A Whisper of Death

by Paul Barrett

  Andras offered Fathen a tight, less than friendly smile. “How much do you hate the Necromancer?”

  Fathen didn’t bother to hide his indignation. “I’m surprised you would even ask. I hate him enough that I have destroyed any chance at salvation.”

  “Do you hate him enough to protect him and see him safely to Twr Krinnik?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I thought to kill the boy and take his Elonsha, but he has survived this far, so I will let him reach the mountain and sacrifice him there. With his power, I will shatter open the doors sealed against me. I will take the Elonsha of the souls buried there and build my new fortress upon the home of my exile. From Twr Krinnik I shall rain terror and dismay upon all who will not bend to my will. From the crushed remnants of that pathetic rock, I shall raise forth a world for my people, and will turn those who oppose us into our slaves and fodder.”

  Caught in his vision, Andras’s voice had steadily become thick and scratchy, like a pen stroked across parchment, and risen so that he almost shouted. People stared at them with puzzled and alarmed expressions; the noise level subsided as vendors and patrons turned to find the source of such dire ranting.

  Andras returned the stares of the crowd. His eyes flared, the pupils swirling black with flittering red points. He stood straight, seeming to grow in height, as he spoke in a trembling, whispery voice. “Enjoy your pitiful existence while you can. Soon you will all bow to the whim of Eligos.”

  He stormed through the crowd. People screamed and scattered to avoid his touch as he waved his arms. Caught off guard, Fathen scrambled to keep up with him.

  After several blocks, Andras slowed down and Fathen walked beside him. He had again become nothing more than Andras, a man dressed in deep blue traveling clothes with a forgettable face, lank hair, and muddy brown eyes.

  “You will reunite with the boy,” Andras said, as if their conversation continued uninterrupted. “Tell him you are the only survivor from his destroyed town. Travel with him and ensure that he is safe until he reaches Broken Mountain.”

  “He will make it there without me,” Fathen said. “Why do I need to join him?”

  “Consider it a test of your loyalty.”

  Fathen stopped in the middle of the street. “I should think my loyalty would not be in question.”

  Andras turned to face him, surprise on his ordinarily unreadable features. “Everyone’s loyalty is in question. Are you so absent that you have forgotten what happened but five minutes ago? Your bastard god has influence over you still, much as you wish it otherwise. He tries to reclaim you even in my midst, so while you are away from me, his call will be stronger. If you are true to me, you will resist him. When you reach Twr Krinnik with the others, I will know if you are his or mine. Can you kill the Necromancer?”

  “You know I can.”

  “I thought you could. What I have witnessed gives me doubts.”

  Fathen waved his hand as if chasing away a fly. “A lapse. The boy’s piety caught me unawares, and I confess that Car—the bastard god called to me, and I answered. But my hatred for Erick and his family outweighs such considerations. I will not fail you.”

  An amused expression crossed the assassin’s face. He pulled one of his sealed daggers he had retrieved from the guardhouse in Draymed and held it toward his apprentice. “If you are still truly mine when you arrive at Twr Krinnik, you will know when to use this. Speak praise to my name and bury this in the Necromancer’s back.”

  Fathen’s eyes flickered with excited delight as he took the proffered blade.

  “That’s correct,” Andras told him. “Your reward for bringing Erick safely to the mountain will be the chance to sacrifice him and make me whole again. Then you shall have power you never dreamed of.”

  Fathen grinned as he slipped the blade into his boot and pulled his pants leg over it. “He will get there alive; this I promise.”

  “We shall see.”

  “What will you be doing?” Fathen asked

  “I shall ride ahead and prepare a welcome party for his companions.” Andras smiled once more, a malice-filled grimace. “We shall let him see their terror before he dies.”

  26

  Blackness covered the land, a plague of death and undeath. The cities burned, the people starved, and all was dark. But then, the light of Caros scorched the miasma and cleared the heart. The Necromancers found the true path. Gods and man together subsumed the evil, and the world was again made whole.

