Curse and Whisper

by A J Gala

  Nightwalker:

  Curse & Whisper

  AJ Gala

  Copyright © 2020 by AJ Gala

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  The wheel turns through time and the year is born…

  Contents

  1. The Return

  2. Whispers and Lies

  3. Business

  4. A Reunion of Sorts

  5. Suspect

  6. Kingsbane

  7. Lionsbane

  8. An Offering

  9. The Middleman

  10. Crana Camp

  11. The Raven on the Coast

  12. The Man with Three Ears

  13. Tongues of Credence

  14. Rogue

  15. The Messenger

  16. Recrudescence

  17. Debts Paid

  18. Falsify

  19. Merciless Wishes

  20. The Curse of Hallenar

  Dramatis Personae

  About the Author

  1

  The Return

  Vayven 7, 1144

  “Home sweet home!”

  Rhett’s return to Suradia had him walking tall and triumphant as he strolled in through the east gate beneath the brilliant light of the flickering storm lanterns. More than once, he questioned if he’d ever see the town gates again. The storm had rolled in during the night as he and the Hunters traveled, and Rhett chalked it up as one of the worst storms he’d ever seen. The torrential rain had soaked them through and through, and the high winds had rattled them senseless. By the time they finally came into town, the mud and debris they tracked in could tell the tale.

  Rhett craned his neck back to the four bumbling Hunters he had brought with him—the only four to survive the lilitu attack after his plans in the Bogwood had gone awry. The Hunters each met the guards’ gazes with side-eyed glances, and in turn, the guards gave a subtle nod. Rhett shook his head at the suspicious behavior. It seemed Hunters had already infiltrated his hometown.

  “So—” he rubbed his hands together, working away a chill, “—where shall we satiate ourselves before my return to House Hallenar?” The evening still bore the remnants of a storm, but it was nothing like what they had already endured. One of the Hunters, named Evarr, was looking shaky and pale from it.

  “What do you mean, my lord?” one of the others asked.

  Rhett couldn’t stand that they were all so daft. He wasn’t sure if it was the outcome of cruel Hunter training or if they really were just completely unable to answer a question on their own. He’d found them irritating enough when he’d first met them, but after they had decided to tag along with him following the split with Mother Tryphaena and Sinisia, he had no one left to buffer their idiocy.

  “Well, Pikes…” Rhett held in a sigh. “The truth is that I don’t want to go back to that shithole just yet.” Though he knew he had to confront his family eventually if he was going to get what he wanted. “We’ve had a rough trek here. Let’s unwind a little, yeah?”

  “That is a very good idea,” Evarr said, his voice faint. “Hot food, ale, and a good night’s rest will get us ready for anything.”

  “Exactly!” Rhett clapped him on the shoulder and shook him. He ignored Evarr’s wincing. “This man gets it. Come on, we’re going to Dragon at the Mill!”

  It had been quite some time since he’d stayed at a Suradian establishment, but he remembered Dragon at the Mill was his favorite. It was clean, the food was good, and the entertainment came in the form of a half-nude woman playing a phallic instrument. He knew the way and started to lead.

  After the treacherous hike through the Bogwood and the debacle with Mother Tryphaena, Rhett had finally bothered to learn the Hunters’ names. Evarr was the sick one—and perpetually so—Pikes was the dullest of them all, Sovarian was too good and proper to speak to anyone, and Barkaro was a beast of a man and also the closest out of all of them to being a full-fledged Hunter. Lions, or so they were called. Rhett found it pretentious, but he allowed it. He knew he perhaps had a trait or two that could be considered pretentious too.

  His blue eyes drifted around the streets, still host to a wandering population despite the weather and encroaching darkness. Unusual, he thought. Suradia was typically dead after sundown except in the entertainers’ districts, where the firebreathers showed off their routines for a couple of loose coins. Things were changing—and quickly. Even as he inhaled the brisk, damp air, his chest was tight. He didn’t know why.

