Authors: Julie E. Czerneda

Tags: #Fantasy

A Play of Shadow (74 page)

“No.”

If Glammis had heard that denial, he’d not sleep again, nor believe there was any place in all of Rhoth where he could hide.

“Now,” Lila said in a completely different tone, “what say we find a decent vantage point and wait for my dear husband?” She pointed to where a pair of crows paced the wide sill of the rightmost window, heads bobbing with each step.

Bannan raised a brow. “And how do you propose we get up there?”

Lila merely smiled.

A short while later, the truthseer rested his chin in his hands, arms supported by his elbows. “I was afraid you’d go for the roof,” he admitted.

His sister grunted something uncomplimentary. They lay on their stomachs, stretched out on a pile of crates, those crates beneath a canvas Lila had considerately untied rather than slit before squirming into place. The manor was in view; they weren’t.

More importantly, they were steps from both the side alley and the building front, the only way, Lila had assured him, Emon and his companions would exit.

An excellent vantage point and a fortunately uncomfortable one, given neither of them had slept.

Not that Lila would. “Back in the alley,” she whispered without preamble. “That nonsense. What should you have known?”

Bannan told her of those who remembered, and those who forgot.

“Interesting,” was all she said at first.

Which it was, he gave her that.

Then, “So that’s why they meet here.”

He blinked. “Pardon?”

Lila nudged him with her shoulder. “Really, little brother. Isn’t it obvious? If so few can remember this magic beyond the edge, the lords of the Shadow Sect have to be among them. If I were one of them, I’d take full advantage and—” slower, as if thinking aloud, “—I’d not take seriously anyone who can’t prove they remember too.”

“Emon.”

He felt her shrug. “If he senses they’ve secret knowledge, my so-clever husband will be the last to reveal his own ignorance. Besides,” comfortably, “he’s been here before and come back full of tales for the boys. I’d not bet against him.”

“I never would,” Bannan said fervently.

She chuckled. “At last, wisdom. Now, little brother. To keep us from nodding while Emon does his part in things, tell me of Werfol and Semyn—as well as what you didn’t put in your letters about Jenn Nalynn. How you came here from Marrowdell is also of great interest to me. And—” another low laugh, Lila being well-pleased after all, which eased Bannan’s worries immeasurably, “—more concerning toads.”

So he did.

“M’lord couldn’t have done better,” Dutton said quietly.

Herer nodded, his eyes bright. “He was brilliant. Timed each revelation to counter the next naysayer, not that any denied what you’d brought us, Bannan.”

“When those shadow lords laid eyes on the tokens, it went so quiet we could hear one of m’lord’s birds outside the window. Forbidden magic, that’s what they called it. Foul.”

And the man who’d been willing to use them had escaped—news no one had been pleased to hear.

Emon Westietas didn’t have the look of a man freshly triumphant. He’d left his companions with Bannan to go to his wife, dropping his head to her shoulder.

“M’lord’s exhausted,” Herer explained in a low voice, his eyes on Emon.

Dutton looked to disagree, then rubbed a hand over his face. “He’s not alone.” After battle, came its cost. Bannan knew it. They all did.

The three had come out of the manor through the main door, unescorted, just as dawn drew its fiery promise along the horizon. The crows had swooped down to circle Emon, then flown to where Lila and Bannan waited; a sign they could trust, Lila said, climbing from their hiding place at once.

By mutual consent they’d moved down the bank until out of sight of the manor. Racks of barrels waiting to be shipped made a convenient shelter. More racks than should be. The barges swaying with the river’s current were loaded and ready. They’d been that way for weeks now.

Bannan leaned against a barrel, eyeing Emon’s companions. Did they remember? Should he even try to ask?

Before he could, Herer chose his own barrel, made himself comfortable, then said with a casual air, “Ancestors Witness. Seems a rare number of moths, hereabouts.”

Dutton, pretending great interest in a loose button, shot a keen glance at the truthseer.

Why—they were testing him?! Bannan grinned. “It’s the lady who sends them I love best.”

The two men chuckled. “Good to know,” Dutton said, then grew serious, nodding toward Emon and Lila. “Our lord baron brought seven of us on his last visit to this city of magic. Only we three—” a pained pause, then he went on determinedly. “—That’s why m’lord chose us for this mission.”

“We hope,” Herer added, “to speak as freely before our lady baroness.”

Not a question, but Bannan was glad to answer. “Lila remembers.”

Their faces lightened at this.

Lila and Emon joined them, the baron waving to dissuade the crow intent on landing on his head. “My friends. Brother,” this to Bannan, with warmth. “We’ve done what we came to do, thanks to you. Hearts of my Ancestors, I am truly Beholden for such—”

“Idiocy,” Lila interrupted pleasantly. “Or should I use a stronger term, Dearest Heart? How does madness suit?”

Emon shook his head. “My lady wife worries how my failure will be received at court.” One crow landed on his shoulder. The other chose to perch atop a barrel, bending its head to caw in disapproval.

