Sons of Plague

by Kade Derricks

  He rode off without speaking, spurring his horse toward his men.

  “You can’t let him in the city,” Meagera said when he was out of earshot. “If he gets loose in Washougle, he’ll put everyone he comes across to the sword.”

  Vlan nodded along with her, and for once, even Zethul seemed to agree. Rare were the times the dwarf joined those two.

  “He’s a butcher,” Zethul said. “He’s carrying too much hate inside.”

  “I agree,” Cagle said with a grim nod. For some time, he’d been thinking of a reason to keep Huir’s band out of the city. The man hated Washougle with a passion bordering on mania, and he was far too bloodthirsty to roam free.

  If the city offers battle, I’ll put his men in our center. That’ll leave them too tired to do much, and if they take heavy losses, all the better.

  He looked after Huir. He knew he shouldn’t sacrifice him yet. He needed his men as hostages if Crow’s Bay decided to rebel.

  Hostages? What has this come to that I need hostages to hold a city’s loyalty?

  He couldn’t have imagined a situation like this when he set out. He wondered if either his father or the king envisioned this when they proposed the expedition. Likely so. Both had seen much of war in their younger years. They knew its necessities.

  “Sansaba, can you tell me anything else about the city?”

  “Very little we haven’t discussed already, my lord,” she smiled and tilted her head without breaking eye contact. “When last my father came, the trade here was poor. We have not passed this way in many years.”

  “Once we’ve taken the city, you may trade with its people.”

  “Thank you. I need to see to my people’s arrangements.” She smiled again, turned, and headed off to her caravan of wagons. Her group, now triple the size of what had arrived in Crow’s Bay, had grown with every mile north as more and more traders looked to take advantage of the developing situation.

  So long as they didn’t cheat his men, the traders were of no concern to Cagle. He’d appointed Sansaba as their leader and representative. Each had pledged to obey her.

  “Vlan, how fast could you get over that wall if you had to?” Cagle asked.

  “It doesn’t look strong. We could smash our way in quickly,” the giant rumbled.

  “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Meagera said. “Maybe we can simply pay for what we need and be on our way.”

  “Maybe,” Cagle said. “I suspect they don’t have much, either, though. There’s almost as many abandoned farms here as there were around Crow’s Bay.”

  “What a waste,” Zethul said. “This is a rich land. It’s a pity so much has been lost. Why don’t these people rise up and reclaim it?”

  “I don’t know,” Cagle said. “From what Sansaba has told me, several have tried rallying the country since the capital fell, but each time one city or another starts to make progress, two or three of its jealous neighbors unite to tear it down.”

  Zethul shook his head. “They spend their time squabbling among themselves like children over toys instead of reclaiming what’s rightfully theirs. Then they could all prosper.”

  “Yes. Not at all like us, right Zethul?” Cagle smiled. He thought of the Dalrones and the King and even his father. “Not at all like the lowlands and the highlands back home.”

  “You know what I mean.” Zethul gave him a flat look. “It’s different back home. Some people will never get along.”

  “I’d bet they say the same thing here. Huir certainly would.” Cagle dismounted to walk his horse. “See to your men, friends. Felnasen, I’ll speak with you in my tent after dinner tonight. Meagera, will you and Vlan walk with me?”

  Felnasen saluted. “As you command.” He and Zethul left for their respective duties.

  Meagera dismounted to walk beside Cagle.

  “You want to ask about the changes you’ve experienced,” Meagera said after the others were gone.

  “You know about them?” The fact that the mage suspected something didn’t surprise him, but he was a bit taken aback that she’d brought it up.

  “I saw how you foresaw the attack when the bowmen came. I saw you point out the attackers when the rest of us could barely see or sense them. Zethul told me about what happened when you ambushed those men.”

  “He did?” Zethul distrusted spellcasters of any kind. Although he’d grown slightly more comfortable around Meagera, it said much of the dwarf’s concern if he was willing to approach her.

