Authors: Sarah McKerrigan
That
was
the word Sung Li had used to describe the strong sparks of fire between Miriel
and him. He hadn't been able to define it clearly for Rand then, nor could he
now. But Miriel assured him 'twas a powerful force.
There
was much work to be done and little time to do it.
Miriel
prowled the keep's chapel, seeking out Morbroch's precious illuminated Bible.
She used her thin dagger to pick the lock chaining the book to the pulpit, no
doubt murmuring prayers of contrition as she did so.
Meanwhile,
Rand raided the kitchen for the elements Miriel required—a large iron pot, a
spoon, twine, an armful of kindling twigs, charcoal, sulfur, and
saltpeter—filching a wineskin as well to plant on the still-unconscious guard.
Between that evidence and the witness of the second guard, no one would believe
his claim that he'd been felled, not by drinking, but by a mysterious woman in
black.
When
they met up again in Rand's bedchamber, Miriel cleared off the table, lining up
the powders, the pot, the twigs, and the ball of twine. Then, flinching as she
did so, she cut several pages from the Bible, one by one, littering the pallet
with the colorfully decorated vellum. When she was finished, the room resembled
an alchemist's workshop.
With
meticulous care, she measured out the powders,
mixing
them
together in the iron pot. Then she cut a dozen
pieces
of
twine,
dredging
them in the mixture and setting
them
aside.
‘Twas
Rand
's task to lay a twig and a piece of coated
twine
along one
edge
of a
Bible page so that it protruded at one end. Miriel would sprinkle a generous
spoonful of the black powder in the midst of the page. Rand would then roll the
page tightly around the stick, folding the tube closed halfway through. The
last edge of vellum would then be sealed with a drop of candle wax.
The
process was a painstaking one, but before long, it became routine, and soon
they were working together as flawlessly as guildsman and apprentice. In an
hour, they'd assembled nigh a hundred of the devices.
"You
know," Rand said, laying out a piece of twine with fingers that were now
stained black, "Sung Li told me once that you and I are like
huo yao."
"Indeed?"
"He
said what passed between us was more than sparks, more than flame, but he
couldn't describe it."
She
smiled. "I think he's right. You'll see." She sprinkled powder over
a page of Genesis.
He
rolled up the vellum. "So Sung Li is the one who trained you?"
"From
the time I was three and ten."
"And
no one suspected? Not even your sisters?"
"Sung
Li always said the greatest weapon is the one no one knows you possess."
She held the candle aloft and let a drop of wax drip onto the page betwixt his
anchoring thumbs.
"True."
He blew on the wax, hardening it. "But what of the weapons they knew
about? The weapons on your wall?"
"They
believed I only collected them. They never suspected I knew how to use
them."
He
set the finished piece aside. "And no one found out your maidservant was a
man?"
“Nay."
He
frowned, irritated at the petty jealousy that began to needle him. "The
two of you shared a chamber. Did he... dress you? Tuck you into bed?"
She
glared at him in response, then decided, "Enough about me. What about you?
Why did you become a... you know... a mercenary?" She said the word under
her breath, echoing Sung Li's prejudice.
He
scowled as he reached for another page, this one featuring the Serpent in the
Garden. " 'Tis an honorable profession. I never slew a man who didn't
deserve it. I never took coin from men seeking selfish vengeance. And I'm
bloody good with a blade."
"Hmm."
She drizzled powder over the verse. "You did not seem so skilled when you
first came to Rivenloch."
"Ah,"
he said, breaking one twig, then casting it aside for another. "That's
because the greatest weapon
is
the one no one knows you possess."
She
chuckled. "Did you learn to fight from your father?"
His
father. He winced in spite of the age of that particular wound. He sighed,
rolling up the vellum. He might as well make a full confession now. God alone
knew if he'd even survive the day. After the way they were desecrating the
Holy Bible, 'twould not surprise him if lightning struck him down before dawn.
"I"m
a bastard." He held out the rolled page for a drop of wax. "My father
was a drunken Norman lord, my mother his Scots mistress." He paused to
blow on the seal. "When I was fourteen, he found out my mother had another
lover. He murdered her and tried to slay me." He touched the scar on his
neck.
She
set the candle down. "But you escaped?"
"I
killed him." He smiled grimly. "And thus began my illustrious life as
a mercenary."
There
was a long quiet in the chamber, and Rand wondered if Miriel was too appalled
to speak. Finally she tucked her hand into his and murmured, "I'm
sorry." And as odd as it seemed, those two simple words did much to
assuage the pain of that memory.
"What
about you?" he asked. "Why did you choose a life of crime?"
"Oh,
'tisn't crime," she said, picking up the spoon to stir idly at the powder.
"Not really."
He
arched a brow. "Stealing silver from strangers' purses? I'm fairly certain
'tis a crime."
"But
'tisn't their silver in the first place."
"Nay?"
"
'Tis coin won off my father at the gaming table. So you see, I'm not really
committing thievery. I'm..." She hesitated.
