The Door Into Shadow totf-2 Read online

  (Hah!) Sunspark said suddenly from beneath Herewiss. (For one lousy penny I'm supposed to cut off my legs?)

  Segnbora tried to put her head under her wing in token of mild exasperation, and found she couldn't. She made a face. "The punch line

  usually conies at the end of the joke," she said.

  (Oh. Well, there's this beggar—) "That one won't work now. We know the ending. Start another.." (All right.) It thought a moment, and Segnbora shook her head, bemused.

  While she had been busy with Hasai, Dritt had made the mistake one day of trying to make friends with Sunspark by telling it a joke. Since then it had decided that joking was a vital part of human experience, and had been demanding everyone to teach it the art, on pain of burning them when Herewiss wasn't looking. As soon as she was in the saddle again, Sunspark had accosted Segnbora. In no mood for jok-ing, she had suggested that it tell her jokes, and thus learn by doing. She'd had no peace since,

  (—SO' there are these two women, they go into an inn and the innkeeper conies to their table, and one of the women says,, 'Bring us the best red wine you have, and. be sure the cups are clean!* So the innkeeper goes off, and comes back with a tray, and says, "Two red wines. And which, one asked for the' clean cup?1 *)

  Herewiss closed his eyes and laughed. "Not. bad." (I made it up,) said Sunspark, all childish pride. It did a quick, capriole out of sheer pleasure, and almost unseated Herewiss. "Oof! Watch that, you. On second thought, maybe we should increase your part, in the act. We could use another jester." "Mnk'qalasihiw, Hkir—"' Segnbora, cleared her throat. The

  Dracon language was beginning to fascinate her, and her desire to master it sometimes caused it to get out of her mouth before Darthene did. "I mean, Herewiss, there's only one problem with that. What happens if an audience doesn't laugh?"

  Sunspark threw a merry glance at its rider. (If they don't laugh, we get rid of them and bring in a new audience.) The thought "get rid of them" was attached to plans for the same sudden-death fire that had been the end of the deathjaw.

  THE DOOR INTO SHADOW

  Freelorn glanced up at the sky, no doubt to invoke the Goddess's protection on their next audience. Herewiss looked hard at his mount. Sunspark laid back its ears and showed all its teeth around the bit, then subsided somewhat. (They will come back,) it said, sulkiness showing in the thought, (you told me so!) "They will. But there's no reason to hurry people out of this life."

  "Don't be hard on it," Segnbora said. "It learns quickly. Another few months and I dare say the audiences will be safe." Freelom and Herewiss exchanged unconvinced, humorous glances, but Segnbora didn't noticed

  She was feeling hot — but then, these days, she felt hot most of the time. She closed her eyes to glance back, in mind, at Hasai. Through this day and the day before he had been stretched at ease in the seaside cave, looking out of her eyes, silent for the most part. He stayed out of her thoughts except to ask an occasional question. The rest of the time the rumble of his private thought blended with the bass chorus of the mdeihei, a sound Segnbora found she could now start to ig-nore, like the seashore when one lives nearby. She looked down into herself now and saw Hasai sunning himself in the noon light that splashed down through the cave's shaft. His wings were spread out flat like a butterfly's, lying easy on the floor; his neck was curled so1 that his head lay under one of them in the position. Segnbora had tried to achieve before.

  "That one is insolent," Hasai said, referring to Sunspark. "Is it not?"

  In Dracon the question was rhetorical, and Segnbora had no answer for it. She turned away from Hasai without further thought and opened her eyes again on the evening. There was a sweet sharp hawthorn scent in the air.

  *' Berend, did you hear me?" Freelorn said. "No, Lorn, I was talking to my lodger." She reached out and picked a white blossom off the hedge past which they were riding, held it to her nose.

  "Oh. Sorry. What are you. going to do tonight? Pass the purse?" "She can sing/* Herewiss said. "You can? Well, that's news! You know many songs?" "A few/* Segnbora said. She reined Steelsheen back to ride abreast of Herewiss and Freelorn, suddenly feeling the need for company more normal than that she carried inside her. "I'm best with a kithara, but I'll do all right with the lute."

  Herewiss was still being paced by that boulder. It was easily half Sunspark's size, but he showed no sign of strain, and at the same time was keeping Khavrinen from showing so much as a flicker of Fire. His control was improving rapidly. "You won't have any trouble with your part of the act, that's plain," Segnbora said.

