A Threat of Shadows (22 page)

“Is it safe to assume that Gustav has left Kordan’s Blight?” Milly asked.

“He has no reason to stay,” Alaric answered.

“Then, if we head out now, we can have one good night sleep in my house before setting out tomorrow.”

The mood of the group was lighter as they headed to Milly’s. Alaric could hear the dwarves’ laughter ringing off the trees. Ayda walked along merrily near Milly, the two of them giggling and whispering to each other. In reality, they were in a far worse predicament than they had imagined when they trudged out of their camp that morning, but now they had a goal.

Brandson fell in beside Alaric. “Do you think we have a chance of stopping Gustav?”

If the wizard wasn’t on a dragon, it would be a lot easier. “We have a chance.”

Brandson was quiet for a moment.

“I was only twelve when the yellow plague broke out. My father got sick. My mother wouldn’t leave him, but she sent me off to the hills with my uncle.” He paused again. “No one who stayed in the village survived. My uncle went back with a group of men a couple of weeks later and burned it to the ground. Then he brought me to Kordan’s Blight where the blacksmith took me in. My uncle left to join the King’s army before the battle of Turning Creek.”

Turning Creek. King Kendren’s army had made their stand there against Mallon. The Rivor had brought legions of nomads and monsters no one could name. He had annihilated Kendren’s army. The king himself had been wounded with a poisoned blade. Alaric had tried to save him, tried to find some way to stop the poison, to draw it out. The king had only lived for two days.

“I never saw my uncle again,” Brandson said.

Alaric put his hand on the smith’s shoulder. “We’ll stop Gustav. And maybe in the process, find the way to kill Mallon.”

Brandson nodded. “Good, because Mallon keeps taking people from me. My parents, my uncle, and now Gustav, too.”

That night, the group sat around Milly’s table. The room was warm and noisy, full of smells of roast chicken and hot cider. Douglon and Patlon spun tales of ancient treasures lost and found.

The fire in the hearth had burned low and the conversation lulled when Ayda turned to Alaric. “Tell us a story, Keeper.”

There was enthusiastic agreement, and Alaric nodded. “Do you have one in mind?”

“Tomkin and the Dragon,” Ayda said.

Evangeline’s face, waiting expectantly the day he met her sprang up before his mind. Alaric looked sharply at the elf, but there was no mischief in her look.

“It’s a night to remember better times,” Ayda said.

Alaric looked into the fire for a long moment. He let his mind linger on the memory of Evangeline’s face, the eagerness in her eyes. Outside, the night deepened, drawing the edges of the world down into the small, fire-lit room. Ayda was right. It was that sort of night.

He pulled his hood up over his head and looked down at the floor, remembering an inn and letting the room fall into silence before he began.

Chapter 24

Patlon parted from them early the next morning, choosing to head southwest, cross-country toward Duncave instead of following the King’s Highway south.

Alaric retrieved Beast from the tavern’s stables while Brandson borrowed several horses from his neighbors, leaving the slow carthorse behind. They headed south through a cool morning, following the road over sun-steeped hills and down into pockets of mist.

As they dropped into a long, low valley thick with mist, Alaric pulled out the ruby. In the dim morning, the core was the red of old embers, pulsing and breathing beneath the brighter streams of light. Droplets of mist clung to the surface, twinkling like blood-red stars. Alaric waited, watching the interplay of the currents of light through one of the faces of the rough gem. There was no break in the light and his hand tightened on the ruby. The energy spun beneath the surface in darker and lighter hues of red, but no black swirl appeared. His heart beat faster. The darkness had disappeared.

But then a wide band of light shifted. Deep in the core of the ruby, he glimpsed a knot of blackness before the light swirled back in front of it. Alaric felt his heart falter, and he clutched the ruby to his chest. The darkness was growing—slowly, but it was growing. And Gustav was so far ahead of them. How long did he have before the ruby went dark? How long could Evangeline wait for the antidote?