"Aye?"
"Balancing
the accounts."
"Balancing
the accounts," he echoed.
"Mm.
'Tis what Sung Li calls
yin
and
yang.
You wouldn't understand."
He
spread out another page. 'Twas the most inventive excuse for robbery he'd ever
heard, and he'd heard a lot of them. "I don't believe Lord Morbroch
understands either."
A
tiny frown creased her brow. "He's the one who hired you."
"Aye,
along with half a dozen other... affronted victims."
She
didn't look up from her stirring when she asked him, "And how much did you
collect for turning in The Shadow?"
The
air grew taut between them as she awaited his reply. He realized then the full
measure of what he'd done, the pain she must have felt at his betrayal. He'd
come to Rivenloch, not to court her, but to capture her. For profit.
And
now she wanted to know the price of that betrayal.
Of
course, now that he was going to help The Shadow escape, he didn't deserve the
reward.
"A
shilling?" she guessed. "Two?"
Forsooth,
all told, they'd paid him fifty, but that didn't matter now. He intended to
leave it behind. He answered softly, "Not nearly as much as she's
worth."
************************************
The
sky had lightened from ebony to indigo by the time they exhausted their supply
of black powder.
Miriel
glanced at the arsenal of devices, lined up like ranks of soldiers upon the
pallet. She couldn't help but grin, thinking of the havoc they were about to
wreak.
Rand,
seeing her smile, smiled back. "What?"
She
glanced at him. His face was covered with smudges where he'd inadvertently
rubbed black powder. Using the corner of her sleeve, she wiped carefully at the
marks. "You're going to enjoy this."
He
shrugged. "I've been in battle before. I've seen all manner of war
machines—catapults, trebuchets—"
"
'Tis much better than a trebuchet."
"Flaming
arrows?"
"Child's
play."
"Greek fire."
"Naught
is quite like
huo yao."
There
was still much to do. Miriel was intent on returning as much of the Bible
intact as possible. And there had to be no evidence of their mischief. The
elements had to be returned to the kitchen, the pot to its hook, the spoon to
its place, the ball of twine from whence it had come. No one must ever discover
what they'd wrought.
And
one other assurance remained.
"You
must make me a promise," she said to Rand.
"Anything."
"The
secret of
huo yao
is a
sacred one. 'Tis not to be used except in the most dire of circumstances, or
its mystery will be lost." She gazed into his eyes, intent on making her
message clear. "You must tell no one. You must keep this knowledge as a
secret of your heart. Do you understand?"
He
frowned. No doubt a hundred tempting uses for
huo yao
rushed
through his mind, but she couldn't let him waste the sacred knowledge in that
way. 'Twas a destructive and dangerous tool in the hands of fools.
"You
must promise me," she said again.
He
nodded, and she was glad she'd secured his vow here, before he witnessed how
spectacular and thrilling and breathtaking
huo yao
really
was.
By
the time the morning clouds had begun to blush at the imminent arrival of the
sun, their tasks within the keep were complete. Because the guards were on
watch for intruders, not those
leaving
the castle, Rand simply told
them he'd decided to depart before the execution and directed them to give Lord
Morbroch his regrets. They assumed that Miriel, bundled in a cloak, was his
consort.
That
had been an hour ago. Now, from Miriel's vantage point, she could see Rand with
his torch, half-hidden beneath the trees at the rim of the hill overlooking
Morbroch. Standing vigil along the edge like the front line of an army were
the nigh two hundred devices they'd assembled, though from where she perched,
Miriel couldn't see the sticks among the tall weeds. Which was perfect. If she
couldn't see them, then neither could the people of Morbroch.
Her
eyes stung from lack of sleep, but though she already half reclined along the
high branches of the hanging tree, she was far from dozing off. Her nerves
were stretched taut with anticipation. 'Twas a brazen thing they attempted, the
three of them, pitting their wits against all the castle folk. If this didn't
work...
She
steeled her jaw, adjusting the obscuring cloth over her face again. It
had
to
work.
She
focused on a single leaf of the tree, centering her mind for the task ahead.
But she never realized how difficult 'twould be to maintain her calm when the
portcullis grated slowly open and the blackened felons' cart rolled out through
the gates.
It
seemed an eternity passed as the creaking cart made its way up the hill,
followed by frowning men, jeering children, and women who looked like they'd
rather be snug in their beds. Miriel, peering through what remained of the
tree's leaves, glimpsed Sung Li, his hands bound, riding in the bed of the
cart. Though he held his head proudly, when Miriel saw how small and helpless
he appeared, her heart lurched.
At
last the execution party arrived beneath the hanging tree. Nobody noticed the
dark figure lurking silently in the branches. They were preoccupied with
gawking and spitting curses at the prisoner. Even the executioner himself, who
tossed the hanging rope over the thickest branch, never saw Miriel there. Of
course, invisibility was her talent. 'Twas how she'd earned the name, The
Shadow.