  -Introduction to “A Time of Dark War” by scholar Treyan Nob of Amelan

  As soon as they walked away from the walls of Kalador, Elissia noticed a change in her brother. His breathing deepened, and his pace slowed. At a gentle prod from Blink, he quickened his stride. She assumed the stress of leaving his rebellious cohorts behind affected Marcus deeply. Guilt at their sacrifice plagued her, but she assuaged it by knowing the importance of Erick’s cause.

  As they continued to travel, Marcus grew more agitated; his head darted from side to side as he surveyed the fields of corn and wheat. He slowed again. When Blink tapped him on the shoulder, he turned on the homunculus and snarled.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Elissia asked.

  “Nothing,” he snapped. “Just getting my bearings.” He sped up, placing himself close to Gabrielle, who gave him a desultory glance before returning her attention to the road and Corby’s current story.

  He seemed fine, keeping pace and focusing on the path, until the fields ended, revealing wide-open grasslands dotted by farmhouses and grazing animals to his left, and a large expanse of forested highlands to his right.

  He stopped in his tracks and Erick, who followed behind, ran into him.

  “What are-” Erick stopped. Marcus’s head swiveled in spastic motions, his eyes wide, breath coming in harsh gasps, hands and body shaking.

  “Hold on,” Erick yelled to those in front. “What’s the matter?” he asked Marcus as the others returned.

  “I can’t go,” Marcus answered in a small, quivering voice. “It’s too big.”

  “What’s too big?” Corby asked.

  The thief flailed his hands about at the open space as his olive face drained of color. “This! There’s too much.”

  Erick didn’t know what to do, and neither did the others, based on their perplexed expressions.

  Gabrielle emerged from her solemn state and gently took his hand. “Is this the first time you’ve left Kalador?”

  “Of course,” Marcus answered. “I’ve never had any reason to leave before.” He pulled away from the girl and crouched on the ground. “I’m going back.”

  “You can’t, idiot,” Elissia said.

  “Watch me.”

  “Go back to what?” Elissia asked. “A shattered rebellion and life on the streets? Father would have you hunted down and brought back in chains, if he didn’t outright have you killed.”

  Gabrielle set her box on the ground and opened it. She reached into the bottom and pulled out a bottle and a small measuring cup.

  “I’ll take my chances,” Marcus said. He dropped to his hands and knees. “Anything is better than this.”

  “You can’t crawl back to town,” Corby said.

  “Yes, I can.”

  Gabrielle poured a measure of foul-smelling green liquid into the cup and stepped in front of Marcus. “Drink this,” she said, holding out the cup. “It will help you to keep going.”

  “I doubt it,” Marcus muttered, starting to crawl around her.

  “If you go back, then I go back, too, and you know what that means.”

  Marcus stopped moving and faced Gabrielle. “You’d have to return to Valarie.”

  Gabrielle nodded. “And she’d revoke my apprenticeship and strip me of my prestige as Healer.”

  “You’d sacrifice your prestige for me?”

  Gabrielle nodded again. “Callon said you wanted me to come along and help, so let me help you.”

  Marcus turned over and sat on
the ground, staring at Gabrielle and nothing else. “Okay,” he said, “help me.”

  Gabrielle handed him the cup. She watched as Marcus downed the liquid, grimacing as he drank, then took the cup from him. She smiled as Marcus stood up.

  “Interesting,” Elissia whispered to Erick. “I think Gabrielle loves my brother.”

  “How can you tell?” Erick whispered back.

  “I can tell. That explains her reluctance about joining us.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Elissia opened her mouth to explain when Marcus stumbled and almost fell. Gabrielle caught him before he hit the ground and Corby moved in to help her.

  “Is he okay?” Erick asked.

  “I’m fine,” Marcus said, his voice slurred and blue eyes glassy. “Let’s go.”

  Gabrielle lowered her eyes in apology. “I may have overestimated his weight and given him too much. The worst of it should wear off soon. Will you help him while I put my items back?”

  “What did you give him?” Erick asked, taking her place in keeping Marcus upright.

  “Tincture of Valerian root. It will settle his nerves and make him not mind the open spaces so much.”

