Lord of the Shadows Page 4

  “I will be free of this, Master Helgin, or I will die trying,” he announced with quiet determination.

  “I'll help you, if that is truly what you want,” Helgin said unhappily. “But in my opinion, you would be far better learning to live with the hand you've been dealt than trying to fight it.”

  “How can I?” he asked. “How can I claim clear judgment if everyone knows I'm an addict? How can I condemn a criminal for trafficking in the very thing that allows me to make it through the day? Don't you see I have no choice?”

  “Well, before you get too carried away condemning the criminals trafficking in poppy-dust, Misha,” Tia reminded him with a scowl, “just remember, it's those same criminals who are currently giving you asylum from your own people, who seem intent on killing you.”

  “That wasn't what I meant, Tia …”

  “I know,” she shrugged, “but you can see the council's problem with you.”

  “If you're planning to do this, then you must regain your strength,” Helgin warned. “And that means stabilizing your addiction. You need to gain some weight, for one thing. And I'd like to see you up and about, walking.”

  “Wouldn't we all,” Misha sighed.

  “You were riding a horse when I first met you, your highness,” Helgin reminded him. “You walked into Elcast Keep.”

  “My good leg was stronger then. But my left side has been weak for as long as I can remember.”

  “If you could walk then, you can walk now. All you need to do is start using the muscles again. Whose idea was it you should be bedridden, anyway?”

  “I'm not sure if it was a conscious decision on anyone's part. The worse my condition got, the easier it was not to venture from my bed.”

  “I thought what they did to Neris was bad,” Helgin lamented. “But what has been done to you—Antonov's own son—defies belief.”

  “I will make them pay, Master Helgin. But I can only do that if you help me.”

  “You'll need more than my help, I'm afraid.”

  “Can I do anything?” Tia volunteered.

  “I can't ask you to do any more for me, Tia.”

  “I could help you walk. There's plenty of sand around Mil, which will help build up your muscles, and when you're ready, we could tackle the goat tracks in the hills. At least I can help you until we leave.”

  “You're going somewhere?” Helgin asked.

  “We all are. Dirk's told Antonov the way through the delta. Or at least he's planning to. We have to evacuate Mil.”

  “Then the rumors about him are true?” Helgin sighed.

  Misha sympathized with the old man. Dirk had been his protégé, his pride and joy. He loved the boy like a son. Dirk had rescued the physician from Elcast. Helgin couldn't believe Dirk had turned on them. Misha had trouble believing it, too; he was more inclined to think Dirk was up to something than simply accept he'd just changed sides with no warning.

  “Yes,” Tia confirmed in an unexpectedly savage tone. “They're true.”

  “I can't imagine what would have driven him to do such a thing,” Helgin said, shaking his head.

  “Greed?” Tia suggested. “Ambition? A lust for power? Take your pick.”

  “The boy I helped raise was not like that,” Helgin objected.

  “The boy you helped raise, Master Helgin, is a traitorous, murderous, power-hungry, selfish little bastard.”

  Helgin shook his head. “You've not seen the other side of him…”

  “I've seen sides of Dirk Provin you can't even imagine,” Tia snapped, rising to her feet. “And they all look the same to me—just pure, unadulterated evil.”

  With that, she stalked out of the small cottage, slamming the door behind her. Misha turned to look at Helgin. The old man seemed as surprised by Tia's vehemence as he was.

  “I think, your highness,” Helgin remarked, “it might be prudent not to mention Dirk Provin's name in Tia's hearing. She appears to feel very strongly about him.”

  “Very strongly,” Misha agreed thoughtfully as he stared at the closed door, wondering if there was more to Tia's reaction than simple anger over Dirk's betrayal. He turned to Helgin. “Do you think he simply betrayed the Baenlanders out of greed or selfishness? Or is there more to it than that?”

  “I'm an old man, your highness, and I've seen more than my share of strife and pain. But if I've learned anything in this life, it's that there is always more to it than what we see or what we think we know.” He lifted the lid on the pot and sighed. “Damn, it's gone off the boil.” Helgin rose from the table and walked back to the stove to boil the kettle again. “I'll tell you something else, lad. That girl's hurting from more than just a feeling of being betrayed.”

