James Clemens - Shadowfall

She nodded into his chest, continuing to sob, but it was less an aching, wrenching thing and more a release. He held her like that for a long time. She let him. Though too much time had passed between them, though they were not the same young man and woman from before, in this moment, they mourned as one, for a baby… and a larger part for themselves.

Finally Kathryn found she could breathe. She slowly extracted herself from Tylar’s embrace.

“If I had known…” he offered.

Kathryn turned to the window, still blind to the panorama and too tired but knowing there was much still to do. She wiped the last of her tears. “I think that was why Ser Henri told me about Yaellin,” she said slowly. “I don’t even think he ever told Castellan Mirra. I think he sensed the wrong he did to you, to the baby, to the both of us, and sought some peace, sharing his own pain of family lost, of a son born out of wedlock, born out of passion.”

“And this Yaellin was chosen to be a Hand to Chrism?”

“Not exactly.”

“What do you mean?”

“Over many cups of mulled spice wine, Ser Henri told me much. More than he perhaps meant to. But who can say?” Kathryn turned from the rail. “He told me of his love for a woman named Melinda mir Mar, then the headmistress of the Conclave of Chrismferry.”

“I remember her,” Tylar said, surprised. “A tall woman of chestnut hair and comely of feature. She had visited a few times to Tashijan when I was squiring.”

Kathryn nodded. “He was vague on how it all started. He was the warden of Tashijan, she the head of one of Myrillia’s finest schools. The Conclave grounds still holds one of the largest libraries and scholariums. Henri’s interest in alchemy had him visiting its stacks. The two had long talks into the night on a thousand matters large and small. To quote Ser Henri, ‘We were like of mind and spirit.’ ”

Tylar nodded. “Is that not the way it always starts…”

Kathryn glanced to him, realizing that once the same words could have described them. But that was long ago. Was it still true? She cleared her throat and continued. “Though Henri didn’t say it aloud, I think what drew them was a shared passion that went beyond lust. Each was burdened by the responsibility to guide and raise the young of Myrillia, both wanting the best for all. And at some point, they crossed that line from close companions to something warmer. They kept their trysts in secret. He visiting her, she him. Then, despite precautions, she grew with child. She bore a son. She never told anyone who the father was. Henri wanted to marry her, but she had refused. It seemed her duty to the Conclave and Myrillia’s future surpassed all else in her heart. But Henri understood. He would not have given up his wardenship either.”

“And the child? Young Yaellin?”

“His mother raised him in the school, even trained him in the ways to serve a god as a Hand. Then when he was old enough, at eleven birth years, she and Henri told him of his parentage. He was angry, lashed out against his mother. Henri ended up taking him back to Tashijan to learn the ways of the Shadowknight.”

“He trained at Tashijan?”

“For three years,” Kathryn answered. “Then something happened. I don’t know what. Even deep in his cups, Ser Henri would not divulge it. Henri and Melinda took a journey together to the hinterlands.”

Tylar glanced sharply at her. “The hinterlands? Why?”

“They had some duty there, something done in utmost secrecy. In the telling, Henri’s face turned dark and shadowed of brow, clearly remembering that journey. A year after returning from their sojourn, Henri returned Yaellin to his mother.”

“Why?”

Kathryn turned to Tylar. “Henri swore me to secrecy on this next matter, but I think it bears telling now. Whatever happened in the hinterlands required Henri and Melinda to commit an act of great heresy.”

“What?”

“Henri took his son, not even marked with his first stripe, and trained him in secret. He then blessed him with alchemies to give him the full Grace of an ordained knight.”

“Yaellin was knighted?”

“In secret. None knew. Henri was skilled enough in alchemies to gift the boy with shadowplay but still keep the gift hidden. After the boy was ready, Henri sent him back to Melinda and the Conclave. He was presented to the next moon ceremony and was chosen by Chrism’s Oracle.”

“Then what did you mean before that he was not exactly chosen?”

Kathryn licked her lips. “They paid to have him chosen.”

Tylar shook his head-not in denial, but in shock that Henri would participate in such deceit. He knew it was not totally uncommon for a rich family to arrange a position for a son or daughter. While an Oracle, blinded by blood alchemies, served as the eyes of his god, such men were not without a will of their own, without their own vices. Including greed. They could sometimes be plied by gold to sway a choosing.

“So Henri bought a position in Chrism’s court for his son,” Tylar said. “A son secretly blessed into knighthood. Why?”

“Like I said before, some secrets Henri would not divulge. All he would say was that his son was set to guard something, to serve as Henri’s eyes and ears at the castillion, a duty that tied back to that journey to the hinterlands.”

“And Henri offered no reason for such a journey or why he had ensconced his son in Chrism’s court?”

“He would speak no further. But now I wonder. If Meeryn’s dying mention of Rivenscryr guides us to Chrism, perhaps Yaellin might know more. We’ll have to hope he gets the raven I sent to him.”

Tylar nodded and turned to face her. “I hope-”

Kathryn heard the characteristic snap of bowstring. The crossbow bolt grazed Tylar’s shoulder and struck the back wall of the flippercraft.

Reacting on instinct, she cast her shadowcloak high, protecting both Tylar and herself. But she was too late. Another two bolts struck Tylar square in the chest, knocking him back. He made a small coughing noise. A third cut his ear, intended for his eye. Her cloak had blocked this killing shot.

From behind them, darkness flowed. Kathryn discerned three shapes, all Shadowknights. One with a sword, flanked by two bearing crossbows.

Tylar had fallen back against the rail, holding himself up by his arms. Feathered bolts sprouted from his chest and shoulder like bloody flowers. His eyes were fixed on the centermost knight, the one with the sword.

“Darjon…” he gasped.

At long last, the wall appeared ahead. The end of the Eldergarden. The myrrwood spread to the ancient bricks. Roots dug at the wall’s foundation, while branches shadowed its top.

Dart and Laurelle stumbled up to it, exhausted, worn, bleeding from a thousand scrapes. Dart stared up at the immense wall. How could they climb it?

Laurelle gently started to sob.

Yaellin appeared behind them, sweeping out of the gloom. “They know we escaped the Heartwood. We must not tarry.”

Off in the distance, a howl echoed to them.

Dart wished she could sprout wings and fly. She wanted nothing more than to wing over the walls, past Chrismferry, out of the First Land. Her world, hardly secure and safe before, had never seemed so dark and full of menace.

“To me,” Yaellin said and opened his arms.

Dart allowed Yaellin to hook an arm around her waist. Laurelle did the same. Still, Dart felt strange to have the man holding her. He had been such a source of personal terror and worry for so many days. A tremble of that fear iced her skin. Or maybe it was the sudden intimacy, his fingers digging deep into her chest, mingled with the long night’s terror. It all harkened back to the horrible day in the rookery. Dart fought against thrashing from Yaellin’s grip. He was not Master Willet.