Vendurro tried to initiate some conversation, but after offering only a few stilted replies, and realizing I was directing my irritation his way for no good reason, I excused myself and took a walk through an untilled field.
When we finally started forward again, I took my spot, a little more relaxed and grounded than I had been. Wine helped. Though it was closing in on vinegar.
Throughout the afternoon, things haltingly started to come easier, as I immersed myself in the source material fully without worrying overmuch about how precise of a translation it was, or how long it seemed to be taking to regain any fluency in the language. As the day wore on, I felt myself becoming engrossed. Not in the material itself, which proved to be a lay subsidy roll in the first instance (as dusty a topic as the scroll itself) and the first three codices in a twelve-part series dealing with early religious and secular Anjurian law that outlined the intersection but more often the tensions and gulfs, going into voluminous detail about defining the castes and how they ought to be represented in local courts, rights of inheritance, and other equally riveting analysis of ancient jurisprudence. But engrossed in the process itself, the puzzling it out.
When the wagon stopped abruptly, I’d almost forgotten I was actually riding in one, or that we had a very unpleasant destination before us. Until Braylar pulled the flap aside and called back, “You’ve spilled enough ink for the day, archivist. Get your wits about you.” He looked at the stains on my fingers and then my face, where I must have touched myself while penning. “You have spilled more than enough, in fact. I gave you a directive not to sully the pages. Clearly I should have told you to protect yourself from them as well.”
I nearly touched my face again where he was staring and stopped myself. “Are we at the lodge?”
“Yes, Arki. Henlester is just outside. He invited your personally to sup with him and discuss ink preferences.”
The flap fell closed again. For a moment, I couldn’t tell what felt worse—stopping when I felt as if I was finally building some momentum, or stopping because we might actually be near a site where more blood was going to stain the grass and leaves.
I stowed my gear and clambered down from the wagon, joints aching, muscles sore from assuming the same bent posture for so long. No sooner were my feet on the ground than the Syldoon pushed the wagon into the deeper brush and trees on one side of the road. Working quickly and methodically, they had it covered so well that you would have had to pass within arm’s length or bump your shin on it before even noticing the wagon was there. When it came to matters of subterfuge, they really did have unparalleled skills.
The woods had closed in considerably, furry ferns bent low, gnarled armored oaks with their purple-black serrated leaves crowding together, hulking thick-trunked elms ringed in reddish-orange moss peculiar to this region, hoary larch, the towering and narrow spear pines jutting up so high they seemed intent on piercing the clouds. Even though we were still on a road, of sorts, it was narrow, and the foliage was dense and almost obtrusive, the tall trees blocking out most of the sun, the shrubs and bushes seeming to lock limbs in an effort to prevent anyone from even thinking of leaving the open path.
Braylar walked my slow but trusty and generally benign horse over to me as the others finished climbing back into their saddles. They had the horses that had been pulling the wagon drawn up behind them.
The captain handed me the reins. “Climb aboard, scribe. This boat won’t steer itself.”
I looked at my horse and hesitated. “I could stay with the wagon. To watch over it, that is. Alert you if anyone investigates. Make sure no one breaks into—”
“Your concern for my property, while commendable, in unwarranted. Two of my men remain behind. The saddle, Arki.”
I reluctantly hoisted myself up, threw my leg over, wincing as sensitive sores that hadn’t had any time to heal were immediately being chafed raw again. But really, it wasn’t the discomfort or the anxiety about the woods that gave me pause, it was leaving the translation now that I finally had a chance to dig into it.
All the Syldoon were on horseback, and the Memoridons were as well. Soffjian rode up to Braylar, posture as rigid and perfect as his own.
“Sister,” he said, leaving it at that.
“Brother,” she replied, but not content to stop there. “How are you feeling today? Less burdened, I hope?”
“Do you now?”
“Not personally, of course. Personally, I prefer you anguished. Tormented even. Which you obviously manage surprisingly well without any help from me. But I have a professional interest in you now.” Soffjian looked down at Bloodsounder, which Braylar pointedly ignored.
