“Is it done?” Philip asked, his voice trembling slightly.
“They are no more, and after what I have seen, I never want to enter that forsaken building again.”
“I understand, my son. I truly understand. No man should have to enter it.”
“I want to burn it to the ground,” Tomas said. “And I want the bodies of the condemned inside to burn along with it.”
Philip nodded in agreement. “It is an old building; the place has stood since the days of my grandfather’s father; at least, that is what I have been told.”
“I don’t care. If it stands, it shall only be a reminder of death and suffering, and gods know none of us need more of that. Will you see to it, father?”
“I will,” Philip said. “Will you stay with me while I set it alight?”
Tomas shook his head. “I have business to attend to—Elsa Deros.”
“We can handle both matters together. You do not have to do this alone. You are my boy, and I would repay what you have done for me here by doing the same for you.”
“Elsa is a matter I must deal with alone. It is my mistake, and I would see it through myself. I hope you understand.”
Philip tried to smile, but he couldn’t will the muscles in his face to comply. “I understand quite well. You are no longer a child. Today, you have become a man. While I wish the circumstances were different, the choices you have made in light of these tragedies make me proud of you.”
Tomas closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. He exhaled slowly. “Under different circumstances, I would delight in hearing those words.”
“Of course,” Philip said. “You best get going, son. It is getting late and we both have matters of importance that need addressing.”
Tomas stood his ground for a moment, and Philip wondered what the young man was thinking. He wanted to ask, but before he could get the words out, he nodded and turned back towards the old road that would lead him into heart of the village. Philip gazed at the old building looming before him in the darkness. He was tired, and strangely hungry despite what he had seen, but he simply shrugged away both needs and got to work gathering the supplies to start a massive fire. Sleep would not come tonight, just as it had not come the night before. When the lord of Solstice was finished burning the village’s only institution of learning to the ground, he decided it would be best to start checking the homes of his neighbors to ensure that the horrors he had witnessed were not widespread.
Chapter 17
“ORDERS FROM the king arrived just before you showed up. Naturally, I cannot share the contents of the scroll with you, but what I can tell you is that your claims make those orders easier to follow.”
Balin stared down his nose at the man standing before him. He had called himself Reverend, and he certainly looked the part, but it was hard to trust any man these days. It would be easy to snatch a cloak, dark trousers, and a white collar from an elderly member of some village’s clergy. Still, this Abytheos character seemed to be telling the truth. His eyes were sharp; he never looked away when he spoke. If this man was a liar, he was a damned good one.
“I am afraid that it is true,” Abytheos said. “I barely escaped the place with my head intact. The dead are rising in Solstice, and the problem will only worsen over the next few days if something is not done about it.”
“You have already said as much,” Balin replied. “And it troubles me that you seem so eager to have this insignificant little place burned to ashes.”
“I am a man of good judgment—a moral man—and I do not wish to see anyone suffer more than they must! Tell me, good sir, what evils you witnessed these monsters commit during your travels. What further atrocities would have taken place had you not stepped in and did what your god, and your king, demanded of you?”
“You make a good point,” Balin said. “As I said before, what you have told me makes my orders easier to follow, but I do not do so lightly. It is with a heavy heart that I make a choice such as the one that has already been made for me. Please accept my gratitude for coming directly to me with this information. I trust what is to come will weigh heavily on your own heart.”
“It shall,” Abytheos whispered. “Words cannot express my true feelings about what has transpired and what must now be done to set things right. The ones who rule that tiny plot of land are not interested in redemption as far as I know, and that is why I left behind a fool’s errand I shan’t discuss in order to find you. If you must resort to extreme measures, I do have one request, if you would be so kind to grant it?”
“A request? What sort of request?”
Balin watched as the holy man placed a hand into his coat pocket and sat silently for some time. He looked deep in thought; perhaps he also wondered how the world had become so corrupt in such a short time. When Abytheos finally spoke up, his voice was eerily steady—like the calm of ocean waters before a great storm.
“If you destroy Solstice, please leave the church in one piece. There are items of importance within its walls that I must recover—for religious purposes, of course! I know that you are a man who reveres his god. I would ask that you allow me to honor my own god in whatever way there is left for me to do so. I would use these artifacts to pray for the souls of my people, for their souls must not be allowed to suffer as their bodies have.”
Balin nodded. “I will allow you to recover your items. Unless events spiral beyond my control, I will give you a chance to honor your god and your people. A single building makes no difference to me, either way.”
Abytheos rubbed his hands together; the corners of his mouth twitched so briefly, Balin wondered if it had actually happened.
“If you will excuse me, Reverend, I have to ready my men. We must be ready to march within the hour.”
