Spychild

Spychild

Spychild  Domino Avalon

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Spychild

Copyright © June 2007 by Domino Avalon

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Spychild

1: Of Night and Fate

“She will not live out the night,” they said – and when she did, they were not there to see, for they had long since left her for dead.

 The alleys of Madon’s Keep were dark as death all night long. They were every night – and not reputably bright even by day. The moon sailed out of sight overhead, blocked by the broken and chipped walls that rose up to tower ominously marking the intricate boundaries of the ancient dwellings. Only for the briefest of moments could one walk in a pale moonbeam cast down from night’s beacon, or witness the image of the bright sphere itself along these shadowed corridors. Moonlight was not something often encountered for the inhabitants who dwelled here, which, for the most part, included mice and rats. 3

Spychild Clevwrith clung to the shadows, not so much as breaching their dark edges with the toe of his boot. Hands deep in his pockets, he hung his head, eyes downcast away from the direct bite of the chilling cold. His cloak drooped heavily, its deep folds undisturbed by the lack of a breeze; all air currents were smothered by the surrounding walls. That was something to be thankful for, he thought, for it was already cold enough in the stillness, and the deepness of the shadows only made it seem colder. But he walked in the chilling shadows nevertheless. The shadows were his home – his curse, he supposed. Not even candlelight was permitted in these parts after dusk. They had to be careful. Who was he fooling? He had to be careful, he corrected himself. They were gone. In the past, there had been so many of them. Clevwrith had grown up hearing about how his grandfather had fallen from dark glory. Then he had watched his own father plummet down the same dooming hole, down the same wretched path. The rest of them that were not related to Clevwrith’s family by blood just didn’t seem to possess the spark, and they had all fallen prey to capture too easily, coming and going like ghosts riding swift winds. Their names faded with them, never lingering in memories, never earning any fame. They had all made too many mistakes. Now Clevwrith was the only one left. Everyone else had been caught. The infamous legacy of the Spykin lived on in one man’s mischief alone. Time and time again, he had evaded the claws that strove to reach him, to grasp him, to strangle or bleed the life out of him. Somehow, they always failed, and he 4

Spychild had never so much as felt their ghoulish caress. He swore and knew that they would only ever grasp the emptiness where he should have been. Forever, the Master of the Shadows would remain a haunting mystery. Clevwrith smiled thinking of the pet name he had been given, as suspicious nobles whispered about the mystifying spy who seemed almost more shadow than he was man, and the most wanted trickster across the land. He stirred up mystery everywhere he went, making his presence known just to influence a chase, before disappearing like he had never been there. And only a youth – still experiencing adolescence as he was. No one suspected. Something caught his eye, bringing him out of his wandering thoughts, and he raised his head. He knew every inky radius of midnight shade along this path, and the dark stain ahead of him was not usual. He worked to bring it into focus and concluded it was not merely a stain, but a form, something raised off the ground. Depth perception came slowly in such a shroud of limiting darkness. Cautiously, Clevwrith silenced the already-quiet fall of his footsteps and approached, making no more sound than a cat on the prowl. The aberrant deformation of his alley was a shivering mass of… It was a girl, misplaced and forsaken, a deposit of traumatized prey in his alley. She was young, fragile, and he was possibly three years her senior. He knew she was not aware of his company, though she was conscious and he only stood a meter or so from her disheveled form. Toying with a few warring thoughts and ideas, trying to decide what to make of the 5

Spychild unorthodox girl, then what to do about her, he paused in consideration for a long while. What was she doing out here all alone? And in this sorry state? Visitors were not unheard of even though this was the ancient and abandoned part of the city chosen for that reason as the Spylair, the headquarters once thriving with concealed life – the spies merely eluded any notice when company passed through – but children were not an everyday intrusion. Clevwrith didn’t know what to make of the child. His ordinary predicaments followed a rather different tendency than the nature of this development. Finally deciding she was harmless, anyway, he treaded into what he thought of as dangerous light, but what anyone else would consider enough darkness to blindly get lost in. Delicately, he rolled the body over with the toe of his boot to behold the girl’s pale, dirty face. Then he crouched beside her for a closer look, extinguishing the element of silhouette that cloaked him and offering a view of his own face with his nearness. It would not do to traumatize the girl any more by looming over her featureless like some nightmare from the alley shadows – never mind that that was the identity he claimed. Staring up at him without seeing, through eyes that flickered weakly, the poor creature made no attempt to so much as squint into his face. She wasn’t going anywhere – but her eyelids sank closed in a most tragic manner, and he couldn’t let her go there… “Don’t go,” he discouraged neutrally, his tone magically steady in the dire significance of the moment. It would do the girl no service to be anxious. Looking confused at the intrusion of his voice in her dying mind, the girl’s eyes fluttered back open and her 6

Spychild gaze swam dizzily over his face, searching blindly for an answer. Good. His voice held onto her, forcing her fading senses to focus. “You have a name?” he asked simply this time, not sure if she would be able to answer but wanting to give her awareness something to latch onto. She parted her lips with an effort and uttered one strangled word: “Despiris.” Clevwrith nodded simply, taking her speech as a very positive sign, and slid his arms under her form, finding his hold among her tattered clothing. He lifted her easily, light as a bird, and made sure not to let her head fall back in an unnatural loll that would do her limp neck harm. And then as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, he continued on his shadowed way – but this time, he did something extremely unorthodox, and took someone else along with him.

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Spychild

2: Wanted: Spylord

“You will have manners, girl,” she could remember her mother saying sternly – but when five years passed, she was not the young lady she should have been, and in fact quite the opposite – and also something no one would have ever expected her to become…

& Those five years that shaped the young woman she became consisted of more adventure than she ever would have imagined she could fit into a lifetime. The nights were when she and her new master came awake and lived – lived by way of committing themselves to endless courses of exhausting action. The nights flew by on their dark wings as she catapulted through them, days blurring into years, the present blurring into the past – everything blurring until half a decade had come and gone and left her much altered, and certainly much more alive, in body and in spirit, than the state her 8

Spychild master had found her in. She had been fading that day, descending into a fatal depth of deathly relief. But now.... Now she was rising. Rising from her destined ashes to take on the world as something new, a threat and a saint, guided under the wing of her unexpected savior. Guided toward a bright future, and a much darker destiny. *** The dagger flew with deadly precision, but with aim meant to avoid the girl – loving aim that did not carry death on its metal wing. In the next instant the weapon would whistle past her, but Despiris was determined to assure that it didn’t reach the destination of its direction. Her ready hand whipped out, like a viper striking, to intercept its flight. Sweaty fingers collided with the sharp metal, lacking precision, and she recoiled with a curse. The stricken dagger clattered to the ground a meter or so away, a smear of her blood shining on the blade as the moon briefly passed over the opening in the crumbled stone walls overhead. “You’re getting too anxious anticipating it,” Clevwrith told her calmly, automatically heading for the discarded weapon. He folded his fingers around the blade and yanked it through his hand to clean her blood from the steel. Despiris tried not to cringe, but it was difficult to suppress the reaction even though she knew his own fingers and palm came away completely unharmed. The only blood disgracing his flesh was her own. Surely, she would sever every last one of her fingers if she tried the same thing. Clevwrith took his place where he had been standing before, face expressionless. “You know where it’s going 9

Spychild to be, but you reach for the wrong place – knowingly, I think.” In his eyes, she could see complete understanding for the mechanics of everything that had just transpired. His analysis was always total and precise, tuned to brilliant detail. Despiris lowered her hand from where she had been holding it to her mouth and flexed her fingers experimentally. They stung a bit, but it was good incentive to do it right next time. “Yes. I do know.” “Good. Fix it.” Easy for him to say. He was no less than stunningly perfect. Gritting her teeth, Despiris positioned herself for a repeat of the same stunt. She knew better than to argue with him; after years of endless instruction from her master, she knew by now that he could win any argument simply with his infuriating patience. There was seemingly nothing she could do to exasperate him. She had never seen him angry – dangerous, assuredly, but never angry. He took pleasure in being dangerous. “Catch it this time.” She ignored the simple order and the expectation that was issued with it, refusing to let his words distract her. She slowed her breathing and sank into a void of concentration, watching almost as if in a trance as Clevwrith raised his arm back and flung the dagger at her. This time, she lashed out and completed the arch down to the hilt of the weapon precisely on time. It whistled into her palm and she fought its strain to pull her along with its original momentum, bracing herself firmly so she did not sway. Clevwrith’s eyes flashed approval, but only for one cherished moment. “Better.” At least it wasn’t a negative comment. 10

Spychild “Clean up your fingers,” he continued. “We’re done here.” As he bent to pick up the weapons at his feet, his knee-length black cape flowed around his form, smothering his motions. Not one blade clashed together with another when he lifted the tangle of weapons from the stone alley. Despiris lingered, marveling at his careful grace, studying him in admiration. The Master of the Shadows really didn’t display the typical appearance of dark legendary figures. Legends liked to tell of figures that were tall and dark, hair and eyes as black as night – intimidating figures that could kill you where you stood with nothing but a chilling glance. Clevwrith was different. He was more enchanting than daunting, shorter than most would guess him, eyes shockingly brilliant light blue, short brown hair slicked back dashingly, face always more thoughtful than threatening. “Go on, Des,” Clevwrith encouraged when she just stood watching him. She obeyed his quiet order with reluctance this time, wandering off toward the gap where the eastern wall crumbled away low to the ground. This served as one of the many unintended entries that the inhabitants of Madon’s Keep used to access hidden nooks and crannies throughout the vacant sector of the city. Through this broken opening, Despiris descended the make-shift drop of stairs down into an underground tunnel. The sound of dripping water echoed down the river shaft and reached her ears with its soft tinkling. Clevwrith had told her of the underground rivers that used to run through these tunnels. Apparently, they had fed a giant of a lake in their time, but the lake had dried up, leaving nothing but a pit with a shriveled bed 11

Spychild that looked as if a giant had pressed his fingerprint into it, and the rivers had been drained. Now, only hollowed-out shafts remained where the water had once rushed through. Clevwrith could access every wing of the city from these tunnels, he had explained. It was one reason no one ever caught him; they didn’t take the drained lake into account. It was beyond the perimeter of the city, and therefore of no consequence to the city itself, inside the gates that held such wilderness at bay. It helped, too, that the lakebed made its depression in the ground of a valley, where the surrounding hills were treacherous and deterring. Not many found their way into the valley or cared to make efforts to. The tunnels, therefore, were an ideal escape route. Despiris stepped into a side-shaft, where a trickle of water still ran along the smooth bottom of the worn passage. She bent and thrust her hand into the cool liquid, watching the dribbling water turn dark as her blood was washed away in an inky cloud. After the stain had been carried away and the water was once again clean, she drank. The taste was somewhat metallic, but she didn’t notice; she had been coming to the same source for five years now and was used to the strong flavor. Other water sources tasted to her empty and bland. Despiris shook her hands dry, flinging droplets in all directions. The action made her injury throb, but the raw slit would scar up and be nothing but a faintly visible memory in a matter of days. She had had worse. Much worse. Finished here, she headed back the way she had come. Upon her return to the upper level, she joined 12

Spychild Clevwrith in a serrated corner. She almost walked right by him; clad all in black and crouched in a corner as he was, he was hard to spot. Of course, that was the point. He almost always wore black, except when the rare but occasional fancy struck him to dress dashingly in red. “What do you have for me tonight?” she inquired, hiding her eagerness. Hopefully it was something dangerous. Clevwrith frowned. “I’ve heard rumors – whispers, really – that the council the king has commissioned to oversee the West Wing of the city has begun to take notice of my mischief. I heard something about ‘wanted posters’. Make a thorough search of that Wing; cover it all, make sure you tear down all of the signs. Make it beautiful.” Despiris silenced a sigh before it could escape and give away her slight disappointment at the mundane chore. It wasn’t what she had had in mind, but it would do. Of course, she had secretly hoped Clevwrith would give her some real spy work, but she supposed this sort of practice was, if not necessary, then at least a healthy practice. “Go in stealth,” Clevwrith bade her farewell, knowing she would take the cautionary release to heart as she did everything he said. She rose at his dismissal and vanished out the rugged archway. Into the dark street, she found the darkest edge and began to run silently toward her destination. Once out of the familiar region of Madon’s Keep, she had to be careful. Open land was more revealing. She wished momentarily she had taken the concealed route through the tunnels under the city, but she knew Clevwrith would have refused. 13

Spychild “There will be a time you can’t rely on such luxuries,” he had told her. “It is safer to know how to survive on nothing, and not only survive at that – but still escape as well. Practice while you can.” There won’t always be a back alley to disappear into, she reminded herself, words from another of Clev’s lectures. And being caught is not an error – but a sin. A soft gust of wind moved across the wide and open street before her, and she joined it without wasting the opportunity, moving as if she were one with the breeze. Only a ghost’s shadow being blown across the land. In her mind, it was what she became. “Become what you have to, know that’s what you are inside your mind, and you will be surprised who you can fool,” Clevwrith had told her. “I want you to be able to look at your reflection and lie to yourself so well, that you can see her name, her background, and see a story so far from the truth, that you are convinced you are looking at a stranger.” These were the kinds of fairy tales Despiris had fallen asleep listening to since meeting Clevwrith. Her life from before she had joined the Master of the Shadows was something she held at bay in her memory. She had almost left it behind by now, not only in her past, but in the ashes she had burned her unbidden memories to. She wished only to remember Clevwrith. At least with him, she knew she would never go hungry, and she had learned from exposure to the night to not only accept but embrace the cold. Her woes had evaporated, blown away by the whirlwind of fantasy that the Master of the Shadows had wrapped around her. Together, they solved even the darkest problems – maybe especially the darkest problems.

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Spychild Isolated as they were, almost nothing mattered. The only threats were the ones they brought upon themselves willingly, purposefully. They lived to taste danger. Again, Despiris recalled more of Clevwrith’s words: “You will find one day that you seek danger. And that will not scare you. You will rejoice, and go hunting.” And she remembered his dark grin as he said that last part to her. She knew that feeling now – the hunger for a chase, the longing to be discovered but not caught. Never caught. Despiris was breathless by the time she reached the grounds of the West Wing, but she knew better than to enter enemy territory when her loud breathing could give her away, and when she was weak from exhaustion anyway. Unless of course she didn’t have a choice. In that case, she was to barrel through a routine of every trick she knew to evade pursuers, breathless from exhaustion or not. “Discovery is not so bad. In fact, it’s half the fun.” But you had to know what cards each player held. Otherwise, she knew, ‘fun’ could turn to madness – if the spies were not considered mad to begin with. In other words, risks were what they lived for, but mistakes were just like death. This was not a good part of the city, Despiris decided, looking upon the silent streets. All it took was a glance to note that many things needed support and repair. The pavement was broken and patchy – familiar ground, to her – and looked like it shouldn’t be traveled, yet there were obviously some who chose to stick to home sweet home, by way of huddling behind the 15

Spychild barred doors and visible makeshift locks. Windows were shuttered tightly closed against the predators of the night, and not a soul moved across the cobblestone roads. Not a rat, or a mouse, or even a spider. The emptiness just seemed to be waiting, making way for something.... Something like her. Reminded of the task of making an appearance, she set her mind to her mission. There was light, which was always a disadvantage; torches were aglow in their holders along the walls that lined the streets, the only attempt that residents risked to scare off the nocturnal menaces that frequented the bad parts of the city. No doubt the torches were lit at dusk and would last only until they burned down to nothing; no one would risk coming out in the threatening dark to light them anew. Who knew what lurking beast could launch from a shadow to devour them right in front of their home? Squinting against the glaring dance of flame, Despiris noticed the white scraps stuck to the walls between every set of torches. Cautiously, she abandoned cover and approached the one on the end, as it was farthest away from the light. One cracked edge curling over, the parchment stared her in the face. Wanted: Spylord. Alive. Generous reward. Report to king’s council.

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Spychild It was as brief as that, and Despiris thought it was pathetic. She lifted her fingers and peeled the poster away from the wall. Bending at the waist to keep out of reach of the torchlight, she hurried along the wall’s length, snatching posters while she passed them. Making a thorough sweep through the West Wing of the city, she held a thick stack of curling signs by the time she was finished. She returned to the street where she had begun, touching a corner of the stack to the torch fire. Dancing flame licked at the offered parchment, spreading black where it ate. Despiris dropped the posters and walked from the light, leaving them to burn. She paused at the edge of the flickering torchlight, unable to leave the city in such a state of peace. It lacked the lingering signs of her presence that she felt inclined to leave, and she itched to leave her signature. She would have to be fast, she reasoned warningly, and smiled. Whirling around, she tore back down the street at a dead run, as close to the torches as she dared get without singeing her side. Wham! Wham! Wham! Torches snuffed out as if cut by the fall of a windy blade. All along the road, they blew out consecutively. When she reached the end, she turned to see what she’d accomplished. Where the bright flame had once been, only lazy tendrils of smoke curled toward the open sky, toward the promise of their freedom where they were spread thin and extinguished. The street was left feeling darker than it should have been. The people would emerge in the morning to find the wanted posters gone, and the torches snuffed out before they had burned to 17

Spychild nothing. Wind could cause both the dousing of the fire and the stripping of the posters, but no one would remember the howl of wailing currents as they slept at peace in their beds. The streets were quiet all night long. Triumphant, Des flashed a grin and turned away to find the manhole that dropped down into the sewer. From there, she could find the maze of river tunnels that would take her back to the region of Madon’s Keep. Clevwrith was not here to tell her to take the same way home she had used coming. One single poster was tucked under her belt, folded small to assure it made no sound. Clevwrith would want to inspect it before she terminated every last scrap of evidence that they had ever existed. The next street over, she searched for the round lid in the ground. Picturing a map of the underground tunnels, she had concluded it should be about here. Her gaze fell on the round circle that attempted to blend in with the rest of the street. She dropped down next to it, groping along the small groove that was its rounded edge. Squeezing her fingers into the tiny space, she pried the piece of stone up and set it on the street beside the hole. Just beneath the lid was another one barring her way, except this one was metal mesh. It would allow drainage into the sewer when heavy rains fell so the streets wouldn’t flood. Despiris lifted that out as well. Carefully, she lowered herself into the hole, hanging on to the circular ledge that was designated as a resting place for the mesh lid. She reached up and dragged the mesh disk back into the hole above her, switching her hold to that so she wouldn’t squish her fingers as she caged herself in. The

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Spychild quick switch was not graceful, and she swung as the lid fell into place with a grate. Dangling, Despiris waited until her swaying stopped, then she reached up through the spaces between metal bars and pulled the top lid down into place over her head. Stone grinded on stone as it settled into place. Done, she released her hold and dropped with a small splash to the shallow bottom of the shaft. Glancing both ways while she tried to remember the intricate pattern of tunnels, even though she saw nothing through the deep, dank dark, she decided on tracking left. If she remembered correctly, it was the quickest way to access one of the smaller, secret river routes. Hand trailing along the wall for guidance, she went until her fingers curled around the lip she sought. It was a mere crack in the wall, spreading from the ground to the low ceiling, and large enough for a slender form to slip through. Des noticed the faint change in water-flow at this point where it changed course to seep into the crack. Keeping her senses sharp was how she survived, and how she got around when surviving was not a dire issue. Often, of course, the two coincided. Recognizing the familiar elements of the location and determining it was where she meant to exit the sewer, she squeezed through the rough gap. She had never actually used this passage, but Clevwrith had been sure to describe in detail every crawlway and shaft, tunnel and tube, until she could draw a precise map without ever even visiting the places, and until she could tell him what feeling lay in what area – and again, without actually experiencing being there herself.

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Spychild “The crack is rough, and sharp in places,” Clevwrith had described about this very place. “The faintest trickle of water will crawl over your foot. The gap will be only wide enough to squeeze through.” He looked her up and down. “At your height, facing south, you will come away with a scratch here” – he pointed to a rib – “unless you rise onto your toes and hold your breath as you slip through. And, of course, unless you face north. Then it will be your back. But the form of a body fits better facing south.” Des recalled that lecture now. She faced south and sucked in her breath to thin her form as she stood on tiptoe and slid through the gap. Further instruction from Clevwrith warned her to duck before she collided with the uneven ceiling. She bent over double to avoid any such incident. Halfway through the passage she tripped over a lump rudely protruding from the ground. Muttering under her breath as she careened forward and caught herself against the wall, she rather abruptly realized she remembered Clevwrith mentioning something about that as well. She proceeded carefully after that. This passage was not intended to exist. Perhaps an earthquake had split it open long ago, but it was not conveniently manmade for access in any way. Despiris was eager to be through it. Finally at the end, she straightened with a grimace, thinking bitterly, A scratch across the rib? He failed to mention the ones I would acquire beyond that point. But perhaps he expected more from her own finesse. That train of thought trailed off, replaced with trying to determine just where she was. In her mind’s eye she could see her own finger pointing to a bottom corner of the underground map. She moved confidently to the 20

Spychild right in reflection of that, turning into many more passages and going down levels, and then back up gradually, before she found herself under Madon’s Keep traveling familiar routes. Dim light filtered down through a hole in the ceiling ahead of her. That led up to the first floor above ground in one of the old buildings. Despiris climbed up through that and emerged into one of the outer rooms, where crudely broken window frames stared outside. Not hesitating to further find her way, she retreated deeper into the interior. Clevwrith was in the center of the room, crouched by the empty fire pit. There was no ceiling high above where the smoke would have risen had a fire been burning. The area was designed to free the choking smoke to the sky. Despiris withdrew the poster from her belt and unfolded it, tossing it at Clevwrith’s feet. He studied it without picking it up, distracted from going through his spy-work supplies where he had a stash hidden in the ground, buried beneath loose stones. He kept a large variety of items there, including various weapons; a few masks; magnifying lenses; flint; pouches of what he called magician’s dust – a powdery concoction of explosives that ignited when struck by an impact – and other sources of dusts that smothered fire; a few vials of drugs and poisons that weren’t necessarily lethal but served as strong, useful aids in certain situations; sheets of blank parchment; writing quills; bottles of ink; an impressive amount of untouched coin for emergencies.... The list went on. “So now you’re known as Spylord,” Despiris remarked. “What did you do to draw such attention?” 21

Spychild “Nothing out of the ordinary. I guess the West Wing just isn’t used to my appearances. I don’t mind being granted with another name. It’s fitting, don’t you think?” “Of course, Spylord,” she tried the taste of it on her tongue, loving the flavor. “You took care of all the rest of these?” Clevwrith asked, still staring at the poster at his feet. “There’s nothing left but ashes for the wind.” “Playing with fire, were we?” Despiris felt a smile tug her lips. She didn’t reply. Clevwrith raised his clear-blue eyes to her. His chest swelled with a satisfied breath. He was pleased with her work. And she thought – was it pride she saw in his expression? Whatever it was, he looked content now. Maybe he worried about her while she was on a mission? Not likely, but possible. He was an interesting sort of person; strange their paths had crossed, she mused. Strange, and yet so fitting somehow. She couldn’t imagine not knowing him, now that she did. What an honor it was to live this dark life with him, to be the one spark of brightness he loved. Clevwrith blinked, and took his gaze from her as if that had awakened him from his daze. “Then get some sleep, soldier. Mission complete.”

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Spychild

3: Publicity and Secrecy

“As you wish, my lord,” they said, but awoke bewildered to failed attempts, and every possible witness swore the night had been nothing more than silent.

 Lord Mosscrow, head advisor to the king, puzzled mordantly over the report as he strode down the hallway of the palace. His aid and close follower, Osprey, kept pace with him like a loyal dog at his master’s heels, though he had to hasten quickly and skip every few steps to keep up with Mosscrow’s swift strides. The council in the West Wing had reported the night torches blown out – not burned out, but blown or snuffed out, and only a black smear on the ground remained where the vanished posters must have been burned, where a pile of ash had been carried away by the wind, apparently. 23

Spychild Of course, he hadn’t really expected to be successful with such a small stunt – as of putting the posters up in the first place – but small was necessary when he didn’t want to be discovered by his king and master when he hadn’t gotten the monarch’s approval for the action taken. The king was not interested in the Master of the Shadows, or the ‘Spylord’ as he was now called by some. He was a ‘harmless trickster’ in the king’s eyes. There were more important things to get to the bottom of. Mosscrow was getting tired of the subtle hints he directed at the king to influence interest in the Spylord. It was just his own interests he wished to satisfy, but he ignored that fault about himself. Once, he had been entirely dedicated to his king, but his mind had been poisoned – not by anything hostile, but with fascination. He had secretly been studying the Spylord’s moves for a time now, trying to understand how the wretched shadow thought. Mosscrow tucked his hands away into his black sleeves, oversized and draping as they were. The chill of the spacious hallway was getting to his old skin. The hood of his cloak was up, too, to keep his bald head warm. Osprey lagged barely behind and Lord Mosscrow barked a sharp, “Keep up!” Osprey jumped to attention and hurried forward to catch up with his intolerant master. Time and time again, Mosscrow had experimented in anticipating the Spylord’s next move, but he was never quite successful. All it would take was one correct guess – no more – and Mosscrow could start to discern a pattern. True, he couldn’t very easily predict what was so random, but guessing was as close as he could get. 24

Spychild One day it would work, he would hit home and receive a precious clue. And it would be about time. Usually, he didn’t hear about the mischief that went on until long after it was committed, for it was reported to the king and, well – he dismissed it all. By the time Mosscrow heard about it, no one cared enough to recall details of what had occurred; the trail’s scent had already turned stale, like an old crust of bread that no one had found an appetite for. The king was young, Mosscrow tried to reason with the restless discomfort of his brewing temper. The young man would not be anywhere if it hadn’t been for his head advisor, wise with age. And, truly, the king was wise; he listened and agreed to what his advisor proposed more often than not. When he had his own opinion, though, the same headstrong stubborn set of mind his father had possessed held firm to what he wanted. And what he wanted was to ignore the Master of the Shadows. What had given him the foolish notion that that was okay? Because of that decision, Mosscrow had to go behind his back, which he did not enjoy. It tasted like betrayal to him, but he couldn’t help himself. It wasn’t as if he were plotting a war against his master. No, he was loyal in that area. “My lord,” Osprey said almost hesitantly, breaking into Mosscrow’s thoughts. “Do you suppose it means that...he doesn’t like the publicity?” Mosscrow knew he meant the Spylord and the posters that had ‘mysteriously’ disappeared. “If he didn’t want publicity, he wouldn’t reveal himself so clearly all the time right before he vanishes again. He’s a genius, Osprey, and wants everyone to know that.” 25

Spychild Osprey resigned from the conversation, shunned by his master’s words and discouraged from further birthing his own ideas. Osprey had to be excused, Mosscrow reasoned with patience – or at least, he flattered himself pretending it was patience. Osprey had been born to an unintelligent family, and it wasn’t his fault. Not directly. So, Mosscrow mused again, the Master of the Shadows had made an appearance, and perhaps a statement. What exactly did it mean? Lord Mosscrow had a few suspicions, but nothing quite solid enough yet. He would try a few more things soon...or should he wait, not interfering, for the Spylord’s next appearance? Oh the headache it all gave him! Such indecisiveness when he tried to think on a scale equal to a genius. Mosscrow’s lack of equal brilliance made him falter quite often, when he knew he probably should have just followed his original gut feeling. When one could not depend on his brains, guts were the second best thing. So what to do? There was such a tangle of possibilities and questions, of facts and suspicions. For that reason, though, perhaps the chief advisor should give his mind a break and play the game of waiting. Would he regret his idleness though? Ah, but what did he have to lose? He was getting old, and if he didn’t rest he might have to discontinue his efforts permanently one day soon. Better to see to his personal needs and hope he was killing two birds with one stone. Yes, that’s what he would do. He wanted to see where the devilish trickster would go on his own. He wanted to know if the wanted posters unnerved him, or if the publicity only provided opportunity for the 26

Spychild attractiveness of more danger. Danger was, after all, what seemed to warm the Spylord’s heart. We’ll wait and see what happens now, Mosscrow decided. We will let the Spylord have the next move.

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Spychild

4: Dancing on the Rooftops

“There is strength, and there is stealth. There is speed, and there is precision. And then there is that other skill which should never be overlooked, and that is grace.” – First Master of the Spykin, Clevwrith’s great grandfather, first year of the reign of spies.

& While Lord Mosscrow was waiting for the Spylord to do something mischievous, Clevwrith had other plans – at least for the night. This night was not dedicated to crime or disturbance, or anything that the rest of the world would ever hear about. This night was dedicated to secrets, to mastering an unknown prowess behind the world’s back. Once the city was asleep, Clevwrith found Despiris and took her away from Madon’s Keep. He said nothing of where they were going, but there was promise in his eyes. The special mystery of the situation intrigued 28

Spychild Despiris and drew her on without questioning him. There was something magical in the anticipation of a surprise, and she did not want to break the spell of wonder until it was time. Because that would be soon enough, and then it would be over. She knew a thing or two about patience. She had been following her master’s example for a long time. Clevwrith led her through the breaking mansions of the old city, drawing her out of their ancient haven into the world where dusk had chased all the strangers into their houses. It seemed the world was empty right now except for the two of them. Out under the glittering night sky, they climbed onto an anonymous person’s roof. There was no moon tonight, just the twinkling freckles of the fair stars for light. “Now, Des,” Clevwrith began. “There is one last thing I need to teach you before you know everything that every one of us has learned.” Despiris waited eagerly, always keen on the idea of another lesson. “What I’m going to show you is nothing like anything I’ve taught you before. There are no weapons involved, and nothing of sly intentions or creeping around, racing for your life or dodging fatal blows.” “What is it, then?” Despiris asked with a small frown, but an intrigued smile nevertheless, unable to imagine what he had in mind. There was a slight reply of silence as Clevwrith drew out her curiosity, just for the sake of prolonging the beautiful eager light in her dark eyes. “Dancing,” he revealed. “Every spy has learned this dance, on a rooftop where you are required to move silent as a cat, 29

Spychild using pure grace to mute your footsteps so the people under this roof will never know you are up here at all.” Though dancing was the last thing Despiris had ever expected, the challenge that was presented in the way she must do it made her hunger for the lesson ahead. “If you alert the inhabitants of this house to the fact that we’re up here,” Clevwrith said in a warning tone, “I will make you sleep at night for a week.” For one who grew bored and drowsy and slept during the day, waking as the sun set and rejoicing as dusk fell, it was a terrible punishment. A night landscape was her playground, and it was like telling a child she couldn’t play, couldn’t have any fun at all, for an entire week. It just didn’t seem humanly tolerable. She would go mad under any such restricting circumstances. Just think like a cat, Despiris instructed herself. With all of her practice at mastering stealth, it shouldn’t be that hard. “So,” Clevwrith began. “Come to me.” Stepping lightly across the precarious slant of the shingles, Despiris did as he bade. He showed her what position to take, formed her posture to perfection with his hands, and showed her where her hands were to rest on him. Placing one of his own strong hands at her waist, and the other warmly at the back of her neck, he drew himself close and proceeded to walk her through the dance once. The second time, he let her lead to see how much she could remember. The third time, they tried it a bit faster – and by the fourth time around, they were dancing it as it was meant to be danced. The right speed, precise moves. Starting together and then 30

Spychild parting ways, meeting again after a series of steps, spinning away. Forming a lithe routine to the silent music of the mind. At the conclusion of the routine they ended in the same gentle embrace that they had started in, slightly breathless but neither of them tired. They could have done it a thousand times. If the night had been long enough, they would have. “Well done,” Clevwrith breathed. “Thank you.” “The night is proud to wield you in its secret fate.” A compliment like that rarely found its way to her ears, and it almost stunned her. The Master of the Shadows was not always so poetic, either, and she searched his eyes, blinking at their intensity. “How can it wield me?” she asked, unsure of the silence and not wishing to prolong it. “You have surrendered to it.” Yes, said an appeased voice in Despiris’s mind, and she had no further say in it. The Master of the Shadows backed away, going to sit by the edge of the roof. Despiris went and joined him, lowering herself by his side. They stared out over the sleeping city strewn out all around them, across the uneven rooftops to the choppy horizon. Gray dawn was creeping into the sky, the stars beginning to fade out, and they both knew there was not much time left for them to enjoy. With morning, they would hide away within Madon’s Keep and fall fast asleep until the sun had set again. “Remember the dance steps always,” Clevwrith instructed Despiris quietly. “Don’t ever forget the sequence. In a way, it is our trademark. By learning it, 31

Spychild you join the masters.” He looked at her, saw she was listening seriously, and finished with a very important declaration: “You are ready.”

