by AC Cobble
“Dark Kind, you think?” questioned Raif.
“No, listen,” replied Rew. “You hear the animals? They’re still alive. If narjags had swept through, they would have killed the livestock just like the people.”
“What, then?” wondered Raif. He frowned at the village. “There’s no smoke coming up from the chimneys. A day like today, that many buildings… Half of them ought to have fires burning.”
Rew stood still. Raif and Zaine were right. Something was terribly wrong in the village ahead, but it wasn’t the Dark Kind. He was sure of that.
In the fading light of evening, as the sun sat and the horizon glowed pink and orange, they could see the air above the buildings was clear. Rew inhaled deeply, and he caught the faint scent of woodsmoke. There’d been fires earlier that day, but it must have been hours since anyone tended to them, and they’d all died out. There was no motion, but they could hear the animals, and there was no damage to the buildings. It didn’t look like the work of narjags or bandits. Either one would have been interested in the livestock.
Rew scratched his beard. It was just the people who were missing. Tension hung in the air like fog. The king’s attention was on this place. Rew was becoming sure of it. What did that mean for this village, and what should they do about it?
Cinda shifted from foot to foot, and asked, “Could they have… run off?”
Rew shrugged and did not respond. Of course it was possible everyone in the village could have all decided to pick up and run away without taking their animals with them, but he knew they hadn’t.
“Should we go around?” wondered Raif.
“If someone is there and waiting,” Rew told them, “they will have already seen us.”
“Someone waiting for us?” asked Raif, confused.
Rew glanced at Cinda. “Do you feel anything?”
“Like recent deaths?”
He nodded.
Frowning, the noblewoman closed her eyes, and they waited. After a long moment, she shook her head. “I don’t feel anything. It’s like the way station. There doesn’t seem to have been a death there in years.”
Rew grunted, frowning at the buildings, drumming his fingers on the bone hilt of his hunting knife. No deaths in years? Not even by natural causes? That could not be the case, which meant that somehow, the power of those deaths had been leeched away. Rew shuddered.
“It will be dark in half an hour,” remarked Anne. “If we’re going to go around, we should start walking now, don’t you think?”
“If we take time walking around the settlement, we won’t get far before nightfall,” mentioned Raif.
Rew stretched his hands then rattled his longsword to make sure it was loose in the sheath. He pushed back his cloak, making sure he could draw his hunting knife cleanly. Then, he bent to pat the throwing daggers tucked into his boots.
“Are you sure about this, Rew?” asked Anne.
“If someone is in there and waiting for us, they will have already seen us,” he told her. “We could go around, but they’ll know what we’re doing, and then when we camp, we’ll be up all night wondering if they’ll come for us in the dark. If whatever happened here is related to us, and there’s going to be a confrontation. We can’t avoid it by going around. I think it best we select our time and we deal with this while we still have light. And if it has nothing to do with us, well, I’m still mighty curious about what is going on here and what it will mean for the rest of our journey.”
No one objected, so he led them toward the abandoned village. As they got closer, it became even more obvious that whoever had been there was gone. Until they reached the outskirts, at least, and then it was clear that whoever had been there was dead. The scent of fresh blood filled the highway as it cut through the center of the village. Carrion birds flocked overhead, resting on the eaves of the buildings. They were drawn to the scent of death, but they couldn’t reach the bodies. Those were inside, guessed Rew.
“You said you sensed nothing?” he asked Cinda. “No recent deaths, nothing at all?”
Pale-faced, she shook her head.
The necromancer might not have been able to feel the power of the departed souls, but they all knew there’d been death in the place. They’d seen too much of it, and too recently, to mistake the scent for anything else.
The ranger spun around slowly as they stepped in between the first buildings, looking for something, but there was nothing to see. The village was in good repair, but it was empty. It was clear from what his own nose detected and the presence of the carrion birds, that the dead were nearby. If it had been Dark Kind, people should have been left in the street, or the buildings would have been damaged when the creatures forced their way inside. The Dark Kind would have left signs of their presence, but there was nothing.
