The Shadow Roads

Seven

He went about in a barrow. Beatrice Renne could notget that thought out of her mind. He looked a bit like a hog as well; round andsoft of flesh, his pate bald, and skin of pinkish hue. But he had saved thelife of Lord Carral Wills, and for that she would allow a man in a barrow intoher hall, and treat him with all the goodwill such a deed deserved.

“It is a story that will surely be made into song,” Beatricesaid. “Certainly it shall. How you found each other, then managed to get offthe Isle without being discovered either by the men of Innes or the manysearchers that Kel sent out …. It is almost miraculous.”

She thought Lord Carral looked rather improved by this unexpectedexpedition across country. A healthy color suffused his face, and he appearedto have been somewhat strengthened by his ordeal. Certainly his carriage wasmore erect. Perhaps it had merely taken his mind away from the loss of hisdaughter, and that would not be a bad thing. She herself had struggled muchwith the loss of her nephew, Arden-and his part in the plot against Toren hadonly made it harder. Though, of course, he had acted honorably in the end. Itwas a small comfort, but she clung to it all the same.

The evening was warm, but they sat by the cold hearth-therewere many things that one did not discuss by open windows, after all, no matterhow close the night. Lord Carral was dressed in Fael clothing, and she thoughtit became him in some way, though of course he did not have the night-blackhair or the dusky, silken skin.

She glanced at his companion again and had to cover her revulsionwith a gracious smile. “I cannot begin to tell you how grateful I am, goodKai. Anything we might do to repay, you have only to ask …”

The legless man smiled at her in return-not an entirely appallingsmile, she thought.

Carral shifted in his chair, clearly a little uncomfortable.

“There is a greater tale to tell,” the minstrel said. “But Idon’t know how we should even begin, for it is such a fantastic story …” Hepaused, a hand rising to his forehead, which he massaged gently. “We havespoken, Lady Beatrice, about this man-the ‘ghost’ who came to me in BraidonCastle.”

“This is the man, Alaan. The sorcerer?”

“Yes, though it seems the name Alaan is not quite correct either.You see, he made a bargain with a nagar.”

“A river spirit?” Lady Beatrice asked. She kept her face completelyneutral at this news. She was prepared to listen to any kind of story fromCarral Wills at that moment, so happy was she to see him safe.

“I don’t know if that would completely describe thisparticular nagar, for this nagar had once been the son of a great sorcerernamed Wyrr, from whom came the river’s ancient name.”

Lady Beatrice felt herself nod, willing Lord Carral to goon. “And what, exactly, do you mean, ‘he made a bargain’?”

“I don’t know quite how to describe it, or if I evenunderstand it. In return for power and knowledge he allowed this spirit … toenter him in some way.”

“You mean he is possessed by it?”

“That is not precisely true, if you don’t mind me saying so,”the legless man interjected. “It is a bargain. The man gives part of his lifeto the nagar, the nagar’s memories and some portion of its personality becomepart of the man.”

“It sounds horrifying!” she said, with some feeling.

Kai nodded agreement to this sentiment.

“So he is not really Alaan, but some conjoining of these twosouls-Alaan and …”

“Sainth.” Carral said. “The youngest son ofWyrr.”

“But have the children of Wyrr not been dead for centuries?The stories are very old and not widely believed.”

“A thousand years Sainth has been gone,” Kai said, “but notdead. His father sustained him in the river.”

“But the father, Wyrr, did he not die in some even moredistant age?” Lady Beatrice wondered why she was asking such questions. Thissounded like the stuff of old ballads.

“He did not die,” Kai said quickly. “He went into the river-joinedhis spirit to it in ways we cannot understand. Ever since he has dwelt in thewaters, sleeping, perhaps, but not dead.”

“Then this Sainth is risen again?”

“In a way. Certainly he no longer dwells in the river.”

Lady Beatrice nodded, though she did not really understand.

“Sainth, the youngest son ofWyrr, was given a gift by his father-theability to travel paths no others could find.”

“Yes,” Beatrice said. “I remember some of the old songs. Wasthere not some terrible price for this?”

“He could never find a place that brought him comfort,” Kaisaid, “a woman whom he thought beautiful enough. There might always be somefairer place, a woman more lovely. His siblings were equally cursed, thoughthey chose to be great warriors-the brother wanting to be obeyed out of fearand the sister to be loved and served by all she met. These two fought afterWyrr went into the river, and the One Kingdom was broken. Eventually the eldestson, Caibre, murdered his brother through treachery and made war on his sister.Those two died when they brought the tower of Sianon down on top of them.”