  Misha looked up in surprise. “You mean Tia and Dirk?…”

  Helgin shrugged. “I don't know anything for certain, Misha, but I'll tell you this much. Tia Veran's not just angry at Dirk. I suspect she's angry with herself.”

  irk was able to stave off the inevitable confrontation with the Lady Madalan, Belagren's closest confidante, for nearly two days before she finally cornered him. In that time he'd made a great show of interrogating Marqel to determine if her vision was true, while Avacas reeled from the news the High Priestess of the Shadowdancers was dead.

  Although she had never been as daunting as her good friend Belagren, Madalan Tirov was sufficiently riled to bluff her way through his guards and gain admittance to his rooms, even though Dirk had left strict instructions that he wasn't to be disturbed. He could have had her thrown out, but facing Madalan and securing her cooperation was something he could not afford to put off for much longer.

  “What the hell are you playing at?” Madalan demanded, as soon as they were alone.

  “My lady?” he asked innocently.

  “Belagren is dead and that sly little Dhevynian slut is claiming she's now the Voice of the Goddess.”

  “Interesting coincidence,” Dirk agreed. “Can I offer you some wine?”

  “You can offer me an explanation!” she growled, her voice gaining volume with every word she spoke. “There's only one way Marqel could be speaking to the Goddess, Dirk Provin, and you and I both know how that is. You must have given her the information.”

  “Maybe you should speak a little louder, my lady. I'm sure there's a sailor or two in Paislee who can't hear you.”

  “You murdered Belagren!” Madalan accused, albeit at a much lower volume.

  “No, I didn't,” Dirk corrected. “She died of a stroke. And unless you want to explain to Antonov why anybody would want to murder his beloved High Priestess, you will quash any rumor to the contrary as soon as it rears its ugly head.”

  His words seemed to quell Madalan's anger a little. Despite her shock and fury over Belagren's death, she knew Dirk was right. For Madalan to go to Antonov with her suspicions would mean she would have to offer a motive, and that would mean explaining a few things to the Lion of Senet that Madalan had helped Belagren conceal from him for more than a quarter of a century.

  “If you didn't kill her, who did?”

  “Marqel.”

  “And you expect me to let her get away with it?”

  “You have no choice.” Dirk shrugged. “It's not your fault Belagren's plan backfired on her.”

  Madalan was instantly suspicious. “What do you mean?”

  “You didn't know about it?” Dirk asked, feigning surprise. “I thought you and Belagren shared all your secrets?”

  “Apparently not,” Madalan retorted. “What plan are you talking of?”

  “Belagren was concerned Antonov was slipping through her grasp,” Dirk explained, watching the older woman closely. Madalan nodded unconsciously in agreement, which relieved Dirk a great deal. It had taken quite a while to come up with a feasible explanation for what had happened and Madalan had sufficient rank to expose him and be believed if she doubted his version of events.

  “She decided it was time to ‘pass on the torch,’ as it were,” he continued. “She wan
ted to make Antonov believe the Goddess now spoke through another Shadowdancer, one who was young, attractive and would do whatever Belagren told her to do. She noticed Antonov eyeing his son's mistress one day and decided the new Voice of the Goddess would be Marqel.”

  “That's ridiculous!” Madalan snorted. “Belagren would never trust Marqel with anything so important.”

  “I believe, my lady, her decision was made mostly out of lack of trust in me.”

  “I don't see the connection.”

  “Belagren was distrustful of my defection and remained so right up until her death. I believe she reasoned if I was lying to her and gave her false information, if it was proved to be a lie, she could disown Marqel and let Antonov vent his wrath on someone who was essentially disposable.”

  “Absolving her of any blame in the affair,” Madalan concluded thoughtfully. It was something Belagren would do. “But what if you weren't lying? What if your information proved correct?”

  “Then she still owned the Lion of Senet through Marqel and as an added bonus, she was spared the necessity of catering to his… carnal needs. I believe she's found intercourse quite painful since her menses ceased.”

