“Shut up.”
“Da hit me,” Maaz said, but the voice that came out wasn't his. It was impossible, Grant knew it was some trick, but the voice was his daughter's. He would know it anywhere. That voice was burned into his mind forever. “Da did things to me. He hurt me.”
“Stop it.”
“You couldn't help yourself, could you?” Maaz went on in his own voice. “Couldn't stop yourself from beating her...from doing other things to her.”
“Shut up,” Grant felt his lips peel back from his teeth.
“Oh, it was alright until her mother died,” Maaz smiled. “Then you couldn't stop the thoughts, couldn't stop the compulsion. Geraldine, though...she couldn't take your hands on her. Couldn't take the rigors of your...attentions. She was only a little girl, Colonel. She didn't understand why her Da would do this to her. You were supposed to love her. She doesn't regret leaving, you know. She doesn't regret jumping into that river.”
Grant was out of his bunk and on his feet before he could stop himself. “You shut your mouth! Never speak of this again!”
Maaz raised a shadowed hand, and Grant was tossed back against the door to the cabin, his back pressed against the wood. He tried to move but found his muscles numb to his commands. In his mind he screamed and fought, but his body would not respond. Slowly, he raised from the floor and slid upward. He tried to breathe, but nothing would enter his chest.
“Do not presume to take such a posture with me, Colonel. If I wished it so, I would eat your organs for dinner. Do you understand?”
Grant could say nothing, so he only stared.
“Find the armlet. I will find the girl. Once I do, you will return her to me. Then—and only then—will I complete my end of our bargain. If you fail...well, there are worse things than crucifixion, or being strangled by an Imperial assassin. And this time, Colonel, control yourself with the girl. Find another one to terrorize if you must, but do not chase mine away a second time. If you do, you will regret it for the rest of your days—which will be a very short period.”
Grant crumpled to the floor, suddenly released from the sorcerer's power. His legs buckled and he sucked in a desperate breath, trying to still the furious beating of his heart. When he looked up, he was alone in the cabin.
He rose on shaky legs and stumbled over to a crate that he had stacked in the corner. He snatched a jug of firewine and took a long pull of the stuff, savoring the burn of the alcohol. It took four more pulls before his heart stopped trying to escape his ribcage, and six before his hands stopped shaking.
It was hours before he was able to sleep again.
***
The next morning dawned bright, and warmer than the day before. Though it was far from pleasant, it was enough for the snow to begin melting, which brought on a new set of problems. The horses slogged through mud and icy slush instead of flaky snow, and their hooves made small sucking noises as they were pulled from the saturated ground. It was unpleasant, but unavoidable, and Dormael found himself almost wishing the ground would freeze again.
No one spoke about the events of the night prior, but Dormael could tell that it was on everyone’s mind. Even Bethany was somber today, not even bothering to tinker with Dormael’s goatee as she sat brooding in the saddle. Most of the morning was spent in silence.
They turned to the northeast around mid-morning, and the road meandered ever closer to the sea. The thundering rush of the tide rose in the distance, and by midday they were paralleling the shoreline, a sheer drop to the seething ocean beckoning from nearby cliffs. The smell of salty water hung in the air, and sunlight beamed on scattered patches of snow.
As they moved northward, a strip of land appeared across the bay to their left. The day was calm, and mist shrouded much of the distant shoreline. It grew ever closer as the day wore on into afternoon, though there was still a great expanse of water separating it. Dormael stared over at the opposing shore, wondering if there was anyone there looking back.
“Dannon,” Shawna said, following his gaze. “That's the southernmost point of it.”
“I knew that.”
“Borders will be in the valley at the tip of the bay,” she went on, ignoring him. “We must be getting close.”
“The land slopes downward from here,” D’Jenn said. “We'll pick up the pace a bit, but we should be careful not to twist the horses' legs in this muck.”
