by Matthew Ward
‘Then why do you want it so badly?’ asked Yelen. ‘Surely it’s of no use to you, now you know the truth.’
Magnis laughed. ‘Oh, it’s still valuable enough, to the right person. But I wouldn’t say it’s useless. Forewarned is forearmed, and I’m sure a fragment of Szarnos’ personality is far less ferocious than the whole. You, of all people, should know the possibilities. You proved that back at my humble abode.’
Yelen rubbed at her left wrist, knowing even then that the itch was all in her mind. ‘I don’t control her. I made a bargain. A foolish one, as it turned out.’
‘Then perhaps the trick is not to fight, but to ensure every bargain goes your way?’
She shook her head. For all his confident talk, Magnis had no idea what it meant to be shackled to a creature like Azzanar. No one did, except maybe Mirika, if there was any longer anything of her left. Yelen shook the horrific thought away as soon as it formed. Mirika could still be saved. She had to believe it.
‘You should take your handsome new friend’s advice,’ said Azzanar. ‘You’ll have a lot more fun if you just embrace your destiny.’
Yelen slowed, allowing Magnis to go on ahead. A quick glance confirmed that Serene was still half a dozen paces back and out of earshot.
‘I’m never letting you out again,’ she hissed, too low for her voice to carry. ‘You tricked me.’
‘Tricked you, poppet?’ The demon’s voice thickened with anger. ‘I only did what you asked.’
‘You let me believe that the Gilded Rose meant me harm! Pick. Pick. Pick. Until I believed it. Until I was desperate enough to call on you!’
‘Hah! If you want to see who tricked you, you need only look in a mirror. Your problem isn’t with me, poppet, it’s with everyone. You always think you know better. Better than me. Better than Cavril Magnis. And better than your sister.’
‘Shut up! It’s not like that. You and I? We’re done. I’ll go to the grave before I give you anything else.’
Azzanar laughed. ‘But you’ve said that before, poppet. Remember? Sooner or later, you always let me out. And it’s not like dear Master Torik can “cure” you any longer. Not after you left him to die in the snow.’
‘Shut up!’
Yelen didn’t realize she’d screamed the words until they echoed back. Magnis halted and stared back at her. Foolishness and anger fought for control, swirling like fire. She didn’t even know she was trembling until a wiry arm settled around her shoulders.
‘Seconded!’ shouted Serene. ‘Stow that awful racket, will you Darrick?’
‘But it’s folkloric.’
‘It’s obscene, is what it is. Put a sock in it.’
The big man’s face creased with irritation. ‘Or else?’
Serene’s free hand drifted to her belt, and a dagger’s pommel. ‘You really have to ask? Remember how Marcan’s having trouble counting to ten of late?’
Darrick laughed uneasily. ‘Cavril wouldn’t let you.’
Magnis shrugged. ‘Oh no, Cavril’s not getting involved. He’s just out for a nice afternoon walk.’
Darrick packed it in. Nudging Marcan in the ribs, he ambled away down the street. Magnis shook his head in weary amusement, and followed.
‘Ah,’ said Serene. ‘Peace and quiet. At last.’
‘Thank you.’ Yelen had the feeling the other woman knew she’d not been protesting at the singing, but couldn’t bring herself to ask.
Serene let go of her shoulders, and picked up her pace. ‘You’re not the only one with voices, love. Just remember – they’ve only as much power as you give them.’
Yelen watched her go. She was right. Azzanar couldn’t do anything. Not if she didn’t let her. Not if she stayed strong. ‘Like I said,’ she whispered. ‘We’re done. Stay out of my thoughts.’
The demon chuckled. ‘Oh, I will. But think on this, my dear, darling child. I’m close to the surface now. So close that I can feel the wind on my face. That changes things.’ Her tone hardened. ‘You’ll beg for my help before we’re done.’
All at once, the skies seemed greyer and darker than before. Yelen swallowed away the taste of sulphur, and followed Serene down the street.
* * *
The chorus of wolf howls raced along Yelen’s spine, setting her nerves on end. She glanced back and forth, eyes searching the ruins to either side. She already knew she wouldn’t see them. You didn’t. Not until the pack was ready to strike. Humans weren’t the only beasts made treacherous by a life in the ruins of Frostgrave.