  Herewiss shrugged, waving the rock away with one hand. It soared up over the hedge like a blown feather and dropped out of sight, hitting the ground in the field on the other side with an, appalling thud.

  "It's easy," Herewiss said. "Even the ecstatic part of the Fireflow — those overwhelming' sensations of pleasure you ex-perience during a wreaking — are under control since we dimbed the Fane/"

  Freelorn looked, thoughtful, ""You know, I wonder whether the Goddess installed that ecstatic aspect of the Fire on pur-pose, to keep people from doing large wreakings casually; as a sort, of control—"

  '"'More likely as a, reward, to make sure the Power's used. But in either case, I'm as free of the ecstatic part of the flow as I desire/" He paused, then went on nervously. "It's a little dangerous, though. The.first time I picked up that rock, I had to be careful that the whole field didn't come with it. ."

  Lorn laughed, and reached out to squeeze the hand of his loved.

  After a while, at a turn in the road, they could make out a low huddle of squared-off silhouettes against the horizon. Lamps burned like

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  yellow stars in each window.

  "Your guest—" Freelorn said abruptly to Segnbora. "You said 'they' before. ."

  "Hh'rae nt'sseh," she said, and corrected herself with a smile. "It is they. But it's also he. Mostly he."

  Freelorn's expression was impossible to read. "Are you— still you?"

  Oh Goddess, Lorn, if I only knew! she wanted to cry; but she kept her voice calm. "I'm not sure. Oh, Lorn, let it lie … when we have time, I'll take you and Herewiss inside and introduce you. I'm me enough to function, at least."

  Freelorn hastily cast around for something else to talk about. The lane had widened into a road of a size to drive cattle down, and was well tracked and rutted. "Been a lot of traffic here, I'd say."

  "For this time of year, yes." Segnbora gazed up at the town. "How many days in Spring this year?" "Ninety-three," Herewiss said. "A Moon and a day till Mid-summer. Why?"

  "Just wondering. . Used to be my mother and father would start up for Darthis now, to do Midsummer's in the city with the rest of the Houses. We used to pass this way. But we haven't done the trip since they built the inn at Chavi. My father started having trouble with his legs. It was arthritis, and he couldn't take the long rides anymore," Suddenly she' missed him terribly, in spite of the poor understanding he'd had of her.

  "You know this place, then," Herewiss was saying. '"That's a help."

  She nodded, blinking back unexpected tears. "They'll be glad to see players. Not many come' down here, es-pecially after the bad weather sets in. They probably haven't been entertained since last summer."* She1 glanced! at Freelorn. "If things are as bad in Arlen as they are here. .. don't overcharge them, okay? From the look of the fields,

  this year's harvest isn't going to be any better than the last." Freelorn nodded. Good harvests were a king's responsibil-ity. Bad ones were a

  sign of trouble — like the empty throne

  in Arlen. "I'll see to it," he said.

  Segnbora nodded, pleased. Lorn was changing. In most respects he was still the same brash, adventure-hungry prince whom she loved so dearly, but increasingly he was overcome by thoughtful silences. When he spoke, there was a new sobri-ety in his tone. She could sense why. The land throu
gh which they trav-elled was his by right, and its plight was desperate. The fields were dry and dusty; the people, over-taxed, were in rags. What prince could see this and fail to feel his heart swell with outrage, fail to feel his sword-hand itch for justice? There was a cause growing in Freelorn*s mind, and it excited her.

  Nevertheless, they were a long way from restoring him to his throne. They were so few, after all, and had been away so long., Indeed, it was months since they had heard any news of the kingdom. The usurper's authority would be well established by now. It was for that reason that Lorn had chosen the inconspicuous town of Chavi for their first real foray into civilization. Here, disguised as entertainers, they could gather intelligence without arousing suspicion.

