Fable: Edge of the World (4 page)

“Page, I’ll need whatever information your network can supply.” She nodded.

“And what of me?”

The question was asked in a quiet voice, but it froze the king
in place for a minute. He looked at his new wife and realized to his shame that he had completely left her out of the planning. What of Laylah, indeed?

“I can’t take you with me.” That much, at least, he knew.

Her raven brows lifted. “Why not? I am an Auroran. I know firsthand of the darkness.”

“Begging your pardon, my lady,” said Timmins, “everyone here does as well. And everyone else here has taken arms against it.”

Laylah colored. “Instead of sitting and cowering in our homes, you mean.”

It was Timmins’s turn to flush. “I didn’t mean that at all, my lady!”

“Timmins here can be a bit rough,” Ben said quickly, giving the mortified Timmins a sharp look. “But what’s true is that you are a civilian. We’re not. Besides, it’s obvious our good ruler is so smitten with his new queen he’d be too distracted worrying about you.”

“Do not be embarrassed,” Kalin said gently. “We Aurorans know more of the darkness than they, for we have known it longer and more intimately. But they are right. This is war, my child.”

“And Albion needs a leader,” the king said. “With me gone, you shall represent the crown. The people will feel safer with their queen here. Page will stay with you.” Page started to open her mouth to protest but closed it again. She nodded, seeing the wisdom in what he was doing although she did not much care for it.

“You—would trust me to lead the kingdom?”

“Well, who else?” said Ben. “Jasper’s a fine fellow, but if we left him in charge, and the darkness came here, we’d all be fighting it with the proper silverware.”

The unexpected joke broke the tension. First Laylah groaned, then they were all giggling. It was nervous laughter, but it felt good, and the king’s head was clearer when it died down.

“Then it’s settled. We’ll meet again for a detailed strategy-planning session. But until then”—and he extended his arm to Laylah—“I am a newly married man, and I have a reception to attend. As do all of you. Let’s not keep poor Jasper waiting.”

“Too bad horrors beyond the imagination had to ruin the king’s wedding parade,” Finn said as he tipped back a second ale.

“They look happy,” Page observed. The king and queen were dancing together, and Finn had to admit that yes, despite the dire news that had come on them so unexpectedly, the couple did indeed look disgustingly happy.

“For the moment,” he agreed. “Sorry you have to miss all the fun and babysit a new queen instead.”

He had expected her to fire back with a sharp remark, but instead she looked somber. “Have you really forgotten what it was like to fight those things? How they got into your head?” She shook her head. “I haven’t. And she’s not a child, she just needs to learn.”

Ben regarded Laylah. “She’s lovely, I’ll give her that, and she’s got a sharp brain in that head. But this is a pretty rotten time for on-the-job training.”

“And who better to teach her than I?” Page sipped her own ale, relaxing a little.

“You raise an excellent point, ma’am.” He clinked their glasses—glasses, not tankards—together. Right enough, here in the castle you didn’t sip ale from pewter like you might at some third-rate tavern.

“Page is right,” came Kalin’s voice behind them. Ben started
and splashed the very excellent brew on the tablecloth. “Laylah is stronger than one might think.”

“Does
everyone
have to come sneaking up behind me today?” Ben muttered and dabbed at the spill with a napkin, belatedly realizing that all he’d done was dirty
two
linens that now needed to be washed. As he put the napkin down, he saw Jasper interrupt the dance. The king looked over the crowd, and his gaze landed on Ben. “And there’s our cue,” he said, fairly leaping up to follow as the king indicated.

They weaved through the crowd and were joined by Timmins. “The boy’s awoken,” the king said without preamble. “And Sabine says he is ready to tell us everything he knows.”

S
abine sat on the boy’s bed. The youth was propped up on several pillows. A few hours of sleep had helped him. He no longer looked blank and stunned but merely frightened and exhausted. He was eating roasted chicken as if he hadn’t seen food in days. Maybe he hadn’t.

“His name is Shan,” Sabine said. “He’s got holes in his memory, he says, but he can tell us some things at least.”

Shan’s dark eyes flitted to the door. He relaxed a little as Kalin and Laylah entered the room.

“I’m glad to see you’re feeling better,” the king said. “You’re a very brave young fellow, Shan.”

