by Jim C. Hines
Now it was Winter’s turn to look away. “I didn’t learn what I could do until I was seven years old.” Her cheeks burned at the memory. “I … accidentally froze our dog to the wall.”
Greta laughed, the first sound of genuine pleasure Winter had heard from her. “How do you ‘accidentally’ freeze a dog?”
“I sneezed, and the cold just kind of exploded out of me.” Winter smiled ruefully. “The dog was fine once Dad melted him free and gave him some hot soup to drink. But after that, any time I got sick, he’d run and hide for days. The dog, I mean. Not my father.”
They had come to the ramp leading up to the main gates. Winter turned left, following the well-trod path along the inside of the wall. “Mum and Dad, they were like me, though they kept their magic hidden. When they learned what I was, they helped me learn to use my powers.”
“They were Heroes too?”
Winter chuckled. “No, they were fur trappers. That’s how they ended up in our village. They never used their powers when I was little. They wanted a quiet, peaceful life.”
She shrugged. She had never understood her parents, but they had been good enough people to let Winter make her own choices. To allow her to become whoever she wanted to be.
“Did you have any brothers or sisters?”
“My parents had enough work on their hands with just me.”
“My brother’s name is Ben,” said Greta. “He’s nine. We call him Hedgehog, because of the way his hair sticks out.”
Winter nodded but didn’t speak, afraid that words might break the spell and send Greta back into her shell of silence.
“We were playing in the woods, out by Founder’s Hill.” She stopped walking and stared at the mountains. “That’s where Skye found us.”
“Skye?”
“That’s the ghost’s name. She smelled like an old woodstove. Smoke swirled around us, until I could barely see Ben in front of me. I grabbed his hand, but I couldn’t see which way to run, and we were both coughing. I heard Skye laughing. Ben screamed when she pulled him away from me.”
“I’m sorry,” Winter said quietly. “Do you have any idea where she took him? My friends and I can—”
“She promised he’d be all right, as long as I did something for her.”
“What’s that?”
“She said there would be Heroes coming to Grayrock, and once they got here, I was to let her know.” Tears painted glassy lines through the dust on her cheeks. She thrust the cape at Winter. “I’m sorry. I just wanted my brother back.”
Winter pushed the cape back. “What did you tell her about us, Greta?”
“Everything I could. That there were four of you. What you looked like, and what kind of weapons you had. Who you were talking to. But Skye didn’t give Ben back to me. She said he had been cursed, and she couldn’t undo the spell herself. She said the one who could free him would want payment.”
“Did she, now?” Winter could guess the answer to her next question, but she asked anyway. “What kind of payment?”
Greta wiped her nose on her sleeve. “The four of you.”
CHAPTER 8
STERLING
Their course of action was clear. Villainy threatened the town. This child, Greta, had lost her brother to a monster. More important, she knew how to find that monster. Their duty as Heroes was to go forth to vanquish this so-called ghost once and for all, rescue the boy, and return triumphantly to the grateful people of Grayrock.
And had they set out five minutes sooner, Sterling had no doubt things would have gone exactly as he envisioned.
But instead, Sterling first had to return to the Broken Blade to wake up Glory, who’d fallen asleep in the back. Winter needed to drop her new cloak at the inn. Then Shroud had to finish counting and sorting his arrows. By the time they were finally ready to go, the Mayor had returned, and he didn’t look like a happy man.
The Mayor marched up the road, surrounded by half a dozen armed guards. “There they are,” he sputtered when he spied the Heroes gathered in the square. “Arrest them all!”
“Oh, good,” said Glory. Sterling didn’t have to look to know she was smiling and probably a heartbeat away from launching a magical assault in the middle of the town. “Where was he yesterday when we wanted to find him?”
Sterling spread his arms in welcome and deliberately stepped in front of Glory. With a well-polished smile, he said, “Fear not, Your Honour. We four have vanquished the ogre that was tormenting your people and sent her fleeing from the good town of Grayrock. Your workers have returned safely to their homes and families, and I trust there shall be no further ‘suicides.’ ”
The Mayor hesitated. He had obviously come prepared for a confrontation, and Sterling’s politeness had taken him off guard. Sterling could see the man rethinking his approach.
