A Whisper of Death

by Paul Barrett

  But Elissia has a point, Blink offered. What you do is unnatural. When it comes down to it, I’m unnatural. Just because it’s unnatural doesn’t make it wrong.

  Maybe, Erick said. But if it’s not wrong, why do the gods condemn it?

  Blink shrugged. Apparently, not all gods do, but you’ll have to ask a priest about that. You could try to ask Caros, but I doubt he would answer.

  Erick sighed, again wishing he were back home in Draymed, lonely but unaware of the bewildering complexities of the world.

  Elissia walked ten feet ahead, still behind Corby and Marcus. Erick made a quick jog to walk beside her. She glanced at him, and then returned her gaze forward without any acknowledgement.

  As he watched her, the sun gleaming in her black hair and casting a glow upon her face, beautiful despite her anger, the fierce joy of loving her shook him to his core. In that moment he knew he would do anything for her. Could Marcus feel the same depth of love for another boy? Was it wrong if he did?

  It had to be wrong. The lessons of his childhood told him so, but Elissia’s idea that everything about his existence was wrong rankled him.

  “Please don’t be mad at me.” He kept his voice low to avoid disturbing Corby, who had begun singing a Zakerin farming song in his bright tenor voice. “I’m trying to understand, but I can’t, not yet. All I know is that I love you, and that’s the only thing that matters to me. That and getting to Twr Krinnik.”

  Elissia said nothing for a moment, but when she looked at him, her stony face melted. “I shouldn’t have expected you to understand right away. To be true, it bothers me some, but only because they’re cousins. It’s not my place to interfere.” She paused, then said, “But give some thought that their love is as acceptable as any.”

  “I will. I mean, I’ll try, but if I do, it means...” He stopped, unable to even talk about betraying his mother’s beliefs. “Does Corby...love me?

  “Only as a friend,” Elissia said. “But he considers you his best friend and would do anything for you.”

  “And I’d do anything for him.” He glanced at the slump-shouldered Gabrielle. “Why did Marcus want her to come along if he doesn’t love her?”

  “Because he doesn’t want to see her life wasted away with Valarie. Beneath his sarcasm and rudeness is a gentle person who cares about people a great deal, even though he would deny it.”

  Corby still held Marcus, in rapt attention. He almost asked if she thought Corby had feelings toward Marcus but decided he wasn’t yet ready to know. He had no idea how such knowledge would affect their friendship. He still couldn’t determine his feelings about Marcus.

  The dead are so much easier to deal with than the living, Erick thought.

  That’s because you can tell the dead what to do, Blink thought back.

  Erick smiled. He had resolved nothing in his mind, but he decided to leave it behind for now. Instead, he gripped Elissia’s hand tight. “I’m so glad you’re with me.”

  “I’m glad I’m with you too.”

  Marcus looked back at them. “Are you two going to mutter goo-goo at each other this whole trek of are you going to listen to Corby’s entertainment?”

  They smiled, and Elissia said, “I see you’re feeling better.”

  They walked in silence, listening as Corby launched into a war song about a battle between the Horsemen of Hucara and the Pandara tribes of Falan-Dar. Erick tried to let his mind wander on less weighty thoughts and focused on the relative peace of merely walking after such a hectic past few days.

  As he walked, it startled Erick to remember that only a week had passed since his home burned down. If someone in Draymed had told him he would one day be walking up the Routh Krinnik with daggers on his belt, a hot, chaffing chain coat around his chest, and a girl he loved at his side, he would have laughed at the absurdity.

  Now the absurdity had become a reality, and concern and self-doubt filled him. Would he be up to the task? There would be five other Necromancers to help, but would he be able to pull his weight? When the time came to face Eligos, would he be brave, or would he run screaming at the first glimpse of the Master?

