Inheritance

by Simon Brown

  “I never thought I’d be so pleased to hear birdsong again,” Kumul admitted.

  “Not long now,” Ager said. “Maybe only one more night in this forest and then we’re out.”

  They set off with renewed energy and a longer stride, even Ager stretching his strange lope without complaint. None of them cared what dangers faced them out in the open because nothing could be worse than the constant fear they had endured over the last six days.

  That evening they had no trouble finding a suitable place to make camp. They celebrated their last night in the forest by eating the last of the dried meat the foresters had given them.

  “We’ll have to find another stream tomorrow or we’ll have nothing to eat,” Ager said.

  “Unfortunately, I haven’t a bow, but I could try and trap some game,” Kumul offered.

  “As long as we’re out of this forest, I don’t care if I don’t eat for a month,” Lynan said.

  When Lynan took his watch, he was alert but more relaxed than he had been for many nights. He was reassured when he heard the sounds of crickets among the undergrowth, and even the occasional soft padding in the dark of something considerably larger than an insect. Nevertheless, he kept the fire high and bright, and was glad of the warmth it gave.

  Toward the end of his watch he heard someone stir, and he turned expecting to see Ager rising early, but it was Jenrosa. She had turned in her sleep, throwing open her coat. Lynan walked quietly to her and closed the coat around her and then, on impulse, softly touched her hair. The skin on his fingers tingling, he retreated, feeling that perhaps not all was wrong with the world after all.

  He turned and saw, at the edge of darkness and light, a girl. She was small, dressed in green cloth, with long blonde hair that reached down to her waist. Her face was hidden in the night.

  Lynan studied her, unafraid. She took a gliding step forward, as if her feet were not actually touching the ground. He could see her face now. It was round and beautiful. Deep, dark eyes returned his stare. She looked younger than Lynan. She took another step forward and held out her hand.

  Lynan started walking toward her. A part of his mind was telling him to stay where he was, but he ignored it and kept on walking until he was only a few paces from the girl. He noticed absently that it was not green cloth that dressed her but parts of tree and bush and moss, and somehow it all seemed a part of her, not something she wore at all.

  “I have been searching for you for many nights,” she said, her hand still held out to him. Her voice was as deep and dark as the night surrounding them, and it drew him forward. He reached out with his own hand and took hers. Her skin was as smooth and cold as glass. Her nails dug into his palm and he felt warm, sticky blood trickle between his fingers.

  She leaned forward and whispered into his ear. “I want you. I need you.” Her breath was like the sighing of the wind. He could see now that her eyes were the green of the forest itself. She raised his wounded hand and softly licked the palm. He reached out with his other hand. The green surrounding her fell away, and he saw two small white breasts with dark brown nipples.

  He put his bloody hand over one of her breasts. He felt no warmth, but still desire flamed within him. She took his hand and moved it to the other breast, and then the flat of her stomach, smearing blood over her ivory skin.

  “Kiss me,” she said, and pulled him toward her.

  He wrapped his arms around her waist and brought his lips against hers. He kissed her gently, ignoring the smell of decay on her breath and the sharp teeth that filled her mouth and the rough, rasping tongue that touched his. She drew him away and smiled, her mouth wet with saliva. He saw her eyes brighten, and her pupils distend into slits like those of a cat. Her nails stroked the back of his head and neck.

  “Kiss me again,” she said.

  Lynan submitted, lost in her, and shivered when her teeth bit into his lower lip. The metallic taste of his own blood flooded his mouth and a small germ of panic wormed its way into his mind. He tried to draw back but found that he was held fast. He grabbed her arms and immediately let them go—they felt like the strong, young branches of a wideoak, the skin rough as bark. A cry started somewhere deep in his throat and escaped as a pitiful moan. His lover threw her head back and laughed, an eager and malevolent sound that finally brought him to his senses and he saw her for what she was.

  The face was still that of a girl, still beautifully alluring, but it rested on a body that was half-human and half-tree. The limbs were covered in gray skin, and her body was as hard as wood. Her hair was made from green wisps that smelled of moss and twigs and made a clacking sound when she moved her head. A long, green tongue with three hollow tendrils flickered between her lips.

