Fey 02 - Changeling Read online

  The deserters claimed Shadowlands was no longer necessary. Rugar disagreed. He had created two Shadowlands, one to hold the ships, and one to protect his invasion force. Only Visionaries could make Shadowlands. They were boxes so large that a hundred giants could not hold them. The boxes were invisible to the naked eye, but solid to someone inside. The doorways were marked by a circle of lights. Once created, the Shadowlands remained solid until the Visionary destroyed them or until the Visionary died.

  The sound of muffled hoofbeats drew his attention. Rugar gripped the bow tightly and leaned forward, peering through the leaves. A single horseman, wearing the black robe of a Danite, rode into view. His head was bald, his feet bare. A tiny silver sword which he wore around his neck glinted in the sunlight. Rugar had done some study about the marshes before he came here. The communities nearby had Danites attached to them to perform the daily religious ceremonies. Danites were the priests of Blue Isle's religious order. This Danite either came from the Tabernacle or from the King.

  Most likely, he was an advance man for the King's party. The King had gotten wiser in the years since Rugar's daughter, Jewel, moved into the palace.

  The Danite stopped at the edge of the marsh and peered around. The landscape was barren except for the trees, scattered in groups of three and four, across the water. His arrival spooked the birds, and dozens of them took off, the sound of their wings loud in the morning air.

  Perfect.

  From his quiver Rugar took an arrow, and placed it across his bow. Slowly he raised the bow, and got the Danite in his sights. But Rugar did not pull the arrow back. Instead he watched, aiming, practicing for the crucial moment.

  His movements disturbed not a leaf on the tree.

  As he had planned.

  All of his training as the Black King's son, all of his work as a leading Visionary, all of his years as a military leader had given Rugar a precision that many of his people did not have. Even though he had not had a real Vision in almost five years, he still could invent tiny Shadowlands, and create invisible targets in the air with a startling accuracy. He learned to use that talent when he was practicing his archery. In the last year, it had gotten so that he only missed what he was aiming at when his concentration was destroyed.

  Nothing would break his concentration today.

  The Danite clucked at his horse and together they rode across the marsh, disturbing birds as they went. Rugar tracked them until he could no longer see them through the small holes he had made in his leaf cover. Then he put the arrow in its quiver, and leaned the bow in its place against the tree trunk.

  He was appalled that it had come to this. A lone assassin in a tree. If his daughter had listened to him years before, the Fey would rule Blue Isle now.

  Instead, she had taken one of his losses as a failure and negotiated a peace with the Islanders. A peace in which she sacrificed herself in marriage to their prince. She had thought that such a thing would unify the Fey and the Islanders. It had stopped the war, but it had not brought unity. Rugar had heard reports that the Fey who lived outside the Shadowlands, in Burden's encampment, often ran in fear of Islanders with poison.

  Poison. The Fey would have owned this Isle within hours of their invasion if not for the Islanders' poison. They used it as holy water in their rituals and had accidentally discovered that it killed Fey in a particularly nasty manner. The Spell Warders, who designed all the spells for the Fey, had stayed with Rugar in the Shadowlands, and were trying to find a way to counteract the poison. They had been close, years ago, when their leader Caseo was murdered. His death had stalled them, and now, for all their work, they were no closer.

  Only the Warders could design spells. Warders had the ability to do a bit of all Fey magic. But no Fey had all of the powers of the tribe. Fey were divided into the healing magicks, like the Domestics, Shamans, and Healers, and the warrior magicks, like the Foot Soldiers, Doppelgängers, and Visionaries. Only a few Fey crossed between both camps — Shape-shifters, Beast Riders and Enchanters, for example — but even they chose the military or the household when their magick talents arrived in adolescence.

  He wished the Fey had more powers. If they ever found the secret to the poison, the Fey would rule the Isle.

  The sound of hoofbeats again drew his attention. This time, there was more than one horse. He pulled the bow onto his lap again, and held his breath. More time had gone by than he expected. It had been decades since he had sat alone in a tree, and never had he done so without a force around him. As a boy, before his magic came, he had served as lookout for his father's army. Today, everything rested on him.

  Four riders appeared in the distance, riding two abreast. These riders wore brown pants and tunics — the new uniforms of the King's guards. The King had switched his guards' clothing when it became clear the other uniform was a target. The men had bare heads and close-cropped hair. As they approached, Rugar recognized one of them as Monte, head of the King's guards. Monte was a beefy middle-aged man with ruddy features and a hatred of the Fey. He had insulted Rugar at the banquet following Jewel's wedding, and only Jewel's pleas that the ceremony be peaceful kept Rugar from responding.

  Rugar's information had been right. The King was visiting the Kenniland Marshes on his first trip through the countryside since the Fey had arrived. The marshes were particularly important to the King, since they were, historically, a hotbed of political rebellion. The people in the marshes had led the Peasant Uprising generations before.

