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  "But," Shadow said, and then stopped.

  "It was my fault--I should have noticed. SkyBreaker was his name, appropriately. He went down. Then up. Then down. Then he sauntered back to his roost as though nothing had happened, and they lifted me off and I screamed for three days. Believe me, lad, you may be doing your prince a kindness by not looking anymore."

  Shadow was carefully not thinking those thoughts.

  "Look at the odds, Shadow," the duke said quietly. "You almost blacked out in the first few minutes. Most likely he died in that cloud, and we don't know which direction WindStriker took out of it. If the prince was alive after the cloud, he almost certainly died in the next hour--up and down as Ukarres says. The bird probably dropped from exhaustion when the batmeat wore off--she's old, remember, and had been thrashing hard. In that case he was killed on impact, or else he's been lying unattended for two days. There are very few places around here where a man could survive that, even if he was uninjured to start with."

  Shadow banged his fist on the table, but the stone made no sound. "We have to find him! Dead or alive!"

  Foan nodded patiently. "But admit it--we're looking for his body. We can't risk living men to find a body. We must break it off for at least a full watch."

  "If someone saw him come down..." Shadow began. But that was a futile thought. The country was almost a desert. Near Ramo no one could fall out of the sky without being seen, but there were few peasants on the Rand, at least not here.

  "We've asked at every cottage," the keeper said patiently.

  More than half the men in the room were now asleep, slumped on the tables, and some were even stretched out on benches, snoring.

  "You will send a second message, then?" Ninomar asked while Shadow was struggling to find words.

  The duke nodded. "I reported the accident and warned that there was very little hope. I think now we should say that although we shall continue to search, chances are almost nonexistent and he must be assumed dead. Perhaps you will wish to add your own report?"

  "Did you tell them it was murder?" Shadow asked angrily.

  He got four very steady, very cold stares.

  "No I did not," the duke said. "Have you evidence of that?"

  "There were no mutebats in the aerie. I had looked." He turned to Vonimor. "You cleaned them out. What did you do with the bodies?"

  The eagler hesitated and then said, "Threw them over. There's a megaday of junk at the dark side of the tower. Go and see."

  "Somebody did," Shadow said. "It is possible to get to that junk pile?"

  "Yes."

  "Then somebody found one and took it up to the aerie. When no one was watching, he threw it past WindStriker. Any bird will snap up a mutebat--we all know that."

  The silence was deadly. Then the duke spoke. "It must have been done within minutes of our departure. There were very few of us there. Whom do you accuse?"

  Shadow dropped his eyes. "I don't know. But it was one of us."

  "I think we might have missed a couple of the bats," Vonimor muttered. "They're hard to see...hard to get every last one..."

  "It was murder," Shadow said.

  This time Ninomar broke the silence. "If the prince dies by violence, Shadow, or is even injured, then you are automatically guilty of high treason, I believe. Is that not so? Whereas if he had an accident, then I expect a court would be lenient."

  And yet another silence. Again Shadow said stubbornly, "It was murder."

  Ninomar and the duke exchanged glances.

  "You are the civil authority, Your Grace," the vice-marshal said. "You now believe that the crown prince is dead?"

  "Yes, I am afraid so."

  Ninomar nodded. "Then, Shadow, you are no longer Shadow. You are Ensign...Harl, wasn't it? You are therefore under my orders. When we have all had some rest, the search will be resumed--and His Grace and myself will be in charge. You may continue to fly NailBiter, as no one else seems to be able to. There will be an inquiry--"

  "I am Shadow!" Shadow shouted, scrambling to his feet. "The king appointed me!"

  "The king will kill you," Ukarres muttered.

  "I am Shadow!"

  Ninomar waved an arm, and two sleepy-looking troopers hurried over.

  "Take this man to his quarters," he said.

  "I am Shadow! I give the orders!"

  As they dragged him from the hall he was still half weeping, half shouting: "I am Shadow."

  Chapter 8

  "Plain eggs can hatch strange chicks."

