by T. A. Miles
To find such a book on Dunlar’s shelf was as unexpected as having found someone of Korsten’s education and interest in Haddowyn.
Merran set the book aside, and continued to scan the study’s shelves. Correspondence with peers or a journal would have been the most helpful, but material of that nature seemed to have been kept elsewhere.
In the midst of thinking that, he did happen to open a book that contained some handwritten words. His attention caught on a random excerpt.
History claims that the retreat to their temple city was into the arms of plague that claimed the whole of the population. I personally do not know that any plague, or even war, can decimate so absolutely as that. Our survival as a country would tend to argue that it cannot. -Thaylen Dunlar
History had also insisted broadly upon abandonment. The gods had left mortal people behind, according to most books on the subject. In their absence, those mortals had devised ways in which to emulate immortal power, by rooting through what the gods had left unguarded. It was from nature that people collected magic and it was from people that the Vadryn stole it.
A shadow passed over the floor, drawing Merran’s gaze to where it had been, and then to the window, where it had likely sourced from. He closed the book and left the shelves. At the window, he looked out, onto green grounds that were shrouded in gray. Sunlight burned golden stains upon the air, illuminating everything, yet revealing nothing.
Merran drew back from the window, walking from the study by way of a door which adjoined it to another room—a conservatory, perhaps. There were various places to sit, potted plants, some instruments on display, and otherwise an abundance of portraits that occupied the walls. All but the outside wall, which was lined with floor-to-ceiling windows. Each of them appeared intact, in spite of what had gone on during the night. At the center, two of the tall panels served as doors. One was partly open.
Unsheathing his sword, Merran carried himself outside. The air was silent. At the moment, not even a breeze stirred whispers among the bushes and trees.
In the stillness, Eolyn became the only moving form, and her movements were not of alarm, but merely of wandering at the base of his sleeve. Merran continued to scan the fog, until his eyes located a patch of form that may not have been foliage.
Taking steps toward it, Merran witnessed the awakening of a small number of greenish orbs within the haze. They hung in the air without perfect shape, like oil floating on water. Among them was the silhouette of what may have been a person on horseback.
Merran sheathed his sword, freeing his hand for a minor Blast spell, which he sent across the yard. The magic’s white light doused the yellow-green cast of whatever he may have been seeing. Wood splintered into the mist, indicating that the figure was a low-slung bough, and—in the moment—an illusion, possibly created by Merran’s readiness to see enemies.
As if to openly contradict him, the oddly-colored orbs reshaped and drifted off, toward the town.
•—•
Korsten sat atop Onyx at the threshold of Dunlar’s estate. Scanning the collection of modest houses and some few establishments tucked into the fog below, he quickly discerned which would be the home of the town constabulary. Presuming anyone was still alive, Korsten imagined that whomever was next in charge would resent the burden upon him, else he would reject it entirely and flee in the interest of his life, once he learned what had happened to the governor and nearly all of his household.
Though understandable, it was discouraging to witness able men abandon the constant battlefield that Edrinor happened to be. Ordinary men were still very much a part of this war. And on both sides.
Feidor’s Crest had been Korsten’s first journey with Merran since the battle at Lilende. The keep they had defended was yet standing—he’d been told, in part because of his efforts, which had been unorthodox in the moment. His unorthodox action had also rendered him a prisoner of Morenne, and it was at the hands of ordinary men, that Korsten had been nearly killed. For all of his structuring his courage and talents to face demons, they were not among the direct horrors Korsten had faced while held within a prison tower on the other side of the Borderlands.
An assignment such as this made the relationship between men and demons vitally clear; vital, because among the most important things for Korsten to have learned on the topic, was that there were victims of circumstance, and victims by choice. His experience in Morenne showed him how possible it was for men to be affected by demons, to surrender their souls and become empowered tyrants over their own people.
A child general had been the one to show Korsten such bleak ugliness. A mere child had designed and overseen Korsten’s torture at the hands of cruel and desperate men.
“Let’s go,” Korsten said to Onyx, turning him back toward the manor.
He was halted by the flash of ill light overhead. Looking to the sky, he watched it roll through the lingering haze. It dissipated before it touched the ground at the slope leading into town, where stood a man on horseback.
Both animal and rider appeared somewhat gaunt and pallid. There was no ability to discern the man’s features, beyond the sickly yellow-green of his gaze, a hue which matched the globules of light hovering in the air around him. There was something oddly familiar about his face, though there was no detail that Korsten could firmly recognize.
Whoever the individual was, his blood felt …
Toxic was the only descriptive that came to mind. And that was probably all the answer Korsten required as to what the individual was, even if the matter of who he could have been escaped him.
It was then that another presence entered into Korsten’s scope of awareness. At first, it felt overly strong and aggressive. Heavy-feeling footsteps pounded into Korsten’s sphere of notice, and he had nearly manifested his sword, when a hand swiftly took hold of his wrist.
“Korsten!” the man said urgently. And it was not Merran.
