A Plague of Swords

by Miles Cameron

  No expression crossed Brown’s face, as usual.

  A little later, taking advantage of the long evening, they turned north, and climbed another ridge, lower than last night’s but still prominent. There was, at the top, an old fortification of the ancients. It was square, covered in trees, but at the north end of the ridge there was a collapsed tower, an old gate, and a single room preserved by chance.

  Closer to, it was clear that it had not been preserved by chance. The old tower’s north wall had been carefully repointed, and the single intact room had a working fireplace and a roof. Giselle led the way unerringly.

  “Another of your secret places?” Kronmir asked.

  “Yes,” Giselle said. “I see that you must make an effort to trust us. Let me say that I, in turn, break an ancient rule in leading you to these places.”

  Lupi looked out over the valley. “I do not think that you two need a guide so much as a referee. Perhaps I might go home to my wife?”

  Kronmir smiled at the young knight.

  Giselle laughed. “Who would cook?” she asked.

  Just for a moment, it seemed that Brown might have smiled.

  Thirty-Four hunted again at nightfall and brought back a large piece of a deer, which she laid beside Kronmir with touching grace. He ruffled her feathers and helped her clean the blood off her talons, and Lupi took the meat and turned it into a stew with herbs. Thirty-Four shared the scraps with the dog.

  Kronmir penned his thoughts and observations from the day at the base of his report, rolled it fine, and tucked it in the tube for the bird’s right leg.

  In the morning, after taking a sausage, she launched away from the rising sun, and they saw her powerful wings taking her higher and higher as she bore away west, travelling in almost a straight line.

  Two hours later, they crossed back into the Darkness. None of them wanted to, and the dog sat and howled. But in the end it followed them.

  Now they were attuned to it, and they all felt it as soon as they entered, even without the dog’s howls, the horse’s pricked ears, and their own immediate depression of spirit. Once again they swallowed doses of the horrible powder, and then they rode north and a little east, going deeper and deeper in. Before noon, they reached a village that was utterly silent.

  Just west of the village, Giselle, casting wide, found tracks.

  The tracks went straight. They were as unnatural as the silence, because the whole trail ran almost as straight as a tailor’s ruler, and every person walking had a stride of exactly the same length. The trail didn’t go around a pigsty or a low stone wall. It went straight over both, so that all those who made the trail crossed the same rambling stone wall four times in twenty paces.

  Giselle walked around and back, and Kronmir followed the trail up to the edge of the deep woods. There was birdsong in the woods.

  “This morning,” Giselle said, her eyes everywhere. “Last night at the earliest.”

  “I think I should go on alone,” Kronmir said.

  “I don’t think you’d make it,” Giselle said. “I’d like to send Tomaso home.”

  Their eyes met.

  But Tomaso shook his head. “Do not disgrace me,” he said. “I am a knight.”

  Giselle put a hand on his. “Ser Tomaso,” she said. “It is very likely we will all die.”

  “Or worse,” said Brown, the first words he’d said in days.

  Ser Tomaso made a brave face. “Perhaps,” he said. “But we will eat well.”

  * * *

  They went up the ridge into the woods following the straight trail, which went over the top of a low ridge, through the woods, and down the other side. At a ten-foot drop, there were two bodies. One was dead, and one had broken both legs and a number of other bones and lay, perfectly silent, eyes open.

  Alive.

  Or not.

  “Stay back,” Kronmir said. His balestrino was in his hand.

  “Hello,” he called.

  Not a blink.

  “Hello?” he said again, edging closer.

  Giselle coughed. “That’s why they’re called not-dead,” she said. “Because they’re not. Dead.”

  Kronmir had, of course, heard. But he had never seen. “Christ,” he swore.

  The dog began to bark.

  The not-dead face was smooth and devoid of thought. The eyes—the body was that of a young, active, handsome man—were open wide.

  The other body’s eyes were closed.

  Giselle was looking at the tracks.

