"Nooooo!" Gift wailed, his voice echoing around Adrian's head.
Adrian ignored him. He slipped through the door, into the gray mist.
The light that Coulter wrapped around them reflected the mist like a hundred tiny prisms. Adrian ran down the steps and into the mist itself. He knew where the Circle Door was — he used to pass it every day — but he couldn't go through it.
He was breathing hard. He hadn't run in years, and he hadn't carried more than a few bundles of wood in all that time. Coulter was clinging to him so hard that Adrian found it difficult to draw breath. The Fey they ran by shouted at them, but those shouts didn't echo as Gift's had. Apparently Coulter had done something to bring Gift's voice inside the light.
The Meeting Rock loomed like a dark thing out of the mist. The Circle Door was across from it. Adrian looked behind him. The Warders were following. He had left a hole in the mist that was man-sized, and a trail of fading light through the hole. The mist did not close up after him. It was as if he had burned something through the center of Shadowlands.
Coulter pushed away from him. We can't have the light and get through the door.
I think we need this light, Adrian sent back.
Not if we want out. Coulter ran to the precise place where the door was. Adrian followed as the light winked out around them.
Suddenly the grayness had returned to Shadowlands. He hadn't realized how much the light refreshed him, warmed him, made him feel strong. He stopped beside Coulter as the Warders caught up.
"Stop!" Touched yelled. "Now!"
Coulter didn't even glance at them. He stuck a hand through the mist and the Circle Door opened. Sunlight streamed around the Dirt Circle and the scent of fresh air and pine trees flowed in. Adrian grinned at the familiar sight.
Home.
He was getting out of the grayness and going home.
Touched had almost caught up to them. Rotin was farther behind, her older body unable to keep up with the rigors of the run.
"Let's go, son," Adrian said to Coulter. He put a hand on Coulter's back to propel him out of Shadowlands, but Coulter wouldn't move.
Adrian looked at him. The boy's face was white, his eyes huge. His hand still extended through the door, keeping it open, but he wouldn't move.
"Coulter?" Adrian asked.
"You go," he whispered. "I'll stay."
"They'll kill you," Adrian said.
"I can't," Coulter whispered.
Touched sent a beam of light their way. Adrian pulled Coulter out of the way. The light went through the door and started a small fire in the Dirt Circle.
"Now," Adrian said.
"No," Coulter said.
Then Adrian understood. Coulter had spent his entire life in grayness. He couldn't handle the smells, the colors, the sounds.
But he had no choice.
Adrian wrapped himself around the boy, protecting Coulter's eyes, and jumped through the Circle Door. They landed in the Dirt Circle, near the fire, and Adrian rolled away from it, holding Coulter's head to protect it.
The Circle Door winked closed, but the lights around it started flashing again a moment later. Adrian knew what that meant. Touched was coming through.
But they were on Adrian's turf now.
He didn't have time to enjoy the sunlight or the birds or the fresh air. He picked up Coulter who was shivering and plowed through the trees away from the road, heading toward the gurgling river. The river was deep here, but they could follow its edge into Jahn. The Fey were sometimes linear thinkers. They might try the road first, which would give Coulter and Adrian some extra time.
Coulter's terror was as strong as it had been in the Warders' cabin. "Stay with me," Adrian whispered as he clung to the boy. "You'll be safe as long as you're with me."
Coulter said nothing. He kept his face buried in Adrian's shoulder. The strong, powerful child Adrian had seen in Shadowlands had been replaced by a tiny terrified boy.
Adrian hoped he could keep his promise as he slipped down the embankment toward the river. They only had one chance to survive — and all of it rested on Adrian's wit, and his five-year-old memories of Blue Isle.
FORTY-SEVEN
The gates to the Tabernacle were open. Stowe cursed under his breath. The fools. They should have had guards everywhere, and locks on all the doors. That way, if the Fey wanted in, they would have to work at it.
In fact, if he were planning for a Fey attack, he would have vials of holy water rigged to spill on anyone who passed through. The Islander visitors would be angry but fine, and the Fey ones would die.
Simple as that.
But he had not been planning for such an attack until sundown. That was when Nicholas finally gave him permission to round up the guards.
Monte had given fifteen of his best men. Monte had wanted to come along, but Stowe wouldn't let him. Confident as Nicholas was about his relationship with the Fey, it didn't seem quite right. Stowe lacked that confidence. He felt that the person behind Alexander's murder might kill Nicholas as well.
The chances were less now that Jewel was dead, but they still existed. With Nicholas gone, the children still babies, the entire Isle would be thrown into chaos. If Nicholas didn't want to prepare for such a contingency, Stowe would. After all, he would be the one left to clean up the mess.
