“These are the Marrowbone brothers, dangerous and bloodthirsty fugitives,” Freya said, and Rowen gazed at them with great interest. They were hogmen, a stupid, vicious breed of troll that ate people. The brothers had caught Will in the sewers of Skald with the intention of putting him in a stew. But Will had outwitted them by claiming he was Sir William of the Seven Mighty Companions, a famous hero who had come to challenge them, and while they’d argued over who should accept his challenge, he’d managed to escape.
She caught the rank smell of sweat and fear from the hogmen, and it repelled her, but she couldn’t stop looking at them. The scarred one noticed her staring. From what Will had told her about them, she guessed this one had to be Flitch. He gave her a glare filled with hate and she looked away.
Freya quickly described the crimes for which the hogmen had been loathed and feared by the people of Skald.
“After Master Pendrake ended the plague of the werefire in Skald,” she continued, “we went hunting for the nightcrawlers that had infested our city. These two managed to slip away. Then, on our way here to your country, we passed through the Witchwood, and in the deepest part of the forest we found a tumbled-down old cottage made of gingerbread and sweets. These two were living there, in hiding. Probably hoping to lure lost children…”
She broke off and spat at the feet of the hogmen.
“That is utterly preposterous,” growled Flitch. “We’ve never been anywhere near the city of Scorch or whatever you call it.”
“Skald,” murmured the other, fatter hogman, Hodge. His brother glared at him.
“I met you two, in the sewers under the keep,” Freya said, “and I never forget a stench.”
Flitch made a puffing sound of disdain.
“You’ve clearly been clubbed over the head one too many times, girl. My brother and I are honest entrepreneurs, bakers and confectioners who have lately experienced hard times. We found that gingerbread house untenanted and thought it would be perfect for setting up shop to ply our trade. We are legitimate purveyors of sweets and cakes, I assure you. It was nothing less than kidnapping to drag us away from our livelihood.”
“Selling sweets in the middle of a trackless forest,” Freya shot back. “How’s business been?”
“I know about them, too, Captain Thorne,” Rowen said. “I was in Skald with Freya when the hogmen captured my friend Will.”
Both Thorne and the Marrowbone brothers stared at her.
“You saw them there?” Thorne asked.
“I didn’t see them, no, but my friend told me about the hogmen after he was rescued.” She stepped closer to the brothers. “And these two fit what he told me.”
“That’s no proof,” Flitch sneered. “It’s hearsay. This girl is a friend of our captor. She’ll say whatever she thinks will help the Skald woman.”
Despite the smell and the hideousness of the hogmen, Rowen again found herself drawn to them. Hodge was still white-faced and trembling with fear, and she almost reached out a hand to touch him. Then she understood what was happening. It was her gift, the sight. There was a powerful current of Story around these two frightening creatures, and as she realized this, their story came welling up in her mind.
She saw them as they had been a long time ago. Small, shivering, almost helpless creatures. There were three of them then: she saw a third brother, the eldest. They had left their home in a muddy sty… No, their mother drove them out to fend for themselves. The elder brother was brave and resourceful, he’d led them through the harsh world, kept them safe. Tuck. His name was Tuck. Rowen saw the brothers tramping along the roads, saw them shivering under a haystack in the rain. And then a beast had caught their scent: a wolf. A cold-blooded monster with slavering jaws, nothing like Shade. A creature poisoned and misshaped by the malice of the Night King. They had tried to take shelter in a crude hut of sticks, but the wolf got in easily and killed the oldest brother – tore him to pieces – and the other two had fled, always pursued, always in fear.
And then she saw that when they hid themselves in the sewers of Skald, the werefire had changed them, twisted them. Turned them into these foul, hateful creatures, these hogmen. Their story was not meant to turn out like this. It was supposed to end happily, but it had fallen into darkness and horror. Whatever terrible things they had done, the brothers had not always been like this.
Rowen saw all of this in an instant. She felt it, as if she had been there when their brother had been torn apart by the wolf. She could not stop it from sweeping over her, and the fear and horror left her shaking.