  He didn’t want to go to House Hallenar, but he knew it was the only option he had left. He’d tried to poison Tizzy and Aleth with one of Mother Tryphaena’s concoctions, only to have it fail and for his younger siblings to escape with the help of a lilitu. He had no poison to sell to the Lord-Hunter, which had been his original plan, and now he had no idea what was even in store for him. But if he wanted to find out where Tizzy and Aleth were, he needed a new lead. House Hallenar was all he had.

  When Dragon at the Mill was only five blocks away, Rhett collided with something small and fast. It had come out of nowhere, splashing through a flooded alley like mad. It bounced off him, tumbling into the puddles at his feet. At first, he thought it had been an animal, but when he looked down, he saw a small child.

  “Ow.” Alor wailed a little, then rolled to his feet. “I’m sorry.”

  Rhett stared down at him, sensing something familiar about the boy that he couldn’t place. His first reaction was to toss the boy aside, but curiosity tempered his mood.

  “Where are you running from in the middle of the night like this?”

  Alor looked up, the cold stinging his lungs as he tried to catch his breath. The light of the street lanterns casted deep shadows on Rhett’s face as the man stared down, waiting for an answer.

  “The queen’s house.”

  Rhett’s lips curled up into the widest grin. “Is that so?”

  “Please don’t take me back there, sir!”

  “Of course not.” Rhett crouched down and put his hands on the boy’s back, pulling him close. “I should have you know, though, that I am not a sir. I am a lord.”

  Alor shook. “I’m sorry, my lord.”

  “You’re a good boy. What’s your name?”

  “Alor.”

  Rhett scratched his trimmed beard in thought. “If you stay with me, I won’t take you back to the queen, Alor.” He watched the boy think. “What’s the matter? Did you have somewhere else you were thinking of going?”

  “No, my lord.”

  “That’s what I thought.” Rhett stood back up and looked down the street, then back to the Hunters. “Alright, spill it. Where are you staying when you’re all posted in Suradia? You have a base of operations, don’t you?”

  Evarr’s wide green eyes landed on the others. Barkaro was the one who decided to speak.

  “The Clarinet. We haven’t had a place in Suradia for very long, but that’s where we’re at.”

  “Never fucking heard of it. You know the way?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  The Hunters showed him to the inn they called The Clarinet. On the outside it was unassuming and blended in with the other stone and wood buildings along the street, save for its black tiled roof. But when Rhett stepped inside, he raised his brow, satisfied with what he saw. The sweet-smelling silvery-white wooden walls paired elegantly with black leather furniture, creating the illusion of spaciousness despite how crowded it really was. Black tapestries and banners hung with sheet music sewn in silver thread. Nightwood chairs
and tables matched an impressive black granite hearth in the main room.

  Rhett eyed the patrons carefully. One, in particular, he had trouble looking away from—a man skipping around a group of women, singing a song, the orange and fuchsia feathers on his scarf bouncing along with him. But The Clarinet was packed with other jovial performers in gaudy clothing just like him.

  And then, of course, were the handful of Hunters in their dark, somber clothing. Rhett made sure to stare them down when he saw them. They couldn’t have made themselves more obvious if they’d tried.

  A gray-haired woman limped over to Rhett and his Hunters. She wore the soft, draping black fabric of the inn’s uniform. Her lips were in a natural frown as she inspected them.

  “Welcome. How may I help you?”

  Barkaro’s posture stiffened. “We would like to be shown to the Lion Suite,” he said.

  She nodded slowly, wearily, and took them up a set of stairs. Doors lined the hall that ended in another staircase.

  “Up there. First door,” she said, gesturing to it. “You’ll have to get there the rest of the way yourselves. I’m going back downstairs if you need anything else.” She grasped her hip and turned away from them, inching down the steps one at a time.

