Shadeborn: A Book of Underrealm (21 page)

They came to a stop at the foot of the dais; Loren again raised her eyes to the High King. She noticed the two men standing to her either side. One wore a red cloak over a suit of armor that looked more ceremonial than functional, and Loren took him at once for the Lord Chancellor of the Mystics. The other man wore grand, ornate robes of blue with silver-threaded trim and curious designs embroidered with purple. That, and the hateful way he glared at Xain, led her to guess he must be the Academy Dean.

A sharp kick from a plated boot collapsed her legs, and Loren fell to her knees before the throne. The guard who had met them outside the palace stepped forth, helm under his elbow, and sharply spoke to announce them.

“Your Grace. I bring before you Xain, of the family Forredar, criminal beyond the King’s law, sentenced to death by order of the Academy.”

“I see him, Len.” The High King’s tone was neither condescending nor sharp, but Loren thought she heard the hint of a jest buried inside it. “And who are these others you drag in his wake?”

“We do not know them, Your Grace, but they came in his company.”

Loren looked up to see the High King wave, and Len stepped back. “You may speak for yourselves then, travelers. Who are you, and why do you walk in the company of this wizard? Come, you Mystics. Speak up.”

Erik looked up doubtfully from where he knelt on the floor. When none of the guards seemed likely to strike, he lifted one foot to plant it flat on the floor then laid his arm across the knee, like a soldier reporting to his commander.
 

“Your Grace. I am Erik, knight of the Mystics. You do me great honor—but this girl, in the black cloak, is the one who should speak on our behalf.”

The High King turned to look at Loren with one eyebrow arched. Loren’s stomach fell. Titters and excited murmurs burst from the courtesans, trading whispers behind their hands.

“Indeed?” said the High King, her voice betraying genuine interest. “I find myself curious why a Mystic would cede the floor to one so young. Unless she is from some noble family, and I know it not?”

Loren looked sideways, panicked. Xain raised his eyebrows. She stood and raised her head—then, mortified, realized where she was and fell back to one knee. The courtesans burst into subdued laughter.

“No noble girl, then, I take it,” said High King Enalyn. Her voice was not unkind.

“No, Your Grace. I am Loren, of the family Nelda, hailing from the Birchwood.”

“A forest girl,” said Enalyn. “Tell me, Loren. Why do your words hold more weight in this room than a knight of the Mystics?”

Loren reached into her cloak, but her pocket was empty. They had been searched as they were being dragged through the castle, though she had scarcely noticed at the time. “Your Grace, I . . . I had a letter.”

Enalyn looked to Len, who drew it from his belt.
 

“We found it upon her, Your Grace.”
 

Len handed the letter to one of the royal guard, who climbed the dais to place it in the Lord Chancellor’s hand. He was a spidery man, with wispy fingers, and Loren did not like his grimace as he pried loose the wax seal that Kal had placed upon the letter. He hardly paused before reading it aloud, but Loren saw his eyes flit quickly across the paper, absorbing the message before he opened his mouth.

“She bears a letter from Chancellor Kal, of the family Endil. It declares that these travelers bear grave news of utmost importance to all the nine kingdoms, for the ears of the High King and her closest advisor only.”

“This is a gesture haughty enough to offend us all,” said the Dean from Enalyn’s other side. “Lord Chancellor, can you not keep your own men in better order than this?”

“This was done without my knowledge or consent, of course, Your Grace,” said the Lord Chancellor, who looked as though he wanted to burn the letter, and mayhap the Mystics at the foot of the dais. “Please, allow me to move this matter to my chambers, and deal with it there where it shall trouble you not.”

“The Mystics may be your concern, but Xain is not,” said High King Enalyn, her voice just sharp enough to usher the throne room to silence. “It was I who issued the order for his arrest—an arrest that your men have failed to execute all these long months. Now he comes to the throne room of his own accord, bearing a letter from one of your Chancellors. I shall pay it heed.”