  “They all came this way,” she said. “The first one fell and died. Or whatever happens to them when their spinal cord snaps. The second fell atop, and the third went around, leading the others. Here.” She pointed to a new path, a few paces off the line of the original, that descended sharply away downhill.

  Kronmir began to understand. Or thought he might.

  The dog’s barks rose to a crescendo.

  “There is but a single will,” he said. “They have a little volition, but not much.”

  Her head turned sharply, and just at that moment, the eyes of the body at his feet focused.

  The body seemed to exhale a mist—tendrils of pale grey that moved almost as fast as thought: a dozen reaching for Kronmir and the rest reaching for Giselle.

  Kronmir rolled to his right and put his bolt into the thing’s head. The eyes closed immediately—the black poison was the deadliest hermetical toxin known to the empire.

  The wormlike tendrils thrashed, a few inches from Kronmir’s face, and then crumpled to dust and blew away on the summer breeze.

  The dog was growling, the hair on its neck and back standing up like a garment it was wearing, making the dog look alien, feral, and dangerous.

  Kronmir spat. He breathed out, very carefully, as he backed away, the same technique he would have used if he’d been under threat of a poison gas or a venom. He spat again and looked at Giselle, who was frozen in place.

  He watched her carefully as he reloaded his weapon and ignored the dog.

  “Look at me,” he said softly.

  Her eyes moved. “One of them touched me,” she said. The fear in her voice was controlled. But very close to the surface. “Blessed Mother of the Forests. I saw it close. It had a tiny mouth. Oh Virgin Goddess...”

  She fell to her knees.

  “What’s happening down there?” Lupi called.

  “Do not come down,” Kronmir called. “Giselle. Look at me.”

  She did.

  He drew a glass phial from his belt pouch. “I’m not willing to come in range of your arms,” he said. “I’m sorry. Can you catch?”

  “I think so,” she said tightly.

  He tossed the phial, and it flashed in the air. But her arms only spasmed and didn’t move.

  “It is trying to take me,” she said.

  “Try to defeat it,” Kronmir said.

  “Kill me if I lose,” she said.

  “Of course,” he said. “Now make your body bend and take the phial.”

  “It is toying with me because it wants you,” she said.

  “How would you lure me to come to you?” Kronmir asked.

  She coughed a little. And fell to her knees.

  She’d fallen the wrong way, too far from the phial.

  “Brown,” Kronmir said.

  “Right here,” the man replied.

  “I’m going to try to save her. You see how it works.”

  “Yes, boss.”

  “If I fail, kill us both and go. Report to Petrarcha all you have seen. That is the whole of your duty.” Kronmir placed his unloaded balestrino gently on the ground.

  “Yes, boss. How will I know if you are alright?” Brown asked reasonably.

  She was losing.

  “If you can’t trust us, kill us,” Kronmir said. He took out yet another phial and, turning his back on her, consumed the contents. He coughed.

  “This ain’t like you, boss,” Brown said.

  Kronmir agreed, but he moved forward anywa
y, unarmed. Unarmed, so that if he fell to the thing, Brown could kill him the more easily.

  She was on the ground. But of course, the will rolled her over now, even as he knelt swiftly beside her.

  She gagged.

  The dog’s growls deepened. It was almost like a low song of hate.

  “Look at me,” he said.

  It wanted him closer. He moved close enough...almost...to kiss her. His left arm went to hers, and in the time between one heartbeat and another, he had her in a joint lock.

  The will struggled.

  It made no difference to Kronmir’s lock.

  The tendrils of pale grey smoke began to gather around her mouth, and her eyes reflected the horror of her inner struggle.

  His left hand went deep behind her, like a cruel lover’s, and took her hair and snapped her head back, and his right hand, armed with the phial from the ground, dumped its contents between her lips even as the grey tendrils batted about his eyes, wormlike segments pulsing, tiny, tooth-filled mouths ravenous and like a minute vision of hell. Then he put a thumb to her throat and forced the swallow reflex just as he would in making a man take poison, and rolled over her, scissoring his legs in the air and thrusting free of her with his arms.

