Owen nodded.
“Me?” Ulster climbed into the saddle on his horse. “I’ve plans that don’t involve dying.”
He slipped two fingers into his mouth and gave a shrill whistle. The soldiers of King Bron looked toward him and nodded, none of them questioning his authority. They obeyed despite the painful stings they were all dealing with. They’d spent half the previous night rubbing poultices of mud and herbs into their stings.
Then they’d burned down the house where McTyre had spent the previous night. Whoever had given the bastard shelter would never offer it again.
Owen said, “How large a lead do you think they have?”
“Enough. They have us by a day. We’ll find them.”
Owen spat. “I’ve a plan to discuss with them how much I like wasps.”
“The next time the bastards try to run I might have something special for them as well.” Ulster watched the last of his people get settled then started moving forward. They followed, each and every one of them, regardless of the painful stings and the bruises from falling. They were among the best soldiers in Stennis Brae and they wouldn’t be caught off guard a second time.
“They’ll not run again after I’ve cut their feet off.”
Owen said nothing to that. He knew Ulster meant it.
* * *
Garien grew paler the longer they rode. Not overnight, but over the course of days. He fidgeted and he looked back over his shoulder almost constantly. At first Myridia thought the man was looking at the clouds, but eventually she realized he was looking for the night people.
Lorae and Memni sat at the same fire as she and the troupe leader. Both of them stared at him with the sort of rapt attention that only young girls who are smitten can ever truly manage. He was good enough to smile for them, but Myridia knew he was not interested in them in that way. He kept looking toward her, casting his eyes in her direction.
Truth be told, she was tempted. He was a handsome man, and kind. But Lyraal was not as easily distracted and reminded her every day that they were making a mistake. The mountains grew closer, and they would part company soon enough.
They had made camp for the night. The river was nearby and that was a blessing. Storm clouds hid away most of the world, but she knew that these were natural formations, not caused by the gods. They were still safe, for now.
Still, it was nearly impossible to travel after the sun vanished behind the mountains even on clear nights. The darkness was too complete and the paths were too treacherous. She wanted to move faster. There was so far to go.
“Garien, these night people, do you think they are close?”
“Closer than I’d like. I think they’ve almost caught us up.”
“We ride hard every day. How is that possible?”
“They do not ride in the daylight, Myridia. They ride at night. They have eyes meant to see in the darkness.” He paused a moment and looked around, a weary half-smile on his face. “This close to the mountains, the nights are longer. They have an advantage on those of us who travel by day.”
“Tell me about them. Tell me why they follow you.”
He sighed and leaned back, his long body casting an even longer shadow in the light of the closest fire. Garien’s hair slipped and moved in the wind and his eyes were lost in shadows.
“There was a time when we rode together. We were a very large troupe, you see. There were nearly a hundred of us, all told. It was the best way to make sure we weren’t attacked. No one is traveling this far north right now, not many at least, but the plains here are an open invitation to brigands and they often raid and take as they would.
“You see us now, and there’re only twenty of us. But back then it was magnificent.”
He smiled, but there was no joy in the expression, only a memory of it. He had damnably expressive eyes and she liked looking into them.
“On the other side of these mountains, in Mentath, there are stories that tell of places where a bold man can walk between worlds. When I was younger I thought that was a wondrous notion. Can you imagine it? To step into another place, to be where no one has ever been, and to explore lands where no one has ever met your like. I thought it a grand idea.”
She was taken by his voice when he spoke, drawn into the tale as easily as the younger women with her. He had a sense of wonder that carried in his words, and that was something rare among her people.
“I thought it the very finest of notions until we ran across one of those spots.”
Again he shifted, either the ground or the tale making him uncomfortable to the point of wincing.
“We had never gone past the mountains before. Mentath was new territory for us. Still, we were a hundred strong and none of us foolish enough to believe we didn’t need to defend ourselves. It was always our way to sit and discuss what had to happen. Everyone had a voice, even if only a few of us ever truly spoke up. Chief among the talkers were myself, Evelyn, who told fortunes and sold potions, Seryn, who seldom lost an argument and Garth, who made the most glorious pastries I ever did taste.”
The darkness grew stronger and he leaned closer to the fire. The angles of his face took on a slightly sinister edge. That should have made him less attractive, but it did not.
“We didn’t plan to find a place that was not there, but that is exactly what happened. Remember, we had no maps. We didn’t think they were necessary. We spoke to people in one place, dealt with them fairly, and then we asked directions to the next. That had always been the way and we were fine with that. Not like we didn’t remember most of the places, mind. We’d made circuits of all of Arthorne over the years, and points north and south. Any town of decent size had seen us many times. But Mentath was different. We had only just begun our travels there. We’d not even hit the palaces in Gaarsen, which are said to be places of wonder and joy.
“No. We ran across the city when the day was ending. There are rough patches over in Mentath. Places where the ground rises into high foothills then settles back. We had the pleasure of exploring new areas and almost never knowing what was around the next bend and I liked that, and so did Seryn, who was, if not my betrothed, then at least a good companion. We spent more than a few nights keeping each other warm.”