“Ever the professional.”
“Skeelana seemed to think there was quite a bit of residual… matter spattered inside you. Quite the cleanup job, from the sounds of it. So, do you feel sufficiently scoured now? Ready again to proceed recklessly into the wild for no good reason?”
Braylar ignored her and Soffjian turned to the trees and rolling hills, as if she could see Henlester somewhere out there in the hidden distance. “I’m curious, though. Are you more in a rush to be overcome by stolen memories again, or to risk the wrath of the Emperor, who did not expressly give you leave to go priest hunting in the wilderness?”
“The Emperor did not expressly deny it, either. He issued a command to return, and we will do so, never fear.”
Soffjian gave him a long look that seemed blank and composed but I suspected masked a good many broiling emotions. “The command is yours, for the moment, Captain. But I must go on record as—”
“Objection duly noted, duly considered, and duly rejected and forgotten. Anything else, Memoridon, or are you done meddling? For the moment, of course.”
She smiled in return and pointed toward the woods. “Lead on, oh puissant warrior. By all means.”
He didn’t respond and started riding into the trees, though whether or not on some path remained to be seen. Mulldoos, Hewspear, and Vendurro followed immediately after, and the rest of the Syldoon filed in behind. I hesitated, and so missed my chance to ride amongst the captain and his lieutenants, but I wasn’t looking forward to riding next to any of the other Syldoon, who tolerated me only slightly better than they did the Memoridons in the company. So that left me to ride next to the unwelcome women.
Soffjian ignored me, eyes still tracking her brother, again with the disquieting blank expression, and she moved ahead as Skeelana fell in alongside me. She waited until Soffjian had put a little distance between us, then leaned closer to me. “So. You’ve been sequestered away.”
There was no rise at the end to indicate it being an actual question, but it clearly hung there like one, or at least an invitation for me to elaborate. “I was feeling a bit off. That rabbit we had didn’t really agree with my stomach. Most wild game doesn’t. How are you doing? Better I hope?” I suddenly felt guilty that I’d been so absorbed with translating I hadn’t stopped to ask her earlier in the day.
Skeelana nodded. “It was violent enough—my insides rebelled worse than any time I can remember—but it passed almost immediately after. I was dizzy for a bit, when I spoke with you, but otherwise fine, and even that didn’t last all that long.”
“I should have stayed with you.” She glanced at me, one pierced eyebrow raised. Quickly, I added, “Outside, I mean. Last night. To be sure you were well. I shouldn’t have left you out there by yourself.”
“If you recall, I told you to.” She smiled. “And besides, while that fumbling gallantry of yours is endearing, I can fend for myself just fine. If you recall.”
I did recall, all too well. That Hornman blinded, swinging wildly after she stole his sight. While she might not have been able to cripple or kill like Soffjian, I had no doubt she could defend herself well enough, at least long enough to escape an assailant. Which of course there were none of in a dead and deserted plague village. “But if that spell hadn’t passed quickly, or had stolen your wits or laid you low? No
one but me knew where you were.”
“Less fumbling, no less endearing.” She ducked a low-hanging branch and I did as well. “The other woman, the nomad in your party—Lloi, was it?”
I nodded.
“Was she ever overwhelmed? Or so sick she couldn’t recover?”
“I only saw her treat the captain one time, and she wasn’t then, but from what I heard she didn’t fare so well the first time. And I can’t speak to how long it took her to manage what she did. To not pass out or avoid choking on her vomit or whatever.”
“Gallant and charming.”
My cheeks flushed hot at the sarcasm, but she was still smiling and continued before I floundered over any more words. “But she wasn’t a trained Memoridon. While I’d never attempted anything quite like that, I know what I can do and can’t do, and what’s more, how to monitor and control myself while doing it. Still, thank you for the misplaced concern.”