Seven
“I apologize, if I startled you,” Chief Constable Guidry said. It was the third apology the man had offered since he and Korsten encountered one another.
Korsten looked reflexively to his wrist, and saw no damage, though the man’s grip had been alarmingly hard. “There was no harm done,” he said. And now, Korsten wanted to know, “Did you see that man?”
“Which man?”
Korsten looked to the final gate between the manor and the town, to be certain that the rider was indeed no longer there. The coincidence of the rider’s appearance and subsequent vanishing was not lost on him. He observed the constable with great care to what may have been hidden beneath his skin. The conversation taking place in total silence, ringing in Korsten’s blood, suggested that there was some manner of untruth before him. Whether it was the man’s words, his manner, or his very being, Korsten understood that Guidry’s presentation was false and dangerous
“It may have been no one,” Korsten finally said. “Pay it no mind, for now.”
The elderly man either agreed or disagreed in silence. Whether he was accomplice or victim to the Vadryn was presently unknown. Either would lead to a confrontation, but the nature of it relied upon Guidry’s state.
Korsten asked, “Why were you returning to the house?”
“To tell you that you should speak with Ergen’s wife, and to learn whether or not you and your partner had come back from the crest,” Guidry replied, and Korsten could detect that the answer was not untrue. Still, that didn’t mean that the man’s answer was entirely truthful.
“I’m afraid there’s a matter of some tragedy that needs to be discussed,” Korsten began.
Guidry didn’t require of him to finish. “Thaylen’s died, hasn’t he?”
The note of misery that pressed into Korsten’s senses inspired him to pay the elder an expression of sympathy. It was a reflex, even knowing that if a demon was present or controlling the man, it would only be accessing Guidr
y’s sentiments, not feeling them.
“Yes,” he said to the constable.
Guidry nodded. “The illness?”
It was dangerous to disrupt the Vadryn when they were attempting to be charming, or to present themselves as a normal person. It was equally dangerous to allow idle conversation to carry on. Korsten collected the words with care. “Constable Guidry … I’m sorry to tell you that we discovered the bodies on our return from the crest, during the dark hours of the morning.”
The man’s aged eyes searched visibly for more information, or perhaps for some confirmation as to just how much information Korsten may have had.
“It was not illness,” Korsten continued. “And …you know that.”
While Korsten watched Guidry, the sensation of disease seeped further into the air around him. He witnessed the appearance of the horse and its rider putrefy in front of him, features taking on bruises, drawing gaunt and sinking into their bones.
The horse turned its head, too quickly, and Korsten gave the emaciated-looking creature a firm kick while jerking the reins to move Onyx away from it.
Onyx became alert to the reality of the situation just after Korsten, and was already in motion, but Korsten was not to go far with his mount. Guidry launched his suddenly ghoulish form out of the saddle, and Korsten toppled from his own as the constable collided into him.
The moment he struck the earth, Korsten shifted his weight to compensate, and wound up in a brief tumble with the ghoul. His momentum was not enough to leave him with the advantage when they came to a stop, and he found himself beneath the ravenous elder. A glimpse of feral eyes preceded a view of elongated teeth.
Instinct put Korsten’s hand beneath the ghoul’s jaw. Swift thinking enabled him to manifest his sword. The simple formation of the blade spiked through the creature’s skull, piercing the contaminated mind and quieting its restlessness. In the very instant the body was going limp, Korsten threw it off him, reclaiming his blade in the process.
Afterward, he rolled in the opposite direction and righted himself. There was a moment of pause to allow the belated shock to run its course, and to allow some remorse for the death itself.
“Gods,” he breathed. And then, “Onyx!”
He heard hooves trod upon the ground in answer, but the gait was not that of a healthy animal.
Korsten stood, discerned which direction the footfall was coming from, and turned to face it. The afflicted animal did not move swiftly, but stalked through the haze, its form drawing to detail slowly. The ears swiveled in an almost calculated fashion while it approached. Eyes striated with yellow and black gave a menacing look and it tossed its mane in agitation.
Korsten dropped his blade when he was shown the long teeth, tipped with blackened and sharp edges. When it charged, he cast a Barrier. A veil of light manifested between Korsten and the horse. Even bracing himself for it, Korsten was thrown back when the immense weight of the creature impacted, but he kept the Barrier between himself and the beast. He strained to maintain the shield’s potency, ensuring that the ghoul did not break through, even as the initial collision seemed to break its neck. Korsten held the Barrier in place until the horse was fully on the ground and there was no further risk of it moving again. Even so, he hesitated to lower the spell.
When he finally did, he rose to his feet once more, summoned his blade back to him, and called out to Onyx. The sword came first, shapeless and as liquid energy. Korsten formed it into a ball before it arrived and caught it, then absorbed the magic into his palm while he waited for Onyx.
Long seconds passed before the living steed finally came into view. Korsten took hold of the animal’s bridle and brought him close, stroking his muzzle with relief. He was grateful beyond words that the horse was trained, on top of its own instincts, to move away from imminent danger when possible.