Even bandits wouldn’t have bothered to close the doors behind them after they had ransacked the place. Rew slowed. Unless they were still there waiting in ambush. But if they were, he didn’t think they would have taken so long to make their move. Were the perpetrators gone?
The victims were not. The birds smelled the dead. King’s Sake. He and the others could smell the dead, but why did Cinda not sense the power from those souls? She was new to necromancy, but identifying the wells of power created by the departing souls was the one thing she’d been working assiduously on. Rew wouldn’t have been surprised if she failed to cast the power she found, but could she have failed to recognize it?
Anne caught his gaze, and he could see she was thinking the same thing. There was one possibility he considered, but it was too awful to voice. Besides, it made no difference. If it was what he feared, it was too late to run, too late to do anything about it. They’d have to face it, so they may as well do it now.
As the shadows stretched across the highway, they began walking between the two dozen buildings to the other side of the village. None of them mentioned staying there or even peeking inside of the structures to see what they could find. It was taking all the courage they had just to walk through.
Halfway down the road, Rew glanced back behind him, feeling an itch growing on his spine. There was nothing there. When he turned toward the other side of the village, a dark silhouette stood barring the road. The party stopped walking. The figure was cloaked in shadow, but Rew could see the two polished wooden hilts of broad-bladed falchions sticking up above its shoulders.
“Vyar,” hissed Rew, drawing his longsword.
Walking slowly, shambling, Vyar Grund strode from the shadow into the center of the road. The left side of his face gleamed white where his bone was exposed from the blow Rew had delivered back in Spinesend. His clothing was marred with dried blood, tears, and ragged cuts. His hands were covered by his gauntlets, and he’d pulled his half-mask back across his face, so only his dead eyes were visible above the scarred leather.
His dead eyes.
Rew gasped. He barked to the others, “Run!”
Shocked and confused, they did not.
Rew stepped forward, placing his body between Vyar Grund and the others.
In a voice like bones rattling in a tin pot, Vyar Grund croaked, “Do you fear me, Rew?”
“Of course I fear you,” growled the ranger.
There was a soul-rending laugh as the ranger commandant chuckled. He stepped closer.
Rew held his ground, but his body trembled in fear. He called again to the others, “Run!”
Behind him, he heard Anne whispering to the children, grabbing them, trying to draw them away, but they didn’t move.
“They’re caught fully in the Investiture,” rasped Vyar Grund, still walking closer. “They’re not strong enough to resist its call. They cannot flee. Not from me.”
Rew hissed.
“W-What is this?” stammered Anne.
“The empath,” rasped Vyar Grund, pausing a dozen paces from Rew, looking past the ranger to Anne. “Yes, I remember you. You went to Eastwatch with Rew. You… you opened an inn. You’ve grown older sinc
e I last saw you. He has as well. That is good. You’re more certain now, both of you. You know your purpose, finally.”
Anne’s breath caught.
Vyar Grund’s cold eyes turned to study the rest of the party. “The youngest of Baron Fedgley’s spawn. No self-assurance there. But who is that? She is not Fedgley’s eldest, I would know. Who is she, Rew? She looks scared.”
“She is no one,” snapped the ranger, shifting his feet, preparing to… he wasn’t sure. What could he do? “She’s a thief from Yarrow. She traveled with the Fedgley children from there.”
“There’s something wrong with—“ began Cinda.
“Quiet!” snapped Rew, taking a hand from his longsword to throw it up toward the girl. He did not know what was about to occur, but he knew it best if the attention stayed on him. He addressed the ranger commandant. “Have you been waiting for us?”
“Rew, I don’t understand,” said Anne, her voice quaking. “How… What is this?”
Vyar Grund waited motionlessly, so Rew explained, “Vyar Grund is dead, Anne. Meet King Vaisius Morden the Eighth.”
Everyone was silent.
The king, masquerading as Grund, chuckled his hard, dead laugh. He advised them, “It is customary to genuflect before me.”
Behind him, Rew heard the others drop to their knees, and he knew all four of them would be pressing their foreheads tight to the dirt of the highway.
