Shadowgod (11 page)

When they neared the Ironhall Barracks, Mazaret and Captain Kance shook hands before the Fathertree Knights turned away to their new quarters. Mazaret and Terzis urged their mounts along the other road, splashing through pools of slush before they reached the main palace gate. Once through, they dismounted and let the ostlers lead the horses away, then walked an ache-filled walk across the torch-lit yard to the northern vestibule. There, a court steward was waiting.

“Welcome back, Lord Regent. Lady Terzis, I am to inform you that the magehall steward wishes to speak with you upon your arrival.”

“My thanks, ser,” Terzis said, turning to Mazaret. “My lord, if your wounds offer great discomfort, please send for me without delay.”

“I am grateful for your concern, lady.”

When Terzis was gone, the steward spoke again.

“My lord, the honourable Archmage Bardow presents his warmest greetings and respectfully requests your attendance at an urgent dialogue soon to commence in the fourth floor library.”

“And how urgent would that be?”

“The moment you entered the palace, my lord.”

Mazaret massaged a taut ache in his neck, and tried to think through his exhaustion. Then he sighed.

“Inform the Archmage that I shall attend, once I have been to my chambers to change into fresh garments.”

“As you wish, my lord.”

A short while later, he was descending the warden steps from his rooms on the fifth floor, feeling somewhat less dusty and grimy but still longing for a hot bath, not to mention food and a warm bed. Mazaret was following the spiral stairwell down, soft-soled boots making scarcely a sound, when he heard voices talking. Something in the voices made him slow till he saw a narrow archway leading off to one of the outer balconies. Curious, he stopped and listened.

“...four new orders but did not offer to create one for you?” said one voice, that of a young man. “We already number more than forty, and every one of us has pledged his service. I can even suggest a title for us - the Knights of the Order of Companions - ”

“Hmm, I like that,” said another. “It’s got the ring of nobility to it.”

“And we could swear a solemn oath to the emperor,” said the first.

“No,” said a third man that Mazaret immediately recognised as Tauric. “The ideals of such a brotherhood should reach further than the body of the emperor. They should be dedicated to something higher and purer…”

“You mean like the - ”

“Yes, but that brings us back to the same problem as before,” Tauric said. “The lack of a consecrated shrine.”

“
He
might know where to find one…”

What am I doing
? Mazaret thought suddenly.
I don’t have time for this eavesdropping
…

He tiptoed back up several steps then came down again with noisy footfalls and a cough or two thrown in for good measure as he carried on past the archway, apparently oblivious. But he could not help wondering about the reference to a shrine, and who this
He
might be? Did they mean Bardow? Perhaps he would mention it to the Archmage before retiring to bed.

The fourth floor library was really an annexe to the main library on the second floor which occupied fully half of that level. The annexe was narrow and had been refashioned into two tiers to make greater use of possible shelf space. As Mazaret entered, he was assailed by the peculiar smells of parchment and old leather, laced with the tang of burnt lamp oil. It was an oddly comforting meld of odours, reminding him of the library in his father’s house many years ago, when he still lived in Besh-Darok.

An elderly but spry-looking man came forward.

“Ah, m’Lord Regent - I am Custodian Felwe. The honourable Archmage and his companions await you at the great table at the far end, near the chart drawers. Please forgive this apparent disarray - we are currently storing most of the contents of the tenth floor reading room while it undergoes refurbishment.”

Mazaret thanked him and walked on past piles of boxes and drawers, and bound bundles of scrolls.
Tenth floor
? he thought.
That would be where Tauric encountered the stone apparition of Argatil, Korregan’s archmage
…

No lamps burned on the upper tier and the shadows seemed dark and enfolding. At a well-lit, good-sized table in the last alcove heads turned at his approach and chairlegs scraped as they rose to greet him. As well as Bardow, Mazaret saw Yasgur, his advisor Atroc, and Yarram, successor to the Lord Commandership of the Fathertree Order. They all looked strangely sombre and quiet as he sat down beside them.

“My sincerest thanks for joining us, my lord,” Bardow said. “We understand how weary you must be after such a hazardous foray, but there are certain matters which must be discussed now rather than the morrow.”