Before she knew what she was doing she reached out a hand and touched Hodge’s sleeve. The hogman gaped down at her in stunned disbelief.
“I’m sorry about your other brother,” she said. “And the werefire. But it doesn’t have to be this way. You can stop hating, and killing. You can change. If you did, you could be happy again.”
Hodge stared at her as if in a daze. His mouth moved but no sound came out.
“Rowen,” Freya said in alarm, and the spell was broken. Hodge looked fearfully to his brother and Rowen stepped away, dazed, and shocked by what she had done.
“What do these accusations matter anyway?” Flitch said to Thorne. “We have no interest in entering your city, and clearly you do not want us here, which I assure you we don’t take offence at. So in the circumstances letting us go would be in everyone’s best interests.”
“Indeed it would, sir,” Hodge added. “Fable’s no place for the likes of us. No more than Skald was.”
“Idiot,” Flitch hissed at his brother.
“We can’t let these two wander off on their own,” the loremaster said. “I have no doubt Freya Ragnarsdaughter is telling the truth about who they are and what they’ve done.”
“Well,” the captain said, eyeing the hogmen with a grimace of distaste, “it seems the testimonies all agree, doesn’t it?”
“If we let them go they’ll most likely prey on other innocent folk,” Pendrake said. “But the people of Skald, who did us all a good turn by capturing these two, are no threat to Fable. Captain, these men and women have come a long way to offer a hand in friendship and they deserve our hospitality.”
Captain Thorne appeared to be weighing what the loremaster had said, and then he nodded slowly, though the look he gave Pendrake was anything but agreeable.
“Very well then,” he said. “Lieutenant, take the hogmen into custody. I will speak to the Marshal about all of this. And the Skaldings may enter, but let’s just be clear that you will be held accountable for their conduct, Master Pendrake.” He turned to Freya. “And as I said, your weapons…”
Freya nodded reluctantly.
“We’ll surrender them,” she said, “though if there is need of them, I hope we’ll find them in close reach.”
Thorne studied Freya for a long moment, and smiled tersely.
“Should there be need of them, yes,” he finally said.
Though there was some grumbling, the Skaldings handed over their swords, axes and bows to Thorne’s men, who took them into the gatehouse.
Before he rode off with his men with the Marrowbone brothers in tow, the captain turned once more to Pendrake.
“One of my company, Gared Bamble, is still missing. I was hoping you might be of some help with that, Master Pendrake.”
“I’m doing all that I can,” Rowen’s grandfather said.
“Yes, I believe you are,” the captain said icily. “Which reminds me, there’s a much-respected mage in town at the moment who has offered us his services in solving this mystery. Ammon Brax, of the school at Kyning Rore. I’m sure you’ve heard of him, Master Pendrake. We’re hoping he’ll have better success.”
The captain wheeled his mount and rode slowly back through the gates with his riders, the Marrowbone brothers in their midst, still bound together. Hodge glanced for a moment at Rowen with a stunned look still on his face.
“How can he talk to you like that, Grandfather?” Rowen said ang
rily. “After all you’ve done for the Bourne.”
“The captain and I have never seen eye to eye,” Pendrake said. “I was the one who put Finn Madoc forward for apprenticeship in the Errantry. Thorne was not happy about that. He hasn’t forgotten it was Finn’s brother who killed his apprentice, Lord Caliburn’s son. And the story of the golem in the bog, and Finn’s ring, has reached him and Lord Caliburn. The possibility that Corr Madoc might be out there somewhere, still alive and unpunished, has stoked an old bitterness. One that Thorne is sure to keep burning in Caliburn if he can.”
“But that’s not your fault.”
“No, but I’m sure that in the captain’s mind the fact that Corr remains at large is another of my failures as a loremaster.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Freya said. “Don’t they know how you saved Skald?”
Pendrake smiled.
“What matters to them is whether I can save Fable,” he said. “With the Marrowbone brothers here now, it might seem that we’ve come one step closer to the disaster that befell your city.”