  (How about this?) Sunspark said. (The Goddess is walking down, the road and She sees a duck—)

  They rode up to the town's rough fieldstone-and-mortar walls and were readily admitted. Chavi was much as Segn-bora remembered it. The town's central square was stone-paved, surrounded by earth and fieldstone houses with

  soundly thatched roofs. A few, though, still had turf roofs, with here and there a scamp flower growing. Men drying their hands on dishtowels and young women with floury hands came' to the windows, attracted by the sound of hooves on, cobbles. Up at the front of the line of riders, Dritt unslung his dm— brel and began banging it earnestly, calling their wares: "Songs and stories, tall tales! Shivers and chuckles, sleepless nights, horrors and heartthrobs, deaths and delights! Mim-icry, musicry, tragedy, comedy—"

  A small crowd began to gather. Dritt began juggling two knives and a lemon, breaking the rhythm occasionally by catching the lemon in his mouth, and making puckery faces when he let go of it. Harald was strumming changes on Segn-bora's lute, and angling it so the torchlight from the cressets by the inndoor would catch the mother-of-pearl inlay.

  Herewiss dismounted, pulled the saddle off Sunspark, and snapped his fingers. The stallion disappeared, replaced by a great white hound of the kind that runs with the Maiden's Hunting. The fayhound danced once about Herewiss on its hind legs — bringing ooohs and aaaahs from the audience, for upright it stood two feet taller than he did — then, at his clap, it sat up most prettily and begged. At another clap it bowed to the audience, grinning with its huge jaws. At a fourth clap it changed to a tree that creaked and groaned as if a wild wind tore at it; then to a huge serpent that coiled around Herewiss and tried to squeeze the life out of him, and finally to a buck unicorn.

  A delighted cheer went up from the crowd, the kerchiefed ladies and dusty-britched men applauding such illusion as they had only heard of before. Man and unicorn held their tableau, while Moris turned handsprings on the stones, and Freelorn went inside to dicker with the innkeeper for the night's room and board.

  Not long afterward Lorn emerged, and gestured to the crowd for silence. He was wearing the very slight crease of frown that was all he allowed himself when disturbed in pub-lic. "Kind gentlemen, good ladies," he said, "we'll begin our evening's entertainment an hour after sunset. Please join us, one and all."

  The crowd in the street, murmuring appreciations,, began to disperse. Herewiss stood up and dusted himself off. "Everything all right?" he said to Freelorn, noticing that faint crease of worry.

  "Yes," Freelorn said, in the same tone of voice he would have used to say "no." "The innkeeper worries me, though." "He's stingy?"

  "No. We hardly had to bargain, he gave right in. It's some-thing about his manner—" "Maybe he was busy."

  Freelorn shrugged. "Could be — the place is lively inside. Come on, I want a bath before dinner."

  They stabled the horses, including Sunspark, who wanted to indulge its fondness for oats but promised to follow later.

  The inn itself, the "Yale and Fetlock," was a long, low, battered-looking place of fieldstone with a weedy turf roof and a rammed dirt floor. The main room was smoky and full of people, all in the linens and woolens of townsmen. Some sat eating at long rough tables starred with rushlights. Others stood eating at sideboards, sat drinking in the middle of the room, or simply milled around. All were talking at the top of their lungs. (Sweet Immanence,) Hasai said, sitting up in alarm behind Segnbora's eyes and looking out at the jostly drinkers' dance, (what's being decided here?) (What?)

  A — memory now surfaced, but of a sight she had never seen. In a stony deserted vale. Dragons, a great crowd of them, moved among one another in a precise and graceful pattern. It was nn's'raihle, Convocation — sport and ceremony and family fight and celebration all. at once, the form of dis-agreement and resolution that Dragons found the most ele-gant and, delightful.

  (Oh,) Segnbora said, seeing the likeness to nnYraihle in the tense movement in the room. (No1, mdaha, this is social. 'They'll talk about whatever's happening, but they won't be making any decisions here.)

  (How can they all abrogate their responsibility like that?) Hasai said, uneasy. (You, all live here; how can you not act to nin the world?)

  THE DOOR INTO SHADOW

  (lib—) Segnbora stalled, watching Freelorn. He had some-how already found a mug of ale, and was shouting in an old roan's ear, "Ei, grand'ser, what's all the pother for?"

  "Reavers!" the gaffer shouted back, and started telling of mcursions to the south in Was ten and Nestekhai. (Well?)

  She breathed out, wondering what to say. (Uh. Hasai, most humans are empowered only to make decisions regarding themselves — or those close to them. They don't sit down, have an argument about something and then make a decision by which all humans will be bound. They would never all agree—)

  (Then how do you get this world to work? How do you get anything accomplished?) Hasai said, bewildered.