Kain waved an arm above her head, finger tracing a circle in the air. ‘Close up! They take you, and you’re on your own. I’m not coming after you.’
Magnis smiled his easy smile. ‘You’ll come after me.’
‘That’s different. You’re paying.’
‘Charmer,’ muttered Darrick. He waved at Yelen and raised his voice. ‘Come on, girl. Might not be much eating on you, but still enough for temptation.’
Yelen nodded acknowledgement and picked up her pace. She arrived at Magnis’ side at the same time as Kas. The tracker had his bow unslung, and an arrow nocked.
‘I don’t like this,’ he said. ‘Something has them riled.’
The howl came again.
Serene cocked her head. ‘Sounds like hunger to me. Same as normal.’
Marcan muttered something unintelligible under his breath. ‘Kas is right. They’re afraid. Heard ’em this way up in the Grey District a couple years back. Lost most of my company when they gathered their courage.’
Serene laughed quietly. ‘You always say that. Once – just once – I’d like to go a whole expedition without hearing one of your stories.’
Marcan ran a gloved hand through his beard. ‘Ain’t just the supernatural that’s worth respect hereabouts. If all these graves do open one day, I’ll wager every crown I have that them rotting bones will come a poor second to tooth and claw.’
‘That’s what? Ten crowns in all?’ Serene shook her head. ‘An easy stake given you drink ten times that in a night.’
‘Suit yourself,’ he rumbled. ‘But when…’
‘Enough!’ Magnis’ tone was unusually severe. Either the wolf-voices had him worried too, or he was just sick of hearing his hirelings quarrel. ‘There’s no point taking chances. Kas, are we safe to press on, or should we hole up for a few hours?’
Yelen didn’t much like the sound of that. Dusk was still hours away, but she knew from experience that the wolves would only get louder and bolder as night approached. If they stopped now, they’d not start again until dawn. Precious hours in which Mirika might be lost for good.
If she wasn’t already.
‘I’m going on.’ She was surprised at how steady her voice sounded, given that her innards were twisted tight by fear.
Marcan snorted. ‘That’s a bad idea.’
Yelen met his gaze. ‘I’m still going on. She’s my sister.’
‘No loss there. You’re easy on the eye, but that’s all. Not like you’re earning your passage.’ A bushy eyebrow twitched. ‘’less you start being a bit friendlier, I wouldn’t mind that.’
‘Shut it, Marcan,’ said Serene. ‘Credit the girl with better taste, yeah?’ She turned to Yelen. ‘Be sensible, love. You know how it works. You go out there alone, you’re a dead woman walking. Frostgrave doesn’t care that you’re young and pretty. It’ll kill you just the same.’
‘You can’t stop me.’ They didn’t need to know that Azzanar had forsworn offering all aid.
‘I can.’ Kain offered a rare, glacial smile. ‘At least, if I’m asked to. What’s it to be, Cavril?’
Magnis steepled his fingers and pressed them to his lips, tilting his head ever so slightly this way and that in silent contemplation. ‘What do you think, Kas?’
The tracker shrugged. ‘They’re still off to the west. Leastways, so far as I can tell. We stay close, we can keep moving, but if they cut round ahead of us we’ll need fire, and plenty of it.’
‘Then we k
eep going. But we stay together, and we stay quiet.’ He offered a wry smile. ‘I want a better place in the history books than “eaten by wolves”.’
Darrick shrugged. ‘You get eaten by wolves, there’ll be no place in the history books. You’ll just be a grisly footnote in one of Marcan’s stories.’
Magnis shot him a patient look. ‘I rather think that’s my point.’
Yelen felt a burden lift from her heart. It was tiny, compared to what remained, but she welcomed it. One step at a time. It was as true now as it had been in Rekamark.
‘But there’ll be no more talk about going on alone,’ Magnis went on, his gaze coming to rest on Yelen. ‘We’re in this together. That’s how it works.’
Yelen had no doubt that the words were for her, and her alone. The elation of the moment before crumbled beneath a profound feeling of foolishness. She really didn’t want to press on alone, and there was no guarantee Magnis needed her enough to suffer a challenge to his authority, even indirect as it had been. She nodded her mute acceptance.
