Chains of the Heretic

by Jeff Salyards

  Vendurro said, “If for no other plaguing reason than to get their witchy hands on Bloodsounder there. The weapon, not the wielder, I mean.”

  Sergeant Bruznik understandably looked confused, but Rudgi continued, “So we got to get moving. Only question is where.”

  Mulldoos sat back down on the creaking tree, his forearms bulging as he steadied himself. “No place far enough. Not if they come hunting. Not unless we got back across that plaguing Veil, but we all know what kind of fun to expect on that side.”

  Vendurro said, “What about trying to find General Kruzinios?”

  Mulldoos gave him that droopy but still incredulous look. “Oh, yeah, the Eagles will be real plaguing happy to take us in. Especially after we explain how we led Thumaar into a trap, saw him done in by witches supposed to be helping him retake the throne, and then had to fight off some of his guard to get free of the Citadel.”

  That shut that line of inquiry down in a hurry. When no one else said anything else for a few moments, I cleared my throat and offered, “Mulldoos, you mentioned the Veil. But we don’t have to cross over, do we?”

  He turned the droopy skepticism my way. “We do if we got to run from the witchslits. Which we got to do sooner or later, likely sooner. You heard Cap—his bitch sister can track us anywhere, if she has a mind to. Only thing we can do is go far enough to make it not worth their while. At least until we figure out what to plaguing do next.”

  Braylar gave me one of his calculating looks. “In the spirit of hearing things out, explain what you meant, Arki.”

  “Well,” I said, “We could find a secluded spot near the Veil, hole up there. If the Memoridons or Memoridon-led troops come for us, we can cross over if we have to.” Mulldoos started to object, but I pressed on. “Not far into the territory, mind you, for obvious reasons. Just on the other side. But then we’d know if they intend to hunt us down. And it allows the only true means of escape we have if they did.”

  “And if they don’t come . . . ”Vendurro said, figuring out where I intended to go.

  I said, “Then at least we are still relatively close to Sunwrack, to the Jackals, until we gather more intelligence and figure out the next plan of attack.”

  Vendurro grinned, and it seemed less broken this time.

  Bruznik looked closely at me again and turned to the captain. “I like this skinny bastard, Cap.”

  Mulldoos rolled his eyes (well, the one really) as Braylar said, “It took him much longer to grow on me, but yes, he is more astute than he looks.”

  Rudgi said, “It’s a good idea. But where?”

  Vendurro tapped the side of his nose. “Got the place, as it happens. Little deserted village north of here four days, probably five if we’re moving stealthy. Called Ondolyr. Nestled up close to the Veil.”

  “Another plaguing plague village?” Mulldoos asked.

  Vendurro replied, “Nahh. Saw it on patrol years ago, hunting some Urglovian rebels. Hadn’t been used at all in half of forever, overgrown, only a few stone buildings still standing. Probably cleared out after the Veil went up, I’m guessing. It’s close enough they must have lost some to the draw of the thing and got tired of having their own wander on over to their deaths.”

  Mulldoos rubbed his stubbly cheek. “Yeah, sounds plaguing lovely. Maybe we could grow some peonies and raise rabbits.”

  “Wasn’t saying we ought to settle down there, Mull,” Vendurro said. “But you want a place not on any map, close to the Veil, affording the kind of escape only Cap there can provide, you’d be hard pressed to find a better site.”

  Braylar said, “If you have any objections or better suggestions, I would hear them now.”

  Mulldoos looked like he was ready to roll out some more rebuttals, though out of pure habit or pique it was hard to tell, but then surprisingly held his tongue, shrugging his big shoulders. “Heard lousier plans.”

  “A resounding endorsement,” the captain said before turning to the others. “Anyone else? Other alternatives? Critique? Asinine remarks?”

  After another few moments of silence Braylar slapped the buckler on his belt. “Very good. It is settled then, yes? To the abandoned village at the edge of our world.”

  Put like that, I wished someone else had objected, but once settled, the captain was not easily unsettled.