We rode along in quiet, winding down a brambly trail into thicker foliage, the birch and poplars growing more crowded, the leaves rustling in the breeze above. “Are we in the Forest of Deadmoss now?”
She looked around, the ring in her nose glinting. “Looks mossy enough to me—I think so. I saw a low stone wall on the outer edge of the woods, near a meadow. I’m pretty sure that marked the beginning of the priestwood.”
Even though it was daylight, and there was no threat to be seen, who knew if Henlester had men patrolling the woods, or if Brunesmen were circling the area as well. Quiet seemed prudent. And still, my train of thought led me to a question I couldn’t put aside.
I tried for a whisper, but it still seemed obscenely loud in the forest. “Is Sunwrack near any part of the Godveil?”
That almost-but-not-quite-mocking grin. “Is anything? No one intentionally lives near it, do they?”
“But I imagine you’ve seen it?”
“Of course. It marks the eastern border of Urglovia.”
“Some say you—the Memoridons, I mean—that the original ones, they inherited their powers from the Deserter Gods. Do you think that’s true?”
Skeelana’s grin got bigger. “A bit presumptuous. But I have heard that rumor.”
I tried to phrase it as if I was only making idle conversation, not actively looking for any information. “Do you think there’s any truth to it?”
“I wasn’t there, Arki. It was a loooooong time ago. When those Gods left, they did a pretty good job of not leaving many clues behind. So no one can say with any certainty.”
“Maybe not. But do you think it’s possible? What your kind can do, it’s obviously…”
“Yes?” Again, the quizzical look. It was actually growing on me.
“Well, except for the Syldoon, the entire world would rather see you dead than exercising those powers. They’re obviously potent. And alarming. So when you’re first trained, do your masters tell you their theory about the origins?”
“They do indeed.”
I waited, and when she stopped there, toying with me no doubt, I asked, “Aaaaand? What did they tell you?”
“That we were trained as the high priests of the Deserters. Before they deserted of course.”
I resisted the urge to yank on the reins. “What? You just said you didn’t know. And that it was presumptuous.”
“I did. And I did.”
“But—”
“I didn’t say I believed it. But that is what we are taught, yes.”
“But you don’t believe it?”
“I didn’t say that either, now did I?” She started to laugh and then stifled it, looking ahead to Soffjian to see if she overheard. More quietly, she said, “I think skepticism is healthy. And that we can’t ever know. I’m more concerned with the here and now than what happened over a millennium ago, anyway.” She gave me a pointed look. “Why are you so curious?” She was still smiling. But not as large.
“It’s my nature. And my training. I ask questions. Look for answers.”
“I see. Even when they are impossible to know or find?”
My horse clomped along, leaves mulching underhoof as we started up a rise. “There are always answers. If you are stubborn enough to keep looking.”
She shrugged. “Or convince yourself of them. Why did you ask about the Godveil?”
I leaned forward slightly to compensate as the ground sloped a bit more. “They erected that behind them. I was just thinking, there must be answers to a great deal of questions on the other side.”
When I stopped there, she waited and then said, “Aaaaaaaaand?”
It was my turn to bite down on a laugh. “I was also thinking that if the Deserters had really gifted some of their powers and knowledge to the Memoridons, even ages ago—if that were true, than perhaps you possessed the key to parting the Veil. Really parting it, passing through.”
She nodded very slowly. “Well, given no one knows for sure where those lovely gifts came from—despite seeming awfully, zealously certain, and wanting desperately to believe they were handed down from on high, because wouldn’t that be a wonderful boost to self-esteem—then the odds of us discovering a means of overcoming something erected by the Gods themselves seems pretty thin to me. And no amount of wishing otherwise or hunting is going to—”
We heard a low whistle and stopped. Ahead of us, Soffjian had one arm raised, the back of her hand to us. The Syldoon had stopped not too much further in front of her as well, and they were climbing down off their horses.
Soffjian did as well, and Skeelana took that as our cue. As always, I was the last one to catch up. Skeelana and I walked our horses up to the rest of the company. Braylar lashed Scorn to a tree, and everyone knew that wherever else we might be going it was on foot, and they did the same.