  “Do you desire me?” the creature asked, and laughed again.

  He felt her grip tighten around him, and his breathing became labored as he felt his ribcage bending under the pressure. He put his hand under her chin to keep her mouth away from his face, but she was far too strong and slowly she forced her head closer to his.

  Suddenly the night was filled with flaring brightness. Lynan was flung away from the vampire like a child’s toy, and he landed heavily on his side. He heard a scream of such pain and torment that his mind reeled in shock. He shook his head and looked up to see Jenrosa, a flaming brand in one hand and a sword in the other, confronting Silona. She was thrusting the brand at the creature’s face, forcing it farther and farther away from Lynan. He saw that Jenrosa was also drawing herself farther into the forest. He cried out to her and tried to stand, but was still so dazed he could only manage to get to his knees.

  He heard more cries behind him as Kumul and Ager leaped to their feet and scrabble for their weapons. With a greater effort Lynan stood up and tried to run to Jenrosa’s assistance, drawing his sword as he did so. By now Silona was fighting back, hissing fiercely at the magicker and trying to knock the brand from her grasp. The vampire moved to Jenrosa’s left, forcing her to follow, then quickly leaped back to her right, her arm whipping up and connecting with the magicker’s right shoulder. Jenrosa cried out in pain but managed to hold on to the brand. Silona now struck with her other arm, and her nails raked across Jenrosa’s right shoulder. This time the impact sent the brand flying out of her grasp to land fizzing on the ground twenty paces away. Silona cried in triumph and moved in for the kill, but the cry turned into a scream of rage as Lynan’s sword sliced into her arm. Lynan felt the blade bite into the vampire’s limb, making a whacking sound as if it had embedded itself in a block of wood. Silona pulled back, the blade popping out of her arm. Pale blood seeped from the deep cut, pink in color and almost transparent.

  Lynan swung the sword over his head for another blow, but Silona had seen Kumul and Ager running toward her, each bearing a brand as well as their own weapons. Her body writhed and her back split open like a seed case. Two huge black wings sprouted, dark flowers against the light of the campfire. The wings came together with a crack and the vampire lifted into the air. The wings flapped a second time and she disappeared into the night.

  The four companions stood together, peering into the darkness, but could see nothing of her. A second later they heard a wail of frustration and pain echo through the forest. Lynan’s whole body shuddered, and he collapsed to the ground.

  When Lynan came to, it was morning. The fire was still burning brightly, keeping him warm in the chill air. He propped himself onto his elbows and tried looking around, but he felt dizzy and his head fell back with a clunk.

  “I don’t know what your skull’s made from,” said an interested female voice behind him, “but it’s tougher than iron.”

  His eyes rolled back in their sockets and he saw Jenrosa sitting on the ground.

  “I feel terrible,” he managed to say.

  “It’s amazing, isn’t it, the collections of cuts, bruises, and bumps our little party has managed to collect since fleeing Kendra. Can you imagine what we’ll be like in a year’s time? Or a decade?”
/>   “Are we still in the forest?”

  “Yes, but Ager thinks the border is only one or two hours’ steady walk from here.”

  “Where is he?”

  “With Kumul, trying their hand at trapping. As soon as they’re back, we’ll move, if you think you’re up to it. I don’t fancy spending another night in Silona’s Forest.”

  Lynan shuddered with the memory of last night’s events. He remembered how easily he had been beguiled by the vampire and felt ashamed. “I almost got you killed last night.”

  “But you saved my life from the bear, so don’t lose any sleep over it.”

  Lynan laughed grimly. “You’re determined to keep behind your fortress walls, aren’t you?”

  Jenrosa stood up and brushed off her pants. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Help me up, will you?”

  Jenrosa hooked her a hand under one of Lynan’s arms and lifted. He was unsteady on his feet for a few seconds, but soon he could walk around without falling over. He managed to complete a circuit of their camp and was beginning a second when he saw something at his feet. Jenrosa joined him and looked down where he was gazing at a patch of blackened leaf litter and scorched ground.