  Rugar had not known any of the history of Blue Isle when he arrived here. All he had known was that the Isle was rich, and was between the Galinas continent and the Leutian continent. The Fey had just finished conquering Galinas, giving the Fey control of three of the five continents in the world. Leut was next. If his father, the Black King, had not opposed this mission, the Fey might actually be on Leut now.

  Or dead. There was no guarantee his father's Spell Warders would have learned the secret to the poison either. But his father's Warders were in Nye, the country on the western edge of the Galinas continent, just as his father was.

  The riders did not speak as they rode up. The horses were stallions, proud, dark beasts that pranced with spirit. The men had to use heavy reins to keep them under control. A surprise, and the poorer riders would be thrown.

  That was the technique Rugar would have used if he had a force. Alone he had to wait for his target.

  The King.

  The four guards were scouting the area. They looked into the marsh, and at the trees. Rugar kept very still. If this group got past him, the King would arrive with confidence.

  Monte peered into the tree that Rugar was in. Rugar held his breath. It felt as if their eyes met. Then Monte looked away. They rode slowly so that they could scout clearly. It gave Rugar a chance to investigate them. He had not seen the other three guards before. They were all older men who had lived at least three decades, maybe four. They had that same hefty strength that Monte had, and the same weary features. Their blue eyes were pale, their features round. They were shorter and stouter than the Fey, but within that square build lay a lot of strength. Some of the Fey Infantry had learned that the hard way.

  They passed within spitting distance beneath the tree. Rugar could smell the horseflesh on the breeze. He watched them pass, then took a deep breath. There should be no more advance teams. The next arrival should contain the King.

  Jewel would hate Rugar for this, if she ever figured it out. But he had given her four years to resolve this crisis. Four years to bring the Islanders under Fey control. When she had suggested her plan, she had said that once she was in the palace, she would betray the Islanders. But she had fallen subject to their odd charm. She didn't even realize that the child she raised was a changeling. Her son, Gift, had been in the Shadowlands since he was less than a week old.

  If she wasn't going to betray the Islanders by now, she never would. And the King's first visit to the outlying areas provided Rugar with the chance he ha
d been waiting for.

  A small dust cloud rose in the distance. Rugar smiled. The King would travel with a party large enough to raise dust even on this meager road. Rugar grabbed his bow, put it across his lap, and rested an arrow on top of it.

  He would get only one chance.

  As the dust cloud grew closer, the clear air carried the sound of many hooves. The King never traveled alone any more. Before the Fey arrived, he traveled with two guards whom he would often dismiss so that he could talk with his people alone. He stopped that practice immediately, and introduced measures all through the Isle that protected the Islanders from the Fey. Rugar sometimes felt that his biggest mistake was not disobeying his own father's wishes, but underestimating the Islander King.

  The cloud was growing bigger. Rugar brought up his bow, placed the end of the arrow against the string, and waited. He could make out tiny figures now — a dozen men, maybe more. Even with all his learning, the King had not yet discovered women as a powerful fighting force. The Islanders' innate dismissal of women probably caused some of the trouble Jewel was having in the palace.

  Rugar glanced at the revolving circle of lights. Still there. Still waiting. The Powers were with him. None of this would be worthwhile if he didn't survive. Jewel would not know how to take advantage of the changes, and Gift was too young. Rugar would have to guide them all.

  Now he could make out faces, some of whom he recognized from his brief dealings with the Islanders. Lord Stowe rode at the King's right side. Stowe did not wear a hat on his balding head, but his long brown curls were pulled away from his face. He held the reins with a mincing precision that belied his strength as a negotiator.

  Lord Enford rode on the King's left. Enford was slender to the point of gauntness, with hollow eyes and sunken cheeks. His blonde hair, also pulled back, was thin and scraggly. He was older than the King's other advisors, but had a cunning that Rugar had discovered during his second meeting at the palace after Jewel's wedding.

  Four guards rode out front, and four trailed behind, while another four encircled the King and his nobles. Such a large contingent. It made Rugar wonder if this were more than a routine check of the outlying provinces.

  Alexander, the King, rode a large black stallion. The animal had a lot of power, yet submitted completely to Alexander's control. Somehow Rugar had not expected the Islander King to be a horseman — another underestimation. This man was the only man in the history of the Fey to defeat a Fey invasion force. Of course he had hidden talents and powers. Even if Jewel had yet to discover them.

  Rugar squinted, lining up his shot. The King was still too far away, but it would only be moments now.

  Alexander was younger than Rugar by a good decade or more. He had a non-athletic stockiness when Rugar first met him, but that had faded over the years. Alexander was a trim man now who looked only a few years older than his own son, Jewel's husband. The two men resembled each other enough to be brothers. Alexander's hair was shorter, his bearing straighter, his manner less impulsive, all things difficult to determine from a distance.

  Rugar had thought of the difficulties in telling the King and Prince apart, then decided that it didn't matter. King or Prince, a death in the royal family would destroy the Islanders' spirit.

