Blood and Shadow (The Mage's Gift Book 1)

by Robin Lythgoe

  “A candle?” Chakkan hissed. “That’s the best you could do?”

  “Three,” Sherakai grinned at him, getting to his feet and starting off again. One hand cupped the flame. “Half used.”

  “What kind of moth-brained—”

  “Calm yourself, I left torches inside the passage.”

  His companion growled. “Imagine, if you will, me clouting your ear.”

  “I admire your restraint.”

  Chakkan stomped into his own boots and trotted down the passage to come abreast. They walked for some time through twisting halls and rooms strung together like beads on a string.

  “Is there any chance I can talk you out of going through with this?” Chakkan asked, his voice loud in the emptiness.

  “None.”

  “What if I point out how easy it was for your brothers to be taken? And that we still don’t know who did it?”

  Sherakai’s grip on the candle stub tightened. “Still none.”

  “Just thought I’d check.”

  “You don’t have to come.”

  “Yes, I do, Kai.”

  They exchanged a fleeting look, then Sherakai pointed ahead. “In there.”

  The room they entered was a copy of all its neighbors except for one thing. A block in the stone wall, once the hidden latch had been released, swung back into utter darkness. The two had to lie down on the floor to shimmy through, pushing their packs ahead of them. It was easy for Sherakai, and while he waited for Chakkan, he used the candle to light one of the torches.

  Scrapes and grunts and colorful swearing under his breath accompanied Chakkan’s entrance. When he’d finally got himself situated, broad shoulders smashed into the too-small place, he gave Sherakai a narrow-eyed look. “You didn’t hear that.”

  “Hear what?” the slighter youth asked, all innocence. He passed the torch to Chakkan, got to his feet, and tied the others to his pack. “Do you want to lead, or shall I?”

  Chakkan returned the light. “Such a wit.”

  They made their way through the narrow passage, forced to walk sideways until they came to a wider one. The ceiling was so low Chakkan had to go hunched over, and even Sherakai bumped his head occasionally. The torchlight was hot on his face, the flame too bright. He held it low, but smoke stung his eyes. A series of twists brought them to a dead end, seeping walls, and a hole in the floor. He tossed the torch into the opening. When it didn’t go out, Sherakai lowered himself inside. Toes searched for the first groove cut into the wall. Others like it appeared at regular intervals to the next level, a good twenty feet below. He thought the creator of these secret places must have been his size, for all the passageways seemed made especially for him. Still, what had once been a stretch was now a comfortable reach. Chakkan had the opposite problem: everything was too close, too tight, too low.

  “I’m down!” Sherakai called out when his feet touched the ground again. He stepped over the torch, then bent to pick it up. Light glimmered on wet stone, and the temperature was decidedly cooler. At irregular intervals along the only corridor iron doors shut away empty rooms. It was a mystery how the doors had come to be there at all. They were too wide to fit through the opening at the top of the stairs, let alone the passageways. A few of them bore rusted locks. More than once Sherakai had wondered what lay behind them, but every time he decided to break a lock and look inside, a curious, unidentifiable reluctance had stayed his hand.

  When Chakkan reached the bottom, he leaned against the wall, his breathing strained.

  “Are you all right?”

  He nodded. “This isn’t as fun as it was when I was twelve.”

  Sherakai laid a hand on his shoulder in sympathy, feeling the tension and discomfort. “You’re a good friend.”

  “I know.” He straightened and offered an uneasy smile. “Let’s go. The night isn’t getting any younger.”

  A short way down the hall another corridor opened. It laid nearly straight before them for a considerable distance. They squelched through mud until the floor inclined, taking them out of the dampness. At the end the mysteriously worked door hung about four feet above the floor. The pair of them examined it in the light of the torch.

  “Just so you’ll know,” Chakkan announced, “if you can’t open this I will punch you.”

  “You’d do that to the jansu’s son?”

  “Yes.”

