The Shadow at the Gate (53 page)

“Well, magic or not,” said Owain. “Something strange is going on.”

“It was real enough when I ran my spear into it, my lord. But I don’t think I hurt it much. The thing turned on me, and I probably would’ve been done for if the window hadn’t shattered.” Arodilac gnawed his lip in gloomy distraction for a moment and then said, “There’s something else about the beast, something important, that for the life of me I can’t remember. Every time I get it on the tip of my tongue, my head begins to ache.”

The soldiers at the castle gate came to attention as the two strode through. Owain nodded at them absentmindedly. A curious, strained atmosphere pervaded the castle grounds. There were soldiers stationed at every corner and at every door, something Owain had never seen before. Servants scurried here and there. Lights shone from every window. Inside, a strong smell of soap filled the air.

“Lord Gawinn!”

It was Dreccan Gor. The steward hurried down the hallway toward them.

“Gor,” said Owain.

“Did you—have you heard of our unfortunate little mishap?” Gor tried to smile but succeeded in doing nothing more than looking as if he suffered from ulcers.

“Mishap? Eleven servants and one Vomarone lordling slaughtered on the grounds like suckling pigs? A horror straight out of children’s bedtime stories and then Lady Callas calling up the wind? If that’s a mishap, then I’d hate to hear what you consider real trouble. Where’s the regent?”

“In the stables. The duke of Mizra just rode out. Botrell was bidding him farewell. None of the lords have deigned to stay on.”

“I can’t imagine why not.”

Owain turned and strode off, Arodilac hard at his heels. Gor, being short and stout, had to almost run to keep up with them.

“He’s in a bad mood.”

“So am I,” said Owain.

“Quite so,” panted Gor. “Quite so. I’d heard news of your own family’s rather unfortunate, er—”

“Mishap?”

“Dreadful. Your lady’s made of stern stuff, sir, stern stuff. My wife would’ve expired on the spot from fright. Vapors, tremors, chills, fever—you name ‘em—she gets ‘em all if you even say ‘boo’ to her.”

“I shall refrain from doing so,” said Owain coldly, “the next time I have the pleasure of her company.”

The regent was nowhere to be seen in the stable courtyard.

“Probably inside with the horses, my lord,” said Arodilac.

“You could always come back later,” said Gor. “Probably best, I’d say. The regent has a lot on his mind these days. A new trade agreement under consideration with Harth, the fisher guild is demanding additional slips be built on the wharf, and, with the way the treasury is—”

Owain glared at him and the steward shut his mouth. The regent was inside the stable, leaning over the front of a stall and feeding a carrot to a tall blood bay.

“My lord,” said Owain.

Botrell gave a startled yelp and stumbled back. He grabbed a stall post to steady himself.

“My lord,” repeated Owain.

“Now see what you’ve done,” said Botrell furiously. “I’ve got a splinter. A splinter! Look here—it’s all bloody.”

“It’s time we discuss what’s going on—”

“What’s going on? What do you mean, what’s going on? Nothing’s going on!”

“—in Tormay, as well as in our own city. I’m not an alarmist in any way, my lord regent, but judging from the events of the past several days, I’m forced to conclude that the Dark has its hand in our distress.”

“The Dark,” sneered Botrell. “There’s no such thing as the Dark. Perhaps your excursion’s wearied your mind, Gawinn. Some rest would do you well. The Dark is an old wives’ tale, only fit for scaring children into eating their spinach and young girls into the arms of their lovers. We’ve no problems here save a lack of gold in the city coffers. Look at this splinter, Gor. Just look.”

“I would beg to differ,” said Owain. “And I daresay several hundred of your guests would beg to differ as well, according to what I’ve heard of your unfortunate— what was the word you used, Gor?”

“Mishap,” said the steward unhappily.

“Mishap. It was a bloody massacre. Twelve people slaughtered in your castle on the night of the grandest ball of the Autumn Fair?”

“Eaten, is what I heard,” said Arodilac.