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Spychild

5: Seeing Double

“She’s afraid of the dark,” they’d whispered, thinking she couldn’t hear – and it had been true, until Clevwrith cured that, and changed so much more.

 The dark was her friend. Clevwrith had made her believe that. It was one of her first lessons, and she remembered it now, sprinting across the roof one minute past midnight. She knew Clevwrith was on the opposite roof only because he had told her that’s where he would be. But glancing there now, she saw no movement, heard no sound. Despiris jerked her eyes back to the path she was running, nearly losing her delicate footing on a precariously slanted shingle when she let her concentration wander. She felt a blush warm her cheeks, knowing even now Clevwrith would mention her nearslip once they were alone together in Madon’s Keep 33

Spychild again. Maybe she couldn’t see him, but he always seemed to be watching her, noticing every move she made. Her mistakes were quickly brought to her attention once they were safe in the deserted alleys of the Keep they called their home. She would deal with that later, she told herself firmly. Now, a different task lay at hand. This mission made her pulse pound, filled her with excitement. She thought back, recalling how it had begun.... “I work alone,” Clevwrith said. “That’s how they know me. You slipped into the picture without a whisper. No one came back for your body that night long ago – I watched that alley like a hawk – so as far as they know, as far as anyone knows, you are dead or you do not exist. Most convenient for my cause and use. But why hold you back?” he asked himself. “It’s time you became real. It’s time they knew.” It was a compliment. In his eyes she was ready. Ready for the same thrills he felt. She had risen to a level that was at least respectable, if not in itself dangerous. Soon, they would know of her existence. Soon, she would be revealed. Certainly, she had made appearances before, but only for small numbers of unimportant people, and that was when she was alone. All they could say – if they cared enough to say anything at all – was that a single shadowy form had been glimpsed for the briefest of tense moments. She would have been dismissed, of course, as the Spylord himself, the Shadowmaster. Tonight, both of them would be seen, at the same time so there would be no mistake of the fact that there were, indeed, two of them. 34

Spychild Where they made their way now was directly toward the north, where they would disturb the king’s main council as it discussed things of secret importance. Panting, Despiris paused to catch her breath after halting behind the roof’s chimney. From here, if she peered around the bricks, she could see the open gate that led into the circle surrounded by a menacing wrought iron fence. In the center was the building where the council met. Spying from her secret vantage point, Despiris watched small figures move through the gate at a leisurely pace. A servant took horses from the arriving council members and allowed the people of importance to proceed without the obstructive trouble of seeing to their own mounts. Despiris’s gaze landed and lingered on one man in particular. He didn’t arrive on horseback, but flowed in, wrapped in a black cloak, a draping hood pulled over his head. There was a long staff he carried in one hand that seemed to serve as a walking aid, though his stride showed no flaw. A thin man followed humbly on his heels. They were the last ones through the gate, and the one with the staff said something over his shoulder, to which the thin man responded by turning to lock the gates behind them. Once his back was turned from that task and he was no longer facing Des’s direction, she proceeded to come out of hiding. Slipping past the chimney, she crouched at the edge of the roof. She slid first one leg, then the other, over the edge and maneuvered herself to face the wall while she carefully climbed down its height of two stories – sweating with the weight of the concentration it took to 35

Spychild manage gripping nothing more than the cracks between inlaid stones. The small, smooth grooves they created were not meant to aid someone in scaling a wall. Reaching the bottom without falling to her death, Despiris wiped perspiration off her brow. The tension of that stunt always got to her. One misplaced foot and – well, that was the cause for the scar that ran up her back. Clevwrith had sewn her back up after the incident, but the scar would never fade completely. She remembered her tears as the pain and bleeding overwhelmed her. Calm as ever, Clevwrith worked with deft hands to close the tear in her flesh. There was nothing, it seemed, that fazed him. Despiris shoved all that to the back of her mind. She crept toward the gate, but stopped before she reached it to open up the manhole at her feet. The fence was built to keep out everything. Its fault was that it didn’t reach below ground, where she and her master liked to travel. Likely, Clevwrith had already gone down through this same hole, or found another one. Squinting through the iron fence standing between her and her destination, Despiris found an identical circle inlaid in the ground beyond the skeletal barrier. She surveyed the space between her own manhole and that one, estimating the amount of steps it would take to reach the other from here. She locked away the information she acquired for future reference. Like a snake into a hole, Despiris slithered into the round, dark gap at her feet and disappeared underground. The lid to the manhole scraped back into place above her.

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Spychild The sewer was a foul place to be, she thought absently. Funny it didn’t bother her. On the grimy ledge adjoined with the wall, she crouched to inspect the cloudy water. The faintest ripple of movement flowed over its surface, only in a stream on the right side. Clevwrith had been here. He was ahead of her. She expected no less, but it irked her all the same. The ledge ended ahead of her. Promptly, she stepped into the sewage. This particular channel wasn’t nearly as repulsive as some; it led to and from the council’s current dwelling, and that was never in constant use. Undoubtedly, the other sewage lines mixed with this one – but still, it was cleaner than most. With that pleasant thought, Despiris continued on her way. She counted her steps, stopped at twenty-three, and blindly reached up to trail her fingers over the moist and slimy ceiling. There! Her fingertips encountered a groove. Pushing upward, the lid popped open with some force. It had molded shut. Apparently, Clevwrith had taken a different route from here. Preparing to spring out of the dirty water, Despiris jumped and grasped the manhole by its curved edge. She fought to pull her feet up, feeling the strain on her abdominal muscles, but she soon succeeded in thrusting her feet up through the circular gap, and used their hold on the ground above to help her the rest of the way out. She replaced the slimy round slab of stone with suppressed distaste. Triumphantly, she raised her gaze to her surroundings, and found she was accurately inside the fence looking out. She felt herself smile, but knew she needed to act quickly. She was vulnerable here in the 37

Spychild open, feeling a need to hide, and she would bet that Clevwrith had found a much more discreet route. Bent over, she slunk for the shadows of the building in the center of the fenced area, avoiding the gaze of windows. “Don’t settle for the roof this time,” Clevwrith had instructed earlier. “Get inside.” The very thought was thrilling. Despiris studied the building carefully. It was a huge dome, surrounded on the outside by pillars. They stretched skyward to where the roof overlapped all the way around, and were secured there. Statues protruded from the roof above each pillar, fascinating figures of mythical creatures that watched over the proximity with stone eyes. All in all, the image of the building towered over her ominously, formidable and deterring, a guardian unto itself. Instantly, Despiris felt welcome. Up close, Despiris could make out cracks snaking around the pillars. Most of them were only like threads, but when she moved to the next column, she found ones large enough to slide her fingers into, and even the tips of her boots. Taking up nature’s dare, she decided to climb. The pillar might appear brittle, but if it continued to hold up this massive bulk of a building, she trusted it to hold her. Scaling the pillar took time, and she imagined Clevwrith growing impatient wherever he was waiting for her. Halfway up, she felt the night breezes shift around her, pulling at her and making her position feel ever more precarious, as if the view wasn’t enough. Finally it ended. She stepped onto the roof once at the top, past a chipped gargoyle statue. A bird bath stood abandoned behind the statue, but seeing it, 38

Spychild Despiris was convinced that there had to be a servants’ way up onto the roof. Someone had to take care of such things long ago when the building stood in its age of thriving glory. And there it was ahead of her, a hatch that led down into the dome. She entered there and found herself fighting her way through sheets of cobwebs – just another sign that the building was older than it appeared from a distance; and another indication that Clevwrith had used a different route. The upper room she was in resembled an attic, but it could have been servants’ quarters. Finding a wall through the dark, Despiris groped for a door until her fingers landed on a rusted metal latch. She pushed it open, wincing at the creak as hinges protested. Stepping out, she found herself on a sort of balcony overlooking the rafters. A bat whistled past her head, a dusty flapping of wings fluttering briefly against her cheek. Muffled voices drifted up from far below, where a light failed to reach this height. Carefully, Despiris stepped forward, peering over the edge of the railing, down into the musty depth of the dome. The king’s council sat around an oval table. One of the members paced the length of the stuffy room. Something shifted among the rafters. At first, Despiris thought it was another bat, but a glance told her otherwise. Clevwrith sat perched above the activity of the room, listening. Despiris strode to a place where the balcony’s black rail had broken off, slipping through the jagged gap that the shattered space created. Out onto the rafters, trying to avoid the groan of old wood, she joined her master.

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Spychild Clevwrith hardly acknowledged her presence as she settled beside him, close enough to accidentally brush her shoulder against his. “You’re late,” he murmured very quietly. “I was beginning to wonder if you got sidetracked, or even if you got cold feet.” “I just forgot to come,” she lied, and grinned slightly as he glanced at her. He knew better, of course – knew how much she wanted this. Discontinuing conversation, they both turned their attention to what was taking place below. Taxes were briefly discussed, and then the condition of a few choice cobblestone roads or smoothly paved streets that needed repair throughout the kingdom of Cerf Daine. Despiris knew Clevwrith heard every word, but he didn’t show obvious interest until the conversation turned to matters of crime. “Thievery in the towns has increased five percent since five years ago,” someone mentioned. “How is the guard and patrol?” the man cloaked in black asked. “Doing remarkably well. Only one and a half percent of the thieves get away.” Clevwrith shrugged his eyebrows, as if to say, “So much for any skill amongst thieves, ay?” – but he seemed to disapprovingly expect as much. “However,” continued the one giving the information, “most of them are children.” Despiris detected a frown beneath the deep hood of the man who had asked the preceding question. She felt her own guilt surface, reminded of her past by the topic being discussed. She had been a thief once – a child, even – stealing from town stands only because her 40

Spychild mother and younger brother and sister had been on the brink of starvation. Caught by the king’s men, she was being transported to the palace in the north when she had fallen deathly ill from the brutal conditions she was kept in and harsh conduct she was treated with. That’s when they had left her for dead in Clevwrith’s alley. What a terrible misjudgment on their part – and what a terrible mistake. Beside her, Clevwrith shook his head. “They’re wrong,” he whispered, but Despiris had missed what was said below, lost in her own memory. “What of the matter below the south gate?” a new man asked. “The thieves there are not children. They are dangerous.” “Yes, yes.” The man with the staff waved him to silence. “The king has approved the raiding of the thieves’ camp, rather than picking them off one by one in town.” He paused to consider. “The king was hesitant to approve it; we were already coming away successful the way we were doing it. But I had words with him. He saw my way of it.” He must be the king’s advisor, Despiris decided. She would not want that lurking, snappy figure advising her. “And what of...the Shadowmaster?” a new voice piped up hesitantly, as if the walls might be listening. And the walls were, indeed, listening. Or the rafters were, anyway. Despiris perked her ears up. “He took down every wanted poster in the West Wing and burned them right there in the middle of the street,” the king’s advisor said. “There were no witnesses. It just happened.”

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Spychild “They’re a bit confused, aren’t they?” Clevwrith whispered, and Despiris smiled. “It does not yet further interest the king,” the advisor said with a rueful sigh that barely masked his annoyance. “He has his hands busy for the time being. But I will talk with him when he has a chance to relax. Time is all it will take.” “As you say, my lord Advisor.” “Now what about repairing the lower city?” someone entirely different put in his main concern. “Approved,” the king’s advisor answered promptly. “Osprey,” he barked. His nervous-looking aid hurried to his side, blinking furiously. “Yes, my lord?” “The plans for the lower city, if you please.” “Very good, my lord.” He produced three scrolls and handed them to his master. The plans were discussed, some changes suggested, and the council proceeded to wrap things up, finished for the night. “Time to crash the party,” came Clevwrith’s dark murmur. His words sent a hot wave of excitement flashing through Despiris. “Stir things up here,” he told her. “I’ll wait outside.” Then he was gone. Below, chairs scraped as the council members rose. Some of them bent over the table to gather notes. Despiris counted to three, and then she moved. Across the rafters in a swift, fluid-like crouch, she let the boards creak in full glory. She dove onto the railguarded ledge, right into a bat-infested section of old wall. Screeching, the disturbed creatures poured out of the mouse-chewed hole, spilling down through the rafters. 42

Spychild Despiris wanted to cringe at first, aghast at her mistake, but decided she liked the effect of the menacing bats. Wreak havoc, my little sidekicks, she bade, grinning. The bats dispersed, tearing through the council dome and vanishing back into the walls. Below, everything had gone silent. Standing, Des jogged along the ledge, carelessly plunking one foot after the other. The sound of her footsteps, she knew, rang down and echoed in the council members’ ears clearly. She could almost feel their fear as they had serious speculations about ghosts haunting the council dome. As quickly as she’d taken off, she halted abruptly, leaving everyone to wonder where she had gone. “It’s him,” she heard the voice of the king’s advisor. “The Master of the Shadows has joined us.” Despiris could imagine them all swallowing uneasily. “Do you want us to search the building?” a bold one asked. “No. He’s already gone. It happens that quickly, Lord Veru. You won’t catch him now.” “But...what if he is still here, for one reason or another, my lord?” “We will proceed to go outside and leave him to his business. But the king will hear of this intrusion. Maybe this will pique his interest.” Almost hastily, they all strode to the big double doors at the front of the dome. The last one out was the king’s advisor, after he paused to survey the rafters wonderingly, almost knowingly. Hurrying back along the ledge and through the atticlike room, Despiris emerged onto the roof, brushing the

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Spychild clinging cobwebs from her form. Now, she would make her appearance. A look over the edge found her amused. The council had stopped halfway to the gates. Frozen in the pathway, they regarded the lone figure that stood outside the gates. It was too dark to make out his features, but Despiris knew well who it was. The others no doubt recognized him even if he was featureless through the dark; the situation named him easily. And what a spectacle he must create: here they all were thinking they knew exactly where he was, because they had heard him inside, yet when they exited he was standing innocently outside the gates. Despiris saw his head shift up and felt his eyes alight on her. Promptly, the men of the council followed his gaze. A lone shadow on the roof, separate from the statues, she stared down at them coolly. Clevwrith remained at the gate only a second longer. Despiris noticed when he left, but no one else saw him go.

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Spychild

6: Unleashed

“We will never be caught,” they said, but that error of judgment proved fatal, as unforgiving hands seized them, and left a young spy all alone.

& Clevwrith lingered in the clean-water shaft under Madon’s Keep. Des was not back yet, and he didn’t expect her for some time. Let her have her fun. She’d worked hard for a long time. She was ready. He recalled the first time he had made an appearance – or, a risky one, anyway. It had been in the same place as tonight, under very similar circumstances. Except, things had been better then, everything higher class. Guards had accompanied the council, and gave fierce chase when he revealed himself. He had hid desperately in so many corners that night, breathless and very nearly scared. Hoping the shadows cast in the dead part of the city were dark enough to 45

Spychild hide him completely. Hoping the crumbling pavement would not break loose beneath his feet when he ran, causing him to slip, or giving him away with the sound of gravel strewing across the street. Wondering if his mentors had made a mistake and unleashed him too early. Realizing that they had. He had not been ready. He hadn’t been prepared right. To assure Des didn’t face the same overwhelming predicament, he had held her back. Maybe too much. But he had prolonged her lessons to ensure he was not risking losing anything when he at last set her free, and tonight he didn’t worry. At least not much. Despiris knew what she was doing. Clevwrith had taught her how to think like him, which meant she could get out of anything if she thought hard enough. It all seemed to come naturally to her anyway. Perhaps she was of his family line – but no, he had already checked into that. There was no relation at all. No point in coming back to that again. Sometimes, Clevwrith really did wonder where she had come from. She would not tell him of her wretched past or who it was that left her so condemningly in his alley. It either shamed her or caused her grief to speak of it, and even she seemed to have forgotten it by now. He had resigned to leave her in her currently established state of peace, remembering the traumatized creature he had seen in her that night. For a moment, that image of her in the alleyway, young and shivering, lingered a little hauntingly in the place between vision and mind. She had looked so vulnerable, and Clevwrith knew that that feeling was supposed to spawn terrible fear. Fear was known as a 46

Spychild horrible thing, even though he was not familiar with it, and it was not something he could leave such an innocent being victim to. He had done what he had to do. Luckily, Despiris mostly took care of herself, save for severe injuries she acquired. He fixed all those, knowing she learned from the pain and would never make the same mistake twice. At least he could count on that, or she would have been dead long ago. Clevwrith absently stared down at his reflection in the water as he thought. He appeared lonely, he thought – tired; but managed to convince himself it was merely the face of boredom. Maybe it was a lonely life he was leading, though – he admitted that reluctantly, on second thought. Relying on no one but yourself all the time.... Except now there was Des. How long could this last? He wondered, but knew it was a silly question. Forever. Until someone caught him, but that would never happen. It almost seemed as if they would be unable to touch him even if he stood right before them. His craft had become too easy for him. What terrible mistakes had his father made? And his father before that? Clevwrith couldn’t understand it, only knew that the others that were caught had simply been careless somewhere amidst their matchless vigilance. He remembered a time when he was very young, when a swarm of spies came and went through Madon’s Keep. He hadn’t noticed when one would go out and not come back – not until only a handful remained. What a dark time. When his own father didn’t return, and Clevwrith was the only one left, destiny seemed to dare him to 47

Spychild survive on his own and succeed where no one else had, avoiding the same shameful path the rest of them had taken. In his eyes, destiny had not been disappointed. A single drop of water fell somewhere and echoed down the tunnel. It brought him out of his daze, and he felt strangely lost somehow, rather suddenly. Once he got to thinking, it was hard to stop. With no one to talk to, it was almost as engrossing. There was plenty to think about, besides. What nagged for his attention now was what the council had discussed about him. So, the king’s advisor was interested in the Spylord. He was looking for him. I’ll have to play with you, little man. A new victim of intrigue would spice things up. Clevwrith immediately warmed to the idea. Taking on an apprentice had kept him considerably busy – and Despiris still had things to learn – and he hadn’t concentrated on manipulating anyone in particular for a long time. He’d gone back to square one – petty town thievery – to show her everything. It was time again to get dangerous. A plan formed in Clevwrith’s head. Something simple, but a design graced with devilish fun. He would have to think on it more and see how things progressed from here as it was. First, before he did anything, he wanted to know if the king would become interested in his pranks. If that was so, it could be very interesting indeed. A royal game, he mused. It was terribly appealing. One of the best opportunities he had ever had. When there had been more spies, they had tangled in royal affairs briefly, but nothing more than truly harmless, shamefully safe little pranks that paid nothing directly toward the royals themselves. The spies had 48

Spychild paid subtle visits to palace guests and encouraged a delightfully adamant rumor that the palace was haunted; they’d sent them home making holy signs on their chests, haunting them a ways down the road; they had stirred up uneasiness by shadowing guests on their guarded, reputably safe journeys to the palace… That was all they ever dared do to irk the royal family, however. It was too much exposure, too much of a risk. Had they been afraid? Clevwrith wondered that now, marveling over the nature of the thought. Curious, but it seemed that was so; those associated with the crown intimidated the spies. It had never quite occurred to him before. That’s where he was different, he realized distinctly. He wasn’t afraid of anything. Did Despiris get scared? Now that it was a possibility, he supposed it would be good to know. Maybe he would ask. She’d only ever seemed eager to throw herself in danger’s path, matching his own feelings. A barely distinct breeze slid over his skin, more of an intuition as the real breeze slid over his clothing. He looked up at Despiris. She was getting better at entering discreetly. “Have you eluded them?” Clevwrith asked her simply. “They didn’t give chase, but they know there are two of us now.” Despiris thought she saw amusement cross his face, but had the out-of-place suspicion again that it was disguised pride. Clevwrith looked her up and down, in a way that made her feel his eyes. “Welcome to the game.” 49

Spychild Des smiled. “What are the rules, Spylord?” “Rules,” Clevwrith said with a dark twinkle in his eye, “are forbidden.” Despiris’s smile widened keenly. She liked the sound of that. “When does the fun start?” “Soon,” Clevwrith promised, amused. He didn’t always want to talk much, Despiris knew. It was best to leave him to his silence. Who knew what ingenious thoughts twined through his intricate, brilliant mind? She had an idea of those thoughts, unlike anyone else, but she had to wonder at their unreachable extent. This time, however, Clevwrith wasn’t finished. He had gone without human interaction for a long time, resigned to the lifeless shadows of his legacy, but perhaps he was finally getting used to the idea of dealing with a live companion again. “Did you make any mistakes?” “I nearly slipped on the roof on the way over,” she admitted, displaying her sheepish guilt. “I saw that.” This time, it was real amusement that sparkled in his beautiful blue eyes. Despiris felt a blush creep up her neck despite attempts to suppress it. Of course she knew he would notice her mistake, but it was still embarrassing. “No matter,” the Spylord dismissed it. “If that’s all, that’s nothing.” Des was a bit surprised at that, but accepted it without question. “Good job, then,” Clevwrith praised. The throb of his voice was something she felt deprived of the more she heard his rare utterances, and she cherished every word he said. That voice had taught her everything she knew 50

Spychild – everything of value, anyway. Secretly, she sometimes worried about her master, the man who had been like a brother to her. Why was he so silent, beyond the reason of being accustomed to having no one to talk to? Why was he so secretive even where the world couldn’t see him? Seemingly, sometimes, so withdrawn? If it really was just the mysterious side of him, unable to be cured, she supposed she could not complain. If that was proven to be the only cause, she would let it rest. That side of him enthralled her. But it seemed different than mysterious sometimes, something more – involuntarily subdued rather than teasingly suppressed. “Reward yourself,” Clevwrith said. “You’re free to experiment with your own devices for the rest of the night.” She left him without another word, afraid that lingering would give away the absent depth of her thoughts. Clevwrith turned back to staring at his wavering reflection in the clear water. He withdrew the single wanted poster from the folds of his cape, studying it for a moment. Then, in a subtle motion, he dropped it into the water, watching the ink stream off the page and run with the water currents. There was something significant in that action, as he destroyed the last piece of evidence that implied he worked alone and that he was the only trickster to be reckoned with. With that, he freed Despiris of her ties, setting her loose. His eyes lingered on the ink stains as the single identity he had been known for was washed away. Things would change now. From now on, it would be different. The Spylord’s apprentice had been unleashed.

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Spychild

7: Permission Granted

“Permission denied. He is no more than the wind creaking in the rafters, a ghoulish figment of your imagination,” the king had said, but recent events proved that ‘he’ was not merely more than the result of dark imagination, but more than a ghost as well.

 “I would not bring it up if I didn’t believe in its importance, your Majesty,” Lord Mosscrow promised adamantly. “And I wholeheartedly believe this is a rising threat.” “Just how much of the meeting did he overhear?” the king inquired. “I would be a fool to assume less than...all of it.” His gaze slid sheepishly to the floor as he said this. “You are certain it was the same man that everyone whispers about?”

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Spychild “The one and only, and his apprentice,” the Lord Advisor assured him, trying to be patient. What would it take to convince his king of this treachery? “When did he take on an apprentice?” “It was not the council spying on the Master of the Shadows, your Majesty, but quite the other way around,” Mosscrow pointed out with a frown of impatience. “We know nothing. He knows everything. If he wanted to, I imagine he could tell you which pillow you favor the most when you sleep.” “How did he gain entrance to the council building?” the king wanted to know, ignoring the comment about favorite pillows. “How should I know? But he is fearless, and could have scaled the very walls in the rain. He could hide behind nothing but the glass of a window and we wouldn’t notice him.” “Is his apprentice of equal ability?” The king spoke in a completely neutral voice, as if talk of fearlessness and impossible deception, and examples of the two, did not really impress him. “Apparently.” Then Mosscrow shook his head with a sigh, as if the weight of that equality had just reached him. “I can’t believe there are two of them now,” he mumbled pityingly to himself, utterly worn out by the idea. “Lord Mosscrow,” the king said tiredly. “Has this Spylord ever actually committed a crime, on record, against the law?” “Well, he –” “Has he ever stolen something? Vandalized anything? Killed anyone? Attacked–” “I know your laws,” Mosscrow all but snapped. 53

Spychild “Do you have a witness that has seen him do these things, or any one of them?” “He doesn’t hold still long enough to be seen.” “Then how do you know it’s him?” “I get this…feeling whenever he’s around, your Eminence, and that’s just the truth of it.” “Very well. You catch him and hold his trial. I’m sure your claim to intuition will duly impress the judge. If you could prove anything, it would be nothing more than that he is a brilliant trickster. The worst that could happen to him is banishment beyond the city gates, and if what you say about this trickster is true, he would merely come back and avoid the irritant of capture again. You said he never makes the same mistake twice,” the king pointed out, irking Lord Mosscrow to no end. “He is acquiring top-secret information, your Grace! We feed him confidential information blindly! Or worse, sometimes not blindly! Acquiring that information purposefully when you are not entitled to that knowledge goes against your law.” Such frustration at his master’s indifference made Mosscrow clench his fists feeling helpless. Why couldn’t he control the situation? Oh, he hated it when people didn’t agree with common sense! He just couldn’t understand it. It was common sense! And this was Cerf Daine’s king that was lacking it! “Perhaps the council hall is his home, and you are bringing the information to him,” the king suggested. Oh, he could be such a mule. “You speak as if you’re on his side. Forgive me, Majesty, but you do.”

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Spychild “Crow,” the king addressed him with that infuriating pet name. “Did anyone actually see the Spylord while he was supposedly inside? Did you, in fact?” Mosscrow opened his mouth and clamped it shut again. “No, your Eminence. The only time we actually saw the man we could clearly identify as the Spylord, he was outside of the locked gates,” he admitted grudgingly. Oh, why did he bother? He was surely losing now. “And you want me to convict him for spying inside? I don’t see the proof that he was there, Crow. I just don’t see it.” “His apprentice was on the roof. We all witnessed that. On the roof, and therefore inside the gates.” “Do you want me to convict the apprentice now, too? Trespassing only earns a warning the first time caught, and you first insisted it was the Spylord that was actually inside.” The king shook his head with something like mock confusion, infuriating Mosscrow. “You are not making sense, Crow. Not enough to apply to the law.” Mosscrow seethed inside. He clenched and unclenched his fists before forcibly gaining control of himself. “Fine. I suppose I might have been wrong. Might have been. I suppose. Might I still request permission to investigate the matter?” The king scratched his head thoughtfully. “Aren’t you quite busy as it is?” “No. I am not.” He had to fight to keep from losing his temper, had to make a conscious effort to hold it at bay. His patience was running thinner and thinner, like a fraying net that would soon let everything fall through. “What kind of investigation are you considering?” 55

Spychild “Asking the people questions, giving chase when the Spylord taunts us, discussing his actions of the past.” “I still do not see what you think you will gain.” “Just trust me.” Mosscrow tried not to sound like he was begging, but he felt like he was, and that irritated him. He couldn’t even control himself! “I’ve trusted you for a very long time, Crow. But I think this is a child’s fancy. He is probably a homeless man with no family who is bored beyond his wits, that’s all.” “Perhaps that is what he is. But that doesn’t mean he’s not dangerous. And whoever heard of a homeless tramp with an apprentice?” “Very well, Crow. If you are intent on it, then I will give you your freedom,” the king gave in, but there was no enthusiasm audible in his tone. Mosscrow felt a hungry smile consume his lips nevertheless, and he waited with barely suppressed eagerness for the king’s final release. “Permission granted.”

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8: Hunters and Stalkers

“Ride until you find anything that smells of the Spylord,” Mosscrow had ordered, but – as he should have guessed – the Master of the Shadows was ready for him, and the trail had long since gone stale.

