Shadowmarch

Rorick excused himself—to down a cup of wine as quickly as possible, Briony guessed. As Avin Brone and Tyne Aldritch fell into a discussion of which of the other nobles must be present at so important a council, Briony rose to stretch her legs. Vansen, thinking she was leaving the room, went down on one knee.

“No, Captain, I am not done with you yet, as I said.” It was a strange, almost giddy feeling, the power that was in her now. For a moment she thought of Barrick and was stabbed by pity and sadness, but also impatience I must give him the chance to be present for this, she reminded herself. It is his due. But she wondered at her own thoughts, because it was indeed his due she was thinking of, not her own needs she was not certain she actually wanted him to be involved, and she was disturbed by that realization. “You will wait outside until I have finished with the others,Vansen.”

He bowed his head, then rose and walked out. Brone looked at him, then at Briony, one eyebrow raised inquiringly. “Before you go, good Aldritch,” she said to Tyne, ignoring the lord constable.

He turned toward her, not sure what was coming. “Yes, Highness?”

Briony examined the earl’s familiar face, the squint of suspicion, the scar beneath his eye. There was another jagged white line on his forehead only partly hidden beneath his graying hair—a fall while hunting. He was a good man but a rigid one, a man who saw almost all change as trouble. She sensed she was about to make the first of a long series of not entirely happy choices. “With Shaso imprisoned, you and Lord Brone have taken up most of his duties between you, my lord Aldritch.”

“I have done my best, Highness,” he said, a little angry color coming to his cheeks. “But this attack from behind the Shadowline, if it is true, could not have been foreseen .”

“I know. And I know . . that is, my brother and I know… that you have done what you could in a difficult time. Now it seems the times will become more difficult still.” She was aware that she was changing, that she had begun to speak less like Briony and more like a queen, or at least a princess regent. Is this what happens? Is true royalty like some wasting illness that makes you grow farther and farther from everyone even while you remain in their midst* * * * *“I wish you to continue, and in fact to become the castle’s master of arms.” She looked quickly to Brone, not for his approval, but to see how he reacted. He, in turn, was looking at Tyne, if he disagreed or agreed with her decision he gave no sign.

Earl Tyne’s cheeks were still flushed, but he seemed relieved. “I thank you, Highness. I will do my best to fulfill your trust.”

“I’m sure you will. So here is your first duty. We must assume this danger is real. We have a few hundred guards in the castle—not enough for anything except perhaps to resist a siege, and if it comes to that, it will mean we have abandoned the outer city. How quickly can we muster a proper army?”

Aldritch frowned. “We can have my Blueshoremen and Brone’s Landsenders here in days, perhaps a week. With fast riders on the Westmarch Road we might be able to draw a few companies from Daler’s Troth soon after, if we can get around this fairy army. Any levies from Marrinswalk and Helrmngsea and the outliers like Silverside and Kertewall will take longer—at the very least two tenmghts, more likely we won’t see them for a month “ His frown became a scowl—Tyne had never been one to mask his thoughts. “A cursed shame, this whole bloody business with Gailon Tolly and his brothers, because our largest and best-trained muster always comes from Summerfield.”

“I will treat with that,” Briony said. “What seems important to me is that we meet this shadow-army, if it is truly moving on Southmarch as the guard captain fears, at least once outside the city walls.”

“With unready troops?” Tyne protested. “Most of what we will turn up here under such haste will be local musters, especially after all these years without war—perhaps only one real fighting man for every dozen who have never swung anything sharper than a hoe.”

“We must test their strength—and ours,” Briony said firmly. “We know nothing of such an enemy. And if they draw a siege around us, we will have trouble getting any more help at all from the farther marches. We will have to rely on ships to bring men as well as supplies, which will make for an even longer wait for the landbound musters.” She turned to Avin Brone. “What do you think?”

He nodded, pulling gently and meditatively on his beard. “I agree we cannot simply wait until this enemy arrives. But we do not know for certain that is what they plan. Perhaps they will harry the outlying marches first. Perhaps they seek only to expand a distance across the Shadowline, then sit on what they have won.”

