Shadow's Master

by Jon Sprunk

  “Fine,” he said. “Go tell our boss to get moving.”

  Malig and Dray walked back up the line of wagons, swapping brags about their fighting prowess, but Aemon hung back. He leaned on his spear. Blood stained the shaft nearly to its midpoint. “More trouble?”

  “I don't know.” Caim looked ahead, beyond the mountain peaks to something he couldn't see, but felt pushing at the back of his skull. “Keep your eyes open.”

  “Aye. That's one thing about you, Caim. Things are never boring when you're around.”

  As Aemon went to rejoin the caravan, Caim found his horse. While he gathered up the reins and checked the saddle's cinch strap, a soft tickle caressed the back of his neck.

  “Hey there, cutie,” she whispered in his ear. “Can you give a girl a ride?”

  Kit was wearing a short lapis dress. A painfully short dress, fitted so tight it left nothing to the imagination.

  “That depends,” Caim said under his breath. “Which way you headed?”

  Kit laid her head on his shoulder. “Anywhere with you. Surprise me.”

  “You like surprises?” Caim held up his bleeding wrist. “That ambush was a nice one.”

  “Oh!” Kit spun around him to get a better look at the wound. “That looks painful. Why haven't you bandaged it up yet?”

  “I've been busy staying alive. You couldn't warn me they were coming?”

  Her fine eyebrows almost touched above the slim bridge of her nose. “I did!”

  “When was that exactly?”

  “Three nights ago. Don't you remember? You were sitting with Aemon by the fire, eating something disgusting with beans in it, and I told you there were wolves in these mountains.”

  He stared at her. “Wolves? You call that a warning?”

  Kit walked her fingers up his chest. Her ethereal touch went right through his clothes as if he weren't wearing any. The top of her head barely came up to his chin, even though her feet levitated several inches off the ground. Her long, silver hair bounced as she moved, but never in response to the wind. “I thought you'd know what I meant. Brigands. Wolves.”

  “Dammit, Kit. People died.”

  She stuck out her bottom lip. “You didn't. You're fine. Just a little cut on the hand. You'll be—”

  “You should have told me they were coming, Kit.”

  “Well, you've been acting all—” She waved her hands above her head. “Moody. I thought you'd enjoy a little excitement. And anyway, you've got your little pets to keep you apprised.”

  He put his foot into a stirrup and climbed into the saddle. “Any more surprises waiting ahead for us?”

  “No. You aren't angry, are you?”

  “I'll get over it.”

  Kit rose up to hover beside him. “You know, Caim, you don't look so good. And I know you haven't been sleeping well. Something's been bothering you since…”

  He knew what she meant. Since Liovard and the encounter with the witch. Something had changed in him that night. He couldn't say what it was, but he felt different, like he was a stranger in his own skin. “It's just a cold,” he replied. “I've been thinking, though, about what's ahead.”

  “I told you. No more surprises.”

  “No, I mean about…” Caim looked to make sure no one was nearby. “What my mother said to you.”

  She floated back a couple feet. “What about it?”

  “I want to hear it again.”

  “I told you. I don't remember much. I was all mixed up after being chased through the Barrier. I only talked to her for a moment, and then I was catapulted across the sky.”

  Horses whinnied as the first wagons pulled away. Dray and Malig rode in the vanguard. Aemon was about halfway back where the rest of the drivers were getting situated. “Her words. Tell me again. It might be important.”

  “It was mostly about how much she loved you and wanted to know if you were all right. That's all I remember.”

  “You told me more before.”

  “I was confused.” She huffed. “I don't want to talk about it, okay? You always get upset.”

  He started to curse, but stopped himself. “I won't this time. Did she say anything about a place called Erebus?”

  Kit batted a stray lock of hair from her eyes. “She didn't speak. Not exactly. It was more like pictures and feelings. Like I was dreaming it.”

  “You said you talked to her.” He swung his horse around closer. “That it was real.”

