“There is enough snow around. Let them burn,” Folc said. He spat on the fire and left.
Lissandro had a quick glance at the heap of consumed corpses. They will take out the wicked from among the righteous and will throw them into the furnace of fire. May your teeth gnash to dust. He joined his companions.
His skin might be clean, but the smell would not leave his nostrils. Bleu cheese had not been the best choice. Lissandro pestered. He hadn’t even tasted a single sausage. While Folc put a jug of warm water next to him, Eliot stirred the fire in the hearth. Waiting for dawn, they had gathered in one of the houses. Those who couldn’t sleep kept watch outside, in case survivors had escaped their wrath and searched for revenge. After a quick search, they had recovered their weapons and coats. Their horses, fed and groomed, waited in a barn for their departure. Considering their indescribable filth, a bath had been suggested to Louis and him. Lissandro washed the soap from his hair and stepped out of the basin.
“I didn’t know you were sick,” Louis said. Standing near a second basin, his friend finished dressing.
“I told them I was fine. Maybe a bit dizzy. Nothing to worry about.” Louis stared at him with incomprehension and lowered his gaze. Lissandro followed his gaze to his loins and understood. “Oh. No. I’m not sick. I shave. It’s an aesthetical choice, and it’s more hygienic.”
“With a razor?” Louis asked with a look full of dread.
Knowing Louis imagined the wrong kind of razor, Lissandro smirked inwardly. “There are less hazardous methods. Ask Selen. Or I could show you,” Lissandro suggested, more by provocation than an illusory hope of a positive answer. Louis rolled his eyes and turned away.
Leaving Louis to ponder the concept, Lissandro dressed warmly and went out. Wrapped in blankets, Kilda sat on a bench against the house’s wall. She had swapped the hammer for her sword.
“You don’t feel sleepy?” Lissandro asked. He sat down next to her. Despite his many layers of clothes, the wood froze his bottom.
“Selen said he would take my shift later. I had too much on my mind to lie down anyway.” She rubbed her hands together and pulled them deeper inside her sleeves. “I still haven’t thanked you for taking my side last time, against Louis.”
“I didn’t side against Louis. I prevented a nasty mess. You know how he is. You should let him talk, however hard his words may be. He doesn’t see things as we do. Besides, he is not the kind of person you want as an enemy. Now, what you said to Selen… He likes you, you know?”
“I figure why. Anyway. You supported me, and I appreciate it.” She gave him a faint smile. “Why are you so kind to me?”
Lissandro hesitated but opted for the truth. “You are the bravest woman I have ever met. It is not easy for you to find your place in this society, yet, you manage to be who you want to be and rise after every blow.”
“I don’t know if I rose after the last one,” she said with melancholy. “Louis is right. I fled. I couldn’t keep on pretending. This lady life is not something I am used to anymore.” She paused. “And now that my little angel is dead, I have no reason to live.”
Lissandro put a hand on her arm. “You shouldn’t say that. You are not alone,” he said, gazing into her eyes.
Kilda leaned closer and put her lips on his. Whatever the affection Lissandro had for her, the touch felt unpleasant. He pulled away gently so as not to offend her.
“I’m sorry. I only like men.” He felt guilty that his friend had misunderstood his words. “But I am your friend and will always be.”
She lowered her head and straightened on her seat. “I’m sorry. That was foolish of me.”
“You feel lonely. Me too. But we both have someone. Josselin loves you with all his heart and waits for you at home. He sent you with us to save you.”
Tears ran down her cheeks. “I know. I miss him. Do you think he will survive?”
“I can’t promise anything, but we will return,” Lissandro said, smiling at her. He sank deeper in his cloak and looked at the shining stars above them.