  “Show me the mark again.”

  Cagle tugged his shirt down to reveal it.

  “It’s changed,” Vlan said.

  “Yes, it looks brighter, more clear around the edges.” Meagera leaned in to run her fingers over it. The tattoo flared at her touch. “It still resists all my efforts to examine it.”

  “Have you any idea what it is? Anything at all?”

  Meagera straightened to look at him. “I have...a theory. It isn’t a surety by any means. I suspect it is, or rather was, an Aumenthane. It was a crystal before it absorbed into your skin, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes,” Cagle nodded. “Green, just like the tattoo. Father said he bought a pair of them from a trader years ago. The trader said it would protect him from magic, but then the third Fleure war ended and he never ended up wearing it. The Fleure never have many casters anyway. He sent it with me for protection.”

  “I’ve heard of such things. Special artifacts and the like, capable of providing the equivalent of a mage’s spellshield, even if the wearer has no magic ability of his own.”

  “Is there a way to remove this Aumenthane? Some way to stop it from changing me?”

  “What has it done to you? Zethul said you fought like ten men,” Vlan said.

  “I am faster than before, stronger too, and my senses are sharper. Sharp enough to defy all reason. I can see in the dark like a wolf, and hear a butterfly’s flapping wings. Even from this distance, I can smell the city.” Cagle rubbed at his hand where he’d cut himself. The skin was unblemished. Not even a hint of scarring. You’d never know I did it. “I heal faster than I should, too.”

  “And you can still resist spells, it seems.” Meagera held a finger to her lips, tapping lightly. “Are these things, these abilities, growing stronger?”

  “No. I think they’ve stopped. But they only started when the fire from that trap hit me.”

  “I examined the trap. That was no ordinary fire. It was laced with mageflame. It should have killed you outright, burning you to ash in an instant.”

  “I gathered the pendant kept me alive, but after the flames were gone the crystal had melted into my skin like this.” Cagle pointed to the tattoo.

  “To answer your question, I know of no way to remove it.” Meagera studied the ground. “Not without killing you, at least. Very little is known of Aumenthane. It is believed they are somehow related to Magentite, but who knows? They used to be more common, but they are exceedingly rare now.”

  “You can’t tell me anything more than that?”

  “I can tell you that Aumenthane functions exactly as you’ve described. The ancients created them to enhance their armies. Magic was more common back then, and the crystals protected the wearer from mages. As this happened, the wearers gained physical abilities. So much of the past remains lost and obscured. We see but dim shadows from that time.”

  “Why weren’t more created, then? Something like this would be extremely useful.”

  Meagera shrugged. “As I said, a great deal of knowledge has been lost. Recordkeeping has been abysmal for long stretches of time, and what was written down so rarely has been kept safe from the elements. We know little of the people who came before. I can’t even say that the Aumenthane were created for men. They may have been meant for elves or dwarves or some othe
r ancient race.”

  “Then you’ve no idea what this will do to me?”

  “I’m sorry,” Meagera said with a regretful frown. “Nothing I’ve ever heard or read leads me to think that it is reversible, either. Whatever has been done to you cannot be undone. Not by myself, at least.”

  “I don’t trust it,” Cagle said. “I am afraid I’m losing a part of myself.”

  “That is wise, to be afraid. Gifts like this never come cheaply,” Meagera said.

  Cagle walked on without speaking. Vlan put a big hand on his shoulder and then ventured off to his brethren. Meagera followed. Cagle continued down to the edge of a shallow brook. The water was clean and clear. Long blades of grass dipped into the water, gray minnows hiding among them.

  Aumenthane. He had a name for the thing burned into his skin, at least. Not a solution. Though it held little in the way of books, there had been a library in Crow’s Bay. They’d found nothing of value on its shelves. Compared to the other cities shown on Iridia’s map, the Bay was but a small city. A larger city might have a larger library. More knowledge. Something useful.

