by Scott Kaelen
Hobble. Adri mulled the point over. Would crippling someone and holding them captive for the rest of their mortal days be any better than sending them swiftly into the next life? She turned her attention to the farmer delegate across from Kerysa. “Blachord? What say you?”
Blachord sniffed. “Aye. Well. I reckon we all know what needs to be done, whether we like it or not. And I don’t doubt some folk do like the notion of a bit of violence, but I’m not one of ‘em.” He looked along the table to Eriqwyn. “Still, if you’re needin’ a fellow of fortitude to join you, you’d do a lot worse than my man Lingrey. He’s as stout as they come, an’ well-weathered with it. A farmhand he may be, but a finer man you’ll not find by your side at such a time.”
“On that note, I’d recommend Tan,” Fahrein offered. “He’s a hardy young lad and as strong as a bull.” He caught Onwin’s glance beside him, and shrugged. “I’m just saying.”
“If you’re recruiting for the task,” Onwin said in a gruff voice, “you’d best take some o’ the hunters. What skill have smithies and pig-pushers when it comes to dispatching dangerous creatures?”
“Ah,” Eriqwyn said flatly. “And how much hands-on experience do the hunters have in killing anything more than the animals of the wild? No more than any other in this village. I want people who are sturdy and reliable. And, besides, Minnow’s Beck needs its hunters should I and whoever accompanies me fail. I have three Warders at my disposal, and yet I will take only one. There are other considerations beyond throwing our full force into an uncertain situation with an unknowable outcome. The outlanders are not the only danger within those walls.” She looked pointedly at Onwin. “You may appoint one hunter to accompany me.”
“Then I choose myself.”
Eriqwyn pressed her lips together and glanced to the door, clearly impatient to bring the discussion to an end.
Adri turned to the seamstress sat beside Blachord. “Shade, you haven’t said a word yet. Do you have anything to add?”
The dark-haired woman pursed her lips, her brown eyes agleam as always, seemingly with some private joke. “I may have,” she said after a moment as her eyes flashed past Caneli to Eriqwyn. “For now, I acquiesce to the desires of the First Warder.”
“Very well,” Adri said. “Caneli?”
The physician drew in a breath and let it out. “Does it matter what I think? You’ve got two over there who are all for murder without a second thought, and you’ve got three others who would rather not cast such a vote but will go along with it anyway.” Caneli sneered in derision and looked pointedly at Adri. “Do what you must; you don’t need a unanimous decision here, but I want it on record that I find this abhorrent. That you are even considering murder or mutilation as a means to sustain our village’s paranoid and fearful survival…” She lowered her eyes and shook her head. “Go and do the goddess’s work, but it won’t be the goddess who patches you up afterwards.” Resignedly, she added, “I will be here to tend the wounded as best I can, as always.”
The assemblage remained silent. None offered their agreement nor voiced their disapproval, though Adri sensed shame from those at the far end of the table. She did not need to ask Eriqwyn for her thoughts, yet procedure insisted she must. She held her sister’s gaze. “Eri?”
Eriqwyn’s face was resolute. “The safety of Minnow’s Beck is paramount. Thanks to Demelza, the outlanders know where to find us; yes, she admitted as much to me. They cannot return to their homes with such knowledge. Demelza should have withdrew as soon as she spotted them, but she did not; a good hunter knows that the longer you hide in the shadows observing an animal, the greater your chance of being noticed, and that’s what happened.” She sighed. “Perhaps I would have settled for retrieving the deadstone and returning it to the graveyard, but Demelza’s ineptitude has exposed our presence and therefore sealed the outlanders’ fates.”
“Then it’s settled.” The knot of responsibility in Adri’s stomach tightened. “Blachord, Fahrein, you may tell Lingrey and Tan”—she glanced at Eriqwyn, who gave a curt nod—“to prepare themselves and join the First Warder on the village green with due haste. Onwin, you also. The rest of you may return to your work. And, please, no rumour mongering! I don’t want panic spreading through the village. Dismissed.”
As the council members left their seats and filed toward the door, Shade stepped behind Eriqwyn and bent to whisper in her ear before drifting away to follow the others from the longhall. Glowering at the woman’s back, Eriqwyn rose, crossed to the heavy door and pushed it closed.