& It wasn’t often that he worked during the day, when it was light out, but Clevwrith had an appointment he didn’t want to miss. After Despiris had gone off to find her own adventure last night, he had left to take advantage of the lingering dark. He had spent the rest of the night creeping around the palace grounds, studying every corner. He wanted to know his escape routes, in case this became his playground in the future. The real reason for his royal visit, though, was to learn what the king’s advisor had planned for him. After listening in on Mosscrow’s meeting with the king 57

Spychild that morning, Clevwrith waited outside the castle gates. Behind one of the towering statues that posed as if guarding the gates, he watched men trot by on prancing horses, wondering where they would look for him first. Amused by the irony of the situation, Clevwrith began stalking his hunters. He did not alert them to his presence, and thought he might keep it that way for awhile. He would have time to measure his rivals. Perhaps he would even give them a few pointers if they were clueless enough to frustrate him. They split up after a time, and Clevwrith had to choose between his prey. It wasn’t a hard decision to make, though, for Mosscrow was his main target, and the Lord Advisor had accompanied some of the men. The group with him, Clevwrith knew, would be the most promising. He only had to wait for a good opportunity. *** When the convoy stopped for the night, Clevwrith did not settle down for sleep as they did. Nor did he rest. Despite the fact that he had been on foot while they had all ridden, and he should have needed more rest than any one of them, he had necessary things of importance that still needed accomplishing. So as they went to sleep, he slipped through their camp and wished them all pleasant nightmares, before running through the entire city without slowing. When he reached the south gate, breathless but exhilarated, he exited the city and treaded into the wilderness. What he sought was a pack of wolves. His plan was to do everything possible to disturb his hunters the next day, which meant going to great lengths to attain even the smallest success of an effect he fancied. Right now, 58

Spychild the sought effect was to don the scent of a wolf, so that even while out of sight following his hunters the next day, the horses would smell him and become restless. Uneasiness would spread quickly, and Lord Mosscrow, Clevwrith was certain, would know. To find this pack of wolves, Clevwrith knew he would have to search deeper than the first fringes of wild land beyond the city gates. But he knew how to track them once he found signs of their preceding presences, so he searched the ground for tracks under the moonlight. It was midnight by the time he found them. They were sleeping at the edge of a forest, and he treaded silently into their perilous midst, knowing well – even if he didn’t understand where the almost supernatural gift came from – that he was plenty capable of using stealth that even a wolf’s senses could not detect. None of the animals stirred as he moved to the center of the pack. Surrounded by beastly predators of the night, Clevwrith crouched. Idle jaws and predatory senses created a lethal ring around him, uncaring, unaware. A twitching paw rested next to one boot, a breathing snout next to the other. He remained there for hours, unmoving, watching the wolves sleep, marveling over his ability to do things like this, as if he could almost cease existing. How could they sleep in his presence, never to know? Undisturbed, oblivious? The threat they posed dissolved in Clevwrith’s mind as they slept on, and as he prolonged his presence in the wolves’ tranquil company, he began to feel like one of them. What am I that I can do this? Clevwrith wondered to himself. How was it possible to shelter such skill as to evade one thousand captures, to always avoid detection, 59

Spychild to turn hunters’ eyes away from him with nothing more than the guise of a shadow, and sometimes almost will alone? To merge with the night as if they were one, and to disappear like he had never been. To walk without caution into a sleeping pack of wolves, knowing that even nature’s deadliest predators would ignore his presence. How? What supernatural prowess surrounded him with such a gift? Or was it a curse, he wondered, because the fate of one who is gifted in the area of avoiding the rest of mankind, and shutting himself away from the rest of the world somehow even when beings are all around him, is surely one that leaves him nothing but a solitary image. One who can stand in the center of a crowd, and forever be immersed in the very essence of loneliness. *** At dawn he left the wolves, exiting the wilderness and running back through the city – running like the wind itself, until he reached his hunters. He calmed his breathing, and stationed himself behind them, waiting for them to pack up camp and continue on their pointless way. They left as the sun rose. Clevwrith heard the Lord Advisor snapping at his men about intolerable laziness, and the need to leave each morning as soon as possible. His men muttered behind his back, betraying to Clevwrith that they were not as dedicated to this task as their master. It might very well come down to one on one, the Spylord versus the Lord Advisor. Trailing the convoy like a subtle predator, neither alerting them to his company nor leaving behind any

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Spychild sign of his presence, the Spylord kept them well within range of his senses. “What do you suppose the Spylord’s real name is?” Clevwrith heard a man ask his fellow companions. “I have heard rumors,” someone said, “that he uses the Old word for ‘clever wraith’. But of course no one has known the Old Tongue for at least one hundred years. So how would he know?” So they know the origin of my name, Clevwrith thought, smiling devilishly at the man’s last question. “He would know,” the Lord Advisor said irritably as if his men were stupid, “because he probably broke into the Forbidden Archives and recovered the Old Tongue scrolls. We just never knew of his stealthy entrance, that’s all.” “Then we could arrest him simply for using the Tongue that King Aldvor banned in his time, and that King Dard and now King Isavor still repress?” The Lord Advisor rubbed his hairless chin thoughtfully. “I hadn’t thought of that. I would have to look into the details, but that might be a convenient possibility.” Clevwrith shook his head. They would have no luck there. The accusation of him choosing a name from the Old Tongue was not valid, because it had been his father that had done that. Of course, he was perfectly happy to carry and flaunt the illegal name, but it wasn’t his fault that he had it. Anyway, enough of this boring foolishness, Clevwrith decided. As the breeze shifted, he arranged himself accordingly and let the wind carry his scent ahead of him. Horses suddenly squealed and fidgeted, dancing uneasily beneath their baffled riders. 61

Spychild Grinning at his mischief, Clevwrith watched with amusement. Soon the Lord Advisor would get suspicious, and would guess correctly that the Spylord was on their tail. Then, though no one would voice the thought, everyone would marvel uneasily over the fact that even the horses sensed the Spylord as a threatening predator.

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9: Courtesy and Trickery

“He’s following us,” Crow finally concluded – but when they doubled back to confront him not even his footprints remained, for he had gone wide around them, and his mischief already awaited them at their next stop.

 Only a few dim lanterns challenged the dominant inky shroud that filled the empty common room. A balding innkeeper stood behind a counter polishing its stained surface. He looked up when the weary riders entered his vacant domain and smiled a brief acknowledgement. “Welcome, travelers,” the innkeeper bade. “Four rooms,” Lord Mosscrow requested. “Certainly. I’ll just need your name here.” The innkeeper slid over a crumbling scroll and a long quill with which to write. Impatiently, Mosscrow snatched the plume and scribbled a few loops of thick ink across the page. It 63

Spychild dribbled freely and ran together, and the innkeeper had to squint his eyes down to beady sockets to make it out. “Ah – Lord Mosscrow. Your reservation is valid still; did you want four additional rooms then?” Crow’s brows drew together to form a hideous M. “What reservation?” “Your lone man came ahead and reserved rooms for you,” the innkeeper imparted with a hint of uncertainty. “Specified and paid for.” Unbidden and inevitable thoughts alike spilled through Crow’s head. Who would –? And of course. No one except him. On the verge of refusing the rooms, Crow halted the decision abruptly. “Paid for, you say?” “Every last silver mark.” “Very well.” Let the Spylord pay our way. We’ll just see what he’s up to.... “Forget additional rooms. The reservation will be fine.” “Very good, my lord.” Turning away from his customers, the man behind the counter looked something up in a heavy-looking red-bound book, taking his time leafing through the worn pages. Then, as the rustling of shuffled parchment whispered to silence, the man took down four keys from a shelf and handed them over to Crow. “Top of the stairs to your right, starting with the fifth. Have a pleasant night. Long live King Isavor.” Without reply, Crow ambled gruffly away and worked his robed way up the creaking, mouse-eaten stairs, his troops close in tow behind him. “Halt, you fools,” he commanded without a glance over his shoulder. “Or do you want the whole thing to fall down under your weight? Mice,” he grumbled. “What kind 64

Spychild of a place is this? How can they ask a silver mark for anything here? Puh! Remind me to mention this to his Excellency when we return home. And hopefully the rooms aren’t this bad. If they’re worth half a silver mark, they won’t be.” As he reached the top and turned down a musty hallway, a guest opened a door to exit her room, and Mosscrow saw into the interior. Not too bad, he admitted to himself in relief. With a lighter spirit he strode toward his reserved sector of rooms. He was eager for a decent place to sleep, even if he had first been disgusted with his men for suggesting they find a place to rest for the night besides the streets. Imagining the luxury of a nice feather-stuffed mattress and a soft pillow, Mosscrow inserted the long key into the lock of the first specified door and pushed open the entry. Hinges squealed and old wood creaked, and the door swung inward to reveal his temporary domain. The smile of anticipation that had established itself on Crow’s face shrank as it struck him rudely that he would not be sleeping in peace and comfort, but instead he would probably not sleep at all. A blurry window directly across from the entrance cast pale shafts of distorted moonshine across the room at a slant, and particles of drifting dust floated in the sickly rays. The roof slanted down in a steep tilt and held the window so that it stared partially down at the floor through its dirty, half-blind glassy eyes. Broken rafters rested haphazardly in splintered disgrace – some on the floor, some still half attached to the ceiling and leaning precariously at an angle. Before Crow’s very eyes, a mouse scurried across the crumbling planks of 65

Spychild the floor and disappeared into a chewed hole. The envisioned ‘feather mattress’ was no more than a patchy blanket covering a pile of straw. With a growing burst of disgusted rage, Crow strode from the threshold of the offensive room and thrust a key into the lock of the next. As the door creaked open, something fell from above. At first thinking it was merely a broken piece of this equally trashy room, Crow was surprised to find a dagger embedded in the crack that separated two planks, a folded piece of parchment stuck halfway up the blade. The weapon must have been carefully balanced atop the doorframe somehow, poised to drop thus when disturbed by the opening of the door. Bending, Crow pulled the dagger free of the rotting wood and slid the pierced note off the sharp steel. The letter was folded neatly and sealed with black wax that showed the Spylord’s emblem; a black rose with wings ensnared by a spider web. Unfolding the note with a dry glower, he read; You are invited to sleep free of charge, courtesy of the Spylord. Thank you for the chance to get away; while you sleep I will make my escape, and be long gone by morning. I would like to mention that any warrant for my arrest stemming from the questionable legality of the origin of my name is invalid. As is traditional, as a newborn I was named by my legal guardian, and therefore had naught to do with where the name came from. My dear hunters, sleep well and enjoy the view. Long live the king, and the Spylord’s reign.

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Spychild Nearly trembling with humility, Crow crumpled the note and squeezed it in his fist until his knuckles turned white and black wax wedged itself under his fingernails. The view? he wondered, and moved into the rickety room. At the window he rubbed away the years’ dust and peered out through the small cleared space. In the distance, over the arrangement of thatched and stone rooftops alike, stood Madon’s Keep. It stood out with such clarity from this vantage point that Crow knew – knew there was something significant about it…. But what was he supposed to think? His attention had been directed there by the greatest trickster of all time. Was it a clue, a joke, a trick? Something completely meaningless just to turn the wheels of his clutching mind? He sighed and shivered at the same time, thinking at least the inn would offer some shelter from the cold. And as he stood there thinking that, a masked face peered in from the outside of the small area of glass he had rubbed clear. Crow’s heart jumped, but before he could force any sensible thoughts to enter his blank and racing mind, the masked face opened its wide black jaws and breathed fog on the clear patch of glass. The outside world blurred from view, and it was only a shadow that passed in front of the window and climbed out of sight.

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10: Things That Never Were

“A limit is a challenge. A threat is a promise. Danger is where you feel safe – and if you are afraid of the dark, you will go to war with your greatest ally.” – Clevwrith’s words to Despiris, nearly five years ago.

& Seated at the fire pit, Despiris watched the ashen plumes of smoke rise up and blend with the depressing gloom of the cloudy afternoon. There wasn’t much to do while daylight reigned – nothing except sit and wait for the promising thrill of a lively night. She could always go to sleep – and awaken at dusk as she usually did – but she wasn’t tired. She was just bored, waiting. A single ray of golden-red sunlight seeped through the gap of two parting clouds, and Despiris gazed at it blankly as it touched down on the pile of ashes and illuminated the pillar of waning smoke. 68

Spychild Clevwrith entered just then, as if the sunlight had lit his way or announced his return. Out of the corner of her eye, Despiris saw him pause to consider her. “Couldn’t sleep?” he asked. Tilting her head upward, Despiris regarded the isolated sunbeam. “Not enough sun.” Only then did she look at her master. “Where were you?” “Playing with the king’s advisor,” the Spylord replied, moving into the open fire chamber. “It’s been nearly three days. I hope you had your fun.” Grinning, Clevwrith sat down beside her. “He’s an interesting character.” Hunching to rest his elbows on his knees, Clevwrith watched the last flickering coal die. “What has kept you busy while I’ve been gone?” “I’ve been practicing. But everything is so calm and dull without you here to stir things up.” “You don’t need me for that, Des. I’ve taught you all I know. It’s up to you to put it to use now.” He shifted and regarded her face to face, his clear blue eyes meaningfully willing her to listen. “If you ever find an opportunity to test your skills, and especially to test your limits, do not hesitate to take full advantage of the situation. If you ever discover potential for a game, play it.” His face was completely serious despite the words of a trickster through and through. “Promise me you’ll do that.” She searched his eyes briefly. “I promise,” she vowed with a hint of a smile. He held her eyes, that same look of pride alight in his expression. Despiris smiled tentatively in return, not certain exactly what passed between them. But then a

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Spychild breeze stirred loose strands of brunette hair into her face, and the contact was lost. “Is there somewhere we can go tonight?” she questioned, all traces of the unfamiliar feeling gone. Clevwrith smiled at her eagerness and let his eyes go blank in thought. “What did you have in mind?” “Anything.” “Then you call the shots. I’ll get some sleep and be up in an hour. Surprise me.” *** Clevwrith only ever let himself get as far as the shallow fringes of sleep, so when an aberrant air current wafted over his sleeping form, an alarm went off in his head. He came awake in that instant, but did not blink or flinch. No, he waited until he felt the warmth of a body crouched over him, and then he sprang into action. Lashing out, he had the intruder knocked over and pinned to the ground in a moment, holding a knife against the assailant’s throat. “Oh. Hi, Des,” he said casually, but did not slack off. Despiris let her breath out. “You said to surprise you.” “Well done,” he praised comically. “But your guard was down.” “But where is your second dagger?” Without releasing her, Clevwrith reached for his belt knife, finding it gone. With that hand off her, Despiris was granted freedom enough to hold his own pilfered dagger to his throat, giving away where the weapon had disappeared to. Clevwrith caught his breath and then chuckled resignedly, humbled and amused with a twinkle in his eye. And out of his sleeve came another dagger. 70

Spychild “Enough,” Despiris said. “This is not the extent of my surprise, and it would be in your best interest to let me up.” “Really? Fine. You first.” “No. I don’t trust you,” she refused, and kept her weapon poised. “Then just inform me now. Here. Like this.” “Madon’s Keep is being invaded.” And Clevwrith grinned, of all things. “Sorry, no surprise.” Frowning, Despiris took away the threat she posed with the dagger, and Clevwrith freed her in turn. “Who is it?” she wondered aloud. “Mmm,” Clevwrith brooded. “How many men?” “Just three, that I know of.” “Do they all look the same?” “What, like identical triplets? No, Clevwrith. But they’re dressed the same.” “No one important, then. Just a few extra of the Lord Advisor’s servants, probably. I dropped them a hint, and expected an investigation of some sort.” Climbing to his feet, Clevwrith went into a swift routine of sheathing his multiple weapons, lastly taking the one Despiris offered him back and driving it home into the sheath at his belt. “Now we play with their heads.” He pulled Despiris to her feet. “By taunting them as ghosts and shadows would?” Despiris guessed. “Not this time. Now, we disappear and hide. I want all traces of our presence terminated. Start with the fire pit, and do it swiftly.” With that, they parted ways.

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Spychild At the fire pit, Despiris dropped to her knees and dug through the ashes. Beneath their powdery concealment, the stones were loose. Despiris pried them up, baring a deep hollow underneath where she swept the coals and ashes into. Then she replaced the stones and fled. Within minutes, the two spies had made a thorough sweep of their lair, leaving every alley as it would appear if it had not been disturbed since its abandonment long ago. Retreating into the complex network of corridors that made up Madon’s Keep, they lost themselves to the surrounding intricacy, and for a time, they didn’t exist.

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11: Rain

“He has woven a spell, a wondrous dark spell – somehow more enchanting than intimidating – and has cast it over a world of admirers without really meaning to, ensnaring us by the magic of his unknowing actions, that seem magical only because of their stark impossibility. But he has conquered impossibility like it is no significant feat, and the spell wound around us – called awe – holds us fast and eternally.” – Words regarding the Spylord, from a storyteller’s mouth.

 To know you could stand in plain sight and be invisible. It was such a wonder that she could do that. Such a phenomenal thing of wonder. To hone such a skill that defied logic like that and left her a master of something she almost didn’t understand. She accepted that she had been able to learn such a skill, because she had been taught, but where had her master learned it? From another spy before him? What about the first who had 73

Spychild ever honed such an ability? It didn’t seem possible to simply bear the ability within you, without being shown and carefully taught. There she stood, within eye vision but out of sight. Perfectly well within eye reach – but the man searching the alleys on Lord Mosscrow’s orders could not see her. Sheets of rain – from clouds that had gathered as the search of Madon’s Keep had begun – pelted the alley, making the distance an indistinguishable smear. Indistinguishable, at least, unless Despiris narrowed her eyes and focused on penetrating the fleeting gaps with her carefully trained eyes. Clevwrith had taught her how to succeed in such a vain feat, when to everyone else the cascading droplets blocked any length of distance no matter how they squinted in attempts to see through and catch one triumphant glimpse of success. Learning the skill had taken many years; if she didn’t succeed one winter, she had to wait for the next rainy season to try again. It had taken much meditation, much shivering out in the cold time and time again as, drenched and chilled to the bone, her determination had to surpass her frustration so she could focus. What a cruel assignment, she had thought so many times, but she had finally cast the bitterness from her mind when she realized it was clouding her focus just as other thought and emotion did. Now, Despiris looked through the rain and watched the man coming her way. He struggled through the sky’s relentless falling tears, staring this way and that, halting finally with a sour look on his dripping face, an image of bitter defeat.

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Spychild They stood facing each other, openly sharing the same alley, but Despiris knew he did not so much as glimpse her. From his point of view, the alley in front of him was as good as vacant. As the man let out a huff and continued dutifully on his way, apparently deciding he did not want to risk the lord advisor’s displeasure, he was the perfect image of pure misery. Despiris, on the other hand, felt quite gleefully the opposite. She was delighted by the result of her ability, this being the first time she had actually been able to test it so thoroughly. In the past, she had only used it to look through the rain in search of things, or Clevwrith, or to find her way through Madon’s Keep. This ironic way of eluding her hunter, while staying in eye reach directly in front of him, was such an amusing act. Smiling to herself with childish delight, Despiris kept at it. She led him on, envisioning herself as a ghost drawing him forward. This way, little man. Come on. Keep coming. It was only once the rainfall began to lighten that she discontinued her fun and retreated into the hidden parts of Madon’s Keep so she wouldn’t be seen, wouldn’t suddenly appear before a very surprised hunter. She was soaked seemingly clear through, but she hardly noticed. The excitement that came with practicing her thrilling skills was always enough to warm her blood and thaw away the cold. As the lingering mist frosted her skin and chilled her bones, her blood sang. The mist thickened into a drizzle again, but she had already abandoned her victim too thoroughly to take up the task again. Then the drizzle dissipated and thinned

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Spychild anyway, continuing to strengthen and lessen inconsistently with the passing clouds. I wonder where Clevwrith is, Despiris thought to herself idly as she walked aimlessly through the alleys. Now that the exhilaration of her mischievous actions was past, she had to keep moving for warmth – or retreat below ground, but she enjoyed the rain. It had reduced to a whisper now, falling with a hush you could hear, turning the stone all around her to a darker shade – a shade it would be at night, and Despiris had to glance up at the gray sky to remind herself that evening had not yet turned into the dusky hour she was imagining. Ahead, someone’s shadow spread past a curve and announced his imminent presence. Despiris turned into a side alley to avoid meeting up with the caster of the shadow. Gradually, everything dimmed and grew dark. The color of midnight descended from the sky and sank in around the walls of Madon’s Keep. Evening had been swallowed by dusk. Despiris was swallowed by the night.

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12: Treason Cause

“And those proven treasonous, whether by word of mouth, fulfilled action, or betrayed thought, will be arrested and will undergo a possible sentence of torture before being hung without trial, as is decreed just by his Majesty of Cerf Daine.” – First law of Royalty’s Justice, valid but forgotten.

& Crow stormed down the spacious corridor inside the palace. Servants scattered at the sight of him, hiding behind great marble pillars and whispering behind his back after he had passed them by. It had been a peaceful few days with him gone, and every employee in the king’s service – from stable boy to kitchen wench – had known the instant he returned. Crow paid them no mind. He muttered under his foul breath to himself, nonsense muttered just for the sake of muttering, and jerked severely at his robes when they billowed ridiculously from the speed of his stride. 77

Spychild He was about to burst with brimming agitation, as a horde of maddening every-day things fed his sensitive temper. He burst into the king’s private chamber, without any announcement of himself except his intrusion, and silently cursed the young king’s grasp on impassive calm as his disrespectful entrance reeking of importance resulted in no visible reaction. Catching himself before his impassioned spirits could get him expelled from the king’s service, he halted and waited for permission to speak. The king flicked a glance at him but inconsequently continued straightening his collar in the mirror. Crow could tell he was being deliberately forced to practice patience, and he nearly turned red containing himself, knowing he was being mocked more than corrected. When the king walked casually across his chamber and silently made himself comfortable in his cushioned chair, where he ignored Lord Mosscrow and set to work sharpening his decorative belt knife, Crow decided the monarch had been born with a mean streak. Scrape after rhythmic, methodical scrape, the blade sparked gradually sharper. Twitching with impatience, Crow coughed to get the king’s attention, and coughed once again more pointedly when the king took no notice. “Where’s Osprey?” King Isavor inquired. “Not ill with that cough of yours I hope?” Funny, your Majesty, Crow thought wryly. “He is not ill, Majesty. I don’t know where he is. Probably cowering in his bed from the lingering fears of

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Spychild nightmares. I don’t think he fared well on our hunt for a shadow that is smarter than the rest of us put together.” Isavor betrayed a hint of smile. “I take it, then, that you were not successful in your little jaunt?” “Successful?” Little jaunt? “In a sense I was very successful. I made a very valuable discovery. On the other hand, that discovery could reveal a new enemy to the crown, and one that poses a greater threat than any we have ever known.” Isavor’s eyes showed blank, but at least it wasn’t boredom that Crow read there. “I’m listening,” said the king. Crow produced the letter regarding the inn that the Spylord had left for him. “There, at the bottom. ‘Long live the king, and the Spylord’s reign’.” Isavor considered this for an infuriating amount of wasted time. “Your point?” he finally prompted, and Crow all but exploded with exasperation. “My point is that no; we did not catch the Spylord because he is far more cunning than a fox, he walks behind me like my own shadow, and haunts me like my own ghost. His resources are our disadvantages. He can dance in circles around us without us growing suspicious of even a natural breeze. If he leaves footprints, then they must disappear, and if he makes mistakes, we’ll never see them as anything more than another twist in the intricately treacherous conspiracy he plays as his game. He could slit our throats in our sleep, and if we awakened as ghosts, we would never realize we had died. “Doubling security is not what I’m proposing. The multitude of our guard is irrelevant; he could slip in on our nightmares if he wanted to get in. The point is that 79

Spychild this clever wraith that mocks your reign and shadows your streets is capable of anything, and that note you hold proves his intentions are treasonous.” “Crow...I’ve known ants more inclined to admit useless purpose than you.” “Your Majesty defines possible treason from a deadly icon as useless information?” The king assumed a long-suffering expression and looked pointedly at his advisor. “Lord Mosscrow, if this shadow man really is as extraordinary as you make him out to be, then how do you expect to overthrow him? Wouldn’t it be easier and more of an advantage if we befriended and used him? As a secret weapon to the crown?” “Advantageous, surely. But not at all practical or safe. If he already has treasonous thoughts, I believe his loyalties are established.” “Of course, but how then do you plan to proceed? You are bringing me problems without solutions, and without options either. Your expectations seem a little unrealistic, Crow. What do you want me to say?” “Will you recognize the threat, Excellency?” Mosscrow’s eyes had gone dark with loathing for the way the situation was making him look bad. The king sighed. He drew the crumpled note up to study it once more, thinking heavily with an expression that betrayed nothing. He eyed his Lord Advisor thoughtfully after that before coming to a decision. “I recognize the threat.” *** Savoring his minor victory, Crow forgot about hauling Osprey from his bed and beating him for his absence. The Lord Advisor lay in his own bed, smiling for the 80

Spychild first time in a very long time. His happiness stemmed from one thing; any threat recognized by the king, when the king himself was too busy with other matters, was then Crow’s to deal with as he saw fit. Which meant, of course, Lord Mosscrow would have every man that could be spared searching for the Master of the Shadows day and night, night and day. He himself would demand detailed reports, and stay very carefully in tuned with what the Spylord was up to. He would take notes and test theories, find hints and clues, and eventually get to the bottom of what was very possibly the land’s deepest and darkest mystery of all time.

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13: Caught

“I will forget. I will put my past behind me,” she had promised herself long ago, but witnessing another as unfortunate as she had been would bring painful memories back and trigger an act of compassion, and she would break tradition, risking everything.

 Despiris was happy during the next few months. She had made a resolution to make Clevwrith proud, and she was accomplishing that quite thoroughly, enjoying every moment of it. She had never experienced so many wonderful sleepless nights, and was surprised but delighted when exhaustion did not ever seem keen on catching up with her. Despite lack of sleep, she felt more alive and vibrant than ever. It was difficult to get used to not approaching Clevwrith for assignments every night, but the last time

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Spychild she had done just that, Clevwrith had told her simply and almost sternly to play her own games now. She had felt almost stung, as if he had dismissed her like he no longer wanted to have anything to do with her now that he had raised her to an independent level. But they often talked about where she had been and what she had done, gloating and bragging over her victories, and she soon felt only pride for being granted the privilege of independence. All in all, though, she began to notice she didn’t see nearly as much of Clevwrith as she used to. He was no longer her master, and they both went their separate ways and did their own things. She missed him, but was too absorbed in the distraction of the wild thrills she pursued to let it bother her too much. Slowly, they grew distant, becoming almost strangers. *** On a day when she couldn’t sleep, Despiris halfheartedly wandered the city. She was careful to stay out of sight when passing through civilized areas, but she watched everyone else going about their business, imagining herself in their shoes. These were the kinds of mundane things she would be doing if she had never been caught thieving and left ill in Madon’s Keep for the Shadowmaster to discover, Despiris thought as she watched the daily hustle and bustle. It all ambled by, looking, she thought ironically, exactly the same as yesterday, which was a funny thing to note because she hadn’t seen how yesterday transpired. Then, she witnessed an act of someone that sparked a real memory, one that didn’t appear in her head from an illusion of standard, and she didn’t have to imagine 83

Spychild herself in their shoes at all. A long time ago, she had been just the same. A young girl, dirty from head to toe and dressed in sorry rags, was approaching a fruit and vegetable stand with a completely neutral expression. She was good at disguising her secret intent, but Despiris knew well what she was going to attempt. She herself had mastered her features time and time again the same way, trying to appear innocent as someone her tender age should have been, so that her stoic bearing would hide the nerves she always suffered before stealing. The girl slipped behind the current customers, expertly positioning herself so the shopkeeper could not see her. The shopkeeper couldn’t see her, but the approaching king’s guards could. Despiris watched, again knowing what would happen. Her own past came back to her, and her imagination made the image of the girl in front of her now flicker, fleetingly taking on the appearance of Des as a child. She saw herself, remembered the hunger she had suffered, and the starvation of her siblings that drove her to steal for their survival. That act had doomed her, except some strange miracle in the guise of a terrible illness had saved her from any lethal fate. But at the same time, she knew, her family had been left to fend for themselves. Had they taken to stealing? If they had, they had likely been caught. There was no way out, was there, Despiris thought to herself. And she watched the guards close in on the poor girl as she began to pilfer.

