Sean Russell - The Shadow Roads

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.

Stars and a swaying lantern on a pole did little to pressback the night. The waning moon, barely a sliver, hid its feeble light behind acloud, and the trees loomed over the road like malevolent giants. With eachrevolution of the wheels the axle squeaked, like a whimper of resignation.

Kai rode in the back of the cart, upon the pillows from hisbarrow. The cart jounced and staggered over the uneven road, the single horsesnorting and shaking its harness in protest at being taken from its stall solate. Kai held on as best he could as he was thrown this way then that.

The two guards sat upon the high seat, one smoking a pipe,which Kai was certain he was not allowed on duty.

“Not too much farther,” the smoker said, then drew on hispipe, releasing, with some satisfaction, a cloud of smoke into the night.

They had crossed the bridge over the Westbrook and turnednow to follow along its bank, the squeak of the cart wheels blending in withthe songs of the crickets and tree frogs.

Kai had to admit that he was in misery. Having seen theproud Renne in their castle, he was more aware than usual of his own circumstances.He who had once been great among the great, had been the lover of Sianon, now alandless vagabond-a man who went about in a barrow. He needed to make his teaof blood lily, for the ghost pain was strong that night. How had his long lifecome to such a pass?

A torch was lit on the road before them, and from itanother. Kai tried to boost himself up to see past the two guards. Probably menwith an oxen and dray delivering barrels to Westbrook. Who else was abroad atsuch an hour?