Shadows Past: A Borderlands Novel Page 15

  I opened my mouth to argue back, to say that neither me being mageborn nor my wants, desires, and will had anything to do with it, but the words became tangled and I couldn’t get them out. Something must’ve shown on my face, though, for Wyln’s own expression abruptly gentled. “You’ve had a terrifying experience,” he began, his voice quiet.

  “Wasn’t just me,” I muttered, finding my voice. I rubbed my palm against my tabard. “Honored cyhn.”

  “No,” Wyln agreed. “It wasn’t.” He caught my hand and turned it over, revealing the symbols and rune shimmering in the candlelight. After studying it for a moment, he gave a singing sigh and let it go. “One day I will tell you about my first encounter with a Damned One. But for now, we’ve delayed your training long enough. As we discussed earlier, tomorrow morning we will begin again.”

  My gut abruptly tightened. “But we’re guesting—”

  “Honored Idwal knew exactly who and what you are when he invited you here,” Wyln said. “And if he somehow managed to forget, you reminded him very well this evening. In any case, I highly doubt a session or two of magecraft will upset him. Especially since we’ll be here in Iver’son’s chambers and not out on public display.”

  “Honored Berenice said they had plans for the morrow,” I said, grasping at straws.

  “So we will start at first light,” Wyln said. “Get a good night’s sleep, Two Trees’son. I want you fresh and alert.”

  Once more something must’ve shown on my face, for his own gentled even more.

  “You’ve already summoned two of the aspects, Rabbit. Despite your fears, the hard part is over. Do not worry, summoning earth and water will go just as well.”

  He didn’t wait for my response, but headed for Javes’ room, I supposed to tell Laurel the morning’s schedule. Suppressing the surprisingly strong urge to stomp off, I grabbed my staff and, leaving the butterflies slumbering on the mantelpiece, aimed for my own room, trailing fire and air spheres behind me. I wasn’t afraid, I told myself. The reason why my stomach was churning at the thought of talent work was that I was concerned. Despite all my experiences of the past months, I was still only a journeyman and, given the string of mishaps that had happened in our short time at Mearden, the last thing needed would be for me to maybe lose control of my aspects.

  Or have control taken away.

  Wondering where the hell that thought came from, I passed the hunt tapestry and my eye caught a glow. Slowing, I turned to look and found the stag looking back at me, the hounds sitting at his hooves. We stared at each other, I in shock, the stag and dogs with a weighing contemplation, and for a brief moment, I caught a whiff of autumnal forests and fallen leaves. Carefully backing away, I turned and fled through the archway into a small antechamber that held a couple of small beds for my personal guards or other attendants. Jeff and Arlis were who knows where, but Bertram was there, bundled up asleep on a pallet on the floor. After waiting for my heart to stop pounding, I carefully moved around him and entered my bedchamber proper to find Finn waiting for me.

  Alone.

  I paused at the doorway. Having three older brothers meant that I always had to share a bedroom growing up. I did have a room to myself for the brief time I was Magus Kareste’s apprentice, but I then ran away and joined the army, which was notorious for mass sleeping arrangements. Even after I’d been co-opted into the King’s Own, I had shared a room with not only my two personal guards, but Laurel too. However, now Jeff and Arlis were with the other Royal Guards and displaced troopers, while Laurel was busy with Javes.

  It would be my first time sleeping alone since the demon attack.

  Seeing Finn’s inquiring look, I moved inside and leaned my staff against a wall before removing my tabard. Finn was there immediately to take it and my shirt too. I took my time undressing and lingered over a sponge bath with the hot water the servant provided, but all too soon, I was reasonably soot free. Clad in my robe and flannel nightshirt, I watched Finn pass the warmer over the sheets of my bed. Like Javes’, it was big, but so was the rest of the chamber, with a clothespress, a washstand, a settee, and a couple of chairs thrown in with room to spare. And now I had all that space to myself.