  “That’s just where my brand hit the ground,” she said.

  “That’s your brand over there,” he said and pointed to it. He knelt down and stretched out his hand. “See, there’s some—”

  “That’s her blood!” Jenrosa cried.

  Lynan jerked back as if he had been about to pat a snake. He stared at it, fascinated. “You’re right, it is her blood.”

  “Leave it alone, for God’s sake. Haven’t you had enough to do with her?”

  Her words made him feel suddenly stubborn. He pulled out his knife.

  “What are you doing?”

  He ignored her and cut off a triangular section of Roheth’s coat, then used the cloth to scrape up the blood.

  “What are you doing?” she insisted.

  “A souvenir,” he said, waving the cloth at her. “Besides, I’m sure you’ve heard stories about vampire blood: it’s supposed to have magical properties.”

  “What if it helps Silona track you down again?” Jenrosa spat at him.

  Lynan hesitated, his face pale. “Do you think…?” He shook his head. “No. Once we’re out of the forest, we’re free from her.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Silona is a wood vampire. If she leaves her forest, she dies.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  Lynan put the sample in his coat pocket and stood up. “I’m prepared to risk it.”

  Jenrosa spun away from him. “You’re a fool, Lynan. You’ll get us all killed yet.”

  Chapter 18

  After a week of searching for reasonable billets for his men in Kendra, Captain Rendle found a message from the quartermaster’s office of the Grenda Lear army waiting for him at his inn. All mercenary companies had less than ten days to gather at the port town of Alemura if they expected employment in the coming demonstration against Haxus. Rendle was too experienced a soldier to be disappointed with the vagaries of the military bureaucracy, but he was angry he would lose the deposit he had just laid down for the billets.

  He rode out of the city to where his company of mercenary cavalry had camped. He was greeted enthusiastically, his troopers expecting him to bring news that from now on nights would be spent with a proper roof over their heads, plenty of food and wine in their bellies, plenty of women in their beds, and an easy few months of employment at the expense of the new king. What they got were new marching orders and the news that they were to be employed by Grenda Lear’s new queen.

  Rendle’s second-in-command, a whip of a man named Eder, asked him what was going on. In a few terse sentences Rendle told him of Berayma’s murder, Areava’s ascension, and Lynan’s outlawry and subsequent drowning.

  “I’m not keen on serving under a Kendran queen,” Eder said.

  “Nor am I,” Rendle replied brusquely, “not after fighting against the last one in the Slaver War; but for the moment we’ll take her money and salute her pennant. At least until she moves us up north.”

  “So we are going to fight Haxus?”

  “Not if I have anything to do with it. Haxus always paid better than Grenda Lear.”

  Eder smiled thinly. “I think I like the idea of taking coin with both hands; it seems a fairer way of doing things.”

  “What about our missing patrol? Any sign of them?”

  Eder took him to a tent on the edge of their camp. He opened the flap and Rendle saw jerkins, belts, and knives laid out, all of them covered in damp soil. “One of the scouts I sent back found their graves near a stream about two days’ ride from here. Their horses were nowhere to be seen. They all died from sword wounds.”

  Rendle’s jaw clenched in anger. “Where are their swords?”

  “None in the graves.”

  “And no sign of their attackers?”

  “The scout said too many companies like our own had passed that way since. The tracks are all mixed up. He did find two of their mounts wandering alone on Ebrius Ridge.”

  “Do the others know about this?”

  “Hard to disguise a scout carrying so much extra equipment and leading two riderless horses back to camp. They know.”

  Rendle led the way back to his tent where he rummaged in one of his chests and retrieved a large hand-drawn map. He laid it out on the ground outside.

  “I don’t like losing my men,” Rendle said tightly. “And I don’t understand this. None of my people are so stupid as to bother a village or hamlet by themselves. They might have tried to steal a chicken or pig, or annoy a farmer’s daughter, but a farmer hasn’t a chance in hell of doing anything about it.”