“Be quiet.” The regent glared at his nephew.

“Vomaro is demanding an explanation, my lord,” said Owain. “It’s not often that one of the duke’s relatives has the privilege of being eaten alive, and in such exalted company. Will you tell the duke it was a ‘mishap’?”

“I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation,” mumbled the regent.

“No, there isn’t,” said Owain. “And neither is there a reasonable explanation as to why something—some creature—invaded my home while I was gone, murdered one of my guests, and nearly did away with one of my children. It was only due to your nephew’s quick thinking that the thing was routed.”

“Ah, well done for you, Arodilac,” said the regent. “Rabid dog, wasn’t it?”

Owain grabbed the boy by the arm and hauled him forward.

“Why don’t you tell your uncle again what happened? Tell him how the rabid dog faded in and out of visibility.”

“Um,” said Arodilac.

“Dogs, rabid or not, are not able to become invisible at will. Dogs, my lord, are just dogs and they are not known to kill horses, break into houses, and hunt down their inhabitants.”

“Um,” said Arodilac again.

“Furthermore, when your nephew plunged six inches of boar spear into the thing’s back, it didn’t seem to phase the creature one bit. Oddly enough, the prints left by the thing match the prints I found at a village whose inhabitants had all been slaughtered several weeks ago. The prints of the beast were mingled with those of a man. What’s even more interesting, my lord, is that, while in Vomaro, I found a young lad who had seen the man. A tall, thin fellow with a long white face and a mouth filled with more teeth than a man should have.”

“Oh?” said the regent. “A long white face?” His own face paled at these words and he seemed to find the half-eaten carrot in his hand of more interest than Gawinn’s words.

“Not a man at all, I think,” said Owain. He eyed the regent narrowly. “Something different than a man. Strange, isn’t it, that’s the same description of the thing at the autumn ball?”

“Well, appearances are deceiving,” said the regent. “My father always said so, mostly in reference to my mother.”

“Murder in the countryside, murder in the city. Even this morning, my lieutenant informs me of a dead body close by the city gates. Murdered and left drained of blood. Like a tomato sucked dry. Strange goings-on, are they not? Murder in the castle and in my house. My house—me, the so-called protector of Hearne. What am I going to do about it?”

“Are you saying you need to do something about it?”

“Gold, my lord. I need gold for more men, more horses, more equipment. Gold to pay for messengers to the duchies. They must be apprised of the situation and we must have their support.”

“Gold?” said Botrell, more appalled at this than anything else.

“Gold. And lots of it.”

“The coffers,” said Gor, looking just as horrified as the regent, “are empty. All the guests and feasts and balls, don’t you know.”

“Sell the crown jewels. Sell your horses. I don’t care what you do.”

“What?” gasped the regent. “Sell my horses?”

Owain slammed the stable door behind him.

“Your uncle’s a fool,” he growled at Arodilac.

“He is my uncle,” said Arodilac, somewhat stung at these words.

“Hmmph,” said Owain, and he stalked off across the courtyard.

His head ached and his stomach growled, reminding him of things like missing breakfast and the bread undoubtedly baking this moment in the kitchen at home. The conversation in the stable turned around in his head. The regent knew something. Right when he had said that the man who had strolled calmly into the castle ball with death in his hands resembled the man sighted by the lad in Vomaro, something had flickered in the regent’s eyes. Damn him. Botrell was playing a dangerous game. Something strange was going on. Some sort of connection between the murders happening far off in the Tormay countryside and what had happened in the city a few nights ago.

The Dark.

Not that Owain believed in the Dark. How could you believe in something that could not be seen? But sometimes you were forced to believe. As far as he knew, from what he had heard as a child and as a man, from what he had read in the few books he had come across on the subject, the Dark didn’t play games.

It was time he took matters into his own hands. But how?