  Alor followed behind Rhett. His whole body trembled. He knew he shouldn’t have been there with all the strangers, but what else could he do? A better idea had started to form in his mind, one where he went back downstairs to the hearth and tried to talk to the girl he kept seeing in the fire, but Rhett herded him up the stairs before he could make a break for it.

  “Come on, little one. Up you go. You must be hungry and exhausted,” he said, feigning any real concern.

  “I’m a little hungry.”

  They found the Lion Suite on the third floor, as promised. It was pristine with the same silvery-white wood walls and black accents. There were only two beds, but plenty of space for bedrolls. Rhett sat Alor down on a black fur blanket.

  “Why did you leave the queen’s house, Alor? Do they know you ran away?”

  “Probably now. My mother got stabbed, a-and then I ran.” He was heartbroken just saying it. He barely knew her at all, but it had hurt to watch. He never wanted to see anyone get stabbed ever again.

  Rhett was taken aback. “Your mother was stabbed? What the hell is going on at House Hallenar these days? Shit.”

  Pikes started to take off his gear. “What is our plan, my lord?”

  “Your plan is to shut up and let me think.” Rhett shook his head. “Vandroyans are lauded for their etiquette, but I don’t see it. In fact, you’ve all been idiots. Now, Alor.” He mussed the boy’s hair. “I am a friend, do you hear me? I am one of the queen’s brothers!” He pointed to the crane on his Hallenar pin. “See? It looks like the rest of theirs, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes, my lord.” Alor recalled the dove on Rori’s pendant. Remembering her made him hurt for home. Suradia had been a terrible experience for him, but maybe his luck was finally changing.

  “I’m going to let you stay with me for a little while,” Rhett said. “How’s that?”

  Alor missed the dog at House Hallenar. “It sounds good, my lord.”

  Truthfully, Rhett had no desire to babysit, but there was a new door opening. He looked to the Hunters. “I’ve thought of a plan. You’ll love it. Well, maybe not you, Evarr.” He sighed, and the man went white.

  “What does that mean?”

  “Barkaro, Sovarian, hold him down, please.” He unsheathed the knife at his belt. “Alor, I want you to do me a favor. Stand over there—” he pointed to the corner, “—turn away, and cover your ears. Can you do that for me?”

  His luck hadn’t changed at all. Alor swallowed hard. “Yes, my lord.” He did as he had been told, clamping his hands over his ears as tight as he could. It didn’t matter—he could still hear Evarr screaming as Rhett cut his ear off.

  “Perfect!” He held it in his hand, watching the blood drip to the floor. “Thank you, Evarr. I will make sure to tell somebody who gives a fuck what a great help you’ve been!”

  Pikes grimaced but didn’t say a word as he started tending to Evarr’s jagged wound. He’d known from the beginning that they were playing with fire. Yet Sovarian and Barkaro stood casually, looking away as if nothing were happening, even though it could only be a matter of time before it was one of them in Evarr’s place.

  Rhett dropped the ear on the ground and pulled a satchel of filmy black powder from one of his pouches. He got to work, using it to draw a neat circle in the floorboards. He used his bronze casting rod to keep the lines of a nine-pointed star even and straight, minding the molded crane’s head at the tip. The Hunters looked on uneasily as smoke rose from the Forbidden words and symbols he had drawn along the circle’s perimeter.

  “What?” Rhett stood and dusted his hands off. “If you want something, sometimes the road to get there is a little ugly. Get over it.”

  He uttered a few phrases in Daemonstongue. The words weren’t meant for a mortal to hear, much less to speak, and the Hunters flinched. Rhett’s casting tool lit with kaleidoscopic red Hellfire that dropped to the ground and raced into the lines he had drawn like flame catching oil. The rift to the Hell Planes opened and consumed Evarr’s bloody discarded ear, the flames lapping at it like a pack of ravenous dogs.

  Within minutes, the fire died, and the fissure sealed itself. A strange black creature lay on the bloodstained floor. Its five spider-like legs twitched beneath it.

  “What on Rosamar’s Green Earth is that?”