  Segnbora shook her head. "Done" didn't translate well; "do" and "be" seemed to be the same word in Dracon — stihl. (That will take time to explain. .)

  (Never mind, then. I see that there are more important matters to be concerned with. These incursions by the Reav-ers. . are they close by, do you think?)

  Segnbora made a face. (Too close. I wish we were farther north. But we dare not be; we would arouse too much curios-ity there. Excuse me, Hasai. I've got to get ready for our show—) (Certainly.)

  She found the innkeeper. He was a knifeblade of a man, all grin and nervous energy. Segnbora could see that he would have made a quick business of the dickering. She got a mug of rough cider from him, and went to her bath.

  Scrubbed and dressed in her worn but serviceable black gown with the tai-Enraesi crest on one shoulder, she went back to the common room and began talking to the patrons, assessing their mood, asking for requests. Just the sound of their voices gave her pleasure. They spoke in the old reassur-ing South Darthene accent that had been her mother's. It was a rich speech, slow, broad and full of archaisms. "Maistress," the slow-smiling, staid-faced townsfolk called her. "Aye, gaffer, tha'st hit it," she would drawl back, and they would laugh together.

  She found Freelorn and Herewiss and the others at the best table by the central hearth, and sat down with them to a meal of aggressively garlicked lamb and buttered turnips, baked bannocks, and a soft, sharp sheep's-milk cheese to spread on them.

  Freelorn, reviling the vintage of the cool white potato wine that had been brought up for them from the ice-cellar, never

  theless drank off three cups one after another, and by mistake almost drank the Goddess's cup as well. Lang gave Segnbora a nudge, and they traded glances. Freelorn had been in a mood like this the night he had gotten them all chased out of Madeil, the night Segnbora ran across him.

  "It's all right, I think," she whispered. Herewiss took the wineflask gently away from his loved and forestalled his protests by saying, "Who's performing first?" This started the predictable argument, punctuated with ex-clamations of, "I need more practice!"; "You are too in good voice, I heard you in the outhouse!"; "Oh, don't be a cow-ard!"; "I'm a coward, huh, then you go first!"

  Segnbora groped under the table for the lute, causing more exclamations. She winked at Lang and pulled
her chair over by the hearth. Behind her, as she tuned the lute's slack ela-string, the fire leaped, roaring up the chimney. There was a momentary hush close to the hearth, then intrigued whispers. The fire had acquired eyes.

  "Thank you," she said, stroking the lute. "This is how it was," she said. That had been the storyteller's opening line from time immemorial. The quiet spread far back in the room. "There was a queen who would not die—"

  THE DOOR INTO SHADOW

  It was a relative's story, and an old favorite of hers: the tale of Efmaer d'Seldun tai-Earn6si, the first woman to be both Queen of Darthen and a Rodmistress.

  In the fourth year of Efmaer's reign came an outbreak of lunglock fever. Efmaer did what she could to treat those of the royal household who were ill, but the Fire was of no avail. Soon she caught the malady herself. There was bitter mourn-ing then, for under Efmaer's rule the land had prospered as never before. When finally she fell into the unconsciousness that precedes death, her attendants stole weeping from her rooms, leaving her to die peacefully in the night.

  But none of them knew their Queen's determination. It wasn't yet her time to die. When she suddenly found herself standing before the open Door into Starlight, and felt the forces at her back pushing her toward it, Efmaer rebelled. She caught at the black doorsills and hung over the starry abyss by ten straining fingers. Peace and the last Shore awaited her

  at the bottom of the darkness, but Efmaer would have none of them. She hung on.

  When her tearful attendants slipped into her bedchamber in the morning to prepare her body for the pyre, they found her not dead, but sleeping. She looked drawn and fever-wasted, but the sickness was broken. In her hand, clutched tight, was a long sharp splinter of darkness — a broken-off piece of the Door.

  Later, when Efmaer was well again, she wrought the splin-ter into a sword. Skadhwe, it was called in Darthene, "Dark-harm." It would cut anything, stone or steel or soul, and many were Efmaer's deeds with it across the breadth of Darthen and down the length of her reign. And if anyone spoke in fear to Efmaer because she had cheated Death at its own Door, the Queen would laugh, unworried, certain the Shadow would never bother avenging so small a slight.