something, to serve as Henri’s eyes and ears at the castillion, a duty that tied back to that journey to the hinterlands.”

  “And Henri offered no reason for such a journey or why he had ensconced his son in Chrism’s court?”

  “He would speak no further. But now I wonder. If Meeryn’s dying mention of Rivenscryr guides us to Chrism, perhaps Yaellin might know more. We’ll have to hope he gets the raven I sent to him.”

  Tylar nodded and turned to face her. “I hope-”

  Kathryn heard the characteristic snap of bowstring. The crossbow bolt grazed Tylar’s shoulder and struck the back wall of the flippercraft.

  Reacting on instinct, she cast her shadowcloak high, protecting both Tylar and herself. But she was too late. Another two bolts struck Tylar square in the chest, knocking him back. He made a small coughing noise. A third cut his ear, intended for his eye. Her cloak had blocked this killing shot.

  From behind them, darkness flowed. Kathryn discerned three shapes, all Shadowknights. One with a sword, flanked by two bearing crossbows.

  Tylar had fallen back against the rail, holding himself up by his arms. Feathered bolts sprouted from his chest and shoulder like bloody flowers. His eyes were fixed on the centermost knight, the one with the sword.

  “Darjon…” he gasped.

  At long last, the wall appeared ahead. The end of the Eldergarden. The myrrwood spread to the ancient bricks. Roots dug at the wall’s foundation, while branches shadowed its top.

  Dart and Laurelle stumbled up to it, exhausted, worn, bleeding from a thousand scrapes. Dart stared up at the immense wall. How could they climb it?

  Laurelle gently started to sob.

  Yaellin appeared behind them, sweeping out of the gloom. “They know we escaped the Heartwood. We must not tarry.”

  Off in the distance, a howl echoed to them.

  Dart wished she could sprout wings and fly. She wanted nothing more than to wing over the walls, past Chrismferry, out of the First Land. Her world, hardly secure and safe before, had never seemed so dark and full of menace.

  “To me,” Yaellin said and opened his arms.

  Dart allowed Yaellin to hook an arm around her waist. Laurelle did the same. Still, Dart felt strange to have the man holding her. He had been such a source of personal terror and worry for so many days. A tremble of that fear iced her skin. Or maybe it was the sudden intimacy, his fingers digging deep into her chest, mingled with the long night’s terror. It all harkened back to the horrible day in the rookery. Dart fought against thrashing from Yaellin’s grip. He was not Master Willet.

  “Hold fast,” he said.

  The cape of his cloak fluttered upward, fringed in shadows. Those shadows found purchase in the pitted, crumbling wall. Yaellin drew them upward, scaling the giant bricks. They flew
up the wall with the speed of shadow.

  Down below, Pupp glowed in the gloom, a tiny ember. He watched Dart fly away. He raised up on his hind legs, paws on the lowest brick, clearly distressed. While Pupp could pass through almost anything, he had one weakness. Stone. If Dart crossed over the wall, Pupp could not follow. The wall would block him.

  “No,” she moaned.

  From out of the woods, two forms… then a third… burst forth, striking the wall with claws and nails. Ilk-beasts. They yowled and sought to climb the stone, but quickly fell back. The wall was too steep and high.

  Pupp raced among them, unseen, invisible, insubstantial.

  Yaellin reached the wall’s top, perched there a breath, then swung his legs over and descended the far side. As Dart’s view of Pupp vanished, she felt an immediate panic strike her. Always her companion, Pupp had never been far from her side. Her heart thudded heavily in her chest. Her fingers tightened on Yaellin.

  They swept down the wall.

  Desperate and frantic, Dart’s gaze searched for some answer. The city of Chrismferry spread out before her. Though the skies glowed with dawn, the city was mostly illuminated by the many lamps and torches of the waking city. Its breadth spread to all horizons, split by the silvery shine of the Tigre River. The waterway disappeared under the span of the massive castillion. Closer, Dart spotted the towers of the Conclave. A few lights glowed from its many windows. Her life there seemed another world.

