Shadow of the Father (44 page)

“How dare you!” Maxon said.

“What did you do with the Cantor?” Dinah stepped forward.

Dewry ignored them both. “It was most inconvenient of you to stop here. Had you stayed in the Heights, none of this would be necessary, and you could bury your little sex toy wherever you liked.”

“Where is he?” Yilon shouted.

Dewry’s ears flicked at the ringing echoes. “He’s defiling the bones of my ancestors. That’s fine. There will be plenty of time to find his body later.” He reached down to pat the satchel. “I have what I need.”

Yilon stared at the chapel, at the curtains hiding it from the rest of the church. Had it moved again? Was it wishful thinking? He ached to run over and look, but he couldn’t make himself to do it. The disappointment if it were empty would be too much to bear. And if it weren’t, what would he do? He started to walk back toward the entrance, away from the chapel and the altar. “You’re lying,” he said, though he couldn’t imagine Sinch giving up the satchel while he was still alive. His eyes flicked to the silver star atop the altar.
Please, please, let him be alive.

Dewry followed him with the crossbow. He was holding it awkwardly in his right arm, and now that Yilon looked at him, he saw the left hanging limply at his side. Halfway down the upper arm, a large dark reddish blot had spread across the grimy white fabric. Good for Sinch, he thought fiercely. He scored a mark. He gauged the range of the crossbow, trying to estimate how much Dewry’s wounded arm changed things. From where he was, it would be a difficult shot with only the one arm for balance. But if Dewry had shot Corwin from the roof, he could certainly shoot Yilon from across a church, wounded arm or no.

“Dewry,” Lady Dewanne said. “You are not the heir.”

“I have the crown,” he said. “You can’t stop me any more.” She stepped forward from the door, down the center aisle. If she’d been distant on the way to the church, she was fully present now.

“You’ve no idea what your father wanted.”

“You’re the one who had me sent away,” Dewry snapped.

“It was easier for you to accept that, wasn’t it?” Lady Dewanne said, so softly that Yilon wasn’t sure Dewry would be able to hear her.

But he did. “It’s the truth! That’s what he told me!” He kept the crossbow trained on Yilon, moving along the pew, trying to get closer. Yilon moved in the same direction, away from the chapel, trying not to look that direction to see whether the curtain had moved again, lest he draw Dewry’s attention to it.

“That’s what Maxon told you,” Lady Dewanne said. “Sheffin did not want to hurt you.”

“He wanted me to be Lord!” Dewry said. “He loved me!”

Lady Dewanne stepped forward, even with Yilon, blocking him.

She rested her paws on the back of the rearmost pew. “In his way, yes.”

Yilon stopped, not wanting to step behind her. Dewry still held the crossbow on him, but he’d stopped moving, now sneering at Lady Dewanne. “He wouldn’t let you have cubs of your own. That’s why you had to get this unwanted second from some other fox family.”

Yilon hadn’t expected Lady Dewanne to smile. “You poor thing,” she said. “You thought that was his decision?”

For the first time, the crossbow dipped. Dewry’s eyes widened, his ears flattening. They came back up almost immediately. “It was, of course it was. Don’t be ridiculous. He had me. Why would he…?”

“Canis mark my words,” Lady Dewanne said, splaying her paw over her heart.

“Ha.” The crossbow swung slightly in her direction, then returned to Yilon. Dewry’s left arm twitched, and Yilon caught his wince of pain. “You’re the one who wanted a cub. You wanted to get rid of me, put me out of the picture forever.”

Lady Dewanne didn’t say anything, but she held Dewry’s eyes, and after a moment, his ears flattened again. “That wasn’t me.”

“It was never
proven
to be you. And yet,” she said, with a graceful wave at the crossbow.

“I’m not going to kill
you
now,” he said. “
You
have no claim to the lordship.” As if she’d reminded him of his mission, he started moving toward the center aisle again. Yilon judged the distance, and which way Dewry might miss. He could perhaps dodge the crossbow if he timed it just right. But Dewry was closer now, and it would be a tricky thing.

“I chose not to have cubs,” Lady Dewanne said, her voice ringing through the church, “because I was terrified you would try to kill them as well.”

Dewry stopped again, at the center aisle, and stared. Lady Dewanne went on. “And your father agreed with me.”

“I wouldn’t…” Dewry shook his head. “He had to know…” He looked to the steward, ears flattened, eyes widening. “I would have stepped aside. For my brothers, of course I would. Maxon. Maxon! Tell her.”