The wind was off the river, cool and smelling faintly of damp ground. The full moon provided more light than Stowe had planned on — he wondered if any of the Auds were watching him and the guards. If so, they were doing nothing about the large group just standing outside the wall. Stowe continued to stand for a moment longer as a test, hoping that someone would emerge, anyone who would tell him to go away.
No one did.
They left the gates open and did not monitor who came in and out. He would wager that once he crossed the courtyard, he would find the main doors unlocked and unguarded as well.
Matthias should have ordered protection. After the attack the night before, he should have known what was going to happen. But Matthias had gotten careless since he became Rocaan, almost as if he felt he weren't worthy of the position, and he was strongly disliked. No Elder would countermand Matthias's orders to protect him, like Stowe would do for Nicholas.
Right now, Nicholas needed protecting. He was doing well, considering.
Considering.
But now was not a time to do marginally well. Now was the most crucial time of Nicholas's kingship. Everything rested on the next few days.
If Matthias died, the kingdom died. Nicholas didn't realize that. Nicholas, in his own way, was expendable. Matthias had ensured that he was not.
Torches burned over all the windows and over the double doors. Faint curlicues of smoke rose toward the moon. The torches burned every night, leaving scorch marks on the whitewash. Stowe used to come here as a boy and peer over the wall, watching the Auds go through their morning rituals. He had always wanted to be part of the Tabernacle, but he could not.
He was the eldest son. It had been his lot to become Lord Stowe. His younger brother had been forced into the religion. Last Stowe heard, his brother was an Aud in the Snow Mountains where the discipline among the Rocaanists was lax. His brother had hated the church as much as Stowe had loved it. If only they had been able to change roles. But rules were rules, as his father used to say, and existed for reasons that were beyond the ken of normal men.
Stowe agreed with that.
The Fey's arrival had violated his sense of rules, of fairness, and continued to do so. He admired Nicholas's ability to flow with the changes, and knew such an ability was necessary, but wished Nicholas also knew when to apply hard and strict rules on everything.
Like now. If Nicholas had given more than a begrudging permission, he would have made it easier for Stowe to bring his guards into the Tabernacle. Stowe faced a long discussion with either an Elder or with Matthias himself. Stowe was half worried that Matthias would throw them out after his little scene with Nicholas that afternoon
.
Clearly, though, the Tabernacle needed his help. He would convince Matthias to take the guards no matter what it took.
He strode through the gate and across the courtyard. Halfway to the double doors, a movement on the balcony above caught his eye. He looked up, but saw nothing.
Except a rope, hanging from the balcony railing.
Stowe swore under his breath. He went to the rope. It was tied to a tree. This had to be the rope that Luke had used to get in. Damn the Elders. They knew and had done nothing. They wanted Matthias out as badly as Nicholas did.
And Matthias, the man Stowe had seen that afternoon, had been in no real condition to take precautions for himself.
Stowe tugged on the rope. It was hanging loosely from the balcony. The rope swinging in the slight breeze had been what caught his eye.
He posted two guards beside it, and went to the double doors. As he thought. No Auds standing guard. The light from the torches provided him with a good view of the area. Except for his own guards, he was alone.
With his fist, he pushed down on the handle. It turned easily, but he didn't open the door. Instead, he pounded on the knocker, allowing the sound to echo throughout the Tabernacle. Good to scare these people just a little, and let them know that Matthias wasn't the only one jeopardized by the Fey.
No one answered. The discomfort he felt grew. He glanced at the guards behind him. One was looking up at that balcony. It bothered Stowe as well. The rope should have been gone. As it was, it pointed clearly to the Rocaan's rooms. He hoped that Matthias had been smart enough to change locations.
He doubted that Matthias had.
But Matthias may have spent another night in the worship room. He had done so after Luke left. There was no telling with these religious people.
When no one answered the knock, Stowe rapped again, hard this time so that the sound not only echoed through the Tabernacle, but through the courtyard as well.
Finally the door swung open. An Aud poked his head out. His hair was tousled and his eyes were half open. He had been sound asleep.
He couldn't have been more than twelve.
No protection. No protection at all.
When Stowe returned to the palace, he would check the systems that Nicholas had in place. Sometimes the old ways were taken for granted without taking into account change.
Nicholas might not have implemented new systems with all the deaths. Guards might be awaiting orders from the new king.
The thought made Stowe cold.
The Aud was staring at him as if he hadn't seen a lord before.
"I'd like to see the Holy Sir," Stowe said.
The boy shook his head. "Tis sorry I am, sir, but the Rocaan beds down just near twilight."
"I think he'll see me," Stowe said.
"I canna bother him, sir. Tis orders I have, and tis strong ones." The boy was not from Jahn. He would never be in the Tabernacle if he were from a farming family, but his speech marked him as a member of the serving class. He had to be from the mountains or the Cliffs of Blood.
Or the Kenniland Marshes.
Stowe had had enough.
