Arts of Dark and Light: Book 01 - A Throne of Bones (109 page)

“Brynjolf do not think different than me. He do not think at all. He will do as I say.”

The comtesse stroked her hair. “Are you sure you still wish to attend the tournament? In light of the news from across the sea, I am sure it will offend no one if you stay home in mourning.”

Fjotra nodded. “Yes, I not wish to to go out, if His Majesty take no offense.”

“Of course not,” the comtesse reassured her. “Is there anything I can do for you? You understand that I must attend myself, of course, although you know my heart grieves for your loss.”

“I do. I thank you, Lady Roheis.” She smiled, letting her genuine sorrow hide her secret intent. “You are so kind, my lady comtesse, and I know you have preparations you should be making. So I ask you send in Svanhvit and Geirrid and not to worry for me until the morning. I must tell them of Raknarborg. They had kin there too.”

Lady Roheis held her close for a moment then kissed her cheek. “You chose well, Fjotra. I knew you would. If you want anything tonight, call for Maronne, and she will bring it to you. I will not return until late tonight. Grieve in piece with your friends today, and we will speak more in the morning.” She exited the room, trailing her sweet perfume.

Moments later, Svanhvit and Geirrid rushed back into the room.

“What’s the matter?”

“Has the castle fallen?”

“Shut the door!” Fjotra wiped her eyes and pulled them both closely to her. She kept her voice low and her eye on the door, knowing that any careless slip at this point would kill them all. “We are leaving here tonight. The comtesse and Saint-Aglie are lying to us. Once they leave for the tournament, we are going to leave as if for a picnic. Pack two baskets, but we must put everything we don’t want to leave behind in them.”

“But is Raknarborg fallen or not?” Geirrid said. The tears in Fjotra’s eyes hadn’t escaped her attention.

“I don’t know. I’m not sure. He said it had, but he lied about the duc, so he may be lying about that too. The important thing is that we have to leave here before they send us south to Ecarlate.”

“How do you know he’s lying?”

Fjotra shook her head in disgust. “He tried to make me think Etienne only wanted the Isles, not me. As if a woman cannot see how a man looks at her. He says Etienne is a monster, but he is the one who is not even a man! He is a liar. He only wants Dalarn bodies to throw against the king.”

“Where are we going to go? Portblanc?”

“No, the royal castle.” When her two friends looked at her, surprised, she smiled, her face full of Dalarn determination. “We are going to Etienne-Henri. He said he wanted to betroth me quickly—I intend to hold him to his word.”

THEUDERIC

This far south, the winter sun did not set so early, Theuderic noted, not for the first time, as he wrapped himself tighter in his wool cloak against the cold evening breeze. But now that he was waiting for darkness to cover their escape from this imperial madhouse of a city, it seemed as if night would never fall. He looked down on the narrow, shadowed streets of Amorr and watched the incessant movements of its people with the suspicion of a recently clawed man regarding a slumbering cat in his arms. Everything appeared to be peaceful, but he knew how deceptive such appearances could be, and how rapidly apparent safety could be transformed into danger.

“How much longer, do you think?” he asked Lord Silvertree’s companion, Miroglas, who had just brought up a sixth chest to accompany the five that were already arranged side by side on the rooftop of the soon-to-be abandoned residence. Another two were set apart from those six. Those were full of clothes and books that the elven ambassador had given to Lithriel and him for their own journey.

The high elf looked up at the purpling sky. “Not long now. Sometime soon after the next bell, I should think. Shadowsong won’t wait for the stars to come out fully before departing, and it’s not a long flight. It’s a pity there aren’t more clouds this evening or she could have departed soon after twilight. But the Amorrans have too many archers and scorpios on the walls to risk it.”

“Who is she, this Lady Shadowsong?”

“I don’t know,” Miroglas admitted. “An elfess with some connection to one of the Amorran noble families, whatever that might be.”

“Is that common?”