Maxon stepped forward, past Lady Dewanne. “Do not do this,” he said.

Dewry’s muzzle twisted. “Did she turn you against me, too?”

“You did that.” Maxon took another step toward Dewry.

Yilon saw Dewry flinch. He tensed, ready to move quickly. The crossbow swung to point at Maxon, the deadly quarrel tip gleaming in the sunlight. “Stop there.” Dewry shook his head, and then smiled again. “It doesn’t matter. Doesn’t matter.” He lurched forward and swung the crossbow around, bringing it to bear on Yilon.

“He
is
your brother!” Maxon cried, stretching out a paw. The word ‘brother’ echoed from the dome, dying away into silence.

Yilon was only watching Dewry, but with the exception of Maxon, he felt all other eyes in the church on him. Maxon took another step forward. He was very close now, perhaps three steps away. Yilon wanted to shout at him to come back, that Dewry was clearly unhinged and might shoot him. “Your father,” Maxon went on, “he made an arrangement…”

“He can’t be,” Dewry whispered.

“He is,” Lady Dewanne said. “It was the only way Sheffin could have another son who would be safe from you.”

“You said you would step aside for your brother.” Maxon spoke firmly.

“Not him!” The crossbow trembled in his paw. “Not that mouse-loving, city-born, pampered…” His head twitched. In that moment, he looked uncannily like Shreds. Yilon gripped the stone back of the pew and prepared to move.

“Give me the crossbow,” Maxon said calmly. “You can still go back to Divalia.” He reached out.

“No!” Dewry’s eyes blazed. “You’re lying! All of you!” The crossbow came up so that Yilon caught a glimpse of the silver point, aimed directly at his eyes, but it was only a glimpse. He heard the thrum of the string, but his view was obscured by a grey blur. Maxon had leapt for Dewry at the moment the crossbow was fired.

Only the steward’s coughs echoed in the church. Dewry had lowered the crossbow, but was making no attempt to draw it again, staring at Maxon as the steward staggered against the stone. Yilon leapt over the pew, running across the stone backs as Dinah paralleled him down the aisle. She reached Dewry a moment before he did.

Dewry brought the crossbow up instinctively. Dinah knocked it aside and bore him to the floor, just as Yilon dropped to the ground beside them. “I got him,” Dinah growled, so Yilon knelt next to Maxon.

The steward had slumped against one of the pews, a paw curled around the quarrel that had pierced his chest. Yilon couldn’t help but notice that it had struck him in almost the same place as Corwin had been hit, though at much closer range. “My lord,” he whispered, and then coughed. Flecks of blood spattered his chest below the large, spreading red stain with the silver center.

“Shh.” Yilon took his paw. The pads felt cold as ice. Lady Dewanne knelt beside them. “Be at rest, dear friend,” she said, her voice choked.

Maxon’s eyes held Yilon’s. The steward’s jaw worked, but he made only guttural noises. His eyelids fluttered; he strained to keep them open.

“You have served the court of Dewanne well,” Yilon said. “As well as anyone could have asked.”

Maxon’s ears lifted, and his muzzle curved into a satisfied smile. Then his eyes closed, and he made no more attempt to open them.

Yilon couldn’t let go of the steward’s paw. So many times in the past week (only a week?) he had been furious at Maxon, for his attitude, his treachery, his behavior toward Sinch and Valix. He’d only recently come to understand the steward even a little. Now he found himself wishing for more time.

“It was a good thing to say,” Lady Dewanne said quietly to him.

Yilon couldn’t look away from Maxon’s expression, peaceful now. The paw he was holding grew stiff. “He told us a lot of his story, yesterday.”

Gently, Lady Dewanne took Maxon’s paw from Yilon. “He did not have an easy life, but he led it as well as he knew how. If he made mistakes, he did his best to atone for them.”

Yilon nodded, numbly. His eyes came to rest on the crossbow quarrel, which brought his mind back to Dewry. He turned to see Dinah with one knee on Dewry’s back, twisting one arm into the air. With one last glance at Maxon, Yilon stood looking down at them.

“You should go call the guard,” Lady Dewanne said, remaining crouched beside Maxon, her blue dress puddle on the floor.

“No,” Dinah said, “you should help me get this bastard outside.” She spit the epithet out, ears flat back against her head. “We don’t need the guard to take care of him.”

“There are laws,” Lady Dewanne said. “And I am still Lady Regent.”

“Yilon, give me a paw here.” Dinah made as if to slide off of Dewry, who looked insensate.

