Nor Iron Bars A Cage (25 page)

“Yes.” I couldn’t say differently with his hopeful gaze on me.

He waved behind him, and the painting was hurriedly thrust into his hands. He held it up in front of me. “This is still the answer I need.”

-Does he think you command me now? I’ll still not help him.
But I could feel a different emotion from Xan, a kind of wistfulness.

The king held the painting closer, and Tobin let go of my left wrist. I reached out and touched the painted mountains. The king drew a sharp breath. “There?”

“No,” I told him. “Wait.” I ran my finger across the scene, over the glacier-white slopes of The Twins, past the rounded crown of Sugarloaf, and then to the sharp spike of The Fang. I felt Xan surprised, puzzled, and yet comforted. A mash of emotions came and went too fast to catalog. He was clearly seeing what I saw, interested in the painting and something more than just interested. But there was no jolt of “there, that spot.” After a couple of minutes I pulled back my hand. “Sorry, Sire. He’s not going to tell me.”

“There must be something we can offer him.”

I could feel that Xan’s attention was still on that painting. As a test, I moved my gaze away, staring at a boring bit of floor. I felt his irritation, but he either couldn’t or didn’t force my eyes back.

After a minute, he said,
-Child’s games

-We’re neither of us children

The king waved and had the map of the frontier brought and laid out in front of me. Even to my unaccustomed eyes, the shapes of the mountains were unclear, and Xan’s reaction was puzzled scorn. I said, “I don’t think a map will be helpful. The picture was better. Or the real thing.”

-What now, witchman? You can’t hold my feet to the fire, since they’re also your feet.
I felt grim amusement from him.

-Now I bother and badger you for hours, and when dawn comes we climb the tower or perhaps ride out and look at the mountains.

-Ride out? In the daylight?

-So Firstmage claims.

-He’s a man of power, all right, if not of wisdom. Why does he not craft a spell to find what you seek?

-A spell?

-Yes. A strong mage should have far more tools than just one lone ghost at his fingertips. Why not use his magic to help your king directly.

There were plenty of stories about all the things mages could do, back when we had mages. Now we were not only more limited, but had no doubt forgotten half of the tales. The librarian in me longed to pursue the topic with this living relic, but that wasn’t why we were here. -
Magic has changed,
I hedged.

The king said, “Lyon? Are you still all right?”

“Hm? Yes, Sire. I’m just… talking with the ghost.”

“What does he say? Anything useful?”

“Not so far. He’s noting that the world has changed.”

“In what way?”

-What are you saying to him?

Having to translate doubly would drive me crazy. I said, “Sire, I need to talk to him without stopping every sentence, but I will let you know if he says anything to the point.” I didn’t bother to tell the ghost the same. If he was frustrated, so much the better.

“I understand.” The king sat back on his heels, trying to look patient. It was a pose I’d seen from Tobin. I wondered if it was an army thing. “We have ten hours until daybreak.”

Ten hours. So far, Xan was a lot more inert and less scary that the wraith, but some part of me was tight as a bowstring, waiting for that to change. I wondered if ten hours of this tension might not burst my racing heart. But I nodded.

-Why are you so set against helping us, Chief Xan? What would it hurt now, to give us aid?

-It would dishonor my kin, break my vow.

-What vow?

There was a wave of bitter anger so intense that I was rocked by it. Tobin, who still held me, said, “Lyon? All right?”

“Yes.”
-What vow?

-The one I swore before I stepped off the side of Eagle Ridge.

I shook against Tobin. There was a whirling echo of fear/hate/despair, then falling/darkness/darkness/darkness. I said,
-Would you tell me about it? So I can understand?

-Why would you care?

-Because it’s history? Because it’s keeping you from perhaps saving Tobin’s life? Because I feel how you felt, when you did it, and it hurts my heart and I don’t know why?

-It’s not a pretty tale.

I snorted and deliberately thought of slitting Meldov’s throat. I hoped he would catch that emotion in return. It would only be fair.
-My life hasn’t all been pretty either.