“‘Failure,’ m’lord?” Dutton broached, after a quick look to Herer. “But we thought—”

“Oh, Mellynne will vote to restore normal relations with Rhoth. Given the public will, I expect a courier, perhaps a noble delegation, underway as early as this afternoon. Matters needed but gentle encouragement in that direction. No one is as relieved as I.”

“After your ‘failure,’” Bannan observed grimly.

“Exactly. I did nothing that was expected of me.” A peaceful smile.

Lila began to pace, outrage in every step. “You’ll lie to the prince. You’ll expect us to do the same. And when he publicly accuses you of being a fool and coward? When he tosses you from court?”

Still the smile. “I’ll miss a session at most. I’ve friends in the House and Commons, dear wife. Ordo’s one voice—granted the loudest—but just one. He’ll call me back to my seat, pleased no doubt to mention at every opportunity how miserable an envoy I was and how he alone kept the peace.”

She walked up to him, eyes green with fury. “You saved it!” The crow soared up and away in a flurry of wingbeats.

“Lila. The Shadow Sect cannot be exposed as having dealt with Rhothans. Nor would any Naalish thank me for showing them the rot in one of their noble houses.” Emon cupped her face in his hands. “To sink in the estimation of a fool is no lasting loss to me or Vorkoun. This was the price set by the shadow lords, Dearest Heart, for their cooperation. I gladly pay it.”

“I don’t like this,” she said so softly Bannan barely heard.

Emon’s smile grew tender. “I never thought you would.” He kissed her soundly.

“—then we’re off to Avyo,” she stated when they stepped apart, her cheeks decidedly pink.

“As quickly and quietly as possible,” the baron agreed. “We’ve arrangements in place. Herer?”

“About that, m’lord.” Herer pulled out a leather-wrapped document. “Bish vouched for the boat and crew.”

“I’d prefer,” Emon said dryly, “to survive my skulking home, tail between my legs.”

With a nod, the other man removed the document, tearing it once, then again.

“‘Skulking,’ husband-mine?”

“The best way across the border—given none of us entered Channen legally,” the baron pointed out.

“There is that.”

“I’ve a smuggler who owes me a favor,” Bannan said ruefully, “but he’s in Avyo—wait.” Ancestors Dear and Departed. He’d carried the brooch through everything. Could it be? “I may have a way.” He caught Lila’s eye. “I’ve the name of someone who worked the river barges, years ago. Who might be willing to help.” If they could find him. A dead woman’s lover, who’d—how long ago?—taken a barge to Avyo. That was likely half the adult population of Channen. Left, right. Either way were barges. Dozens. Hundreds, more likely. Moths. He could use moths, right now.

“Who?” Lila pressed.

“Baldrinn. Baldrinn Duart. We’ve mutual friends.” He gave a helpless shrug. “But I’ve no idea where he is.”

Emon’s eyes widened, then he broke out in the most wonderful laugh. When he was done, he wiped his eyes. “Ancestors Rare and Remarkable, brother of my wife. Are you sure? Baldrinn the Bargemaster?”

“You know him?”

Dutton and Herer had cheered as well. “We know of him,” the latter said with a relieved grin. “And well know where to find him.”

Emon nodded. “I should have thought of Baldrinn myself—”

“Bish spoke against him, m’lord. Said he was feeble-minded.”

“A recommendation if ever I heard one,” Lila snapped.

Bannan looked from one to the other. “You know him?” he repeated, feeling left behind.

“Your pardon,” Emon said. “Baldrinn’s famous—or infamous, depending who you ask.” He chuckled. “Despite his years, he remains a force in Channen. The man’s written daily—or more—to the prince about the embargo. A correspondence neither flattering nor pleasant, believe me. He’s sent, among other things, a package of spoiled meat from a shipment held at the border. And demanded, loudly, nothing less than an envoy from Avyo come straighten out the mess.”

Dutton’s eyes gleamed. “Such a man would be glad to hear things are about to move again on his river.”

“News we can’t give,” Herer protested.

“No matter.” Bannan took out the brooch, handing it to Emon. “When you meet Baldrinn, return this before asking for passage.”

The baron examined it, then glanced at Lila. “It’s an endearment.”

“Yes.” The truthseer found himself smiling. “Tell Baldrinn Frann wore it with love until she joined her Blessed Ancestors.” His smile widened. “And Lorra sends her regards.”

That those formidable ladies of commerce would help the baron and baroness of Vorkoun, who’d ended the choke on trade caused by the very prince who’d exiled them?

Something to savor, Bannan decided, for a very long time.

He wished he’d dared tell Lorra Treff.

She’d neither meant nor wanted to fall asleep, but Jenn startled awake to find her bed covered in sunshine.

And Bannan Larmensu snoring, very quietly, beside her.

Though it was day and, as Aunt Sybb was fond of saying, sunlight was for working by, lamplight for finishing, and candlelight a poor substitute for either, Jenn Nalynn rearranged the covers over them both.

Then curled herself around the man she loved and went back to sleep.