The boy’s dark gaze slid away. “I do not think so, Your Majesty.”

“Well, Sabine and I do, and so does everyone else in this room. And if two kings agree on it, it must be so, mustn’t it?”

“Ha!” cackled Sabine. “True, true, eh?”

Rex trotted in and went straight to the boy, plopping his forepaws on the bed. He panted cheerfully, then licked the youth’s cheek. The monarch was relieved to see a ghost of a smile curve Shan’s lips. Then it faded.

“You—you won’t send me back?” he asked.

“Sire,” said Timmins, “this boy’s a native of Samarkand. He knows its history, its geography, far better than we could hope to. He’s seen firsthand what we’ll be up against. His presence could mean the difference between success and failure.”

Laylah gave Timmins an unhappy look. Timmins shrugged. “Begging your pardon, Your Majesty,” he said to the new queen, “but I speak the truth. Your husband knows it.”

The king looked at his friends, then back at Shan. “I will be honest with you, because courage deserves honesty. My friend Jack does speak the truth. I am planning on going to Samarkand, to fight this darkness of which you speak. Your help, indeed, would be invaluable. But I also know what you’ve seen. You’ve already endured more than most strong men could and survived to warn us. If you don’t wish to go, then no one will force you. You have my word as King of Albion.”

The boy’s eyes searched his, suspicious. The king had heard that Samarkand was a place of wonders, of magic, of beauty and peril. It would seem also that it was a place where trust did not come easily. But Shan was still petting Rex.

“I believe you,” he said at last, and relief relaxed his taut face. “I will tell you all I know, I swear.”

They listened raptly as Shan spoke of a realm in which knowledge and beauty and art were honored as well as wealth and power. A place with an old, old civilization, a reputation for birthing Heroes such as Garth, and a history that was as much myth as fact. He spoke of his own life, of an infant brother, two sisters, one older, one younger, of a mother and father. His parents served the Emperor as all did, not directly, but with their good citizenship, devotion, and skills. In return, few in Samarkand knew hardship. The Garden of Pleasures—a title which
had Ben Finn sniggering and subsequently being elbowed by Page—was open to the public. Fruits and flowers were freely harvested. “No one took more than his share, so that others could enjoy all the pleasures of the Garden.”

Ben sounded like he might choke.

“I was little then, but I remember. It was a good life,” said Shan. “A happy life. There was a saying in my land: No honor is greater, no joy sweeter, than being a child of Samarkand.”

“So it sounds,” said Laylah. “Yet you seem to think otherwise.”

“That was before
she
came,” said Shan, his voice dropping so low they strained to hear.

“Who?” asked Kalin.

“The Empress,” he said, the word infused with such fear that the very air in the room suddenly felt cold. “Almost ten years ago, our Emperor, Zarak, went with one of our trading ships. To meet the king of a distant land, it was said. He returned after almost a year, with a wife. No one ever learned her name. It was said that her beauty was so great that all who looked upon her went mad with desire, so that she had to hide her face from the eyes of all but her husband.”

“So no one ever knew what she actually looked like,” said Timmins, rolling the words over as if he were sifting through them for information. “Interesting … and convenient.”

“She probably looked like a horse,” said Ben. Page elbowed him again. “What? I bet it’s the truth.”

“That, or she didn’t want her appearance to become common knowledge,” said Timmins. “Perhaps so she could pass unnoticed in the city … if she chose.”

“The Emperor was never the same,” said Shan. “He began to hide himself away. He started enacting laws that seemed cruel simply for the sake of it. All but a select few were barred from
the Garden. He commissioned a wall to be built around Zahadar—Zahadar! The jewel of Samarkand! When he did appear to the people, those who beheld him whispered that there was nothing behind his eyes.” He fell silent for a long moment.

“You said ‘was never the same,’ ” prompted the king.

Shan started, then nodded. “He did not live long after bringing her home. And after he died, she became ruler in his stead. And the cruel laws that Emperor Zarak had enacted in his last year suddenly looked like acts of benevolence. The Empress ruled from behind the closed doors of the great palace. There was still trade with other countries, but it was limited.”

Kalin’s eyes went wide. “I do remember that—my father once lamented that trade had slowed down. He said nothing about an evil Empress.”