  We avoided main byways for the first two days, winding through sparse woods and along the edges of farmland, but then we joined Carper’s Road heading north. I was riding next to Mulldoos and asked why and he jerked a thick thumb over his shoulder. “Two words for you, Arki. Bitch. Sister. If she or any of her ilk are after us, no amount of zig-zagging or skirting through the brush is going to do any plaguing good, and will only slow us down. We’ll make for this weedy hamlet as fast as we can now. Not as much chance of running into patrols now, and scouts are scouting. We’re good.”

  And so we rode for the next four days, moving off the small dirt track a few times when a scout brought back word of an approaching wagon, a group of pilgrims, or small caravan, but otherwise undisturbed. There were no troops ahead or behind, Syldoon, Confederate, or Anjurian. We made camp, Mulldoos continued leaving welts up and down my body as we trained (slightly less numerous than before, though my welts had welts, so it wasn’t much of an improvement), and I listened to the soldiers. The sense of malaise was heavy, partly because we were a much smaller group than when we had escaped Sunwrack the first time, and partly because we had a mission then, an objective, a sense there was still something worth moving forward to. Now there were only questions and uneasiness.

  It was mid-morning on the sixth day when Vendurro led us off the rutted road and through the sparse woods for several hours. Rudgi took another rider ahead to be sure the area was safe and not housing bandits, rebels, or any other troublesome occupants. We watered and rested the horses and waited, and two hours later they returned, stating the abandoned village was well and truly abandoned.

  The sun was still up when we sighted Ondolyr, or what remained of it. Winding around trees and a hundred yards out, I might not have even known there were buildings ahead. While this region was dryer and less green than anything in Anjuria, a thousand years of vines, lichen, weeds, creepers, and moss had overtaken any structure left standing. I expected some stone buildings to have withstood the years—there were manor houses, and what looked like a mill— but was surprised to see so many of the wooden ones still admirably bearing the weight of so many centuries.

  We rejoined a road leading to it that must have been an offshoot of Carper’s further north. Squirrels skittered and chattered at us as we passed, and some black quilltails burst out of a small grove to our right and flew off, but we were without question the only humans in the vicinity. As we got closer, the road split off around a small plaza and what remained of a fountain near the entrance to the villa. The stones in the plaza surrounding the fountain had been broken up by roots erupting through them, and were covered in the natural detritus of ages. As we circled the round, cracked, and useless fountain, it wasn’t hard to imagine that it had once been beautiful, as the enameled tiles inside were still largely undisturbed, and the statue of a fox jumping a log in the center would have looked nearly as good as new with some maintenance.

  It appeared a wind storm must have swept through here at some point after the villa was deserted, as the roofs of several wooden buildings had been torn free, and several red tiles from the manor houses were scattered and broken all around the buildings. The structures that had lost some or most of their roofs had suffered considerably, exposed to the elements, everything inside deteriorated by warp and rot and mold, but again, even after the passage of so many years, it was easy to see that this had once been a thriving and beautiful villa.

  Before the Deserters erected the Veil.

  It was impossible to miss, not far beyond the edge of the villa, pulsing its way up to the sky, and even fifty yards out, I felt the first tentative tugs, the faint urge to keep riding towards it. Even
though I had seen the Veil several times now, it still inspired a terrible kind of awe, this wall of memories spanning the world designed to keep us and our plague on this side.

  Braylar turned his horse around and pointed back at a manor house we had passed thirty yards back. “We stay there.” Then he pointed at a stone well off to our left. “If you cross this marker, you are already too close. As you well know, the Veil solicits any and all, and the invitation is a powerful one. We go no closer unless we are penned in by Memoridons, and even then, you will accompany me. Is that understood?”

  There was a chorus of ayes, and the captain said, “You best get comfortable, and clear this place out. We won’t be renovating the villa and moving in, but we could be here for a while.”

  I helped Vendurro and several other Syldoon haul out debris from one of the manor houses. Most of the roof was intact, but there were a few holes and the interior immediately below had weathered poorly, though the frame, timbers, joinery, and overall appearance were remarkably good—it was hard to image this had been abandoned nearly a millennium before.