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Spychild This girl would not find mercy. Despiris knew from experience. And if she fell ill as Despiris had, she would not survive. But even if she did, by some odd miracle, Clevwrith would not find her in an alley and rescue her. A destiny like that only befell someone once in a lifetime, and Despiris had taken that destined honor already. The girl before her hadn’t a chance, had she? This was it. This was the end. No, Despiris insisted, impassioned with sympathizing denial. Clevwrith did not have to be the one to save this girl. He wasn’t the only one that could. Despiris could do everything that he could do, thanks to his guidance. And her past would not let her forget, would not let her ignore. The leading guard grabbed the frail child roughly by the shoulder, brutally snatching an apple from her small hand and proceeding to hold her in place by grabbing a fistful of her blond hair. Everyone turned to watch as the guard waved around the pilfered fruit and lectured the surrounding people about theft, handling the girl in his charge roughly as an example. The crowd was clearly alarmed by the treatment issued toward the young thief, but humbled by it at the same time. It was an example, after all, and didn’t go ignored as that. Despiris saw the girl blink back tears as the gruff man pulled her hair. Anger welled up inside the Spylord’s apprentice, and pity for the child. Decidedly, Despiris reached for the sheath banded around her thigh and drew her dagger. The guard stopped abruptly mid-sentence as a strong whistle flew through the air and neatly sliced off the girl’s hair. He stood staring at the handful of hair in his 85

Spychild grasp as his charge darted off through the crowd and the dagger clattered to the cobblestone street. Then someone pointed in alarm, and Despiris realized she had been spotted. She could not hide as thoroughly in the day, and she had forgotten to take that into account before she acted. The little thief forgotten, disregarded as this worse threat demanded attention, the guards took up the chase. Despiris fled. As the guards turned into the alley behind her, she started turning corners, looking for a shadow to lose herself in. Everything was so different during the day! Her list of options shrank before here very eyes. She could not immerse herself in the cloak of night, and her speed and stamina were all that kept her safe from capture as she struggled to think of something else. Another thing Despiris hadn’t accounted for was the heat. The sun wore her out almost as much as her efforts did, and she tired doubly as fast. Then exhilaration suddenly replaced her growing doubt. Clevwrith had told her to test her limits, and her present predicament was certainly a good way to do that. It was unstable with intrigue foreign to her, full of twists and turns she surely could not predict; it was highly dangerous and unlike anything she was comfortably accustomed to, and it was perfect. Ignoring her draining energy, Despiris dodged in and out of unknown places, taking every opportunity to taunt those that pursued her. Instead of growing alarmed when the guards began to frequently come closer and closer, Despiris found herself grinning

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Spychild dangerously at the close-calls, loving the tension and adrenaline that came with them. When she could no longer endure the strain of her laboring lungs, and when her muscles burned intolerably from her exertions, she slowed and dropped back until the guards were right behind her, allowing them to reach but not catch her. Rested, she would then speed up again. After a time, more of the king’s men started appearing from other angles unexpectedly. Despiris vaguely remembered noting earlier that there had been patrols there, but that hadn’t concerned her then. Eventually, with their number and the disadvantage of daylight against her, Despiris knew she would be dominated. She couldn’t say exactly what would happen thereafter, but she didn’t really want to find out. I just have to force them out of their element, she decided, and then she took to the roofs. Once the king’s men had adjusted to her precarious level, there was a game of hide-and-seek behind chimneys. Then Despiris broke free and sprinted across the shingles, and men emerged from behind chimneys all across the rooftops of buildings surrounding her. One man fell – not fatally, but hard enough to leave him limping on the ground far behind everyone else. Despiris had glanced over her shoulder to discover his fate, and when she cast her eyes back ahead of her she nearly cried out. There was a window inlaid in this roof, a skylight so those inside the building could gaze out through the ceiling. It wasn’t just that she almost stepped into a fragile glass trap, breaking through and falling possibly to her 87

Spychild bloody death. It was that the angle of the sun shining down on the roof reflected glaringly on the pane of glass, so bright that Despiris was temporarily blinded. She careened to the side to avoid stepping on the window, but she couldn’t see where she was going. Slanted shingles were suddenly slippery under her boots as she moved over them unbalanced, and she dropped to a hasty crouch to try to find something to hold onto before she fell, rolling dangerously close to the roof’s edge before catching herself. Footsteps sounded on the roof behind her, and she tried to hurry forward on hands and knees. A strange feeling entered her then as she made such a pitiful effort to hang on to her preciously endangered freedom. Vaguely, she recognized such a feeling from her past. It was what Clevwrith had helped her forget, what he had made her forget. It was what the Master of the Shadows loathed, the enemy he swore to keep at bay, and the enemy whose face he had never really seen. In a manner of speaking, it was what the Master of the Shadows feared the most. It was fear itself. The footsteps drew closer as the lucky guard closed in on the fallen spy where she clung feebly to the roof, and Despiris blinked furiously trying to clear her eyes of the glaring blindness. When it didn’t work, she gave up on that approach and resigned herself to continuing without the aid of her sight. Knowing she needed to gain ground fast, Despiris lurched forward on hands and knees. But fear, and the unrelenting sun, were making her sweat excessively. Not only could she not grip the smooth shingles

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Spychild anymore, but her sweaty hold was now causing her to slip. She clawed at the roof as she slid, but to no avail. In a fearful rush of flailing limbs, she went over the edge and fell. If only the darkness that consumed her when she hit the ground was the same kind she had been seeking for safety. *** Pain. Confusion. She is so dizzy, only half conscious, mind swirling and spinning. Mixing night and day, delusion and reality, past and present. Things swim through existence, sluggish then fleeting. Arms are around her – but not an embrace. Only there to hold her captive. Voices of triumphant guards, forcing their overly loud tones into her sensitive head. Traveling north, through a route somehow familiar – but it is so hard to tell, for she cannot open her eyes. But in memory, she can see. It has happened before, it is happening again. No.... she thinks in denial, but the thought trails off weakly. Not enough focus to think. Only enough consciousness to feel pain. It hurts. This is happening now, but it is so familiar. Does this really mean it has happened before? It is the only memory she knows, sparked because of the familiarity she feels for a similar experience in the past. But if she can remember nothing else, was there really ever an in between? If there was, it is blank now. Empty. Gone. The past comes forth to merge with the present. There is no in between. What is happening now is not 89

Spychild similar to what happened before at all – they are one and the same. This is the first time, back then. It doesn’t seem right. There should be something else she remembers…. But it must have been a dream. A very long dream while she was completely unconscious after the guards caught her thieving. I am a thief. A thief. Only because of a starving sister and brother. To save them…. I am a failure. Terrible conditions, treatment from cruel guards. Bare feet in the rain. Traveling through streets. Bad streets. Not a good part of the city. Guards laughing. Her coughing. Now she is ill as well. When will it end? It will never, never end. After all, it has been years, hasn’t it? Years of this traveling while she is barely aware, because she is a woman now, isn’t she, and she doesn’t remember growing up. It has happened while she has been unconscious. Where must the guards be taking her? It has been so long. What happens to thieves, anyway? It is taking so long. Perhaps she will grow old and die before they reach their destination. Perhaps she will die from her illness. But it doesn’t quite feel the same anymore, her illness. Does that mean she is getting better? It doesn’t make a difference. Doom is her fate one way or another. After all, she was caught thieving. She is a dirty rotten criminal. But I am only a thief! she wants to protest. Only a thief. 90

Spychild She has never been a spy. *** Gradually, Despiris’s head began to clear. She finally opened her eyes – no less confused, but conscious – and sickly took in her surroundings. Oh the headache she had! As if someone had used her skull for the pounding of some ceremonial drum while she had been unconscious. Vaguely, she recalled coming to some strange conclusion about something while being unconscious. What had it been? Now, she was confused all over again. She remembered the struggle as she had fought to make things make sense. She had finally succeeded somehow, but what good did it do if she just had to do it all over again now? What a waste. She hoped she wouldn’t often have to figure things out twice after this. Guards were around her, leading her through spacious halls of marble and stone, past towering windows framed in gold, over lavish rugs and through great arched doorways. Where was she? The palace? What have I done? Of course – she was caught thieving. No. How could that be? That was assuredly wrong. And how could this be the palace? She vaguely recalled traveling for a very long time. It would not have taken so long to reach the palace no matter what part of the city they dispersed from. But that’s what she remembered. Being caught stealing. And now she was in the palace. It didn’t add up at all. What was I doing thieving? she wondered in bewilderment – if that was indeed what she had been 91

Spychild captured for. Shaking her befuddled head, and wincing at the pain the motion set off, she tried to clear her mind. Her current process of thought was functioning in a ridiculously useless manner. It wasn’t working properly at all. Think rationally, she told herself. Where did this bump on my head come from? Oh of course – now I remember, I fell off a roof. While thieving? What was I trying to steal, shingles? No. She hadn’t been in the process of stealing when she fell. She had been running. What kind of young girl ran across the rooftops? Not that she was young now, but that’s what she remembered – being caught after falling, and she remembered being caught as a young girl. Gods, what is wrong with my head?! She wanted to grab herself by the skull and shake it hard. But that would hurt. Tremendously. It didn’t take us five years to reach the palace! When had her thoughts gotten so tangled? A young girl, a pitiful thief, would not have been running across the rooftops, she reasoned with herself firmly. What was I doing? A sudden spark of memory made her realize she had done something like it before. Her current situation seemed familiar somehow. Well there was that time I fell while scaling a wall, she recalled. She had been injured then, too, but it hadn’t been her head that time, had it? No, it had been her back. A terrible bleeding gash down her back. Well what was I doing then? She shook her head vaguely, not knowing. Running across rooftops, scaling walls....

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Spychild ….sneaking through underground passages, hiding in the shadows, evading capture…. In a rush, things came flooding back to her. I’m a spy, she realized as if discovering it for the first time. She had been scaling a wall as one of her lessons, and her torn back had been healed by – oh, of course. How could she ever forget Clevwrith? He was the foundation behind everything. Once he was remembered, everything else came back with perfect clarity. It all emerged out of a sort of lost blackness lurking out of the corner of her mind’s eye, bursting into existence to fill her memory to its brim, returning her complex identity. I’m caught, she realized, and it only then took the toll of significance. Oh Gods, I’m caught! Panic came close to consuming her, quivering out of reach with open jaws ready to devour her when she quickly managed to suppress it. How long could it be contained? She felt it flutter against the walls of its cage, felt the prison she had locked it away in tremor threateningly. I am not behind bars yet, Despiris told herself firmly, trying to gain control. All is not lost. All is never lost, Clevwrith would say calmly, unfazed. He wouldn’t be bothered. But really, would capture prove to be the first thing to trouble him? No. Of course not. Because he would never know capture. He would never be caught. If he ever was, though, he would be perfectly capable of getting back out. With that thought, she squared her shoulders and quenched her fear. And not a moment too soon; they had arrived at their significant destination – the king’s own personal quarters. 93

Spychild One of the guards entered to explain the situation while the others waited outside with Despiris. She must be a significant captive, she thought, or they would have taken her straight to the prison. Not complaining, for in a way she was honored, she awaited her fate with a mask of intrepidness, ignoring her throbbing head. Finally the guard came out of the room. He took Despiris by the arm and pulled her through the door, ushering her toward a chair in front of the king’s vast desk. Once she was firmly seated, the guard retreated a little reluctantly and left the room, bowing stiffly, with visible disapproval, before shutting the door behind him. Despiris was left facing the king alone. She wondered who in his right mind would leave the king alone in her company, dangerous captive as she was, and figured that was probably the source of the banished guard’s unease. The king must have been well adept at handling his own safety, Despiris mused. Secretly, he could be quite dangerous himself. She ran her eyes over him in appraisal, wondering what skill lay disguised underneath the flattering illusion of his elegant attire. The monarch considered her at length, assessing her thoughtfully in turn, before he contrived to speak. “I’m told you led my men on quite an adventure,” he remarked, searching the captive’s face expectantly. “Running like the wind itself, taking the chase across rooftops, possessed by an uncommon elusive prowess that seems to surpass mere spirit and will – something legendary….” Despiris said nothing. Instead, she refused to meet his gaze, rubbing the bump on her head with blank, unseeing eyes. 94

Spychild “Do you understand how you erred?” “He was hurting her,” Despiris protested. “Who?” “One of your men caught a thief. A small girl. He was hurting her.” The king shrugged. “She was a thief.” “She was a starving child.” The king sighed. “I know. There are far too many of them. But their craft of theft only harms the extent of the population. Shopkeepers depend on their income to feed their own families, and if we openly slack on enforcing due payment, then thieves from far and wide will take advantage, and then we will have to concentrate fully on clearing up that mess while unattended problems sprout up everywhere else. “Then there are the shopkeepers themselves, who are forced to turn to other means of acquiring produce, which leaves them pinching from populace of higher class, who then become not only angry but downright dangerous, and murders start happening for trivial reasons, and the whole of my nation is disrupted and scared. Then someone will decide I am not doing my job properly and the assassination attempts will start.” “Then this all falls ultimately in your interest? You’re just protecting yourself?” “No. I am standing firm behind my laws, because the law protects everyone in general.” Despiris was silent for a moment, wondering how many laws she and Clevwrith had broken. Had they hurt anyone indirectly by it? But she was still set on her original argument. “Not the ones that starve,” she retorted a bit coldly.

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Spychild Regret entered the king’s eyes, and though he was gracious enough to let it show, his words continued on their set path. “The law will not protect you from the fate you are contriving to bring upon yourself either, my lady. It will condemn you.” She felt those words significantly, and had no reply as they affected her. “People die. Some unfairly,” the king granted. “Sometimes you have to believe in fate, just so the toll won’t drive you mad.” He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, clasping his hands together. “And some are simply treated unfairly as well,” he admitted. “I do my best to hire on reputable men, my lady, but unfortunately ‘reputation’ doesn’t necessarily bind future action. It has potential but unfortunately no promise.” He rubbed his hands together thoughtfully. “I am doing everything I can to improve the entirety of my kingdom. Finances are stretched thin, though, and I can only do so much.” Despiris wanted to argue her opinion, but she could tell the king was not a bad man. He did care. And she knew it was much easier for her to complain according to personal pain than it was for him to fix the general problem when he was already doing so much she was unaware of. “Believe it or not,” the king said, “each time the law is enforced, that is one step closer to a brighter future. One day, I hope it will not be necessary to drain such a large portion of the royal finances for the purpose of fighting crime. Then, more can be put to the cause of serving the unfortunate souls of poverty. “But you understand I can’t just hand out supportive wealth, strewing riches across the cobblestones. 96

Spychild Everyone will hear about it, and every soul struggling or suffering for one reason or another will insist that they, too, have a right to my charity. And if I choose favorites, well, how big will the uproar be? I would have people turn bitter against me – and others that understand my reasoning that would try to hold them back. Inside my borders, my own people would go to war with each other, and then nothing I could do would put an end to it.” Despiris turned this all over in her head, balking at the alarming transition of petty town thievery to civil war. She had never thought of it like that before, on such an unthinkable scale. “Your concern,” King Isavor continued, “is one that has long kept me awake at night. And it is one reason I am so hesitant to delve into tracking down the Spylord.” Despiris’s eyes came up at that, but she managed to keep her expression unruffled. “He’s such a brilliant trickster. I have no expectations of catching him without much trouble and expensive fuss, and so long as he doesn’t cause any real harm, I think it is better to let him be.” “But what if he has caused harm? You said breaking laws can cause damage to society. How many laws has he broken?” Despiris was interested now, wanting to know more. The things the king made her aware of weighed on her conscience unlike she thought they could. She found it concerned her, and didn’t know how to go about handling that. “Who can say?” King Isavor shrugged. “But I am also cautious of making the Spylord a direct enemy of the crown, and that is a daunting likelihood if I threaten him or his way of doing things in any way.” 97

Spychild “Then he controls you.” “He very well could. I don’t understand him. No one does.” I do. Despiris let the words linger unspoken in her head. “He is a strange figure. A powerful character. So many secrets.... Is he a genius? A magician? Both? Too many questions still. I will not move in on him until we at least fathom him better than we do now.” A small frown of confusion touched Despiris’s brow. Then why were your men investigating Madon’s Keep, searching quite openly for the very man you just refused to approach? Because they had been sent by the Lord Advisor, according to what Clevwrith had told her. Did that mean, then, that the king’s own head advisor was doing things behind the monarch’s back? Despiris refrained from voicing that thought just yet, but she did not stop mulling over it. “Anyway,” the king said. “I recognize that it was an innocent act of compassion that drove you to act the way you did. But do you understand it was still wrong? Never mind how hard it is to accept. Just...do you understand?” Despiris nodded reluctantly. Letting out a long breath, the king considered something. “My men did arrest you with complete right. I’ll see what I can do to influence your trial and lessen the severity of your sentence. But you understand I can’t play favorites with my prisoners when I have no legal right to, any more than I can with my innocent people.” Again, Despiris nodded. 98

Spychild The king clapped his hands loudly, and a guard entered the room. “Escort this girl to the prison,” the monarch commanded. Bowing his head respectfully, the guard took Despiris by the arm and led her from the room a little more severely than he needed to – not from cruelty, really, as much as possessiveness toward his king. He was the same man, she noted, that had unhappily been required to leave her alone with the monarch. She went willingly, mind still occupied by the information the king had fed to her. She hardly noticed the change of scenery as they strode through hallways less ornamental than the last, as they descended countless flights of steps until torches lined the walls – then they were passing through dungeons, rank and moist, and arrival at their final destination was imminent. When her cell came into view, Despiris came out of her daze. Being caged frightened her, and she worked to keep her fear at bay. She had to master her own mind, she told herself, before fear took over. She knew it could easily happen, had seen it happen to many a terrified person – who then couldn’t think straight and only got themselves deeper into trouble – but she didn’t want to even come close to experiencing it. Thrusting her into the empty cell, the guard shut the door behind her. The door locked automatically as soon as it swung shut, and Despiris turned to watch the guard who had already turned his back and begun leaving. As he left her alone, Despiris forced herself not to panic at being trapped. Curse her for provoking a chase in broad daylight! It could have gotten her killed. 99

Spychild Though it hadn’t, prison was hardly a more agreeable alternative. In some ways, it was undeniably worse. Not because it was a disgusting, rank place to be. She was used to far worse conditions of that aspect from traveling the sewers. But to have her freedom cut off from her like this could end up being the death of her anyway. Glancing around, Despiris set the wheels of her mind turning. Clevwrith had told her there was never a situation that was entirely hopeless. There was no feat that was completely impossible. He had even mentioned imprisonment once. He had said to her: “When you are ready, Des – ready to face the world as I do – there will be signs. Feelings that go against logic. As when you find yourself trapped somewhere and it won’t even bother you; when there are no windows and no doors, and yet you do not feel caged. You know that it is not only possible to get out, but escape is inevitable.” Somehow, Despiris would get out. It might take some time, she realized. She might have to wait a few days, studying, finding her options. Analyzing. Assessing. Resigning herself to that, Despiris sat down to think.

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14: To Crow’s Displeasure

“We’ve caught another one,” the king’s guard said, speaking of the newly captured thief-defender – but this one was not just any girl defensive of the ill-fated people resigned to stealing. She was not like the rest of them at all.

& Mosscrow traveled through the dungeons, muttering to himself bitterly because he had not heard of the new prisoner until now. She had been captured two whole days ago, and no one had bothered to inform him until now. “She was only arrested for defending a small thieving child, and for resisting arrest after that,” King Isavor had said to him. “Why is it so crucial to inform you of someone like that?” Ha! But her resistance of arrest consisted of evading the multitude of experienced guards for longer than any ordinary

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Spychild girl ever could, and what ordinary girl have you ever heard of fleeing across the very rooftops? No. This was not any ordinary, innocent girl. There was something significant about her, and Mosscrow intended to find out just what it was. Reaching the prison, Crow was admitted by the guards. He strode down the mildewed aisle of the jail in search of the girl’s cell, counting to make sure he found the right one. ...six, and seven! Crow glided all amidst his robes into place before the cell and peered in curiously, almost hungry for a glimpse of this captive. And he stood there staring, feeling his spine tingle uncannily even as he felt himself growing angry at the same time. The cell, as it turned out, held no one. It was empty. Somehow, Crow knew he had not miscounted. He knew he had not gone to the wrong cell. This was where he meant to be, where she should have been. Where she wasn’t. The cell was not just empty. It was significantly empty. “You fool,” Crow snapped in a whisper, the insult for the king even though the monarch was not present for reprimanding. The empty cell was the only sign Crow needed. It reeked of escape, though the cell door was still locked, and that confirmed his suspicions: “She was one of them.” Almost whimpering, but overriding that painful urge with his powerful rage, Crow stalked back down the dark corridor. You blind fool! his mind screamed at the king. How could you do this? That may be as close as we ever get! How could you do this to me? 102

Spychild He made a quick trip of storming back through the palace, seeking out the king’s personal chambers and bursting in unannounced – which seemed to be a growing habit of late. King Isavor looked up from something he was reading. This time, he did not look so tolerant of Crow’s intrusion. “Do you realize what you have done?” Crow demanded before he could master his anger so it wouldn’t interfere with his speech. Oh well – if he was already being disrespectful, what did he have to lose now? He might as well speak his mind like he wanted to. “You had her in your grasp! We were turning the tables, making the predator into the prey. How could you let her go like that! And don’t make excuses, Majesty, because the simple truth of it is this: if you leave one of them unattended, never mind that they are locked away in a cell at the time, it is as good as letting them go. Don’t you understand this by now? You’ve really done it now, Highness! You have made about the stupidest mistake you could, allowing one of our Most Wanted to slip right through your fingers like that. Let me enlighten you further; that girl was one of the Spymasters, and I hope you don’t forget it for a very long time!” “I know,” the king said dangerously, “who she is. And your yelling is doing nothing to improve my current regards for you.” Taken aback, Crow stood there feeling like he had been slapped. All at once, he realized how rudely he had just acted. Then it sunk in that the king had just said he had already known about the girl’s identity – and lastly, Crow was stricken with the king’s anger 103

Spychild directed at him. Judging by Isavor’s face, his anger had been festering for quite some time. What did I do before this? Crow wondered, completely bewildered, but the king didn’t hesitate to make that known. The monarch handed him the piece of parchment he had been going over. It was a note. A note from the escaped prisoner. It read: To His Majesty the king: I find I am partial to the view you expressed during our discussions upon my arrival at your estates. So I feel compelled to warn you of an amount of treachery in your midst that has been brought to my attention. Please understand I entrust this to you with the best interests regarding that which I have learned you support. It has become clear to me that your head advisor, the beastly Lord Mosscrow, is contriving things behind your back. If my memory serves me well, you specifically claimed you would refrain from moving in on the Spylord until you had a superior understanding of him, but in contradiction to that your Lord Advisor has been quite the dedicated hunter of the Shadowmaster of late. Just ask him for details, and I’m sure he would be happy to elaborate on the facts of my accusation, and inform you of all his deceitful doings. How do I know of your advisor’s exploits involving the Master of the Shadows, you might ask? I am him. I am the Master of the Shadows. First, Crow wanted to melt on the spot, to wither away because his deceit had been discovered. By the end of the note, however, he was rushed by the strongest rage 104

Spychild he had ever felt. It had been the Master of the Shadows himself – and a girl, he marveled – that they had locked in their prison. They had had him – her – actually had him! Face turning red, Crow abruptly tore the note into miniscule pieces, shredding it all over the king’s bedroom floor. “Contain yourself,” the king said, obviously speaking pointedly in reaction to the Lord Advisor’s ripping up the note, but then he added a comical – but no less stern – “in one of my prison cells.” Crow met the king’s eyes sharply, appalled. “But, Majesty, I –” “Go.” Mouth hanging open with unspoken protests, Crow stood there stricken. He couldn’t move. “Very well. For your defiance, it will be the Shadowmaster’s cell you will reside in, so you can dwell every waking moment on the precious prize you lost. The imagined presence of the escaped prisoner had better haunt you like a lingering ghost, Crow, or the punishment will not be enough. I will not tolerate such traitorous actions because you cannot control your obsession.” The king placed his hands on his desk and leaned forward intensely. “Get out of my sight, Crow, and take your punishment as I have ordered.” This time Crow obeyed. He walked out stiffly, backtracked to the dungeons he had only just left behind, and shut himself away in the Spylord’s cell.

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15: A New Trick

“I’ve taught you all I know,” Clevwrith had told her – but that wasn’t completely true, and events would lead him to reveal what was perhaps his deepest secret, and he would teach her one more thing.

 Freedom was heavenly, and her clever escape had gone to her head. Despiris felt giddy as she strutted with arrogant confidence back toward Madon’s Keep. Her escape had been easier than she had expected, and she was extremely proud of herself. First, she had memorized the routine of what went on in the prison. Twice a day, once in early morning and once late at night, a servant would distribute the prisoners’ meals – which always consisted of a small bowl of soup that was mostly cold broth and a small crust of bread. Four times a day, a servant would offer water. Three times a day, the guards would escort each 106

Spychild prisoner out to relieve themselves; apparently, the king was endeavoring to keep a very clean prison, and the privy was elsewhere. Next, Despiris had become well acquainted with her fellow prisoners. The burly, middle-aged man in the cell to her left was awaiting execution for murder, while the young man to her right was awaiting trial for being caught trespassing on a lord’s property. He claimed he had only been sneaking around to meet discreetly with the lord’s daughter, whom he was secretly in love with. Of course, telling the lord that would not help his case at all, but Despiris, at least, took pity on him. Knowing the details of everything around her, Despiris had then begun to form a plan. She wanted to make her escape at night, now cautious of the disadvantages that day challenged her with. So after the evening meal, she waited for the guards to start assisting the prisoners to the privy. When they took Dov, the trespasser, Despiris made her move. Saved out from her dinner, a soft piece of bread was held in her hand waiting to be put to use. She reached through the bars of her cell, sliding her unorthodox tool toward Dov’s door. It was left open while he was gone, just like the doors always were. Despiris had noticed first thing that the doors locked automatically once latched, and all she had to do was prevent that from happening now. To accomplish this, she stuffed the bread into the hollow nook where the door would latch and lock, using her little finger to mold the bread adequately into the mechanism. Then she went back to sitting in the corner of her cell, awaiting her turn at the privy. When she returned, she 107

Spychild would wait until the middle of the night – when the other prisoners were fast asleep, when the guards were sleepiest, and when she was at her liveliest. She would awaken Dov, and only then inform him that his cell door was not locked. She would warn him about the other dangers throughout the palace grounds, though, making him believe he would need help to escape completely. That’s when she would reveal that she was none other than the Spylord’s apprentice, and she could easily offer him the help he needed if he could break her free. She had chosen Dov for this role in the first place because one; she sympathized with him, and two; he would do the least harm if released onto the streets again – especially less than the murderer on her left would. She only hoped that whatever had gotten him caught trespassing the first time was not his own carelessness; what she needed him to do required utmost vigilance. Dov had been quite up to the task, though, sneaking into the warden’s chamber at the end of the musty corridor while the man was sleeping, proceeding to pilfer the key ring and return to free Despiris. Despiris had locked her door shut again to mystify whoever discovered her gone, and after that the duo of escape artists made their way to complete freedom – after Des dropped the king a quick note as he slept unknowingly in his bed. The two convict companions had parted ways once outside the palace grounds, Despiris wishing the lovestruck trespasser luck with the daughter of an angry lord, and he in turn thanking her for all she had done

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Spychild and swearing himself to silence and secrecy regarding his association with the Spylord’s apprentice. Smiling to herself now, Despiris reflected on how easy it had been. Had they been lucky? Or was she just that good? Probably, though, it had been easy because it was really so simple. But how many of your average prisoners, typical rough and tough criminals too proud and burly for their own good, made efforts to truly befriend and sympathize with fellow prisoners so they could later request their help, while using their supper to escape? Gradually, Despiris sobered from her pride. The closer she got to Madon’s Keep, the more she was reminded about what the king had brought to her knowledge about the expenses of fighting crime, and her own thoughts regarding the Spylord’s game with walking the lines in between the law. She was confused, she realized. Clevwrith had taught her everything she lived by, yet she found herself agreeing with the king – whose beliefs opposed the Spylord’s ideas. She nearly worshipped Clevwrith, but what if he had taught her wrong? A very uncomfortable feeling – guilt, she decided – gnawed at her as she raised questions against her master. It didn’t feel right, it wasn’t right, but she couldn’t ignore the king’s words. Where would this uncertainty lead? she wondered. She could not afford to be torn asunder while active in her line of work; hesitating for even a split second for any reason could cost her everything. She needed to establish her identity once and for all, she realized, throughout every corner of her being. But that required that she face who she was completely, and that meant 109

Spychild embracing more than just what she had become. Because there was still a corner of her, a portion of her shadow, that remained loyal to what she had been before. And she wasn’t ready to reawaken that part of her and bring it into the light for its reckoning. Clevwrith had taught her to solve everything with darkness, and she was convinced she could hide that part of her forever, if only she kept it smothered in her shadow. The problem with shadows, in this case, was that they followed you everywhere, and there was nothing you could do to sever the tie between you. *** It had been days since Despiris had been anywhere in Madon’s Keep, but Clevwrith wasn’t worried. He disappeared for days at a time too sometimes, and she was entitled to do the same. He was distracted, anyway, by the note he was writing, one of many addressed to the victims of his trickery. And that’s when Despiris chose to return. She appeared after her shadow announced her, its shady image stretching past the base of the wall she came around. Clevwrith did not look up, but even out of the corner of his eye he could tell by the distinct shape of her shadow who it was that approached, even before she physically came into view. Wandering rather dully into sight, Despiris trailed to a halt and stood there watching him. Her stance was slightly distracting – meaningful somehow – but Clevwrith didn’t acknowledge her yet. He was busy. “Why do we do this?” Despiris finally asked. “Do what, Des?” Clevwrith didn’t look up from his work, absorbed still. 110

Spychild “Everything that we do. No one hired us. We’re doing no one a favor. It’s just a legacy – to carry on the infamous role of the spies that runs so strongly in your magnificent bloodline. But I am not of your blood. I’m not driven by duty to carry on your family’s legacy. Why am I doing this?” This time, Clevwrith looked up with a frown. “Why the sudden doubts, Des?” “I was…” – here she paused, as if unable to get past the concept of the next word – “…caught,” she revealed completely blankly, and Clevwrith felt a wave of something like subtle alarm stir within him at those very significant words. “They told me things…. Everything you’ve taught me – is it wrong?” “Des….” He sounded both uncertain and disappointed, and concerned underneath it all. “We do it because we can. We’re gifted, exceptionally, and not just so those gifts can be wasted. It’s only wrong from the point of view of the other side. We’re not on their side.” “Whose side are we on?” There was something accusing in her voice. “Mine. Ours. You’ve joined me.” It sounded hostile. Selfish. Clevwrith shook his head. “There’s already suspicion and unease among the conspiring ranks of nobility and their politics. We just add intrigue. We stir up mystery. You’ve learned to live for that thrill.” Remembering how she had felt after making her escape from the royal dungeon, Despiris had to wonder why she was questioning the course of her life. She did live for that feeling. She loved what she did. And she was gifted. 111

Spychild Turning her head away, Despiris refused to look at the Spylord. Why was she so confused? And why did being confused have to upset her so much? Why couldn’t they just sit down and figure it out together, like they always had? Clevwrith stood, openly showing his concern now. “Des,” he said, baffled by her behavior. He couldn’t find words for further persuasion, and so decided to focus on something else. Tenderly, he touched her chin and turned her face so he could look her in the eye. “How were you caught? Is that where you’ve been all this time? Trapped?” Despiris lowered her eyes, but remained facing him. She nodded reluctantly. “I made a mistake,” she confessed quietly, sounding small. Sounding ashamed, and oh so distraught about the whole thing. “What kind of mistake?” Clevwrith prompted gently. “I provoked a chase during the day. You told me to test my limits, and I was so confident. But the shadows weren’t dark enough to protect me. The ones hunting me kept getting so close, closer and closer, over and over again.” She met his eyes then. “And I wasn’t afraid. The more dangerous it got, the more I wanted to risk. And I did. “I am not accustomed to the aspects of the sun, though. There was a bright reflection in a windowpane, and it blinded me while I was fleeing over a rooftop. I fell, and…they caught me.” “Who?” “The king’s men.” Clevwrith was silent following that revelation.