“And this knight Hafydd, whom we apparently spared, has madea bargain also. That is what’s happened, is it not?” Lady Beatrice was a littlesurprised to hear herself say this, but it suddenly seemed apparent. How elsedid Hafydd come back from the dead?

“Yes. That’s what we believe,” Kai answered. He shifted inhis barrow, which was softened now with fine cushions the Fael had given him. “He’smade a bargain with Caibre. It can be no other.”

“There seems to be no end of disturbing news,” Lady Beatricesaid.

“And there is more.” Carral joined both hands upon the headof his cane. He seemed to stare blankly through Lady Beatrice, giving her anodd feeling that she was not there-that her existence was so fleeting it washardly noticed. “Sainth had companions. Men who traveled with him for longperiods-many lives of men, in some cases. The sorcerers were untouched byDeath, or by his ally Time, and those who served them lived very longlives-longer than even the sorcerers likely expected.” He paused a moment. Theonly sound, a candle fluttering. A sprinkle of black dust floated down from thechimney and settled on the iron dogs in the hearth. “Kilydd was such a man, acompanion of Sainth. And beyond all expectations, he still lives.”

“Now, Lord Carral,” Lady Beatrice said. “How can you be sureof this?”

“Because I have met him, and I have met another as well. Aman named Orlem Slighthand, who was celebrated in many songs. And hecannot be mistaken for any other.”

Lady Beatrice sat back in her chair, shaken by Carral’sconfidence. “There have long been rumors that Sir Eremon was a sorcerer, orhad some knowledge of things arcane. And then we began to hear that he wasHafydd, who had once been our ally but who turned against us and was left fordead on a battlefield-a fate of his own making. But now, these things you tellme …. I fear what you might tell me next. These men who were once companionsof Sainth; are they a danger to us?”

“No,” Carral said firmly. “They might in truth be ourallies, and welcome they would be.” Without turning his head or making any kindof gesture, he said, “Kai, who saved my life upon the Isle of Battle, was onceknown as Kilydd, Lady Beatrice.”

A lifetime of training in the social graces would not allowher to laugh, or even to look surprised, but how had this legless man made sucha fool of Lord Carral? Was he really so grateful for being rescued? Perhaps hewas.

“You do not believe me, Lady Beatrice,” Carral said, not disguisingthe disappointment in his voice.

She had forgotten how sensitive he was. His blindness didnot seem to be any hindrance when it came to judging the reactions and feelingsof others. He had divined her reaction from her slight pause.

“I don’t blame you. I should not have believed it myself,but for things that happened while Kai and I made our way across the Isle ofBattle. Like his master of long ago, Kai has the ability to travel paths thatothers cannot find. It was by this skill that we avoided capture by the Prince’smen. And we stopped at the dwelling place of … Is there another in the roomwith us?” he asked suddenly.

“The three of us,” Lady Beatrice said. “Why?”

A little trickle of soot tinkled on the grating, and LadyBeatrice was on her feet of an instant, crossing the carpet as silently as shecould. In the hallway outside stood a guard, and she gestured for him to besilent, leading him back into the room. All the while she continued talking inthe most natural tone of voice as if not a thing were amiss, and Carralfollowed her lead, continuing his story.

At the hearth she pointed up into the blackness, and bygestures made the guard, who was not quick on the uptake, understand her meaning.Removing his sword from its scabbard, he bent and shuffled into the tallhearth, twisting awkwardly to look up. A knife glanced off his helmet andclattered down onto the stone. The guard bellowed and thrust up into thechimney. A second later a small, utterly black figure tumbled down in a rain ofsoot, the guard holding him by the ankle.

The soot-covered spy snatched up the knife and drove it intohis assailant’s leg. In a flash he was up the chimney, the guard crumpling tothe floor, crimson flowing from his wound.

The noise brought others running into the chamber, amongthem Fondor Renne.

“He’s gone up the chimney!” Lady Beatrice yelled.

The smallest and youngest of the guards threw off his helmand scabbard and wriggled up the chimney himself, black dust raining down intothe hearth.

Fondor ran for the door. “Onto the roof!” he bellowed.

“A healer!” Lady Beatrice called, running out into thehallway. “We must have a healer!”

She came back in and, taking off her scarf, tried to staunchthe guard’s wound where it bled around the dagger blade.

“Are you unhurt? — Lord Carral? Good Kai?” she said, glancingup from her efforts.

