by Ben Cassidy
Joseph stood, brushing the snow off his pants. “I doubt there’ll be much out here to worry about.”
Kendril’s eyes drifted back towards the farmhouse behind them as Galla’s laugh carried out on the night air. His right hand clenched on top of the hilt of one of his swords.
“I think a watch would be good, all the same,” he said darkly.
The sun was barely over the horizon when Kendril emerged from the doorway of the farmhouse, squinting in the early morning light. He crunched softly through the snow around the corner of the decrepit building, and gave a half smile as he stopped. “Cold night?”
Simon gave him a hateful glance.
Kendril glanced over at Maklavir’s horse, standing where he was tied to a post a few feet away. “Veritas isn’t complaining.”
The mule snorted, and shook his head for good measure.
Kendril shrugged. “Don’t look at me. No one else wanted a mule in the farmhouse. Can’t figure why.”
The beast lowered his head in reluctant understanding. The blanket that covered him drooped slightly.
Kendril brushed some snow and ice off the animal’s side. “Joseph says it should get a bit warmer today. Don’t ask me how he knows.”
Simon gave a soft bray.
“I told you not to ask me,” said Kendril. “You want some breakfast?”
The mule swished his tail happily and thrust his muzzle into his master.
“All right, all right,” Kendril said with a chuckle. “Hold on. I’ve got it here.” He lifted up a feedbag and slipped it over the animal’s head. “Don’t eat too fast. You’ll get indigestion again.”
Simon gave him a disdainful side glance, then began devouring the feed.
Kendril smiled, patting the mule on the back.
There was a soft crunch in the snow behind him.
The Ghostwalker whirled around, one hand already on his pistol.
“Whoa!” said Galla, throwing up both his hands. “Little jumpy, eh?”
Kendril narrowed his eyes. “You surprised me.”
The priest slowly put down his hands, looking over at Simon. “So I did. It won’t happen again, I assure you. That your mule?”
Kendril nodded, easing his hand off the pistol. “Yes.”
“He seems a sturdy beast,” Galla said. “Had him long?”
“A while, yes.”
The priest gave an apologetic smile. “Just curious.” He took a step through the snow, his fur-lined robe swishing as he moved. “The others are inside making breakfast. The sausage looks particularly good.”
“I’ll bet.”
Galla scratched the back of his neck thoughtfully. “You don’t like me, do you?”
Kendril turned back to Simon and adjusted the mule’s feedbag. “Now what makes you say that?”
The priest gave another smile. His greased hair shone in the slanting sunlight. “Call it a hunch.” He looked at Kendril for a few seconds. “You’re a Ghostwalker, aren’t you?”
Kendril turned back around. His eyes watched Galla carefully.
“I’ve heard of your kind.”
“All good things, I hope,” said Kendril in a low voice.
“Not exactly.” Galla brought his hands up and pressed his fingertips together. “Actually, most of my brothers have a low opinion of your order.”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” said Kendril in the same flat tone.
“I’ve heard that Ghostwalkers are a paranoid and distrustful lot.” The priest gave a disarming smile. “No offense, but so far I haven’t seen much in you to shatter that description.”
“I’ve heard that Baderan priests are greedy, decadent and corrupt,” Kendril said icily. “So far you haven’t done much to dispel that description.”
Galla gave a thin smile. “Perhaps with time you will find that your initial impression of me is wrong.”
“We’ll see.” Kendril straightened. “Anything else on your mind?”
The priest gave the man in front of him a long hard look, then slowly shook his head. “No.”
“Then if you don’t mind,” said Kendril sharply, “I have some things to take care of before we leave.”
Another shadowy smile appeared on Galla’s face. “Of course. I’ll make sure the others save you some sausage.” He bowed, then left.
Simon finished the last few bits of grain in the bag, then gave a satisfied snort. He lifted his head as Galla disappeared around the corner, and gave another snort.
“I agree,” said Kendril. He scratched the mule behind the ears.