“What's wrong with the water?” Bethany asked, leaning out over Horse's flank to peer over the ocean. Dormael knew what she was seeing, but he chanced a look for himself, anyway. The water in the bay had an incredibly strong current. On the southern side—the Cambrellian side—the water flowed inward, toward the city. On the Dannon side, the current pushed out to sea. It was so strong that one could see it if they looked long and hard enough at the water, though it was easy to tell that something was different at first glance.
“That's the current,” D'Jenn explained. “Just out to sea, somewhere around the mouth of the bay, there's a great disturbance in the water. That's what causes the current.”
“A disturbance?” she asked.
“Maelstroms,” Dormael put in. “Giant whirlpools in the sea. Anything that gets too close to them gets sucked down into the water, never to be seen again.”
Bethany's eyes went wide. “Are we going to see them—the maelstroms, I mean?”
“I certainly hope not,” Shawna smiled. “If you're close enough to see them, it's probably too close.”
“Indeed,” D'Jenn nodded.
“What causes them?” Bethany asked.
“Some people say it's a hole in the ocean floor that leads to the underworld,” Dormael smiled, “and Saarnok takes any sailor that sails too close.”
“Don't tell the girl such things,” Shawna said, reaching over to brush an errant strand of Bethany's hair. “Saarnok is not waiting for us out in the ocean, dear.”
“I've heard it said that there's a hole in the world there,” D’Jenn said, “and the water comes out on the other side of Eldath, in the Sea of the Beast.”
“Do you believe that?” Shawna asked.
D'Jenn shook his head. “No. I don't know what it is, but I have a few thoughts on it.”
“Share them,” Shawna said.
D'Jenn eyed her with an irritated glance. “Well, it's been here for a long time. I've never read anything about how it formed, not from people who witnessed it, so it stands to reason that it's been here longer than anyone living can remember. To me, that means it's most likely natural. Maybe there's a strange rock formation under the water, or a particular pattern of currents that causes it. Who knows?”
“Maybe the gods reach their fingers down into the sea and stir it every once in a while,” Dormael smiled, jabbing his finger into Bethany's ribs. She laughed and fended him off.
“However it keeps churning, it's what keeps Borders isolated,” D'Jenn said. “It makes the bay impossible to blockade because of the current, and allows only one way in and out.”
“Keeps trade to a minimum, too,” Dormael pointed out. “No one wants to sail their tubby old cog full of furs and spices around the Maelstrom Field.”
“That, and the fact that there's nothing up here but the cold, the trees, and Dannon marauders,” Shawna said. “No one wants to come here, and no one wants anything that comes from here. I doubt this place has seen a King's Patrol, or a tax collector for that matter, for a long time.”
“No tax collector?” Dormael echoed, miming a scandalized expression. “The horror!”
Shawna gave Dormael a flat look.
D'Jenn shrugged and snapped his reins. “It's all we've got. Let's get moving.”
They spotted the smoke on the horizon before Borders came into sight. The sun was close to set by the time they crested a hill and began the final descent into the valley. Dormael could smell woodsmoke and horseshit, though the acrid stink of a tannery was mixed in with the odors coming from the area.
The twilight kept Dormael from seeing
much about Borders, but he was able to pick a few things out. The buildings, for one, were laid out seemingly at random, with no real order to the streets and avenues. Smoke rose inside the city—if it could be called a city—and dwindled away into the wind as it rose into the sky. There were no orderly rows of brick buildings in Borders—here, it appeared that people built with whatever they had to hand, which didn't look like much at all.
In Ferolan, the industrious nature of Cambrellians was apparent by the city's general prosperity. Borders, however, looked like a forgotten outpost on the edge of nowhere, which Dormael imagined that it was. With the harbor being useless for trade, the place was most likely on the short list of cities about which the King of Cambrell could give two shakes of his powdered arse. It's proximity to Dannon kept most civilized people at a distance, and it produced nothing in the way of commodities, save for a few leather goods that never made it over the horizon.