  These thoughts overtook other concerns, dominating his mind even as he took pleasure in the open road and the soothing sound of Corby’s voice. He waved to the occasional caravan that passed by, escorted by guards who cast a wary and astonished eye at the young group of travelers. Farmhands harvesting the fields also greeted them, but the messengers, wearing the maroon cloak of the Royal Post, ignored them as they galloped by on their saddlebag laden horses. Whenever Blink saw wagons or people approaching, he drew his cloak tight and lifted the hood. If anyone wondered why he was so covered on such a warm day, they didn’t ask.

  An hour before sunset, Erick spotted the dark shapes of buildings.

  “That’s the village of Firstlast,” Corby said. “They named it that because it’s the first or last waypoint on the Routh Krinnik, depending on your direction.”

  “We should stay here,” Elissia said. “It’s almost dark, and Devin’s Rest is ten miles away.”

  “Does it have an inn?” Erick asked.

  “It does,” Corby said. “And the food is good.”

  “I don’t care if the food tastes like dog dung,” Marcus said. The valerian had worn off, returning him to normal, his eyes clear and step firm. Using Corby’s presence as an anchor, he had managed to disregard the environment, but his hands exhibited a nervous jitter, and his mouth occasionally twitched. “Let’s just get there so I can get some walls around me.”

  “Do we have enough money?” Erick asked.

  “We do,” Marcus said with a smile. “Father didn’t have all the vault keys hidden as well as he thought. We won’t lack for comfort.”

  Erick returned the smile. He still wasn’t sure about Marcus’s strange love, but he couldn’t help but like the boisterous thief.

  A few minutes later, the sound of clattering hooves drew their gazes back down the road. Two men on dark brown horses thundered toward them, kicking up dust tinted orange by the low sun. They wore rust-colored cloaks instead of the Royal Post maroon, but moved as quickly and heedlessly. Their tunics and pants were so dark blue they came dangerously close to black; they had hoods drawn, hiding their faces. The travelers stepped off the road, and the riders galloped by without slowing, their passing rustling the roadside grass.

  “Hope they get there in time,” Elissia said, waving her hand to chase away the dust.

  The horsemen stormed through the village and were long gone as the others reached the first buildings.

  The town of Firstlast consisted of ten structures that served as businesses, with perhaps twice that number of houses surrounding the main village. They quickly spotted the inn since, even at this early hour, it was the only building doing business.

  “And I thought Draymed shut their doors early,” Elissia said as they walked toward the inn’s open door, over which hung a sign declaring it as The Firstlast Inn.

  “What an original name,” Marcus said.

  “Typical Zakerin practicality,” Elissia said.

  “I imagine I won’t be welcome, so I’ll be on the roof,” Blink said, and flew off.

  “I need to figure out a way to let him be around people,” Erick muttered.

  They entered a warm, homey common room. Candles and lanterns cast yellow light throughout. The unlit fireplace had wood stacked, awaiting a spark. At least thirty people gathered at the square oak tables, talking, eating, and laughing. Most appeared to be caravan drivers and escorts, and all seemed to be enjoying the food and drink. The scents of roasting meat and well-brewed beer filled the room.

  Once inside, Marcus visibly relaxed, the tension leaving his body. “This is more like it,” he said, patting his hand against the solid wooden wall beside him.

  “Don’t get used to it,” Elissia told him. “We have to leave tomorrow morning.”

  Marcus’s expression soured. “I’ll deal with that when I have to. For now
, let’s eat and drink.”

  “Welcome to The Firstlast Inn,” a brassy voice called from across the room. A woman headed their way. Short, busty, and with bright red hair, her ruddy face and cheery smile exuded charm and friendliness. “I’m Gert, the owner. Have a seat where you can find one, and I’ll serve you directly.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Erick said.

  Gert laughed heartily. “Ma’am? Gert will do. Ma’am makes me sound like I own a brothel.”

  “What,” a man seated nearby said. “This isn’t a brothel? I’m leaving.” His friends laughed raucously while Gert slapped him lightly across his back and went to attend to other customers.

  Despite the crowd, they found an open table capable of holding their company. Almost before they had sat, Gert stood at their sides. “The menu tonight is stewed mutton with roast vegetables from Renner’s farm down the road, and a cheese wedge with bread, for a teres. For an extra half-aestes, you can have some dried lamparis, brought in from Starrasen just this week. Of course, it’s not as good as fresh, but the fresh would spoil before it got here, I’m afraid. How many plates?”