She nodded to one of the royal guard, and he moved quickly to clear the throne room. In moments it was done; only Loren’s party, the Lord Chancellor, the Dean, and the royal guard remained.

“Now, Loren,” said Enalyn, and again Loren’s heart skipped a beat at the sound of her name. “Tell me this grave news that threatens my domain. And for goodness’ sake, stand as you tell me, for the top of your head is not nearly so comely as those remarkable eyes.”

Loren swallowed and found for a moment that her legs had utterly failed her. But at last they heard her command, and she forced herself to stand.

“Your Grace. I have come . . . that is to say, we have learned . . ." She faltered, for the words would not come, no matter how hard she tried to muster them.

Enalyn leaned forward, hands in her lap. Gently, she said, “You need not worry at your choice of words. Nor for how they will sound. If it helps, simply say it plainly. And worry not, for you are not the first to find your tongue tied in this room.”

Loren smiled, if weakly, and cleared her throat. “Your Grace. The Shades have returned, after many centuries, and even now they muster to make war upon the nine lands. We found them in the Greatrock Mountains, and they have pursued us ever since.”

The High King’s eyes flashed. But at her side, the Lord Chancellor scoffed. “She comes here barking words Kal has taught to her. He has said much the same thing to me, and many times over the years, as has his pet, Jordel. If he wished to trouble us with this nonsense, he could have sent a letter and saved us much trouble.”

Loren felt hot wrath rising in her breast, and not the least at the Lord Chancellor’s use of the word
pet
to describe Jordel, who had been one of the greatest men she had ever known. And so she spoke without thinking, or hiding her anger.
 

“They
are
real, Lord Chancellor, and they
have
returned. We know, my friends and I, for we have seen them. Jordel would be here to tell you himself, but he cannot, for he died fighting the Shades, alone save for us, far away in the highest peaks of the Greatrocks. You should consider yourself honored to have ever stood in the same room as such a man.”

The room fell silent, save for her echo. The Lord Chancellor fixed Loren with a deadly glare, while the Dean’s mouth sat open in a small
O
of disbelief. But the High King stood, one hand falling to the throne, as if for support.
 

The Lord Chancellor fell to his knees along with the Dean. Loren dipped her head again.

“Say again, girl. Jordel, of the family Adair, is dead?”

Loren’s rage had fled her, and she found it hard to speak around the lump in her throat. “Yes. He fell in battle, saving our lives at the cost of his own. Our road has been darker since. Your Grace.”

Enalyn bowed her head, silent. No one moved or dared a heavy breath. The moment passed, and she sat again. The Lord Chancellor rose, as did the Dean, although stiffly.
 

“Remove Xain’s gag,” said Enalyn.

“Your Grace,” said the Dean. “I urge you not to do this. He is a criminal, sentenced to death for his crimes. Furthermore, he is an abomination, an eater of magestone. We cannot know that his mind is sound.”

Enalyn turned to the death, her mouth curled in displeasure. “Look at his gaunt cheeks, his wasted limbs. The man is half-dead. Can you, as the Academy Dean, not protect me and my court from so weak a wizard as this? For if that is the case, I would feel comfortable with a more powerful wizard holding your position.”

The Dean glared down at Xain, with more than a hint of nerves in his stare. But he quickly shook his head. “Of course, Your Grace. It will be my honor.”

“Good,” said Enalyn. “Remove it.”

Len hastened to obey, and with the cloth removed, Xain flexed his jaw until it popped. The Dean held his fingers in a claw by his side, lips parted as if ready to mutter words of power. But Xain only rose to one knee and looked up at Enalyn—neither with anger nor shame. He looked only expectant.

“Did you speak over his grave?” Enalyn asked him.

Loren had not expected that, and by his look neither had Xain. He bowed. “No, Your Grace. None of us could speak, for the grief of loss was heavy upon us. But he fell from a bridge that spanned a great chasm, and into the bridge I inscribed my words.”

“Tell me.”