  With a crooked smile, Sherakai handed him the torch. From his pack he removed a small leather pouch and opened it, revealing a set of slender tools. “Borrowed,” he said before Chakkan could question, and clambered up onto the narrow ledge at the base of the door. Balanced with his fingertips, he scraped at the edges of a the raised figure. “Hold the torch up so I can see.”

  He worked for some time, touching other motifs, working a blade around the inside edge of the frame itself. Chakkan shifted the torch from one hand to the other, watching until he got bored. Sherakai leaned close, blowing into cracks, brushing away the dust. Setting the tools aside, he rubbed his hands together and reached out to press and turn a sequence of previously invisible knobs and buttons. A grinding sound made Chakkan jump. The panel started to move, then stopped.

  “Light,” Sherakai ordered, leaning close again, pushing and wriggling the ornaments. He used one of his tools to dig at the stone. Chakkan couldn’t see what he did, but suddenly the panel creaked and shifted. Fingers prying at the edge, Sherakai pulled at one side. The panel swung open with a scrape and a little avalanche of dust and debris, forcing him to drop to the corridor floor. Dank, damp air flowed into the corridor. He stepped closer to peer up into the space and held his hand out for the torch. “I told you I’d get it open, didn’t I? There are roots growing down, but the first bit is clear enough.”

  “Clear enough,” Chakkan echoed. “Does that mean you’ll have to pull me through? Or that the roots will catch fire?”

  He tossed the torch up into the space and set his hands on the edge. A jump and a kick, and he was in. Head low, he crawled upward, stopping occasionally to push at the tangle of roots and push the torch along. From time to time, he had to unsheathe his knife to cut through them. Chakkan came along patiently behind him. After a short distance, it leveled and continued in a straight line.

  “We’re going north,” Sherakai provided. “We’ll probably come out by the woods.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because we went through the—Never mind. Take my word for it.”

  “Does this come out at Beacon Fort?” he asked, naming a fortification deep within the Choke Mountains on the Kesurechi border, miles and miles away.

  “Feels like it,” Sherakai agreed, twisting about to sit and rest for a while.

  Chakkan leaned against the wall beside him and produced a flask of plain whiskey. “Want some?”

  Fingers wrapping around the metal, he sniffed at it, took a swig, and handed it back. It made him cough and blink. “A delicious and bracing but minor offense.”

  “Thought you’d appreciate it.” He paused for a swallow. “The flavor and the rule-breaking.”

  “If we didn’t lead us astray, who would?”

  Sherakai used his guttering torch to light a fresh one and left the dead one behind. They stopped to rest one more time on their journey, knees, hands and backs sore from crawling. The end of the tunnel came abruptly, timbers crossed in front of them to support the earth. Straight overhead was a slab of stone with roots clinging around the edges. Sherakai used his knife to cut them away, looking for a catch to spring but finding nothing. He dug around the edge, trying to see how it rested.

  “I think this is where you come in.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes. Brought you along for the muscle, you know.” He moved aside, making room for Chakkan to squeeze past to get beneath the stone.

  “I live to serve, Your Most Royal Delicateness.”

  “Did Master Chimoke teach you that one?”

  “No. Made it up myself.” He set the torch aside and pu
t one broad shoulder against the stone to heave it upward.

  “As I suspected. You should probably avoid composing poetry.”

  “I suppose you can do better?” Chakkan asked through clenched teeth. The stone didn’t budge. He shifted his position and tried again, then shook his head.

  “Naturally, my brawny, brave brother.” Sherakai laid the torch down and shuffled forward, shoulder to shoulder with Chakkan. “Together, slow and steady.”

  Grunting and straining, the two of them pressed upward. The slow trickle of dirt increased as the stone moved upward at last. Rocks and old leaves tumbled into the passage, and then suddenly sweet, fresh air.

  “Left, push it left!” Chakkan barked. At last the slab slid away, revealing a canopy of leaves edged silver by the moon.

  “We’d best leave these here,” Sherakai said, pulling the torches free of his pack to prop against the wall. He wriggled out of the opening to push the rock further, allowing his friend to clamber out beside him. "Did you—" He froze as shadows broke free from the concealment of the trees to surround them. Here and there moonlight glinted on steel.