“I don’t suppose you might actually let me see the map.”
Galla glanced up from the parchment he was holding, his attention momentarily distracted.
“Considering that I’m supposed to be guiding us and all,” Joseph continued dryly.
The priest glanced down at the map uncertainly for a moment, then handed it over to Joseph with a forced smile. “Of course. Sorry. You’ll probably have better luck.”
“Let’s hope,” mumbled Joseph.
They were deep in the forest, the trees all around them heavy with snow and ice. Ahead the path, buried deep with snow, split off in two directions.
Kendril came swishing through the white powder behind them, his rifle slung over his shoulder. “Problem?”
Joseph nodded towards the fork in the trail without looking up from the paper. “Just trying to get our bearings.” He looked up at Galla. “Where did you get this map, anyway?”
“One of my brethren at the monastery.” He gave an apologetic smile. “I’m afraid it may not be very good. He drew it based on another monk’s description.”
“Wonderful,” growled Joseph. He glanced up, staring penetratingly at the trees.
“Is this going to take long?” Kendril asked.
“It might.” Joseph sighed, glancing back at the rest of the group. Maklavir was carefully brushing snow off his horse’s saddle, while Kara was drinking from a canteen.
“Maybe we should break for lunch,” Kendril suggested. “It’s about that time anyway.”
The pathfinder gave a defeated shrug of his shoulders. “Sure.”
Galla breathed a sigh of relief, then turned back to his donkey. “Good, good. I’m famished.”
Kendril followed him back, and signaled to Maklavir and Kara that they were stopping.
They dismounted, then began digging wearily in their packs for food.
Kendril followed his own footprints back through the deep snow to where Joseph still stood, a scowl on his face. “You going to eat anything?”
“What?” Joseph looked up. “Oh, yes, I’ll have something.” He gave a quick glance back to where Galla stood, taking something out of his pack. The priest was out of earshot.
“What is it?” Kendril asked in a low voice.
“Take a look at this,” said Joseph in a low voice as well. He handed the map over to the Ghostwalker. “Tell me what you think.”
Kendril squinted, trying to hold the parchment against the light breeze that was blowing. He handed it back with a shake of his head. “I don’t know. What am I looking for?”
Joseph glanced again at Galla. The priest wasn’t paying any attention to them. “It seems kind of strange, that’s all. Stefgarten’s not even on here.”
Kendril shrugged. “It’s a pretty small town.”
“Yeah, but Vorten’s a big city, and it’s not on the map either. And look at the river here. It’s curving pretty far out to the east. And there are some other things labeled on here that I’ve never even heard of. I’m not sure what they’re supposed to be. Towns?”
Kendril gave a quick glance over his shoulder. “Galla said the information was pretty sketchy.”
Joseph bit his lip. “This seems to me to be beyond sketchy.”
Kendril’s hand instinctively drifted towards the handle of his pistol. “Should we talk with Galla?”
Joseph shook his head. “Not yet. It just seems strange to me, that’s all.”
“Keep you
r eyes open,” said Kendril quietly. “For anything else ‘strange.’”
The scout looked at Galla again.
The man was happily conversing with Maklavir and also managing to devour a loaf of bread at the same time.
“I think we both should,” Joseph said after a moment.
“Well, it’s not quite a farmhouse, but it should do.” Joseph got off his horse, his rapier rattling at his side. “Probably as good as we’ll get out here, anyway.”
The forest was still thick all around them, the snow glistening ghost-like in the gathering twilight. Ahead of them, just off the trail, was a small wall of rock that created a slight overhang.
Kara rode up beside him, patting her pony on the side of the neck. “Looks good. It’ll give us some shelter from the wind.”
“And snow, too.” Joseph glanced up at the sky above them, just visible through the thick branches. “Those clouds look rather ominous. All right, let’s stop for the night.”
He glanced around behind him. Galla was still on his donkey, straining to see the map in the growing darkness.