  “Five, please,” Erick said. The others nodded in agreement.

  “Very well. Drinks?”

  “Ale, please,” Erick said. His parents had often had the drink but never let him try it. Erick thought it was time for a taste.

  “How old are you, honey?” Gert asked him.

  “I have reached my majority.”

  “That may be, but The Queen’s decree says no strong drink until majority plus one. Silly rule, but I’m not the Queen.” She thought for a moment. “When’s your birthday?”

  Erick did a quick mental calculation. “Just under two months.”

  “Close enough,” Gert said, smiling. “Consider it an early birthday present from the Firstlast, dear. Just don’t tell Her Majesty.”

  Erick smiled. “We’ll also need rooms for the night.”

  “Of course,” Gert said, laughing. “Didn’t expect that you’d be leaving before the morning, but we can settle all that after you’ve eaten. Now, what does everyone else want to drink?”

  “What sort of milk do you have?” Marcus asked.

  “Goat and cow,” Gert answered.

  “Perfect,” Marcus said, smiling. “I’d like both mixed in a cup and add a spoon of honey.”

  Gert cocked an eye at his request but nodded.

  “That sounds appealing,” Corby said. “I’ll have one of those, too.”

  “I’d like a cup of bitter black tea if you have it,” Gabrielle said.

  “Chilled mulled cider,” Elissia said.

  “And, ah,” Gert shuffled in discomfort. “Don’t take offense, but considering your age, I need to know, ah…”

  “I’ve got it,” Marcus said as he laid a small pile of coins on the table.

  “Very good then,” Gert said and left to fill their orders.

  You sure I can’t come in? Blink asked.

  Sorry. I don’t think it would be safe. There’re too many people here. Maybe later, when we go to bed.

  Would they buy that I’m a gargoyle?

  I don’t want to chance it, Erick said.

  Fine. I’ll sit out here on the roof and sulk.

  You can watch through my eyes if you want.

  Sure, that would be fun. I’m going to find something to eat.

  Okay. Erick shuddered. Most of the time, Blink ate the same foods as him, but the homunculus wasn’t above hunting down a field mouse or rabbit and eating it alive. Erick once accidentally connected and caught Blink in the middle of such a meal. From that day forward, he made the familiar warn him, so it never happened again.

  Their drinks and dinner soon arrived. A large, fair-skinned man with straw-colored hair and a round belly took a seat on the small stage at the back of the inn, lyre and flute in hand. He wore a blue doublet edged with silver taffeta, a pair of blue breeches made of velvet with yellow piping, and periwinkle shoes with a pearl sewn into the center of each.

  “See that,” Elissia said to Corby. “Good bards make good money.”

  “Certainly more than scholars,” Corby said, picking up a fork.

  As the group dug into their food--except Gabrielle, who picked at hers and ate only a small portion--the singer began a lay, his voice clear and melodious, his pudgy fingers dancing with surprising delicacy over the strings of his lyre.

  Hungrier than he realized before the savory food arrived, Erick ate with gusto. The taste of mutton was a new flavor experience for him. Although not as agreeable as the beef his mother made, it still made a passable meat. The ale, a thick, nutty-flavored drink, was another enjoyable taste. As he drank it, Erick’s head tingled. He found it pleasurable, and decided another would make him feel even better.

  “Gert, may I have more ale?” he asked, holding the pewter tankard out to her.

  Gert shook her head, her fiery curls bouncing around her face. “I pushed Denech’s favor with one, two would be asking for trouble,” she said. “Besides, it looks as if one has done you fine.”

  Erick moped until a thick-armed man in brown leather armor placed a mug in front of him, gave him a wink and smile, and walked away.

  “Thank you,” Erick said to the man’s back. Taking up the mug, he drained half the contents in one draw. As the drink worked through him, he grew giddy with unbridled happiness, a feeling he never thought to again experience. He took Elissia’s hand, and she smiled at him. The bard’s song had transformed into a jaunty flute piece that had much of the inn clapping their hands in rhythm.