“Why are you here? What do you want?” asked Rew. His heart was hammering, and sweat was pouring down his back. He forced his breath to slow and his grip to loosen on the hilt of his longsword. It did not pay to let Vaisius Morden see you nervous. It did not pay to give him reason to wonder why you trembled in his presence. Not that anyone was comfortable around the man or around his undead puppets, but he was like a hound when it came to smelling fear. He knew its flavors, and he would chase relentlessly any scent that he did not understand.
Grund, stone-still, replied, “Manners, Rew. Manners. You were never good at that, were you?”
Rew shook his head, his eyes still fixed on the Vyar Grund’s body, meeting the dead gaze, wondering what the king could see through Vyar’s eyes, what he could sense through the corpse he had animated and taken control of. Rew wondered how much of Vyar was still there, if any was at all.
“Where is Alsayer?” asked the king suddenly, his sepulchral voice rasping out from behind Grund’s leather half-mask. Grund wore the mask to hide the sight of his lips when he uttered his spells or communed with the natural beasts of the world. It was a mask crafted for the purpose of secrecy, and seeing it bar the commandant’s dead face, hearing the king’s utterance come from that dead throat…
Rew shuddered. Then, he answered, “I don’t know.”
“You suspect, don’t you? Carff? Do you think he is in Carff? You must. Why else would you be walking this way?”
Rew did not respond.
“He took Baron Fedgley’s girl,” said the king. “I need her. She’s—I need her. Kallie Fedgley, the eldest of the line. She must be located. Alsayer is plotting against me, Rew, and the girl is the key.”
“Kallie… Alsayer is doing what?”
“Alsayer took the eldest daughter of Baron Fedgley,” repeated the king. “I want her. I require the eldest of the Fedgleys.”
The king rarely explained himself. He rarely suffered questions at all, in fact, but Rew had to ask. “Alsayer is plotting against you, and this girl is the key? How?”
“That is not for you to know, Rew,” scratched a vulgar echo of Grund’s voice. It was the king’s words, shoved through Grund’s dead biology. It was like listening to an animal in its death throes. “Even you know better than to question my reasons or to ignore my commands. It is time you drop this pretense as a ranger. I need your service. Fetch the girl, the elder daughter of Baron Fedgley. Take her alive or dead, I do not care. Bring me her body if you kill her. And then, I need Alsayer alive. I have questions for him.”
“He’s plotting against you with the girl?”
“You already asked that.”
Rew worked his jaw. Not trusting himself to speak, he simply nodded.
“Better,” croaked the animated corpse. It stepped closer to Rew, and he fought to control a shiver of fear. “Grund told me much before I killed him, but he did not tell me all.”
“You, ah, you cannot learn what he knew, ah, now that he’s dead?”
Slowly shaking its head, the corpse of Vyar Grund responded, “No. Alsayer has been careful. He corrupted Grund’s mind. He has hidden pieces of the truth from me, but I have learned the spellcaster knows things he should not. I need him alive, and I will find out what else he knows.”
Rew swallowed. “Of course. So… Grund was not working for Valchon? He was—“
The corpse cackled, and Rew staggered back a step. “After all of these years, Rew, you are interested in the Investiture? I could feel you fighting it. I thought you might be the one man who could resist. You were always the most stubborn of—ah, the empath. She was caught in the Investiture’s snare, and you could not let her go alone. The ancient magic leads us down paths subtle and twisted, but it does lead us all.”
Rew shrugged uncomfortably, wondering just how much the king knew about his departure from Eastwatch.
“Grund was working for Valchon, as you surmised. They had Fedgley harvesting wraiths for them. Grund had some of the spirits in his possession when he returned to Mordenhold, powerful spirits, old souls. No necromancer should command such creatures. Grund tried to hide them from me, the fool. The rangers are meant to avoid entanglement with my sons. He knew that, and he paid the price. I began sifting through his thoughts before I killed him, and I learned of the Fedgley girl. Her father had been captured and held in Spinesend. She killed the man and fled with Alsayer. Did you know?”