“What did Shade say to you?” Adri asked.
Eriqwyn strode to the end of the oaken table, planted her hands on the lacquered surface and stared down its length at Adri. “The woman is always cryptic and irritating. She apparently has information she didn’t want to voice in front of the council, and will wait to speak with me on the green.” She flicked a hand towards the deadstone on its cloth wrapping. “As if I have the time to listen to her nonsense.”
“Indeed. She weaves intimations like silk on a spinning wheel. See what she has to say, but don’t let her waste your time. Which of the Warders will you take?”
Eriqwyn considered the question. “Linisa came off night duty this morning and will be tired. I will leave her here with her sister. I will take Wayland.”
Adri nodded. “He’s a fine Warder. I would also like Demelza to accompany you.” She lifted a hand to silence her sister’s imminent protest. “Please, Eri, give her this chance to redeem herself.”
Eriqwyn’s eyes locked sombrely with Adri’s. “Why on the goddess’s green heath would you ask this of me? The girl has the brains of a balukha.” She gave a derisive snort. “And I do not trust her.”
“Many may not like Demelza, but I do,” Adri said, keeping her voice calm though she felt anything but. “Her weakness is her upbringing, which was no fault of her own. She could be a good hunter one day.”
Eriqwyn began to pace the hall. “That day may never come for her,” she snapped. “The potential danger she has brought upon us is a crime in itself, in accordance with the Founding Laws.” She spun on her heel and pointed at Adri. “And you of all people must know what the laws say about committing such a profound error.”
“Well I do.”
Eriqwyn resumed her pacing.
With a gasp of irritation, Adri fixed her with a scowl. “Will you stand still? You forget yourself, little sister. There are punishments in the old laws fit for ones who show a lack of respect for the Lady of the Manor, too. You of all people must know this.”
Eriqwyn held Adri’s gaze, then sighed and gave a curt nod. “Of course. Forgive me. This entire situation stinks, and it has me on edge. Do you know how tempted I was to kill that girl while we were out on the heath? To stop myself, I sent her back to the village ahead of me.”
“You showed wisdom in that, and exercised patience.”
“As I would with any docile creature. The only difference is that the animals usually end up dead.”
Adri gestured to Eriqwyn’s chair and bade her sit, which Eriqwyn reluctantly did. “It is well that you didn’t kill her,” Adri said. “That would only have exacerbated the situation. Besides, Demelza’s skills are undeveloped and may eventually prove to be an asset to our community.”
Eriqwyn pursed her lips and seemed to be considering saying more, but didn’t press the issue. Instead, she eyed the deadstone on the table between them. Her distaste was obvious.
“Only once since the curse of the goddess has one of these entered the village,” Eriqwyn said. “There are still some elders alive who can attest to how the last occurrence turned out. I will not be remembered as the bringer of a second such tragedy to the people of Minnow’s Beck.”
Adri shook her head. She found her eyes drawn to the dark seed at the heart of the translucent, silver-banded jewel. A shiver touched her skin beneath the thin tunic and she rubbed her hands over her arms. “Bringing the deadstone here was the right decision, Eri.
You could not return it to the graveyard while the outlanders are still at large.” Leaning forward to scrutinise the silver band, she added, “The inscriptions tell us which family’s vault it was taken from. You can return it to its rightful place when the outlanders are gone.” As her eyes found the family name etched into the silver, she said in a low voice, “The goddess indeed shows her wit today.”
“Adri,” Eriqwyn said levelly, “you know I love you and respect your position, but time is of the essence, in both cases. I should take the stone and deal with the outlanders simultaneously.” She sighed impatiently. “The outlander who left their camp first was in no state for a fight; I could have taken him easily at any time and returned to slit the throats of the others, then gone directly to the graveyard with the stone. I could have kept the knowledge to myself, save for Demelza. Perhaps I should have done so. I have a feeling it would have saved us all a lot of hardship.”
Adri raised an eyebrow. “And how would you have entered the Forbidden Place?”
Eriqwyn paused before answering. “Demelza says the outlanders have raised the portcullis.”