  “Looks like it’s working,” Elissia said, staring at her slack-jawed brother.

  “Yes, it’s very potent,” Gabrielle agreed.

  Once the healer finished packing, they continued down the road. As Gabrielle promised, Marcus followed without hesitation, supported by Erick and Corby, utterly heedless of the open land. He giggled at odd times.

  “What’s wrong with him?” Elissia asked Gabrielle.

  “I forget the name for it,” Gabrielle said. “But some people have a great fear of open areas.”

  “Agoraphobia,” Corby said.

  “Yes, that’s it. I guess Marcus has it because he’s always lived inside the city wall, where everything is close together. He should adjust once he’s been outside for a time.”

  “I hope so,” Erick said, hefting the lithe thief as he stumbled and laughed at his clumsiness. “He’s not much use to us like this. It doesn’t seem to bother you. Have you been out before?”

  “No,” Gabrielle answered, her head down. “But I’ve wanted to leave for so long that this is more like a dream come true than something to fear.” She glanced at Marcus and returned to her downward gaze. “Well, almost.”

  The girl’s behavior perplexed Erick, especially when he considered Elissia’s comments. If she loved Marcus, why did she seem so dispirited around him? The only reason Erick could imagine was that Marcus didn’t return the feeling, but it seemed Gabrielle would have known this for some time and accepted it.

  Marcus gradually regained his motive powers. After an hour, he could walk without support. His eyes were still glassy, and his angular face held an odd, open-mouthed expression as if he knew he should be scared but couldn’t figure out why.

  As they traveled, Corby continued his stream of talk. The sound of his chattering voice filled the ears of his companions as he regaled them with tales, some songs, and tidbits of trivia about their surrounding environment. He spoke quicker than usual, as if trying to make up for the time lost with the Procurers.

  During one anecdote, Marcus suddenly blurted out, “Don’t you ever shut up?”

  Corby’s face turned dark, his mouth forming a hurt pout.

  “Ignore him, it’s the Valerian speaking,” Gabrielle said. She stepped beside Marcus and gently took his hand. “Let him talk. It’s comforting.”

  “Then go ahead,” Marcus said, taking his hand from Gabrielle’s. “But walk here next to me. If I’m going to have to listen to you, I might as well watch your mouth move.”

  Corby’s face scrunched in confusion, but he soon stepped beside Marcus and smiled.

  “Now, where was I?” the scholar said to Marcus, who studied the other boy’s face as if were the most fascinating landscape on Krinnik. “Oh, yes, the Death of Great Narsan-Ya on the sands of Falan-Dar. So, Narsan-Ya stood with his sword ready...”

  The hurt standing out as clearly as her blemishes, Gabrielle walked faster until she ended up beside Blink and the nameless mule. She rested her hand on the animal’s flank, her head hanging down.

  Elissia sighed. “I’m going to have to talk to her,” she murmured. “She’ll be useless to us doing nothing but moping. If I had known she’d be like this, I wouldn’t have let her come.”

  “What’s going on?” Erick whispered. “You say she loves him. Doesn’t he love her?”

  “No, he doesn’t love her.”

  “Why not?” Erick asked.

  “You tell me,” Elissia said, pointing toward Marcus. Erick found Marcus staring enraptured at Corby, who continued his tale. The thief’s eyes had grown clearer and his footing steadier; he smiled as he watched the scholar. Erick noticed a great resemblance between Elissia and her brother in that crooked grin.

  He turned back at Elissia to find her staring at him. She expected him to comprehend something about Marcus, but it eluded him. “I don’t understand.”

  Elissia frowned. “Don’t you see the way he’s looking at Corby?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well?” Elissia asked.

  Erick studied Marcus again. After a few moments, he said, “I’m sorry, but all I see is someone relying on a friend to help them through something difficult.”

  Elissia clenched her fists and muttered, “Sometimes your naivety is irritating.” In a louder but still conspiratorial voice, she said, “Marcus doesn’t love Gabrielle because he is interested in Corby.”

  “But Corby is a boy.”

