Shadow s-1

by K. J. Parker

  'You need to get a wash,' she said. 'Badly.'

  He hadn't been expecting beauty, of course, so he wasn't disappointed. On the other hand, she looked younger than she sounded-somewhere between thirty and forty, probably nearer thirty but ground down a bit by a hard and wearing life. She had a sharp face, with a pointed nose and chin, high cheekbones and very dark eyes, and reddish hair tied back out of the way, as if she couldn't be doing with it. She was wearing a man's riding coat, very faded and rather tatty at the neck.

  'If you've quite finished staring,' she said, and climbed up on to the box. 'You can sit in the back for now. No offence, but you smell of mud.'

  Come to think of it, he hadn't seen himself either-he wasn't inclined to count the reflection he'd seen in the clouded water of the flood pools back by the river. 'All right,' he said, 'find a river or a stream or something and I'll wash it off. There wouldn't be any dry clothes in the back there, would there?' he added.

  'Yes,' she replied over her shoulder as she moved the horses on. They were both sluggish and restive after standing all night in the traces. 'Of course he was taller than you, and bigger across the shoulders. You'll look like you're wearing your big brother's hand-me-downs.'

  Maybe they are, at that; anything's possible. 'Doesn't matter,' he replied. 'I'm still soaked to the skin here.'

  She was looking straight ahead. 'Under the cover,' she said. 'You'll find a blanket roll, they're inside that. And there's his god robes, of course; won't matter so much with them, they're all loose and flowing, fit anybody.'

  The dead man's clothes were much too big, just as she'd said they'd be, but the waxed hide of the cover had kept most of the rain out. The simple act of putting on dry clothes turned out to be a moment of sublime luxury-would I have enjoyed that so much if I knew who I was? Probably not-and afterwards he sat with his legs dangling over the edge of the tailboard, quite happy simply not to be wet.

  'That'll have to do,' Copis called out, some time after. 'Right, you have a wash while I have a pee. Don't be too long about it.'

  It was a beautiful place, wherever it was. Below the road, on the right-hand side, the ground fell away quite steeply into a small combe, so carefully folded into the moor that it'd be easy to miss if you weren't paying attention. A stream ran down the middle of the combe, draining into what was either a large pond or a very small lake, according to mood and preference, before breaking over a natural dam of boulders and falling fifteen feet or so into a churning white mess hemmed in by a tangled border of briars, ferns, docks and cow parsley. Below that the stream ran fast and thin over a rocky bed and soaked away into a bog. Two thin thorn trees flanked the splash, and he saw a pair of crows sitting in the stiff branches of the nearest tree, facing perversely into the wind.

  A glance at the brown, peat-soaked water of the top pool left him with the conclusion that bathing in it wouldn't leave him any cleaner than he was already, so he picked his way round the edge and scrambled down the rocks to the splash. Off to the left of it was a little basin of calm water, overhung by a broad, flat stone, as handy as a table. Pushing his way through the ferns he took off his clothes and piled them up on the flat stone, then walked into the splash. It was cold enough to make him wince, and the spray hit him in the face, blinding him for a moment. He walked in until the water was up to his neck, ducked his head under the surface and worked his fingers through his hair, feeling the caked mud and blood loosen. One of the crows got up, flew a circuit round the pool, and pitched in the other tree.

  Too cold to stay in longer than absolutely necessary… He hopped out on to the stone table, dragged his clothes back on over his wet skin, then lay down on his stomach and looked at his face in the still water of the basin.

  So that's me, he thought. Oh well.

  He didn't know what he'd been expecting, but it wasn't the sad, rectangular face that he saw, with its long, straight nose and pointed chin, and the eyes were downright miserable, completely out of keeping with the exhilarating feeling of the cold water on his skin and the blood tingling in his cheeks. He'd been expecting someone younger, someone as young as he felt, but even though his hair was slicked back and wet he could see streaks of grey at the temples and sides, fringing his small, flat ears. He could see the smooth, slightly dark blemish of an old scar, running down from the corner of his left eye to the middle of his cheekbone, and another on the same side, the length of a thumbnail, where the web of his mouth had been split.