“I question your idea of safety,” said the Mayor. “The traps in those tunnels are deadlier than any ogre.”
“Then the solution should be obvious even to the most dim-witted mind,” Shroud commented.
Sterling smiled broadly. “So long as your people avoid the tunnels, they shall be safe. In the meantime, would you be so kind as to answer our questions about the ogre, Headstrong? Rumour has it she was working with you. That the two of you served the Ghost of Grayrock.”
“How dare you! You claim to be Heroes.” The Mayor spoke the word like a curse. “But you’re nothing but bullies. You believe you can go wherever you like, do whatever you choose. You’ve threatened my people. Broken into my home. Frightened my wife. This is my town, and I’ll not allow you to—”
“That’s enough, sir!” Sterling had grown up among society’s high-minded elite. While his family might not have been mayors or kings, they were upper-middle snooty, at least. He had learned politics with his letters and could adopt a mask of friendly concern or righteous fury, with the ability to switch between them from one breath to the next. He advanced on the Mayor, pretending to ignore the spears of his men. “Let us discuss instead what you have done. You’ve allowed monsters to prey on the innocent men, women, and children of Grayrock, all so that you might claim a share of some nonexistent treasure!”
He turned so that all of the men and women who had begun to gather might hear his words. “What did the ghost promise you, Your Honour? Gold? Magic? What price to sell your own people into slavery?”
The guards looked uneasy. Well, most of them. One was watching Sterling with a rapt expression, his face flushed, his pupils dilated. He looked to be in his early twenties, with a strong chin and long black hair tied back at the neck. Sterling made a note to chat him up later on, assuming they didn’t end up killing each other.
“These baseless accusations are outrageous,” the Mayor sputtered. “It’s good that the Heroes of legend died before they saw such pretenders running about—”
The Mayor’s last word ended in a mouselike squeak as Sterling’s sword seemed to leap from its sheath to his hand. The end of the blade rested on the Mayor’s dusty shoulder before his guards could do more than blink. “This sword is named Arbiter. It has tasted the blood of many a villain and has defended my honour against all those who would tarnish it. You wouldn’t be attempting to tarnish my honour, would you?”
The Mayor’s eyes were wide and unblinking, unable to look away from Sterling’s sword. The blade was narrower than most, but the lighter weight allowed him far better control. With this sword, Sterling could carve script into his opponents’ flesh or slice their garments to tatters without breaking the skin.
“Not at all,” the Mayor stammered. “ ‘Your Bitter,’ you say? A peculiar name for a weapon, but of course I’m a peaceful man with little knowledge of such things. Named after a favourite drink, perhaps?”
“Arbiter,” Sterling said impatiently. “As in judge, or decider.”
“Right,” said the ponytailed guard. “So it does things arbitrary-like?”
Sterling sighed. The man had been so pretty before he opened his mouth. “My
point, Your Honour, is that you’ve turned your back while the forces of evil terrorised your town. You’ve done nothing to prevent the kidnapping and murder of your people. You, sir, are a disgrace to your office.”
“I am the rightfully elected ruler of Grayrock, and you will address me with the respect I deserve!”
“That’s precisely what I’ve done,” said Sterling. “Out of curiosity, when was this election held?”
The Mayor puffed out his chest. “I was voted in at the age of twenty, upon the retirement of my father, rest his soul.”
Glory looked him up and down. “So, about fifty years ago, then?”
His face darkened. “I am forty-one years old.”
“And the people of Grayrock chose you to lead?” Sterling pressed.
“Of course they did,” the Mayor shouted. “Father and I tallied the votes ourselves!”
Sterling let that statement hang in the air, but none of the townspeople seemed to find anything peculiar about it.
“It’s a miracle these people manage to get dressed in the morning without accidentally hanging themselves,” Glory muttered.