“Is that acceptable to you, Mr. Galla?” Joseph tried to keep the irritation out of his voice, but he was only just successful.
The priest glanced up. “Eh? Oh, yes, yes. Quite acceptable.” He shoved the map back into his robe, and for just a moment, Joseph thought he caught sight of another piece of paper with it as well. They were gone before he could be sure.
“Let’s get a fire going,” said Maklavir, clapping his hands together. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I don’t think there’s a warm bone left in my body.”
The fire was lit before the first stars were out, and the group enjoyed a fine meal of salted pork, water, and bread. Galla turned in for bed soon afterwards, complaining that he was completely exhausted. He curled up in a blanket by the fire, and was soon snoring loudly. Maklavir disappeared soon after dinner without saying where he was headed. Joseph and Kara settled in by the fire with their backs against the stone wall, talking quietly together.
Kendril sat for a while by the fire as well, lost in his own thoughts. He stared at the flames, poking the embers aimlessly with a stick. He listened to Kara and Joseph’s soft conversation and laughter for a while, then got up, stretching his muscles and trudging through the snow away from the campfire.
A few yards away Maklavir was sitting on a fallen tree, a lantern resting beside him.
Kendril gave him a questioning glance as he came up alongside him. “What are you doing?”
The diplomat shrugged. “Just working.” He held up a small dark sphere. “On these.”
Kendril smiled. “It seems like everyone has a hobby these days. Maybe I should take up knitting or something.” He took the sphere from Maklavir’s outstretched hand. It was metal, and surprisingly heavy. “What is it?”
Maklavir beamed. “A grenade.”
Kendril froze, his hand clutched around the object. “A what?”
“Relax. It won’t blow up or anything. It has a fuse that needs to be lit. See?” He pointed to a small stretch of matchcord that protruded from the side of the sphere. “Quite safe. Well, fairly safe.”
Kendril weighed the grenade experimentally in his hands. “Not exactly knitting.”
Maklavir shrugged, reaching for another matchcord. “You know that explosives is kind of a hobby of mind.”
Kendril turned over the object in his hand. “So you just light the fuse?”
The diplomat nodded, taking the grenade back. “And then throw. The length of matchcord determines how many seconds pass before it explodes.” He gestured to a small pile of grenades at his feet. “I’m making everywhere from five to ten second fuses. I think they may come in handy.”
“A diplomat who likes to play with explosives.” The Ghostwalker gave a soft chuckle. “I don’t think I’ll ever figure you out, Maklavir.”
The finely-dressed man bristled. “I would hope not.” He glanced back in the direction of the fire. “Kara and Joseph still talking?”
“Yeah.”
“Hmm,” said Maklavir knowingly. He picked up another grenade.
Kendril ignored him. “You want second watch tonight?”
“Sure. Do you really think that it’s necessary, though?”
The Ghostwalker gave him a penetrating look.
Maklavir threw up his hands. “Fine, stupid question. Just for once, though, I’d like to sleep through the night.”
Kendril smiled, then turned back towards the fire.
Chapter 4
The view from the porch was impressive.
A large, well-maintained garden began right where the steps ended, bordered on all sides by tall hedges. Flowers of all colors and descriptions swayed gently in the warm breeze, painting a bright mosaic that swirled across the sharply cut lawn. Huge bushes sculpted in the shape of exotic animals were sprinkled throughout the flowers, cut in a variety of poses.
In the center of the garden was a marble fountain. A crystal-clear pool surrounded its base, and two carved cherubs were at its top. Fresh water continually sprayed from their mouths, tinkling in many rivulets into the pool below.
It was a peaceful scene, and a hauntingly familiar one.
Kendril stepped slowly off the porch and into the bright sunshine. He squinted against the glare as he walked slowly along the path.
Bees and other small insects danced merrily between the flowers, the still air filled with the quiet buzzing of their wings. The sweet smell of hundreds of flowers overwhelmed Kendril’s senses completely. His eyes wandered over the hundreds of flowers all around him.