The temptation was strong. He wanted to hurt this fox, for what he’d done to Corwin, Maxon, and Sinch. He wanted him to suffer as they were all suffering. But whatever they would do to him would not repair the damage he’d already done. His lessons had taught him that. “No,” he said. “There will be judgment for him, but not today.”

Dewry’s ears flicked, but he made no other movement. Lady Dewanne stood and brushed her dress sleeve, her gaze resting on Yilon. “He is what he was raised to be,” she said softly.

“He is what he is,” Dinah said.

Lady Dewanne shook her head. “We sent him away from home and family. He knew his father only at a distance, and then not at all. Sheffin bore the guilt for his youthful lust all his life, and so did he.” She gestured toward Dewry’s prone form.

Yilon squeezed his eyes shut. Dinah’s voice echoed sharply in the church. “I barely know my father.”

“He’s there for you, dear.” Lady Dewanne’s voice carried a touch of impatience. “Should you wish to know him better—”

“We neither of us knew our father.” Yilon barely stopped himself from adding the plural. He stepped around to Dewry’s head and looked down at the filthy fox. Cobwebs trailed from his ears, and his arms were more grey than black with all the dust on them. Yilon saw a piece of white fur clinging to Dewry’s shoulder; he’d talked about the “bodies of his ancestors.”

Dewry lifted his head slowly, wincing as Dinah twisted his arm further. He stared up at Yilon, his eyes not defiant, not angry, but desperate. His ears were flat back against his skull. “Are you really my brother?”

Something in the harsh croak made his voice made Dinah’s ears perk. She relaxed her grip, sitting back, allowing Dewry to turn onto his side, to see Yilon more clearly. Yilon saw Lady Dewanne’s curt nod, but he didn’t need her permission, nor her encouragement. “I am,” he said.

Dewry closed his eyes. His chest heaved, and then his torso twisted, throwing Dinah off of him. Yilon and lady Dewanne both took a step back, but Dewry made no move toward them. He craned his neck up toward the ceiling of the church, his muzzle opened, and out came a naked howl, wordless, anguished, that sent Yilon another step back with the force of it. The scream built on itself, echoing back from the corners of the church to join with itself, and it went on and on.

Yilon stood, as they all did, mesmerized. He didn’t understand it fully, but he could almost see a dark haze in the air above Dewry, as if some malicious spirit were escaping through his scream, dissipating in the sacred air of the church.

When his breath ran out, Dewry panted hard, still staring at the roof. Then he collapsed to the ground, staring dully at nothing through glistening eyes.

 
The guard took him away while Yilon searched for Sinch. In the chapel, he found the Cantor, bound and gagged, a stole covering his head. “He asked me to come in here,” he said, when Yilon released him, “and then he seized my arms.”

Volle sniffed around the chapel. He could still smell Sinch, but the mouse was nowhere to be found. “My friend, the one I left here…”

“He was not here.” The Cantor rubbed his wrists and looked fearfully at the curtain. “What… what happened?”

“He killed the court steward,” Yilon said. His eyes came to rest on the book at the small altar, while the Cantor placed his splayed paw to his chest in the sign of Canis.

“Is that… who screamed?”

“No.” When Yilon didn’t elaborate, the Cantor went on. “I remember him from childhood. A little older than I was. We were told not to make sport of him because he didn’t have a father.” He ducked his head. “Canis have mercy on his spirit. May his paws find the true path at last.”

“The shadow of the father lies over the path of the cub,” Yilon murmured, the verse familiar from his childhood as he read it from the book, just above his fingers.

“And yet,” the Cantor went on, “it is the cub who chooses his path.”

Yilon read the words in the book as the Cantor said them. He pushed aside the thoughts they stirred. “Where did my friend go?”

“I don’t know. He did not leave the chapel.”

Yilon frowned. “That’s impossible.” His eyes fell on the curtain at the back of the chapel, a decorative tapestry that he’d seen as a wall.

“I did hear the scraping of a large stone,” the Cantor offered, but Yilon was already looking behind the tapestry. There, in the wall, a large stone some two feet across by a foot and a half high had swung out from the wall. Mold and dust smells floated out on cold air, along with a whiff of blood.

“Merciful Alpha,” the Cantor said behind him, but Yilon was already squeezing through the opening.

“Get me light,” he called back. He couldn’t believe how absolute the darkness was. He could smell the decay from below.
The bones of my ancestors.
This had to be where Sinch was.