  “My, my, what do we have here?” a disembodied voice asked.

  “Looks like a pair of pigeons trying to fly the coop,” came the reply.

  Sherakai grabbed the front of Chakkan’s tunic to shove him into the hole. “Back inside!” he cried. Full grown, armored men would have a hard time trying to follow them into the tunnels. Chakkan dropped down, dragging at Sherakai’s legs as he twisted to get inside, heedless of anything but the need to escape.

  Hands fastened on his pack, tunic, and one arm, tearing him out of Chakkan’s grip and unceremoniously hauling him free of the passage. Another man dove to the ground and reached inside, only to shout a curse and yank his arm free again. “He’s got a knife!” Another man joined him and together they hauled Chakkan out, kicking and flailing. Between them, they pinned him to the ground.

  “Close that and cover it again,” the first voice ordered. “Get these two on their feet.”

  Sherakai squirmed hard to escape. Someone clamped a hand on his shoulder, fingers digging into his collarbone. He collapsed with a strangled screech.

  The man crouched above him, features obscured by shadows. “Don’t you know it’s not safe out here at night?”

  Chapter 18

  Jansu Tanoshi stood with hands clasped behind his back, silhouetted against the light of the lanterns. He had not said a word since the two conspirators had been brought into the study. The wooden floor creaked as one of the guards bracketing the door shifted. Elsewhere, the keep slept.

  Sherakai kept his gaze firmly on the floor, waiting to receive permission to look at his father. The more time passed, the more his fear faded, replaced by a growing anger. No one listened to him, and when he acted he was treated like a child. Worse, a criminal. His jaw ached with tension. Hands curled into fists, fingernails biting into flesh. It was not his place to speak the first words, but they poised on his tongue, hot and bitter.

  Tameko moved then, pacing deliberately to a small side table. The gurgle of liquid sounded as he poured a drink. The silence did nothing to conceal the noise of his swallowing. There came a gentle thump and a slide as the vessel met the table. With slow steps, the jansu returned to his position in front of the aspiring trackers. He let out a slow, careful sigh.

  “I admire your resourcefulness.”

  Sherakai’s head lifted, green eyes glittering. Chakkan did not move so much as a muscle.

  “You’ve shown remarkable intelligence, too, deciphering the key to opening the secret door.” Tameko paused. “Or should I say doors? Yes, I am quite aware of them and of the passages they conceal. You should realize that I have a broader experience in this world than you do, Sherakai. I do not collect knowledge and intelligent men for the mere purpose of admiring them.”

  Tameko held up a hand, forestalling Sherakai’s protest.

  “I suppose that this excursion required horses, and you had a plan for getting them?”

  When Sherakai did not not speak, Chakkan did. “Yes, sir,” he whispered.

  Tameko nodded and began pacing back and forth in front of the pair. “So you were smart enough to figure out a way to leave the keep, you had food, water, weapons, mounts.” He waved one hand through the air descriptively. “You thought of everything.”

  Sherakai straightened, feeling a glimmer of pride.

  “Everything, that is, but the fact that people older and wiser than you gave strict orders to stay inside the walls for a very real and very dangerous reason. There is someone out there trying to destroy this family.”

  “Don’t you think I know that?” Sherakai exclaimed. “No one believes I can help discover who it is or where they’ve taken Fazare and Imitoru. No one!”

  Tameko stopped, then started again, back and forth. “Chakkan, where were the two of you going?”

  The young guardsman swallowed a lump in his throat. “To the place where your sons were taken, my lord.”

  “And what did you hope to find there?”

  “I’m not sure,” he whispered.

  “I might find something others missed, Papa,” Sherakai interrupted. “I know them better than anyone.”

  “Really? Better than their own father?”

  Sherakai’s jaw worked, then his chin lifted. “I know things about them you don’t.”