  “It was real, but it's just hard to explain. I could try to go back. Maybe find her again.”

  “No.” Caim chewed on his lip. The pulling in his head nagged at him all the time. North, always north. It was most of the reason he couldn't sleep. That, and his dreams, which were getting worse. “This thing in my head. I think it's coming from her.”

  Kit came up beside him. Her eyes had turned deeper purple, which meant she was serious. Or pissed off. “It could be. Or maybe not.”

  Caim gritted his teeth. Why did she have to make everything so damned difficult? “You said she was a powerful sorceress, right?”

  “She was,” Kit agreed. “But when I was talking to her, or thinking to her, to put it more accurately…I don't know. I got the impression she wanted you to stay away.”

  “That's what she wanted? Or what you want?”

  Kit crossed her arms. “Why else didn't she just tell me to fetch you?”

  Caim looked into the steel-gray sky. It was going to snow again. “I don't know. But I mean to find out.”

  She lifted her chin toward the departing Eregoths. “And how do you think they'll take it? They don't have any idea what you're planning.”

  “They can do what they like.”

  Kit sidled up to his shoulder, tickling his skin through his cloak, jacket, and three layers of shirts. “What about me?”

  “I'd appreciate it if you went and sniffed out any more surprises along the way before some mountain man puts a knife through my chest.”

  “Maybe I will.” She smiled, a little smirk like she didn't think he could imagine the thoughts in her head. “After you say it.”

  He shook his head.

  She shrugged. “I'm not leaving until you say it.”

  Caim growled under his breath. “I love you. All right? Now get going.”

  She leaned over and whispered in his ear, “Love you, too.”

  Then, with a swift, ethereal kiss to his neck, she was gone. Caim looked at the others, but everyone was focused on the way ahead as the caravan got under way. The bodies of the Suete were laid out beside the dead guards. Already their faces and hands had begun to pale, or maybe that was his imagination. The wind had picked up. Iron-headed clouds were gathering at the top of the pass.

  Caim clucked to his horse and pulled his cloak tighter as he followed the last wagon.

  Josey sat up on the cot and groaned. Knots of soreness ached in every part of her body from weeks of riding. Her back. Her thighs. Even her hair hurt. And sleeping on a sheet of stiff fabric strung across a wooden frame wasn't helping matters. Why didn't I insist upon bringing a proper bed?

  Despite the protests from her muscles, she swung her legs over the side and stood up to meet another day. Several large trunks served as her wardrobe and vanity. She pulled out a riding dress and sighed. It had once been a lovely turquoise, but now the skirt was mottled brown and gray like the rest of her clothes. There was no time for proper laundering traveling with an army, so they had to make do with quick dunkings in the local stream and a few passes with a cake of lye soap. Shivering in the early-morning chill, she shrugged out of her sleeping shift and pulled the gown over her head. It fit a little loose around her middle. All her dresses had been purposely made overlarge in that area. She smoothed the fabric over her stomach to feel the soft rounded bump. Did it show? No, she was fine. She would just go without a belt.

  As always, thinking about the baby turned her mind toward Caim. Was he all right? Was he even alive? Don't think like that! He was alive, and she wa
s going north to find him. And hopefully bring him home.

  The cloth door-flap was pushed aside, and a young girl waited in the opening. Josey pulled her hands away from her middle as a frigid breeze blew into the tent and puffed out the canvas sides. It was Iola. When Josey had departed Othir, she decided to leave her maids behind, intending to “rough it.” But after a few days one of her staff officers, Colonel Klovus, introduced her to his daughter Iola, and Josey had taken an immediate shine to the girl, who was quiet and good-natured, not to mention industrious. Every morning Iola brought her breakfast, which Josey ate while reading the morning dispatches. “Come in, come in!” she said, waving the girl inside.

  “I have your breakfast, Majesty.”

  “What is it today? Not more oat porridge with nuts, I hope.”