Magnis’ lip twitched. Not a smile, not quite. ‘Yelen, perhaps you’ll take a turn up front with Kas? He’s getting old. I’m sure a pair of young eyes would be welcome.’
She glanced at the tracker’s lugubrious expression, neither welcoming nor rejecting. ‘Sure. Why not?’
* * *
Yelen passed the next hour in Kas’ company, trying to ignore the intermittent howls. It had been months since she’d heard Frostgrave’s wolves so active. On that occasion she and Mirika had sought refuge in a crumbling watchtower and hunched close to their fire. In the end, the wolves had grown silent when the snows returned, having the good sense to seek the shelter of their lairs. This time, however, the darkening skies remained clear, and the ululating howls continued to ring out.
Kas spoke little, breaking his silence only to call out obstructions on the rubble-strewn hillside that led down to the Lower Reach. Though the tracker kept an arrow nocked the whole time, his posture remained as relaxed as ever, and that in turn helped Yelen’s nerves to settle, at least a little.
Azzanar’s parting shot still hung heavy on her mind. I’m close to the surface now. That changes things. What did it change? Was it just more of the demon’s double-talk – another attempt at manipulation? What if it wasn’t? There’d been an edge in Azzanar’s voice Yelen hadn’t heard before, as if the demon had finally abandoned playing at friendliness, and was now prepared to do whatever she could to seize control.
Yelen bit her lip. There had to be something she could do. She glanced up the hill, to where the rest of the Gilded Rose made their descent. Maybe not her. Maybe someone else.
For all Magnis’ talk of Kas ‘getting old’, there was certainly nothing wrong with his eyes. Even in the failing light, he caught sight of the sunken footprints before Yelen. Then again, she doubted he had more than forty winters behind him. Perhaps fewer. Folk aged fast in the frozen city, assuming they were permitted to age at all. Beckoning her over, he crouched beside the tracks, the foot of his bow braced against the snow-covered ground.
‘Small feet. Uneven paces. Your sister’s been this way. Knew we’d find some eventually.’
Yelen peered at the tracks. ‘You’re sure?’ She didn’t doubt his conclusion, not exactly, but she didn’t see why he was so certain the footprints belonged to Mirika.
Kas scratched his bristly head. ‘Barefoot? Only two ladies I know of crazy enough for that, and you’re standing right beside me.’
He had a point.
‘What about these others?’ asked Yelen. There were at least half a dozen other sets of footprints leading away down the hillside, all heading in roughly the same direction as Mirika’s trail.
He shook his head. ‘They’re too old. See where the edges have melted? They’re heavier, too. An even step. Precise. Someone’s company of soldiers, perhaps.’
Yelen thought back to the approach to Rekamark the previous day. It felt like a lifetime ago. ‘We passed Mariast on the way in. She was heading to the Lower Reach.’
‘The Green Widow?’ Kas purred with laughter. ‘So they’re all dead by now.’
‘Probably.’ Yelen stared at Mirika’s footprints, distant doubts coalescing. ‘You said these are the first tracks you’ve found.’
‘That’s right.’
‘So how have you been following her?’
Kas stood upright. ‘There’s a scent on the air – one the wind can’t shift. It’s dry. Stale. Like death.’ He stared away down the hillside. ‘Those wolves? They’re not hungry. They’re afraid of your sister. So am I.’
Without another word, he stalked away down the hillside. Yelen suppressed a shudder, and followed.
* * *
Magnis brought the company to a halt as dusk came on. Marcan set a fire and packs were broached for a meal of chanin tea, salt beef and dry bread. Yelen ate her share of the latter, but drank only water. She still remembered the dream from the last time she’d imbibed chanin. Maybe that had been all Azzanar’s doing, but she wasn’t prepared to take the risk.
Most of the company crowded into the tumbledown ruin that served as their encampment. Darrick sat in the lee of the empty doorway, his thick fingers dancing along the stem of a wooden flute. The low, mournful melody hung upon the air like smoke from the fire. Yet somehow it reminded Yelen of happier times, distant though they were.