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Spychild “Oh, Clevwrith,” Despiris whispered in as close to tears of distress as he had ever seen her. “Why wasn’t I afraid?” With a rueful but otherwise absentminded shake of his head, Clevwrith answered her, though from his expression she could tell he was thinking about something else. “I don’t understand fear, Des. I’ve never felt it.” “And you’ve taught me not to feel it, and that nearly got me killed.” Putting it like that, so accusingly and with such high stakes, brought Clevwrith’s attention back to her and out of his dazed thoughts. “What happened after you fell?” he asked, wanting to hear the whole story, and wanting to take her mind off that last part she’d mentioned. In truth, he didn’t really want to hear about that. Despiris told him everything, including the art of her escape. “How did you get past the guards once you were free of your cell?” the Spylord wanted to know. “Come on, Clev, that was the easiest part.” Knowing the extent of her stealthy skill, he accepted that readily enough and asked no further. “You see?” he said encouragingly instead. “You’re good at this. You will always love what we do. You need the challenge as surely as you need to breathe. Because I see you take that deep, hungry breath every time you’re challenged, Des. I see that.” She knew he was right, and then the last move she had made, that she hadn’t yet disclosed to him, made her smile devilishly. Remembering that, she knew she could never give this up. 113

Spychild “I did something else as well,” she revealed slyly. “I started a game. I made the king believe I am the Spylord.” She felt anxious saying it, wondering if it would bother Clevwrith that she had stolen the glory of his identity. Clevwrith, however, let a smile creep over his lips after considering her words. It developed into a wide, wicked grin, and Despiris was reassured she had done nothing wrong. “That’s my girl,” Clevwrith praised. Slowly, his face turned serious again. “You belong here, Des. Here where you can breathe wild freedom. Hidden and protected by the night, where you can drink the wild spirits of the air. Befriended by the very shadows. You have a home here. And once you are taken by the darkness…you can’t ever go back anywhere, Des. People see its mark, inside you.” Despiris nodded slowly. She did know. She understood all that. “Come,” Clevwrith said, removing his glove to grasp her hand. It was more personal that way, and though she glanced at him wonderingly, she appreciated his touch. His hand was warm, grasp possessive but gentle – and she could feel his pulse, reminding her that this man was more alive than any shadow. “I will teach you a new trick.” He led her deeper into the broken dwellings, stopping at a destination of seemingly no significance and crouching to pry up the stones at his feet. Despiris watched as he dug away stone after stone, watched as a secret passage was revealed leading under Madon’s Keep. She had never seen this passage before. Clevwrith had never shown her. 114

Spychild Finished, Clevwrith stood and took her hand again, leading her on. They descended into the dark passage down a flight of terribly steep, chipped and brittle steps. Even with her senses trained to penetrate the limitations of darkness, Despiris couldn’t see a thing. She was grateful for the guidance of Clevwrith’s hold on her fingers. But then even that slipped. Uncertain, she groped blindly for the next step, letting her foot fall equally as it had in search of all the others. Finding she was once again on flat ground, she squinted into her surroundings. She could just make out the blackest depth of an archway to the side, somehow darker than everything else around her. Carefully, she moved toward it. Candlelight sizzled to life beyond its threshold, flaring like a beacon, and she advanced more surely. The instant she passed under the archway, though, she froze. She had expected to find Clevwrith waiting for her, but she found herself beholding a glass maze – no, mirrors – and the Spylord’s image was reflected everywhere she turned. Telling herself to think rationally, Despiris spun a slow, calculating circle. Even still, using her best judgment, she couldn’t distinguish the real Clevwrith in the crowd of identical Shadowmasters. “You don’t know which one is real,” Clevwrith’s voice spoke knowingly. “Close your eyes, Spychild, and you will know,” he promised. How was that supposed to help her decide? Despiris wondered. But she trusted him. Obediently, she let her eyelids fall shut, and she waited. Two heartbeats found her still ignorant, wondering, and then…. 115

Spychild Soft warmth pressed against her lips, a kiss, and trailing fingers reached for the back of her neck and drew her closer, deeper, into the Spylord’s embrace. Fires blazed to life deep within her, burning away everything else and leaving her isolated with this one powerful sensation, wonderful and terrifying, as the Master of the Shadows kissed her. Instead of speaking, his lips burned, relaying not words but the essence of a deeper meaning. Something so beautiful, yet frightening, full of promise – and threat. Finally, when she thought her knees would no longer continue to support her, Clevwrith trailed tauntingly off and drew back, searching her eyes. Despiris hurriedly hid her feelings away, not wanting them to show thinking how close they had come to fear. A desperate mask smothered the wild emotions that would have shown on her face. Clevwrith searched for something still, not curious but wanting. Despiris looked up at him – childlike, he thought – and his face fell in disappointment, realizing she didn’t understand. With a disheartened look of failure on his face, he discontinued his affection, removing his nearness and quenching the blaze of his fire to abrupt, complete ash. He didn’t know what to say to fix the awkward situation he had created, so just like that, he left. Past the threshold of the archway, the darkness accepted him into its snaring arms. Not making a sound, it seemed he had performed some magician’s trick and truly vanished into thin air. Despiris was left all alone, watching after him, now more confused than ever.

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16: The Secret Weapon

“And so it is hereby decreed that the practice of magic should be forbidden to the land of Cerf Daine, and any who bear magical ability and ignore this restriction is a criminal liable to arrest.” – Seventh law of Royalty’s Justice, but it would be royalty that broke that law first.

& “Now, Crow,” said the king pointedly. “Are you quite ready to come out of there?” Glowering from where he sat in his cell, Lord Mosscrow barely kept himself from making a flippant retort. “Yes,” he managed instead. “I am.” “Very good.” Isavor nodded to the warden, and Crow was let out. “Just mind that you behave yourself. No more tricks behind my back. You will not act except by my direct order. Understood?”

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Spychild “Yes, Majesty. But, if I may, will you allow me to explain myself more thoroughly now that both of our heads are clear of rage?” “Fine, but I don’t want excuses.” “I only thought,” Crow began, “that you were excessively busy with more pressing matters at the time you recognized the Spylord’s threat. I simply took control of the situation.” “That is an excuse, Crow, and one putting the treachery of your actions very mildly.” “Well, maybe so. But I will no longer try to hide the fact that I want the Spylord, Majesty, and I will have him.” “Her,” the king corrected. “Her,” Crow revised without patience. King Isavor cast a weary sidelong look at his advisor. “Crow, I don’t think you fully appreciate the situation. I should fire you. But not only am I giving you a second chance, I am putting up with the disrespectful implications of your uncalled-for comments as well. Why am I so nice to you?” “Deep down, Majesty, perhaps the Spymasters intrigue you just as much as they do me. Maybe you have better control than I do, and better judgment of priority, which is why you are king – but somewhere, I think you secretly want to get around to solving the mystery of the Spylord. And when you do, you will want me here to advise you.” “Perhaps you’re right. But for the time being, I don’t have the finances to spare or the resources to approach any such matter even remotely.” Lord Mosscrow was visibly disappointed. He had hoped his words would have a little better result. At 118

Spychild least, though, the situation wasn’t completely hopeless. The king might yet come around. *** Weeks passed. Crow cooperated with his Majesty, gradually earning back the king’s trust until his deceit seemed to have been either forgiven or forgotten. But then an opportunity, entirely too attractive, tempted him out of his wits and drove him to forsake his admirable attempt at ignoring his personal appetites. *** When he volunteered to investigate the complaints of a sorcerer up north near Cerf Daine’s border, the king gladly let him. The monarch did not want to leave the city personally while in the middle of so many political negotiations and transactions as he was. So with Osprey in tow, Lord Mosscrow left the capital of Cerf Daine. He traveled north for three days before coming to the town that was upset, the people claiming they had a sorcerer among them. “Take me to this wielder of magic, then,” Lord Mosscrow said when the people met him at the entrance to town. Marching through the dusty streets, the people led him to a small house across town. The windows were shuttered tightly closed. “Come out here, Ophelious, and face your reckoning!” someone yelled from the mob that had escorted Lord Mosscrow. Others chorused their enthusiastic, and hostile, agreement. Shut up, fools, Mosscrow thought. He’s never going to come out with this intimidating crowd yelling like that! Dismounting his awkward steed, the Lord Advisor handed the horse’s reins to Osprey and approached the 119

Spychild house. He pounded on the door with his staff. “Open up, in the name of the king!” “What will you do to me?” a meek and muffled voice called from within. “I won’t hurt you, it’s quite alright. You don’t even have to come out. Just let me in.” After a pause, multiple locks could be heard clicking open from the other side of the door. They went on for a time, mechanisms releasing until Crow lost count as he followed each sound down the length of the door. Finally, after Crow was impressed enough with the sorcerer’s security obsession to stand there with his eyebrows stuck pointing upward on his skull, a very small man peeked out with wide, nervous eyes. At the sight of the waiting crowd beyond Crow, the man’s already-large eyes grew even larger. He swallowed obviously and opened the door only slightly wider to admit the Lord Advisor. Once Crow had stepped over the threshold, the little man gave the door a passionate slam, nearly catching the trailing end of Mosscrow’s cloak, and hurriedly reset all of his locks. Then he pressed his back against the door as if his stance would help hold the thing up if the mob tried to break in. Crow decided to let the poor man remain where he was for their meeting, because he would feel guilty dragging him away from his precious duty of guarding the entrance to his threatened domain. “Tell me, Mr.…?” the Lord Advisor prompted. “Ophelious. Cetas Ophelious,” the little man said absently, turning just enough to try to peer out through the crack between door and frame.

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Spychild “Mr. Ophelious. What, exactly, has prompted the uproar about you being a sorcerer?” “A little over a week ago,” Cetas Ophelious began, “I was down in the cemetery. I work there, you see, planting flowers and the like. Well, my employer gave me a new job – he told me to clean the statues customized for the inhabitants of the graves. I was to clean them of moss and bird droppings and whatnot, and naturally I went to do just that. But – but…as soon as I touched the first statue, it came alive!” Cetas closed his eyes and shuddered. “Now old Mary Castos, who died a good seven years back, is alive again! She is here in this very town, but the people have locked her up, not trusting something that comes from ‘black magic’. “But I didn’t mean to!” the ridiculous little man insisted piteously. “And it’s nothing like bringing the dead back to life. No, this is a different Mary Castos. She is childlike and gullible. She couldn’t say a word at first, though she learned very quickly, but it’s like, well” – he shrugged – “she is innocent and ignorant, has no beliefs or prejudices. No past. I didn’t bring anyone back from the dead, my lord. I just gave a figure of stone life.” Shaking his head hopelessly, Cetas Ophelious earned Crow’s pity completely, which was not something that often happened. Perhaps he was just in a good mood, he thought, what with the possibilities this situation meant for his ever-brewing plans. “It was an accident, my lord,” Cetas insisted. “Not black magic.” “Of course not,” Crow dismissed almost sharply, surprising Cetas. “It is a gift. But you are disturbing the 121

Spychild peace here. I have no choice but to remove you, but perhaps I can arrange not to have you arrested if you grant me a favor in return.” *** “I have it,” Lord Mosscrow declared to the king. “Have what?” “The perfect solution.” “To what?” “Catching the Spylord and his – and her apprentice.” “Crow,” the king complained wearily, dropping his head into his hand and massaging his brow. “Just listen,” Crow said eagerly, not a hint of shame for his prohibited actions evident in his bearing. “Awhile ago I got to thinking – just thinking, mind you, nothing I shouldn’t have been doing. It occurred to me you were right; there was no way we could catch the Spylord with our available resources – not without incurring appalling expenses and draining finances that would be better spent elsewhere. None of us could catch him – her – anyway. We ordinary people are just not that good. Because the Spylord, you see, is unnaturally gifted. “So there I was, thinking it was all hopeless, knowing that in the rest of our normal civilization there was just no match for the Master of the Shadows. “And then I hear loud rumor of this sorcerer up north, and I get to pondering about the possibility of other gifted individuals. They may be rare, but I have now seen this sorcerer’s work and proved there are others besides the Spylord that are gifted. Any ordinary person could never compare to the Shadowmaster’s ability, but what about an unordinary person? Like a sorcerer? Perhaps magic can rise to the Spylord’s 122

Spychild standards and make the wielder a worthy rival. A sorcerer might even be capable of overthrowing the Spylord with his supernatural powers. He might just prove to be the Spylord’s equal.” “Why,” the king wanted to know, “would this sorcerer do us such a big, daring, dangerous, and nearly impossible favor without it costing us anything?” “Because,” Crow said cheerily, “I told him if he used his gift to help us, then I wouldn’t arrest him for practicing black magic.” “Crow,” the king groaned exasperatedly. “Blackmail is not how I want you to use your authority in my name.” Lord Mosscrow shrugged apologetically, but was clearly too excited to feel too guilty. “Very well,” the king gave in, still exasperated. “We can’t very well undo what you’ve already done. Tell me, then, what awesome powers this sorcerer wields that could challenge the Spymasters?” “Well…the sorcerer, Cetas Ophelious, couldn’t directly challenge the Spymasters, not face to face exactly.” “Explain quickly, before I decide this is a ridiculous waste of my time,” King Isavor warned. “Ophelious has the gift of turning statues to life,” Crow revealed. “Apparently, the live statues are very gullible, very easy to control. It is the statues that I believe will pose more than the Spymasters can deal with.” Considering this, the king frowned thoughtfully. “Did you have any particular statues in mind?” Lord Mosscrow smiled chillingly. “The ones atop the council dome. Surely ghoulish gargoyles, and other 123

Spychild creatures from myth and legend, will pose a mystifying problem that the Spymasters won’t know remotely how to solve. I do believe that magic is the ultimate key to their downfall.”

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17: A Move against the Spies

“If ever there is something you need, I will get it. I will always be here for you,” Clevwrith had promised Despiris – and though he had not shown his face in over a month, he would return to prove he still lived by those words.

 It was the longest Clevwrith had ever disappeared for. Despiris had not seen him since he’d kissed her. She remembered the disheartened look on his face when she had shown no reaction to the act of affection, and wondered if she was the cause of him leaving. She doubted very much that he was on any mission of mischief. Feeling guilty, Despiris lolled about the alleys of Madon’s Keep miserably, wishing there was some way to bring Clevwrith back. It was lonely without him now, even though he had disappeared many a time before and she had hardly given his absence a second thought. 125

Spychild This time, there was something meaningful in the fact that he was missing. Depressed, the Spylord’s apprentice forgot about the usual course of her perilous lifestyle and did nothing but stay home and wait, hoping for her master’s return, regretting any act of hers that might have driven him away. Another day and night passed inconsequently, and every corner of Madon’s Keep remained empty of life except for the lonesome figure of one girl, wandering like someone who is lost and cannot find her way. *** Moonlight shone down and lit the alley Despiris walked through, illuminating her path. She hardly noticed she was walking in the light, a fact that would normally bother her. Her thoughts were distracted. By now, she had given up wandering aimlessly for pacing purposefully. Why wouldn’t Clevwrith come back? What have I done? she lamented. Clevwrith was her best friend in the world – her only friend in the world. What would she do without him? He had been her savior, her friend, her mentor, and then…what could it mean that he had kissed her so? Was he something more as well? Completely absorbed in her troubling thoughts, Despiris’s sharp senses were dulled. She was not being cautious, not even watchful. Suddenly, something passed over the alley, blocking out the moonlight completely for a brief instant before it was gone, its bulk carried swiftly away with one heavy wing beat. Despiris glanced up sharply, halting abruptly mid-stride. 126

Spychild A taunting silence reigned, and a tingling sensation crept up Despiris’s spine. Curse her for walking in the moonlight! Whatever the creature had been, it had surely seen her thus. Realizing she was holding her breath, Despiris breathed again warily. What was that? she wondered uneasily. It had been much too big for any bird, but what other creature of any size could fly? Though it seemed like there must be some easy answer, she could think of nothing. The sound of heavy wing beats reached her ears, drawing nearer as the creature came back. Then something like talons scraping over stone, and still getting closer. Despiris couldn’t decide between fleeing and staying to catch another informing glimpse of the unknown beast. There was no doubt a current of fear stirring her innards, but at the same time she was rooted with morbid curiosity. What in the gods’ names… The rush of wings cutting through air came from only a few alleys away. Despiris swallowed her breath, backed up a step, but didn’t quite take flight. The creature would appear again any second, as each strong fall of its wings drew it dangerously close. Suddenly Despiris caught a blur of movement out of the corner of her eye, in her alley. An arm snaked around her waist, a hand pressed over her mouth, and whoever seized her spun her into a shadow. “Don’t breathe,” came Clevwrith’s whisper in her ear. Despiris held her breath, and the creature passed overhead again. There was only the briefest moment to catch a glimpse of it, but Despiris got the impression of a

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Spychild ghoulish black beast with no feathers whatsoever, bearing both arms and legs. Clevwrith held her there, and the creature came back again. It circled the general area for a time, as if it could smell its prey nearby but couldn’t quite pinpoint its exact location. As it passed out of sight, Clevwrith waited one single moment. Then he released her and thrust her into the open alley. “Run,” he instructed, and she obeyed without hesitation this time. Clevwrith ran off in the creature’s direction, probably to contrive a distraction. A deep grating snarl sounded from above somewhere as Despiris ran, and the speed of cutting wings increased, following her. The creature had chosen its prey. Despiris ducked into alley after alley, dodging this way and that through a sporadic course meant to lose her hunter. But, pursuing her from the air, the creature was not slowed by having to maneuver around the twists and turns of the maze. It only needed to keep flying a more or less straight path over the obstacles that obstructed her path, and could keep up with her and keep her in sight with relative ease. What would she do if this beast dropped for the kill? It was a predator of the night, and she could not use the darkness to hide. If she could not outrun the thing, which she couldn’t, she was going to end up caught. And this time, her cleverness would not be able to free her. This beast would dispose of her, probably devour her, however it was used to dealing with freshly caught prey. Clevwrith, where are you? Help me, she pleaded silently. 128

Spychild Almost as if he had heard her unspoken plea, the Shadowmaster emerged out of a side alley at a dead run. He swept past her, grasping her arm, and towed her along behind him. Though they did not suddenly gain ground now that the Master of the Shadows was in control, Despiris was much relieved. He ran with a purpose, as if he had a plan – or at least a destination – and if she knew him at all, she could count on him having a plan in any situation, even this. Weaving through the alleys and corridors with hurtling speed as if hell itself was chasing them, the duo of spies drew closer and closer to the heart of Madon’s Keep. Faster than they had ever flown before, they ran for their lives. Finally, Clevwrith skidded to a halt and fell to his knees, tearing away sections of the stone ground. Only then did Despiris recognize the area. Here was where they had descended into the secret room of mirrors, where they had shared their kiss. Suddenly, she understood Clevwrith’s plan. There was no escaping the beast on their tail, but if they could reach the mirrors, a multitude of reflections would confuse their hunter. The beast would not know which image to attack. Dropping down beside Clevwrith, Despiris helped him dig. She forced herself not to look up at the beast boring down on them from the air, knowing it could snatch either of them up any second. They needed to reach safety as soon as possible – sooner than possible. Immediately after there was a space big enough to fit through, Clevwrith grabbed Despiris by the nape of her neck and shoved her down into it. He followed, not bothering to try replacing any of the stones, and the 129

Spychild beast swooped down with reaching claws and missed him just as his head disappeared safely below the level of the ground. Scrambling through the dark, the spies strove blindly to reach the maze of mirrors. Behind them, they heard their hunter drop through the gap in the ground with a heavy whoosh. Clevwrith obviously knew his way in the dark much better than she did; a light flared beyond the archway just as it had the last time, implying he had already entered the next room. Despiris stumbled toward the light, the beast scuttling and scraping and rasping somewhere in the dark behind her. Emerging into the room where she had thought she would find the relief of safety, she was met only by endless images of Clevwrith, and she didn’t know which way to go. “Clevwrith!” she called in despair, whipping around in a frantic circle. “Where are you?” Just then, the beast entered the room of mirrors. Despiris stumbled hastily deeper into the room until her reflection sprang up all around her, hoping the distraction of her many glass decoys was enough to keep the beast at bay. Struggling to quiet her labored breathing, she moved slowly through the maze of mirrors, trying to evade the creature while striving, at the same time, to find Clevwrith. Suddenly, images of the creature joined the multiple replicas of the spies. Now that it could be seen every way she turned, Despiris got a much better impression of what they were dealing with. In all appearance it was like one of the gargoyles atop the council dome, only this one wasn’t stone. It was made of dark, rubbery 130

Spychild flesh, and bore bat-like wings. Its eyes had no pupils, nothing but solid black beneath their lids, and black fangs overlapped lips that were slightly purple. Every turn she made, Despiris’s heart fluttered fearfully thinking she had run into the gargoyle, unable to avoid meeting up with its ghoulish reflection. She saw Clevwrith quite often, too, but he seemed to be moving around more, his replicas sometimes disappearing completely out of sight. He must know the intricate arrangement of the mirrors well – and judging by the rapid and purposeful way he could be seen moving as his image jumped from mirror to mirror, he had a plan and was traveling a specific course. What are you doing? Despiris wondered at him. How could anyone memorize the real layout of this deceptive, confusing maze of illusions? But then she faced a mirror whose angle showed her Clevwrith’s face, and she saw that his eyes were closed. The only way he was maneuvering successfully was by shutting out the deceptions surrounding him and following a memorized pattern in his mind. Unlike the Shadowmaster who seemed to know exactly what he was doing in the fray of this glass mess, Despiris was completely lost. Three of Clevwrith passed her in different directions, only one of them looking like it was sliding by on a flat, glassy surface. The other two looked completely real. Despiris stepped into a dizzying sector where the gargoyle advanced on her from nearly a dozen different directions, but they all suddenly winked out and then appeared walking away from her with their backs turned. Rotating uncertainly, she treaded backward into another quarter of the maze where both Clevwrith and 131

Spychild the pursuing creature passed her by as if she wasn’t there at all. Reflections, she told herself, noticing Clevwrith’s eyes were once again open. His destination must have been in sight. A terrible shattering sound suddenly rang through the room. Then another. Oh Gods, Despiris thought. Someone – presumably the gargoyle – had taken to breaking the mirrors, striking every moving image it saw because it could not distinguish between them. Fear gripped her in its cold fingers as she listened to her safety being destroyed mirror by shattering mirror. What now? She was startled near out of her wits as arms slid around her from behind, but she turned to find Clevwrith there rather than any beast ready to devour her. The Spylord’s destination had been in view. His destination had been her. Clevwrith pulled her to him, and she went willingly. “Sshh,” he crooned in a whisper. “It’s alright.” The Spylord’s presence offered her great relief, but she couldn’t help flinching when a mirror shattered much closer to where they were hidden than the last had. “Listen to me,” Clevwrith whispered. “Do you remember the dance I taught you on the rooftops the night before I set you free?” Bewildered at the fact that he would choose that for the topic now, Despiris frowned up at him. “I do.” “The steps will take you through the maze created by the mirrors, but only if you start at the entrance, and then it will bring you back to that spot again. I am in the middle of the dance right now. I’m going to do the next 132

Spychild move, and send you off from there. You will have to recall the following steps on your own – and do them with your eyes closed, or your reflections will fool you and throw you off track. Do you understand?” Despiris nodded. “Don’t open your eyes, Des,” he warned one last time, and then he made his move. He spun her according to the dance steps, and she let her eyelids fall shut as she whirled two and a half circles exactly. Then she stepped to the left, sidestepped at a diagonal five steps rapidly, ducked backward, then spun right. Her heart raced as she whirled over shattered glass strewn across the ground, and her eyelids nearly flew open in terror as she envisioned herself running squarely into the beast responsible for the broken mess. No, she told herself firmly, quenching her fear and continuing through the dance. She would do exactly as Clevwrith had told her. As glass shattered and rang out all throughout the room – once even raining down all around her from a pane broken immediately next to her – she made her mind a tranquil void and absorbed herself into it. She would not let fear control her. Nearing the end of the dance, Despiris felt her heart speed up anxiously in anticipation of escaping the room that had trapped them with the gargoyle. Once every mirror was broken and strewn across the ground, the creature might be able to find its way out, but by then the spies would be long gone. Promptly, the last step of the dance found her ending in Clevwrith’s embrace, and her eyes flew open eagerly knowing it was no longer necessary to endure any more terrifying blindness. 133

Spychild Clevwrith released her immediately and ushered her toward the archway ahead of him. She needed no encouraging, exiting the dimly lit room and escaping into darkness, bounding up the stairs she couldn’t see. Once above ground again, they hurriedly replaced the stones to trap the gargoyle. It certainly had the strength to push up the loose stones when it discovered them, but until then the exit would be hard to locate. Or so they thought until the gargoyle burst up through the ground a ways away, breaking clean through and sending a shower of crumbled stone pavement strewing in every direction. Clevwrith stood in a rush to flee, but Despiris was not so quick to get out of reach. The gargoyle had emerged a meter or so behind her, and she had just finished glancing over her shoulder in alarm when it lunged forward and seized her ankle in its black jaws, clutching at her leg with its lethal claws. Holding her back, its fangs pierced her boot and punctured her ankle, drawing a well of blood. As Clevwrith witnessed this, an alien feeling tore through him, racing like electrified blood through his veins. It fought to take control of his body, its influence so incredibly strong and overpowering that he just stood there stricken. That’s when the Master of the Shadows made a miraculous discovery: he was afraid. Afraid for Despiris. In that moment of discovery he didn’t think; he just acted. Advancing boldly forward, knives came out of his sleeves, then his belt, flying with deadly precision and embedding themselves in his beastly target. More

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Spychild daggers came unsheathed from hidden places on his person, and by that time he had reached his victim. The gargoyle released Despiris, but did not seem ailed by its wounds, even though dark purple blood oozed around four blades buried in its rubbery flesh. It just glared at Clevwrith with a condemning, hateful look in its eyes, but the Shadowmaster was not to be dissuaded. He was already on top of his prey. Man and beast wrestled across the ground, the gargoyle’s wings crumpling beneath its bulky form. Deadly black claws slashed lethally at Clevwrith, but the Spylord gained a superior position and drove his last two daggers, one after the other, home into the creature’s black heart. Crawling away from his defeated opponent, Clevwrith stood watching it die. It lay there growling with each fading breath, a terribly deep grating sound, until finally the noise died in its throat and it lay absolutely still. Clevwrith, breathing harder from his exertions than Despiris had ever seen before, sank to the ground covered in both the creature’s blood and his own. Crawling closer, her agonized foot dragging stretched out on the ground behind her, Despiris joined him. “Clevwrith?” she inquired sickly, her voice shaky. “Are you okay?” Eyes closed, head resting against the alley wall behind him, the Spylord nodded once, but a pained expression betrayed it wasn’t completely true. Despiris didn’t know what to do, where to start. She had never seen him like this before. Especially after triumphing. Tired. Pained. What was she supposed to

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Spychild do? This was wrong. Clevwrith was invincible. He didn’t make mistakes like this. It wasn’t a mistake, she pointed out to herself. He had known what the consequences of risking this danger might be, and he had risked them anyway. For her. Despiris felt warm, shuddering tears of relief and shock well up and escape her eyes as she looked at her master, bloodied and injured because he was willing to sacrifice himself for her. Clevwrith opened his eyes then, turning his head to gaze at her. He was thinking something, she could tell, but she couldn’t decide what it was. She didn’t understand whatever it was that lay behind his eyes. But he was considering something, realizing something. She wished she knew what. Dismissing it, Despiris sniffed and swallowed, pulling herself shakily together and climbing to her feet, helping Clevwrith up beside her. They limped over to the dead beast, where she reclaimed all of the Spylord’s bloody daggers and sheathed them for him where they all belonged. With his weapons back, the Spylord was whole once again, and didn’t protest as she helped him away from where he had slain the beast, heading to the freshwater river shaft where they could wash away the blood drawn by a new and very dangerous enemy.

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18: The Clever Plans of Unnecessary Action

“Don’t always take the easy way out just because you can,” Clevwrith had said in the past, a very important piece of advice. “Use opportunities like that to make sure you know how to think. When it’s already easy, make it difficult. Then conquer it.”

& “I just don’t understand it,” Crow declared. “Mestith should have returned by now.” Mestith was the name of the gargoyle they had sent out, the first experiment of this new method involving live statues as potential rivals for the Master of the Shadows. “Perhaps this plan of yours is not as foolproof as you first thought,” the king suggested absently, absorbed in the work spread out before him on his desk. “Perhaps,” Crow admitted with evident displeasure. “But I am not willing to give up so soon.”