  Disappointed… He felt as if he'd been promised a house and given a falling-down old barn, with a bare plank door stiff on its hinges and ivy picking the mortar out from between the stones. Not a cheerful face, by any means; waterproof, and that was about all you could say for it.

  'Hurry up.' He heard Copis' voice, away at the top of the combe. 'What are you doing down there, for pity's sake?'

  'Just a moment,' he called back. One last look at the face-it was frowning, and the frown settled easily into grooves it had worn for itself. He picked up a pebble and flipped it through the middle of the face's forehead.

  Chapter Three

  'A war,' he repeated. 'What's that about?'

  Copis looked at him severely down her nose. 'You mean you don't-you really have lost your memory, haven't you? Oh well. It's like this,' she went on. 'Long story, so pay attention. The emperor-you do know about the emperor, don't you?'

  'No.'

  All morning the road had looked pretty much the same, a grey and brown ribbon across a green and brown surface, not even straight. In the distance on either side were the vague shapes of hills, but they were hazy, indistinct. Low cloud, Copis said, usual for this time of year. In autumn and winter it was low cloud, in spring it was mist and in summer it was heat-haze. Put another way, you never got to see the hills, not that they were all that interesting anyway.

  'Oh, bloody hell,' she sighed. 'All right. How's the best way to explain this? We live in the empire, all right? This is the northern end, the bit that doesn't really matter very much; the emperor and the capital and all that stuff, they're on the other side of the bay, where I come from. Clear so far?'

  'More or less.'

  'Excellent. Now then, about six days north of the Mahec-you remember what I told you about the Mahec?'

  'It's a river. Somewhere.'

  'That's right, and it's the frontier, or at least where the frontier used to be. I don't suppose many people know where it really is these days, and probably they aren't telling. Things aren't going well for the empire right now, if you see what I mean.'

  'I see.'

  'Anyway,' Copis went on, 'about five years ago the emperor sent a new general to take over on the frontier; and it's the usual story, after getting thumped a few times he came back and drove the enemy away over the mountains, and so on and so forth; and then he announces that he's taking over everything north of the Bohec-heard it all before, of course; in fact, I wonder why they still bother, they should know by now it usually ends in tears. I can't remember the exact figure, but it's something like seventy emperors in the last hundred and fifty years, and maybe a dozen of them died in their beds. Silly, really.'

  'Yes,' he replied, for want of anything better to say. A flock of geese flew overhead, very high, as if they wanted nothing to do with what was beneath them.

  'And you mean to tell me you'd forgotten all that?' There was a new colour in her voice now, slight suspicion. 'You must be really bad if you don't even remember about the empire.'

  He decided to take the risk. 'There's something else, isn't there?' he said.

  'No.'

  'Yes, there is. Please,' he went on. 'I don't care what it is, even if it's bad. I'd rather find out now than later.'

  'Really,' she said, 'it's nothing.'

  He reminded himself that he didn't have the luxury of getting angry. Only people who know who they are can do that.

  'Please,' he repeated. 'It doesn't matter to me how bad it is, all I want to do is find out who I am. That's all that matters. I
f there's something else-'

  'Oh, all right, then.' She didn't sound at all happy. 'I was just thinking, if you don't know about the empire, maybe it's not because you've forgotten-you couldn't just forget, no matter what. Maybe it's because you didn't know to begin with.'

  'Because I'm a foreigner, you mean?'

  The cart ran over a stone, jolting them both. Copis swore, then composed herself, a swift and impressive transition.

  'You don't sound like one,' she said thoughtfully. 'On the other hand, how the hell would I know what one of them would sound like? Actually, all this time we've been talking I've been trying to place your accent, and I can't. And I'm very good at accents, so that ought to mean something.'

  He closed his eyes. 'Please explain,' he said.

  'All right. What I'm getting at is-this is difficult. Do you know who the pirates are?'

  'Pirates,' he repeated. 'I know what the word means.'