  Back and forth, back and forth his steps took him. “You might,” Tameko acceded, “but you know nothing of battle or kidnapping or deceit—and I am not talking about your petty trickery in getting out of the keep without being noticed. A trick that failed, I might add.” He pressed the back of his hand to his mouth, then turned to the men by the door. “Captain, take my son to his room and see that he stays there. Put a guard at the door and one under his window.”

  “No!” Sherakai took a brash step forward, disbelief in every line of his face. “You are going to lock me up?”

  “If that’s what it takes, yes.” He gestured to Nayuri to proceed, and the captain took Sherakai firmly by the arm.

  “Papa, no.” Trying to pull away was an exercise in futility. “How can you do this? I can help!”

  Feet planted in place, Chakkan watched with dismal resignation.

  “How can I do this?” Tameko whirled, eyes suddenly blazing. “How can I do everything in my power to protect the only son I am certain is still alive?”

  “If you would let me go, let me see, then I could help find Zar and Toru! I can use the magic.”

  Three steps closed the distance between them. Tameko’s finger stabbed the air beneath Sherakai’s nose. “I will not take that risk! Do you have any idea at all how I felt when I went to your room and found you gone? When I turned out the entire Guard to search for you, and no one had seen you? I thought I had lost you, Sherakai! How could you do something so selfish, so cruel to me and to your mother? Have we not lost enough already?”

  Sherakai took an involuntary step back, restrained still by Nayuri’s grip. Surprise and then regret destroyed the anger in his eyes, sent the blood from his face. “I’m sorry. I am so sorry. I—I didn’t think…”

  “No. No, you did not. And that is what still keeps you from being a man!”

  Sherakai’s face paled even further. “I wanted to bring Fazare and Imitoru back to you. The sons you really want. They are so much more than I can ever be, and I know you love them. I know you need them.”

  Incredulity swept over Tameko’s face. “How can you possibly believe that I want you any less?”

  Nayuri let go and stepped back a pace, and Sherakai rubbed his bruised arm. His eyes stung sharply. “They are warriors like you, strong like you. They are the ones you rely on for the future.” He shook his head. “I’ve seen the way you look at them, and I know I’m not like them, I never will be, and—and I never—it didn’t matter. I knew my place. But now they’re gone and all you have is me, and—”

  Tameko took his shoulders and shook him once, hard.
“Stop. You are different than they are, yes. You have different skills, different talents. That does not make your value any less. On the contrary, it makes you unique. Have I ever disparaged your abilities? Have I ever said you are lacking in any way?”

  He hesitated, then shook his head.

  “Because you are not.” Tameko drew Sherakai into a fierce embrace. The tears the youth had tried to hold back overflowed as he clung to his father. “You are my son. I love you. You are more like your brothers than you can see, Sherakai, and they are less like each other than you imagine. You each have unique strengths. There is no one else like you, and what a marvelous thing that is.” He pulled back to wipe the tears gently. “Please be careful with my youngest son; he is dear to me.”

  Shifting emotions dizzied Sherakai. His father’s deep affection wrapped around him like a warm blanket, taking away the sting of guilt and inadequacy. His head bobbed in a jerky nod. “I will, Papa,” he whispered, and Tameko tugged him close again.

  The two of them might have been alone in the room—except the captain cleared his throat quietly, breaking the spell. Reluctantly, they stood apart. Tameko studied Sherakai for a long moment, then heaved a sigh. “You will be confined to your room, and you will have a guard,” he said, his regret a tangible thing.

  Sherakai lifted his head, brows tented. “But I promised—”

  “Yes, you did, and I will hold you to that, but there are consequences to your actions. You directly disobeyed me and you took things that do not belong to you. Things you might have had for the asking.” A single glance carried the weight of rebuke, of disappointment. “In addition, you put Chakkan in danger. That is no way to treat friends, even if he was a willing conspirator—even if the entire idea was his.”

  He heard a startled noise from Chakkan. Poor fellow had been stuck to the floor as if glued during the whole emotional scene, unable to leave until the jansu dismissed him. Sherakai’s cheeks warmed. “It was not his idea, Papa. In fact, he tried to talk me out of it.”