“I wonder,” Sterling said loudly, “if the people realise that a man elected to power can be elected from power if his people feel he’s failed in his duties.”
“The smugglers and bandits have only grown worse since the Mayor took office,” a man near the back said tentatively.
“My uncle was one of the men digging at the dam,” called a woman. “He says the ogre would have likely eaten them all if not for the Heroes.”
“I’ve seen the Mayor dance, and he’s not half as graceful as Winter, nor as easy on the eyes!”
The Mayor raised his hands. “Don’t you see what he’s doing? He’s turning us against one another.”
Sterling slowly withdrew Arbiter, pausing only to flick the Mayor’s forelock with the tip of the blade. He made eye contact with each of the guards in turn, waiting for them to lower their own weapons. His eyes lingered on the ponytailed guard, and he threw in a quick wink. Maybe if the fellow refrained from talking …
“Words can end a man as effectively as any blade,” Sterling said quietly. “Tell us what you know, support our efforts to protect Grayrock, and save face in front of your people.” He sheathed his sword and stepped closer. “Otherwise, I will cut you down where you stand. Oratorically speaking.”
The Mayor looked at Sterling and the Heroes, then at the crowd beyond. “Perhaps I’ve been hasty in my—”
“Sterling for Mayor!” someone yelled.
Sterling froze. “Excuse me?”
Several more people took up the cry, which caused the Mayor’s face to turn a fascinating shade of red.
“Let’s not be hasty with such important political decisions,” said Sterling.
“Conniving, treacherous, usurperous snake!” Spittle sprayed from the Mayor’s lips.
Sterling raised his index finger. “I’m fairly certain ‘usurperous’ isn’t a real word.”
Off to one side, Winter was covering a laugh with her hand. Glory rolled her eyes. Shroud simply slid a hand towards one of the many weapons concealed upon his person, presumably looking forwards to the pending chaos.
Sterling turned to the crowd. “My apologies, good people, but I must decline your kind nomination. A Hero must serve all of Albion, not just a single town. Though there are a few of you I’d be happy to service in private, once our work here is done.”
“But Grayrock would be safer with a Hero in charge,” said a man.
“Grayrock would be safer with a chicken in charge,” Glory shot back.
To the Mayor, Sterling whispered, “Ask yourself which is more valuable. Your position as Mayor of Grayrock, with all of the power and respect you’ve gathered over the years, or the empty promises of a ghost.”
“Skye,” the Mayor mumbled in a voice only Sterling could hear. “Her name is Skye.”
“Yes, we know.” Sterling beamed and wrapped an arm around the Mayor’s shoulders. The Mayor tried to pull away, but years of sword work had strengthened Sterling’s grip, and it took only the slightest pressure to still the man’s struggles. “Now tell us something we don’t.”
“I can’t. If she believes I’ve betrayed her, she’ll kill the boy. Do you know what that could do to my approval ratings?”
Sterling’s fingers tightened. “I wasn’t planning to tell her. Were you?”
“No! But she’s spread her spies through Grayrock!”
Sterling glanced at the crowd. All it would take was a single whisper in Skye’s ear and Greta’s brother was dead. He wanted to crack the Mayor like a walnut, to spill his secrets and his betrayal for all to see. But to question him now, in public, could cost an innocent boy his life. Nor could they simply drag the Mayor off somewhere private without arousing suspicion.
“We are going to save that child,” Sterling whispered. “When we come back, you will tell us everything. If you try to run—”
“You’ll kill me?” The Mayor seemed to have regained a bit of his bravado.
“Not me.” He pointed to Shroud. “Him.”
The Mayor swallowed.
“Also, I’m terribly sorry about this. It’s almost entirely for the sake of Skye’s spies.” Before the Mayor could respond, Sterling backhanded him across the face, knocking him into his guards. Raising his voice, he said, “Very well, you black-hearted rat. Keep your secrets. We will uncover the truth!”