-Few are.
His emotions changed again, more sad than angry. -
It’s a long story. We might choose to be more comfortable than this stone floor to tell it, especially if we must ride tomorrow. Somewhere more quiet and less crowded?

-Yes, all right.
I turned to Tobin, my mouth almost brushing his cheek. “Let me up.”

“You’re sure?”

“As sure as I can be.”

He gradually let go of me, and then set a hand under my elbow to help me stand. The king rose easily too, his eyes on me. I said, “Chief Xan wants to talk about other things. About his life. I’m hoping that as he does so, I might get clues. Or perhaps he’ll be persuaded to help us after all, but it won’t happen fast. Is there a place I can go to sit, that’s not this… cold and distracting?”

“Yes. Come this way.” The king gestured toward the stair.

“We should come along,” Firstmage said, stepping closer. “In case.”

-I won’t talk around that man

I said, “Chief Xan expresses a dislike for you. Do you have to stay in the same room with me for the transference to hold?”

“Well, no. Not absolutely. The enchantment is set and running, and while my strength maintains it, I don’t have to be close to you.”

“Then better not,” I said quickly. “Xan wants privacy.” I could feel that, despite his strength of will, he shrank from the thought of telling his past in front of so many eyes, whether they could hear him or not.

“You’re not going anywhere without me,” Tobin said.

“I’d like to come too. If that’s workable.” The king didn’t seem like he’d had to ask permission very often, but he did it without more than a faint flush across his cheeks.

-Xan? My chief wants to hear you too?

-That one has no ears to understand me.

-True. I’ll tell him what he should know, though. Is that all right?

-It’s no concern of mine. As long as he’s quiet.

I cleared my throat nervously. “Of course, Sire. So, um, he— Xan— is going to tell me about his life and times. He wants to do it in comfort. I’ll translate anything that’s relevant. I think perhaps he’s curious, and enjoying simple conversation after so long.” I’d felt his panic gradually transforming into interest as the minutes passed. Mine was doing the same. “Perhaps we can get something from him eventually after all.”

“I’ll show you to my rooms,” King Faro said. “They’re well-guarded and not as far away as your own.”

“Is that wise, Sire?” asked the captain of the King’s Own.

“I think so. Tobin will keep him from attacking me, right?”

Tobin muttered, “Yes, Sire,” but looked harassed.

The captain said, “I’d feel better with at least one more man in there. Myself, by preference.”

-What are they arguing about?

-Whether they need very many men to protect the king from us.
I thought the truth might amuse him, and increase trust.

I could almost hear his dry chuckle.
-I’m not at my most dangerous right now.

I looked down at my right hand.
-Nor I.

-Tell them I’ve no objection to two or three men. But I’ll not weep in front of a horde.

I didn’t like the sound of that. How linked were we? If he cried, would I do the same? I didn’t like to ask. I said, “He’s fine with you there too, Captain. Can we go?” I could feel the stares of the three sorcerers on my shoulder blades and they were making me twitch. I was already shaky enough. I wanted stillness, less light, less noise, less pressure. I couldn’t coherently explain it, but I needed fewer eyes upon me.

****

CHAPTER EIGHT

It took a bit more negotiation, some enchantment-checking from Firstmage, and climbing three flights of stairs with my heart hammering rapidly. Eventually I slid down into an upholstered chair in the king’s own apartment. Tobin stood beside me, ignoring all my suggestions that he rest his bad knee. The king sat in a short lounge by the window, looking stiff and wearing his short sword. The captain stood by the door, his hand on his sword hilt.

There was blessed stillness. The room was well lit, with lanterns on the walls and oil lamps on several tables. I could feel Xan’s curiosity coming to the fore, as he took in the details. Curiosity tinged by a bit of frustration.
-Can you look over at that soldier by the door, mage?

-Can’t you see him?

-Not unless you turn your head. I seem to be limited by your body.

That was hopeful. I stared down at blank floor instead, and felt his irritation grow.

-What would it hurt you to just look around?