Cities that were forgotten by the gentry, though, were loved by the seedier elements of society. Dormael could see the appeal of a place like Borders for anyone who wished to deal in business that kept them on the wrong side of the authorities. No one came here, no one cared about it, and hardly anyone would sail into the bay. It would be perfect for an enterprising sea captain who wished to avoid taxes, or a Lirium distributor who wanted an out-of-the-way place to manufacture his narcotics.
Bethany looked up at him from her perch on Horse, and said with grim sincerity, “It stinks.”
Dormael patted her on the head and nodded his silent reply.
What gave Dormael pause, though, was the palisade that encircled the town. It reminded him of something he'd seen the Nelekan Legions do during the Galanian invasion. The Legions were notorious for their ability to fortify and build, and the palisade looked so much like the wall that encircled a Nelekan camp that Dormael did a double-take. The wall was made of bare tree trunks, cut and erected in a hurry. They were sharped on top, and there was even a gatehouse constructed of the unstained wood.
“That's new,” he said as they made their way toward the gate. “The wood hasn’t even cured.”
D'Jenn nodded, turning to Shawna. “Do the Dannons raid into Cambrellian territory?”
“Not in years—at least, not that I've heard of,” Shawna replied.
D'Jenn turned back in his saddle and spent the rest of the trip regarding the wall in silence.
Four men ambled into their path as they approached the only gate into the city. They were wearing leather and fur, and leaning on long spears that looked more like re-purposed farm tools than weapons of war. A pair of crossbows leaned against the wall nearby, and those looked deadly enough. The men had dirty, hard faces, and bored expressions.
Dormael had seen uncountable men like these in his travels, but something about this picture didn't add up. He couldn't quite put his finger on what bothered him, but his mind tickled at the scene nonetheless. What threat had prompted the residents of Borders to put up a hasty palisade? If it was the most likely suspect—raiding warbands from the cold steppes of Dannon—then how had the northman they'd encountered the previous night been so free to move around? The men standing in the muddy slush in front of the gate were no soldiers. They carried themselves more like thugs than military men, and their weapons were anything but uniform.
Hells, one of them was a boar spear.
“Hold up right there,” the man in front said, spitting to the side. “State your business.”
“My business,” D'Jenn said, flashing the man a grin, “is my own. It will stay that way.”
The man's eyes narrowed. “Fair enough. It'll cost you.”
Dormael almost smiled at the man's straight-forward nature in asking for bribes. D'Jenn reached into his cloak and produced a pair of silver marks, flipping them to the guard one after the other. The man took a bare second to examine the coins before tucking them out of sight, and nodding to himself.
“Right, then. Take this path straight on toward the harbor, you'll pass an inn before you get there,” he grunted, moving to let them pass.
“Sir—where did this wall come from?” Shawna asked as the man turned his back.
The other three men snickered and began to mutter amongst themselves. The man whom they'd been speaking to flinched as if Shawna had slapped him on the shoulder, and turned around to regard the noblewoman with a raised eyebrow. Dormael stifled a grin.
“Say that again?” the man asked.
“The wall,” Shawna repeated. “How did it get here?”
“Well, we built it, didn't we? Didn't get here through the wishes of sprites and little children.”
“Yes, but—,” she started.
“Did you just call me 'sir'?” he cut in.
Shawna gave him a confused expression. “I did.”
The man chuckled and shook his head. “You're in the wrong damned place, missy. You want to know about the wall?”
“I do,” Shawna said through clenched teeth. Her cheeks were going red, and Dormael figured she must have caught on to the joke. He was surprised she didn't start demanding to be treated with the respect due her station. For that matter, it was equally likely she could slice the man into little wriggling pieces.
The man smiled at her with crooked teeth. “It'll cost you.”
Shawna returned his smile. “Fuck yourself.”
She spurred her horse through the gates, kicking up soupy mud and splashing it over the guard's clothing. The man favored her back with a dark glare and spat into the mud at her passing. He waved the rest of them through, and Dormael kicked Horse into the city. He ignored the curses the man yelled at their backs, and ignored Bethany's questions about what they meant. If she spent enough time with the rest of them on the road, she would no doubt pick up a few colorful phrases before long, but Dormael wasn't going to be the one to explain them to her.