  She sighed. 'Obviously you don't, then. That's really hard to believe, but I believe you; just don't expect anybody else to, that's all. We call them the pirates, though it's not the right word to describe them; it's what we thought they were when they first showed up, fifty or sixty years ago. Actually, we don't really know anything about them, that's the most scary part of it. They come out of apparently nowhere, we think from the west. Usually they sail right up to one of the cities on the coast, but sometimes they land way up north and sneak down through the mountains; or when they attack on the other side of the bay they'll come up through the forests; amazing, how they manage it.' She hesitated for a moment, fiddled with the reins. 'Anyway, the first thing we know about it is a sudden attack, another city looted and burned down, and they're gone again. Nobody knows where they're from, or who they are-oh, there's plenty of stories, but nobody really knows-and they must have trashed, oh, fifteen, twenty major cities over the last fifty years. Now and again they run into the soldiers; we've never once beaten them in a battle, of course, they always wipe the floor with us, but from time to time they find a few bodies, sometimes they say they've caught one alive. But nobody seems to know anything, except possibly imperial intelligence if they've really ever caught one; we don't even know what colour their hair is, or what their faces look like, anything like that. The best guess is that it's all being kept a deadly secret, because if we really knew about them it'd cause such a panic there'd be riots and God knows what else.'

  'And you think I may be one of them.'

  She thought for a moment before replying. 'To be honest with you, no,' she said. 'But of course, I don't know what to think. All my life pirates have been great big hairy, ugly monsters, so naturally I wouldn't expect one of them to sound like a human being. I don't know,' she added. 'How the hell would I know if you're one of them when I don't know the first thing about them?'

  He considered this. 'You wouldn't,' he said. 'I guess that puts you and me in the same position. All either of us knows about me is what we can both see. You're still at an advantage, of course.'

  She grinned. 'That's the way I like it,' she said.

  As the sun rose, the low cloud (or mist, possibly even heat-haze; it wasn't actually freezing) lifted a little, and he thought he could see darker green patches on the sides of the distant hills that might be forests, or at least wooded combes and valleys. He could see a very long way from where they were, but what was the point in having such excellent visibility when there was nothing to look at except couch grass and the occasional stone?

  'Are you sure there's a town in this direction?' he asked.

  'Of course I'm sure. Otherwise we wouldn't be going this way.'

  He shrugged. 'Sorry,' he said. 'I was just wondering. It's all so empty.'

  'Used not to be, before the war.'

  'Which war?'

  'Whichever. But yes, there's definitely a town called Cric. Which is just as well, since you've eaten three of our biscuits and there's nothing else after they're gone. Unless, of course, you'd care to hop off the cart and go catch a rabbit or something?'

  'I haven't seen any rabbits.'

  'Neither have I. Maybe they don't want to be seen. I wouldn't want people looking at me if I was a rabbit. Especially hungry people.'

  'I haven't seen anything,' he went on, 'except a few birds, crows and the like. You'd think there'd be something alive out here besides us.'

  'Don't ask me,' she replied. 'I was brought up in a city, I don't really know about animals and things. As far as I'm concerned there's cities, and everything else is just the gaps in between. This,' she added, 'is a big gap.'

  There didn't seem much point in discussing the matter further, so he went back to thinking about the face he'd seen in the pool. Me, he thought; that's all I am. How did I come to look so thoroughly miserable? Of course, I suppose I've got a right to be miserable now-except that I'm not, so maybe this is a good thing, a fresh start or something. Maybe I've walked away from a life that I never really liked, which is why I'm in no hurry to remember it…

  He looked behind. He'd caught sight of something, a flash of metal in the pale sunlight.

  'What's so interesting?' Copis asked.

  'I don't know. Stop the cart.'

  'All right. But if all you've seen is a thrush or something, I'm going to be very annoyed.'

  It was hard to tell, because of the low cloud; he screwed up his eyes and concentrated, making distinctions between tones of colour. 'Something behind us,' he said. 'There it is again, look. Something's flashing in the sun.'

  'Oh.' Copis seemed to think that was serious enough; she stood up on the box and shaded her eyes with her hand. 'Where?'