  Finished with the bed, Finn took my robe from me and patiently waited as I put my feather and boot knife under my pillow before climbing in. Then, hanging my robe in the clothespress, he extinguished all the candles except one. Picking up my clothes and boots, he took the last candle and left. However, I wasn’t in darkness. My fire spheres hovered above my bed, lighting the room, as did the flames in the fireplace. I watched the shadows they cast flicker and dance about, creating changing shapes on the ceilings and walls, leaving deep wells of inky black underneath the furniture and in corners. After a while, I slid out of bed and, grabbing the blankets and counterpane, I took my staff, feather, and knife and went out to the antechamber. Once again I stepped around Bertram on his pallet, this time to place my staff against the wall. Slipping into one of the narrow beds, I draped the covers about me before tucking once more my feather and knife under my pillow. The aspects had followed me and now the fire spheres arranged themselves over me, the air sphere hovering closer, a comforting hum in my ear. The hum mixed with Bertram’s quiet, steady breathing and I listened to both until the room blurred and I fell asleep, to dream of flying dragons and pale acrobats somersaulting off ledges into the night.

  Twelve

  The next morning I awakened to the crash of breakers in the distance and the sound of the morning breeze rising. I threw my arms over my head and gave a good, hard stretch, then relaxed. My fire spheres still lit the room, but they were competing with the beginning of predawn light creeping in from the arched doorway into my bedchamber. Judging from the quiet, the rest of the royal household wasn’t stirring yet and figuring that I had at least another hour before anyone awakened (more in Javes’ case), I sat up, preparing to gather the extra bedclothes and slip back into my bedchamber. If I moved fast enough, I could leave before the threatened lessons and planned entertainment, maybe snag a horse and go down to the town and explore—

  “Good,” Laurel said from the doorway. “You’re awake.”

  So much for escaping. I braced myself, but Laurel didn’t mention me appropriating one of my personal guards’ beds. Nor did he say anything about talent work. He walked past me—and past Jeff sleeping quietly in the other bed to step carefully around Bertram and Arlis sleeping on the floor and enter the bedchamber. Getting up, I too edged around Bertram and Arlis, only to stop at the sight of Suiden sleeping in my bed, covered with blankets and a counterpane purloined from elsewhere. Laurel kept going to the clothespress and, opening the door, he rummaged in it.

  “What’s wrong?” I whispered.

  “Javes is not doing well,” Suiden said, sitting up. “At least, he wasn’t when I went to bed.”

  “He still is not,” Laurel said, emerging with a large satchel.

  While I’d experienced hangovers that had lasted well into the following day, I figured Laurel and Suiden both knew the difference between suffering the consequences of overindulgence and something more serious. “Is he sick?” I asked.

  “There’s no smell of contagion on him,” Laurel said. He opened the satchel, revealing bundles, packets, and vials of herbs in various forms and liquids. I stepped back quickly as I caught a whiff of the vile tea that the Faena had so frequently dosed me with a few weeks ago. My stomach twinged in sympathy for the ailing captain.

  “We think that whatever he drank was tainted,” Suiden said. He rose and threw on a brocaded robe that was lying across the foot of the bed. Reminded that the room had chilled enough to be cold, I pulled my dressing robe out of the clothespress and did the same, before sliding my feet into my slippers.

  “Lord Idwal will not be happy to hear that, sir,” I said.

  “What Javes drank didn’t necessarily come from honored Mearden’s cellars,” Laurel said. “Given the nature of a seaport, it could’ve come from anywhere, of
f any ship—even Kveta’s.”

  I frowned at that. “Kveta didn’t seem sick last night,” I said.

  “Kveta does not drink,” Laurel said. “Though one would think she’d notice if the wine or spirits she served had gone bad.”

  “Apparently Javes didn’t notice either, and he proved yesterday that his nose is just as keen as any wolf’s,” Suiden pointed out.

  “That is true,” Laurel admitted. Selecting a few bundles and a couple of packets, he started to put the satchel back into the clothespress, hesitated, then apparently decided to keep it with him. “In any case, tracking down the tainted drink will be the honored Mearden’s responsibility. For now, I need your help, Rabbit.” Turning, he headed out the archway, Suiden with him. I fell in with them, all of us stepping carefully around Bertram and Arlis, still slumbering on the floor.

  “My help?” I asked. I pulled my feather and knife from under my pillow and placed them in my robe pocket. “I’m not a healer.”

  “No, you’re not,” Laurel agreed, not stopping, and he and Suiden disappeared into the minihall.