That smile again, nearly tragic, marred by a desire for happiness that did not blossom.
“It was a large city. The gates were open and the city itself was lit with a thousand torches, or so it seemed, after days of nothing but dales and hills. We only spotted it as we came around another bend in the pathway and we thought it best to move a little further to reach the town instead of spending another night in the cold.”
He paused and shook his head. “Listen, I love my wagon, it’s my home, but now and then a fresh bed and a meal in a tavern are lovely things.
“The gates of the city were open. That’s a rare enough thing in some places, but Mentath was new to us and we’d heard nothing of anyone being at war with anyone else.
“I’ve heard some of the most dangerous plants are some of the prettiest. I’ve no certainty that adage is true, but I can tell you the city we saw was lovely. Clean streets, smiling people, shops set up offering a thousand delights and inns large enough to accommodate a dozen or more. A lot of us took to the taverns and inns. The idea was to spend two or three days there, and while some of us would watch our wares and supplies, others would relax. Then, if all went as we hoped, we might do a dozen shows there to make back what we spent.
“I was one of the leaders, I chose to stay with the wagons. It was my duty, wasn’t it?”
Garien finally looked at Myridia. His eyes were wide, dark, and lost.
“I went to bed that night with a good thought in my heart. Our coffers were full, our troupe was happy. I was happy. Garth, my brother, was happy. Garth was a fine baker, but not always happy. That night, he went to sleep in a fine bed after having a fine meal and eating pastries that someone else cooked for a change. The plan was, he’d take my place on the wagon the fo
llowing night and I would sleep in that lovely bed and have a bath besides.”
He shed exactly one tear and wiped it away, not angry but certainly annoyed by the presence of the moisture. His chin dimpled and his lower lip trembled, but only for a moment. It was grief, but it felt like an old grief, fresh enough to hurt, but not really to cut any deeper.
“I woke early, to the sounds of Evelyn screaming. It wasn’t an angry sound. It wasn’t a happy sound. It was complete despair I heard in her voice.
“I climbed from my wagon fast enough to catch my foot and fall to the sandy ground. That was my first thought that something might be wrong. Not Evelyn’s screams, but the fact that my hands landed in sand instead of getting battered on cobblestones.”
His face was pale. His eyes stayed dark, and his hair fluttered in the breeze. A knot of wood popped in the flames and Lorae and Memni jumped.
“They were gone. Not just the people, but all of the buildings as well. The entire city had vanished overnight. I looked around and screamed myself, because that sort of thing, it isn’t possible. I know how it sounds, but I could not believe it. Sun’s up and bright, the people who were in the wagons with me are all there. The town and most of our troupe had just gone.
“We headed back the way we’d come and made it back to the town we’d last visited the same day, getting there before sunset. The baron of the area, a man named Quinn, gave us a safe place to stay that night and fed us. He listened to our story and then told us that there had been tales of a town in that direction, but no one believed them. No one had ever seen any evidence.
“We’d no reason to go out there again. Before we left, the baron sent a few of his men to investigate the area and they found nothing other than our tracks.
“Quinn had his men mark the way to that area and had them place signs warning of danger. It was all he could do. As for us, we left. There was nothing to be done of it. Ghost towns should not come and go. We wanted nothing more to do with the wonders of Mentath, or anything else on the wrong side of the Broken Swords. We headed back here as quickly as we could.
“We make a route, you see. Only this time, because of that,” he gestured to the north, where they knew darker storms were raging relentlessly across the land, “we must change course. But mostly we follow the same routes each time. There are small towns and there are big towns and there are cities and in each where we stop we stay a few days, until we have almost worn out our welcome, and we go on. That’s the way we’ve always managed.
“That only changes when winter comes. We head north through the autumn then turn east for a while and meander down to the south. By the time the worst of winter is here, we’re normally traveled through Saramond, and Hollum, then down as far as Torema and finally Giddenland, where we stay until the worst of the cold is gone again.” The names were only words to Myridia. She had never even seen them on a proper map. There had been no reason when she knew her entire upbringing would be at the keep. Still, she nodded because he seemed to want recognition of the distances.
“There’s plenty that head for Torema. Plenty make their way to Edinrun. We’d stayed in both on occasion, but because we needed more recruits, we kept to Torema. There are more people there with interesting talents, and more who are willing to take a life on the road over living in the rundown parts of town.
“I mention this because if we’d chosen Edinrun with its colleges and universities and the scholarly ways, we might never have noticed the disappearances.
“People in Edinrun tend to be at home and in bed after the sun goes to sleep. Some parts, maybe there’s a concert or player putting on a performance, but the city is spread far and wide, and most folk stay inside. They wouldn’t have seen the night people. They wouldn’t have recognized them.”
By the light of the flames Garien looked older. “They came a week after we reached Torema. It’s an old city, you see. And there are too many people there by far. The docks are overrun by people from other lands. The lost and the desperate live in the alleys and find places where no one with any sense would stay. Rotting buildings, broken structures. Torema lives on that. The more people, the better the chances that what happens at night isn’t seen or talked about. They say you can have any pleasure known to man there and I believe it. But you must first have the coin to pay. We never stayed in Torema because we enjoyed it. We stayed when times were bad and it was all we could afford.