  'Directly behind us. Probably someone on the road.'

  'Damn.' She sat beside him. 'Point,' she said. He pointed. 'Yes, you're right, I saw it too.'

  'You sound worried,' he said.

  'Think about it,' she replied. 'Just the two of us, nowhere to hide. And metal flashing in the sun suggests armour to me.'

  'Well,' he said, 'what do you think we should do?'

  'Easy,' she replied. 'You get out of my cart and start running. With any luck, by the time they're close enough to see you, you'll be far enough away that they won't assume I'm anything to do with you. Which I'm not,' she added, with a little more feeling than was polite.

  'All right,' he said, and started to climb off the cart.

  'No,' she said wearily. 'Come back. After all, you're wearing different clothes, you aren't all muddy any more. And if they ask, I'll just tell them the truth.'

  He hesitated. 'It's all right,' he said. 'You don't owe me anything.'

  'Of course I don't,' she replied. 'But on the other hand, if you're some rich prince or long-lost hero, there ought to be money in it if I'm the one who saved you from bleeding and starving to death. That's me,' she added gloomily, 'a born optimist.'

  She moved the cart on; a steady walk, no point in forcing the pace. As they watched, the flash turned into three riders, and when they were close enough, he saw that they were nothing like any of the soldiers he'd seen so far; they wore round, broad-brimmed steel helmets and no armour, and each one had a bow and quiver on his back and a curved sword at his side. They were riding fast, as if they were in a hurry to catch up with something.

  'I think I made the wrong decision,' said Copis. 'I've seen an awful lot of soldiers over the years, but never any like them.'

  'Oh.' He frowned. 'I can still run for it if you like.'

  'No point,' she said. 'Let's hope they're nothing to do with you. I hate hoping,' she added. 'It's like rubbing dock leaves on a nettle sting. They tell you it helps, but does it hell as like.'

  The riders came up to them very quickly. One passed them and blocked the way, while the others closed in on either side.

  'You in the cart,' said the man in front.

  'Me?' he called out, rather pointlessly, since the rider was staring at him.

  'Stay where you are. Don't move.'

  Copis looked at him. 'You can understand what they're say
ing?'

  'Yes.'

  'I can't.'

  The two riders in flank held their position while the third man slid off his horse and walked up to the cart. 'You,' he said, 'take your hat off. I want to see your face.'

  'All right,' he replied.

  The man looked at him and nodded. 'Right,' he said.

  'You know who I am, then?'

  'Oh yes,' the rider replied. 'I know exactly who you are.'

  'Then would you mind-?'

  The rider reached up and grabbed his arm, pulling him on to his feet. With his other hand, he was drawing his sword. 'Shut up,' he said, and pulled again. Then Copis kicked him in the face.

  It wasn't a very hard kick, or particularly well aimed, but it was enough to make the rider lose interest for a moment. 'Go on, run,' she hissed, and it struck him that it would be rude not to do what she told him to, though he wished she hadn't got involved. But there it was; he jumped down off the cart and made a quick mental estimate of how far away the rider's horse was and how long it'd take him to get to it. Too long. Meanwhile the rider was ignoring Copis and drawing his sword, so he jumped on to the boom, grabbed him by the throat and pushed him down. The rider landed awkwardly on his back, giving him enough time to jump off the boom and kick him hard on the chin; then he stooped down and grabbed the sword. It seemed to fit his hands, almost as if it was a part of him that he'd had amputated years ago and which had suddenly grown back. That was just as well, because as the left-side rider rode up and slashed at him he was able to parry the cut squarely and in good time, opening the rider up for a thrust under the armpit. The moves came easily, faster than he could think. Probably, he reflected as the man slipped out of the saddle and hit the ground, I've done this before.

  The other rider was wrong-sided, of course; he'd either have to turn and go round the back of the cart, or go all the way round the front of the horses. That helped. He watched as the rider hesitated, then came forward, presumably anxious to get to him before he could mount up on either of the spare horses. He waited till the other man was level with him, then hopped back on to the boom and made a dive under his horse's legs.