  I stared after them a moment. Then, gathering up my staff, I hurried out with the aspects bobbing about me and quickly caught up, passing the hunt tapestry as I did. This morning it seemed normal—well, as normal as possible with the dogs and white stag running together under a moonlit sky. I had started to go join Laurel and Suiden when the shadows under the trees caught my eye. In the bright morning light I could make out what looked like another set of antlers, but the height was wrong for it to be another stag—

  “Rabbit.”

  I looked around to see Suiden staring at me and I quickly joined him, stepping into Javes’ chambers right behind the Faena and the captain. Unlike my chambers, the room was warm with a blazing fire in the fireplace and had a steaming teakettle hanging from the fireplace hob. Javes was still in the bed, but instead of heaving his insides out, he lay quiet, his face pale and sweating. Sitting in a chair drawn up to the side of the bed was Cais. He looked up as Laurel, Suiden, and I entered.

  “No better, Your Highness,” Cais said to Suiden. “But no worse.”

  “Good,” Suiden said. “Go get some rest, Cais.”

  Cais gave a desiccated smile. “Sleep is overrated. However, I will have to attend to His Majesty shortly.”

  Laurel rumbled absently as he set his satchel down on the washstand. “See to your duties, honored Cais. I have enough help. Rabbit, if you’ll get the teakettle and bring it here, please.”

  Despite my worries, Laurel assigned me the unalarming role of sickroom attendant. I poured the hot water from the teakettle into a porcelain bowl as directed, while Faena tossed in the contents of his vials and packets. I did tense some as Laurel extended a claw and drew a rune over the surface of the concoction, but he merely waited as the shimmering symbol sank into the bowl’s contents. I took an experimental sniff and then stood as far away as possible as Laurel strained some into a cup. Even Suiden winced as Laurel walked past him to the bed. Setting the cup on the nightstand, Laurel gently bat-ted his paw against Javes’ face until the captain came to semiconsciousness. Suiden and I both lifted Javes up to a sitting position and Laurel poured the concoction down his throat. We then carefully laid him back down until Laurel came back with another cup. When he finished dosing Javes with half the bowl’s contents, Laurel went around the bed, drawing lines of earth, anchoring them at each of the bed’s four posts. At each anchor point an earth sphere spun off to hovering about the bed. I stared at the shimmering lines and spheres of green and brown, fragrant with the scent of spring, and felt first a yearning, then a tug, and I took a step forward. I then frantically backed away, bumping into the air sphere hovering behind me. I jumped, this time bumping into Wyln.

  “Careful, Two Trees’son.” He set me aside, going into the room. He cast a critical eye over the lines. “Beautifully drawn, Laurel.”

  “It can be as hideous as a goat’s backside,” Suiden said. “As long as it works.”

  “Will it, Master Cat?” Jusson asked, and we all turned from the bed to see the king and the lord commander standing in the archway, their faces grave. “Will it work?”

  “It should leach the taint out of him, honored king,” Laurel said. Returning to the washstand, he covered the remaining concoction with a cloth before putting his herbs and vials away. “All he needs now is rest.”

  “Good,” Jusson said.

  “I have taken the liberty of sending a messenger both to Captain Kveta and to Idwal, Your Majesty,” Thadro said. “To see if she knows where the tainted spirits came from.”

  “Excellent,” Jusson said. “Let me know as soon as you find out—” He broke off as Cais briskly walked past the archway and a moment later I could hear the door open. We all looked at each other and rushed out of Javes’ room into the minihall to see Lieutenant Groskin and Trooper Ryson walking in, bright eyed and grinning, both of them bundled against the chill, and their faces lightly flushed from the cold. They pulled up short at the wall of people that greeted them, coming to attention as they immediately sobered.

  “Sir!” they both said, saluting.

  “At ease,” Thadro said, his mouth quirking. “We just thought you were a messenger returning with libations intelligence.”

  Ryson looked blank-faced, but Groskin’s cheerful-ness returned as he grinned once more. “Don’t know about a messenger, sir, but there’s plenty of libations downstairs.”

  Jusson had started for the table where a tea service had been placed, but at Groskin’s words, he stopped, frowning. “There is, Lieutenant?” he asked.

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” Groskin began, but was interrupted by Jeff, Arlis, and Bertram erupting from my room. Apparently Finn had been busy, for they all were fully dressed. They also had shining eyes full of excitement, even Arlis, his face as cheerful as I’d seen it in several weeks.