  Especially since, similar to the plague village we stayed in, there were countless artifacts remaining in Ondolyr—things left behind by the villagers who had presumably suffered enough losses to the Veil and realized that every moment they stayed here put someone else in jeopardy. I imagined they loaded their wagons and horses and oxen with their most important valuables, but left behind a great deal of furniture that had been mostly protected from the elements that was still recognizable—even the fabric, while faded, mildewed, torn, and no doubt home to a thousand beetles and spiders over the years, was in fairly good shape when not in the vicinity of the holes above.

  There were also cabinets, some still filled with dust-caked candlesticks or wooden cups, an empty wardrobe containing the stained and threadbare fabric that had been clothes of some kind but was largely unrecognizable now, and on and on, the remains of the terrified populace that vacated and never returned.

  I was filling my arms with some red shingles and looked over at Vendurro. “It’s still hard to believe the Memoridons betrayed Thumaar like that. Well, all of you Syldoon, really.”

  “Ayyup,” he replied, kicking a beam to see how heavy it was. “That whole business with the frames. Got to hand it to the witches. Mighty manipulative.”

  I tossed the debris out a window. As I moved over to help him with the other end of the beam, I said, “Well, in that sense, it isn’t surprising at all. They don’t lack for cleverness.”

  Vendurro chuckled as he kicked some shingles towards the wall. “Aye. Sure as spit.” He gave me a long look. “Been meaning to ask, about Skeelana that is . . .”

  The unspoken question hung there, and I sighed. He started to say something, maybe withdraw the question, but I said, “I wanted to let her suffer. Truly. I thought I would. But I couldn’t.”

  He nodded. “You got a bigger heart than me.”

  “No,” I said. “That’s not it. Do you know why I finished her off?”

  Vendurro dusted hands on his pants and looked at me, waiting. I said, “Not to give her mercy. Not really. But because part of me worried that if I left her alive, then Soffjian or some other Memoridons might return, find a way to save her. It didn’t seem likely. But then, neither did the Memoridons overthrowing Syldoon control with our help. She had caused enough damage, and just then, I hated her, and wanted to be done hating her. So I finished her off.”

  I hadn’t expected to admit that to anyone. But there it was.

  Vendurro asked, a small, sad smile on his face, “And how’s that working out for you? The not-hating part?”

  I shook my head. “Not so good.”

  He patted me on the back, raising dust. “Well, good thing you got some other diversions then, eh?”

  “Other diversions? What—?”

  Vendurro winked. “At least she’s not a Memoridon. That’s something. Even Mulldoos can’t argue with that one.”

  I felt my cheeks grow hot, and not from the exertion of cleaning. “It was just—that is, just the one time. I don’t know if, don’t even know—”

  “Nobody does, Arki.” He gave me a big toothy grin. “No matter what you read in any prettified romances, nobody does. Might only be the once, might be the first of a thousand. Got terrible luck with women, myself, so I ain’t offering any advice. But she’s not Memoridon, and you can’t die like Rokliss, so I’d say you’re off to as good a start as any.”

  I thought about that poor smother bastard and laughed, then coughed on some of the dust. Looking around, I lowered my voice as another Syldoon pushed a chaise out of the way nearby. “How long will she be off? Scouting?”

  Vendurro said, “She’s off gathering intelligence while we hunker down here, her and a few others, riding off in different directions. Hard to say when they’ll be back for certain. Until then,” he pointed at a crumpled and broken chair under a hole in the roof, “we clean this place up and hunker down for a bit. Let’s get to it.”

  As it happened, two of the other scouts returned two tenday later, reporting mixed news. They heard from more than one source that confirmed that Thumaar’s temporary allies, Baron Brune and the Confederate generals, had survived the battle outside Sunwrack and slunk back to their homelands. They wouldn’t be players in any immediate action, so that was one less thing Braylar had to contend with.

  The scouts also declared that they heard conflicting reports from those who had left the city of Graymoss, but more often, it sounded as if Memoridons held sway over the provinces just as they did over Sunwrack, though it was impossible to tell how long they could sustain that position. Mulldoos thought every Tower would rise up at the first chance they got, while Braylar maintained that the Syldoon were drawn to power as much as anything else—just as they would support a strong emperor, they would throw in their lot with the Memoridons once it was apparent they weren’t going to be ousted anytime soon.