  She glanced back up the wall.

  Pupp…

  In moments, Yaellin dropped and landed lightly on the cobbles of High Street. His cloak fell about him in liquid ripples, settling to his shoulders and ankles.

  Dart and Laurelle were released.

  “What now?” Laurelle asked, teeth chattering slightly. She held her arms snugged tight to her chest. She seemed to have also shrunken into herself, grown smaller.

  Dart felt shaky herself. Her knees wobbled like winterfest pudding. The morning breeze chilled her heated skin. Goose-flesh pebbled her arms. Even her breathing seemed out of step. She had to force herself to draw air in and out, like she had forgotten her natural rhythm.

  Yaellin answered Laurelle’s question. “We must find a place to hide, where neither hound nor tracker can find us. With the coming of the sun, all manner of guard will be searching, surely with a concocted tale of some villainy committed by our persons. We must be away.”

  He started off down High Road, heading toward the river. He stuck to the deeper shadows beneath the Eldergarden wall.

  “We must tell someone what we saw,” Laurelle said, following.

  “Tell them what?” Yaellin asked. “That Lord Chrism has gone mad of mind and heart? That he has taken to Dark Arts and plans to wreak havoc on all? We’d be hung and gutted before the first accusation could be made. Chrism has hid his corruption well. None will believe the impossible.”

  Dart walked, grazing a palm along the wall to support her. “Believe what? What have we witnessed?”

  Yaellin stared back toward the cliff of bricks as if his vision could pierce it. “My father sent me here as a spy against the Cabal. I was sequestered here as a secret defender to the Godsword. To keep it from the clutches of the Cabal. Only in these last days had I come to suspect Chrism had been corrupted, a part of the Cabal himself.”

  Dart recalled the name. The Cabal. She had heard it spoken both in the grove and in her recent dream. “What is this group… this Cabal?”

  Yaellin studied her. “It is a story best told after we’re secure. I’ve friends in the city, those loyal to my father. For now, let it be known that all of Myrillia is threatened. And you, little Dart, may be the key all seek.”

  Dart stumbled. “What do you-?”

  “This way,” Yaellin said and darted across High Street. He aimed for one of the side streets, a narrow course between rich homes.

  They had no choice but to chase after him. A wagon trundled up the road, rising from the river streets below. Not wanting to be seen, they hurried.

  Yaellin kept a fast pace, twisting one way, then another. The narrow upper roads and stairs outlined the villas, terraced homes, and palacios of the city’s nobility and rich gentlefolk. All sought homes close to the first god’s castillion, and over the millennia, such land had become crowded and stacked with residences. The homes were tall and narrow. Some sections of the streets were even spanned by wings of various palacios, creating tunnels through the jumble of buildings.

  With each step, Dart felt the terror of the long night begin to weigh on her, the toll finally striking. Her breath gasped. Her legs shook. She found herself needing support against the walls.

  “Dart,” Laurelle asked, “are you all right?”

  Dart licked her lips, finding them too dry, her tongue thick. She shook her head and waved onward.

  Laurelle drew to a stop. “Yaellin, she… we can’t continue like this.”

  Yaellin drew to them. He studied their faces, then nodded. “It’s probably best to get our feet off the streets anyway. We don’t want to make our track too easy to follow. Come. Only a little farther.” He set off again, moving a bit more slowly.

  Still, to Dart, it felt like a full run. She did her best to keep up.

  At last, Yaellin pointed to a wait-carriage, drawn by two horses, and led them up to it. The coachman was currying one of his two mounts. Yaellin had fixed his masklin in place to hide his face and used folds of shadow to cloak Dart and Laurelle from direct view.

  “Good ser,” the coachman said, straightening as Yaellin drew beside him.

  “We would borrow your carriage if it’s unencumbered,” Yaellin said.

  “Certainly, ser. I was about to start my day. Where’bouts can I carry you?”

  Yaellin stepped to the door of the enclosed carriage. “I shall tell you once we’re away.” He ushered the two girls inside, then followed, taking the opposite bench.