  “Sirs!” Jeff said, his grin matching Groskin’s. “Have you seen? They’re setting up archery butts outside.”

  “Yeah,” Groskin said. His gaze shifted to Suiden. “Ryson and I went downstairs to the barracks, sir, to poke around and see if there was anything left behind that needed to come up. And we saw—well, not only archery butts, but straw men for tilting and rings for spear throws and other stuff. We’re having a tourney.”

  As Jeff and Groskin spoke, distant shouts and thumps began wafting up from below. Once again, we all looked at each other and, this time messengers and Javes’ illness forgotten, hurried to a window to stare down.

  “The castle’s blacksmith is going to lift weights and wrestle all comers,” Ryson said, finding his voice as we pressed our noses against the glass. “And there’ll be jugglers and tumblers, musicians, dancers, artisans, and crafters—”

  “They’ve paced off a yard for a sword competition,” Groskin interrupted, “and later there’ll be a horse race—”

  “Hot pies and drinks,” Ryson said. “Merchant stalls with stuff from foreign places.”

  “Dagger tosses and pugilist matches and dressage,” Groskin said. “And the prizes—”

  “We’ve seen two, a sword and shield,” Ryson said. His eyes glistened. “Exquisite work.”

  “Heigh-ho,” I said softly. I let out a breath, fogging the pane. “We probably shouldn’t compete. It wouldn’t be fair as we’re soldiers.”

  “Well, not in the swordplay and stuff—at least not against farmers’ sons and what have you,” Ryson said. “But against other soldiers and armsmen, sure, and maybe in the dagger toss and archery and horse race. And there’s one you have to join, Rabbit. They’re holding a conjure competition.”

  Wyln looked away from the window, aiming his gaze at Ryson. “A ‘conjure competition’?”

  “Yes, Lord Wyln,” Ryson said. “Apparently Lord Idwal has been to several in Caepisma and he thinks he should be able to officiate one here.”

  “A Caepisma anvea,” Wyln said, his own eyes bright. “But are there enough talent workers?”

&
nbsp; “I know of four offhand,” Laurel said, “including ourselves and the Turalian wizard, and there are probably more, if we take into account the weathercrafters on the various ships in the harbor.” A wistful look crossed his face. “Perhaps honored Javes should be well enough for me to attend—”

  Laurel broke off as Cais moved to the door again and, reminded of Javes’ illness, we all quickly turned once more, expecting to see Kveta. But instead of the she-wolf, Lord Idwal stood in the open doorway. Gone was the raging green-eyed lord of last night. Dressed in a robe of crimson embroidered with gold thread that picked up the gold in his sandy hair and hazel eyes, Idwal smiled as he saw us standing at the windows. He did look momentarily startled as he took in my mussed braid and vivid robe, but he quickly recovered his good humor as he stepped inside the minihall and bowed, sweeping his feathered cap off with a flourish.

  “Good morning, Your Majesty, my lords, and gracious sirs. I’ve come to invite you to break your fast with us before we journey to the fair.”

  Thirteen

  It was a perfect day for a tourney. The sky was clear, the sun bright, and the day crisp, with just enough morning breeze to snap and flutter the pennants and flags dotting about the fairgrounds. We were on the south side of the castle compound, a broad expanse that had the smithy on one end and a small apple orchard on the other. It was against the orchard that the archery butts had been set—I supposed to minimize the danger of a wayward arrow hitting a guest—and in between both ends were the roped-off yards, a tilting run, booths and stalls, and a platform draped with a banner that had Mearden’s crest. (The stag on the crest rippled as we went by, but careful study proved that it was only the wind making it move.) I was walking with Berenice—and with Jeff, Arlis, Bertram, Berenice’s maid Godelieve, and a castle servant who kept a discreet few steps behind us as we meandered to nowhere in particular.

  I had met Berenice—along with all the other castle guests—at breakfast in the great hall. Unlike the prior night’s evening meal, it was an informal affair with heaping platters, racks, chafing dishes, and tureens set up on long tables pushed against one wall. Folks helped themselves, piling plates high before sitting down with whom they wished at other long tables, the cheerful din that had been lacking the previous night filling the sunlit hall.