The Shadow's heir

His stomach roiled.

“Ugh, what is wrong with me?” he mumbled, leaning against a wall as he tried to recover himself.

The sick and disoriented feeling only got worse, and frighteningly quickly. It made him feel something he hadn’t experienced for as long as he could remember: fear.

Oh, holy gods, he thought suddenly, as the world spun around him. I’ve been drugged!

His first instinct was to go back into the tavern and confront the barmaid, but he quickly realised that would be the worst thing he could do. He couldn’t possibly fight like this-even walking would probably be very hard.

Realising that, and now very aware of how much danger he could be in, he struck out toward the Eyrie as fast as he could. He had to get back to safety-had to get somewhere protected, where he could sleep off the drug. In the morning, he could return to the Blue Moon-or better still, send the city guard.

But even that plan began to look impossible as he weaved back and forth along the street, staggering hopelessly this way and that. He couldn’t tell which way was which. His vision was turning grey and hazy. He felt so tired, he wanted to lie down and sleep in the middle of the road.

He forced his eyes to stay open and took deep breaths to clear his head.

Find a guard, he told himself. Find one and tell him who you are-it doesn’t matter that they’ll ask questions tomorrow-you’ll be safe!

But he couldn’t see any guards, or indeed see much at all. The entire world was turning dark. His feet felt like a pair of granite blocks. When he thrust out a hand to try and support himself, he half-expected it to touch the sky. Meanwhile, people around him were bumping into him, sometimes painfully. He wanted to ask them for help, but his head was in a whirl, and none of them seemed to stay long enough to speak to. Finally, one of them ran into him hard enough to send him staggering sideways and into a wall. He hit it, and then groped his way along it until he found a corner, and peered around it. It looked dark, and he could see another wall, but he couldn’t tell whether it was another street, or even if it was an open doorway.

A hand grabbed him by the arm. He resisted, but the hand didn’t let go, and he stumbled after it until it released him and something shoved him violently in the chest, sending him to the ground, which he hit with a bone-jarring thud.

An instant later, something heavy pinned him down and he saw a face looking into his, wavering sickeningly through the haze. It looked small, but the mouth was twisted and horrible, the eyes staring.

Arenadd groaned and mumbled something.

The stranger reached down and took hold of the cloth wrapped around his face. “Now let’s see who’s behind the mask,” a voice rasped.

The cloth came away, and Arenadd felt air on his face. “Let go of me,” he managed. “I. . order you. .”

The stranger’s leer widened, turning his face into a hideous mask. “At last,” he breathed, and his voice was a strange lisping thing. “At last, I’ve found you.”

Arenadd shoved at him, but all his strength had gone. “Leave me alone. I swear, if you don’t let me up and call the guard, I’ll make you suffer.”

A laugh. “Too late!” the voice almost screamed. “Too late!”

And then something hit him.

It felt as if he’d been punched in the chest. But only for a moment.

The stranger rose, breathing harshly. “This time, no-one will be there to take it out,” he said. “Not this time. In Gryphus’ name, die.”

Arenadd’s breath came in short gasps, and he reached up and clutched feebly at the dagger embedded in his chest. Blood bubbled up between his teeth, and he coughed and moaned. If he could only take it out. .

But he didn’t have the strength, and he could feel it sapping his energy, shutting down his senses. The last of his vision faded to black, and his ears filled with a roaring sound that blotted out all else.

He felt his attacker roll him onto his front and tie his hands behind his back. His ankles were tied, too, and after that, something was stuffed into his mouth. The blood welling up in his throat had nowhere to go now, and he choked on it, gagging and retching. It was filling his lungs. .

Above the roaring in his ears, he heard the stranger say something.

“For Gryphus. For Lord Erian. For justice.”

After that, he fell into the void.

11

Learning

Laela had had a long day. The morning had been spent with Yorath, as usual, learning to write her first words. He had also taught her several more Northern phrases-she was learning how to ask for food and how to say “I am the King’s companion.” Yorath had told her she had very good pronunciation, which surprised her.

Once the lesson was over, Yorath began to excuse himself as he usually did.

“Wait,” said Laela.

He stopped. “Yes?”

She resisted the urge to stare at her boots. “I’m goin’ for lunch now, an’ I was wonderin’ if. . er, if yeh’d like to come an’ have it with me, like.”

Yorath looked uncertain. “I dunno. .”

“Yeh don’t have to come if yeh don’t want,” Laela said in a rush. “I just. . sorta. . thought I’d ask.”

“Oh, I want t’come,” Yorath said, just as quickly. “It’s just that. .”

“Why? Yeh got somewhere else to be?”

“Well, no, but-”

“Come, then,” said Laela. “I’ll be eatin’ on me own otherwise.”

Yorath scratched the back of his neck. “Well. .”

“The King won’t mind,” said Laela. “He really won’t. He told me I could do whatever I wanted.” This wasn’t actually true, but she said it anyway.

“I thought he’d be eatin’ with ye,” said Yorath.

“No, he never does,” said Laela. “C’mon, hurry up-I’m hungry.”

He paused a moment longer, and then smiled. “All right. I’ll be glad to.”

Laela smiled back, and they left the library together, side by side. Up in the dining hall, food had been laid out for her as always, and the serving-woman, seeing Yorath, silently left to bring a plate for him.

Laela sat down, gesturing at him to sit beside her.

He did, looking around at the room. “I’ve never been up here before, ye know.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, usually only the King an’ his officials use it,” said Yorath. “Teacher’s apprentices like me’d never come up here. Not without an invitation, anyway.”

“I gave yeh one,” said Laela. “Want some beer? It’s not bad.”

“Thanks.”

They drank together in companionable silence.

Laela’s heart was pounding. I wonder what’s goin’ on in his head. What does he really think about me? I’d never get him to tell me. .

She paused, holding her cup. Well, be damned with that.

“Yorath?”

“Yeah?”

Laela put her cup down and looked him in the face. “What do yeh think of me?”

The question obviously caught him off guard. “What do I think of ye?”

“Yeah,” said Laela. “I mean, yeh got yerself a good job tutorin’ me-probably got yeh some favour with the King an’ all-an’ yer nice to me, but that’s probably just ’cause of me livin’ up ’ere with the King. So I was