  --Skyman proverb

  "I will see that bet," Aurolron XX said, "and raise you three."

  The baby-faced trooper licked his lips. "I believe I shall have to fold," he muttered hoarsely.

  The king's eyebrows rose. "With a pair of queens showing?" he murmured. "Where is the courage we expect in our Guard?"

  Ensign Rolsok turned even paler--if that were possible--and pushed five gold royals toward the center of the table. It was a kiloday's pay for an ensign. He lived on his family's money, not on his stipend, but the tiny beads of sweat on his upper lip shone like fine jewels in the sunlight.

  It was a long, long time since Shadow had enjoyed himself so much. Even sitting behind the king, he could not view the royal hand, for Aurolron played all cards close to the chest, but that did not matter--the king was playing with a marked deck, and Shadow could read all the other hands as well as Aurolron could. They had been at it since dinner, and the king was systematically, progressively, and mercilessly ruining his opponents. It was a vintage performance by the royal spider.

  The balcony was crowded round by heavy trees, sheltered and private. Two bells had already rung, yet the game showed no signs of ending. It was an unusual group, the king and five youths: Prince Jarkadon and four others. The only persons close were Shadow and an elderly secretary whose job was to keep track of debts, while waiters and guards hovered at a distance. There was heaped gold, shining and clinking; there was fine wine; there was gracious conversation--a little strained at times--and there was gambling. There was no mercy. Perhaps there was even a smell of justice.

  The court might gossip and censure, but it was rarely shocked. Certain things were a known peril for scullery maids and other minor menials--no one was interested in those private lives. Yet even the court's tolerance had its limits. When the daughter of a baronet was grievously abused, then full-scale scandal erupted.

  A half-wit gardener was arrested, tried, convicted, and impaled.

  The court was not deceived. The girl's family was displaying sudden new wealth, so silence had been purchased--and that was not done for dead gardeners. Stories were whispered of a group of young sadists who called themselves the Lions. The Lions, it was said, included representatives of some of the best families. The Lions had been indulging their peculiar taste in recreation for some time and had only just started to seek their victims among the better classes...and so on.

  The royal spies brought all of the rumors and most of the facts to the king, and so to Shadow. Shadow knew very well who were the Lions and who was the leader of the pride. He knew who had bought the silence.

  For a while the atrocities must have stopped or returned to the kitchens. Then a second case occurred among the gentry: this time two girls, one so damaged that she might never recover. The king defended his own--a couple of minor lackeys were hauled into court and duly found guilty. Again money and sinecures were dispensed to the families.

  But this time the king had decided to act. Four young men were unexpectedly invited to a game of cards with His Majesty. Such an invitation was never refused, although each of them must have been surprised by it--they were friends of Prince Jarkadon, not of the king.

  Surprise turned to terror when they saw who else had been invited. They waited grimly for mention of their sadistic diversions--and it did not come. They were there to play cards. The cards and coins were produced. The play began.

  Understandably, the guests were not at their best. The king wa
s. He could probably have beaten them handily without the marked deck. He was charming and courteous and lethal.

  "Five?" muttered the next boy, the one they called Crusher. He moved his lips as he counted out the coins with massive peasant hands, although his cards were quite worthless. His family was rich also, but four young men were going to have to crawl to their respective fathers bearing news of sudden incredible debts.

  Bills from merchants could be ignored. Not a debt to the king.

  By Shadow's rough calculation, the king had already won enough to run his palace for thirty days. The families would be crippled, forced to sell estates to pay for this evening.

  Aurolron had shown that he knew exactly who were the Lions, and brutality had never been mentioned.

  "Son?"

  Jarkadon was eyeing the cards thoughtfully. He had been as shocked as his playmates when he arrived, but he had recovered his poise as soon as he saw the nature of the plot. The king might keep his son on a slack rein, but he could hardly bankrupt himself, and he was obviously not about to go public with his knowledge, so Jarkadon at least was immune. The chief Lion was safe. Yet Jarkadon was also in a trap. Two cheaters working together could manage a crooked game much more easily than one. Whose side would the prince take? He had made the wiser choice.