“Did the coronation go as planned?” Mazaret said, suddenly worried. “I would have been present, had it been at all possible.”

Atroc snorted, and Yasgur grinned. “The boy’s crowning passed well enough, but the spectacle was only an arena for hidden treachery,” the Mogaun prince said. “It was sheer good fortune that our enemy’s plot went awry, else our delegation to Dalbar would have ended in disaster.”

“Lord Regent Yasgur is entirely correct,” said Bardow, who went on to give Mazaret an account of the events leading up to the suicide of the false Nerek. Mazaret listened closely, mind made clear and alert by this dread news.

“This woman,” he said when the Archmage was done. “The streetplayer - was anything more learned about her, and who she might have been involved with?”

Bardow shook his head. “I questioned her companions myself, and had our guilemen ask and listen around that quarter. Nothing was uncovered. She vanished off the streets a week ago, and no one saw her with anyone or remembers anyone asking after her.”

“It occurs to me,” Mazaret said, “that if our enemies are prepared to set such a scheme in motion, its failure will not prevent them from trying again.”

“Precisely so, my lord,” Bardow said evenly. “Fortunately, our delegation departed for Dalbar this morning without incident, but with a stronger escort. Ah, Gilly asked me to pass on his regards.”

“I had hoped to be here in time for their leavetaking,” Mazaret said. “But - ”

The seer Atroc leaned forward and said, “I am told you defeated the one called Deathless.”

Mazaret gave him a small, hard smile. “How did you come by that name, ser Atroc? I didn’t mention it in my message from the pass fort.”

“We seers live night and day by the Door of Dreams,” Atroc said bluntly. “In sleep we hear many things both clear and uncertain.”

“We are all eager to hear you speak of this encounter, my lord,” Yasgur said, glaring at his advisor, who merely chuckled.

Mazaret cleared his throat and related all that had happened from the point where he met Domas at the abandoned town of Nimas. Gazes grew grim at mention of walking corpses, then shocked at the description of Azurech’s injuries and his evil pronouncements. Only Atroc seemed unsurprised and nodded on hearing of Azurech’s rescue by two nighthunters.

“Domas and the survivors of his band elected to return to Alvergost,” Mazaret concluded. “To offer protection to any who remain there, Domas said, but he is clearly reluctant to place himself and his men under our command.” He rubbed his forehead. The dull pain was rising again. “So, how are we to counter these threats?”

“Before we consider that, my lord, there is one more report to hear,” Bardow said. “Lord Command Yarram, if you will…”

At the other end of the table, Yarram got to his feet, clasped his hands behind his back and began. Mazaret heard of the brigands who had been raiding from beyond the Girdle Hills, and how Yarram and his men pursued them and their leader deep into the hilly ravines. How the brigands had crossed a rain-swollen river by way of a bridge which they wrecked before the pursuers reached it, and how their leader, a woman, had come forward on her horse to speak…

Yarram paused and gave Mazaret a troubled look. “My lord, you know me, and you know that I place great store by truth and accuracy.”

“That is so,” Mazaret said. “Say on.”

“Well, my lord, the brigand leader came to the edge of the riverbank, by the rushing waters, so I rode down to our side to confront her - my lord, her winding cloak and everything about her was palest grey, and her face was that of Suviel Hantika…”

In the shocked silence, Mazaret stared at him while a numb, dislocating sensation swept through him.

“No,” he said. “That cannot be…”

Yarram looked wretched. “My lord - ”

“You
must
be mistaken.”

“My lord, I was as close to her as I am to ser Bardow there, and I swear to you that it was
her
.”

Mazaret pushed himself shakily up from the table, pain pounding in his head. “I cannot listen to any more of this - ”

Bardow laid a firm hand on his shoulder. “You must, my friend. You must hear it all.”

After a moment Mazaret sank back into his chair and nodded wordlessly. Yarram seemed to gather his determination before continuing.

“She looked at me with bone-white eyes and said, ‘Tell your masters that Death has many doors and they cannot lock them all. And tell Ikarno that I shall await him at Blueaxe Ridge’.”

There was utter quiet for a second or two, then Mazaret said;

“Where is Blueaxe Ridge?”