The road before them gamboled over hills and in and out of forests. At the top of each rise, Alaric scanned the sky as though he would find Gustav on his red dragon, just a short distance ahead of them.

They rose early and rode late each day trying to reach Queenstown by lunch the third day. Alaric had no doubt that Queen Saren would have her people keeping an eye out for him, but as long as Alaric didn’t run into anyone he knew, they should be through in a couple of hours.

Alaric had a letter penned and ready to post to Saren in the city. She was going to be furious that he wasn’t stopping. The fact that Mallon wasn’t dead and might be a threat again soon wasn’t really the sort of message to put in a letter, but he didn’t want to take the time to go to the palace. Gustav was already too far ahead of them. The palace would mean councils and waiting and discussions and more waiting.

And explaining to Saren why her closest advisor had deserted her for two years without an explanation. He felt a pang of guilt at the idea of Saren, never quite sure of herself, carrying on for so long without a Keeper there for support. Probably, she had been fine, but the Court Keeper played a pivotal role in the politics of the palace. Without someone there who was obligated to work only for the good of the country, it was possible for things to become unbalanced quickly. Of course, he had thought that the Stronghold would send someone else to take his place when it became obvious he wasn’t coming back. He’d always expected Keeper Will to be here.

The morning they approached the capital, a dark bank of clouds piled up against the western horizon. By the time they could see the city, sprawled out on both sides of the great river, the wind was sharp with the smell of the storm. They joined the slow plodding pace of wagons walking through clusters of houses and an increasing number of shops, toward the thick city walls.

When they rode through the city gates, the darkness of the approaching storm devoured the early afternoon sun, dropping the city into twilight. The winds rose, whipping dust and refuse down the streets in mad dashes. The flow of travelers continued doggedly into the city, funneling into busy avenues. All of the main thoroughfares in the city ran into the central market like spokes of a wheel. The quickest way through the city was straight through that market and out the avenue on the other side. There was no use fighting against the current of humanity moving in that direction.

It had been two years since Alaric was in the capital. The city hadn’t changed. It had the same tumult of biting smells and jostling motion. Alaric had spent eight years at court, advising first King Kendren and then Queen Saren. Today, he felt like he was visiting a foreign city, wide-eyed and nervous. He searched the faces of the crowd, pulling back into his hood if he saw anyone who might be familiar.

When they turned into the open market square, the full force of the wind hit him, pelting his face with bits of rock and dust, and jostling Beast into the other horses.

The gale thrashed through a sea of booths and humanity. Vendors struggled to finish tying down their tents and their wares while thunder rolled over the rooftops. Alaric slid off Beast and pressed against him for protection. The others did the same, and he led them against the wind, pressing along the southern edge of the square until they huddled in the relative shelter of the buildings on the western side.

“We need to get moving,” Alaric shouted above the wind. “Once we leave the city, we’ll be back in the forest and the wind shouldn’t be as bad.”

The door of the smithy next to them crashed open, caught by the wind. A black-bearded dwarf exited, swinging an axe and watching it arc through the air with a pleased expression. Three palace guards fell into place behind him.

Alaric stepped back, letting Beast’s head come between himself and the guards.

“Another dwarf!” Ayda said cheerfully.

Alaric could just see the dwarf glance at her, his brow knitting together in disgust when he saw the elf.

Next to Alaric, Douglon caught sight of the dwarf and let out a small growl. “Menwoth.” His voice was steely.

Menwoth’s mouth dropped open in surprise before fury filled his face. “Traitor!” he rushed at Douglon, axe raised. “Seize him! This dwarf is wanted by High King Horgoth!”

“Ambassador! Please restrain yourself, sir!” The lead guard’s voice cut through the wind as he stepped forward, his own sword drawn.

Menwoth lowered his axe, but stood glowering at Douglon. “Arrest this dwarf.” When the guards hesitated, he snapped at them, “I demand it. High King Horgoth has declared him a traitor. His execution awaits him in Duncave.”

The guard, his uniform showing him to be a lieutenant, stepped up to Douglon. “You’ll need to come with us.”

