Or perhaps, he suggested, the prince would like to try some archery against game birds, leaving the goats for later.
"No!" Shadow said firmly. The troopers must be armed, but he would not have unnecessary arrows flying around his ward.
The duke frowned in astonishment at such insolence; the prince merely smiled and agreed.
They mounted. The troopers launched and took up station. They were followed by the hunters: the duke, the countess, Shadow, the prince, and finally Elosa.
Shadow soared over the town, sparing a passing thought for the frozen poor in this bleak place, then turned into the updraft and began circling, watching as the prince settled in below him, as always. Upward they floated, and then he thought he heard a shout--and saw to his astonishment that Vindax was breaking out of the thermal, as though heading back.
Then WindStriker seemed to balk, beating her wings furiously, and in a moment had taken Shadow's air. What the hell was His Royal Crazy Highness up to?
Reluctantly he urged NailBiter upward, knowing that powered flight would soon exhaust the mounts. Still he could not reach the prince--indeed the gap was widening. An old relic like WindStriker outclimbing NailBiter? Then he knew.
WindStriker swayed and veered above him, and momentarily he had a clear view. Her blinkers were shut, and the prince's face was white below his goggles. He shouted, and Shadow heard the word he expected: "Bat."
A single mutebat would send an eagle into an hour or more of ecstatic intoxication, hunched down on its perch with its eyes closed, drooling and quivering, its comb blue and rigid. But batmeat took time to act--get a bird into the air before the effects appeared and it was a flying maniac. The drug produced visual hallucinations, so that blinkers had no effect, and the bird would fly where and how it liked, soaring in downdrafts, beating its wings, turning upside down. It was capable of flying straight into the ground. It was also capable of heading to heights or depths where human lungs could no longer cope--and Ninar Foan was already very high for men.
The castle aerie had been cleaned of mutebats; Shadow had noted that with approval. This was human doing--treachery--and there was no recourse. He could only try to follow and hope. WindStriker was old, and NailBiter young and unusually powerful, but NailBiter could not match the frenzy of a batted bird.
Even if he could approach, there would be nothing he could do. No bird could carry two men; there was no way to move the prince to Shadow's mount and no way to exchange mounts. The only help he could offer was to keep in view--and watch Vindax die.
WindStriker locked herself into a soaring mode and rode the thermal, higher and higher and higher. Shadow followed with his lungs heaving, his ears popping constantly, his nose starting to bleed. He was gradually closing, for NailBiter had the greater wingspread, but dark spots began to flow in front of his eyes.
He remembered what a guard was taught to do in the prince's predicament: "Tie your reins, close your eyes, and pray loudly."
The thermal was dying cut. Its curve had carded them over darkness, the lower slopes of the Rand, the mountains and chasms below showing only as wrinkled, indistinct patterns of shade. It would be deathly cold down there, where sunlight never shone.
Then the prince vanished into the cloudcap. Shadow felt his senses slipping and knew that he could do no more. Choking for air, he put NailBiter into a dive.
Vindax was gone.
Chapter 7
"Where there's shadow, there's light."
THE castle commons was a vast, dim hall with a barrel ceiling darkened by the smoke of centuries. The tables were of stone, for lumber had never been plentiful near Ninar Foan, but the great ovens and hearths kept the place warm, and the smell of food made it cheerful. Shadow shuffled in across the worn stone flags. He collected a giant tankard of steaming coffee, a large black roll, and a bowl of stew, without looking to see who gave them to him. Then he limped to a convenient stool.
He gulped the coffee, burning his mouth and throat and feeling the lip of the tankard rasp on his unshaven face. His face, raw from the constant wind, burned also, and his eyes were so loaded with fatigue that he could hardly focus. His head throbbed like a drum. All around the room there were others in the same plight, humped by the tables, many being anxiously tended by wives or daughters and some already asleep, head and arms spread out among the dishes.
He laid down the tankard and blearily regarded the stew bowl. He ought to eat, he told himself firmly, but his gut rebelled at the thought.
He had never been so tired in his life.
A cool hand ran its fingers through his tangled hair, slid down the side of his face, and came to rest in the neck of his flying suit. He looked up with a sad smile and leaned his head back against softness.
"Anything I can do?" asked Feysa, one of the royal party.
He shook his head. "It will be a long time before I can call on you," he said. "But thanks for a kind thought."
"You are going to get some sleep, though, aren't you?"
"One more patrol," he said.
Frowns did not suit her lovely face. "Sleep first, Shadow. You'll go to sleep in the sky."
"No," he said firmly. He picked up the spoon and forced some of the meat into his mouth. Then more. He started gulping it down, suddenly aware of being famished.
Feysa vanished as silently as she had come.
"Who is that, Shadow?" It was a boy sitting across from him who spoke, but when he focused the face out of the background haze, it was Elosa, chalky and hollow-eyed in her flying suit. He had not realized that she was there.
"That's Feysa," he said. "You haven't been to bed, either, have you?"
She shook her head. "If you can do it, then I can."
He slowed his eating, partly from table manners and partly because he knew he was being stupid to hog so fast.
"You fly like a man, lady."
"Is that a compliment?" she asked.
He could still smile, apparently; he hadn't known that. "It was intended as one. I'll rephrase it. You're a wonderful skywoman, lady. You look in better shape than any of us."
She smiled back coyly. "Then I'll accept the amendment and thank you. Now, who is Feysa?"
He bit into the tough roll. The coffee was beginning to work. "She's a lady's maid."
"She doesn't act like a lady's maid," Elosa said, frowning.
Shadow took another bite and chewed to gain time, studying her. She was obviously exhausted, as they all were, but he was honestly impressed by her courage and stamina--those could compensate for a lot of woolly-headed romanticism. Elosa was hill-bred--there was granite inside that elfin form. Perhaps he owed her a little wisdom.
"At court, and under her own name, she outranks both the countess and Lady Ninomar," he said.
Elosa studied his face gravely. "Explain."
He shrugged. "The countess is the prince's mistress, right?"
Obviously she had not known that, and a trace of color crept into her pale cheeks. He outlined a little palace politics.
"And Lady Ninomar?"
"Well, the countess obviously could not travel alone, so Lady Ninomar came also. Not his real wife, I shouldn't think."
Elosa bit her lip and said nothing.
"And two ladies cannot travel without a lady's maid. So Feysa. There happen to be three main factions in the palace at the moment, and each one got to place a lady in the party. It was all carefully planned."