“Damn,” Adri hissed.
Eriqwyn nodded grimly. “Three tasks. Return the stone, dispatch the outlanders, and lower the gate.”
“I can’t help but agree with Caneli that we’re not in the habit of mercilessly butchering people. I wish there were another way, but Kerysa and Fahrein’s suggestions are little better.”
“I won’t take any pleasure in what has to be done, Adri. You know that. The success of Minnow’s Beck lies in its peace, but also in its ruthlessness. As your First Warder, my charge is the protection of the village, and maintaining its preservation.”
“As it is my charge. But these are the first outlanders we’ve encountered in generations. If it wasn’t for the tales and archives—”
“And the skulls that adorn the oak.”
Adri inclined her head. “My point is, it’s been over a hundred years. For all we know, few people remain across all of Himaera.”
Eriqwyn scoffed. “You don’t believe that. The goddess’s curse stops at the graveyard’s limits. We are testament to that fact. If we live, then the curse surely began and ended with King Mallak. There is likely a thriving civilisation up north. Would you have an army of thousands descend on us, come for all the deadstones in Lachyla? They would take them back and disperse them throughout the land. Can you imagine the chaos that would reign unchecked?”
Adri furrowed her brow. Eriqwyn’s words struck some troubling chords. “No, I would not want that.” She absently turned to the multi-faceted gemstone and gazed into its depths, again finding the fragmented black core, and at once felt both a sense of repulsion and a sense of attraction towards the shadowed nucleus.
Cursed thing, she thought, disgusted at herself for the ambivalent sensations the deadstone evoked in her. Eri is right; this abomination cannot stay here a moment longer than necessary. She pulled her gaze away and found her sister regarding her.
“Things must be returned to normal, for the safety of our people,” Adri said. She could not show lenience. To keep the outlanders as prisoners would be a waste of resources, but they could not be allowed to return north. She drew a breath and slowly released it. “Return the stone to its vault. As for any potential outside threat to Minnow’s Beck, deal with it as you see fit.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
OUTSIDER WITHIN
“Sit,” Krea ordered from across the small room.
Oriken obeyed. The luxurious couch enveloped him, knocking his hat forward onto his face. He eased himself from the deep cushions and perched upon the front of the seat, twisting the hat back into place.
Why in the world did I agree to stay here and let the others go swanning off to see this Sabrian fellow? He had a vain hope that Krea might offer them a burial jewel that wasn’t the one belonging to her family; if not, then all they’d be getting for their efforts was the ten percent for non-retrieval.
“You said you had something important to show me,” he prompted.
“Mmm.” Krea padded across the doe-hide rug to stand before him. She gave a disappointed sigh and took the hat from his head. “Look at you,” she chided, scrunching her nose. “You are a dishevelled mess, and in serious need of a bath.”
“Hey!” He snatched for his hat, but Krea deftly tucked it behind her.
“It’s impolite to wear your headdress indoors. Don’t you know that? What sort of backwater community dragged you up, Oriken of Eyndal? Hm?”
Perplexed, he watched as she tossed his hat across the room. It arced through the air and landed neatly on the peg of an empty coat-stand, circled around it, then settled into place.
“I, uh—”
“Exactly,” Krea agreed as she placed her hands over his shirt. Her fingertips found the crook between chest and shoulder and she pushed him back, forcing him to drop into the voluminous couch. “Don’t fret, my dear outlander, I will draw you a bath afterwards.”
Oriken balked. Gods in the Void! Afterwards what?
She leaned in to him, a huskiness entering her voice as she added, “Complete with scented oils.”
Oh, stars. At this proximity, he caught the faint scent of lavender on her skin, but the crackly, oily undertones in her voice were also more prominent; that, coupled with his still-throbbing cheek, reminded him that this was not a girl to be trifled with. This is not a girl at all, he amended. “Er, should you be so close? I mean, what your, ah, father said…” His hand touched the curved scabbard of the sabre as it pressed uncomfortably into his side. Almost subconsciously, his fingers traced its length to the pommel.