  He looked at Washougle on the horizon, its towers and short curtain wall. The city stretched end-to-end at the mouth of a long, green valley. His newly sharpened eyes could pick out fat cattle and white, woolly sheep grazing the far valley. There were a few scattered farmhouses, as well. Unlike in the rest of the country, these were not abandoned. Smoke curled and spread from their tall chimneys and chickens pecked in their yards.

  There has to be more food here than there was in Crow’s Bay.

  There would also be a library in town. It might hold the knowledge he sought. Once Olinia heard of his arrival she’d visit the camp tonight, and then he could send her back out to locate it. After they took the city and its granaries and warehouses, they could return to Crow’s Bay to wait for the ships’ return. Pal Turas should be back with the ships in a few weeks.

  We can set the people of Crow’s Bay to repairing their city—reclaiming the surrounding countryside from bandits and raiders—and then leave them with their granaries fuller than we found them. First, though, he needed his sister to report in. Then he had to breach the walls and take Washougle. After that, they could search for answers to his condition. Olinia will help me find the answers. Then we will know what to do.

  CHAPTER 13

  A City Divided

  Olinia slept fitfully, curled up into a tight ball so as to avoid knocking over her candles. She woke before dawn. The candles burned low, stubby, soft things, each surrounded by a pool of white wax. Patiently, the Shade waited, watching, lifeless eyes glowing gold. It hadn’t spoken while she slept; Olinia was relieved for it. The thing’s newfound intelligence disturbed her.

  With the rising sun, light filtered in through holes and gaps and cracks in the abandoned building. The Shade hissed and popped and faded away.

  Jorle woke with the noise.

  “What happened?” he groaned.

  Olinia stretched. Kinks knotted the length of her back and her vision blurred. She rubbed at the hardened crust in the corners of her eyes. Jorle looked at her without speaking.

  “What am I to do with you?” she said, mostly to herself. She drew the dagger from her waist and held it point up.

  “No need for that,” Jorle said. “I’m a harmless old man. There’s little enough I could do to you even if you didn’t have me tied up. Just leave me here, maybe with my mouth free, and sooner or later someone will hear me and cut me loose. You needn’t trouble yourself.”

  “Last time you said you were harmless you slugged me in the jaw.” Olinia rubbed at her chin. It was still sore from Jorle’s fist.

  “Please. I don’t even know you. I never saw you until I dropped off my cart. I won’t tell a soul what happened here.”

  “And what did happen here?” Olinia asked.

  Jorle swallowed. His eyes shifted to the corner of the room where the Shade had waited. “I saw...it.”

  “The Shade. Yes, it was here.”

  “The Shade. It spoke,” Jorle repeated.

  Olinia had brought a bag from her room last night with a lump of cheese and a pair of apples. She sat down cross-legged near Jorle. She used her dagger to slice the cheese and apples into neat little wedges and took a bite of each. Then she offered a wedge of cheese to Jorle.

  With effort, he tore his eyes away from the empty corner and looked at the offered cheese. He sniffed at it.

  “I’d hardly poison you. Easier to just cut your throat and be done with it,” Olinia said.

  Leaning forward, he took a bite of the edge, clenching it between his teeth. Then he drew the whole piece into his mouth and started to chew.

  “Do you remember our conversation last night?” Olinia held up a wedge of red apple.

  Jorle took the apple in his teeth, nodding. “Yes.”

  “Do you know how to defeat the Shade?”

  “No one has ever beat one,” Jorle shook his head. “I’ve seen only two of them in person. Before last night, anyway. The first took a man near the market one evening. He grabbed a torch to drive it away before it caught him. He swung the torch, and the Shade scattered as it passed, like a cloud of pitch-black flies, then it reformed and swallowed him down.”

  “And the second?” Olinia asked, not encouraged.

  “The second was a young woman. She’d poisoned her lover, one of the nobles, after he abandoned her to return to his wealthy wife.” Jorle swallowed. He looked at Olinia’s circle of candles. “She held it off for two nights before it found her. When it did…” He shuddered.