I did nothing, said nothing, waiting. But despite the slowly mounting anger on his part, I felt no ghostly control. My eyes didn’t rise of their own accord. My head didn’t turn. My breathing
did
speed up, but whether it was his emotion or my own I couldn’t say.

-Shall I tell you my sad tale then? Will you give me more than two flat boards to look at on this rare visit to the mortal world, if I entertain you?
Although his words were light, I could feel that heavy emotions lay behind them.

Did I really want to know? I wasn’t sure I could handle someone else’s tragedy, and I was certain it
was
tragedy. And yet, knowing more about Xan could only help. It was promising that he was willing to make any kind of trade for anything.

King Faro said, “Are you talking to him? Can you translate?”

“We’re, um, negotiating. If I keep him better entertained, he might tell me more.” I added to Xan,
-We can trade our interests then?

“Entertained how?” Tobin said suspiciously.

Xan
laughed.
It felt so strange, but it lightened things between us.
-The look on his face. Tell your stallion that as much as I might enjoy feeling touch again, I won’t ask you to jump him in front of his chief.

I could feel my blush.
-I’m sure he wasn’t thinking of that.
“He wants me to look around the room, to show him things.”

King Faro said, “That you can surely do. If there’s anything that he particularly wishes to see…”

“Let me ask him. It may take a while.”

I turned my attention inward.
-Will you trade then? Your story for a good look at the world here?

-It’s been a long, long time, since I said more than a dozen words to anyone. Perhaps I will.

-Perhaps isn’t good enough.
My curiosity made me add,
-You’ve been summoned by others before then?

-Not in… well, I don’t know how long. I was drifting an eternity in the grey, before your old mage brought me forth. But long ago, not much after my death, I was called to speak time and again by the witchmen of other tribes. With tokens taken from my body, they asked for help and advice, for aid against illness and enemies. I had very little to give. And then they stopped calling.

I said aloud, “He was summoned by hillsfolk in the years after his death. But not recently.” I wanted more than anything to explore this topic. What was the grey? How did it feel to be dead? What was summoning like? Did we harm the ghosts we brought forth that way? Or was it a blessing to wear them out or banish them to some further place? But this wasn’t the time for my curiosity. Maybe, after this was done, if we rode out tomorrow and found the tunnel, then I might have the next night, before he left me, to ask all my questions. Now, I said,
-Does it please you to be back in the world?

-Not ‘please’ exactly. But it is at least something to be doing, something to remind me there is more than waiting, and hating.

I looked slowly around the room, at the Captain, in his riding uniform with sheathed dagger and sword; at my king, his eye fixed on me, grave and intelligent; at Tobin.

-He is your soul’s other half.

I wished I was as certain, but I said,
-I hope so.

-You feel it. I can tell.

I let my eyes move slowly over the scant furnishings, the tapestry hung up to curtain the window, the books and map cases on the table.

Eventually, Xan said,
-So much the same, and yet much that is different. Although I’ve never been in the home of a flatlander before. Perhaps it’s only that which makes it so strange.

King Faro said, “Do you want to drink something? Or eat? Would he, um, taste it? Firstmage said you’d only hold conversations, but this seems like something more.”

“Yes,” I said tensely. “It is more. And I don’t know.”

The king poured a cup half full of wine from a bottle on the table and passed it to me. “Try that.”

I took a careful sip. The taste was luscious, deep and rich and beyond any wine I could have afforded. In my head, Xan said,
-Ah, yes, that’s good.

I dropped the cup, spilling the wine across the floor. “He tastes it. Or feels me taste it. Or something.” My voice squeaked at the end of the last word.

Tobin grabbed a cloth and knelt to wipe up the stain, leaning his shoulder against my knee as he did so. The steadiness of him soothed me. Xan said,
-I didn’t mean to startle you. It was good wine.

-Yes.

-This is strange for me too. One more strange thing in an eternity of strange, since I threw myself off that cliff.

-You did what?

-Do you want the story now? Or perhaps you might eat first?

My stomach definitely vetoed that idea.
-Story

-Very well.
I thought he was less reluctant to talk than he pretended, because he felt like a man settling in before a fire, comfort over pain.