Standing with Onyx, Korsten looked toward the town, past the agitated presence of Analee, and through the fog, at the shadows of structures that may each have been housing victims of the Vadryn.
•—•
Merran was in the process of collecting Erschal when he heard Korsten’s voice in the fog. He swiftly followed it, and found his partner at the threshold of the gates that lined the road into town, near the point where he believed the smears of greenish light had vanished.
“Did you see a rider?” Korsten asked him immediately.
“I saw the peculiar lights,” Merran answered. Looking the area over, he saw the remains of a contaminated man and a contaminated horse. Apparently, they were not the components of the rider Korsten was concerned with. Considering his own vision on the manor grounds, Merran also said, “I saw what I thought was an individual on horseback. It turned out to be a tree.”
“So, it may have been an illusion,” Korsten deduced, though he scarcely seemed decided.
Merran had been reconsidering his own experience as well. In his time, he had come to learn that there were few illusions about the Vadryn, beyond the emotional impressions one of the demons could make in the mind of its victims. That returned him to the notion of a greater demon in the area. He had no illusion about one of them delaying him and Korsten for its own protection. If it was Renmyr in the area, throwing something in their path was undoubtedly to feed Korsten a moment’s worth of false hope and to otherwise establish them as witnesses before attempting to destroy them as well. The longer Merran considered that, the more likely it felt that the entire town had been the obstacle, not merely Elwain’s possessor.
Cleansing the area would not only take a considerable amount of time, it would also take a toll on their magic. Merran already did not feel comfortable in the possible presence of an archdemon, particularly not one he had faced and failed to bring down before. He had no desire to allow himself to be weakened enough to replay the events of thirty years ago. With an archdemon present, they would be wiser to leave.
“Where did you see the rider?” Merran asked.
“Not far from where we’re standing,” Korsten answered. He nodded toward the bodies on the ground. “I also had an encounter with the chief constable. He suggested that we go to see Ergen’s wife. I thought it an odd suggestion for a ghoul to make.”
“It is,” Merran confirmed.
Looking at the remains of Guidry, the man was barely recognizable. Only the day before, he had been one of a panel of men encouraging them to look for a beast in the one location where they would be too distant to protect anyone, yet near enough to be the first to know that everyone had been murdered. Whether and archdemon or not, the demons never acted entirely on their own. The very nature of their existence insisted that they work with men.
Merran shook his head, disliking the options in front of them. “I can’t help but to believe that there’s nothing living or innocent left in that town.”
“We don’t know that everyone is dead,” Korsten said, and the point behind that comment was not lost on Merran. It was, in fact, what Merran expected his partner to deliver.
Making a decision did not require him to look toward the town or at the manor behind them; it only required of him to look in Korsten’s eyes, and to recall that his compassion was not a thing the Vadryn could kill, in spite of all of their attempts.
“We’ll follow through on that visit to the deputy governor’s house,” Merran said.
Korsten lifted himself into Onyx’s saddle. “What of Dunlar’s son?”
“He’s as protected as he can be, under the circumstances.”
And that was the whole of it. If Elwain Dunlar’s safety was to be their primary concern, then they should have already gone back to Vassenleigh. But their concern was originally all of Feidor’s Crest. And Korsten was right to insist that they stay, at least long enough to know for certain that everyone was lost.
They made their way down toward the town center. There was no one, nor anything to greet them. The tow
n appeared to have been—in the time they’d been at the plateau—ransacked for blood on one end and completely abandoned at the other.
“Which is Ergen’s house?” Merran wondered.
“That one is my guess,” Korsten said, nodding toward a three-story structure set mildly distant from those in its vicinity. It gave some air of importance, but there was no sign to indicate its function, so it was a reasonable guess, especially coming from someone who had once served in the same position in another town.
They proceeded to the house, the door to which they found closed, but unlocked and unattended. After establishing that they would be going indoors, it was decided that they would send Onyx and Erschal back to the manor. If a quick escape were to become necessary, it would be easier to collect the animals from a secured location. If a quick escape became necessary, Merran had already planned to do so by spell.
Within the house, it was unsurprising that the first detail they came upon was blood on the walls. The amount did not speak of murder, necessarily. Some objects of furniture had been toppled, suggesting a recent struggle. There was a minor stain upon the floor, at the entrance to a parlor.
While Korsten moved off, Merran stepped over to it, and looked in at a high-backed chair that was facing the door. It was then that the aura of menace was better felt. It was not as immediately active as what they had just come from at the governor’s house. Still, it was evident that something beyond human struggle had gone on.
“I think we may only find bodies here,” he said to Korsten, and walked away from the parlor.
“There’s a door in the servant’s hall,” Korsten announced from deeper in the house.
Merran left the front hall and entered the kitchen. He swept his vision across its details enough to get a bearing on where Korsten was and wound up joining his partner in a narrow passage. It appeared to be a servant’s corridor that connected the kitchen to other parts of the house its staff would need access to, including a staircase to the upper floors, a pantry, and a trapdoor which Korsten had already lifted open.