Douglon’s face darkened, and he reached for his axe.

Alaric set a hand on Douglon’s shoulder and pushed back his hood. He stepped forward. “This man is not a traitor.”

The guard looked at him dismissively. “If Ambassador Menwoth requests that we detain this dwarf, he will be brought to the palace.”

Clearly, Alaric hadn’t needed to worry about being recognized. “I don’t know you, Lieutenant, but my name is Alaric. I’m the Keeper serving at Her Majesty’s court.” Well, serving might not be the exact word for it, but ‘avoiding Her Majesty’s court’ didn’t have as good a ring to it.

The guard looked at him sharply, taking in Alaric’s not-quite-as-black-as-a-Keeper’s robe. Alaric tried to look impressive, but judging from the guard’s face, he wasn’t succeeding.

“Keeper Alaric has not been at court for two years.”

“Yes, well, I’m here now. And this dwarf is not a traitor. You can’t arrest him.”

The lieutenant’s eyebrows rose and Menwoth sputtered, “That is for King Horgoth to decide, not some man claiming to be Queen Saren’s historian.”

“Keepers are well regarded here.” There was mild disapproval in the lieutenant’s voice. “Keeper Alaric is among the most respected men in our land.”

“That means nothing to a dwarf,” Menwoth said.

The guard narrowed his eyes at Alaric for a long moment. “I’m afraid, sir, that you’ll need to bring your complaints about the detainment of this dwarf to Her Majesty herself.”

Alaric clenched his jaw. Of course the guard shouldn’t just believe him. Alaric looked like a dirty traveler who happened to be wearing black. But still.

Douglon bristled. “I’m not a traitor, and you’re not arresting me. If Horgoth wants me, he can get his fat head out of that throne room and come get me.”

Alaric looked at the guards surrounding them. “Douglon, I’ll talk to the queen. We’ll sort this out.”

Douglon growled.

Menwoth looked wildly at the guard. “You can’t trust him! He wants Horgoth’s throne! He’s plotting to kill him!”

Douglon rolled his eyes. “The only dwarf here who wishes he had the throne is you.”

Menwoth began to shake with fury. “I serve Horgoth faithfully. And I always have, which is why he trusted me with this position at Saren’s court.”

Douglon snorted. “He just wanted you far away from Duncave.”

“Douglon,” Alaric broke in, “just go with them so we can get this over with.”

Douglon ground his teeth then nodded. At the lieutenant’s pointed look, Douglon handed his axe to Brandson. The guards drew up around him and led the way through the wind-blown market toward the palace.

So much for getting through Queenstown quickly. Alaric took the reins of Douglon’s horse and followed the others into the beginnings of the storm.

Chapter 25

The air was heavy with the coming rain, and the wind smelled of the damp hills to the west. They were not quite half way to the palace, leading their horses to keep pace with the guards, when the rain came. When it did, it was torrential. Alaric hunched down under his hood, pulling his cloak close. Within seconds, it was soaked through. Relentless fingers of wind wound around his neck, dribbling cold rain down his back, down his legs, and into his already sloshing boots. The crackle of lightning and constant rumble of thunder followed them as they hurried along the deserted streets.

They turned onto a wide avenue leading to the palace gates. Through the rain, the building was a grey, hulking shape behind grey, hulking walls. As they drew closer, the grey lightened into pale rock. They entered the palace grounds through an enormous portico and ducked into the nearest building, soaked to the bone.

Alaric stood impatiently, letting water drip off of him to puddle on the floor while the lieutenant ducked into a nearby room and returned with Captain Rold, captain of the queen’s guard. Alaric felt an odd combination of relief at being recognized and guilt at being gone for so long that all this was necessary, when the captain snapped off a quick bow to him. “My apologies, Keeper Alaric. You understand that my lieutenant needed confirmation of who you were. Since Her Majesty will be most anxious to see you, if you could all hang your wet cloaks in here, I will take you to her immediately.”