“Not in the slightest. I’m mildly curious about her myself. If I recall correctly, it had something to do with the Amorran embassy that led to the current rapproachment. I expect Morvas knows all about it. He has rather more interest in Men than me. I intend no offense, of course.”

“Not at all. Morvas?”

“Lord Silvertree,” the elf explained.

As if summoned, the ambassador himself stepped up upon the roof, followed by a seemingly overburdened Lithriel with her arms full of blankets.

“Do you have any coin,” Lord Silvertree asked Theuderic bluntly.

“Not much, I’m afraid. I was planning to draw on the king’s draft with the Farsingers. But I suppose we could stop in Malkan, or preferably, an Utruccan city, and do it there.”

“Take this instead.” The high elf handed him a sizable pouch, which, judging by its weight, consisted mostly of gold.

“Thank you, Lord Silvertree.” Theuderic paused, wondering if he should simply accept the gift and keep his mouth shut. But he couldn’t resist the temptation. “If you don’t mind my asking, why are you willing to help us?”

The high elf smiled a little bitterly. “Events often mock our intentions, Magus. I came here thinking to reward the Church and Empire for the wisdom their leaders showed in embracing elvenkind. We elves have made many mistakes, and we have dwindled as a consequence of them. We have but three kingdoms where there once were seven. Increasingly we find ourselves supplanted, not only by Man, but by Orc and Dwarf and even Troll. So it was good to find some token of friendship with men. But it seems I was too late, and already the corruption is at the heart of Amorr. I would have you warn your king, and especially your college of mages, of the danger.”

“You have put the codices in the chests we are to take with us?”

“Even so. There were certain works that I cannot give you, but I have given you what the Collegium can spare. At least your realm will not be entirely blind as events unfold. But be warned: If your kingdom is as influential as it seems, it is likely that a Watcher is already ensconced within it. They are drawn to power, and they always use others to exert their will.”

Theuderic smiled wryly. He wondered how the proud immortels of L’Academie would react to learning that they were merely the pale shadows of true immortal powers. It would certainly be amusing to see how quickly the news would wipe the arrogance off Grandmagicien d’Arseille’s face.

“I see two, no three hawks approaching!” Lithriel cried, pointing toward the north.

Theuderic peered into the night sky, but even his mage’s vision could not match the keen eyes of an elf. He started as a piercing whistle nearly deafened his left ear. He looked over and saw Miroglas lowering his hands from his mouth.

“Was that really necessary?” he asked, wincing and thumbing his ear.

“She doesn’t know exactly where we are,” Miroglas said. “Well, now she does. Here they come! Step back. And you might want to hold onto something—three of them can generate a veritable wind, and it’s a long way down to the street.”

Theuderic felt a little cowardly retreating from a bird. But when he saw all three elves get down on one knee, he quickly followed suit. Moments later, he was glad he had.

Three giant warhawks backflapped their wings at the last moment as they came in for their landing. The force of the breeze they stirred up nearly caused him to fall over.

The hawks were huge beasts, nearly twice as large as he imagined, with bright, intelligent eyes and beaks that were easily capable of snapping off a man’s head. His eyes widened and he wondered whether sneaking out through the inner and outer walls, then spending a month trying to evade Amorran patrols, bandits, and desperate refugees on the winter roads would actually be any worse than coming within reach of those vicious, curved beaks. To say nothing of soaring high above the earth on one of their backs.

Only the middle warhawk bore a rider: a surprisingly short elf with a reddened, runny nose and bright red cheeks. She wore a strange leather armor that covered her from her fingers to her toes.

“Lady Caitlys Shadowsong,” Silvertree said to her, “what an honor to finally meet you.”

“The privilege is mine, Lord Morvas Silvertree. I’m so pleased I could be of assistance to you and your companions.” Caitlys turned to the larger riderless warhawk beside her and stroked the back of its head. “What a beautiful bird you have, Lord Silvertree! My own Vengirasse had the devil’s own time keeping pace with your Miroglas, so eager was he once your summons arrived.”