  Dirk knew Belagren often procured young women for Antonov, but he was only guessing about the menopause. Given Belagren's age, he figured he was on safe ground. Back in another lifetime, while he'd been an apprentice physician on Elcast, he'd heard one of Master Helgin's patients complain endlessly about her insatiable husband and the pain he caused her once she'd passed childbearing age. Helgin had quite seriously suggested the woman encourage her husband to find a younger mistress, which is what had given Dirk the idea in the first place. If Belagren had ever confided such a thing to her closest friend, however, Madalan gave no sign.

  “So you told Marqel, and not Belagren, how to get through the delta,” Madalan said.

  “No, I told Marqel and Belagren. The High Priestess would never have trusted me to impart such important information to Marqel without knowing every detail herself.”

  Madalan nodded. That was also something Belagren would do.

  “Of course,” he sighed, “none of us counted on Marqel being so ambitious. She killed Belagren and then told Antonov her death was a sign Marqel should become High Priestess.”

  “I warned Belagren that little bitch couldn't be trusted. When I get my hands on her …”

  “You will bow and smile and proclaim her Belagren's natural successor,” Dirk finished for her.

  Madalan stared at him in shock. “Are you mad?”

  “Antonov believes Marqel is now the Voice of the Goddess, and if you even hint Belagren's death was anything other than the will of the Goddess, we'll all be destroyed. We have no choice but to play along with it.”

  “I will never let that murderous whore profit from what she's done! I'm certainly not going to bow to the smug little slut and offer her my loyalty. If anyone should succeed Belagren, then it should be me.” Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Or are you planning to step into her shoes now that you've removed me from my position as the right hand of the High Priestess?”

  Dirk shook his head. “I don't want the job, Madalan. I never did. I wanted to be Belagren's right hand to protect myself from Antonov, that's all. Anyway, you mustn't become High Priestess. The Lord of the Suns named you his successor. When Paige Halyn dies, you're to become the Lady of the Suns. Then you will outrank Marqel and we will have some hope of controlling her.”

  “How do you know about that?”

  “Belagren told me.”

  Madalan was still doubtful, but everything Dirk had told her fitted in with the way Belagren did things. His story was plausible and it was always easier to believe a plausible lie than go digging for the truth, especially when you stood to profit from it.

  “Paige Halyn may live for years yet,” Madalan pointed out. “How do we control Marqel in the meantime?”

  “Keep her away from Antonov, for one thing,” Dirk suggested. “Take her back to the Hall of Shadows and bury her in paperwork. She's going to need training, even Antonov will accept that, and it's perfectly reasonable you assume the duties of the High Priestess, and the role of training her successor, until the Lord of the Suns can get to Avacas to appoint Belagren's replacement formally. Between the two of us, I'm sure we can find any number of ways to delay Paige's decision to appoint Marqel until it suits our plans. You will effectively be High Priestess until then, anyway. Paige Halyn is dying, so Belagren informed me. If we manage it right, there'll be little time for Marqel to do any real damage before you succeed him and then you can curb her excesses all you want and not even Antonov will be able to stop you.”

  Madalan was still not convinced. “It feels wrong, letting Marqel commit murder and receive nothing for it but a slap on the wrist.”

  “If it's any consolation, she's had a slap on the face.”

  “I do not appreciate your attempts at levity, Dirk Provin. Have you told Antonov you believe Marqel's vision is accurate?”

  “Not yet. I thought it would sound better if you were there to back me up.”

  Madalan shook her head doubtfully. “This is fraught with danger …”

  “Then as an added precaution, might I suggest you start looking for a replacement for Marqel?”

  “Why?”

  “The Goddess has just chosen a different voice, my lady. If she can do it once, she can do it again. Let's find another Shadowdancer we can groom for the role of Voice of the Goddess. That way, if Marqel proves too much trouble, we can simply announce the Goddess has found a more worthy vessel and the Goddess can take Marqel to her bosom anytime we decide she's no longer useful to us.”

  Madalan nodded slowly, apparently not in the least bothered by the suggestion they might have to kill Marqel. “That may work.”

