Sean Russell - The Shadow Roads

“It is a book, Sir Eremon. I know nothing more.”

“You did not open it?”

“I did not. To be honest, I was afraid to.”

“And for good reason,” Hafydd observed, still staring downat the open pages. “You could not have read it anyway, for it is written in alanguage that has not been spoken in a thousand years. It is a long, veryelaborate spell. One that, to my knowledge, has only been performed once in allof history-to catastrophic results.” Hafydd leaned forward and with great careturned the page, for a moment taking in the text. Beld thought the knightlooked paler since he’d opened the book, as though the blood had drained fromhis face.

There was a ruckus in the hall outside, and the door wasthrown upon. In strode the Prince of Innes, followed by two of Hafydd’s blackguards.

“Tell your guards that when I wish to see you, they do notstand in my way!” the Prince demanded. He was shaking with anger.

Beldor had only ever seen the man at tournaments, but he despisedhis arrogance. Coupled with the man’s obvious dullness of mind, it was anenraging combination. The Prince glanced at him with disdain.

“What is it you want?” Hafydd asked, as though he were beingannoyed by a child.

“I want to know if Lord A’denne is a traitor. How we shallprosecute our war, now? What your spies have learned of our enemies’ intentions…” This seemed to exhaust his list of questions for the moment.

“Of course A’denne is a traitor. Have him killed-ortortured. Whichever will give you the most satisfaction.”

This took the Prince aback. “Should you not speak with himfirst?”

Hafydd went back to gazing at the dreadful book. “I don’tneed to.”

Innes tilted his head toward Beld. “And what of this one? Heis a Renne … here, where he can do great damage.”

“Lord Beldor?” Hafydd said, still engrossed in the page. “ThePrince doubts your loyalty. Take my sword out of its scabbard.”

Beld took two steps and pulled Hafydd’s sword from the scabbardthat hung from the back of a chair.

“Now kill the Prince with it,” Hafydd said.

Beld turned on the shocked nobleman, wondering if his ownpleasure showed. The Prince dodged the first cut, but Beld did not miss thesecond time, catching the nobleman at the base of the neck and cuttingdiagonally down until the blade lodged in the ribs. The Prince fell andtwitched terribly for a moment, before he lay still in a growing pool of red.

Hafydd looked up at one of the guards standing just insidethe door. “Find a retainer of the late prince and bring him up here. We’ll killhim and tell anyone who cares that he was the assassin.”

Hafydd closed the book, picked it up somewhat gingerly as herose. “Leave the sword,” he said to Beld, “and come with me.”

They walked out into a hallway and in a moment enteredHafydd’s rooms. Hafydd took a seat in a chair but left Beld standing. The bookhe laid on a small table and, from within the folds of his cloak, took out agreen gem on a gold chain. He held this up so that it sparkled in the light,like a shard of the river in sunlight.

“Tell me the message again,” Hafydd said.

Beldor closed his eyes a moment, and slipped back into thenightmare. “‘ Wyrr was laid to rest beneath the Moon’s Mirror.’That isall.” He opened his eyes to the light and filled his lungs with air.

“And those were the Hand’s exact words?”

“Yes. I’m quite sure. The few moments I spent before …that place are burned into my memory. I fear I shall never forget them, wakingor sleeping.”

“No, you shall not. Call in one of my guards.”

Beld opened the door, and one of the silent guards camequietly in, his presence reminding Beld of the Death’s gate, for reasons hecould not quite explain.

“Send out word. The legless man who goes about in a barrow-Kai,he calls himself now. He must be found and brought to me immediately-unharmed.”The guard bowed and turned toward the door. “And one more thing. Find all thelocal midwives. I require the corpse of a stillborn child.” Hafydd nodded, andthe man left.

“Prepare yourself for a journey, Lord Beldor,” Hafydd said. “Ithink we shall take Lord A’denne with us as well.”

“The traitor?”

“Yes, I like to have one of my enemies in my company-like awhetstone, it keeps me sharp.”

“What of the war, Sir Eremon?”

Hafydd looked up from the gem, which spun slowly on itschain. “It is of no concern to either you or me. Let Menwyn Wills fight it ifhe wants. Let him lose. It matters not at all. We’ve made bargains with thedarkness, Beldor Renne. There is no going back.”

The raft spun slowly in the current, tracing a wanderingpath down the broad river. Upon either bank lay woods of oak, pine, and beech,with poplars raising their tall flags along the shore. Dusk crept out from theshadows beneath the western bank and ran like ink over the still waters. No oneamong the somber company knew where they were, not even the well-traveledTheason. Only Cynddl and Tam remained awake, watching the shores, quiet intheir own thoughts.

“Have you ever known the Wynnd to be so … empty?” Tamasked.

Cynddl shook his head. “No, but I think we’re on the Wynndand not one of its hidden branches, all the same.” He raised a hand andpointed. Some distance to the south, smoke candled above the trees on thewestern shore. “A village,” the story finder said. “We might even reach itbefore dark.”

As they drew nearer the smoke, a small boat appeared out ofthe bank’s shadow and shaped its course directly for the raft.

“Someone has taken notice of us,” Tam said. “We best wakethe others.”

He gave Fynnol’s shoulder a shake, and the little Valemanstirred, looking around, confused. Cynddl woke the others, all of themexhausted and disreputable-looking, their clothes in ruins from their ordeal inthe Stillwater and near drowning in the tunnels. Somehow, Prince Michaelappeared the worst for his experience-perhaps because his clothes had been sovery fine to begin with. Baore sat up and rubbed sleep from his eyes, thenplunged his head into the river, emerging with water running from hair andeyes, his scant beard dripping.

Theason stood and surveyed the river carefully, thenpointed. “That is the island that marks the mouth of the Westbrook,” he said,and turned to face the others. “Theason doesn’t know how he will tell yourpeople that he failed, Cynddl.” The little traveler shook his head forlornly.

The boat, containing three men, caught up with them easily,but these were not fishermen, as Tam expected. They were men-at-arms in Renneblue. Two of them held bows with arrows nocked. They were not wearingarmor-that was almost the first thing that Tam noticed-to his surprise. Butthen wearing armor in a small boat on the river would have its own dangers: small boats could overturn.

“And where might the river be taking you?” one of thearchers asked. He was a big man, with massive hands easily bending his bow.Beads of sweat streamed down shiny cheeks.

“We go to Westbrook,” Prince Michael said. “Why do you care?”

“Because there is a war, though perhaps you lot are toostupid to have noticed.”

“A war?” Michael raised both hands to his forehead as thoughhe’d been struck by a sudden pain.

“Yes, we’ve driven the Prince of Innes from the Isle ofBattle.” He gestured with his arrow. “I’ll have your names and your homevillages.” He seemed to notice Cynddl for the first time. “You … you’re Fael.”

Cynddl nodded.

“How came you to be traveling with this lot?”

“Good fortune smiled upon me,” the story finder said. “Ihave no home village, but my name is Cynddl from the Stega. You needn’t fear.My friends are all from the far north, the Wildlands, and have no side in thewars of the south.”