With that, Sterling stomped away. Two sounds jumped out at him as he left. The first was the Mayor’s outraged shouts. The second was a woman who, from the sound of things, was doing her best to get one of her chickens nominated to be the new Mayor of Grayrock.
“How do we know we can trust the girl?” asked Shroud. They had been hiking for roughly half an hour. The dirt trail was well used, and the greenery to either side had been grazed short by goats and other livestock. Pine trees hid Grayrock from view. “The ghost said to bring the Heroes to her, and here we are, marching into her parlour. Seems a little too convenient to me.”
Greta had hardly spoken since leaving Grayrock. She stayed close to Winter and kept looking at the others, then looking back towards town. If not for the occasional howl of a distant animal to remind her of the dangers awaiting solitary travellers, Sterling suspected, she would have bolted by now.
“She told me the truth about spying on us, and about Skye,” said Winter. “I trust her.”
“I’m sure that will be a great comfort to us all when we’re fighting for our lives,” said Glory.
“I didn’t tell Skye you were coming,” Greta insisted. “Even if I wanted to, I only have one way to contact her.” She pointed to three ordinary-looking sticks bundled together and strapped over her shoulder. “Once we reach the spot where my brother was taken, I’m to light a fire and burn these. That’s the signal that I have news of the Heroes.”
“Don’t worry, child,” said Sterling. “We shall rescue your brother, stop this creature of smoke and death, and get to the bottom of this mystery.”
“Careful,” said Glory. “If you puff and preen about any more, someone’s liable to mistake you for a peacock.”
“What troubles you, my lady Glory?” asked Sterling. “Your wit and charm have been particularly barbed since we left Grayrock.”
“Since we let a murderer go free, you mean? You know the Mayor was behind those so-called suicides.”
“Do we?” Sterling countered. “Justice requires proof, and all we currently have are suspicions. Perhaps Skye will be able to give us the proof we need.”
“Or perhaps feathers will magically sprout from your backside.”
“The people of Grayrock have consistently described Skye as a creature of smoke and death,” said Shroud. “We should be prepared to counter a magical assault.”
“We’re almost there,” Greta said softly. A short distance ahead, a shelf of dirty rock jutted out from the mountainside.
Sterling dropped to one knee and pu
t a hand on Greta’s shoulder. “I know you’re afraid, but your brother needs you. We will be watching though you won’t see us. I’ll not allow this woman to harm you. You have my word.”
“Once Skye shows up, just get out of the way,” Winter said. “You and your brother will be back home before you know it.”
Greta nodded and hunched her shoulders beneath her green cape, then marched onto the ledge. She glanced back, and Sterling gave her an encouraging smile. Greta took a deep breath, then sat down to start a fire.
Shroud slipped away between the trees. Despite having seen him go, Sterling was hard-pressed to follow the assassin’s movements as he scaled a tree and readied his bow.
“I hope she does have some sort of fire-based power,” Winter said with a grin. “This could be fun.”
Sterling ducked behind a recently fallen tree. The branches should hide him from view while letting him keep an eye on Greta. Winter and Glory followed suit.
Greta’s small fire was soon crackling away, devouring pine needles and small twigs. She set the three sticks over the flames. They caught quickly, as if they had been soaked in lantern oil. The flames turned red. Smoke blotted a black river through the sky.
It wasn’t long before a second trail of smoke rose in the distance, as if in response. It moved swiftly, closing towards them like a deer sprinting through the woods. Greta saw it too. She was breathing faster now and kept looking back as if searching for reassurance that they hadn’t abandoned her.
“Pretend we aren’t here,” Sterling whispered. “Else you’ll give us away.”
Winter pursed her lips and blew, sending a gust of cold air towards the ledge. For some reason, that seemed to comfort the girl. She shivered, then smiled and turned to await Skye.
She didn’t have to wait long. The so-called ghost, when she arrived, was barely larger than Greta. Her hard, barklike skin marked her as a nymph though she lacked visible wings. Her features were darker than those of any nymph Sterling had previously encountered. Her face made him think of a wooden mask charred black in the embers of a fire.