  He landed on one knee and raised his hands.

  She was on her hands and knees, vomiting.

  “Say something, boss,” said Brown.

  “Calpurnia,” Kronmir said. An operation performed long ago, in flawless secrecy.

  “True for you, boss. Although a damned odd choice.” Brown was still looking along his weapon. “As we failed.”

  “No, everyone who hired us died. We didn’t fail.” Kronmir moved a little farther from the duchess. “The Darkness can’t get us easily, thanks to Master Petrarcha, but it can get us.”

  “Her?” Brown asked, his voice perfectly steady.

  Kronmir had a rare desire to go somewhere and shake. “Give her time.”

  “You sound like you,” Brown said. “Except for the whole saving-other-people part.”

  “I try never to lose an agent,” Kronmir said.

  “Eh,” Brown said. “True for you, boss.”

  * * *

  An hour later, Giselle was sitting at a small fire. Her colour was returning.

  Kronmir sat with her, and Brown sat well away, with three loaded crossbows.

  “Tell me what you remember,” he said gently.

  She took a deep breath. “It was fucking inside me.” She breathed. “It was eating me. Inside. I could feel it. My—spirit. I still feel the wounds.” She looked out across the valley. “But it was slow. I could feel that too. I saw it...in images. Oh, this is foolish, but it was as if—have you ever come across a corpse, and when you touch it...it is not the dead thing, but only its shape? And the hole of the thing’s substance is maggots?”

  Kronmir looked away. “I can’t say I have had this experience,” he said.

  “I have. In the woods. And that is what it wants to do to me. And when it does this, it feeds. And keeps me a slave. A bag of maggots.”

  “Is it still in you, Giselle?” Kronmir asked gently.

  “How will I ever be sure?” she asked.

  Kronmir left her by the fire and went to the two men across the clearing.

  Ser Tomaso was cooking, as much to fill time as because anyone was hungry.

  “I should kill her,” Kronmir said.

  “You what?” Ser Tomaso asked. He had been crouched by the fire, but now he stood.

  “I should kill her,” Kronmir repeated.

  Brown nodded.

  Lupi shook his head. “She’s the Duchess of Venike! You cannot just kill her. I’ll take her back...”

  “If the Darkness has her,” Kronmir said, as gently as he could, “her position as duchess would probably guarantee the complete collapse of northern Etrusca. She could be the center point for...” Kronmir searched his mind for the word he wanted. “For the infection. She could subvert and sabotage. Frankly, I cannot even guess what she could do. Is your soft heart worth the deaths of everyone you love, Ser Tomaso?”

  “You saved her, boss,” Brown said. “Odd call.”

  “I propose that you, Master Brown, take Ser Tomaso back to Berona and report to Magister Petrarcha everything you have seen here. Everything. And then await orders.”

  Brown shrugged. “I obey. You know that.”

  “I think we may need to do something about the Patriarch of Rhum,” Kronmir said.

  “I’ll look into it,” Brown said.

  “I hope to be back in five days,” Kronmir said. “I’ll take Giselle. By the end of the mission, she will or will not be fit to...trust.”

  “That thing got into her mind,” Brown said.

  Lupi shuddered.

  “If it gets you—” Brown raised an eyebrow.

  “Best be sure that doesn’t happen,” Kronmir said. “It can’t be you.”

  “It won’t be me. There isn’t enough gold in all the world to pay me to go to Arles,” Brown said. “I’ll tell you this for free. I think you should walk away. After you waste the duchess.” He shrugged at Tomaso. “Sorry.”

  Kronmir nodded slowly.

  “I’m sorry you have to hear all this,” Kronmir said to the knight.

  Lupi shook his head. “I do not want to know more,” he said. “But I will guess that if you kill the duchess, you will kill me as well. In fact, I will insist upon it, because I could not stand such dishonour.” His voice shook.

  Kronmir looked at the stars rising above them, and at the silent, darkened plain at their feet.