With this thought moving restlessly through his mind, Owain strode away from the castle, his shoulders hunched and his head down, even though the sun had burned away the mist by this time. Despite everything, it was promising to be a lovely day.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

THE HOUSE OF DREAMS

They all became more and more silent as the morning passed and grew into day. Severan subsided into a mumble that, as far as Jute could tell, did not consist of any words he had heard before, other than the occasional appearance of the words “cheese,” “ale,” “nap,” and “my feet hurt.” The hawk ranged far overhead. The morning began with a clear sky, and with such a background, Jute could usually keep the hawk in sight. However, storm clouds had appeared out of nowhere. One moment, the sky had been a warm blue; the next moment, Jute had glanced up to see storm clouds and no blue at all. The hawk was a dark speck that blurred into invisibility against the gray clouds.

Of all of them—of the three people, that is—Ronan never seemed to tire or slow. As Jute and Severan trudged across the endless plain, Ronan would hurry along at such a tremendous pace that he would vanish in the blowing grasses ahead. At other times, he would go loping back on the trail from where they had come, only to reappear far away on their right or left.

“He hops back and forth like a rabbit,” said Jute.

“Do you know much of rabbits?” said Severan, who was not in the best of moods. “I think not, and I suppose Ronan knows a great deal.”

“Aye,” said the hawk. “I daresay he knows rabbits. Near as much as my own self, and I’ve killed more rabbits than I can remember. Tasty creatures. I never tire of them.”

“He’s just another city rat,” said Jute, feeling somewhat nettled due to the others' admiration of Ronan. “That’s what the Guild is—just a bunch of city rats.”

“One cannot be a rat and a rabbit at the same time," said the hawk. "Any fool can see Ronan is not city-bred. This land is his home and there’s wisdom in how he walks. Even from a rabbit, you have much to learn, for, up to now, your world’s been confined to keyholes and stolen apples and fooling ill-woven wards. You would do well to watch and listen.”

“How am I supposed to listen,” said Jute, “if no one says anything? And you still haven’t explained what’s going on. You promised you would.”

“True,” said the hawk. He shifted from claw to claw on Jute’s shoulder. “I did, didn’t I? Very well.”

Severan, who had been lagging behind Jute, found a burst of energy at these words and quickened his pace until he was walking beside Jute.

“Don’t mind me,” said Severan. “Fine day, isn’t it?”

“No,” said the hawk. “If you bother looking at the sky, you might notice a storm is coming. Clouds do mean something. Now, my young Jute, I’ll tell you what you want to know, but it’ll give you little satisfaction. Knowledge only brings more questions. And, yes, Severan, you may listen, but you’ll kindly keep your comments to yourself.”

“Of course. I wouldn’t dream of anything else.”

“I will speak of things that haven’t been spoken of for many years.”

Thunder rumbled somewhere in the east, far across the plain. The hawk tilted his head to one side, as if he was listening to what the thunder had to say. The air was colder now, and it smelled of iron and rain. Then, the hawk spoke.

“Long ago, the world was nothing but a dream in the mind of Anue. He was known as the sleeping god in the old tongue, even though men have forgotten him in this age. Anue spoke and formed many beings. They sprang into existence in the house of dreams, that place which has no beginning or end. They were the Aro, and they are the oldest servants of Anue. The eldest of these was Nokhoron. It was his task to descend from the house of dreams and so observe that which came to be from the words of Anue, for the god had determined to fashion life within the void. The name Nokhoron is akin to ‘the Watcher’ in the common tongue of men.”

Severan opened his mouth as if to ask a question, but the hawk forestalled him with a look. A breeze sprang up, and the grass waved in its passing, bending and pointing to the north. Clouds gathered in the sky.

“Thus, Nokhoron was the first to see the formation of the world as it came into being. A single word echoed into the void from the mouth of Anue as he stood on the steps of the house of dreams. The word fell like a shining jewel into the nothingness and there took shape. Nokhoron saw all this, alone and winging through the heights. He was astonished and marveled at the power of Anue. He returned to the house of dreams. There, he found Anue walking in the silence, his head bent in thought.