30
The way after the village had been long and exhausting. Scared that Colten might have sent a second party after them, Folc and his companions hadn’t dared to make it back to the road where they had crossed the river. They had progressed throughout the gorges, heading east across thick forests and steep ravines. By day, the snow had melted under the sun, turning some parts of the way into slippery mud and treacherous ice traps hidden by underbrush or where shallow streams ran. It had forced them to dismount, test the ground, and pull on the reins of reluctant mounts as cold water soaked through their boots. By night, the frost would have seized it all again and covered with an icy blanket everything that hadn’t been in close range of their fire. They had slept in the open, sheltered from the wind by thickets, or, when lucky, in humid caves. They had taken more care of their horses than of themselves. At each bivouac, they had brushed away the icicles from the feathering. They had dried the legs of the most fragile and had fed them the fruits and hay they had found in the village, while they themselves had dined on dry bread and cheese. In addition to the cold, the hunger, and the lack of comfort, the control of the fire, kept at its lowest to avoid smoke or bright light that could reveal their location, had forced them to take shifts. Exertion had overcome the less prepared of them; Lissandro, who had been ill since the village, Eliot, who clenched to his saddle, refusing to dismount, and himself. Though they had been a burden for the strongest of their friends, Louis had chided Ahanu to hold the pace, claiming that to linger would not improve their condition but would only drain their supply. At the end of the fourth day, they had arrived in sight of Earthfell.
Folc’s lips were crackled parchment. His head swirled as he wobbled in his saddle. He twisted his fingers tighter in the horse’s mane to keep his grip. Lissandro had said that he was dehydrated. They hadn’t found alcohol in the village. Without wine, they had been forced to melt the snow and boil it. He couldn’t understand why Selen had been so neglectful with the drink supply, though his friend grumbled that it wasn’t his fault. Folc focused his eyes on their destination. He hoped the city on the horizon was not a vision.
City was a big word for what lay ahead. Earthfell had been a city before the dragon burned it to the ground. The stone keep still stood, but the rest of the city was a forest of bare framework popping above half-rebuilt battlements. Considering the piles of wood standing along the walls, entire parts of forests had been sacrificed to allow the construction.
“Why didn’t they use stone this time?” Folc asked.
Dazed with tiredness, none of his companions answered him immediately.
“Who cares?” Selen mumbled. By the tremor in his voice, he seemed at the edge of a nervous breakdown. Folc didn’t insist, and they made the rest of the way in silence.
Though the inhabitants tramping in the slush of the streets displayed morose faces, the panic hadn’t struck Earthfell as it had done in Embermire. Folc had never been in Earthfell, but he had heard much about the city of horses. The charred ruins of the disaster still standing here and there, last vestiges of a glorious past, were painful to watch. The air smelled of cut timber and burned wood from the chimneys. Despite the snow, the people proceeded in the construction of the buildings. Frames were laid, and lattices of wooden strips were woven. Men stamped in a mixture of sand, clay, straw, and dung to be used later as daub, while the women and children slapped the daub on the lattices and smoothed it in. The second district was invaded by scaffoldings, and his horse nearly bumped into a treadwheel crane. Here, the timber-framed walls were covered with lime plaster, giving them a vibrant yellow color. The commoners might struggle to restore their habitations and shops, but some of the rich families had seen an opportunity to improve their homes to the latest fashion.
Following Louis, the riders climbed the path directly towards the keep in the last district. The guards in front of the gates crossed their halberds.
“Halt! Who goes
there?” The porter came forth.
Louis got off his horse, stumbled, and held on to his saddle not to lose balance. He made a few unsteady steps towards the guards and put a hand to his head. Noticing he wasn’t wearing his circlet, he made back to his horse, cursing in words Folc didn’t grasp, and fetched his crown from one of his bags.
Fastening his circlet on his forehead, Louis addressed the guards. “I’m the king. Just open the damn doors and inform your lord.”
The men bowed, opened the doors wide, and hurried inside the yard. Louis took his horse by the bridle and walked in, preceding Folc and the rest of his companions.
Stable lads went to meet them. Aching and stiff all over, it took ages for Folc to dismount. Once his feet were on the ground, he heard a thud. At his side, Lissandro lay on the earth, unconscious. Selen tottered towards him and picked him up, holding one of Lissandro’s arms over his shoulders. Lissandro’s face was white as if on the verge of death.