  Alexander was almost within range. Rugar mentally saluted him. Alexander had proven a worthy adversary. Rugar would mourn his loss.

  The approaching force did not talk. The dust cloud traveled with them, surrounding them, but obscuring nothing. The horses' hooves clomped in unison, adding a comforting rhythm to the morning. Rugar leaned forward just enough to make certain his target was within his sights.

  One shot.

  One chance.

  Alexander's perfectly straight torso was within range. Rugar pulled the bow even tighter. He imagined Alexander's heart, beating constantly, rhythmically, pictured it as a target, and then released the bowstring. The snap sounded loud to him, but the arrow flew silently between two guards. It pierced Alexander's breast. He glanced up skyward, a quick moment of startlement, then toppled backwards off his horse.

  Rugar didn't move. It would be a matter of moments before they saw him. He wanted to see their reaction before he disappeared into his own private Shadowlands.

  The horses stopped. The guards in the rear cried out. The guards up front continued forward another few paces. Lord Stowe yelled his King's name, and Lord Enford was off his mount before the rest. He ran back to the King, and touched him gently, then cradled his head.

  Lord Stowe dismounted, as did the remaining guards.

  "No need," Lord Enford said in Islander, his voice barely carrying over the marsh. "He's dead."

  Rugar smiled. Success. It had been so rare these last few years. He reached up and stuck a finger in the circle of lights. The circle grew large enough to accommodate his body. As he stepped inside the swirling gray nothingness, he heard Stowe's voice, high and frightened but struggling for control.

  "Where did the arrow come from?"

  "I don't know," Enford said.

  "That tree?" asked a new voice.

  Then the Circle Door closed behind Rugar and he willed the points of light to become as small as they could. He had made this Shadowlands very tiny, big enough to hold his sitting frame and his weapons and little more. He brushed against the square walls, his head pressed against the smooth sides.

  Shadowlands got its air from the outside because the walls were porous. But it got nothing else. He was surrounded by grayness. The Shadowlands was like a great box with nothing inside, but it did have a top, a bottom and walls. They were barriers to the touch and felt solid, but had no visible form.

  He could still create Shadowlands — the proper kind — the kind that hid a warrior anywhere on an open plain. He still had some of his Visionary powers. But he didn't need them to know what would happen next.

  The Islanders would be in complete disarray. If Jewel stepped into the void left by King Alexander's death, good. But if not, Rugar would. Step one was completed. As soon as night fell, he would leave his tree and head back to Jahn. Then he would implement Step Two.

  Unlike his daughter and her friend Burden, Rugar remembered the mission. Blue Isle would become a Fey stronghold. The last five years would become a footnote — the first battle instead of the war.

  THREE

  Jewel stopped at the door of the palace nursery, her hand over her bulging stomach. The baby was kicking — hard — and the sharpness, combined with the constant pain in her chest, made her slightly dizzy. Coming into the nursery always upset her, though. The room was dark and gloomy, no matter what she did to cheer it up. The stone walls were as gray as Shadowlands, and the fireplace did little to heat the place. Whenever she came in, she opened the tapestries and let in the fresh air and sunlight. As soon as she left, the nurse closed the tapestries again.

  Not that actions made much difference. Sebastian had not moved from his play rug. He sat, hands on his sturdy thighs, legs outstretched, staring into the fire, just as she had left him hours before. The stuffed warriors the nurse had made him, the tiny carts on their sanded wheels, didn't interest him. Nothing did.

  The baby she was carrying kicked again. She had said nothing to Nicholas about her fears for this child. Sebastian had kicked this much when he was in the womb, perhaps more, and now he was a dull, listless child who took not the best traits of his parents, but the worst. If anyone had told her that a mingling of Fey and Islander would result in a child that lacked spark, she would never have made this match.

  Or at least not in the same way.

  She couldn't imagine life without Nicholas. For all their differences, he was more her complement than any other man she had ever met. She caressed the taut skin hiding their next child. She had tried to prevent another pregnancy, though, using Fey charms and herbs. One month, Nicholas's chamberlain had discovered them and removed them.

  One month was all it took.

  Still, she couldn't quite bring herself t
o get rid of the child. She allowed herself the small hope that this baby would be different, that this child would receive all the good traits, Islander and Fey. This child would be what other Fey half-breeds had always been: the most powerful of all.

  Fey lore had always said that, in addition to the lands, the Fey needed new blood to keep the magick alive. New blood added freshness, gave the magic room to grow. Fey to Fey matches created magic-filled children, but as the generations progressed, the magick diminished, weakened by too much closeness. Mingling with new races always brought changes to the magick, always strengthened it, and sometimes even created new magickal forms. Lore said that the Fey didn't have Visionaries until they descended from the Eccrasian Mountains.

  The dizziness was passing. She took a deep breath and entered the nursery. The nurse was knitting in her chair near the fireplace. Jewel didn't know how the woman sat so close to the heat. The room was already twice as hot as it should be.