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Spychild The king shrugged. “I’m not going to ask you to. But I hope you realize all you may end up accomplishing is clearing the council dome roof of its ornamentation and losing a flock of perfectly good creatures of artwork to the Gods know where.” “I might.” Lord Mosscrow rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “But perhaps if I loose the statues all at once, I will have better results.” “Are you trying to kill the Spymasters, Crow? Or do you want to imprison them?” “I told Mestith I wanted them alive, but also told him he was free to tamper with them if it was necessary for their capture.” “I see. And you are certain these creatures will obey the particulars of your orders?” “They know nothing upon coming to life except that Ophelious must be their master, and whatever he tells them first is what they latch onto and proceed to live by. And he, of course, tells them what I tell him to,” Crow finished with a satisfied smile that was a bit too cocky. Seeing that Crow’s power had gone to his head and made him feel a bit too self-important, the king shook his head with inconsequential disapproval at his advisor’s silly arrogance, but only continued his work thinking that Crow would eventually grow out of his childishness – with any luck, it would be before he was ninety-two. Lord Mosscrow was completely oblivious of the king’s mild display of criticism. A plan was forming in his mind, and he was focused solely on its growing design, not wanting to miss any little, scrumptious detail. *** 138

Spychild A week after the attack from the gargoyle, Clevwrith and Despiris were for the most part healed. Many of the gashes that the Spylord had suffered would scar, and Despiris’s ankle still got sore and a little swollen when she was up on her feet as actively as the nature of her lifestyle demanded – but they both returned to their activities without undue hindrance. The consequence of a few small injuries, mostly healed, was not enough to hold them back. The spies had attempted to puzzle out where the gargoyle could have possibly come from, but never to any avail. Creatures like the gargoyle simply didn’t exist except as stone figures, and the spies couldn’t shed any light on the matter. How could one explain the presence of something that couldn’t be? Resigning themselves to ignorance for the time being, the spies returned to their wily scheming, continuing with the cunning course of their lives. As things returned to normal, an intriguing rumor spread through Cerf Daine like wildfire. It told of a highly important and strictly confidential meeting that the king’s Lord Advisor was to imminently hold in the council dome. Apparently, he had summoned every person of importance or significance all across the kingdom, and the event of the meeting would take place as soon as everyone required could travel to the capital. The date of the event was set for the beginning of the next month. Naturally, the Master of the Shadows had to be there. “These are very intriguing circumstances,” he said to Despiris. “It is an opportunity entirely too tempting to pass up, especially since they are going to take extra care to ensure the Spymasters can’t get in.” His lips twitched 139

Spychild toward a grin, betraying his eagerness to meet this last challenge. Feeling her own smile threaten to give away her excitement, Despiris waited for instruction that she knew would come. “Get some sleep now and go out tomorrow to eavesdrop on gossip,” Clevwrith charged her. “Find out what you can about the measures being taken to keep us out of that meeting.” Despiris’s smile slipped slightly at the prospect of going out in broad daylight again, the incident of her capture entirely too sharp in her memory. She could not shake the fear that lingered from that day, but knew Clevwrith was purposefully challenging her with the same apprehension that had dominated her then. He wanted her to overcome that fear and rise above what had overpowered her. He wanted her to defeat it. Despiris nodded in submission, but she expressed no enthusiasm regarding her assignment. “You can do it, Des,” Clevwrith said without pity, but not without encouragement. “There is nothing you can’t do. Easily.” “I know,” Despiris admitted. “But I am not as flawless as you. I am not as gifted.” “You are just as capable,” he said sternly, almost sharply. “Stop being so hard on yourself.” Humbled by his tone, Despiris silenced herself. That was the most impatience Clevwrith had ever spoken to her with. She resigned herself to the fact that she was being foolish and accepted what her master charged her with. She was not worthy to question him in any way. ***

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Spychild Clevwrith felt slightly guilty for the way Despiris had sulked after he chastised her. He hadn’t really intended any such result, but the truth was he was afraid of losing her to that other side of society, which seemed to have puzzled and intrigued her while she was in captivity. She spent too much time deep in thought nowadays, pondering things she had become aware of, not getting the whole picture and obviously wanting to know more. Though forced on her, Clevwrith had meant his words as praise. He didn’t want her to question herself, and he was trying to show her that there was nothing wrong with the course of her life, that her amazing skill was best fitted right where she was. She belonged here. Please understand that, he willed her. I can’t lose you. He found it a bit ironic that the one thing capable of making him afraid was the thing he was most fond of in this world. But it was true; Despiris had been the center of his fear since he had first felt it, and she was what he cherished most. For one who had never felt fear, who had been taught his whole life to dominate and then terminate anything that threatened the calm stability of his composure, Clevwrith found the concept most confusing. He certainly had never expected it, but here it was. Pulling his distracted mind from his troubling thoughts, Clevwrith concentrated on the plans brewing in his head. He couldn’t complete them, of course, until Despiris returned with the information he had sent her to get, but thinking things over one last time – even if it was for the hundredth time – couldn’t hurt. Right on schedule, as dusk fell, Despiris the Spychild returned to Madon’s Keep. “What news?” the Shadowmaster inquired. 141

Spychild “The lamps spaced along the fence surrounding the council dome are being revived. They will be brightly lit. There’re twenty of them.” “All right,” Clevwrith acknowledged. “What else?” “They will have guards posted at the gates, and guards patrolling the fence. Guards posted in windows and on the roof, who will survey the entire area. “The sentries on the ground will bear steel as their weapons, while those watching from any elevation are expert archers and will have bows with arrows at the ready. Though I’m not certain of its accuracy, there is a rumor that they are required to fire without warning at anyone they deem a trespasser.” Clevwrith nodded. “Anything else?” “There will be guards patrolling the inside of the dome the entire time the meeting is in progress.” Waving a dismissive hand, Clevwrith shook his head vaguely. “They won’t be of any consequence. We can just avoid them.” “Oh – and I hear on good authority that there will be dogs sniffing around outside. Bloodhounds.” Despiris had to wonder what Clevwrith was planning on doing about those. “Very well. Can you think of a solution to all of these problems? A way we can avoid the trouble these problems present?” “We just enter the dome way ahead of schedule. And wait.” “Come on, Des – that’s way too easy.” “Fine. We’ll do something else. Act extra stealthy, or create a diversion or something.” “Well, which one? I want you to plan how we’re going to get inside.” 142

Spychild Despiris squared her shoulders impatiently. “First, then, we should take into account that everyone will be arriving in early evening when the sun is still warm and bright. The meeting will go past dusk, and that is when they’ll light the lamps, but we’ll need to be inside before dark.” “What do you do, then, when the night is not there for cover? What else can you use?” Clevwrith prompted her, waiting. Despiris thought for a moment. “Smoke,” she concluded. “Not too much, but enough to act as cover in the absence of night’s darkness, and enough to cover our scents so the bloodhounds won’t know we’re there.” “You’re brilliant,” Clevwrith praised with a pleased smile. Despiris hardly heard him. “We’ll rig a fire in the sewer under the dome,” she continued, “and we’ll leave the manhole inside the fence cracked open,” she began the makings of her plan. “We’ll have to experiment first, using some sort of magnifying lens, some pocket lint and other kindling, until we can rig it just right, so that the sun will creep down through the cracked lid of the manhole at just the right angle to penetrate the lens and ignite the fire right at the exact time of day we want it to. “Once the flame has grown to a full-fledged fire, the smoke pouring out of the cracked manhole will attract the guards – or hopefully some of them. In any case, the smoke will pollute the surrounding air and serve as cover for us when we move in. “We will be waiting outside. Hopefully, the fire will be enough of a distraction to allow us to slip down through the manhole outside without the guards spotting us through the fence. 143

Spychild “We will wait in the sewer until the guards inspecting the fire return to their posts. By the time we emerge from the manhole inside the fence, there should still be enough lingering smoke to aid us in escaping their notice. “If the guards don’t return to their posts while the advantage of the smoke is still hanging in the air, we will simply reach up out of the manhole unexpectedly and pull them in with us. We’ll tie them up and trap them there while we proceed to finish our mission.” Clevwrith thought this all over briefly with his face a completely blank mask of impassiveness. “You think it will work precisely?” he asked sincerely, making no comment about finding impossibility threaded through her unlikely plans. “It has to, doesn’t it?” “Then we’ll do it,” Clevwrith agreed, as if her inquisitive comment settled everything and ensured all was well. “The fire is going to be difficult,” Despiris mused. “It will take a lot of experimenting to get it just right so that it will work.” “Then we should get to work first thing in the morning,” Clevwrith suggested. “Sleep again tonight. Let dawn call you awake, and we will begin putting your plan into action.” “What do you suggest we start with?” “Collecting the kindling. Pocket lint, you say?” Clevwrith shook his head in amusement. “It’s going to take quite some time to gather enough pocket lint. Prepare yourself for a long day of picking pockets.” ***

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Spychild They spent days on the experimental stages of their project. Blocking off the sewer below the council dome so the flow of its wet contents would not swallow the fire, setting up the kindling and making sure they used the right amount, poising the magnifying lens to stare down correctly at its target, cracking the lid above to let in the sun. The first few attempts were a failure altogether. After that the lighting of the fire was successful, but not the timing. Readjusting the angle of the cracked manhole lid, they tried different positions that would allow the sun in at different times. Finally the arrangement was a success. “So long as it works like that when it’s supposed to, we’ll have no trouble,” Clevwrith declared. And they had accomplished their task not a moment too soon. The meeting was set for the following evening. *** The spies were positioned in the open sill of a thirdstory window, across the way from the dome in an old abandoned building, when the time came for the members of the meeting to start arriving. Carriages rattled over the broken cobblestones and halted in front of the gates, where uniformed guards were already waiting to admit the passengers. Lords and ladies; governors and mayors; presidents, vice presidents and regents of important associations – they all produced their invitations at the gate with an air of terrible importance and entered the dome grounds like they owned the place. Their carriages drove off and left them, charged to return for their masters when the meeting was over. 145

Spychild The bloodhounds were restrained by the guards as the strangers made their ways to the dome – but once, one of the dogs broke loose. The beast charged baying at a raven-haired lady dressed in a wealthy silver and white gown, but she only cast an inconsequential glance in the dog’s direction and struck it sternly on the head with the folded fan she held in one hand. The animal gave a small yelp and silenced itself, immediately dropping to the ground and rolling over on its back in an act of complete submission. Unperturbed, the lady continued on toward the front entrance to the dome. “That one’s dangerous,” Clevwrith remarked, the direction of his gaze implying the lady rather than the dog as Despiris first thought he could mean. “There’s something about her.” Not replying, Despiris turned her eyes back to what was taking place. The king himself arrived in a brilliant crimson carriage drawn by two impressive black horses. He stepped down into the old cobblestone street and swept through the gates with a brief nod of his dark head at the guards. “I didn’t know he was supposed to be here,” Despiris commented. “This must be a very important occasion.” “Indeed,” was all Clevwrith said in reply. The gates were shut after the king was inside, and the spies left their post. Staying out of sight, Despiris and Clevwrith waited on the street. The sun sank lower in the sky, and they watched what went on inside the fence expectantly, anticipating the situation. 146

Spychild A very faint trail of smoke seeped out of the cracked manhole, climbing into the air and growing like a quickly sprouting, insubstantial gray tree. It developed into a cloud, then a mass, as the flame underground ate up a sewer shaft packed with the dry vegetation the spies had dragged in from the wilderness the night before. One of the guards stationed in a window noticed it first, since the ones on the ground were mostly keeping an eye on things outside of the fence. He alerted the others to the fire, calling their attention away from their charge with the initial alarm of the incident. “Move,” Clevwrith said. There was no time to lose; it was better they move now before the guards realized they were distracted from their jobs, or before they became suspicious of the fire’s origin or cause. Flashing through the street, the spies crouched at the outer manhole to open it. One after the other, they disappeared underground, the stone lid shifting quietly back into place above them. When the guards turned their eyes back to keep watch on the area outside the fence, there was nothing at all to see.

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19: Returning to the Other Side

“Don’t be frightened, child,” her mother had comforted her. “It’s your imagination, that’s all. Every child has an imaginary fear hiding under his bed. Evil dragons, werewolves, trolls, gargoyles, vampires.... They live only in myth and legend.” But did they?

 Creeping through the smoky shaft toward their designated exit, the spies moved in stealth. They could hear voices as guards, either in the sewer itself or directly without, took action to extinguish the fire. Pausing near the manhole that was their destination, the spies lingered where the smoke was thickest, holding their breath. Waiting. “It’s out,” they heard a guard declare decisively. Murmurs of relief for their triumph and annoyance at the fire to begin with filtered down into the shaft and into the spies’ ears as the guards moved away. 148

Spychild The manhole lid was left wide open so the smoke would clear out of the sewer, and the spies moved forward eagerly knowing they could not hold their breath much longer. Despiris had hoped the lid would be left off, just in case removing it themselves would have caught someone’s attention. The door to their destination had been left conveniently open for their entrance, just like an invitation. Climbing out into the world from underground, the spies slunk through the hanging shroud of smoke. It was hardly a relief to breathe this comparison of polluted air, but it was all they had and it was mildly superior. The prowling bloodhounds were a concern that nagged at Despiris and called for utmost vigilance, but the smoke seemed to successfully hide the spies’ scent – or at least keep the dogs at bay enough so they weren’t close enough to smell the intruders – and they snuck through undetected. Climbing the pillars, to gain entrance to the dome from the roof as Despiris had done last time, was a tricky feat. The smoke was clearing, and their only hope for staying out of sight now was nearly impossible. They had to keep track of the guards on the ground, staying out of their range of vision by climbing around to ascend the opposite side of the pillars whenever in danger of being spotted – but they had to do the same for the guards they passed posted in the windows on the other side. So they spiraled around the pillars accordingly, switching sides to avoid exposure so often that Despiris feared she was growing dizzy. Somehow, though, they managed to escape eyes from all angles, and they 149

Spychild proceeded to sneak around the guards on the roof by using the ornamental statues for cover. Once inside where the smell of smoke was not even remotely evident, the spies assumed a different post than the last time, though still in the rafters, and they tuned in to the meeting below. “How go things with the hounds, Lady Verrikose?” the Lord Advisor was asking the silver-gowned woman with jet-black hair. In reply, the beautiful young woman closed her eyes briefly. “They are uncomfortable,” she said in a strong foreign accent, “but not distressed.” Despiris frowned. What was the woman talking about? “Good,” Lord Mosscrow said, then turned to everyone else. “Lady Verrikose of Rozhay has just used her incredible gift to reach out to my hounds with her mind. She has checked on their patrol of the grounds and gleaned their feelings. She will use this same gift later tonight, but, in the meantime, will cease all acts of telepathy so none of you have to squirm in your seats nervously wondering if your own minds are being violated.” Despiris’s frown deepened. What was he saying? The woman was telepathic? What was she even doing here, anyway? By her accent, she was obviously foreign. That and the fact that the king himself was present suggested this meeting was not just a national matter, but something that was dragging the nation into other regions as well, and very significantly. Surely Cerf Daine isn’t going to war? Despiris hoped. Then something else occurred to her.

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Spychild “Clevwrith,” she murmured warily. “Something is wrong.” He didn’t acknowledge she had spoken, but she knew he wouldn’t ignore her tone. “This is no ordinary event. Look at the people who are here. The king himself, this significant foreign woman. And the subject of supernatural ability….” She shook her head. “Something of this significance would never take place here. Especially since they know we can gain entrance.” A growing feeling of dread was overcoming her. “There is no reason for them to be here.” “Of course there is. Hadn’t you figured out the real purpose for this event already?” And she suddenly knew. “It’s a trap,” she realized with a rush of dreadful insight. “They knew we would come. They wanted us to come.” Why hadn’t she thought of such a ruse before? She hadn’t given it a second thought until now. Now that it was too late. How could she have been so stupid? Clevwrith grinned darkly. He had known. “Indeed.” Then Mosscrow said something that confirmed her fears: “Later, someone else of equal but different ability will demonstrate the power of his unique gift as well. Indeed, the purpose of this meeting is to recognize those who are exceptionally gifted in one way or another. So naturally, it wouldn’t be right of me not to recognize the Master of the Shadows. He is one of our guests tonight, here with us as we speak.” Murmurs of surprise, awe, and fear met that revelation, but Crow spoke over the drone: “Tonight I welcome him. For tonight, I doom him.” Raising his hands and eyes to the rafters, the Lord Advisor said in a thundering voice, “Welcome, Spylord!” 151

Spychild The spies knew he could not see them hidden in their shadow, but they couldn’t help feeling tension suddenly materialize in the air around them. “I know you are here,” Crow said. “And I dare you to escape me this time!” Despiris tried to shrink. “We should leave,” she suggested quietly, sounding pale. Clevwrith didn’t seem to be listening, and she gave up helplessly. She didn’t know why she felt so uneasy. Clevwrith had proved well by the happenstance of his past that he had the skill to escape anything and everything – either that or he was just wildly lucky, or both. But now, something about the current setting of circumstances bothered her. It was the gargoyle, she realized. The recent incident involving the abhorrent creature had brought to mind that perhaps the spies’ rivals had stumbled upon greater resources of weapons to use against the Spylord and his apprentice. She did not feel safe believing even for a moment that the gargoyle was the last of it. There had to be more. Not appearing the least bit worried, Clevwrith kept watching from his perch in the rafters, smiling confidently to himself. Footsteps sounded quietly somewhere on the same level as the spies. Whoever they belonged to was obviously trying to mute the sound, but his inexperience made boards creak an obvious warning attesting to his presence nevertheless. Despiris’s eyes snapped up in search of the person responsible for the noise, and her eyes settled on a shadow creeping through a doorway nearby. “Clevwrith, quick!” she hissed. 152

Spychild The Spylord glanced once over his shoulder to gauge the danger and then followed her swiftly off the beams. They retreated into the darkness of shadowed corners and waited for the patrolling guard to pass them by. Holding her breath, Despiris tried to force her thrumming heart to slow down, wishing this feeling of fear would leave her alone. It was so uncomfortable. Although, she reminded herself, it might have saved you that day you were caught, if you had bothered to feel it. After all, fear made one more prudent. Clevwrith, though, seemed to have all the vigilance he needed without being afraid, and she knew he would tell her she was being foolish if she suggested that fear could actually be a healthy thing. She could hardly bear his disapproval, and that was mostly the reason she chose to despise her own fright. Clevwrith hardly waited for the guard to pass their hiding place before he went back to his precarious post over the meeting, nearly brushing the sentry’s back as he went by. He was dangerously fascinated by the nature of this event, his recklessness a delightful game. More cautiously, and a bit troubled, Despiris treaded out after him. What could she do but cling to her master’s side? If she was worried about him not escaping the snare of his hunters’ hands this night, then she certainly wouldn’t get anywhere on her own. “Since the Master of the Shadows does not seem keen on announcing himself,” Lord Mosscrow was saying, “perhaps it is time we violated his privacy. Lady Verrikose, would you be so kind as to use your gift for us now? Find me,” he said keenly, “the Spylord.” Despiris had the pathetic urge to tug on Clevwrith’s sleeve to get him to follow her to safety, but she didn’t 153

Spychild know where she would go, and her attempt would have been hopeless anyway. Clevwrith was much too interested in what brewed below, on what Despiris thought might doom them both, and he was hopelessly their best chance at a successful escape. Seeing as he was not interested in fleeing, Despiris felt like whimpering in frustrated distress. What had they gotten into? Below, Lady Verrikose closed her eyes in concentration. The other members of the meeting fell utterly silent, watching her. A moth fluttered up into the rafters, distracting the spies as it hovered there beside them. It was facing the opposite direction, but slowly rotated on vibrating wings to face them. Despiris turned her attention back to Lady Verrikose, but out of the corner of her eye she was aware that Clevwrith still watched the moth as if it was something significant. Lady Verrikose’s eyes suddenly flashed open. She tilted her head back, eyes landing squarely on the shadowed rafters where the spies were perched out of sight, and Despiris felt her blood turn to ice and then drain away altogether. “They’re up there,” Lady Verrikose revealed with chilling certainty. Clevwrith’s eyes flashed back to the gifted woman, something like alarm surfacing in his fierce gaze. Then quick as a flash, he snatched the hovering moth right out of the air and was gone, his swift departure hidden behind the flurry of his cape. Despiris figured things out, but was not as quick to disappear. She was too caught up in incredulity to focus very well. 154

Spychild The clue was the earlier reference to the hounds; Lady Verrikose apparently had some telepathic gift that could connect her to the dogs. The moth that had risen to the height of the spies and found them was no coincidence; Lady Verrikose could merge with the insect as well. Through its mind and its body, she had discovered the spies. As Despiris crouched there, stricken to stillness because she didn’t know what to do, a mouse crawled out of a hole in the wall and ventured out onto the beams beside her. She watched it warily, and it stared back intelligently. Knowing. A wave of apprehension threatened to send her jumping to her feet in alarm, but visions of her losing her balance and falling to her death cautioned her to be slightly more sensible and use a bit more caution. She rose to her feet slowly, slightly comforted that the mouse – and Lady Verrikose peering out of its shared eyes – would see her as a very intimidating giant as she rose to her full height and towered over the little creature. Stepping over it, she followed Clevwrith’s recent footsteps into the dark nooks and crannies that were hidden in countless areas on this level. She could not find Clevwrith anywhere. She crawled through tiny spaces, rounded endless corners, slunk by unknowing guards, pushed her way through ancient curtains strung from the ceiling, searched closets, fought through the filmy concealment of old cobwebs, walked through broken walls – all to no avail. Where was Clevwrith? What was the Spylord up to? She did not want to be alone right now, on her own. As she pushed her way through billowy cobwebs, tearing at them with irritation, she disturbed bats 155

Spychild sleeping above. They came awake, screeching as they took flight. Instead of leaving the area, the bats suddenly veered toward her purposefully. Despiris broke into a run wanting to be rid of the menacing creatures, but they swarmed after her in pursuit. It was Lady Verrikose, she knew, that really chased her in the guise of the creature she donned as her mask. Despiris ran through the upper reaches of the council dome, trying to lose the bats. By now she didn’t know where she was, distracted from paying attention to her surroundings. She was lost in the ancient network of abandoned places like dusty attics, where rotting wood underfoot threatened to give way and swallow her into splintered jaws. When she finally recognized the territory, she made for the room that bore an exit onto the roof. She was getting out of here now, before any supernatural ability rose to its full power and dominated her. She had to escape before it was too late. The hatch in the ceiling flew outward and banged where it hit the roof and lay open, and Despiris emerged out into the premature night air with bats swarming out all around her. The silhouette of a guard patrolling the roof spun around at the noise, cursing at what he saw. Disregarding him, Despiris charged into the open air fleeing the bats chasing her. Another figure moved into sight out of the corner of her eye – this one more shadow than silhouette – and suddenly Clevwrith was beside her. His cape came off his shoulders, and he wielded it in a swirling motion in front of him. When the swift flurry was finished, he held the cape closed by all four corners like a sack, a 156

Spychild jumble of bats captured within. They could be seen jostling over each other through the soft walls of their prison. Without the threat of overwhelming pursuit, Despiris stopped to catch her breath, so very thankful that Clevwrith was beside her once again. Taking her quickly by the elbow, Clevwrith steered her behind a statue to hide from the guards. He knelt, still not uttering a word to her, and tied the corners of his cape together so the bats would not escape, taking the time to check and assure the knot would hold perfectly even as the guards approached from beyond their cover. The sound of footsteps growing near did not seem to faze him. He tightened the knot to his satisfaction as if he did not feel the stress of imminent discovery, and then he stood and grasped his apprentice by the elbow again. They went from statue to statue, doubling back to the previous stone figure when it was necessary to elude the searching guards that way. As they perched on the edge of the roof in front of a stone gargoyle, the bloodhounds spotted them from the ground and started baying an alert. “She’s watching from their eyes,” Despiris murmured in realization as Clevwrith pulled her close and they shrank back as far away from the exposure of the edge as the obstruction of the statue behind them would permit. “What are we going to do, Clevwrith?” she whispered as guards interpreted the meaning of the hounds’ message and neared the statue that sheltered the spies. “What we always do,” the Spylord replied absently. “You’re playing with fire you don’t understand.” 157

Spychild “Shut up, Des,” he said calmly. And they spun out from their hiding place in a blur and disappeared behind another statue. The stunt left Despiris breathless, the roof’s edge too near for comfort as they whirled by dizzily so high above the rest of the world. But Clevwrith’s embrace had guided her safely, and she clung to him where they crouched, knowing that of the two of them, he was the only one composed enough to wield such skill and keep them safe. As his daring stunts continued, though, each more precarious than the last, Despiris found herself growing upset with him. He was enjoying the danger of these risks just a little too much. He had withheld the information of his conclusion that this whole meeting was a setup in the first place. He had known, but hadn’t bothered to discuss it with her – hadn’t even bothered to ask if she had figured it out for herself. When she finally had put it all together, she had wanted to leave before it was too late, but Clevwrith hadn’t listened to her. He hadn’t listened to her then, and he wouldn’t listen to her now. Despiris had had just about enough. “You’re being foolhardy,” she informed him shortly as they avoided a guard and found a spot that would be safe for a few moments. “What are you talking about?” Clevwrith whispered back just as snappishly. “Now is not the time for this, Des!” “This situation is not the same as all the rest, and I don’t think you have proper respect for it!” Despiris accused in fierce whispering tones.

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Spychild “This is my calling,” Clevwrith argued, frowning openly at what he was hearing rolling off his apprentice’s tongue. “This is your obsession,” Despiris disagreed hotly. “They challenged me, Des,” Clevwrith said forcefully. “They set up a trap knowing I would fall for it because I wanted to walk into it. Do you expect me to react differently than I am? You know me better than that. Until very recently, you were just as enthusiastic about opportunities like this. Why are you so uncertain now, Des? You’re being fickle about staying by my side, and that is the first thing that has scared me in my entire life.” Was there a plea in his eyes? That and his revelation stunned her, and she momentarily lost her grasp on words, but she mastered her mind and regained her train of thought. “They caught me once,” Despiris said with a slight shake of her head. “You said I was ready, that I was just like you, but they caught me. I don’t believe in invincibility anymore.” With that, she snatched the sack of imprisoned bats from his grasp and came out of hiding. She made for the edge of the roof where she knew she could climb onto a pillar that sported cracks adequate for foot- and handholds. A guard advanced on her, but she unfurled Clevwrith’s cape and let the horde of screeching bats loose in his face. Clawing at the air around him in defense against the frenzied creatures, the guard was distracted. Despiris left the roof for the pillar, descending as fast as she dared. She had to get away before it was too late. This was probably her last chance – if it wasn’t too late already. 159

Spychild On the ground she was assaulted by armed guards. She swept out multiple knives hidden on her person, ready to defend herself. She knew how to fight; Clevwrith had taught her well. Blades were not what she was afraid of. Eyeing the daggers she threatened them with, the guards didn’t seem to know how to act. They didn’t seem to want to harm her, but they couldn’t let her get away, either. So how did they accomplish both requirements when it came down to using weapons for any accomplishment at all? Despiris made a move first. If they were going to stand there wasting her precious time being fickle, then she wasn’t going to stand around with them, just waiting for someone else to take matters into their own opposing hands. Ducking under their poised weapons, blocking the swipes they took at her when they realized she was getting away, the Spylord’s apprentice made for the manhole. At first, the fact that she wasn’t being closely pursued granted her relief, and she dared hope that she would make it despite the odds that had first caused her to doubt she would escape with her freedom. But then she realized that she wasn’t being pursued at all, and her relief turned to puzzlement. Completely bewildered, she slowed and rotated to see what was keeping everyone, what was holding them back. The bloodhounds, all seven of them, were sitting lined up near the entrance to the dome, just watching her curiously. The guards, as it turned out, had disregarded her to gape in awe at something happening on the roof.

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Spychild Following their gazes, Despiris stumbled backward with wide eyes, but then stood transfixed. Before her very eyes, the statues lining the circular roof transformed consecutively into live creatures of flesh and blood – a gargoyle, pegasus, gryphon, dragon, archangel, and another gargoyle. Color spread over the dull gray of their stone substance, as the stiffness of lifelong stone limbs gave way to live movement. A human figure could be seen in the backdrop behind the creatures, and for an instant Despiris frantically thought it might be Clevwrith, still up there, now with no place to hide. But then it registered that the figure was much too small and scrawny to fit the Spylord’s profile, and she was reassured that her master was not exposed next to the awakening statues. Once again, though, the matter of her own safety rushed back as main priority. Her adrenaline raced as she stood still, only backing up one pathetic step as the creatures from myth and legend spread their rubbery and feathery wings alike and left the roof for the air. Swooping down out of the night sky, the creatures locked their gazes on Despiris. She had known right away that they were after her, meant to hunt her down, but the reality of their threat now stared her in the face with open jaws and reaching talons. I can’t escape this, Despiris realized, and didn’t try – even as fresh fear ravaged through her and screamed at her to flee anyway. The live statues landed all around her, cutting off escape. Despiris briefly wondered why she hadn’t just dived into the open manhole, where these beasts couldn’t fit, but then she remembered the gargoyle in

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Spychild Madon’s Keep tearing through the very ground, and knew it wouldn’t have mattered. “Do you surrender?” a gargoyle asked in a beastly voice that was as deep as it was harsh. Despiris hadn’t expected the creatures to demonstrate human speech, but she didn’t let that surprise faze her. “I will not be imprisoned again,” she declared as if she were calling the shots. “No,” the lady archangel agreed in a beautiful sultry voice, stepping forward to be recognized. “Lady Verrikose says to tell you that your previous captors see imprisoning you did no good the last time, and they’ve no intentions of repeating the process which was most humiliating to them.” Despiris accepted her words with caution, not sure if she should trust them. “They hope you will come along willingly,” the archangel informed her. “For what? If not imprisonment, then what? I heard the things the Lord Advisor said. He wants to doom me.” The archangel was silent in reply, eyes going uncannily blank. She almost seemed to be standing dead for a few moments, and then she snapped out of it. “Lady Verrikose says the Lord Advisor speaks impulsively and rashly. The king means no harm to come to you.” “Why,” Despiris repeated so forcefully it didn’t sound like a question at all. “He is drawn to you. You seem to be partial enough to his side, agreeing with his views and alerting him to certain persons in his service that are acting deceitfully.

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Spychild He wants to talk to you. He’d like you on his side. That is all.” Despiris didn’t know what to say. As she stood there struggling within herself, something drew her eyes up to the dome roof. Clevwrith crouched at the edge, watching. Where were the guards? And the other scrawny figure who had been there when the statues came alive? It didn’t matter. Clevwrith was there now. Over the distance and through the dark, Despiris thought she could still make out his features. Perhaps she only imagined his face, but what she saw only worsened her indecisiveness. He seemed to know somehow what she would choose, even when she hadn’t made her decision yet, and he didn’t like it. His expression was just so dismayed and knowing, making her feel guilty. He didn’t look sad, exactly, just...alone. Oh, Clevwrith, what am I about to do? she wondered in distress. Maybe Clevwrith did know somehow, could read something in her she couldn’t see herself. Or maybe, it just meant something different to him. She was so confused. And all the while, everyone around her waited for what she would decide, the archangel patient, the gargoyle threatening, the other creatures unseen behind her, Clevwrith knowing. He did know. She felt so torn between decisions, between lives – between worlds. She had never thought of Clevwrith like this before, but suddenly he seemed more alone than anyone else in the world – though even as pity and guilt rose within her, the other side of this world, the one where a king fought for things she believed in but had long forgotten, interested her in a way that the enticing beauty of night and the thrill of escape did not. It was 163

Spychild strange. So strange. But she wanted to know more – more of something that Clevwrith did not know how to teach her. More of something that he had never bothered to tell her existed. Maybe he hadn’t known of it – she tried to believe that, tried not to blame him, but she couldn’t help feeling he had deliberately kept it from her. Not everyone is invincible, Clevwrith. The children that are caught thieving because of starvation – they’re not invincible. And they get caught all the time. It isn’t fair for us to do what they can’t, again and again, and play it like a game. Like we’re bragging. Then they get dragged away while we’re laughing in triumph where they failed. Then, Despiris knew her decision too. You saved one of them once, she thought at Clevwrith. You saved me. Now I’m going to carry on that deed and do the same. Thank you for being my example. You really did show me the way. I’m sorry, she whispered in her mind, and then she brought her eyes back down to earth. “Then I come willingly,” Despiris gave in, the words rolling heavily off her cruel tongue. The gargoyle clamped her arm in a strong grasp, black claws digging into her flesh but careful not to puncture this time. As he led her toward the dome, Despiris glanced up again at the roof. But Clevwrith was gone. Somewhere out in that big wide world, he walked the dark paths of companionable night, with no one but the shadows for company, all by himself now on a road that would go on, never changing, even as the world changed around him. A solitary figure, a legendary figure, brilliant and cunning in the admiring eyes of the awed world, but if only they knew...knew that his gift no longer brought him pride, 164

Spychild that the infamous fame and glory had become a burden. He could not give them up, could not leave them behind, knowing destiny had charged him with carrying the weight of his gift to the end. And he would. Somewhere out there, a lonely spy stepped into a shadow and disappeared, swallowed by the one thing that would accept him into its arms and never let go: the darkness of a cold night, taking him in its welcoming embrace when the rest of the world left him more alone than ever.