The elf smiled at the compliment to his hawk, which he was stroking just under the huge, saucepan eye. His bird was rather striking in comparison with the others. It had a golden ruff and white streaks on its wings that distinguished it from the drab dark brown on light brown pattern on the feathers of the other two. Theuderic shook his head, thinking about the size of a writing quill constructed on the scale to make use of the massive feathers.

“Lady Shadowsong,” Lithriel said, “I am Lady Lithriel Everbright. And this is my companion: Theuderic de Merovech, the Comte de Thoneaux. I thank you so much, Lady Shadowsong, for helping us leave this accursed city. Lord Silvertree tells us there is great evil here.”

In her flight gear, Lady Shadowsong looked less like a lady than Lord Silvertree had in his robes. She frowned. “You’re a sorcerer, aren’t you?” she observed, sniffing and rubbing at her nose with her sleeve.

“That too, my lady,” Theuderic admitted. “We ask only that you take us past the walls, and preferably leave us where we can purchase horses for our journey north, if it would not be too much of an imposition.”

“Oh, we can do better than that, I think. Lord Silvertree, you said you had some letters for Marcus?”

The high elf nodded, bent down, and handed her a leather satchel.

Shadowsong turned back to Theuderic. “I’ve got to find my…well, my young Amorran friend. These letters are for him. Apparently he is marching his legion down into Vallyrium, so I’m going to fly north and west. You will both accompany me. That might take you a little farther west than you were intending, but it should put you considerably closer to your destination. And I imagine I can convince him to give you a pair of horses, as I understand he has several hundred of them.”

Theuderic raised his eyebrows. Had the young Amorran officer seduced the elfess? Well done, lad, he thought. No, he must not have actually followed through, not if the elfess was still flying her warhawk. If she was still a sorceress, she was still a virgin. Still, it wasn’t just any man who could manage to befriend a beautiful high elf.

He decided to accept the high elf’s offer. If her young Amorran friend had his own legion, and Theuderic saw no reason to assume the elfess was lying, he could hire a small escort from the army of camp followers that accompanied every legion.

“We should be most pleased to accept, Lady Shadowsong,” Theuderic told her.

The high elf looked from him to Lithriel. “So you answer for both?” she commented. “By ‘companions’ do you mean to say ‘lovers’?”

“Ah, well,” Theuderic mumbled, looking to Lithriel.

“Yes,” Lithriel said, ignoring him.

“Now that is interesting,” Lady Shadowsong said. “Lithriel, I think we must speak more of this later. But for now, both of you must call me Caitlys, as we shall be in rather close quarters on Vengirasse’s back where it would be absurd to observe the formalities.”

Theuderic hadn’t realized before then that all three of them, plus their chests, would be riding one bird. But of course, since Silvertree’s bird and the warhawk would be used to bear the Ambassador and his colleague from the city. He glanced up at the big bird, wondering if it was big enough.

“Are those your chests?” Caitlys asked.

“Yes, my lady.”

“Good, give me a hand with them, Miroglas. And then, with the Lord Ambassador’s permission, we will be underway. Considering what Marcus has told me of this place, I don’t wish to stay here one moment longer than necessary.”

As soon as the chests were stowed in the thick-roped netting that was cleverly attached to the huge leather saddle that was strapped to the hawk’s back, Theuderic found himself climbing up the swaying corded ladder that hung down from the saddle’s horn.

The bird’s head swung around, and he nearly fell off in panic. But it didn’t try to bite him with its wicked beak, which looked as if it could take off his arm. It merely considered him with what he hoped was idle curiosity and not irritation or hunger.

The saddle was an impressive construction made out of several thick layers of leather. It was divided into three sections, so each rider essentially had his own saddle, complete with a horn. Three thick straps were firmly affixed to each horn. These, he learned, as Lithriel adroitly wrapped them around his belt and tied them off, were designed to prevent him from falling to his death. Two straps held him securely fore, and the third one held him aft.