  "I'll see your raise, Father," he said, smiling, "and raise you another five."

  Four pairs of eyes turned to him in agony. Treachery! The stakes were becoming even more colossal as the game proceeded, with no sign of an ending.

  The next young man had some trouble speaking, but he asked the secretary for another hundred.

  It was a vintage performance.

  Then a herald came running out the door and was intercepted at once by a hovering equerry. Shadow saw the document passed, saw the glance toward the king. The equerry approached. As a welcome relief from long sitting, Shadow rose and stepped over to intercept in turn. He recognized the seal as he carried the letter back.

  The king muttered a polite apology to his guests, but he had noticed also, and he read the letter as close to his chest as he had played his cards. His expression did not change by an eyelash, but one does not stand by a man for five kilodays without coming to know him well. This was the high one, Shadow decided. He glanced over at Jarkadon--and the young devil was watching him, not the king. Damn!

  The king read the letter through a second time, then folded it up. He put his hands on the arms of his chair to rise, and the whole group was on its feet before him. Wild relief shone in four young faces.

  "Our regrets, gentlemen. Perhaps we can continue this another day?" Still no trace of expression, but the mere lack of it was ominous. They were courtiers; they could vanish gracefully and yet quickly. Jarkadon stood expectant, eyes gleaming. The king beckoned the equerry. "Find Her Majesty. We believe she is attending a chamber concert somewhere. We would meet with her --in the cabinet, we think would be best. At her convenience."

  He eyed Jarkadon and nodded. Jarkadon was trying very hard to conceal excitement, and not succeeding. The king walked toward the door; by the time he had reached the corridor beyond, he had collected guards before and behind and was moving within a convoy. Shadow could feel the emotional temperature rising steadily and the palace web beginning to quiver: The king has received a message from Ninar Foan and has summoned the queen--and to the cabinet, not the private quarters.

  They moved through corridors and cloisters and passages...

  The great egg-shaped room seemed hot and airless after the balcony. The doors closed silently on the curious faces outside. Shadow stopped beside his chair; Jarkadon followed the king to the far end.

  "Bad news, Father?"

  Aurolron did not reply until he was seated. "I think it must be, because of the odious smirk on your face. Remove it."

  Jarkadon flushed in silence and did not presume to sit until invited to do so. He was left standing.

  The king read his letter again and then laid it face-down on the desk. Then he stared at it in oaken silence, and nothing seemed to happen for a long time.

  At last the doors opened and Queen Mayala stood in the entrance. Shadow rose. She looked at his face, and for once she did not smile.

  She wore a high-necked gown of dark green which merely emphasized the pallor of her face. The dull-dyed hair was coiled on top of her head and surmounted by a tiara of emeralds, her hands concealed in a white muff. Muffs had suddenly become fashionable because the queen had taken to using them--probably, Shadow thought, to conceal the constant tremor of her hands.

  He saw at once that it was one of her bad days.

  Then she swept past his chair and the door closed again, but the antechamber was filling up with ladies who had come with the queen and men who had sensed the tremors in the web and heard the tap of drums.

  The king rose and held out a chair for her. He remained standing on one side, Jarkadon on the other.

  "Vindax?" she said.

  "It is bad news, my dear."

  "He has not reached Ninar Foan yet, though?"

  "Yes," the king said. "He arrived on the thirty-third--sooner than we had expected. There has been an accident."

  The queen made a dry sobbing noise and said nothing. Shadow was trying to watch Jarkadon also, but he was too distant to see the young man's expression clearly.

  "He went hunting. Apparently his bird had taken a bat."

  "Oh, my God!"

  "They have not found him yet. The letter was written the same day, so the search had just started. There is still hope."

  "Hope?" she said. "In that country? Up that high? Those hills?" She doubled over and buried her face in her muff.

  Silence.

  Aurolron put a hand on her shoulder. "We must have faith, my dear. It is bad, but there is still hope."