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20: Showing Favor

“One’s position may not always depend on where they put themselves, but on the ever-changing positions of the ones around them. You must account for that when trying to establish yourself.” – A rule of Nobility’s Etiquette.

& “Make yourself comfortable, Lady Despiris,” King Isavor offered. Lady Verrikose and Lord Mosscrow were also in the room, seated silently, and they looked at her expectantly waiting for her to do as the king requested. After remaining standing while she eyed everyone in the room, Despiris decided to let her defiance collapse. She obliged cooperatively. “I would like to stress that you are not a prisoner here,” the king said. “Your cooperation thus far has encouraged me to see that you are treated properly and equally to the rest of us.” 166

Spychild “Providing,” Mosscrow continued for him, “you do not violate any strict rules unacceptably or cause any unnecessary trouble” – he paused there to consider that, glancing at the king and deciding to revise it – “…cause any unnecessary harm, while being treated fairly by us. Meaning we can’t have you abusing the pardon his Majesty has issued for you and taking…advantage of your freedom in any way that would make him regret the actions he has taken to keep you out of his prison.” “Sound fair?” the king asked her. “You forget she might not know how to act properly,” Lady Verrikose piped up, thinking to flash a smile toward Despiris so the girl would not take offense with the implication that she had not been raised up to standard. What could they expect, though? They all thought she was the Shadowmaster; she had never given any indication that she knew how to behave. “You can’t expect her to follow the rules if she doesn’t know them.” “Oh definitely not,” the king agreed, then looked at Despiris. “I will have someone enlighten you and bring things to your understanding as is necessary,” he assured her. “Don’t worry about that. “Now, since that’s taken care of,” Isavor addressed everyone in the room, “let’s move on to other matters.” Despiris raised an eyebrow to herself, because she hadn’t had to say a single thing the entire time. Oh well, she thought. That’s that, isn’t it? She was a little surprised when the king went on to address a list of political matters, and she wondered why she had been kept in the room to hear it all. She listened as well as she could, because she didn’t know what else she was expected to do, but it was hard to keep up with the things being discussed. It was almost 167

Spychild as if the people around her were speaking a foreign language. And the odd glances she kept receiving from Lady Verrikose made her feel awkwardly out of place. She was not the only one who believed she didn’t belong, not the only one wondering at her prolonged presence. What do they possibly need me here for? Despiris wondered to herself. But she knew better than to sit idly amongst the characters that surrounded her. She needed to learn about these people, to watch them, and to learn her place amongst them. Every word was important, even if she did not understand it. The best she could do was study, and hopefully learn. *** It was strange being summoned by the king – but even stranger to respond cooperatively and go to him. Doing exactly the opposite of what you had been doing for years on end was a difficult transition to make. Then to learn that the meeting between her and his Majesty was for the simple reason of him inquiring as to her first night in the palace…that he cared at all for her comfort was just baffling and so disconcerting. Despiris didn’t know what to think, of anyone or anything. It wasn’t really a matter of trust, though. Surely there were questions and cautions in that area, but Despiris found she was cooperating off a sense of liking. She liked the king, and did not feel inclined to defy him with the freedom he had granted her. He really was being quite reasonable. Maybe more than reasonable. She found herself cooperating, and she did not lie to him when he asked how well she had slept.

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Spychild “Horribly,” she said. “Not to seem ungrateful, certainly, but I daresay I would have slept much better in the dungeon.” “Luxury wouldn’t really suit you, I suppose,” the king mused. “I would offer to move you to a less comfortable room, but that sounds inhospitable.” “I’m sure I can compromise,” Despiris assured him. “There’s always the windowsill.” “Of course. The windowsill.” Just then there was a firm, hollow knocking on one of the throne room doors. “Ah, my morning councilmen parade,” the king remarked, then called, “Enter!” The double doors clicked open and swung inward, and a group of important-looking people, men except for Lady Verrikose who led them, marched into the spacious throne room. They filed toward the king’s dais, the men’s robes or capes sweeping over the tiled floor just as bountifully as Lady Verrikose’s lavish skirts. “A beautiful morning, isn’t it, good men?” asked his Majesty. “Fine, certainly,” agreed the white-haired man who came up beside Lady Verrikose. He was one of Isavor’s chief councilmen, very businesslike, and he hardly seemed to hear what he was saying. He was used to uttering ready replies to whatever the king said. “Don’t be ridiculous,” the king scolded him. “You probably haven’t even looked out the window yet.” The councilman looked up from the scroll he was unrolling, uncertain how to take such an accusation. He blinked.

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Spychild “Well?” the king prompted. “To the window, man. I want to practice honesty amongst my subjects. Come back when you have an honest opinion.” Still blinking, the councilman let the scroll spring into a tight roll again as he obediently headed to the window without a word. The other councilmen were glancing amongst themselves strangely, wondering about their king’s behavior. “What about you, Bentley?” Isavor asked another robed man. “Have you looked outside today?” “Erm…no, your Majesty,” he replied truthfully. “Come now, men. My servants go to great lengths to see your windows scrubbed until they shine every day. If their efforts are being wasted, I will reassign them to more pressing matters. You can clean your own windows and see the light of day while you’re at it. I do love seeing two birds killed with one stone.” Perplexed silence met his words as the councilmen stood there before him, their original reasons for coming forgotten. “Go on. There are plenty of windows to go around.” Without much of a choice, the men reluctantly ambled off in different directions to find a window, refraining from muttering in the king’s presence. Lady Verrikose was the only one who stayed behind. The king looked happy with himself, a bit amused. “There’s a difference between dedication and obsession,” he said, perhaps speaking of more than the matter at hand. It was hard to say. “I prefer dedication. I like to see my people live a little.” Lady Verrikose smiled slightly in tolerance, but was clearly waiting for things to continue along the lines of progress.

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Spychild “Poor goats,” Isavor remarked, looking around at his councilmen. “Interrupting their routine throws them off for days. They’ll be blubbering and scratching their heads in confusion for a while, trying to remember where they left off.” He turned to the noblewoman left standing before his dais. “Getting enough window time yourself, Lady Verrikose?” he inquired. “Quite enough,” she assured him. “Good to hear. And you, Despiris?” “I’m rather a different case, your Majesty,” she reminded him. “Ah yes, of course. A window is rather a new concept, isn’t it? And daylight is not really your thing either. You’re more of a stargazer, aren’t you?” Despiris gave an absent nod of agreement, busy wondering over this meeting. She did not know how to respond to casual conversation like this. After all, she was pretending to be the Master of the Shadows in captivity. For years she had been a deep, dark secret, and now here she was – exposed, caught, walking around in the open. She did not feel like she should be treated as one of them, yet the glances that most gave her were disconcerting and uncomfortable. How was she supposed to act, free amongst her enemies? Like nothing was amiss? She surely couldn’t show humility at being caught, but walking around like she still had pride left felt wrong as well, because there was nothing for her to be proud of here. The councilmen were returning from the windows, straightening their robes and lifting their heads, ready to begin again now that they had done what their king requested.

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Spychild “How do you feel, gentlemen?” Isavor addressed them. “Refreshed, Majesty,” came the answer from one of them, and the others nodded to spare them the trouble of sharing their individual responses. “No you don’t,” Isavor said. “You’ve only become impatient. You didn’t benefit from that practice at all.” “Then might I suggest we don’t waste our time on such things in the future, Majesty?” asked the chief councilman, a little pointedly. King Isavor put his chin in his hand and thoughtfully considered his councilmen. “No. That would only leave the problem. I want it solved.” “Forgive me, Majesty,” Bentley said, “but what problem?” “You all look stale,” Isavor explained bluntly. “Like you need to air out. In fact, take the day off.” Incredulous looks met that order, and a few jaws came ajar in stunned silence. “But, Majesty,” the chief councilman protested. “I haven’t had a day off in years.” “Precisely my point, Hemlin,” Isavor pointed out. Disbelief was still stuttering its way through the gathering of councilmen. In the end, though, they began turning away and filing out of the throne room. Lady Verrikose brought up the rear, turning more reluctantly and clearly refraining from voicing her disapproval. “Now,” the king said more seriously once they were gone. “Where were we?” He stood from his throne, descending from his dais. “Shall I introduce you to the concept of a window?” he asked, and Despiris followed him across the spacious chamber. They stood side by side at a towering window, overlooking the courtyard. 172

Spychild “This is the awkward part,” King Isavor said, and Despiris glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. “I have no idea what to say to you, and you have nothing you want to say to me. It makes for a hard time getting to know each other.” “Or a hard time determining where we both stand.” Despiris focused on the window as she said this, keeping her eyes directed ahead as the king looked at her. “Indeed,” he said in agreement, considering. “And I suppose a simple question would not establish that?” “A question by itself would do nothing. An answer might get you somewhere, but that would require that you convince me to give you one. I like my secrets, Sire.” “Yes I know. I suppose it is more my risk keeping you here than it is yours for coming.” Despiris chose not to answer, safe in her silence, letting the mystery hang. The king did not press her on the issue, and she was glad. She continued silently squinting into the brightness of the window. “Is sunlight offensive to you?” the king inquired. “It’s just so glaring. Seems to bleach the world.” It felt so strange conversing with a human being besides Clevwrith. For years, she had spoken to no one but him. She was a little uncomfortable with it, and decided to say as little as possible. “Are you…happy enough with the arrangement of your freedom here?” Isavor wanted to know. “Are you asking to change it if I’m not?” “I am actually just honestly curious.” What was she supposed to say? She could always lie, of course, but to what purpose? “This is not freedom,” 173

Spychild she declared simply. “Freedom does not have restrictions. It does not limit you. This has rules, walls, and doesn’t even have a window without glass cutting off the outside world. You don’t know the meaning of the word ‘freedom’, and you could never fully deliver me mine.” “Yet here you are,” Isavor observed. “Curious, isn’t it?” was all Despiris would disclose, wondering at it herself. The king shrugged. “Perhaps. But there has always been method to your madness.” “Oh?” “Oh,” he confirmed with a nod. The throne room doors opened again, and in walked Lady Verrikose. Isavor looked over his shoulder at her, wondering at her return. “Since you gave the councilmen the day off,” the noblewoman began, “they requested that I approach you with the issue they wanted to address,” she explained. King Isavor sighed. “What was I saying about dedication versus obsession?” he murmured, but then shook his head to rid his mind of the thought. “Never mind. What is this dire matter that demands my immediate attention?” Lady Verrikose turned a meaningful glance on Despiris. “This will only take a few moments,” she said pointedly. “If you are expecting me to politely move out of earshot, I would prefer a valid reason to do so,” Despiris said. She was the Master of the Shadows, after all, and did not take kindly to control, especially when it came in

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Spychild the form of a meaningful glance and a subtle undercurrent of words. Lady Verrikose stared at her. “As you yourself mentioned,” Despiris said, “I am not well practiced in much of anything except trickery and offense. Forgive my mannerisms; they are all I know.” Because they had been her own words, the noblewoman couldn’t very well blame Despiris. She relented, the displeasure in her eyes melting away. “Of course. I must remember to see to that problem. In the mean time…what manner of persuasion does one use on the Master of the Shadows?” “Coinciding of desires,” Despiris replied. After a moment of consideration, Lady Verrikose unpursed her lips. “I see,” she said. “Perhaps you could be tempted by a shadow? I daresay you look uncomfortable next to the window, and there are some very inviting shadows clinging to the edges of the room.” Without glancing around to consider the selection of interior shade, Despiris gave in and backed away, not taking her eyes from Lady Verrikose as she melted into the mild darkness thrown against the wall behind her. Crossing her arms, she waited there, and watched the two nobles conversing about private affairs before her. She received a glance or two from Lady Verrikose, and found a bit of satisfaction in the thought that her lurking stance, watching from the shadows, seemed to unnerve the noblewoman a little. After a few minutes, the king started glancing at her too, considering something while Lady Verrikose spoke to him. Despiris raised an eyebrow at him finally, and 175

Spychild the king looked once more at the scroll being presented to him before returning his eyes to Despiris decidedly. “Please join us, Despiris,” he said. Lady Verrikose cut off what she had been saying, looking up at the king’s invitation. She did not object, but she did not continue her unfinished sentence, either. “My council has been following a course of crime in Victora Square,” explained King Isavor. “It’s an interesting case. I am interested to know what you think of it.” At first Despiris thought perhaps it had something to do with the mischief of the Master of the Shadows, but as it turned out it really was a completely separate affair, and the king honestly was just curious about her thoughts. Seeing as she was a criminal mastermind, yet she had claimed to agree with the king’s lawful point of view at their last meeting, her opinion was bound to be an interesting one. Rather fascinated with her own position, Despiris listened well, and obliged the king by telling him exactly what she thought of the situation, professionally and intuitively. Lady Verrikose averted to the job of silently rolling the scroll back up, the coil of parchment ending rather tighter than it was intended to be. *** That was not the only time Despiris’s unique position was encouraged to take form. Over the following few days, she kept finding the king watching her, distracted from the task before him. There was nothing really unnerving about it, because there was nothing hostile in his eyes; he just looked thoughtful, and she couldn’t blame him for wondering about her. But his eyes 176

Spychild always seemed to be following her, considering her every move, trying to figure her out without scaring her away. He was caught in her web, she realized, ensnared by the intrigue woven around her. The next morning she was summoned to the council room, once again for the king to inquire as to how her night had been – to which she had to honestly reply that she had not slept at all; she was a nocturnal creature, after all, through and through, and this transition was not coming easily. The king expressed his sympathies, but did not have time to make any beneficial suggestions. For in came his ‘councilmen parade’, in no mood to take another day off. “Please excuse me a moment,” he said to Despiris, his reluctance only evident because she was looking for it, and he turned to his business subjects. “What’s at the top of the list today, gentlemen?” Lady Verrikose appeared from in their midst and waited at the end of the table, listening. “The same thing that was at the top of the list yesterday,” Hemlin said dryly, to which the king raised his eyebrows and the councilman grudgingly tempered his tone. “We’re having a rise of complaints about our prisons, Sire, demanding we improve conditions and treatment of prisoners.” “Oh?” “There are a number of wardens tired of taking the complaints, and they insist that you stop the complaints one way or another, either by obliging the demands or simply refusing them.” “I have cleaner prisons than any nation on the continent,” Isavor disputed.

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Spychild “I know, it’s rather ridiculous, Sire. But just tell them that, then, and refuse to do anything further. Better to clean up the dirty villages of innocents than the dirty cells of criminals.” “Who is complaining?” asked the king. “I have a list here, your Majesty,” Hemlin informed him, handing over a scroll. “Does it name specific complaints?” “Not really.” “I want specific complaints before I decide anything. And suggestions to go along with them.” “I’ll see if I can compile such a list,” promised Hemlin, and bowed out of the room. “The rest of you are dismissed,” Isavor announced, unrolling the list that his chief councilman had brought. “Wait – where’s Crow?” “Lord Mosscrow is about his own devices, Highness,” said one of the councilmen. “Something to do with commending those stone pets of his.” “He’s been following me around all morning,” Despiris countered. “And most of yesterday as well.” Isavor shook his head. “Paranoid toad,” he murmured. “Never mind.” “Could I be of any help in his place?” Lady Verrikose asked. “My grandfather was imprisoned when I was young, and I remember a number of his complaints about the prison.” “No need,” king Isavor assured her. “You are all dismissed.” Everyone obediently turned to leave. “Everyone except you, Despiris,” Isavor revised, and Despiris stopped. It was impossible not to notice Lady Verrikose pausing, too, and both women looked at the 178

Spychild king. “Despiris has been imprisoned herself,” he explained to both of them. “She would know firsthand exactly what I’m looking for.” Despiris was aware of a bit of tension in the air, albeit well-disguised tension that she could not really distinguish for its exact quality. Was it jealousy? Frustration? Overall it was only a subtle awareness, though, and Despiris did not have time to study it. It passed before she could really be certain if she had felt it or imagined it, and then she was awkwardly returning to the table while Lady Verrikose was grudgingly leaving the room. Despiris placed herself across from the king, wondering how she had managed to land this position. Imagine, the Master of the Shadows at court, in the king’s favor. It was the last place she had ever expected to find herself. The king had seemed to be the one least interested in the hunt for the Shadowmaster, yet now that she was before him, he seemed to be finding that he was deeply intrigued by the creature in his midst. Despiris couldn’t help but notice that although he made casual inquiries about her comfort and asked practical questions regarding the issues she could help him with, there was an undercurrent of rapt curiosity, and she found him looking at her with more than interest. There was something like fascination behind his eyes, searching her, measuring her, and Despiris wondered if he would end up just as hopelessly captivated as all of the rest of them.

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21: A Face in the Crowd

“He can show up in the least likely of places, when you least expect it.” – Words regarding the Spylord, spoken from one of many stranger’s mouths, and oh how true they were.

 Weeks passed. Despiris lived in the palace as a guest, learning the cares and actions of a ruler and the ways of a lady. She paid attention to the things the king did, the decisions he made and how he handled things, learning his heart. She became well in tuned with matters of diplomacy and politics, making herself familiar with the law and the justice system. She was present when the king held court, and often went on walks with him through the garden just to talk. There was rarely a time when she was not standing quietly in the back corner of a room watching, and hardly a word was exchanged in the palace that she wasn’t discreetly listening in on.

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Spychild With permission and guidance from the king and appointed staff, charities were raised with Despiris as the driving backbone. Using funds that she acquired doing this and that, she worked to provide for the unfortunate souls who lived off the city slums. It wasn’t much, considering how busy she was learning things, but she reminded herself that if she was going to stay away from Clevwrith, then she was going to do it for a reason. She was not going to waste precious time that she could be spending with him… She taught the poor children that she met clever tricks, identified skills that they bore and encouraged them to develop them and perform for a coin here and there on busy street corners. It would not solve all of their problems, but it was a completely honest way of helping them out. While at the palace, when the king wasn’t to be disturbed, Despiris was taught the art of being a lady, instructed by Lady Verrikose – who had chosen to remain in Cerf Daine rather than return to her own country in the east. Despiris didn’t like the strikingly beautiful woman, but she couldn’t say why since the raven-haired lady was nothing but polite all the time – though that could have only been pure lady-like custom, a trait of manners that was so strictly expected of everyone. In any case, Despiris resigned herself to accepting Lady Verrikose and returning the false kindness she suspected was what the other woman flaunted. The Spylord’s apprentice learned the art of a fan and the pain of a corset, the stiffness of manners and the skill of dancing – though she couldn’t help comparing these dances to the one she had performed on the rooftops 181

Spychild with Clevwrith, and deciding that even the most interesting aspect of her palace lessons was boring. Despiris tried everything willingly, letting Lady Verrikose coach her tirelessly on new things – but she refused to return the favor. She kept her own dark secrets, sheltering memories of hiding in alleys, running through the night, narrowly escaping capture, dancing on rooftops under a midnight sky – memories she couldn’t help but long to return to. She wondered just how long she could hold the yearning of her restlessness at bay. It was only a matter of time before someone would come to her chamber and find her gone without a trace, no word of explanation or goodbye. Just vanished, like she was prone to do, as they all should have expected. *** The king spoke publicly in the city’s central square one day, announcing things of minor importance, casually speaking about this and that. Mostly, the appearance was to assure that his people didn’t view him as an indifferent snob holed up in his pompous castle ignoring them day after day. It was good to get out and greet his subjects once in a while, he said. Despiris and Lady Verrikose went along to witness the event. They stood patiently side by side while the king addressed his people, fanning themselves in the warm sunshine. Lady Verrikose was richly adorned in a gown of gold satin and lace, wearing matching gloves up to her elbows that Despiris personally thought impractical in the heat. Despiris wore pale blue silk, and a matching hat that topped the pile of brunette curls that styled her hair. Although she wore gloves as well, hers were breathable white lace, and ended at her wrists. 182

Spychild Usually, Despiris avoided wearing dresses while in the palace, even though that decision earned her much disapproval. When in public settings like this, Lord Mosscrow and Lady Verrikose insisted she dress properly, and the king agreed even if less insistently. The afternoon dragged on, the king’s speech holding the people’s attention until he himself finally declared that his tongue needed a rest and he regrettably needed to retire. The people gradually cleared from the area, mulling away to go about their business. Despiris and Lady Verrikose climbed into their shared carriage, and Despiris watched out the little curtained window as the assembly of people broke up and moved away. She was staring absently, distracted by her thoughts, when something about the man her unfocused eyes were trained on nagged at her. She came out of her daze to really look at him, and her heart skipped a beat in recognition. The Master of the Shadows stared back at her, unmoving as the crowd moved around him. What was he doing here? Amid people? In broad daylight? But of course no one except her would ever know it was him. His face…his face stirred her guilt to life again. His eyes were accusing, unhappy. Angry. For a moment she felt a flutter of wariness. Clevwrith had never been angry before. What would come of it? The carriage abruptly lurched and started rattling away. The angle of Despiris’s gaze was cut off, and she lost sight of the Spylord. “That was him, wasn’t it?” Lady Verrikose asked, drawing Despiris’s eyes to her. “The real Spylord. You are not the Master of the Shadows at all, are you? No. 183

Spychild The real Shadowmaster got away that night, as he always has and always will. You are nothing but his apprentice.” Despiris didn’t reply. “He is still out there, and he is angry. Knowing he is loose...I will not sleep well tonight,” Lady Verrikose declared. For some reason, Despiris wouldn’t either. “Woe be unto the rest of the world, sleeping unknowing in their beds,” Lady Verrikose drawled darkly. “The Master of the Shadows is angry.”

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22: Disturbing the Peace

“It’s a good thing he’s really as harmless as he chooses to be,” someone had said once, appreciating the fact that although he was dark and mysterious, the Master of the Shadows was not morbid and violent. If he ever changed his ways for the worse, the entirety of Cerf Daine might very well be doomed.

& Clevwrith was angry. He had heard of the king’s public speaking, he had known Des would be there, and he had gone to get a look at her. They had ruined her, made her into a worthless delicate creature. What have they done? Clevwrith thought in despair. They’ve taken away her glory, molded her into something she’s not. What have you done?! Yanking out one of his daggers, he hurled it aimlessly with all of his furious might. It whistled swiftly through the air and disappeared out of sight somewhere.

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Spychild This was unacceptable, Clevwrith thought to himself. He couldn’t let this happen. They’ll pay, he decided. They will wish they had never gone near her. *** The next few weeks were a nightmare. The Master of the Shadows wreaked havoc. *** Lord Mosscrow and Osprey were making plans. Plans to attempt, once again, to bring down the treacherous Spylord. Except this time, Crow had the king’s full approval and encouragement. The Shadowmaster was becoming dangerous, not the kind of character the king could allow to wander his streets any longer. Crow had been annoyed when Lady Verrikose had revealed that the girl they had under their wing was not actually the Master of the Shadows as she claimed. He had muttered under his breath to himself for a whole day, mumbling incoherently even after he had fallen asleep at night. Oh well, he had finally decided dismissively, surprising even himself with his acceptance of the situation. We will just have to start over. Perhaps his failure and humiliation were only put aside because of the satisfaction of finally being granted full leeway to handle the matter of the Spylord. It was high time. He was pleased that the king finally saw his way of things. But how could he not, now? The Shadowmaster was out of control. There had been too many unacceptable things happening of late that reeked of his doing. He had sent threat letters, spread terrifying rumors, carved and scorched his signature into the doorstep of every inn 186

Spychild and many homes in the capital, somehow managed to break apart every statue throughout the city – a very obvious statement putting an end to the creation of any more of the live stone figures that had become his loathed enemies. He had snuck into the royal graveyard where he shamelessly stole the flowers placed respectfully there every morning, spread heaps of black ashes through the busiest streets, clogged sewers, trespassed everywhere he wasn’t welcome, disturbed guard dogs and encouraged them to bark and bay and howl all through the night, stole the keys to important locked gates that required frequent access, burned the roses in the royal garden – which, somehow, he must have known were the king’s favorites – and shredded the king’s favorite pillow. Feathers everywhere. All over the king’s royal bedchamber. Needless to say, everyone knew well that the Spylord was angry. As he disturbed the peace making his statement, everyone grew uneasy. Too many of them had to step over the charred emblem of a black rose with wings ensnared by a spider web when they left or returned to their homes. After the last seven meetings of varying significance that Lord Mosscrow had held, all of which had been loudly disturbed by the obvious presence of the Shadowmaster, the Lord Advisor had decided it wasn’t safe to discuss anything of importance anymore. So in order to discuss the appetizing subject of catching the menacing spy, the Lord Advisor had decided to come here – a small, vacant, inconsequential house just like a thousand others in this poor neighborhood. He and Osprey had left the palace dressed as servants so they wouldn’t catch a hidden eye 187

Spychild and have any potential stalkers targeting them. Shortly, Lady Verrikose would arrive dressed the same, dragging poor Cetas Ophelious, stammering in unwilling protest, along with her. The scrawny little gifted man was not comfortable with the role Crow had given him, but he was often reminded that he would be thrown in prison if he didn’t cooperate, and that threat was what ultimately silenced his objections. Crow was eager for their arrival, excited by the significance of this discreet meeting. But how discreet was it really? Outside, someone other than the expected guests had arrived. Clevwrith listened for voices down through the shaft of the chimney. He ignored the smoke wafting up beside him, and the crackle of flame that, far below, threatened to obstruct his listening. When he had heard enough to confirm that the two inhabitants under the roof he stood on were indeed the victims he wanted for his mischief, and that they were completely unaware of his unexpected presence, he withdrew a small pouch from his belt. Dumping its powdery contents into his gloved hand, he sifted through it almost experimentally before dropping it down the chimney. Inside, the fire went dead as if a great bulk had fallen to smother the fragile flames. “…and–” Mosscrow’s words cut short as if severed by the slice of a knife. His glance took in the poof of stirring ash critically as a fearful warning spread through him. Footsteps sounded purposefully on the roof; the being responsible wanted them to know he was here. Osprey looked purely stricken. 188

Spychild Dread grew inside the king’s advisor. “The Master of the Shadows,” he murmured, and was then consumed by a crazy thrill. Boldly, disregarding all caution, he threw open the small door at the front of the house, letting in the night. “My lord…” Osprey sounded uncertain and alarmed. “He’s on the roof,” Mosscrow said without really hearing him. Swallowing, Osprey followed him out – more because he didn’t want to be alone than any act of bravery. He left the door hanging open on its hinges, but it creaked and slammed shut on a stray gust of wind. With the two men outside, and therefore out of the way, the Spylord set into action. He placed one gloved hand on the rim of the chimney and swung his legs in. He dropped like a rock, but landed silently on the pile of ashes, holding his breath to discourage a sneeze as the powdery stuff drifted up to greet him. In one swift motion, Clevwrith swirled his cape off his shoulders and cast it onto the ground beyond the hearth to prevent his boots from staining the floor with soot. Purposefully, he strode out across his cape and into the single room of the house. Papers were strewn across a table in the center of the room, within his reach at the end of the cape path he had created. On sudden impulse, though, he stepped just clear of the cape, leaving one single set of footprints isolated in the middle of the room. With a flash of his hand, the Spylord swiped up the papers on the table, holding them in his teeth as he found an extra blank one and quickly scribbled a short message: 189

Spychild “You lose.” He put that back on the table and nailed it there with a stab of one of his knives. Leaving the dagger hilt-deep in the table piercing his note, he retreated back across his cape. Mosscrow’s papers still in his teeth, he swept up his cape and ducked into the chimney. Pressing his back against the far wall of the vertical smoke shaft, he raised a booted foot with a wellgripping tread to the other side, just a short space across. Then, positioned braced as he was, he began to climb. At the top he paused. Holding himself awkwardly braced in the cramped chimney shaft, he fumbled at his belt. A second pouch found its way into his hand, but he handled this one with more care. Undoing the knot in the string, he tipped it and flung its contents down to the fire bed. The resulting explosion was minor, but impressive nevertheless. Then, a peaceful fire burned once again where he had just snuffed it out moments ago. It was merely a trick with Magician’s Dust, an ignition of flame he had come to rely on. Holding his breath as the new smoke reached him, the Spylord waited for the opportune moment to proceed with his plan of action. Mosscrow and his pitiful servant had gone out the front door when they heard his footsteps thumping over their heads. No doubt they were gazing intently up at the roof. Smoke, as Despiris had recently demonstrated that she knew, was the best thing to hide in when the darkness wasn’t enough. And since he was coming out of the chimney, it was ideal. Still holding his breath, Clevwrith climbed out of the chimney, concealed by a gray mass of smoke. He heard 190

Spychild voices in front of the house, and secretly descended the back slope of the roof and made his departure. He escaped from the scene of the crime as subtly as a ghost, leaving nothing to attest to his presence except a table that bore a most mysterious note in place of the Lord Advisor’s precious missing plans, and the thoughtprovoking spectacle of a single set of sooty footprints isolated squarely in the center of the room.

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23: His Alley

“Those who tread into danger purposefully, because of nothing but intrigue, are fools,” someone had said once – and that is exactly what the Spylord was known for doing, so why didn’t anyone call him a fool? Everyone else who acted as such were fools.

 Lady Verrikose stood looking out the window of the palace, the king and Lord Mosscrow seated behind her in the room playing a game of chess. “This Spylord…” she began thoughtfully. “He intrigues me as thoroughly as he does everyone else in this enchanted country of yours. He is a dark, charming fellow, and he has ensnared me as surely as a spider in all its subtlety. I find it rather fitting that his emblem includes a web as its main symbol. I am stuck in that web.”