“Southwest of the city,” Yasgur said thoughtfully. “A stone track follows a long slope up to it. It is a good lookout point, and easily defended. Be wary of the words of the dead, my friend. Once uttered, they are like hooks in your soul.”

“My lord,” Bardow said. “Think carefully. It would be a foolhardy act - ”

“How did this happen, Archmage?” Mazaret said, voice made raw by grief. “What did they do to her?”

Bardow met his gaze. “The Lord of Twilight’s followers have a ritual which can pare away a person’s spirit to create images of the original called
rivenshades
. Sometime they can even cloth them in flesh.”

“The Acolytes did this to her in Trevada?”

“Yes.”

Mazaret could feel his heart thudding in his chest. “You said
images
of the original, Bardow. Could they have made more than one of these things.”

Bardow let out a long sigh. “Nerek thinks it almost certain that they would.”

Mazaret nodded slowly. Now the horror was complete. The pain in his head had become a kind of strength now, and he stood up, steady and unwavering.

“They did this to her,” he said in an iron voice. “The Acolytes, sitting in their stolen towers, dripping evil into the veins of our lands. But their towers are only of stone, and they bleed when cut…”

“You cannot propose an assault on Trevada, my lord,” said Bardow. “It’s practically a fortress - ”

“If I did,” Mazaret snapped. “No-one would question the justness of it!”

Bardow sat back. “Regardless, you and all who went with you would die,” he said quietly.

Mazaret paused and bowed his head, striving to master his anger. “I do not propose such a course of action, my lords. But the time may come soon when we will have to move against our enemies with all our might.”

“Till then,” Yasgur said. “We should plan and train and build.”

“I shall redouble our efforts to corner these brigands, my lord,” said Yarram. “Soon they will have nowhere to hide.”

“Thank you for your wise counsel and concern, my lords,” Mazaret said, his fury reined in. “Now, by your leave, I shall retire to my chambers and a much-needed rest.”

“And try to put Blueaxe Ridge out of your mind, my lord,” Bardow said as Mazaret turned towards the door.

If only I could
, he thought grimly, walking off through the shadows.
But the reckoning has to begin somewhere
.

* * *

Shrouded in the shadows of the library annexe’s upper tier, Tauric listened with mounting alarm to Bardow’s account of the attempt on Keren’s life, then to that of Mazaret's foray into central Khatris. Certain details of the first were new to him, like the attack on Nerek and the use of tainted Lesser Power, and the grotesque horror of the second made him feel pure despair.

A situation like this demanded a real leader, one with wisdom, battle experience, authority and, above all, sorcerous power. Instead, they had himself, a powerless boy emperor who felt himself grow more superfluous with each passing day.

Then Tauric heard Yarram tell of the brigand leader who looked like the dead mage, Suviel Hantika, and her doom-laden message. When Mazaret reacted with disbelief and anger, Tauric could feel the man’s pain. His own anger kindled as he listened, and when Mazaret all but vowed revenge upon the Acolytes of Twilight it sparked a decision.

He crept back along the darkened tier to a false panel between two sets of shelves. He had learned of the secret tunnel from a seldom-visited section of the main library, an archive collected by Korregan’s father and his grandfather, Emperor Varros the Third. A stub of candle burned in a clay holder sitting on the floor just inside the hinged panel, and after closing it behind him he picked up the lamp and followed a low, narrow passage round a short curve. At its end a steep set of steps in the stone went up to bring him out behind a statue of one of the palace’s architects. He squeezed out of the small square hole, fitted the stone-tiled wooden cover over it, then straightened to gaze out over Besh-Darok. He was back on the outer balcony.

His two Companions, Aygil and Dogar gave expectant smiles as he emerged from behind the statue. Both wore blue sashes over heavy white tabards and carried sheathed long knives at their waists but only Aygil had a standard bearer’s hook on his belt.

“A gainful experience, majesty?” said Aygil.

“A sobering one,” Tauric said. “And one that I would discuss with our
guest
- straight away.”

The Companions' eyes widened.

“After that,” he went on, “I shall ask
Him
how to look for a shrine. But let us be on our way back to the Keep of Night. The sooner we get there the sooner we can find out what
He
knows.”