  “No, milady.” Iola set down the covered bowl and whisked off the cloth. “Oat porridge with bacon.”

  Josey's nose wrinkled as she leaned over the bowl. She despised porridge, and the cooks' attempts to enliven the dish with flourishes like bacon only made it all the more appalling. She considered waiting to eat until the midday meal, but her stomach started rumbling. Oh, baby. You can't be serious.

  With a sigh, Josey picked up a spoon and took a bite. It wasn't good, but it wasn't horrible either. Before she knew it, she was scraping the bottom of the bowl and wishing for more. With a sigh, she wiped her mouth with a napkin and gave thanks her morning sickness had waned after the first month of pregnancy. “Is there anyone waiting outside?”

  “Not when I came in, milady.” Iola stripped the cot and folded the blankets. “I mean, the captain was out there, but he looked to be standing guard. Not waiting, exactly.”

  Josey leafed through a small stack of reports on her camp table while she nibbled on her spoon. Over the past two months she had learned much about the logistics involved in transporting an army, even one as small as hers. Four hundred and twenty-eight soldiers ate a great deal more than she had expected. The quartermasters compiled daily lists of everything that was used, from food and beer rations to uniforms and boots.

  Several of the papers were letters from Hubert. He kept her informed of the happenings in the capital. From what she read, it seemed that the city was once again under control. The protests had ceased, and repairs to damaged neighborhoods were under way. There was even a note about Lord Walthom, whom she had sent west to deal with the banditry problem. The field reports indicated he was doing an excellent job, having freed a town under siege and captured some outlaws. There was no further news from the north, but she tried not to let that disturb her.

  The border between Eregoth and Nimea had been a trouble spot since the marchland broke free of Nimean rule a generation ago. The last dispatches, months old, had described a sharp spike in the number of raids from the north, and then the messages stopped. Privately, Josey feared the worst.

  Invasion.

  But what she'd hoped would be a swift trek to the north had proved both longer and more arduous than expected. The farther north they traveled, the worse the roads became as the empire's paved highways gave way to dirt tracks, made more treacherous by the thawing snow. She'd been disheartened at first to hear how the commons scavenged stone from the roads wherever they could. However, as the army passed villages with meager fields and wretched people, she could not hold such thefts against them. Theirs was a difficult lot, and one she wanted to change for the better if she was able. But she had other worries on her mind. Lady Philomena had accompanied—without imperial sanction—the official envoy to Mecantia to engage in negotiations regarding the free status of that city after Hubert's agents reported that their eastern neighbor, Arnos, was making overtures to annex the wealthy trading port. Philomena! Why didn't I have her imprisoned before I left Othir?

  Josey sighed. While she didn't like the idea of Lady Philomena interfering with state business, it was probably better that the devious woman was out of the capital for a while.

  Shuffling through the reports, Josey shrieked when she spied a letter from her dear friend Anastasia. She tore open the seal and unfolded the short note.

  Dearest Josey (it feels naughty addressing our Imperial Matron so candidly),

  Well, he finally did it. I'm looking at a sparkling diamond sitting on my ring finger, courtesy of your good regent. Hubert asked for my hand! I wish you could have been here, Josey. He invited me over for a private supper on Hale Saints Day and got down on his knee after the soup course. He was so nervous he almost tipped over the table!

  Anyway, we're waiting for your triumphant return so you can help me plan the wedding. Come home soon!

  Your Loving Servant, Anastasia

  Josey kicked her feet under the table. She couldn't believe it. Hubert and ‘Stasia! They were simply perfect for each other.

  She put the letter aside as a man in a crumpled, oversized brown coat entered the tent. His profile was craggy, with a high brow, full nose, and a block of a chin under his short beard. Fresh snow dusted the brim of his dingy hat. Josey smiled and got up to embrace him. “Master Hirsch. When did you get back?”

  “Just this morning.”