He knew this place. He had been here before, many times. Yet he couldn’t quite recall what it was. He felt as if he was at home and out of place all at the same time.
He neared the fountain, watching the sunshine sparkle through the gurgling water. It seemed familiar to him as well, just like the rest of the garden.
Kendril looked into the water of the pool, and saw his own shimmering reflection staring back at him.
And there, in the water, he saw the reflection of yet another person, standing next to him.
Kendril took a quick step back.
The garden suddenly seemed to grow cold, as if a cloud had passed over the sun. The brightness dimmed, and the steady drone of the bees faded away.
Kendril looked around, a feeling of terror and shame gripping his heart.
A chill wind suddenly blew through the garden, rustling the flowers and slicing with ease through his clothes. He shivered, looking frantically around him.
There was no one else there.
The sky above was growing dark. Everything was becoming cold. The flowers, which moments before had been in full bloom, were now closed, their shadowy forms blowing violently in the wind.
And then, with the same sense of dread that he had felt countless times before, he suddenly remembered where he was, as if a veil had been removed from his eyes.
Kendril fell to his knees, the icy wind whipping around him. In the shrieking of its gales he almost thought he could hear someone calling his name, over and over again. He looked down at his hands.
They were covered with blood.
He closed his eyes, his heart beating wildly.
And then, slowly, he opened them again.
The garden was silent, the wind completely gone. Even the water by in the fountain had stopped running. Kendril stared down at his hands, confused.
The blood was gone.
He looked up.
A woman stood in front of him, a brilliantly gleaming golden robe falling down around her feet. She was staring steadily at him. With a start Kendril noticed that her long hair and her eyes were bright blue, and seemed to shine with a life of their own. After what seemed an eternity, he managed to loosen his tongue.
“I’m dreaming, aren’t I?” His voice sounded small in his own ears, like a child’s.
The woman said nothing. She continued to stare at him.
He
looked down at his hands again. “I usually wake up after seeing the blood.”
“You are dreaming,” she said suddenly, “but I am real.”
Her voice sent a shiver down Kendril’s back, as if it was penetrating to his very soul. “Who are you?” he managed to say.
“I am a messenger.” She continued to gaze at him, her body motionless. “It has begun, Kendril.”
He fell forward, catching himself on the ground with his hands. His whole body felt weak. His arms shook uncontrollably. “What has?”
The woman’s eyes filled with a sudden tenderness. “You have much before you, Kendril. Much pain, and much struggle.” She straightened, but the compassion in her eyes remained. “You must not waver. Hold fast, and Despair will not triumph.”
It took a moment for Kendril to speak “I—I don’t understand…”
She looked at him again, pity in her eyes. “Darkness is coming, and fire, and death. Night will fall over Zanthora, and the sun will be long in its rising. Do not falter.”
Kendril tried to speak, but no words came out.
The woman bent down, and touched him lightly on the shoulder with a pale white hand. “You are not alone,” she whispered.
Kendril woke up.
Above him was the blackness of the snow-covered tree-branches. Around him the camp was deathly quiet.
He sat up, the blanket falling off him. Snow was falling gently all around, the white flakes drifting silently to the ground.
The dream had seemed so real, it was still burned into his mind.
Kendril reached a shaking hand up to his face, feeling cold sweat. Gritting his teeth, he wiped his sleeve across his forehead.
The dream of the garden he had had many times in the past.
But the woman with the blue hair…he had never seen her before.
Kendril turned his head, feeling the cold air against his sweat-covered body. The campfire was almost out, nothing more than a few glowing embers. He stared at it for a second, his mind still shaking off the last vestiges of the dream.
And then it hit him.
He leapt up from the ground, one hand already on his sword. He stumbled through the sleeping forms of his friends, staring wildly around. A moment later he gave one of the huddled forms a kick.