  The queen straightened up and leaned away from him, dislodging his hand. She looked at Jarkadon. "Why are you smiling?" she asked quietly.

  He was startled. "Mother...of course I am not smiling. It is terrible news."

  The queen lurched to her feet, facing the king, and suddenly screamed."You did it!"

  Shadow rose also; he could have heard that without the trick acoustics, and screaming near the monarch was his business. He hurried over toward the desk.

  "Mayala! Control yourself!" her husband snapped.

  "You planned this. Taken a bat! How often does that happen? You expect me to believe that it was an accident?"

  "Mother..." Jarkadon said.

  She ignored him, glaring at the king. He reached for her shoulders, and she backed away.

  Shadow slipped into position behind the king, and they did not even see him.

  Now Mayala's face was suffused, her eyes wild and rolling. "You did it! You put one of your foul assassins in his party. You have murdered my son!"

  "Our son!" the king said angrily. "Don't be absurd?"

  "You have killed Vindax!" she insisted. "You want to put thatperverton the throne?" Jarkadon turned almost as red as she.

  Aurolron was startled also at her vehemence, but he paused to glance at the prince. "That is another decision entirely," he said. Jarkadon went just as suddenly ash-white.

  "Monster!"Queen Mayala hissed. She pulled a knife from her muff and struck at the king. He yelped and jumped sideways, tangling with a chair and half-caught by Shadow. Jarkadon grabbed the queen, who was screaming wordlessly.

  Then the king's knees buckled, and Shadow lowered him to the rug. Blood was spreading hideously over his white doublet; Shadow ripped it away from the wound.

  High treason!

  "Get a doctor!" the prince shouted.

  "No!" Aurolron snapped from the floor. "It's only a scratch."

  Shadow's ripping had exposed the skin--a gash on the king's ribs was pouring blood, but it did not look deep. He wadded a corner of the cloth and pressed it against the wound.

  "I think it is superficial," he agreed, "but it needs stitching."

  He was King Shadow, and the
king had been stabbed. What was going to happen to him now?

  The queen had collapsed on her chair again and was sobbing helplessly into her hands. Jarkadon knelt down also, ignoring her.

  "We should get a doctor, Father," the prince said.

  "Wait!" Aurolron said. He had gone very pale from the shock. "Perhaps we can keep this quiet."

  But that would be impossible. His clothes were blood-soaked; so was the carpet.

  "I wonder how long she has been carrying this," Jarkadon said suddenly, holding up the knife. It was small, slim, but quite adequate. Shadow was starting to tremble. His mind was jittering around so much that he did not know what he was thinking. He was not supposed to stay close to the king in this room; he could not have possibly moved fast enough; no one ever searched the queen for weapons; they did unspeakable things to traitors.

  "We must keep the queen out of this," the king muttered.

  Stabbed by his own queen? He would be a public laughingstock. It would be shame, not danger or pain, which would be troubling him most. Scandal!

  "Perhaps we can," Jarkadon said.

  He looked across at Shadow.

  The king turned his head and looked up at Shadow.

  Sheer terror froze him. Three quite unimpeachable witnesses: the king, the queen, and the new crown prince. He was lost.

  "Then I think you had better call a doctor," the king said quietly.

  "No immediate hurry," Jarkadon said. "Let's have a look. Yes, it's not deep. Fortunate that Mother doesn't know how to use a dagger, isn't it?"

  By some terrible precognition, the paralyzed Shadow knew what was about to happen--and knew that he was not going to be able to move to prevent it.

  "Fortunate that she doesn't even know anatomy," Jarkadon said. "She should have put ithere."

  The king's eyes rolled up, and with no sound at all he went limp, the silver hilt ornamenting his chest like some macabre heraldic symbol.

  For a moment that seemed to outlast the ages, they all stared in silence: Shadow with disbelief, the queen perhaps not comprehending, Jarkadon with a thin smile of satisfaction. Then the prince leapt to his feet.