  “Surely someone has escaped. There has to be a way.”

  “None that I know. I heard one fellow some years ago tried interrupting the ceremony to stop the summoning. Didn’t work, though. The guards caught him before he reached the priest and the Shade drew him up out of their arms and took him on the spot. That’s what my father said, anyway.”

  The priest. Of course—if I stop the ceremony, the Shade won’t come.

  All she had to do was kill the priest before he could summon the Shade. He’ll likely be near the courtyard. What to do with Jorle, though?

  Again, she looked at the bound man.

  “The priest. Where does he stay?”

  “At the Citadel near the old courtyard,” Jorle said. “There’s a temple up on the fourth floor. The high priest lives there.”

  Olinia gathered her things and rose. She wondered what sort of religion allowed their priests to summon such monsters.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Jorle said. “He’s surrounded by guards, though. The Citadel is crawling with them.”

  “And let me guess. If I but cut you loose, you’ll help me inside.”

  Jorle licked his lips and nodded.

  “I think not. I think you’ll betray me at the first possible moment.” Olinia leaned over him, dagger bared.

  “Now, now, there’s no need for—” Jorle started.

  Olinia cut halfway through the leather bindings around his hands. “That should hold you for a time. If you work at it, you’ll break free eventually.”

  She left him there and drew up her hood, then set out for the Citadel. She knew the quickest route. It was one of the first buildings she’d scouted.

  The Citadel stood directly adjacent to the courtyard where the sacrifices were made. The building was wide, made entirely of stone, rising high above Washougle’s outer wall with a flat, crenelated top and heavy ballistae on each corner. Guards in full armor stood stiff-backed in a number of windows and arched walkways.

  Olinia made her way there by midmorning, pausing for a quick snack of biscuits and salt-cured ham at one of the street vendors. She stopped beside the Old Courtyard’s crumbling outer ring. Her eyes focused on the spot near the altar
where she’d seen the first sacrifice made. The ground there was stained a sickening brown. She wondered who they’d murdered last night to draw out the beast. Another prisoner, maybe another murderer, she hoped. Murdering an innocent just to punish her for Tarn’s death was too horrifying to consider.

  She waited there among the worn stones, watching armed men come and go from the huge fortress. As Jorle had said, both the Citadel and the streets outside crawled with soldiers. The officers, in their plumed helmets and wearing badges over both shoulders, were easy enough to pick out. Enlisted men paused to salute every time they passed. An hour later, she’d counted fifty-seven men entering the Citadel, and twenty-three leaving.

  A formidable garrison, and no doubt there are many more inside.

  Still, as ever in places like this, there were many who came and went without even being seen. A group of women carrying laundry passed inside without pause. Not a single soldier paid them any mind. Three craftsmen entered with long-toothed saws over their shoulders and an assortment of tools dangling around their belts.

  Olinia set off down the street the craftsmen had come from. A block down, a group of men labored on the sloped roof of a three-story building, repairing damaged tiles. She passed below their scaffolding and snatched up a discarded saw and hammer along with a leather bag full of nails and chisels.

  Without slowing, she looped around the block, changing her face to that of a young, curly-bearded man while walking.

  She took a breath, dipped her head submissively, and entered the Citadel without challenge.

  Beyond the outer door, the building’s interior was bare stone without decorative coverings of any kind on the walls, ceiling, or floors. Olinia paused to get her bearings, then set off down a narrow corridor.

  At the corridor’s end, she found a set of stairs that rose ever higher. She climbed past the second and third floors directly to the fourth. She opened the door and stepped out of the stairwell. The hallways were wider here, broad enough for four men to march abreast. Guards and attendants quickly filtered in and out view, disappearing into various rooms and connecting corridors. Most carried papers or scrolls. Never bothering to look about, they scurried around staring at the floor and moving with purpose.