Borders was an odd sort of place. There were a few spots that Dormael could see where enclaves had sprouted—walled compounds of modern brick and stone that showed every bit of the architectural ingenuity of Ferolan. Outside of those places, though, the story was quite different.
Much of Borders was a slum. Ramshackle constructions huddled together in the cold, some walls standing simply from the benefit of the other walls resting upon them. Some places that they passed looked more like mazes made of garbage than actual buildings. Dormael shuddered at the thought of living in such a place.
There was something going on in Borders, however. They passed two defensive positions made of the same uncured wood that the palisade had been built from, though neither barricade was manned. The skeletal remains of burned out buildings greeted them in another place, and the streets were deathly quiet for this time of night. People passed them, but none offered even a curt greeting as they hurried toward their destinations.
“There was a battle fought here,” D'Jenn said as they neared what looked like an inn.
“I was thinking the same thing,” Dormael nodded.
“The palisade, the destruction,” Shawna said. “What do you think is happening here?”
“I don't really care as long as there are ships in the harbor,” D'Jenn sighed. “Let's get settled in for the night so we can get our stay in this place over with. I'd like to try and get a bath before Lucius's people spring their trap.”
Shawna gave the inn a dubious look. “You want to bathe in there?”
Dormael followed her gaze. The inn was an older building, and larger than anything nearby. A light buzz of conversation floated out through the doorway and into the twilight, along with the smells of burning wood and tobacco. It wasn't the worst place in which Dormael had ever slept, but it was far from the nicest. The only good thing that Dormael could see was that the inn was an actual building—something that couldn't be said for all the hovels in Borders.
“If everything goes according to plan, we'll be leaving on an extended sea voyage some time in the next few days,” D'Jenn said as he climbed from Mist's saddle. “Yes, I'm
going to bathe here. It will be the last bath any of us will get for a while—unless you'd like to take a dip in the Stormy Sea in the middle of winter.”
Shawna's face twisted with reluctance. “I hadn't thought of that.”
“Suddenly not the adventure you thought it would be?” Dormael asked, favoring Shawna with a wink.
She answered him with a flat look. “I just don't relish the thought of being surrounded by unwashed brutes day in and day out. The two of you smell awful when you don't bathe.”
“We're not that bad,” Dormael scoffed.
“Oh yes. Ask Bethany,” Shawna said. “It's so bad that we can tell the two of you apart just by your stink.”
“I've been meaning to talk to you about what you're telling that girl,” Dormael grumbled as he climbed from his own saddle and helped Bethany down. “Did you tell her not to trust me?”
“No,” Shawna shook her head, “I told her not to trust anything that comes out of your mouth.”
“That's the same thing.”
“Sound advice, either way,” D'Jenn said as he made his way to the door. “Now—will you two stop flirting so we can get this done? I've been listening to it for the whole ride, and silence would be a gift from the gods.”
“Flirting?!” Dormael said.
“I would never!” Shawna said at the same time.
D'Jenn shot them a mischievous smile and ducked through the door before they could say anything else. Shawna stared at the place where he had been standing for a moment, her mouth hanging open in indignation. Dormael sighed and began gathering up his belongings, but paused as Bethany tugged on the sleeve of his cloak. He turned and smiled down at the youngling, who bit her lip and gestured to him in the Hunter's Tongue.
Don't worry, her hands said, I trust you anyway.
Dormael couldn't help but feel a surge of pride that the girl had learned her lessons so well in the silent hand-language, and then an irrational pull on his heartstrings. He smiled and ruffled the girl's hair, then turned her toward the steps to the inn. Night was coming on, and a cold wind began to blow from the sea. The inn before them might not be luxurious, but it was better than cold wind and wet mud.
The Seven Signs: Three Book Collection Page 30