Here fell a great man

A clarion trumpet against danger

In darkness where none could see

His name was Jordel

Xain spoke the words like a prayer, and suddenly Loren was back on the bridge by his side. She saw the Mystic’s mangled body once more, the cairn they had built him of rocks, and his red cloak, which they had buried him in. She bowed her head, and tears sprang unbidden into her eyes.

Enalyn nodded at the wizard when he finished, a quiet smile on her lips. “That was very like him.”

She clapped her hands, and it was as if a spell had broken. “If you speak the truth, and the Shades are indeed gathering power, we must stop it immediately.”

“Your Grace, it would be a mistake to act in haste upon this,” said the Lord Chancellor. “You would be taking action based on the words of a known traitor and criminal, witnessed only by street urchins and children whom we have never heard of.”

“They came escorted by four of your soldiers, Lord Chancellor.”

“Soldiers who will receive appropriate discipline,” he said, staring daggers at the Mystics studiously avoiding his gaze.

“I must confess myself still in mystery,” said the Dean, eyes narrowed as he looked from Xain to Loren and back. “Who are these people the girl speaks of?”

“Let us visit our history later,” said the Lord Chancellor. “For now, I recommend that we rid ourselves of these . . . visitors. Your Grace, with your leave, let us dismiss them and hold an emergency council to determine our best course of action.”

“But you cannot mean to simply let Xain go free,” said the Dean. “He has committed many crimes against the King’s law and must now face his punishment.”

“No. At least not yet,” Enalyn said. “If he has returned of his own free will, then I can at least entertain the possibility that he has atoned for his crimes—or begun to.” She turned to Loren and the others. “You will stay here, in the palace. Under guard, I am afraid, for I cannot let Xain roam free any more than I will consign him to a swift and brutal punishment. But you will not face justice until I know what is fair.”

“Your Grace,” said Xain, raising his head. “My son. If I could be permitted—”

Enalyn fixed him with a hard glare, and the wizard subsided. “I have not yet decided what to do with you, Xain. I will not reunite you with your son only to force you to part again. That is a cruelty I would visit upon no child, least of all my kin.”

Xain bowed again, but Loren could see he was fuming. The palace guards came forward to take them away, lifting them to their feet and escorting the party toward the throne room door.
 

As they turned, Enalyn called out sharply for them to halt.

“Forest girl,” she said. “I had heard that a young girl of the family Yerrin was traveling by your side. Was I misinformed?”

Loren found her head spinning, for it seemed impossible that the High King should know anything about her. She thought hard, and chose her words with care. “The girl was with us upon our road, but no longer.”

Enalyn’s head rose slightly, like a dog catching a scent. “And do you know where she is now?”

“I have some idea where she might be, but not exactly, Your Grace.” That was true enough. Annis was on her way to Ammon, but Loren knew not where she was on the voyage, or where the destination lay.

The High King nodded, and Loren felt that the gesture held understanding beyond words. “We shall speak more of this soon. Farewell for now.”

Then the guards were upon Loren again, and the throne room was soon behind them.

twenty-five

They were whisked through a series of serpentine halls. Almost immediately, Erik and the other Mystics were separated and led in another direction before Loren could say goodbye. They soon found themselves before a chamber with a great wooden door. Inside they found the most lavish quarters that she had ever seen.
 

The chamber was large with plush chairs everywhere and an ornate table in the middle surrounded by several smaller chairs for eating. Many doors led from the main room into bedchambers, each as large as the common rooms of any inn. Gem’s eyes bulged from his skull. Chet appeared utterly shocked. Xain shrugged.

“They are modest chambers by palace standards,” he said. Still, it is better than the prison cell I thought to find myself in.”

Several sentries were posted outside their door: two palace guards alongside a new pair of Mystics. One carried no weapons—Loren guessed she was a wizard. Then there was an Academy wizard, wearing similar robes to the Dean, though nowhere near as lavish. Each type of guard eyed the other with the same breed of distrust granted to Loren and her party.