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Spychild “I thought that might be why you remained with us even after we had no further need of you,” King Isavor remarked as he frowned at the arrangement of pieces on the chess board. “You get one taste of the Shadowmaster, no matter who you are, and it wets your appetite.” “It should not surprise you,” Lady Verrikose said. “Just the fact that his fame has stretched beyond your own borders, wandering to foreign countries on whispers of legend, enough to intrigue me into volunteering my services to being with…that should have driven you to expect I would become this interested.” “Indeed,” agreed the king. A bit of silence stretched undisturbed as the game of chess went on and Lady Verrikose continued staring absently out the window. “Perhaps you are going about the matter of the Spylord wrong,” the lady suggested thoughtfully after a time. “What do you suggest?” Lord Mosscrow grunted. “I don’t know. But I think I might investigate the possibility.” “Investigate?” Crow wondered aloud. “What kind of investigating?” “Using myself as bait to make him come to me so I can speak to him face to face.” “What kind of bait?” “I am the one responsible for directing the creatures that convinced his apprentice to leave his side. He knows that. No doubt if I go out alone somewhere he will track me, desiring to deliver a personal warning to inform me that I have made him very upset.” 193

Spychild “And possibly slit your throat and dump your corpse at our doorstep as another statement to express that anger you have provoked,” Crow retorted. “Perhaps,” Lady Verrikose agreed with terrible calm. “But I don’t think so.” “Well I do,” Crow huffed. “But you can risk your pretty little neck any way that you please, my lady. If it catches us the Spylord, I frankly shouldn’t care.” “Crow,” the king warned distractedly. “Is that any way to speak to a lady?” “Of course not, your Majesty,” Crow confessed mordantly, glaring at Lady Verrikose. “What would you say to him?” the king asked her. “If you did manage to catch him in conversation?” “I honestly don’t know,” she admitted. “But even if I gained no advantage for your cause, the privilege of talking with such an icon face to face would be enough to satisfy me.” “You mean enough to thrill you,” Mosscrow grumbled. “Yes,” the king said absently. “I imagine that it would. But he is at his most dangerous right now, remember that,” Isavor advised. “Dashing he may be, but Crow’s right – he could dash you across the heart with a lethal blade, my lady. I can’t stop you, but honestly it isn’t safe. Not at all.” *** Leaving the palace around midnight, Lady Verrikose wandered aimlessly until she lost herself in the complex layout of the city. She could not specifically say if she was afraid or not, but if she was then her dangerous fascination had drowned that out.

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Spychild The frequency of street lamps gradually dwindled until the only light emanated from the thin sliver of the crescent moon that looked so much to her like the teasing flash of a grin smiling secretively down from the sky. She told herself it wasn’t significant in the least, but it was hard to ignore its symbolic taunt. It was a strange thing assuming someone was following you and imagining them there, then not certain you had imagined them at all. Had the blur of movement, the flicker of shadow, really been real? Just things she did not think herself sharp enough to notice, and so assumed she was dreaming them up? Lady Verrikose suppressed a shiver and quickened her pace. She shouldn’t focus on her stalker – imagined or real. She didn’t want to lose her nerve. But disturbing realizations kept assaulting her, more and more. If her backbone did collapse, it would be too late. She was so far away from the palace by now that it wouldn’t matter. She could turn and flee, but where would she go? She was lost. And who was to say she wouldn’t run smack dab into the shadowy figure she envisioned on her tail? She became more edgy by the second, thinking perhaps the brief surge of bravery that had prompted this dark escapade had been foolish. But it still might be successful, she reminded herself, and strode on with determination. She was just beginning to think she was actually utterly alone – a fact both comforting and disturbing at the same time – when she thought she saw a shadow move around the corner of an alley. Cautiously, she pursued it. Intrigue pulled her forward, but around the

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Spychild bend there was nothing – only a flicker of movement around the next corner. On and on she went, always turning into another alley to find it empty, as if she was chasing a ghost. But she pressed on, always drawn forward again by a single shift of disturbed shadow at the distant corner ahead of her. When finally her gaze began to land on nothing but stillness and emptiness, and she thought perhaps her eyes had just been playing tricks all along, she discontinued her determined pursuit and stood still. Suddenly realizing she had been led deep into a complex maze she was not familiar with, where endless twists and turns had swallowed her like a long winding throat, she held her breath in the suspense of the feeling. The quiet and dark moved in on her, closed around her, settled over her like something physical and alive. Fear rushed in unbidden, as fear is prone to do. Heart beating rapidly, fluttering hard like the drumming wings of a desperate, fleeing bird, Lady Verrikose turned on her heel to try to go back the way she had come. And she stopped frozen standing face to face with none other than the Master of the Shadows. “Get out of my alley,” Clevwrith ordered in a dangerous tone that brooked no argument. Not caring where it took her, Lady Verrikose spun around in a dizzying rush of spooked skirts and fled.

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24: The Night

“Beware the night, for it carries a presence these days,” someone cautious of the Shadowmaster had warned. But was the Shadowmaster really a symbol of the night? Or was it the other way around?

& No one was sure when to expect Lady Verrikose back, but she had been gone long enough to cause some worry. Lord Mosscrow was pacing the massive halls of the palace, thinking that maybe he shouldn’t have let her go. Who am I fooling? Crow thought. Lady Verrikose would have gone regardless of anything he said to sway her decision. He had no leverage over her, no control whatsoever. In a way that bothered him, because she had no right to waltz into his region and assume a position superior to his own. The fact that she was so passionate about hunting the Shadowmaster was the 197

Spychild only thing that made her superior actions acceptable. It was a fact that rather canceled out her offenses. Crow’s footsteps were echoing off the walls, making it seem as if two persons traveled the hallway. For that reason, he did not immediately notice Lady Verrikose in the hall with him. It was only her rustling skirts, fluttering at the corner of his vision, that alerted him to her returning presence. Crow looked up. “What happened?” he asked immediately, unable to repress his curiosity. For the first time, Lady Verrikose looked spooked. She was managing to cling to her composure, measuring her footsteps and holding her posture slightly less than stiff, but he could see it in her eyes; something had happened that she would not soon be able to disregard. Even though she would likely master herself and appear only coy and irritated tomorrow, he knew by looking at her now that she would never forget. The Master of the Shadows rather had that effect. He put a mark on you, casting a web around you and provoking that unique dark fear in your eyes. Encountering him stayed with you, haunting your composure in the most annoying way – like a shadow cast upon you. His shadow. How surely unnecessary, you thought, to recall without trying every disturbing detail about that darkest moment of your life. Why couldn’t it just go away, fading like the rest of your memories? Why must it stay sharp, like you were still experiencing it? “Well?” Mosscrow repeated. Lady Verrikose only glanced at him, eye contact intensifying the disturbance he had detected behind her

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Spychild veiling lashes, and said nothing. Her silence told her story well enough. “Typical,” the Lord Advisor admitted as if she had replied. The noblewoman hurried past him, headed for the haven of her room, and Crow continued on to his own. Now that Lady Verrikose was back, he had no reason to keep pacing. Of course, he did not expect to be able to sleep knowing that the noblewoman had encountered the Spylord, yet not knowing what had actually happened between them. That would keep him awake, keep him wondering well into the night. What if the noblewoman never told him? Oh, he was dying to know. He opened his door without realizing it, thoughts busy, and stood just past the threshold for a moment a bit dazedly as if not sure of where he was. Then he shook himself from his absent state and looked toward the window. Somewhere out there in that blind depth was his cursed prey. If only that empty black creature known as the night did not seem to do the Shadowmaster’s bidding, then maybe they could get somewhere on the vain road of his demise. It was just so hard catching a trickster on his own playground. Lord Mosscrow shut the door behind him and wandered across his dark chamber, drawing the curtains wide apart for a better view of the sleeping city. He could see nearly everything from here, and occasionally he liked to think that even though he couldn’t actually discern the Shadowmaster from the background, he probably looked at him sometimes all the same. In another way, that frustrated him to no end.

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Spychild “The night won’t protect you forever, Shadowmaster,” he promised the silence, his breath fogging on the cold windowpane. “I am the night,” said a dark voice from behind Crow, in his room, and he only felt an instant of terror before the world was muffled by a violent, sweet-smelling glove over his face, and then came the darkness of which surely only the Master of the Shadows could inflict.

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25: The Spychild’s Apprentices

“Gifts come in all shapes and sizes, sometimes so strange that one will not recognize it for what it is. But everyone has a gift inside them, ready to be put to use, waiting to swallow its master into a destiny.” – Words from Despiris’s foggy memory, emanating from a stranger’s mouth. She does not remember who spoke them, but they are just as meaningful as anything Clevwrith ever said.

 “Good, Po,” Despiris praised the boy doing acrobatics in the street. It was midnight, the hour when she swept through the poverty-stricken slums of the city and quietly rallied the children for their nightly session. Seven-year-old Po beamed in delight of her praise, knowing he had impressed her with his progress as he always did. Even the first time he had performed for her, before she had coached him at all, just after she had

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Spychild asked him if he could do anything special – he had impressed her then, too. Po wasn’t the only one with skills she had helped identify. There were many others. Like Rilah, who could sing like a little angel when you managed to convince her that holding back because she was shy was silly – and who also, significantly, had a short, choppy mane of blond hair, which surely hadn’t been the work of her mother’s scissors. And Joril with his card tricks – his skill had been slightly harder to uncover since he had never had access to a deck of cards in his life and didn’t have the slightest clue how well he could handle them. Then there was Soyir, the dancer. And Lyden the storyteller; he had such a wonderfully vivid imagination! And Rami, well…Rami dreamed of growing up to be just like the Master of the Shadows one day. There was no help for it. Despiris had tried encouraging other aspirations, had worked hard trying to find a different skill for Rami to pursue. But no. The nine-year-old boy was set in his ways. He was wild and rowdy, quick and daring, and she could not dissuade him. There were more, too, of course – more children besides just these. But not all of them could manage getting out every night to join her in secret. And some, she knew, just needed their sleep. “It’s my newest trick,” Po said with a broad grin. “A lady gave me a copper yesterday when she saw me do it.” Despiris smiled back at the boy. She adored his beaming pride. “And what did you do with your earnings?” she inquired.

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Spychild Po’s smile disappeared and was replaced by a look entirely too serious for his tender age. “I gave it to my mum for my sister. She’s sick.” Despiris frowned in concern and took a moment to admire the young boy’s generosity. “How sick?” Po shrugged. “She’s had a fever for two months. It’s getting worse.” He stood there growing more glum by the second, looking small and helpless, reminded of the adversity at home. “Heavens, Po,” Soyir said sympathetically. “I didn’t know that. Here, you should take my earnings as well.” He fished a few coins out of his pocket and handed them over. “I made this over last week, but I didn’t show my mum. I was saving it up, in case there was an emergency. Like yours. You need this more than I do. We’re not sick over at my place, just hungry a bit.” Despiris’s heart nearly broke at his open generosity. Rilah withdrew a silver – a whole silver mark for her singing! – and gazed at it a bit regretfully, but handed it over as well. “You might as well have this, too,” she offered. “It wasn’t that hard to earn. I’m sure I can do it again before I really need it.” She shrugged. “It will only take a few days of singing myself hoarse – if I get lucky and entertain a wealthy audience again.” Po eyed the proffered currency with big sad eyes and accepted it very reluctantly. “I don’t like accepting charity,” he said uncertainly. “But this would help. I’ll pay you back someday.” “Don’t worry about it,” Soyir said cheerily, slinging a skinny arm around Po’s shoulders. “We’ll all be filthy rich one day. It won’t matter by then.” “If you say so,” Po said doubtfully. “I say so,” Soyir assured him. 203

Spychild Joril and Lyden had no money to offer yet. Joril was still perfecting his sleight of hand with cards, and Lyden just hadn’t received any pay – though people had stopped to listen to his imaginative tales on more than one occasion, and Despiris had assured him that success was on its way. (Perhaps, for the sake of traditional entertainment, she could get him a lute to strum while he let his words wander.) Rami had acquired a few coins of questionable source, but Despiris hadn’t decided if he had stolen them or come by them honestly. In any case, he had already spent them – on candy. “Well,” Po said decisively. “I should probably be getting back home. I have to relieve my mum of watching over my sister tomorrow, so I’ll need my sleep.” “All right,” Soyir said a bit disappointedly. He and Po were close friends. “See you later, pal.” “Hope your sister gets better, Po!” Rilah added as the little boy sprinted off. Despiris watched after him. He was so full of life all the time, always keeping raised spirits, and it was so hard, when she remembered the life he was living, to accept it. He deserved better. They all did. “I think I’ve got it,” Joril exclaimed in front of her, ready to demonstrate, and she was pulled from her thoughts. He showed her the card trick, his skill perfectly refined this time. “You’re an expert, Jory,” she told him sincerely, using the endearing nickname she had picked for him. The little boy blushed, pleased at her praise, and shuffled his cards. “Thanks, Des,” he said shyly, stroking his precious deck. Despiris had brought it for him straight from the 204

Spychild palace, and the cards’ backs displayed a beautifully rendered design of inky black and crimson red swirls, the cards’ edges stained gold. The boy treasured the gift like it meant the world to him, never letting anyone else come even close to touching it. “You should run on home too now, Jory,” she advised, then added, “and the rest of you as well. You all need your sleep.” “I don’t need sleep,” Rami declared from where he had been lying on the pavement looking up at the night sky lost in deep thought, detached from the group and withdrawn from the rest of the world until just then. “The Spylord doesn’t sleep.” “Yes he does,” Despiris assured him. “How would you know?” Rami asked challengingly. Despiris hadn’t told any of them of her secret, infamous identity. “Because he does not have grandfather rings under his eyes,” she told him. “I have seen his face. You, however, are developing quite unbecoming grandfather rings of your own.” “You have not seen the Spylord’s face!” Rami insisted, but he obviously took the other part of her words to heart, and his eyes were wide in horror at the idea of sleepiness being evident on his face. Aghast at the idea, he rubbed his eyes vigorously as if that would get rid of the dark circles. “Well I’m sure he doesn’t look half as bad as you,” Despiris said. “I’ve heard he’s very handsome, and one cannot be handsome without his sleep.” “I don’t want to be handsome!” Rami said with an unhappy blush. “Then the girls will make eyes at me.” “Some day you won’t mind,” Despiris assured him. “Well I sure do now!” he proclaimed, and shuddered. 205

Spychild Despiris chuckled. “The Spylord doesn’t mind it,” she informed him, and immediately felt a fluttering thrill reminding her of their kiss. She missed him… “Then maybe I don’t want to be just like him after all,” Rami considered with a frown. “He’s sillier than I thought. I’m not going to be silly.” “Then you’d better get some sleep before you contradict that declaration.” Seeing he had set himself up and been outwitted, Rami furrowed his little brow unhappily and stalked away in an exaggerated huff. “Now off with the rest of you,” Despiris bade the other children. They obediently made their departures, Joril sneaking in and giving Despiris a quick hug before darting off in embarrassment. Despiris sat there for a long time after they had gone, pulling her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around her legs to stave off the cold. She had grown soft since leaving the streets and living in luxury, she thought, and decided to spend the rest of the night under the open sky.

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26: Invitation of an Open Window

“If you leave him an invitation, any kind of invitation, even if it is not intentional and perhaps completely the opposite of intentional, he is very likely to accept it sooner or later.” – Words regarding the Spylord, from an anonymous mouth.

& After that night out on the streets, memories from her adventures as a spy came back to her, took on new life, and were distractingly astir in her restless blood. Not a night went by when she didn’t open her window before she went to sleep to let in the free air. Oftentimes it distracted her from sleep, and she sat in the windowsill looking out over the city. Wondering if her eyes ever landed on a place where Clevwrith was. Her talk with Rami had reminded her how much she missed the Spylord. The ‘silliness’ the little boy spoke of was something actually very serious to her; she just hadn’t given it serious thought before. 207

Spychild As the dawn hours dragged on and grew old, consuming the night, and Despiris was still no closer to figuring anything out or coming to any decisions or conclusions, she would wander to bed and fall deeply asleep, forgetting the issue by morning. Another day brought different things to occupy her mind. She was very busy these days. Eventually that same busyness, and meeting with the children at night on top of it – then not being able to get to sleep when she returned – eventually it all caught up with her. She announced to her apprentices that she was taking the next night off to do nothing but sleep – making sure Rami noted how importantly she addressed sleep, knowing she was really the main example in his life. But by a stroke of bad luck – or perhaps something else – she didn’t sleep much that night either. For a shadow climbed through her open window, and she knew immediately that the Spylord had come to visit. Despiris sat up in bed, suddenly wide awake. Clevwrith stood as a featureless silhouette watching her. “Hi, Clev,” Despiris offered uncertainly. “Hello, Des,” Clevwrith said in return. He lowered himself and sat on the windowsill with the night as his fitting background. “How are you here?” “Busy.” Clevwrith nodded. Silence. “What about you?” Despiris inquired with a swallow. “Out there?” Clevwrith shrugged. “The world goes on.” How could such simple words have such a complicated impact? But they summoned Despiris’s 208

Spychild guilt, and her regret, and she bit her lip and looked away. “They want you caught more than ever now,” she informed Clevwrith, trying to stay away from her emotional thoughts. “I know. Does it make a difference?” “No?” Clevwrith shook his head. More silence. “I know about the children,” Clevwrith revealed after a time. “Po, Soyir, Rilah and Lyden. Joril. And Rami, of course,” he added with a bit of a grin. “I’ve been watching you.” It was a little unsettling knowing there had been someone you were unaware of watching you, but Despiris found herself comforted by it as well. Then she wondered if deep down she had known that he had been nearby oftentimes. Had she expected it? It certainly didn’t surprise her. “You were one of them once…weren’t you?” Clevwrith asked knowingly. “That’s why you’re doing this. Why you’re here.” Despiris hesitated, then nodded reluctantly. She wouldn’t meet his eyes. “I don’t resent what you’ve decided to do, Des. I understand now. I did it too, once, remember?” The pride and fondness in his voice drew her eyes up to his at last. He was talking about her, remembering the first time he had laid eyes on her, when he found her ill and starving and shivering where she lay so vulnerably near death in his alley. “So much good came of it,” he murmured half to himself as he gazed at her, like he didn’t know he was speaking. “I understand 209

Spychild completely,” he whispered quietly, words barely audible but meaning so loud. It nearly brought tears to Despiris’s tired eyes. Clevwrith contented himself with looking at her for a time. When he could trust his foolish voice again, he spoke. “The streets are empty without you.” Despiris shook her head. “The streets will never be empty so long as you live. No matter what time of day, no matter what hour of night. You will always occupy them. I imagine even after death, Clevwrith, you will haunt them.” “Perhaps,” he admitted. “But you won’t haunt them with me, will you? You will only haunt me.” “It doesn’t pay to speak of death. There is much of life left yet,” Despiris said, trying to crawl away from the dark subject. “I will wait and see where it takes me.” “And in the meantime, I will have to find companionship with something else,” Clevwrith said in resignation. “It isn’t too hard, it just isn’t the same. But the night really is alive. It has a soul.” He gazed out the window as he said that, meeting the eyes of the unnatural companion he spoke of that was a stranger to everyone else. “We share a bond, the night and I. You shared the same once, and it misses you. For now, though, you will be here? You’re staying?” Clevwrith inquired as he stood. “For awhile,” Despiris said, not really knowing the answer. Perhaps Clevwrith read her uncertainty in her. He considered her words, searching her face. Something made him smile. What had he found? “Until next time, then, Spychild,” the Master of the Shadows bade, and he climbed out the window. 210

Spychild

27: Betrayal

“If you ever find an opportunity to test your skills, and especially to test your limits, do not hesitate to take full advantage of the situation. If ever you discover potential for a game, play it. Promise me you’ll do that,” Clevwrith had said. And she had promised, so what could she do but obey?

 “The creatures are coming back empty-handed all the time now,” Lady Verrikose said with a sigh. “They can’t find a trace of the accursed Spylord anywhere.” Ever since Clevwrith had frightened her in his alley, she had had no patience or tolerance for his antics. She wanted him caught now as much as the obsessed Lord Advisor. She had made sure the live statues were sent out to search the city each and every day, meditating to call on her gift and see the world through their eyes. She searched with them that way, but they never found anything. 211

Spychild The king shook his head. “He’s onto us. He knows our methods now. They say he never makes mistakes – and if he does, then he never makes them twice. We may never get close to him again.” “But now is when he needs to be brought down most,” Lady Verrikose insisted. She was in an unladylike state, pacing up and down the length of the room, crossing and then uncrossing her arms, biting her nails, then stopping herself when she realized what she was doing, settling for clenching her jaw and gritting her teeth, then forgetting herself and doing everything all over again. The king grunted in reply, but withheld any comments that came to mind, knowing she was not finished complaining and wasn’t listening for any reply anyway. She just wanted to ramble for a time. It seemed to satisfy her somehow. “He is causing too much trouble. In the past he was merely a shadowy figure that slunk through the streets earning himself fame by way of nothing more than the eccentricity of his dark personality. He was harmless, really. He enchanted everyone by strange traits; the fact that he was so elusive he seemed insubstantial and ghostlike, the rumor that he thought the night itself was more beautiful than any woman’s face. “But now,” she continued almost harshly, her beautiful voice upset, “now he is a criminal, Majesty. A true criminal by heart, or whatever throbs in his chest sending alien blood through his veins. He is no longer harmless. No longer enchantingly mysterious. His true colors are no longer a happy mystery. He is a threat, Majesty. A valid one. His reign can no longer be

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Spychild allowed. If he enchants people this way, Sire, your people will be lost to you. Forever.” Isavor glanced at her, but let her continue without interfering. “He has mocked you. Now he threatens you. There has to be a way other than the things we have tried. There has to be something we haven’t thought of yet. Nothing is impossible.” “Then neither is continuing to evade every trap we set for him,” the king broke in finally. “That is how he will see it, and that is how it will happen.” Lady Verrikose stopped her pacing and turned on him. “Are you giving up, Sire? Are you really going to accept the Spylord the way he is?” Isavor shrugged. “I can keep trying. And I will. But in all truth, Lady Verrikose, I don’t know what else to try. The Master of the Shadows is better than I am. He and I both know that. I have to respect the fact that he has not tried to unseat me from the throne, because we both know he could. I guess you might say we have a small…understood understanding. I think in a way we respect each other.” Lady Verrikose stared at him blankly. “You what,” she said completely flatly, not believing her ears. “If I threaten him too much, he just might decide he’s had enough of me.” “And have you assassinated, you mean?” “Yes.” “And your solution to that is to grant him his freedom? For goodness’ sakes, he’s not really invincible. He can be dealt with.”

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Spychild “When you find his match, lady, you let me know. I will believe it when I see it. But I have had one of them in my dungeon before, and a lot of bloody good it did.” In reply to that, Lady Verrikose fell very silent. The king’s words did not seem to frustrate her at all; no, they seemed to give her an idea. King Isavor watched her curiously, tapping a finger against his clean-shaven cheek where his chin rested in his hand. Lady Verrikose suddenly looked at him. “Sire,” she said with a small devious smile. She came to sit beside the king, turning the chair to face him. As soon as she was arranged, she leaned forward intently. “Maybe we have already found his match. Maybe she is right under our noses.” “She?” The king raised his dark eyebrows. “Oh yes,” Lady Verrikose assured him with a keen smile overcoming the clever curve of her lips. “She.” Isavor considered her. She waited eagerly, if with a bit of impatience, to hear his thoughts. Her dark eyes searched his face. “You mean his apprentice. Our very own Despiris,” the king concluded. The noblewoman bobbed her head slowly. Satisfaction at her own brilliance was written all over her beautiful face. “Exactly.” “She may be with us, lady, but it doesn’t mean she is completely on our side. If she is anything like her master, well, I don’t imagine her wildness can be cured from her so easily – especially not simply by taking her away from it. She is not like a foal you can wean. The legacy of the Spykin is alive in her blood. Can’t you tell she’s restless?” 214

Spychild “I don’t care about all that. She is with us now, isn’t she? That accounts for something. It is worth a try, at least.” “Even still,” the king persisted. “We have caught her twice. Doesn’t that seem to imply she may not be the Spylord’s equal?” “You have seen her interest in the way things work here, Sire. She is only here because she wants to be. The first time she was caught may have been against her will, but you must remember she escaped that with terrible ease. If she is not quite as flawless as the Shadowmaster, she is just as capable. And besides, Sire, she knows him – an advantage I doubt we will be lucky enough to come across ever again. She is the only one in the entire world who knows him.” The king nodded in agreement. “You have a point, my lady. But how are you going to get her to cooperate?” “I don’t know,” Lady Verrikose admitted. “I imagine I’ll just have to ask her.” “Ask her what, exactly?” Lady Verrikose shrugged. “We’ll start with small things, I suppose. Perhaps she will give us hints that are really no threat considering what she knows her master can escape.” “Then what good are they?” Shrugging again, Lady Verrikose didn’t look discouraged. “It is worth a try. She is, after all, our best chance.” “But our most unlikely,” the king pointed out again. “We will see. You might be surprised, Majesty.” “I wish I shared your faith.”

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Spychild “You could at least try to be hopeful,” the noblewoman chided him disapprovingly. “Some enthusiasm, perhaps. This could really be the solution to your biggest problem. At least pretend you hope it will work. Without your encouragement, I fear everyone will gradually discontinue their efforts, giving up what they are convinced is impossible as soon as you grant them leeway.” The king shrugged his eyebrows. “You’re right. We might as well try it.” Just then there was a whoosh of feathered wings, and the archangel that Cetas Ophelious had brought to life alighted on the sill of the open window. She folded her white wings to fit through the frame and stepped down out of the night and into the room. “No luck, Laxzorria?” Lady Verrikose asked, looking up into the creature’s amber eyes. The archangel was tall, as all of the statues were. “None at all,” replied the archangel. “Not an evident trace of our cunning victim anywhere.” “Of course not,” Lady Verrikose said disappointedly in acceptance. “Well then, Laxzorria,” she addressed the archangel. “We will have to try something else. Bring me the others. Then we will assume a different plan of action.” *** Dusk had only recently fallen to swallow up the shady sunlight of evening, and the night was only an hour old. Despiris was trying to get some sleep before going out to meet with the children. A knock on her door spoiled her effort, and she got up irritably wondering if she would ever have a moment to herself. Every time she closed her tired eyes, 216

Spychild something came to disturb her. Smothering her annoyance, she opened the heavy door coolly. Outside in the hall, a whole assembly had come calling on her. Lady Verrikose stood directly face to face with her, but the king was on her right, Lord Mosscrow on her left, and all of the live statues stood assembled behind her with their wings tightly folded in a cramped fashion so they could fit into the hall. “May we come in?” Lady Verrikose asked with an almost hostile tone of voice. There was certainly a devious twinkle in her dark eyes. And though the words she chose formed a question, her tone did not really grant Despiris much of a choice. They were going to come in regardless of her reply. Without a word, Despiris stood aside and let them all enter, putting a dull glare to the back of Lady Verrikose’s head as the noblewoman strode haughtily by with an irking amount of satisfaction in her bearing. Finally, when the room was crowded with all of Despiris’s visitors, and the creatures were awkwardly vying for wing space, she shut the door and faced them all. “What do you want?” she asked dully. She was tired. “I want to ask a favor,” Lady Verrikose replied. “We have done nothing but treat you with kindness – and acceptance, which seems more than would have been fair to expect of us. We left you free and granted you a pardon for all you have done. We took nothing away from you – on the contrary, you have been indulged in luxury. I only ask a small favor in return.” Despiris glanced at the silent king, keeping her suspicions off her face. He only watched her as if waiting to see how she would react. Lord Mosscrow, 217

Spychild when she looked at him, appeared much more eager. Her eyes returned to the lady addressing her. “Then ask,” she said. “We want the Spylord caught, Lady Despiris. Once and for all. You know how he thinks, where he hides. Where he is. Tell us. Just tell us.” Despiris looked at them all again, one by one, noticing Lord Mosscrow shift with twitching impatience. “You really expect me to answer that. What if I lie?” “We already have a suspicion,” Lady Verrikose said, and the Lord Advisor stepped forward. Producing a scroll, Crow unrolled it and placed it on a table for inspection. Despiris searched his face, then treaded forward to take a look. It was a map of the city. “Your master gave me a hint, once,” Crow said. “He gave me a suspicion as to where you actually resided. I had the place searched, of course. We didn’t find anything, but that’s no surprise. Naturally, I had no choice but to give up, but now Lady Verrikose bears new evidence that points us back to the same place.” Lady Verrikose came to stand beside Despiris. “I went out in search of your master a time ago,” she said. “I found him, too – only because he was following me, but that is irrelevant. He told me to get out of his alley. His alley. At that point I was completely lost in this unknown city that is foreign to me, but I paid attention to my surroundings as I found my way back to the palace. Retracing those steps, I would end up roughly...here.” Her delicate finger found a place on the map. “The same place Lord Mosscrow had searched. So we have a suspicion, we just need confirmation.” She met Despiris’s eyes purposefully. “Madon’s Keep. Is that where the Spylord actually lives? Just…tell us.” 218

Spychild Despiris stared back at her without any trace of emotion. Then she had to suppress the sudden giddy urge to laugh as she realized it didn’t matter. They could have the truth. “It is,” she replied simply. So simply. Lady Verrikose’s dark eyes flashed, and she turned to point demandingly at the live statues to get their attention. “Go there. Fly to treachery’s gates,” she ordered, a fierce spark of satisfaction in her stance, and they all moved toward Despiris’s open window in unison. “With all of you concentrated on the right area, you should have more luck.” The creatures took flight one by one from the windowsill, dropping out of sight and only appearing again as silhouettes in the distance. “You won’t find him,” Despiris murmured into the quiet after the creatures had left. All three of her remaining visitors turned to look at her blankly. “When he doesn’t want to be found, not only is he invisible – he doesn’t exist.” “You could find him, though, couldn’t you?” Lady Verrikose asked coolly, almost accusingly. All of her reasonable manner had turned to stone now that she had what she wanted. “Possibly.” Without another word, Lady Verrikose swept out of the room in a swishing flurry of haughty skirts, making her departure cold, like she was turning her indifferent back on what was no longer useful to her. Lord Mosscrow followed her, and then the king more slowly, still not having said a word the entire time, where he shut the door quietly behind him.

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Spychild Immediately, Despiris turned her eyes to the rustling curtain by the window, shifting as if in a breeze that she knew had never passed. She moved to the window and peered out only in time to see a dark figure sprint across the ground far below and become one with the night. Of course Clevwrith had heard her reveal Madon’s Keep to his hunters. The Master of the Shadows had been in the room the entire time. Despiris knew he would wonder just exactly what she was doing, and knew he would conclude correctly – as she only concluded just now, even after she had made the first move. She was playing games with him. “…if ever you discover potential for a game, play it,” his words came back to her, the words that had prompted her actions just now. “Promise me you’ll do that.” She had promised. And here before her had just been placed potential for the greatest game of all time, by none other than the very characters that had once been her own sworn opponents. But there was only one way to win, only one trick even the Master of the Shadows would not dare with the stakes she had set. It was worse than cheating, for in a game where there are no rules and therefore no way to cheat, there is only one option left: Betrayal.



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Spychild

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