Rew glanced down at his hands and at the longsword he held. The king had been inside of Grund’s thoughts. What had he learned there? If he’d learned anything, Rew quickly decided, then he’d learned enough. Getting caught in a lie by the king meant your death. Rew looked up and responded, “Yes.”
The corpse’s dead eyes twinkled with merriment, an eerie green glow, some reflection of what the king was feeling. “Grund saw it all. He saw you there as well. And them.” The corpse glanced at Rew’s companions. “Odd allies, Rew.”
“They’re loyal.”
Grund’s eyes, lifeless once again, held his gaze. The ranger’s mind raced. The king had looted Grund’s memories. Somehow from those thoughts, he’d decided that Kallie Fedgley was the one who’d inherited the baron’s necromantic powers. The king was mistaken. He thought—Blessed Mother—Alsayer. Somehow, the spellcaster had planted the notion in Grund’s mind, corrupted it as the king claimed. Somehow, that slippery, treacherous bastard had tricked the ranger commandant into believing Kallie Fedgley was the one who could cast necromancy. King Vaisius Morden believed the wrong girl was the threat to his rule!
Rew, very carefully, did not look back at Cinda.
He cleared his throat and asked, “You cannot locate Alsayer or the lass? I would have thought the current of your magic would be tied to the man…”
“Alsayer is more clever than you realize, Rew,” responded the king in a rough voice, somewhere between Grund’s and his own, “more clever than I realized. He has severed the ties of the Investiture to his soul and to the girl’s. I cannot feel them. You know where he is, though, don’t you?”
Slowly, Rew nodded. “I know where he went. I can’t be sure he’s still there.”
“Carff?”
Rew nodded again and did not respond.
“Go there and bring them to me. The girl, dead or alive. Alsayer, alive,” instructed the king. “Valchon is there, but do not get distracted, Rew. I need the girl. It is imperative you find her. With Grund dead, you are best suited for this role. This is my task for you. Do you understand?”
“Will you… Can you open a portal?” asked Rew. He frowned. “I do not kno
w how it works with Vyar. Can you cast through him? If we can portal there, it will save us—”
“I shall not,” replied the corpse. “Alsayer will be prepared for my magic, and he will scamper like a hare the moment he feels it. You must go alone, without the taint of high magic on you or your companions. Find the girl. Find Alsayer. Rew, they have slipped my gaze, but the ties of ancient magic are still upon your soul. Call to me when you have them. I will be waiting.”
Rew, his body trembling, kept his eyes locked on the corpse.
“Careful on the road, Rew.”
The ranger raised his eyebrow.
The corpse shuffled closer, just half a dozen steps away now. In its hideous, dry rasp, it told him, “My sons are moving their pieces. They are positioning their allies and the strength they can call. There are many dangers on the road you take, both the Dark Kind and men. You can manage it, Rew, but perhaps not while protecting the others. You will watch out for these men, won’t you? Little more than bandits to one such as you. You have faced worse. I might have cleared the way for you, but this will be a good test, I think. Follow the trail these men leave you.”
“A test of what?” demanded the ranger.
“A test of how serious you are,” cracked the undead Vyar Grund, eyes suddenly blazing alight with shimmering green fire. The corpse lifted a hand and pointed a finger at Rew. “Will you run, like you always have before, or will you face who you are? I know you’ll find Alsayer and the girl for me, but what then? What will you do then, Rew?”
Rew frowned. A test. Would he run, or would he fight? Had the king guessed his intentions with the princes? Rew’s frowned deepened into a scowl. A test. It was a game the king played, and it wasn’t the first time he’d played it with Rew. One either succeeded at the king’s games, or one died. Those were the two outcomes when dancing to Vaisius Morden’s maniacal tune. The last time Rew had been tested, though, he’d chosen a different path. He’d refused. He flipped the board, and he’d disappeared into the wilderness.
The corpse emitted a low chuckle. Without further word or action, Vyar Grund collapsed limply onto the road. No one spoke for a long time. Finally, Rew turned and saw the other four members of the party kneeling, their heads still bowed on the dirt. They were all shaking, too terrified to move.