“Still, we were known and we were fair. People still paid us for our little shows and bought our wares and they were wise enough to know not to try to steal from us. Troupes like ours have teeth, you know.
“A week after we settled, the first of the bodies was found in the river. It was stuck against a bridge pillar and the folks that saw it were properly scared. Take no offense, but that body was as pale as yours, and the look on that lad’s face said he died afraid.
“There were some thought a plague had come. Every night the sun set and in the morning there was another body or two, normally near the water, but sometimes in the oddest places. One of them, as I recall, was found on the roof of the closest watchtower to the palace. That was when people started getting nervous. Torema’s like any other place, really: you expect there’s trouble where the lowest people rest, but not where the richest feast.
“A man named Hitchins told me he’d seen my brother, Garth, in the Gilded Goose. A wretched establishment if ever there was one. They had bare-fisted fighters and the sort of whores a man would have to be very drunk to consider. Having never been that desperate I tended to stay away, but I went there after hearing from Hitchins.
“I told Hitchins my brother was dead, you see, but he insisted that he remembered Garth for his pastries and that was enough to make me believe him.
“Hitchins was a nervous sort. I should have thought that through. Why would he approach me and tell me my brother was in town when they’d only met a few times? I was too excited by the thought that Garth might be alive to pay any attention to those tiny voices in my head advising caution.
“The Gilded Goose was in worse repair than I’d remembered. The wooden walls were weathered and rotting, the paint long peeled away. The place was still busy, however. I could hear the noises of people celebrating and talking as I drew closer. I was so excited that I barely noticed Hitchins skulking away from me. He didn’t matter anymore. I nodded my thanks and moved on.
“Inside the sounds I’d heard were different. The braziers lighting the place were damped down, little more than coals, and the tavern was darker than I wanted to think about. There were fires burning, but I felt a chill run through me.”
Garien was paler still now, nearly as pale as Myridia and her kin. His skin was sweating despite the breeze and his eyes had a lost look to them.
“Garth was sitting at a table in the center of the room. He was not alone. I saw several of my old friends there, all with goblets in front of them. I could not see Garth’s face, or his hands. I should have seen them, even in the muted light, but I could not. Still I knew him. There are a hundred little signs, aren’t there? The way a person moves their hands, or holds their body or tilts their head. I knew all of them the second I saw my brother and I wept right then and there. I had abandoned him. I had lost him almost a year earlier and now, finally we were reunited.
“I wanted to go to him. I almost did, but there was that chill in the room, and there was the way he looked at me under his hood. I felt his anger.
“‘You left us, Garien. Wherever did you go?’
“Those words were spoken with Garth’s tongue. But to this day I do not believe he spoke them. As he spoke the folk in that room stood up and I recognized them. They were the troupe, of course. I knew them all. But they weren’t. I can’t explain it better. All I can say is that they felt wrong. Even standing where I should have seen their faces, closer to the fires, I saw only shadows and night.
“I was trying to find the words to answer my brother when I saw the bodies. All around the room, in corner
s, draped over tables, as if they were too drunk to move, I saw the pasty white skin of the plague folk. They were dead, or they were dying. I’m not sure. I saw no wounds, but I knew that Garth and the others had killed them.
“‘Come here, Garien, and all is forgiven.’ I heard the words and knew they were a lie. I felt they were a lie, I could feel how much he wanted me to suffer, though I had no understanding of why.
“‘What happened to you, Garth? What happened to all of you?’ I should have run. I knew they meant to do me harm. Still, I stayed and looked at them, trying to understand what had happened to my friends and all the family I had left in the world.”
Garien shook his head again, and she could almost see that room full of shadows and corpses.
“‘Only come closer, brother, and I will show you.’ He raised one hand and gestured to me and I saw that his flesh was not in shadows, but had been changed. I could see the seat behind him through his hand. His hand, the color of a shadow itself, was transparent.
“Four of them came toward me, moving in ways that made little sense. They seemed to flicker between steps, as a candle flame flutters. I saw them, but they did not move smoothly as a person should. They jumped and twitched even as they took simple steps.”
Garien took the time to look at each of the women around him. He met their eyes and spoke slowly and softly. “I’m an entertainer. I’m not a warrior. I can fight if I must, but that is never my first choice. My first desire is to flee rather than risk hurting another or being hurt. If that makes me a coward I accept it.
“It was Seryn who managed to touch me. Like Garth she seemed made of shadows, but her flesh was solid and cold to the touch. Her fingers caressed the top of my hand and it burned with cold where the tips of her fingers met my flesh. It burned, but I liked it. I wanted more.
“‘But come with us, Garien, and all is forgiven.’
“I was never with Seryn, but I always wanted to be. She was Garth’s lady, you see. Sweet and kind and warm, in all the same ways as my brother. Was she beautiful? Maybe not to others, but she always was to my eyes, you see, and she touched me and I felt that old desire again, not just to hold her, but to be held, to be possessed, to be wanted by so wondrous a woman.
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