“Now, now,” Krea purred. “You’ve no need for that weapon.” She held his gaze as she reached down and unbuckled his swordbelt and pulled it free from beneath him, tossing it to the end of the long couch. He looked from her dark-rimmed eyes to her full lips as she smiled a dangerous smile. Her fingers touched lightly against his chest, his arms, his shoulders. “Oh, my,” she breathed.
“Er…”
Krea gave a brief, lilting laugh, sounding oh-so-sweet yet disturbingly wrong. Her smile widened to show her white teeth and black gums. Her grip tightened upon his shoulders and she jumped up to straddle him, her pleated dress draping over their legs.
“You had nothing to show me at all, did you?” Oriken said. “It was just a ruse to keep me here, alone.”
Krea arched her back and pressed her scant weight onto him. “You do catch on quickly.”
“Ah, please don’t do that. It, er…”
Her lips parted and Oriken balked as he glimpsed the tip of her tongue, as disturbingly dark as her gums and the lines at her eyelashes. “Don’t pretend, outlander,” she said. “I can’t tell you how pleasing it is to be completely closed off from somebody.” Her eyes glinted mischievously. “Well, not entirely closed.”
He took hold of her wrists to wrangle her off him, but Krea’s grip was even stronger than his own. He tried to push his weight up against her, and immediately regretted it.
“Ah, there,” she crooned. “See? I knew you’d change your mind.” Her head dipped and her lips touched his neck, one hand trailing from his shoulder to reach down between them.
Oh, dear Aveia. Or Valsana. Or whichever damned deity on Verragos is listening. I’m sorry for calling you all out as cowshit, but, if you’re there, now would be a good time for a little divine intervention.
Gorven led the way through the city streets and side alleys, the whole time offering small-talk about landmarks they passed and waving perfunctory greetings to the few cityfolk on the otherwise empty streets. Their host, who claimed to be both 312 and 39 years old, depending on how you looked at it, deftly sidestepped Jalis’s attempts to pry meaningful information from him, such as Dagra’s alleged predicament.
If he hadn’t taken the accursed jewel, there seemed only one answer. Oriken had been right. Jalis had to rebuke herself for allowing Demelza to run home. They should have kept her at camp until
they set off at sun-up. But then, the girl would have had plenty chance to sneak away after Dagra took the last shift and Oriken went to sleep. The end result wouldn’t have changed; they’d still be where they were now, and still without the jewel. Its whereabouts were now of considerably less concern than leaving this place alive.
She couldn’t accept that Dagra was somehow moored to Lachyla for no good or obvious reason, but she also couldn’t explain why he’d left camp and ended up in the Chiddari mansion. His pensive mood wasn’t helping matters, either. If only he would share his thoughts with her like he’d always been able to do – trust and openness were driving factors within any good team in the Freeblades Guild – but Dagra wasn’t talking, and any words directed at him just glanced off like water from oil. It was frustrating. And Jalis wasn’t confident that this Sabrian, whoever he was, would manage to shake him from his malaise. She also hoped that the man wouldn’t provide proof to reinforce Krea and Gorven’s claim.
With Dagra at her side, she followed Gorven into an alleyway with tall buildings to either side. A strong breeze funnelled down the alley, causing Jalis to pull Oriken’s padded leather jacket tighter about herself.
As she leaned into the wind, she realised that aside from the mildew between many of the flagstones, Lachyla was the cleanest city she had ever seen. There wasn’t a stray piece of litter in sight, nor any festering piles of sked, bird droppings or rodent leavings. And there were no unwashed bodies lying beneath rags and raising palsied hands to beg for coppers. If not for the stale weight of the blighted dead pressing on her mind – not to mention the blighted living – Lachyla would be a welcomingly prepossessing place. But then, if the graveyard was replete of the walking dead, and the city was populated with typical citizens, it would be filled with a much more recognisable corruption.
They reached the end of the alleyway and the view broke out onto an open plaza. Dominating the centre of the plaza was an iron statue on a circular plinth. The figure was struck in a heroic pose – chest puffed, hands on hips, his crowned head tilted to gaze out over the rooftops. The heavy stormclouds behind the statue’s profile lent an ominous aura to the moment. A burst of sunlight knifed through a gap in the clouds to wash over the towering figure, casting its strong features in a contrast of light and shadow.