All the Paths of Shadow

“Tell me what?” said Meralda, warily.

“We think we might know where the Tears are,” said Shingvere, nodding at Goboy’s Glass. “’Tis clear you do as well.”

Meralda lifted an eyebrow, and carefully kept her face blank. “They’re in the safe room, of course,” she said. “Right where they’ve been since this small calamity began.”

Fromarch smiled, if only for a moment.

“Well done, Thaumaturge,” he said. “Well done.”

Shingvere slapped his knee. “Rake me with a cat’s claws,” he said. “I knew we wouldn’t surprise you, lass.”

Meralda sipped her coffee, and kept her expression serene.

“We think someone wants to break up the Accords,” said Fromarch. “We don’t think it’s the Hang.”

“Neither do I,” said Meralda. “Though Mug has raised some good points against such a surmise.”

“It’s the Vonats, of course,” said Shingvere. “They’ve got people here, in the palace, and they’ve intentionally delayed their arrival to remove their entourage from suspicion,” he added. “Deplorable condition of the roads in Fonth. What nonsense.”

Meralda took another bite of a sausage. “The Hang,” she said, after a moment. “Why don’t you suspect them?”

“We’ve been keeping company with their wizard nearly the whole time,” said Fromarch.

“He means we’ve been drinking,” added Shingvere, with a wink.

“He’s a talkative fellow, once you get to know him,” said Fromarch. Then he snorted and lifted his hands. “Harmless, really. Not that he can’t do a bit of magic. He can, and don’t be fooled. But stealing jewelry and interrupting trade talks? Ridiculous.”

“Mug reminded me that good manners don’t necessarily reflect good intentions,” said Meralda. “What do we really know about these people?”

The mages, as one, took a deep breath and exchanged a sidelong glance. “Well,” said Fromarch, “this is just speculation, mind you. But we think that the Hang may have opened diplomatic channels with Tirlin ten or more years ago.”

Meralda swallowed, kept her face blank, and carefully put down her fork.

“We think Yvin may have even invited them to the Accords,” said Shingvere. “We think the Hang may be here to join the Five Realms as a trading partner,” he said. “That’s what we think.” He smiled, set his empty plate down on the floor, and lifted his coffee cup to rest on the arm of his chair. “We think the Great Sea is about to be crossed, Meralda. After all these years of wondering, or trying and failing and trying again, we’re about to see the whole wide world, Great Sea and Hang and who knows what else. Marvelous, isn’t it?”

Meralda was silent, sorting out Shingvere’s words. It does make sense, she thought. The king’s nonchalance concerning the Hang’s arrival. His instructions to consider the Hang above suspicion. The Hang’s flawless command of New Kingdom. She suspected Yvin knew things he wasn’t sharing with the full court, but nothing like this.

Fromarch met her eyes, and nodded. “Which makes all this nonsense with the Tears more than a mere inconvenience,” he said. “Say the Alons pull out. Any agreements four of the Realms make with the Hang will be forever contested by the fifth. And who knows? The Hang might leave, too, rather than have any dealings with a factious lot of simpletons who can’t all sit down long enough to sign a few pieces of paper.”

“That’s why we’re here, lass,” said Shingvere. “Not that we think you can’t handle it, mind you. Not at all. But you’ve got a heavy pack, these days. We’re only here to help you bear the load, if you’ll have us. And watching this mirror while you go off and save the kingdom seems like just the chore for two grumpy old wizards, now doesn’t it?”

Meralda pushed back her chair and stood. I’ve got to walk around a bit, she thought. My feet are still cold in my boots, and my joints still ache from sleeping in that torture chamber of a chair. “What makes you think Yvin asked them here?” she said, stretching.

Fromarch shrugged. “It’s simple, really. I don’t think they’d have come unless they were asked.”

“They certainly wouldn’t have loaded their entire royal family onto a boat, not knowing what sort of reception to expect.” Shingvere filled his fork with more pancake. “Which means this was all arranged well beforehand.”

“Oh, Yvin wouldn’t tell anyone, of course,” said Fromarch. “Best to get the Hang all here and just spring it on the Realms. That way no one gets worked up into a frenzy too soon, and we don’t have foreign troops hiding all along the Lamp.”

“He could have told us,” snapped Meralda.

“Hmmph,” snorted Fromarch. “Since when have kings sought advice from their betters? Mark my words, though. If this bit of scheming goes bad, we’ll be the ones who’ll have to sort it all out.”

Meralda glared. He didn’t tell because he doesn’t trust, she thought. And he doesn’t trust, said a voice within her, because I’m a woman.

“He wouldn’t have told me, either,” said Fromarch, gently. “I once heard Yvin tell someone, doesn’t matter who, that magic and mages were best left to the guilds, and the tradesmen. He said the age of the wizard was over, and done, and the Realms were better for it.” Fromarch sighed. “He’s wrong, of course,” he added. “But he’s the king, and that’s that.”

Meralda found her chair again. Her head began to pound, and her clothes, wrinkled and ill-fitting from a day and a night of constant wear, rubbed and stuck and sagged. She put her head in her hands and closed her eyes and sighed.

“Perhaps I should just send Yvin a message,” she said. “Perhaps I should tell him that since the age of wizards is done, he should seek the help of the guilds and the tradesmen in recovering the Tears.”

Shingvere chuckled. “I dare you,” he said.

Meralda heard Fromarch set down his cup with a small sharp click and rise slowly to his feet.

“Agree or not, the world is changing,” he said. “And we will have a hand in it, for good or ill. Might I suggest we all get to work? For the good of the realm, if not its shortsighted nitwit of a monarch?”

Meralda opened her eyes. “I’m for a bath,” she said. “Now, and Yvin be hanged.”

Shingvere crowed. “At last, our battle cry,” he said. “A bath, and the king be hanged!” he shouted, brandishing his fork. “Clean clothes, then victory!”

Meralda found a brief laugh. “Vonats,” she said, after Shingvere bowed and sat. “If you two are correct, they’d be the obvious choice for our scheming villains,” she said. “If the Hang enter the Accords as a sixth realm, Vonath will have to mind its manners. Forever.”

“Perhaps,” said Fromarch. “Or perhaps this is mere coincidence. The Vonats do love to make trouble at Accords, if you’ll recall.”

Shingvere snorted. “But this smacks of mage-cast mischief, not some bugger sneaking around with a dagger,” he said.

Boots sounded in the hall outside. “All of this is mere speculation, though,” said Fromarch, hastily. “We have discussed it with no one but you, Mage. Make of it what you will.”

A knock sounded at the door. Meralda started toward it, but Shingvere darted ahead and bade her to sit down.

“I’ll see to this,” he said, hand on the handle. “From now on, Meralda, we’re the hired help. Let us do the chores. You’ve got better things to do.”

He swung the door open. “Yes?” he inquired, managing somehow to convey through his tone and bearing that the caller was neither welcome nor, most likely, even in the right neighborhood. “Who is calling, pray tell?”

“It’s me, as you bloody well know,” said the captain, from the hall. “Are you going to get out of the way, or not?”

Shingvere flung the door open, and stepped aside with a bow and a flourish. “May I present Captain Ernest Ballen,” he said. “Late of a kitchen, somewhere,” he added.

“Eryans,” muttered the captain, stamping past Shingvere without a backward glance. “Morning, Thaumaturge,” he said, moving to stand beside Meralda. He squinted into the mirror and frowned. “Any luck?”

“No one has been in or out,” she said. “Have the mages explained our suspicions to you yet?”

The captain turned and glared. “All they’ve done is puff and moon like a pair of hoot owls,” he said. He looked