Kas, his bow finally set aside, sat propped up in the corner. Serene sat beside him, greatcoat bundled at her back, shoulder buried up against Kas’ ribs, and her head resting on his shoulder. The sheer matter-of-factness of it all made Yelen smile. She’d caught no hint of affection earlier in the day, but she supposed that neither was much given to letting their feelings show. Even now, their position could perhaps have been taken as nothing more than a desire for shared warmth. But Yelen marked how a little of the tension had faded from around Kas’ dark eyes, and how entwined fingers clasped tight against Serene’s thigh.
Magnis sat alone in the opposite corner, eyes closed in sleep or contemplation. Marcan remained by the fire, so close that Yelen was sure his beard would catch light. He tended his self-appointed charge with an occasional prod of a crooked stick, sending sparks dancing around the blackened cauldron.
Only Kain remained outside. She stood some way distant, her back to the doorway, the blade of her sword resting against her shoulder.
‘Isn’t she coming in?’ asked Yelen.
Marcan glanced disinterestedly up from the fire. ‘I doubt it,’ he rumbled. ‘Thinks she’s better than us, doesn’t she?’
‘She thinks she’s better than you,’ Kas corrected wryly. ‘It’s not the same thing.’
Marcan shot him a sour look. ‘Har har. And maybe she is. But she’s still here, isn’t she? You only get three kinds in this godforsaken place. Outcasts, exiles and thieves. I wonder which she is.’
‘Why don’t you ask her?’ asked Serene.
‘Why don’t you?’
‘You forgot me.’ Magnis spoke without opening his eyes, a wounded note in his voice. ‘What am I?’
‘That’s easy,’ said Serene. ‘You’re all three.’
‘Harsh words. Very harsh.’ Magnis’ grin belied his injured tone. ‘Though I’m not sure one can be an outcast and an exile. They’re the same thing, surely?’
Darrick lowered his flute, the last note faded beneath the crackle of the fire. ‘Exile has a certain ring of authority to it, while being outcast could simply be fleeing a baying mob. Or even self-inflicted.’ He spoke precisely and crisply, a tutor enlightening particularly dim students. It stood in stark contrast to his brutish, mangled features. ‘So while an exile is an outcast, an outcast isn’t always an exile.’
‘So you are all three,’ said Serene.
‘It would appear so,’ Magnis agreed, his eyes still closed. ‘And all the more magnificent for it.’
The corner of Kas’ mouth twitched. ‘Perhaps we should add “braggart” to the list. What do you say, Marcan?’
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The bearded man snorted. ‘Not sure. I don’t make the rules.’
‘Have you forgotten that this “braggart” keeps coin in your pockets?’ said Magnis. ‘Keeps you fed and sheltered? I think I’m due a little more respect.’
Darrick cocked his head. ‘Surely only a braggart would make such a claim?’
‘Oh dear. Beset on all sides by calumny. It’s a wonder I go on.’
Yelen thought Magnis looked awfully cheerful for a man so beset. Then again, she was surprised at the easy camaraderie of her travelling companions. She and Mirika had crossed paths with the Gilded Rose so many times in the past months, and each encounter had only reinforced her impression of grim, ruthless mercenaries, chasing gold crowns – just like pretty much every other delver gang in Frostgrave.
But Mirika had been right. The Gilded Rose were different, and it stemmed from Cavril Magnis himself. She tried to imagine Torik enduring the mockery of his underlings as Magnis had, and abandoned the attempt. Hells, she couldn’t picture herself doing it, were she in his position. In another, such self-deprecation might have come across as stagey, or manipulative, but Magnis didn’t seem to care that he was the butt of the joke, so long as someone was laughing.
No wonder Mirika had wanted to join them. The Gilded Rose, oddly assorted though they might have been, were a family of sorts. All save one.
Coming to a decision, Yelen beckoned to Marcan. ‘Pass me some more of that meat, would you?’
He grunted, and tossed her an oilcloth-wrapped bundle. ‘For a skinny thing, you can’t half put it away.’
‘It’s not for me.’ Careful not to touch the cauldron itself, Yelen ladled a helping of tea into a battered tin mug. For the first time, she noticed that Marcan’s right hand had only three fingers and a thumb. The little finger was missing, the stump tied off by a worn bandage. ‘Your hand. How did that happen?’