Then the captain faced our small company and pointed to the top of the hill. “We’re nearing a small ridge. We walk until we get close to the top. Then we slither the rest of the way. The hunting lodge is in a cleared-out space on the other side. We aren’t the first ones here, but that’s no surprise. Foss reports our dear friend, Captain Gurdinn, has led a Brunesmen expedition here as well. So, we take up position near the top—” He glared at me and the Memoridons for emphasis—“Silent position, it should go without saying, but I am forced to, lest someone alert the entire valley to the fact that we’ve joined this little party as well—and then we will see what we see, yes?”
I heard “Aye, Captain” several times from those closest, and the rest nodded, and he looked directly at me and the Memoridons to be sure interpretation wasn’t an issue.
The Syldoon crouched down, their armor covered by tunics again, their shields obscured by leather covers, helmets blackened by soot, though not the mail drapes the captain and lieutenants had on theirs. Still, it was clear they had opted for stealth again as much as possible.
I slung the belt and crossbow on my back and the quiver around my waist, and grabbed the trunks of trees to help keep my balance as we ascended the rest of the way. Lloi’s curved sword was belted around my waist as well, though I knew if things were dire enough that I had to draw it, it mostly meant we were done for.
Skeelana was just in front of me, and I found myself watching the way her hips shifted back and forth. Even on level ground, she had a bit of an involuntary sashay that was hard to turn away from, but watching her take the incline was almost hypnotic. I shook my head as I tripped over a root and forced myself to watch where I was going.
There was a part of me that hoped Foss had been wrong—maybe the lodge was in the next small valley, or maybe an entirely different forest altogether. The sweat started to come, even with the air growing chillier, and I breathed faster, despite the small climb not being the most exerting. Witnessing more combat was a bad enough prospect, but I’d sampled what it was like to actually participate, and was in no hurry at all to try it again.
I glanced at Skeelana, forcing myself to look above her waist as I wondered how she was faring. Was she as nervous as I was, given that she was so
mehow even less experienced and equipped? Or was she secure in knowing that her powers—bestowed by deities, stumbled upon by chance, discovered by peculiar accident—would be enough to see her through?
Nearing the top, everyone crouched down, making their way more slowly toward the crest of the hill, and then we all lowered ourselves to our bellies for the final distance, crawling through leaves and twigs and other detritus of the forest. I passed a large patch of strange mushrooms, with the heads inverted rather than domed, as if designed to capture the water that fell rather than repel it, and nearly bumped into Skeelana.
Even before I could see anything, I heard sounds from somewhere far on the other side, voices carrying through the woods, a hammer pounding something, a whinnying horse. I smelled smoke, too, and then right near the top of the ridge, got a whiff of meat that must have been on a spit. My mouth started watering as I imagined the skin crackling and blackening. Which was an odd sensation, given that at any moment we could be shooting our enemies, or maybe being skewered by them ourselves.
I wasn’t the only one suddenly feeling hunger pangs—I saw Vendurro lick his lips.
Braylar ordered the bulk of his men and the Memoridons to hold here. He kept moving up the remainder of the rise with Hewpsear and Mulldoos flanking him. I was crawling on my hands and knees, when I felt a slap on the back of my legs. Vendurro whispered, “Ass down, Quills. Cap said slither, not crawl like a plaguing possum.”
I did as instructed the rest of the way. When I finally peered over the edge, I wished I hadn’t. On the other side, in a shallow depressed stretch of land that wasn’t really large enough to count as a valley, the priest’s hunting lodge dominated the scene below us. I had expected a manor house mostly of wood, but the central building was built almost entirely of stone, three stories tall, with a rectangular tower on one corner. And the compound was surrounded by a thick, high wall that any smaller castle would have been jealous of, and beyond that, a deep dry moat. The drawbridge was up and surely locked tight.
Veil of the Deserters Page 27