Read Online Shadow's End (Light & Shadow) by Moira Katson - Free Book Online
Authors: Moira Katson
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tiny spark, had become a roaring flame.
As I watched her belief guide her, I found that I began to believe, myself. It was not the burning sense of injustice that drove Jeram and his men, or the intellectual passion in which Miriel reveled. It was quieter, softer: first, the sense I had found at the start, that I at last had the chance to do something that might be truly Good. Then, later, I started to believe that this was what I needed, to heal myself from the darkness of the Court.
I had always understoo d Miriel’s belief, and known that she was right: nobles were no better at heart than the common-born. It was riches and books that separated the two, and no more, and I believed Jeram when he said that a commoner with an education might have as fine a mind as a noble. I had simply never been driven to right those wrongs; now, I believed that I could, and, strangely, that I wanted to do so.
I did not tell Miriel, but m ost of all, I believed in the rebellion because it gave a purpose to the alliance she and I had made. When we had sworn loyalty to each other, we had been bound by nothing more than a common set of enemies, our fear, and worst of all, our hopes for vengeance. This was something greater entirely—she was leading the nation to a new age, and I was guarding her, so that she might be what she was fated to be. And if that belief made me question, uncomfortably, what my own fate might be, I was too busy to spend much time wondering over that.
And even if we were both fearful, we never had a need to admit the true reason. Fear of prophecies, of lost love, was nothing to those who worked in the shadow of the scaffold. We watched, always, for the distress signal that troops were on the march, heading for the rebel stronghold—alerted, at last, to the arming of the common people. They had established an impressive network of signals, this shadowy rebellion. There were beacons and messenger birds, tradesmen and wandering priests; they dealt in whispers, and spread hope to the despairing, and caution to the boastful.
For weeks, there was nothing—so long that we began to relax, thinking that perhaps the King’s offer had come to nothing. No city-bred newcomers had arrived in the town, and even Jeram had lost the grim look in his eyes. T hen a rider arrived at a dead gallop, gasping that he was only hours ahead of a Royal Messenger. He fell out of the saddle and was carried to the Merchant’s study as Jeram was summoned from the smithy, and we crowded around the messenger as he sipped some water and rasped out his tale: the raids on the border had escalated until the King, Gods protect him, had sent a large contingent west and fortified the Winter Castle. And that must have been Kasimir’s plan, for once the Royal Army was ensconced in the mountains, the Ismiri had rushed south, over the foothills that lay in the north of the Bone Wastes, and now they swept across the southern farmland, towards Penekket itself.
The messenger told us that as he had left the city, the King was withdrawing his family and the Council into Penekket Fortress, and his father was preparing the Royal Army to march westward, and meet the Ismiri forces head on. We gaped at this news, all of us, unable to take it in, and Miriel and I exchanged an anguished glance. We had hoped night and day, and I knew she had prayed, that Voltur would be safe; now it was, but we could take no joy in when we knew that there were other citizens bearing the brunt of the attack.
“We have to help them,” Miriel said, breaking the silence. I nodded, but the Merchant and Jeram looked at her, aghast.
“No,” Jeram said at once. “This is not our war.”
“Of course it is.” Miriel shook her head in confusion. “This is an invasion—the farmers whose fields are being burned, the shepherdesses whose flocks are being slaughtered, those are our brothers and sisters. We must help the Army to stand against Kasimir.” She was incredulous. Eloquent and
As I watched her belief guide her, I found that I began to believe, myself. It was not the burning sense of injustice that drove Jeram and his men, or the intellectual passion in which Miriel reveled. It was quieter, softer: first, the sense I had found at the start, that I at last had the chance to do something that might be truly Good. Then, later, I started to believe that this was what I needed, to heal myself from the darkness of the Court.
I had always understoo d Miriel’s belief, and known that she was right: nobles were no better at heart than the common-born. It was riches and books that separated the two, and no more, and I believed Jeram when he said that a commoner with an education might have as fine a mind as a noble. I had simply never been driven to right those wrongs; now, I believed that I could, and, strangely, that I wanted to do so.
I did not tell Miriel, but m ost of all, I believed in the rebellion because it gave a purpose to the alliance she and I had made. When we had sworn loyalty to each other, we had been bound by nothing more than a common set of enemies, our fear, and worst of all, our hopes for vengeance. This was something greater entirely—she was leading the nation to a new age, and I was guarding her, so that she might be what she was fated to be. And if that belief made me question, uncomfortably, what my own fate might be, I was too busy to spend much time wondering over that.
And even if we were both fearful, we never had a need to admit the true reason. Fear of prophecies, of lost love, was nothing to those who worked in the shadow of the scaffold. We watched, always, for the distress signal that troops were on the march, heading for the rebel stronghold—alerted, at last, to the arming of the common people. They had established an impressive network of signals, this shadowy rebellion. There were beacons and messenger birds, tradesmen and wandering priests; they dealt in whispers, and spread hope to the despairing, and caution to the boastful.
For weeks, there was nothing—so long that we began to relax, thinking that perhaps the King’s offer had come to nothing. No city-bred newcomers had arrived in the town, and even Jeram had lost the grim look in his eyes. T hen a rider arrived at a dead gallop, gasping that he was only hours ahead of a Royal Messenger. He fell out of the saddle and was carried to the Merchant’s study as Jeram was summoned from the smithy, and we crowded around the messenger as he sipped some water and rasped out his tale: the raids on the border had escalated until the King, Gods protect him, had sent a large contingent west and fortified the Winter Castle. And that must have been Kasimir’s plan, for once the Royal Army was ensconced in the mountains, the Ismiri had rushed south, over the foothills that lay in the north of the Bone Wastes, and now they swept across the southern farmland, towards Penekket itself.
The messenger told us that as he had left the city, the King was withdrawing his family and the Council into Penekket Fortress, and his father was preparing the Royal Army to march westward, and meet the Ismiri forces head on. We gaped at this news, all of us, unable to take it in, and Miriel and I exchanged an anguished glance. We had hoped night and day, and I knew she had prayed, that Voltur would be safe; now it was, but we could take no joy in when we knew that there were other citizens bearing the brunt of the attack.
“We have to help them,” Miriel said, breaking the silence. I nodded, but the Merchant and Jeram looked at her, aghast.
“No,” Jeram said at once. “This is not our war.”
“Of course it is.” Miriel shook her head in confusion. “This is an invasion—the farmers whose fields are being burned, the shepherdesses whose flocks are being slaughtered, those are our brothers and sisters. We must help the Army to stand against Kasimir.” She was incredulous. Eloquent and
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