"He'll see me," Stowe said, and pushed past the child as Nicholas had done earlier that day.
Darkness made the Tabernacle gloomy. Candles burned in lamps around the entry area, but the entire effect was one of deep blackness. Another Aud came toward Stowe from the gloom. He was older than the first, but not by much.
"Is there an Officiate here?" Stowe asked.
The newer Aud shook his head. "The Officiates are traveling right now," he said.
"Then who is running the Tabernacle?"
"Elder Porciluna," said the first Aud. "He is still awake if you would like to speak with him."
"No," Stowe said. "I will talk with the Rocaan."
The new Aud crossed his arms and blocked the stairs. "The Rocaan said none of the king's men could visit him."
That was the first evidence of smart thinking Stowe had seen since he arrived at the gates. "I need to see him. You'll wake him."
"No, your lordship."
The guards were crowding the door, blocking the light. The young Aud looked frightened. After the scene with Nicholas that afternoon, who could be surprised that they were afraid of the guards?
Stowe clenched his fists. Once this had been a wonderful place to live. Before the Fey everyone had gotten along. The Tabernacle and the palace had worked together. Now they were frightened of each other.
The Fey would conquer the Isle by making the Islanders fight among themselves.
"Very well," Stowe said. "Let me see Elder Porciluna." Perhaps he would have more sense than the Auds. No sense arguing with boys when he could talk to someone with more power.
The young Aud nodded. The newer Aud waved him away. The young Aud disappeared down the corridor.
Stowe wasn't certain whether Porciluna would help him or not. Porciluna's desire to be Rocaan was well known. He would probably want Matthias out of the way — and keeping him unguarded was a good way to do it.
Stowe's own guards were crowding him. He turned. "Get back, men," he said softly. "Scout the area. Tell me if you see anything suspicious."
"I don't think that's wise," the newer Aud said.
"Either they look or I bring them inside," Stowe said. "This delay isn't wise. It is, in fact, angering me. The King sent his guards here in an effort to protect the Rocaan."
"Frankly, Milord, there is no way we can know that. The entire Tabernacle has heard of their fight this afternoon. If I were the King —." The Aud interrupted himself and shook his head.
He didn't need to finish the sentence. Stowe knew what he was going to say. The King had every right to seek revenge against Matthias. Every right. Even the Auds knew that, and they should support their own leader.
The guards had backed away. Some were walking through the courtyard, quietly discussing the tile design. Others were pushing aside bushes. Still others were examining the rope.
Stowe tried not to sigh. He hated waiting more than anything else. The Aud was a small barrier. He could push past the man and hurry up the stairs. But a door opened on a side corridor, and Porciluna came out. He wore a satin sleeping robe. The sword around his neck was the only sign of his office. His cheeks were ruddy with sleep, and his eyes looked as if he had rubbed them awake.
"The Aud says you were sent by the King to guard the Rocaan," Porciluna said. "Are we talking about the same king? Alexander hasn't been raised from the dead, has he?"
Porciluna's words stung. No wonder the old Rocaan had passed him over. Porciluna would never be a diplomat.
"No," Stowe said, making certain that he spoke evenly. "He is not back from the dead. King Nicholas regrets his burst of anger and has thought about the things the Rocaan told him. The Rocaan is right; Blue Isle needs him. The King will provide him with trained protection."
"Blue Isle needs the Rocaan's knowledge," Porciluna said, almost under his breath. Stowe watched him warily. If he had ever heard one of the lords speak that way about Nicholas, he would have reported it to the King immediately. He felt no such loyalty for the Rocaan.
"The Isle needs the Rocaan," Stowe said. "I would like to station guards at his doors, and on his balcony, as well as throughout the Tabernacle."
"Considering the relationship between the palace and the Tabernacle at this moment, the Rocaan would be a fool to allow this." Porciluna grinned. "I, of course, think it's a wonderful idea."
"I'm sure you do," Stowe said, managing to speak without the sarcasm that he felt. "Let me talk with the Rocaan. After all, it is his decision."
Porciluna fingered the small sword around his neck. "It's most irregular, you know. This sort of thing."
Stowe suppressed a sigh. Was the man angling for a bribe? That would be even more irregular. "The King believes that something might happen soon. Maybe even tonight. The Fey take revenge quite seriously."
"I'm sure they do," Porciluna said with the same guileles
s tone Stowe had used a moment before. Stowe hadn't fooled him at all.
"So I would like to see the Rocaan now."
"Really, milord, I do think I would need to discuss this with him. We have Auds at the door. Tomorrow morning —"
"Your Auds are untrained children. I have soldiers who learned to fight the Fey in the Invasion and the subsequent battles."
"You have soldiers who are really guards, men who were lucky enough to survive until we provided you with holy water. Milord, we are capable of taking care of ourselves."
Fey 02 - Changeling Page 50