Neither of them had taken any harm.

Guards and servants came rushing in, relieving Lady Beatriceof her charge. They bore the man out, a manservant pressing on the wound.

Lady Beatrice caught sight of herself in a glass, bloodspattered over her moss-green gown, her hands crimson. A servant brought her awashbasin, and she quickly cleaned her hands, drying them on an offered towel.A glass of brandy was pressed into her hands, and she drained half of it in amost unladylike manner. Her hand trembled so that she spilled the amber liquidas she drank.

“It seems assassins are always in our halls when you arepresent, Lord Carral,” she said.

“That was no assassin,” Kai offered. He sat in hisrefurbished barrow, for the Fael had rebuilt it with the finest woods,beautifully carved and polished. He was, apparently, untroubled by what he’dwitnessed, though Lady Beatrice did see him conceal a dagger within the foldsof his clothing. “He was spying. Listening to your conversation, which I wouldguess he’d done before.”

This assertion brought Lady Beatrice up short. A bell struckthe hour somewhere in the castle’s depths.

“My, it has grown late,” Lady Beatrice said, though shereally wanted to speak with Fondor. It had never occurred to her that a spywould lurk in the chimney! Rising to her feet, she smiled graciously at herguests, only just remembering that Lord Carral could not see. “We will have tocontinue this conversation on the morrow,” Lady Beatrice said. “Lord Carral,your room awaits you.” She rang a bell to call in the servants. “And good Kai.I hope you will feel welcome among us. I’ve had rooms prepared, near to LordCarral’s. Only tell us what you need …”

“I thank you, Lady Beatrice, but I will go back to the Faelthis night. I wish to speak with Alaan before he disappears again.”

Lady Beatrice hesitated.

“I will have two guards take you in a cart.” She glanced atthe sooty hearth. “I feel suddenly that Westbrook is not so safe a place.”

In the long hallway that led to the various guestapartments, Carral was stopped by a woman.

“Lord Carral?”

Carral knew the voice immediately: one of Llyn’s servants. “Yes?”

“Lady Llyn has sent me to inquire … after your well-being.”

“I should like nothing better than to convey this small newsin person, but the hour is so late.”

“I don’t think her ladyship would mind, sir. She is awake,so concerned have we all been since you were lost.”

He arrived dressed like a Fael, and for some reason thisjarred Llyn. So anxious was she to see him, but the man who descended the stairinto her garden seemed a stranger, dressed in his exotic Fael clothing. Nodoubt his travails had changed his mind on many things, given him a new view ofhis plans, his future. She felt almost certain that he had come to tell herthat he had been in the grip of a brief madness. That his feelings for her hadbeen overstated, caused by the terrible loneliness he felt at his daughter’spassing.

He used a light cane to feel the steps as he descended, thenhe swept it across the gravel path, finding the stone border and following it.For a moment, she stood watching, afraid to speak.

“Llyn?” he called softly.

“I am here,” she said, her voice emerging as a whisper. Hehadn’t used her title, and this gave her hope.

He stopped a few paces away, and still she felt rooted tothe spot. Neither spoke. Only the little stream that whispered among herflowers voiced its feelings, but Llyn did not understand these, either.

“I suppose I am a fool for it,” Carral said, trying tocontrol the emotion in his voice, “but as I made my way across the Isle of Battle,I kept thinking that I must survive to have the gift of your company again.”

Lynn felt her eyes close, and a tear slipped down her cheek.“It was a fair thought,” she whispered. “I believed you had been lost, and Ialternately mourned you and cursed your stubbornness for insisting onaccompanying the army. But here you are safe,”-her voice all but disappeared-“andI have no words for what I’m feeling.”

He came forward a pace, and she put her arms around hisneck, burying her face in the crook beneath his chin. She closed her eyes andfelt the warmth of him, the strange scent of his Fael clothing.

His hand came up and stroked the undamaged side of her face,brushing back strands of her hair. Llyn felt as though she were lifted on arising wind of emotion, soaring up and up, free of life’s gravity. Was thiswhat love felt like?

She heard a door, then hurried steps on the gravel path.Neither moved to separate themselves until a soft voice of one of the servantscame out of the shadow by the wall.

“Your grace,” said one of Llyn’s servants. “Do pardon my intrusion.It’s Lord Toren …”

Llyn held her breath.

“He’s returned, ma’am.”

Without warning, Llyn began to sob, a storm of feelings surgingand whirling inside of her.