  Elissia’s eyes widened, and her stare made Erick feel dense as a clump of mortar. He wanted to understand, but try as he might, he–

  It struck him like a bolt. “Your brother only cares for other boys,” Erick whispered in a shocked voice.

  “Finally,” Elissia said, throwing up her hands and letting out a pent-up sigh of frustration.

  “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

  “Well, I thought it would be more fun letting you guess, but I forgot about your damned sheltered life.”

  “It won’t do him any good,” Erick said. “Corby isn’t like that.”

  Elissia’s mouth opened in disbelief. “You really are that blind, aren’t you?”

  Erick suddenly remembered the looks Corby had given him as they traveled, shy glances when he thought Erick wasn’t watching. He recalled Murrough, the fiercely protective sailor, and Corby’s request that Erick always be his friend, no matter what. Was that Corby’s secret? Did he think of Erick the way Erick thought of Elissia? “They can’t do that. It’s wrong.”

  “Wrong? According to who?”

  “It’s not natural,” Erick said, keeping his voice low. “The goal of a man is to marry and produce children, so that the populace may flourish and fill Krinnik. Any other proposition goes against the order of nature.”

  Elissia’s, almond eyes went wide. “Who fed you that load of warmed-over cow’s dung?”

  “My mother,” Erick said, his voice taking on a bitter edge. “The same person who taught me all the things you find so nice about me.”

  “She did a fine job,” Elissia said, raising her hands in a placating gesture. “But I think she was misguided about this. Did she worship Calea?”

  “Yes.” Elissia’s conciliatory attitude did nothing to soothe Erick. “Calea and Caros, both of whom see the love of other men as a sin. It is written in the Tome of the Father and Mother.”

  “Were you born at night?” Elissia asked.

  The unexpected question threw Erick. “What?”

  “Were you born at night, yes or no?”

  “Yes, but wh–”

  “So was I, and do you know what my Aunt Beatru told me every chance she got? She said I was wicked and would come to an evil end, because all children born at night belonged to Melteth, and he would someday come to claim them as his own. To Beatru’s mind, all people born at night were destined for wickedness. D
o you know where she got that?”

  Erick nodded. “It’s also written in the Tome of the Father and Mother.”

  “Yes, it is,” Elissia said. “Do you believe I’m wicked, or that you’re wicked?”

  Avoiding her gaze, Erick shook his head.

  “So why are you so quick to believe one thing and not another, both from the same book? You know priests wrote the Tome, supposedly on the words given directly by the gods, but how do you know they didn’t throw their own beliefs in there?”

  “Because they wouldn’t dare change the words of the gods,” he said, startled.

  Elissia snorted. “That’s right, and Fathen never distorted the truth about you or your family. The priests of Caros see Marcus’s love as a lack of moral strength. Priestesses of Calea find it a sin because it doesn’t produce children. But what makes them right any more than the followers of Amare, who say that any form of love—or sex for that matter—is a blessing?” Elissia’s tone turned derisive. “And I should think you’d be the last one to criticize anything that ‘goes against nature,’ Necromancer.” She quickened her pace, leaving Erick alone.

  As Elissia walked away, Erick’s eyes fell on Marcus and Corby. The thief watched while the scholar rambled away with the tale of Narsan-Ya, the mighty Warrior of the Sands, and his sacrifice to defeat the monstrous Koba-Fe, the Giant Desert Lizard who had destroyed several of his tribe’s villages.

  Above their obvious physical similarities, Erick realized now why Marcus looked so much like his sister. The stare he offered Corby was the same Elissia often gave to Erick: a gaze of admiration. Try as he might, Erick couldn’t understand the possibility of such a thing. When he considered Corby, he thought of him as a friend, someone he would sacrifice much to protect or defend, but there existed none of the emotions he experienced when he thought of Elissia. Corby didn’t make his brain tingle or his hands shake when he stood near. Erick had no desire to do with Corby the things he someday hoped to do with Elissia and knew of no way such actions could physically occur anyway.

  No matter how he mulled it over and tried to understand it, the concept seemed unnatural, despite Elissia’s assertions. His mother had been correct about so many things; he had to believe she was right about this.