  “No,” he said. “I will kill neither of you.” He pursed his lips.

  Brown made a little motion with his head, and shrugged. “I will see about the Patriarch,” he said. “Listen, boss, I can do the woman for you, if it’s a personal thing.”

  Lupi put his hands over his ears.

  Kronmir shook his head.

  “This ain’t like you,” Brown said.

  Kronmir pursed his lips. “I know what I’m doing,” he said.

  Brown shrugged. “Sure, boss,” he said. “I expect you want me to take the dog?”

  Kronmir looked at him.

  Brown nodded. “You didn’t want me to save the dog?”

  “I didn’t give it any thought,” Kronmir said.

  Brown nodded. “Good to know it’s you, in there. But I’ll take the dog.”

  * * *

  In the morning, the two men rode away south, moving quickly. The dog followed Lupi very willingly.

  Kronmir and a very quiet Giselle rode north, down the ridge and then through a silent town and across the great plain. The sun rose, hot and yellow, and their shadows seemed like black pools at their feet as they rode, and their horses began to flag just after noon.

  Giselle had not spoken all day. Kronmir was still tracking the people of the village, and they had joined another trail and another and another, until they had all reached one of the main roads. He guessed they were now thirty or forty hours behind the tracks.

  “They know we are here, now,” Giselle said.

  Kronmir looked at her.

  “Even as we ride toward them, they are sending agents to us,” she said.

  “You know this?” he asked carefully. He’d had a weapon covering her all day.

  “No,” she said. “But I am guessing that’s how they work.”

  “They?” he asked.

  She shrugged. Her shrug made him relax. It was the same half-angry, half-amused shrug, the shrug of a woman used to men taking her for granted or assuming her ignorance on matter of which she was truly expert. It was a complex muscle movement, a subtle social cue.

  And thus, not something easily pretended by the not-dead.

  “I read them as them,” she said. “I’m not really ready to discuss it,” she went on. And a little later, “You have me with you in case you have to put me down,” she said.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “I understand,” she sa
id. “You saved me yesterday,” she said.

  “Yes,” he admitted. “I still don’t know what came over me.” He tried a laugh.

  She smiled.

  He nodded. “Humour,” he said. “Interesting.” He paused. “How many are they?”

  She shrugged. “I think they are legion,” she said. “But they are like a chorus. Or several choirs.” She closed her eyes.

  Kronmir watched her. “Interesting,” he said.

  * * *

  Late afternoon, and they saw dust on the road. Kronmir got them off the road into a patch of woods and laid the gem that contained Magister Petrarcha’s small working in the road, and he smashed it with the hilt of his dagger, crushing the stone to powder.

  Almost immediately, he was facing an image of himself. “Declare yourself!” it said.

  He smiled and replied, “A fool.” He stepped back and left the image of himself standing with a horse in the middle of the road. The simulacrum was excellent, delicately coloured, and so realistic that every time it spoke, Kronmir was tempted to turn his head.

  He slipped into the trees, and just for a moment he knew fear. Giselle was not where he had left her. She had, instead, moved into better cover to the right and had further begun to weave a screen of branches.

  He joined her, and they raised the screen before a dozen men, all walking swiftly, came over the next low hill and marched, in step, along toward Kronmir’s double, who, as if trained, drew his sword, waved it, and demanded that they identify themselves.

  They, for their part, halted. It was not like watching a man stop walking. They all simply stopped, together, better than the best soldiers ever trained.

  “Oh Virgin Goddess, I feel it,” she said.

  Kronmir wasn’t really so interested in the manifestation of the Darkness taking place in broad daylight on the road. He was more interested in her reactions, and he used his peripheral vision.

  Out on the road, a grey mist rolled forward, over the simulacrum, which was not, however, affected.

  Kronmir smiled a nasty smile. “It is a terrible thing when you depend entirely on one sense,” he said. “Score two to our magister.”

  She shook her head.

  “The things operate on sight alone. Or so I guess.” Kronmir nodded. “Let’s be on our way.”