  Passing through the ducal seat of Ostergoth three weeks ago, they had found it in the grip of starvation. The problem had been there was no liege lord to tend to the people. Josey recalled hearing something about the old duke and his family being murdered a few months back, but she and Hubert had missed it in the rushed transition to her new government. Once the winter stores were depleted—or stolen, as some suggested—there was no way for the commons to get more. It was a problem all across the country. Years of drought and lack of foresight by the previous prelate when he reigned over Nimea had caused widespread famine. Josey had stayed in the town for a sennight attempting to help, but finally her urgency to get north compelled her to go, leaving Hirsch to manage the problem.

  The adept winked at Iola as she left the tent. “The province is back to some semblance of normal. A shipment of grain arrived from Othir in time to stave off complete disaster. And I found a distant relative of the late duke to take the reins for the time being. I'm not sure he's a long-term solution, but he will serve for now. I wrote to the lord regent with the details.”

  Josey let out a deep breath. “Thank you.”

  “Thank me in the spring. If more food doesn't reach the province before then, those people won't wait around to starve.”

  She knew what he meant. Rebellion. Before, it had been just a word, something out of the history books, but now it was her worst fear. Well, one of them. She had other, more personal concerns, too.

  Josey ran her hands through her hair, which hadn't been properly styled since they left Othir. “I know. Hubert says the grain barges are on the way, but this being winter—”

  “—the Midland Sea is notorious for bad weather,” he finished for her.

  “Doesn't it ever get easier being empress?”

  “I'm not sure.” He started to sit in a cloth-backed chair, but then got back up and paced across the carpets. “History tends to skim over the details of rulership in favor of honors and accolades. As far as I can tell, your efforts have been entirely adequate.”

  Josey laughed. “Well, that's a rousing endorsement, Master Hirsch. Thank you. Are the troops ready to march?”

  “When I came in it looked like the bulk had already departed, lass. You'd know that if you weren't lazing ab—”

  Josey rushed to the entryway and threw back the flap. She blinked as sunlight dazzled her eyes. As her vision cleared, she saw a column of footmen marching away. Smoke rose from dozens of empty campfires in the muddy field behind them. Every morning it was her custom to ride at the head of the soldiers. Why would they start without her? She looked for someone she could shout at and spotted the back of a familiar head.

  “Captain!”

  Drathan turned and gave her a firm salute. He had somehow managed to keep up his immaculate appearance all through their journey. Not a speck of grit marred his uniform, a
nd his boots gleamed with a fresh shine. “Majesty, good morning. Your bodyguard is ready for review.”

  On the other side of her tent, a company of soldiers stood at attention in the traditional blue and gold of the Imperial Guard. Josey pointed to the departing troops. “Why is the army leaving already?”

  “Pardon me, Majesty. The lord general ordered an early start.”

  “And he didn't think to tell me? Nor you?”

  The captain winced as if she'd slapped him. “Yes, Majesty. But I only command Your Majesty's bodyguard. I didn't think it was my place to—”

  Josey sighed. “No, you're right, Captain. You're not the one I'm angry at. Where is—?”

  “Your Highness.”

  She turned to the sound of approaching boots. Lord General Argentus was roughly twice her age, with wavy, gray hair and a strong chin. His steel breastplate was polished to a shine. She hadn't known Argentus before they departed on this mission. Hubert had chosen him from among the army's command staff, citing his sterling reputation and complete lack of political aspirations, but Josey still wasn't sure how he felt about her ascension to the throne, and that made her uneasy.

  “Good morning, Lord General,” she said. “I was on my way to see you. Why is my army marching before I am ready to depart?”

  The lord general bowed. “I apologize, Highness. I received a report from our scouts last night after you had retired. There may be trouble ahead. I sent the column onward to ensure that the road remains clear.”

  “What kind of trouble?”

  “We're unsure as yet, Highness. But I expect we'll hear soon. Would you prefer to remain here until we ascertain the problem?”