  The coachman closed the door, then clambered into his seat in front. A jingle of a belled lead announced their departure. The team drew the wagon with a creak of wheels.

  “Keep low,” Yaellin whispered to Dart and Laurelle. He opened the tiny hatch to speak to the coachman. The exchange was muffled, but Dart heard a bit. They were heading for the far side of the city, a half-day’s journey. Yaellin passed up a heavy pouch of coin. Dart wondered how much of it was for their travel and how much was to buy the man’s silence.

  After Yaellin closed the hatch, he fished into an inner pocket of a cloak and removed a tiny vessel of crystal. “Hold out your hands,” he told them. “Palms up.”

  Dart trembled, arms shaking. Even this was a strain.

  Yaellin removed the jar’s glass stopper. A dipping wand was attached to it, wet with the vessel’s contents. He touched it once to Dart’s left palm, then her right. She felt an itchy tingle. Yaellin anointed Laurelle’s palms the same way, then his own.

  “Wave the air,” he instructed and demonstrated by wafting his arms a bit. Dart mimicked him. She smelled a slight stench to the air.

  “It’s an alchemy of air and black bile,” Yaellin said. “A nulling recipe concocted by my father. It hides one’s path from all who seek it with Grace. It works only if one is not touching soil.” He wiped his palms on his cloak. “The blessing lasts for only a quarter bell. Hopefully that’ll be long enough to break our trail so we can clear the inner city.”

  He leaned back into his seat.

  Dart did the same. Her head felt full of butterflits. The growing light of the dawn stung her eyes, and her stomach churned. The bounce and pop of the carriage over broken cobbles did not help settle matters.

  Yaellin noted her unease. “Dart, what’s wrong?”

  She shook her head, fanning the ache behind her eyes. A new twinge rose from her navel, a dull tugging as if her innards sought a way to escape her belly.

  “I think she’s taken ill,” Laurelle said, taking her hand. “Her skin is cold.”

  Yaellin reached over and felt her brow. H
is eyes narrowed.

  Dart pushed his hand away. The effort narrowed her vision, sparking lights at the corners. The tugging throb behind her navel grew worse. A moan rose to her lips. She rubbed at her belly.

  Yaellin kneeled before Dart.

  “Something’s wrong,” Laurelle said.

  Dart barely heard her. She curled in on herself, bent double in her seat. “Stop…” she gasped. By now, her navel felt as if it were ripping open. She hugged her arms tight over her belly, as if to hold her guts inside. She retched, but nothing came out.

  “What’s wrong with her?” Laurelle asked.

  The world darkened. Dawn receded back toward night. Dart slipped away to another time, another place. She had been in a wagon, then a boat.

  Rocking, rocking, rocking…

  All alone.

  No, not alone.

  She pictured a tiny form nested against her belly, nuzzling, suckling. Where it ached now.

  “Pupp…” she moaned aloud. “No…”

  Yaellin’s voice sounded far away. “What’s this delirium?”

  “A creature. I saw it.” Laurelle’s words fluttered in and out of Dart’s hollow head. “… claimed… always with her.”

  “And it’s still with her?” Yaellin hissed. “Why didn’t someone tell me?”

  “Gone…” Dart murmured. “Trapped by stone… wall…”

  “The Eldergarden!” Laurelle exclaimed. “The creature must still be back there.”

  “Trapped,” Dart gasped, knowing she had to make herself understood. But her world had gone black, laced with agony.

  “Need…”

  A hatch grated open, and Yaellin yelled, ordering the carriage stopped and turned about.

  It happened too slowly. Dart faded, slipping into oblivion.

  Then the carriage was around. Dart felt a syrupy warmth suffuse her. The pain remained, but it ebbed ever so slightly. The carriage trundled forward, heading back upward. Though Dart could not see it, she felt it with every strand of her being. The taut pull on her navel slackened. The world remained dark and painful, but she could breathe again.

  Yaellin returned to her, his hand on her knee. “I saw the creature in your dream,” he said. “I never imagined it was still with you.”