All the Paths of Shadow

Kervis stuck his head in the door. “Mage?”

“Yes, Kervis?”

“This might not be a good time, but-well, Tervis and I-we got you something. For being so nice, and all.”

The Bellringer’s face flushed suddenly crimson.

Meralda laughed. “Well, come in and let me see it! You too, Tervis. I see your shadow.”

The Bellringers marched in, their eyes on the floor.

Kervis held a small box wrapped in white paper in his hand.

“It’s not much,” said Tervis.

“But we hope you like it,” finished Kervis.

Meralda took the box, and unwrapped it carefully. Inside was a silver necklace, and on it was a single silver leaf, that shone in the light.

“We thought it would remind you of Mr. Mug, and the time we fought the rope men,” said Kervis. “You saved us all that day, Mage. This is our way of saying we’ll never forget.”

Tears welled up in Meralda’s eyes. She blinked them back and fastened the necklace around her neck.

“Thank you. Thank you both,” she said. “I’ll treasure it always.”

The Bellringers smiled and Kervis grabbed his brother’s sleeve and they hurried back out the door.

“Mistress!” cried Mug. “Mistress, come quick!”

Donchen stirred, suddenly alert, and leapt to his feet.

Meralda hurried to his side. “Mug, what is it?” She searched the glass for any signs of Vonats in the Tower, or on the stair.

“My eye! My new eye!” Mug waved an eye bud in front of the glass. “It’s opened! And it’s yellow!”

Meralda laughed. Donchen relaxed, and leaned against her, his arm going around her waist.

“I wished for a yellow eye and I got one,” said Mug. “I’d say your spring has some magic left after all, Donchen.”

“Perhaps it does,” he said. “I once drank from it myself.”

“What did you wish for?” asked Mug.

Donchen hugged Meralda tight. “Only those things I seem to have found.”

“Mistress,” said Mug, gazing at her with his new yellow eye. “You look…mage-like.”

Meralda frowned. Her deep blue robes hung shapeless about her. The wool was hot and she was sure it was making her neck turn red and itchy. The sleeves were too long, despite her instructions to the royal seamstress that they be shortened and tradition be hanged.

I’m almost glad Donchen isn’t here to see me in this wretched thing, she thought. Especially if I break out in hives because of it.

He’d simply said he had to go, and that he’d be close by for the Accords. Meralda wondered where he’d gone, and why. But something sad and wistful in his voice left her unwilling to question him further.

“I wish I could go with you,” Mug said. “I feel as if I should be there. Your big day and all.”

“I need you here, Mug. Keeping an eye on the Tower.”

Mug tossed his leaves. “True. Still. I’ll be glad when this is done, mistress. I miss the kitchen windowsill.”

Fromarch stuck his head in the door. “Well?” he asked. “Are you decent?”

“I might as well be wearing a tent,” said Meralda. “Do come in.”

Fromarch darted inside, accompanied by Shingvere.

Fromarch was clad in a simple, but poorly fitted, black robe. Scuffed black work boots peeked out from beneath, and the wrinkled collar of a white Phendelit dress shirt showed at the neck.

Shingvere, though, was dressed in a flowing red and black Eryan mage’s robe, complete with billowing sleeves and a blood-red sash. His hood was thrown back, his beard was trimmed and combed, and his eyes twinkled above his broad smile.

“Mage Meralda, you look wonderful,” he said. “Shame that robe doesn’t fit a bit better, you’d have half of Erya proposing marriage right there in the stands.”

“What the devil would she want with a lot of half-wit Eryans,” grumbled Fromarch.

Meralda raised her hands. “I’m glad to see you both. I haven’t had a chance to thank you for keeping the Vonats busy, these last few days.”

Both mages guffawed and exchanged grins. “Haven’t had that much fun in years,” said Fromarch.

“We put a basilisk in their swimming pool,” said Shingvere. “’Tis a crying shame that didn’t make the papers.”

“I do not want to know,” said Meralda. “At least not yet.”

“We’ll have a beer soon,” said Fromarch. He shot a look at Shingvere. “Think she knows yet?”

“Knows what?”

“She doesn’t know. He didn’t tell her. That rascal.”

Meralda frowned. “Who? Tell me what? What rascal?”

A trumpet blew. A knock sounded at the laboratory door. “They’re telling us we need to go,” said Kervis, through the door. “If you please, I mean, ma’am.”

Before Meralda could speak, Fromarch and Shingvere whirled and hurried out, chattering idly in tones that clearly conveyed their amusement with themselves.

Meralda glared at their backs and hurried to collect her things.

The trip to the park took nearly three hours.

Traffic was choked to a near standstill. Soldiers, some Eryan, some Phendelit, most Tirlish, lined every street and stood on every corner.

Every carriage, even Meralda’s, was stopped and inspected and then stopped and inspected again. The guards were polite and efficient and Meralda was sure nothing escaped their watchful eyes.

If the Vonats intend to start trouble today, she mused, they’ll need to be very clever indeed.

The Bellringers stared out their windows on either side of Meralda, their faces alert and wary. Meralda scanned the streets for Donchen, but if he was there, he was concealed.

The Tower loomed up finally, rising above every other rooftop. The park wall hove into view, its dancing gargoyles still clad in various scraps of Vonat underwear.

It’s nearly all over, thought Meralda. I should be happy.

She thought of watching the Hang five-master sail away, and her heart sank like lead in her chest.

He’ll be leaving soon. I’ve avoided facing that. But once the Accords are done, once the Hang go home, will I ever see him again?

I don’t even know his full name.

“Mistress,” said Mug, his voice tiny and distant over the din of traffic and the rumble of the carriage. “Mistress, I found Donchen. Thought you might be wondering where he is.”

Meralda lifted the speaking device to her lips.

“Thank you, Mug. Where is he?”

“He’s with the Hang. Just milling about, all dressed up in fancy robes of some kind. He doesn’t look happy. Also, he keeps looking about, watching for someone. Wonder who that could be?”

“Thank you, Mug.” Meralda put the device back into her bag.

She thought of the Hang ships leaving again, and pushed all thoughts of Donchen away until her carriage finally reached the park.

From the park down the walk to the stands took another full hour. Meralda spent most of that time resisting a growing urge to scratch at all the places the robes made her itch.

At last, though, she reached the stands, and was ushered to the lofty seats reserved for the king and his retinue.

She climbed past the Phendelit contingent, who nodded and waved. She passed through the glowering ranks of the Alons, who muttered and stared, although Red Mawb did at least nod to her in greeting. The Eryans were friendlier, with several calling out her name and doffing their hats to her as Meralda climbed past. The Vonats, who