  Dirk watched her closely for any sign she doubted him. But Madalan had followed Belagren for years. He was counting on that habit surviving her death.

  “You knew the High Priestess better than I, my lady,” he pointed out, with a touch of convincing humility. “This is her plan, not mine. Despite the alteration Marqel took upon herself to make to it, I feel we should be guided by Belagren's wisdom and follow it through.”

  “Has the Lord of the Suns been informed of the High Priestess's death yet?”

  “I thought you should do that,” he replied. “In your role as acting High Priestess.”

  Madalan thought about it for a moment and then nodded slowly. “Does anyone else know what really happened?”

  “Yuri knows. We talked about it. He understands the wisdom of not revealing the true circumstances of Belagren's death.”

  “Yuri would,” Madalan agreed. “He's been around long enough to know the way the land lays. What about Marqel?”

  “She's riding a wave of euphoria,” he told her. “She thinks she's gotten away with murder and is about to become High Priestess of the Shadowdancers. She won't say or do anything that might jeopardize that.”

  “We need to keep a close eye on her. If she can murder Belagren, she can just as easily murder one of us.”

  Dirk smiled. “She won't kill me, my lady. Without my help, she is no longer the Voice of the Goddess.”

  “That's little comfort for me, Dirk.”

  “When you're Lady of the Suns and hold power over every Sundancer and Shadowdancer on Ranadon, you should find plenty of comfort, my lady.”

  The Shadowdancer studied him thoughtfully. “You know, if your father had had even a fraction of your wit, Belagren would never have gotten as far as she did.”

  “Then you should be grateful I'm on your side, my lady.”

  Madalan scowled at him. “You'd better be on my side, Dirk Provin. Because Belagren's fate will seem like a blessing if I find out you're not.”

  After Madalan left, Dirk closed the door behind her and locked it, but not before reminding the guards outside that not wanting to be disturbed meant exactly that. He turned his back to the door and leaned agains
t it with his eyes closed for a moment, and then he opened them and held out his hands.

  He was not surprised to discover they were shaking.

  he force gathered in the courtyard outside the Avacas palace was as much for show as anything else. Kirsh knew that, just as he knew the chances of finding anything useful about his brother's disappearance in Tolace were slim. But the Crown Prince of Senet had been kidnapped. It was important something was seen to be done, even if it was fruitless.

  He had two hundred men ready to ride out with him. One hundred and fifty of them were Senetian troops, part of his father's Palace Guard, and the other fifty were Dhevynians, members of the elite Queen's Guard of which Kirsh was, until recently, a member and who were now his—as Dhevyn's regent—to command.

  Given a choice in the matter, Kirsh would have preferred to leave the Senetian troops behind. Their numbers would slow him down, for one thing, and he didn't really trust their discipline. The Dhevynians, on the other hand, were much better trained, even if their first loyalty was to the Queen of Dhevyn and not to her regent. He'd managed to get Sergey appointed captain of the Senetian Guard, and with Alexin leading the Dhevynians, he was at least confident his commanders were capable and would only question his orders if they had a genuine concern.

  Kirsh had been afraid the news of Belagren's death would delay his expedition, but his father was adamant they leave as scheduled, insisting the living were more important than the dead. Antonov seemed to be taking Belagren's sudden demise very well. Although he had respected the High Priestess, Kirsh had never been as close to her as his father. He mourned her passing but he wasn't actually grieving over it. There were too many other things going on in his life; too many other problems he wasn't sure how to deal with. He anxiously cast his eyes over the crowd come to watch their departure, looking for Marqel again, but there was no sign of her. She hadn't been in her room when he went looking for her earlier. It was unlike her to let him leave without saying good-bye.

  The Lion of Senet came to see them off, with Alenor beside him. Kirsh was surprised she had come to bid him farewell. The queen was still pale and gaunt from her miscarriage and she clung to Antonov's arm for support. The effort of descending four flights of stairs from her rooms had exhausted her. She shouldn't have come. It was both a foolish gesture and a pointless one. Still, one must keep up appearances, Kirsh thought sourly as he rode forward with his two captains to greet his father and his wife.