“You were his daughter,” Page pointed out. “It was likely he did not want to disparage women to you—especially if the Empress’s reputation was based on rumor.”

“It wasn’t,” said Shan, with a bitterness incongruent with his young age. “I do not know what your father knew, but it could not be worse than the truth.”

“Sounds like you were very young when she came to power,” Timmins observed. “And you certainly weren’t part of the inner circle. Even what you are telling us is hearsay.”

The king lifted a hand. Timmins had a sharp brain and a skeptical bent that had served the monarch well, but now was not the time for it. “While that might be true, what is
not
hearsay is what Shan underwent. We all know, firsthand, about the darkness.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

The king turned back to Shan. “When did the Shadows come?”

Shan cringed at the word, then took a deep breath. “About three years ago. Slowly, at first. Rumors of dark things lurking in the mountains, in the deserts, in the old ruins. At the edges of the world. Then—I remember my father speaking to my mother of something he had found on the outskirts of the city. The body of a jackal.”

“A jackal?” asked Ben.

“It is a sort of … dog of the desert. A scavenger.”

“I know what a jackal is, son,” Ben said kindly. “I’m just wondering why finding its body was worth mentioning.”

The boy fixed him with his brown eyes. “It was not a jackal any longer.”

Realization hit them all simultaneously. Ben let out a low whistle. “Balverine,” he said. At the boy’s look of puzzlement, he elaborated, “half wolf, which is our version of a jackal, and half man. And all nasty.”

“Yes!” the boy said. “That is it exactly! And things—things long forgotten, out of stories, out of nightmares—they started hunting anyone who went out at night. It is said that she calls them, when she is braiding her hair at night, singing a song and weaving a spell as she weaves the braid.”

“Now that’s definitely got to be a story,” scoffed Timmins.

“How do you know?” asked Laylah, glaring at him. “Perhaps that is the way her magic works.”

“Madame,” said Timmins, with a hint of exasperation, “I do not think Shan is lying. I’ve no doubt that a cruel woman sits on the throne of Samarkand. She probably murdered her husband to get there. And clearly she’s in league with dark forces—things that all of us here are too wise to dismiss as fables. But if we’re to defeat her, we must separate fact from fiction!”

Shan’s eyes were drooping again.

“What we must do now is permit Shan to rest,” the king said. “Sabine, he will return to Mistpeak with you when he is well enough to travel, will he not?”

“Oh yes, we’ll gladly take care of the brave boy,” Sabine said.

“Until then, Shan, as you recover, I’d appreciate your telling us all you can.”

The boy nodded, almost asleep already. Quietly the adults rose and made their way out. The king didn’t notice that Rex lingered behind until the dog whined. Halting at the door, the king glanced back to see boy and dog curled up together. He smiled a little. Rex knew when someone needed cheering up, and frankly … well … the king would be just as glad to be completely alone with his bride tonight. He inhaled a breath to blow out the light.

“Your Majesty?”

“Yes, Shan?”

“… please … can you leave the candle burning?”

The king looked at the shadows in the corners of the room and understood. “Of course. Sleep well. You too, Rex.”

Rex whuffed.

The king closed the door behind him and faced his friends. “What do you think?” he asked bluntly. “Is this true, or is this child being used by the darkness?”

Ben looked uncomfortable. “If Sir Walter could be, so could Shan,” he said. It was an unhappy thought. Walter, the most loyal man in the world, had in the end become a tool of the darkness. He had been infected in Aurora and supposedly healed of its taint by the Auroran priestess, Mara, she who had joined the king and Laylah just this day. Walter had fooled them all for over a year. The king never knew if Walter had truly returned then, only to have the darkness overtake him later, or if
the darkness had remained in Walter during the last several months of preparation for war. That uncertainty had haunted the king since Walter’s death—by the king’s own sword.

And now, they were considering believing someone he didn’t even know—someone who was not from Albion, and who had a strangely convenient story about—

“No,” said Kalin, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “This was how the darkness worked. Poisoning one’s mind to arouse fear and suspicion.”

“That’s true enough, but what happened with Walter is also true,” Ben said. “What if we go haring off after the darkness over in Samarkand, and it’s actually waiting to jump on Albion?”