  He studied the map carefully. He had been roving over this part of the world for nearly thirty years now and knew most of it like the back of his hand. He pointed to a series of trails and streams at the north base of Ebrius Ridge which intersected the road the company had taken to reach the Horn of Lear. “They were sent ahead of us to here. When we passed by, there was no sign of them, so chances are whatever happened to them occurred in the six hours after they left the company and we reached this point.”

  There were a few villagers within a half-day’s ride of the road, but little else. Ebrius Ridge itself had mediocre soil and the constant threat of great bears to worry any settlers, so people tended not to farm in the immediate area.

  Rendle tapped the map angrily with one finger, then started circling out in a spiral. He traced over the main road, the ridge itself, the edge of Kestrel Bay, back to Chandra… His finger stopped, then retraced to the coast.

  “I was told Prince Lynan had been drowned off these cliffs here, but his body was never recovered.”

  Eder looked over his shoulder. “Was he by himself?”

  “No. He had at least three companions. A cripple, a girl, and Kumul Alarn. None of their bodies was found.”

  Eder’s eyes widened. “The Constable of the Royal Guards was in on the king-killing plot?”

  Rendle nodded. “According to official proclamations.”

  “I saw him once, during the Slaver War. The biggest, ugliest bastard I’ve ever laid eyes on. I’m not sorry he’s left this world.”

  “But what if he and his friends didn’t drown and instead made their way up the ridge? Where would they go? They couldn’t return to Kendra, and they couldn’t stay on the ridge. And it all happened at the same time we were making our way here from the other direction.”

  “You don’t think our patrol met them?”

  Rendle shrugged. “Impossible to know.” He bent over the map again, his gaze moving north along Chandra’s length and into Hume, then west to the Oceans of Grass. “So where could they be heading?” he asked himself.

  “You going to report this to the queen?”

  “Report what? That we’ve lost a patrol to unknown attackers? We have no evidence
one way or the other about how they met their fate.”

  “Except that it was violent and their swords were taken.”

  “Another mercenary patrol could have done that. Old Malorca was moving through that area with his archers the day before us; he’s always willing to take a snipe at a competitor.”

  “We’ll have to fix him one day,” Eder said gruffly.

  “But not this day. The new queen is offering enough contracts for all of us right now.” Rendle was still studying the map. He jabbed at a place marked as Arran Valley. “I don’t suppose Jes Prado is still settled there?”

  “Last I heard, and with a good portion of his men settled nearby. They moved there to take care of some minor trouble in the region and stayed. But you never liked the man. What’s on your mind?”

  “I think Prado’s a whining excuse for a soldier, but we’ve never had any problems with him and he’s a straight dealer. Send a message to him.”

  “I’ll organize a rider—”

  “No. I need something faster. Go to Kendra and buy a pigeon carrier.”

  “What’s the message?”

  “I don’t know exactly. I’ll think on it over the next hour, but it will have to mention money, and a lot of it.”

  Olio reached the rendezvous at Kendra’s harbor ten minutes before the agreed time. Prelate Edaytor Fanhow had agreed to guide the prince through the city’s worst slum, a tangle of streets behind the docks where sailors’ widows and orphaned children, whores and smugglers, fugitives and the unemployable all congregated like ants around a honey pot. Olio was determined to do something for the poor in the city and Edaytor had reluctantly agreed to show him the worst poverty Kendra had to offer.

  The prince found a place to sit in the sun and watched a merchant ship from Lurisia being unloaded. Stevedores manhandled a winch over the ship while the crew set about tying thick rope around the biggest logs Olio had ever seen. It was rainforest wood, as red as flame and as hard as iron, and Lurisia’s main export to the rest of Theare. Three logs were bound together, the winch hook was slipped under the top knot, and the stevedores heaved back on their ballast until the load was raised above the ship’s gunwales. The final maneuver had the stevedores swinging the load across to the dock and slowly releasing the ballast so the logs could be placed gently in a waiting cart. When the first load was dropped, the ballast was released too quickly and the cart lurched, scaring the four oxen tied to it. Only the quick wits of the driver, who pulled back sharply on the horns of the lead ox, stopped the cart from being pulled away before its load could be secured.