“I wonder how the hogmen would feel if they knew Sir William of the Seven Mighty Companions was just in Fable,” Rowen said, trying to shrug off her dark mood.
Freya laughed.
“I’d forgotten about that tale Will told them. We’ll have to make sure they find out.”
The Skaldings followed Pendrake and Rowen up the street, escorted by six silent guards on horseback. They were led to a barracks near the wall, that housed soldiers and held provisions during sieges. The barracks was empty at the moment, and the leader of the guards, a woman named Brigid, told the Skaldings that they could stay there for the time being. While the guards waited outside, Pendrake ushered the Skaldings inside. It was a row of low-ceilinged rooms furnished sparsely with narrow bunks, washstands and benches. There was straw on the floor and quite a few cobwebs on the walls.
“You must come and stay with us, Freya,” Rowen said. “We have lots of room. We’ve got so much to talk about.”
“You’re very kind,” Freya said, “but when I’ve given Father Nicholas the news I bring, I must stay with my people.”
Pendrake embraced Freya and held her at arm’s length to look at her.
“It is very good to see you again, my dear. Come with us at least for now. You can give us your news at the toyshop, where we can talk freely.”
Freya looked around at the other Skaldings, who were busy unloading their gear and exploring their new quarters.
“Go ahead, Freya,” said one of the Skaldings, a burly older man.
“Are you sure, Eymund?”
“Your companions will be fine for the moment,” Pendrake said, and the man nodded.
Reluctantly, Freya gave in. She went with Rowen and the loremaster up the winding streets of Fable, gazing in wonder at everything she saw. When a messenger wisp streaked past she ducked her head, then laughed. A pair of knights-errant on horseback rode by and Freya followed them with her eyes.
“Is Finn Madoc in Fable?” she asked, her normally apple-bright complexion reddening even more. Rowen felt herself blushing a little in sympathy.
“He’s gone north with Will,” Rowen said. “We’re hoping they’ll be home soon.”
Quickly Rowen told Freya Mimling’s story about Shade, and how Will and Finn had set out to find him and bring him back to Fable.
“May they all return safely,” Freya said. The blush had faded from her face, leaving her pale and weary-looking, as if the long journey from Skald had finally caught up with her.
Rowen remembered the samming, the dance of celebration in Skald, after the werefire had been put out by her grandfather, and all the foul creatures that had infested the city, the Marrowbone brothers and many others, were on the run. As they danced together in the samming, Freya and Finn had eyes only for each other. After Will had found his way home, Finn had escorted Freya back to Skald so she would not be alone on the long road. They must have become close on that journey. But once Freya returned to Skald to help her people, Finn had come back to Fable to resume his duties. The two of them probably hadn’t seen each other since.
Like Will and I, she thought bitterly. Something always keeps us apart.
Back at the toyshop Edweth welcomed them and prepared a meal. They sat together at the table in the library, and at last Freya told her tale.
“Skald is getting back on its feet, Father Nicholas, thanks to you. The nightcrawlers have almost all been rooted out, and many of those who left are beginning to return. Farmers are sowing crops again and there is trade at our market.”
“That is very welcome news. And how is your family?”
“Father has been better since he’s stopped trying to save all of Skald single-handedly,” Freya said with a smile. “Thorri is growing and already talking about coming to Fable some day to join the Errantry.”
Pendrake laughed.
“I’m glad to hear it. But I doubt that’s everything you came all this way to tell us.”
“It isn’t,” Freya said, and her smile faded.
“What has happened?”
“Earlier this year,” she began, “we had the warmest, loveliest spring that Skald had seen in a very long time. There was plenty of sunshine, and rain when it was needed, and the harvest promised to be bountiful. Then came a strange day in midsummer, when a cold fog poured down out of the mountains and hung over the city. Frost grew thick on everything. People gathered in the streets, afraid some new terror was about to be visited on us. Their memories of the werefire were still fresh.
