The trooper blinked and turned to look. "I see nothing, Shadow."
"Nor do I. But I'll go and warn the others. Make spaces, in case they have spares."
Smiling to himself, Shadow headed for the steps. The eagles were all gazing rightward, and their combs were flickering as they did when they got excited. They could see something, and the timing was right--it must be the reply from Ninar Foan.
The trooper was still staring blankly at the hills.
It was a uniformly shivering and rumpled party that assembled on the aerie floor shortly afterward: gritty eyes, hunched shoulders, and--with four exceptions--bristled faces. A scent of wood smoke and scorched goat meat was drifting up the stairwell. Shadow's stomach knotted at the thought of more goat, and he was pleased to see that the newcomers did include two spares. The duke had thought to send supplies.
A spare would follow its mate without trouble--usually--but landing was tricky. Many a rider had been savaged on the perching wall before he could dismount. Shadow felt a quiet satisfaction at having ordered the troopers to clear spaces--the only safe place to land when there were spares loose was between two other birds, both safely hooded. The spares circled a few times, angry at not being able to perch next to their mates, and then settled down as close as possible.
Five eagles; three men. The first man rode a spectacular male silver; he must be the duke, Shadow decided, and his guess was confirmed when Elosa ran forward to hug him as soon as he cleared the bars.
But the duke did not merely return her hug momentarily and then gently set her aside so that he could approach the prince--which would have been proper. Nor did he boot the young lady all the way to Allaban--which might have been a natural parental reaction. He held her for a few minutes as though he were comforting a small child. Or were they getting their stories matched? The back of Vindax's neck began to grow hot as he waited.
Then the duke stepped away from Elosa, pulled off goggles and helmet, and advanced.
And the welcoming party froze like the ancient rocks of the Rand.
Tired and dusty in his flying suit, this man was Alvo, duke of Foan, keeper of the Rand, hero of the battle of Allaban, premier noble of the realm--and possible traitor, seducer of his sovereign's wife.
It was bitterly unfair, Shadow thought. Rarely do two men truly look alike, be they brother and brother, father and son, or cousin and cousin. Family resemblances are usually subtle, a feature here and a mannerism there. A skilled and keen skyman, the duke had retained his trim, athletic figure; even appproaching middle age he still looked youthful, and his body and his face were the body and face of the prince. There were differences: lines on the forehead and slight sags below the eyes. His neck and shoulders had thickened, he held himself with the greater authority of age, and he lacked the quick restlessness of the younger man, but the similarities far outweighed the differences. The beak nose, the bushy brows, the dark, deep eyes--seeing that astonishing identity, it was suddenly very hard to believe in a freak throwback in third cousins once removed.
Even if they were father and son, then nature was being infinitely ironic: Shadow had never seen father and son look quite so much alike. Remembering Jarkadon's resemblance to the king, he wondered if Queen Mayala had some curious property of not imparting anything of her own looks to her sons--and realized that he was now a believer.
"Your Highness," Elosa mumbled to the dusty floor, "may I have the honor of presenting my father, His Grace, the duke of Foan."
The two men bowed. Normally they should then have embraced, being relatives, but neither seemed capable of moving his feet. The duke's windburn showed like red blotches on white paper; his face was rigid. Shadow could see little of Vindax's face, but he suspected it was no more relaxed.
"Well met, Cousin," the prince said at last.
The duke took a deep breath and then made an appropriate speech. Vindax replied in a monotone. Neither took his eyes off the other.
Then Vindax seemed to shake himself. He proceeded to present his companions.
Prince and duke and Shadow stood in the tiny bedroom cubicle. Vindax had passed from shock into quivering rage. The older man had recovered his composure and seemed to be totally at ease.
"I deeply regret the misunderstanding, Highness," he said. "My wife and Sir Ukarres agree that they spoke with her, but only by chance meeting. The rebels were mentioned in passing, but there was certainly no talk of plotting or treachery. Young girls sometimes come up with strange fancies. They have romantic ideas."
The back of Vindax's neck turned pink--he did not like that obvious fiction. He did not reply.
The duke smiled cheerfully. "And your royal parents, they are in good health? The queen? It has been a long time since she illuminated my halls with her beauty, since I said farewell to her--at Gorr."
Deny, deny!
"She has been failing lately," Vindax said. "I think she was distressed at the thought of my journey. She may have thought that I would fall in with questionable characters."
The duke ignored the barb. His voice had a rough, country sound to it; the prince's carried the softer lilt of Ramo, but the two were one voice.
"And His Majesty?"
"Well, thank you, when we left. You have never met my father?"
"No," the duke said. "I never had the honor."
There was the obvious moment to extend the king's invitation to court, but it did not come. Instead Vindax suddenly snapped, "We are strangely alike, you and I!" Tension raised his voice above its normal pitch.
The duke laughed. "So I was informed by the royal courier,Cousin.He was quite astonished."
"He did not inform your daughter; she was very astonished."
That shaft struck; certainly the duke would have dragged all the details out of Tuy Rorin. He colored.
"I repeat, Highness, that she has romantic notions. You are most welcome to my home. You will be quite safe--as prince and as relative. Our hospitality is genuine and heartfelt, although conditions will be more humble than you are used to."
There was a pause, and then Vindax obviously came to a decision--anger was useless, and the situation must be resolved with at least a public display of fellowship.
"So humble that you and I must share a dressing room, Your Grace?"
Foan blinked. "Certainly not, Highness. Why?"
"We could save on a shaving mirror," Vindax said.
And so Crown Prince Vindax flew on to Ninar Foan, a bleak and forbidding castle looming over a drab town, its rough stone walls swept by the chill winds of the Rand and lit by a reluctant red sun.
The proprieties were observed--there were formal presentations and a dinner in the great hall. The participants went through their paces like puppets, royal party and castle dwellers alike. It was unfair! Even an unusually close resemblance could have been tactfully ignored in public and passed off with a wink in private but not this twinlike identity. There were eighteen in the royal party. They would not all remain silent; they could not all be put to death. There had been others; thinking back, Shadow could remember looks of shock and disbelief from some of the gentry they had visited, the near or far neighbors who knew the Keeper. Already the word must be working its way back along the Rand like an infection, heading for the court.
The scandal made his job harder, now and in the future. If Jarkadon did not already have a faction of his own, then he certainly would soon, whether he wanted it or not. He would. The death of Vindax might seem like a very logical and desirable solution to many people: the duke, the queen, the king, Jarkadon, the duchess, Elosa...the list ballooned in his mind. Surely none of those was capable of murder, but the thought must be there, and there were always fanatics and overeager supporters.