  The creature flinched at Pikes’s voice, and Rhett scooped it up.

  “Obviously nothing that’s on Rosamar’s Green Earth, you moron. Keep quiet! It doesn’t like loud noises.” He held it up for them to see. “It’s called a Malauris. A daemonic listening device, somewhat. Alor, come here!”

  He heard his name through the muffled noises around him and took his hands away from his ears. “Yes?” He came to Rhett even though every fiber of his being told him not to.

  “I got you a pet. Children like pets.”

  “A pet?” It didn’t look like any animal he’d ever seen before. It didn’t look like much of anything.

  “Yes. He’s going to go with you everywhere, and the best thing about him is that no one can protest because no one will ever know he’s there! He’s a secret friend that I made just for you, Alor.”

  What Rhett called a “he” didn’t look like a pet and didn’t look friendly, but Alor didn’t want to be rude. Hesitantly, he reached up to touch it, his hand shaking as he brought his fingers closer and closer. The bile in his stomach rose, but he was determined to fight back the nausea he hadn’t yet realized was his sense for the Forbidden. He couldn’t falter. He had to obey. Evarr was a clear indicator of what would happen if he didn’t.

  When Alor’s fingertips finally touched the Malauris’s spongy flesh, the creature leapt onto his hand and skittered down his arm. Its movements were scratchy and impossibly cold. Alor shut his eyes and could feel it on him like old snow in the dead of winter.

  Rhett ignored the boy’s whimper. “There we go. He likes you.”

  Alor fought the urge to scream. The room swam around him as his wildly thumping heart made him dizzy. But he stilled himself. Not only would Rhett be angry if he cried out, but he knew the elves would be disappointed in him too if they ever found out. That’s not what they taught him on Sila’Karia.

  “Wh-what’s it doing?” he asked, his voice trembling almost as much as his body.

  The Malauris flattened itself on his arm like a flounder, the little fibers on its surface standing up straight and fading into a warm tan tone that mirrored Alor’s skin. Then, it crawled down his back and under his tunic.

  “He’s planting himself,” Rhett said. “He just wants you to keep him warm and safe, Alor. Do you like him?”

  Alor didn’t want to say yes, but he knew he had to. “I do, my lord. Thank you.”

  “You have amazing manners for such a
little boy, Alor. I’m pleased.” Rhett grinned, but after everything that had just happened, it was not comforting to anyone. He tossed Sovarian a couple of gold coins. “Bring up some food. Keep the rest.”

  The Hunter left without a word. Alor scratched at the Malauris, and Rhett knelt down to look him in the eyes.

  “After you eat and get some rest, you’re going back to the queen’s house. Do you understand?”

  Anywhere was better than where he was now, Alor thought. “Yes, my lord.”

  Torah had nowhere else left to look. As if his time were up, the midnight wind howled through the trees on the Convent plateau. With cold blue eyes, Torah gazed up to the clouds overhead that loomed in the darkness.

  He’d been searching for Aleth since Louvita’s dinner party had ended and had turned up empty-handed. And it didn’t matter who he asked; everyone returned his question with a shrug and no further comment. Korrena only continued to pester him, asking him why it mattered, and he only continued to ignore her.

  It was none of her business. Which made her want to know even more.

  He knew that. He knew how it worked with his sister. Sighing, he let the wind toss his black hair, then began a new search. Louvita had been so domineering during the conversation that he hadn’t had a chance to greet one of his oldest friends from the Convent—Talora. He walked down the steps inside the Convent’s cavern, then hiked out toward the other nightwalker’s treehouse in the Wistwilds.

  The rain was frigid, but it was dying. The Wistwilds had survived the storm’s most unrelenting moments and had the scars to prove it. Branches and debris littered the muddy, flooded ground. Trees that had been landmarks once were splintered and ripped asunder by the winds. The forest was a battlefield for the elements, and now that the storm had all but passed, it felt haunted.