A tall, slender man dressed in heavy fox furs that matched his luxuriant moustache came out of the castle to meet them. Once he saw them closer, his face turned grim, and he hurried his pace.
“Your Majesty, were you attacked on your way here?” the man asked. His hands gestured around as if he didn’t know what to do to help. “I am Lord Kendal, Count of Earthfell. Please, come inside.”
“No,” Louis said with a feeble voice. He raised a shaking hand and pointed at the lord. “You need to send a party to this village of fanatics.” Louis turned around and looked at them with narrowed eyes. “What was the name of that place again?” Without waiting for an answer, he turned back to the lord. “Anyway. There is a village four days from here in the gorges…led by a preacher or a priest. You need to send soldiers there, at once.” The lord formed a ring with his mouth but didn’t have time to talk.
“Why?” Kilda asked, disconcerted.
“Did any of you kill a child? Because I surely didn’t,” Louis asked. Folc realized what he meant. “There may be children left to themselves in this village,” Louis carried on towards Kendal. “I want your men to find them and bring them here.”
“Of course, Your Majesty,” Lord Kendal said and turned to his soldiers.
“Why didn’t we do it ourselves?” Kilda asked low. “Or take care of them when we had the occasion?”
“I don’t want those children to remember that I killed their families. But there is no way I will let them die for their parents’ sins,” Louis answered her back.
The lord was back with them. “Now, please, follow me inside and let my people take care of you.”
They were escorted through halls and into the great hall. The oak-panelled room was generously lit, and a fire burned in the hearth. Heavy tapestries blocked the drafts hissing through the shuttered windows. The count’s wife, wearing a headdress shaped like a butterfly, and her children stood up near the fireplace. They bowed and curtsied when Louis approached. Folc only had eyes for the cozy benches littered with cushions and furs. They were invited to remove their coats and take a seat. Each of them flopped into the cushions. Selen let go of a half-conscious Lissandro into an armchair before sitting down on one of the benches. Servants brought trays of spiced wine and warm milk sweetened with honey. Folc took a goblet of wine. It warmed him up but left him as thirsty as before.
“Food will be served in a short while,” Lord Kendal said, caressing his long, red moustache. “I will ask my ewerers to prepare baths. We don’t have much as the city is still in reconstruction, but I will do my best to make your stay among us enjoyable.”
“We do not plan to stay,” Louis said, getting a grip of himself. He held his goblet with both hands and drank the milk in small sips. His head bobbed repeatedly as if fighting to stay awake. “We will leave tomorrow. Yet, we will gladly appreciate your hospitality for the night.”
“Your Majesty, are you sure you want to travel further?” the count asked, astounded. “The days are cold and your people seem exhausted.” He glanced at Eliot, who snored curled on himself.
Louis shook his head. “We are on a mission. We can’t afford any delay.”
“As you wish, Your Majesty. Which way will you be heading?”
Louis frowned. He seemed embarrassed by the question, yet he chose to answer. “We plan to cross the mountains.”
The count gaped. “I’ve never heard of anyone trying to cross the mountains. There are a few villages in the high pastures, but no path carries on further.” The count’s steward entered the hall and whispered something to the lord. “Dinner will be served now. We can take our places.” Lord Kendal waved them to the table in invitation.
Folc and his companions rose laboriously from the benches and took a seat around the board. The count and his family sat with them. The countess’s beauty had withered with time, but her daughters were lovely maidens with pale, rosy skin and lips red as pomegranate. Folc thought that Askjell would have made a comment about them. His friend had been a philanderer, and so would never have been tolerated in the high spheres of the palace should they return one day, but Folc missed him nonetheless.
The servants brought beef pies, sausages with fennel, eels in a white wine sauce, and cormarye. Folc poured a ladle of the pork loin broth on his trencher and added two fat sausages. In front of him, Selen cut himself a part of spinach tart and laid pickled cabbage on top. A cupbearer filled their mugs with small beer. Folc took one of the sausages in his hand and bit into it. The grease spurted and ran down his chin. Starved, they all chewed and ate noisily. Everyone but Louis. Holding his spoon in his hand, his friend stared at the untouched part of turnip tart in front of him, his jaws clenched with hatred or repugnance. Folc filled his mouth with a spoon of stew and waited for Louis to stab the tart, or throw it in the face of anyone around him.