“But nothing happened. The fog lasted all day and into the night. Then, around midnight, a sound woke me. It was hail pattering against the shutters. Hail, Father Nicholas, at midsummer. I went outside, and the courtyard of the smithy was covered in a blanket of icy slush. It was as cold as the coldest, darkest night of winter. The air was thick with falling snow. Then I heard a voice. Or it was more as if I felt it, like the way you feel a pounding drum in your bones. It called me by name and I knew it was the dragon. The dragon that lives in the ice. It was Whitewing Stonegrinder.”
With a shiver, Rowen remembered the name. On the journey with Will, they had fled the Angel by climbing up onto a glacier high in the mountains. Nightbane had pursued and almost captured them, until the dragon awoke and came forth from his caverns within the ice and routed the enemy. In the battle Rowen had been wounded by a Nightbane arrow, and Whitewing Stonegrinder had healed her with a touch of his icy claw.
“The dragon left the glacier?” Rowen asked. “I thought he would never do that.”
Freya nodded.
“I know. I didn’t believe it at first, either, but there was no mistaking the voice. His words seemed to come from all around me, though I couldn’t see him. And I remembered every word. Every word, as if they had been burned onto my skin with frost. ‘Freya Ragnarsdaughter,’ he said. ‘You came to my home and so I come to yours.’
“‘What do you want with me, Old One?’ I asked. I don’t know why I called him that. It seemed right.”
“It was right, Freya,” Pendrake said. “That is a term of respect for an ancient power of the earth like Stonegrinder. The long memory of your people was working in you, I’d say.”
“I don’t know about that, but the dragon didn’t seem to mind. ‘I have tidings for the keeper of stories, in Fable,’ he said. I knew he meant you, Father Nicholas.
“‘Why have you come to me?’ I asked him. There was something in his voice, a hollowness, as if he had been stricken by some malady or was in great pain. I was suddenly afraid for him. But what could harm such a being?
“‘My strength is not what it was,’ he said. ‘If I go much further from my home, I will not be able to return. You must be my voice, Freya Ragnarsdaughter. Go to the keeper of stories and tell him what he must know.’
“I said I would do as he asked, and then he told me…”
She broke off, and looked at Rowen, who was alarmed at what she saw in Freya�
�s eyes. Dread, even despair.
“Told you what, Freya?”
Freya bit her lip, then turned to Pendrake.
“He said that a great darkness was sweeping through the Realm, Father Nicholas. As though the lights of the world were going out, one by one. That is why his strength was failing. He could feel it in himself. The ice of his home was melting more quickly than he had ever known. Servants of the Storyeater, as he calls the Night King, were marching through his domain in great numbers now, defying him. He doesn’t have much time left before his guard on the mountains fails. Then he told me … he told me the darkness was coming here, to the Bourne.”
They all fell silent at these words.
“Coming here?” Rowen finally asked.
“From every direction, he said, creatures who serve the Storyeater are already coming this way. Fable is the place where all will be decided, he told me.”
“Then the Night King…” Rowen whispered. “He knows. He knows about the Weaving, about the doorway…”
“We don’t know that for certain,” Pendrake said. “Did the dragon say anything else, Freya?”
“He said that he would return to the ice for now and when he left it again it would be for the last time. Then he asked me to bring you a message, Rowen.”
Rowen’s startled gaze went back and forth between her grandfather and Freya.
“Me?” she said. “He must have meant Grandfather.”
Freya shook her head emphatically.
“‘Tell the granddaughter of the keeper of stories that when she has need of me I will come to Fable.’ Those were his words. Then he said that snow would be the sign of his coming. That when you saw snow falling, Rowen, you should climb to the highest ground and he would be there.”
“But what would a dragon want with me?” Rowen asked breathlessly.
“You were the only one of us whom Stonegrinder touched, remember,” Pendrake said. “When he healed your arrow wound.”
“I thought of that, too,” Freya said.
“An ancient being like Stonegrinder has powers of vision and understanding we can barely imagine,” Pendrake said. “I doubt that questioning his message will lead to any answers. You’ll just have to wait, Rowen, for snow to fall.”
The Fathomless Fire Page 17