  One unfortunate rider had the task of trying to get a message to Commander Darzaak and hadn’t returned from Sunwrack. Rudgi and another scout hadn’t returned either.

  Our small company was anxious and restless as we waited for more word to come in to piece together our next move. We couldn’t return to Sunwrack, and we couldn’t appeal to the Confederates or Anjurians, so until we somehow got direction from Darzaak, we were adrift and listing.

  Mulldoos continued welting me, sometimes enlisting another Syldoon as a sparring partner to raise bruises in new spots, and small groups of Jackals roamed the countryside away from the Veil, hunting, foraging, exploring the area.

  More than once, Braylar pulled Bloodsounder off his belt and approached the Veil, disappearing for long stretches each time. I caught up to him as he returned from one such outing and said, “Are you all right, Captain?”

  He was oddly calm, which was disturbing in itself. “When I killed those Memoridons in the Citadel, it washed all the poisonous memories clean. Even after striking Rusejenna out, I hadn’t felt so wonderfully empty, myself again. The last time I was so cleansed was the moment before making the egregious error of taking this wicked thing out of the earth.”

  Braylar stopped himself, trailing off a little. I said, “But?”

  “But,” he replied, fixing those mossy stone eyes on me, “then that mutinous bastard’s memories began flooding into me. With no rogue witch to attend me, and no Memoridons to strike down, I began to think . . . But then, I remembered something you said, after translating.”

  I looked at the shimmering Veil in the distance and then back to him. “And what did I say?”

  “The Priest of Truth. The Grass Dog witch. She claimed visiting the Veil cleansed her. So I visited.”

  “And?” I asked, more loudly than I intended.

  Braylar smiled. One of those prolonged, unnerving, rare genuine smiles. “It is slower than killing a Memoridon, but I will never need a witch to attend me again. Provided I can get to the Veil.” He glanced down at Bloodsound
er. “It worked, Arki. Slowly, for certain, but it worked.”

  “That is fantastic, Captain! I wish I had—”

  We heard hoofbeats, coming fast.

  Rudgi and another scout rounded the bend, galloping hard for the villa.

  I had Lloi’s sword on my hip but no crossbow. “Should we arm ourselves, Captain? Should I raise an alarm—”

  Braylar put his hand on my shoulder. “Easy there. I do not believe we are under attack. Yet. Or it would be sentries with frothy-mouthed horses, not our Sergeant of Scouts. But do round up Mulldoos, Vendurro, and Bruznik and meet us by the fountain.” I nodded, and he gave me a shove. “Today, Arki!”

  I ran off and found the officers and told them to head to the fountain. Vendurro was the last one—he was taking a nap—and the pair of us joined the others by the fountain.

  Rudgi was sitting on the cracked ledge, still breathing heavily in between taking swigs out of a costrel.

  When Braylar saw Vendurro and me, he said, “Very good. Now, Sergeant, report.”

  Rudgi looked at the captain and nodded, sweaty, tired, shoulders slumped, but it was the look in her eye that made my hairs stand up straight. One part haunted, two parts morose. “It’s Graymoss, Cap. The plaguing city . . . it’s dead now.”

  That did nothing to settle my nerves. Braylar said, “What do you mean, Rudgi? How is it dead?”

  She took a deep breath, steadied herself. “I was heading north, just like you said, keeping close to the Veil, just like you told me. Planning on heading further west once I got closer to Erstbright. But six days out, I—” then she pointed at the scout, who appeared no less shaken. “That is, we. We saw the Deserters. An army of Deserters.”

  Even Mulldoos seemed taken aback by that. “Through the Veil?”

  “No,” she replied. “They crossed over. Wielders, staffslingers, clubbers, those legless bastards on their backs, supply wagons pulled by rooters. There were a lot of them already forming up on this side when we saw them, and Junti and I, we hung back, really far back, and watched the rest come through.” There was awe in her voice as she said, “Thousands of them, Cap. Between ten and fifteen, so far as I can tell. Filled up a whole valley. Once they assembled, they headed west, and we shadowed them.”