  “Would you like to dance?” Erick asked Elissia, the words coming out slowly.

  “Do you know how to dance?”

  “My mother taught me.”

  “I’d be honored.” She stood, bowed, and giggled.

  Erick drained the last of the ale, muffled a belch, and stood. He wobbled a moment as his head gave a small spin, then he walked with Elissia to a clear space in front of the singer.

  At first, their movements were stiff and uncertain, but they found the rhythm and moved with more assurance; while not graceful, the exuberance of youth infused their dance, and they soon had the crowd cheering.

  The bard ended his song with a rousing finish as the two young dancers went into a spin around each other, moving to the rapid flute trills. As he played out the final flourish, Erick and Elissia collapsed against each other, giggling with the giddiness of children. The audience let loose with uproarious clapping and cheering as they recovered and bowed along with the flutist; copper coins flew through the air.

  “Thank you, gentles all,” the bard said, waving to the assembly. He traded the flute for his lyre as he regarded the two heavily breathing adolescents. “And now, to give my impromptu assistants a break, I will play the Air of Seasons Changing.” He strummed the lyre softly, and Elissia moved in close and wrapped Erick’s arms around her waist. She put her arms around his neck. They moved in a slow circle as the tune played, sweet and gentle.

  “I love you,” Elissia said, resting her head on his chest.

  “I love you, too,” Erick said as he clasped her tightly, surprised at how natural the words sounded.

  As they danced, Erick two distinct sensations besieged Erick, one in his head and the other much lower. His head buzzed with a strange murmur, like a bee on a summer day. The effect of the drinks still lay upon him, but the nattering drone in his brain threatened to chase away the euphoria.

  Go away, he thought, trying to push the whine from his head. To his surprise, it left.

  He knew the other feeling would not be so easily dispersed. The ales, close contact, and his own body conspired to put him in a state of lust so intense it almost blinded him. His passion nearly crushed him, and the longer they danced, the more vehement it became. He knew Elissia must be aware of his arousal, but she did nothing to dissuade him. Indeed, she pressed herself closer, nearly overloading him with pleasure. Through the fog of desire, every thought in his head told him
to stop, while every nerve in his body demanded he stay close.

  Too soon and not soon enough, the song ended, and they reluctantly parted. Erick glanced down. Embarrassment cut through the haze of alcohol; his pants were much tighter than he realized.

  Before anyone else could notice his unease, Blink flew through the open door, startling everyone in the room. Cries of fear and bewilderment rattled among the patrons and a few brave souls leapt up and drew weapons.

  Flying directly up to Erick, Blink landed on the stage next to him and yelled through clenched teeth. “Am I getting through to you now?”

  “Yes,” Erick said, puzzled.

  “Then if you can get past enjoying your drunken stupor and your pointing dagger, you might want to join me outside. Fathen is on the road, and he’s been badly beaten.”

  27

  After the Inconnu War, the Makerns took to removing the heads of their dead and burying them in a separate grave, while placing the body in great stone coffins. The Zakerins burned their loved ones and scattered the ashes while saying prayers to Caros. The Starrans tied rocks to bodies and threw them in the swamps, the Amels removed all the internal organs, and the tribes of Falan-Dar left their dead in the desert to feed the creatures there and thus return to the sand. All sound methods that all ultimately proved useless.

  -Corberin of Draymed, The Second Inconnu War

  They found the priest stumbling down the road five hundred feet from the inn, his long black hair tangled and matted with blood, his left eye swollen shut, his right arm dangling at his side.

  Erick’s first reaction upon seeing the savaged cleric was joy at the justice in the world; if anyone deserved such a fate, it was this pompous jackass. When they got closer, and he saw the extent of the damage, his thoughts changed to guilt. Fathen would never be a friend, but he was most likely the only other survivor from Draymed. That gave them some strange, tenuous connection. At the least, the priest could confirm Erick’s dream and tell them if any others escaped.