“Once my companions are done eating, I want you to distribute the rest of this dinner to the needy of the first district,” Louis stated as if his words were law.
The count stared at him wide-eyed for several seconds. Louis’s knuckles of the hand holding the spoon turned white. “Yes, Your Majesty,” the count finally said.
The countess pressed her lips with disapproval. Folc wondered if the idea of sharing with the poor displeased the Kendal, or if they had served a consistent part of their winter provisions to impress the king, knowing no company would ingest such a quantity. His mind put at ease, Louis finally touched his food.
“When will you return to the capital?” Lord Kendal asked. He picked up a pickled radish and bit on it.
“Once we have found a cure,” Louis answered. “This is our mission.”
“Oh? I thought you all followed the common rules of precaution.”
“Which are?” Louis asked with a dark look suggesting that he would not appreciate the answer. Folc sucked at a piece of meat between his teeth and stared at the count.
“Leave quickly, go far away, and come back slowly,” the count answered, taking a sip of his goblet.
Louis’s mouth corner curled slightly. “Cito, longe, tarde.” He turned to the count. “Should I see one of the country’s officials follow that rule of conduct, I swear I will inject him with the disease and let him ponder on his social obligations until his brain burns out with fever.” The words sent a chill around the table.
“Yet, it seems the disease crossed the gates of Nysa Serin,” the count carried on cautiously. At his side, the countess delicately scratched a drop of sauce off her velvet gown. “The pestilence struck a few villages around. Fortunately, Earthfell has only registered sporadic cases until now. We barely have houses and food for our own people. Refugees are not exactly welcome and thus avoid the place.”
Louis scowled. “Those refugees are no strangers but your direct neighbors. Don’t forget it. They won’t.” Folc thought that for someone who was almost on his knees a few hours ago, Louis recuperated fast… Until he saw Louis look down. “But I have to agree with you on one point. If the disease spread throughout Trevalden, a wave of terror
will precede it. People will turn on each other, flagellants will grow by the thousand, and villagers will burn scapegoats as they did in this village. This is why I imposed the quarantine. This is why I insisted on keeping the city running.” He hit the board with the flat of his hand. “I don’t want that in my country. I don’t know who broke my orders, but I want you and the other lords to preserve the peace, to preserve order, should it be on a sea of the blood of preachers, Cassandra, and charlatans. Don’t wait until those jabbering vermin get followers.”
“I will maintain order, but quarantine… If they feel trapped inside the walls, the people might panic.”
“Your people rebuild their city on ashes barely cold. They even use the same material, as a flamboyant middle finger to the fates. As we talk, their chapped hands dig the mud to blood. They want to live here. They are proud of their city. They won’t panic,” Louis said with awe. Lord Kendal leaned forward, listening to Louis with attention. “What worries me, besides the death toll, is the devastated economy,” Louis carried on. “How many workers, craftsmen, and farmers will be lost before a cure can be found? The impact on the production of food, clothing, tools, and wood will be catastrophic. Have we survived the war to face famine and cold once more?” Louis’s shiny gaze was lost as if he waited for an answer from the gods.
For an instant, Louis’s marble mask had cracked. Folc saw in his desperate eyes how concerned Louis was for his people. He understood the weight his friend had carried during these weeks. In front of Folc, Selen screwed up his eyes towards Louis with sympathy, but his hand repressed a contact that might have embarrassed his friend. Aware of his moment of weakness, Louis straightened in his seat and cleared his throat.
“Therefore, we can’t stay longer than the night,” he added sternly.
“We only have two guestrooms, one of which has been uncared-for for a while, but Your Majesties can have our room,” Kendal said, addressing Louis and Selen.
Light from Aphelion 2 - Tears of Winter Page 32