“It doesn’t seem anything to count on,” said Briony. “If they have brought an entire army across the Shadowline, it seems unlikely they did it merely to burn a few fields and barns.” She almost couldn’t believe she was talking about this so calmly. People were going to die. The country had been largely at peace for her entire lifetime and the Twilight People had not stirred out of their shadows for generations. How had this fallen to her?

Brone sighed. “I agree that we must begin the muster immediately, Highness. The rest we can discuss with the other nobles later today.”

“Go, then,Tyne, and begin it,” she said. “I may be asking an impossibility, but let your messengers go out with as much secrecy as they can and take their messages straight to the local lords and mayors without stopping to discuss it in the taverns. Tell them that if anyone hears of their errand before the one to whom they are sent, they will spend the next year chained in the stronghold next to Shaso.”

“That will not keep everyone quiet,”Tyne argued. “Some will risk shackles to warn their own families.”

“No, but it will help. And we will not give the messengers any information that they do not need.” She summoned a young page from outside the chapel door. He came in as hesitantly as a cat walking on a wet floor. “Call Nynor,” she told him, and when he was gone she said, “I will send out letters under my seal.”

“Very good,” said the Earl of Blueshore. “Then they will not be able to argue they did not understand the importance or that the messenger did not tell them straightly what was needed.”

“You two go and see to it, please, and the arrangements for this evening’s council as well. Send inVansen as you go.” Brone gave her the raised eyebrow once more. “Do not be too hard on him, Highness, please. He is a good man.” “I will deal with him as he deserves,” she promised.

* * *

Chert had managed by a certain stealthiness to make his way home through the back streets of Funderling Town without having to explain why a finger-sized man was riding on his shoulder. He could not, of course, avoid giving an explanation to everyone…

“Have you found him?” Opal demanded, then her reddened eyes opened wide as she saw Beetledown. “Earth Elders! What… what is that?”

“He’s a ‘who,’ really,” her husband told her. “As for Flint, no luck. Not yet.”

The little man stood up on Chert’s shoulder and doffed his ratskin hat before making a small bow. “Beetledown the Bowman, I hight, tallsome lady. Chief one of the Gutter-Scouts, directed by Her Sinuous Majesty, Queen Upsteeplebat, to help find your lost boy.”

“He’s here to help.” Chert was tired and didn’t have much hope left—in fact, the whole thing struck him as a bit ridiculous. Opal, however, was seeing a Rooftopper for the first time and for a moment seemed almost able to forget the terrible errand that had brought this newcomer to their home.

“Look at him! He’s perfect!” She reached out a hand, as if he were a toy to be played with, but remembered her manners. “Oh! My name is Opal and you are welcome in our house. Would you like something to drink or eat? I’m afraid I don’t know much about… about Rooftoppers.”

“Nay, Mistress, not this moment, but I thank ‘ee.” He pulled at Chert’s earlobe.”It seems best tha put me down. Smell is a tricksy thing. Fades like stars at sunrise.”

“He’s going to sniff Flint’s shirt,” Chert explained. It seemed to need some additional clarification, but he couldn’t summon any.

Opal, however, seemed to find it all perfectly straightforward. “Let me carry you. I haven’t swept the floors today and I’m ashamed.” She reached out a hand and Beetledown climbed onto it. “Did your queen really send you? What is she like? Is she old or young? Is she beautiful?”

“Brave as a daw and fearful handsome,” said Beetledown with real feeling. “Hair soft as the velvet pelt of a weanling mouse.” He coughed to cover his embarrassment. “We are her special legion, we Gutter-Scouts. The queen’s eyes and ears. A great honor it gives to us.”

“Then we’re honored she wishes to help us,” said Opal as she carried the tiny man toward Flint’s bed. Chert was bemused to see how much better his wife did this sort of thing than he did. “Do you need anything?”

“Is yon great tent of faircloth un’s garment? Put me down, please ‘ee, Mistress, and I will scent what I can.” He scrambled across the folds, then dropped to his hands and knees and pressed his face against the sleeve. He