“Of course,” Abytheos answered. “I understand. I must also ready myself for a long search through the corridors of the old church. I have a feeling there will be many souls in need of saving before the night is through.”
He wasn’t sure why, but Balin felt sharp chill travel up his spine as those last words left the mouth of the reverend. He shrugged it off and stood, excusing himself from the table. Although he hated to admit it, the time had come to give the order.
* * *
Olivar approached the looking glass hanging from a hook on a back wall in his washroom. Raising a trembling hand—its veins had turned a deep purple; they appeared ready to free themselves from his body, they bulged so much—to his head and cast back the hood that hid his face. The bandages that had been covering the wound fell off hours ago, and his face was far too gone for new wrappings to stay put. The blood oozing from the gashes was now so deeply red that it looked black in the dim, windowless light of the room. His head pounded with the rhythm and force of a throng of war drums, and he fought against the fierce buzzing—a new sensation that had only begun an hour previous—that sounded like a thousand bees hollowing out his brain to build a great hive.
“Olivar,” he cried to the reflection staring back at him. “Your name is Olivar!”
But perhaps he had been mistaken, for the one in the mirror looked twisted, vile. Even the man’s features seemed to mock him, calling out for him to give in to the pain. He could simply let it wash away the fears and uncertainty building up inside. If the mystic allowed the drums to take him away, there would be no more suffering. He could finally rest for the first time in days.
Olivar thought he had heard someone knocking on the door not too long ago, but he was no longer able to trust his senses. It could have merely been those damned drums threatening to snatch him away; he wasn’t safe from them anywhere.
“I want to sleep,” he whimpered. “Oh gods, I want it to be over.”
Just as the words left his lips, something else entirely took hold of him. The very same lips that had formed a plea for sleep twisted, the face in the looking glass now staring back with an expression of pure hatred.
“Who are you?” The mystic asked.
“Who are you?” mocked the reflection.
“No, You aren’t real. You can’t be. Please leave me alone!”
“No,” the reflection laughed. “You aren’t real.”
“I’ll shatter this glass! I’ll kill you!”
“Shatter this glass,” the reflection sneered. “Kill you!”
“Don’t make me do it,” The mystic gasped.
“Do it.”
Olivar shook with rage; a seething film of crimson crept over his vision. He clenched his fist tightly, and he swung it at the one who dared mock him, with all of his might. Again and again he punched at the reflection, but the laughing would not cease. Shards of broken glas pierced his flesh, but the mocking grew louder—more insane—with each blow. Refusing to bow down until his foe was silenced, he ripped a rather large bit of glass from his arm, wincing as the jagged edges bit deeply into his flesh, even as it was pulled free.
“Don’t laugh at me! Olivar cried. “Do not ever laugh at me again!”
He plunged the glass into the eye of the one who dared mocked him, again and again, relishing in the sea of red before him, its waters now calm.
The war drums went silent.
* * *
Valthian eased Alain into a comfortable chair and seated himself in an adjacent chair. The ride home had taken several hours, and the blacksmith’s health was becoming worrisome. He had broken into a sweat halfway to the manor house, and not even the freezing temperatures could stop it. They had both convinced Elyna to ride a bit ahead of them, and when she was out of earshot, Alain confirmed the young lord’s suspicions. He still managed to convince his daughter that the sweating and nausea was from something that he had eaten earlier, and that it would pass with a little rest. And now he was resting in a well-stuffed chair of green velvet. Elyna was weary, and cold, from the journey, so she was sent to sleep in one of the many guest rooms in the spacious home.
Valthian eyed the blacksmith warily, unsure of how long it would be for the sickness to change him. It couldn’t be long now; they simply had to convince Merriam De’Fathi and Elyna to leave the village. Perhaps they could set out for Molhadius. It was to the far east of Vintermore; maybe the Vel’Haen hadn’t touched land so far away.
“How could you expect me to leave my home?” Merriam asked. “Surely you don’t think I would pack a cart and go gallivanting around the world with your daughter. What about my children; and what of my husband? I haven’t seen him all day!”
“Please listen to him,” Valthian said. “He speaks the truth. The atrocities that were rumored to have happened within the walls of the nearby villages actually happened. These atrocities have come to Solstice!”
“Hogwash,” Merriam said. “My son, I have never doubted you, but you are still a child. How can you be sure of what you are saying?”
“Father was sure of it. While we sit here comfortably and have this discussion, he is out there dealing with the very same matter. He is putting himself in great danger because he wishes for his family to be safe. I wish for the same.”
“Your father is in danger?” Merriam asked. “What is that fool man getting himself into?”
“If I simply told you, you would never believe me. If you promise to remain calm, I can show you proof of our claims.”
“I promise nothing, but if you want me to believe you, I should hope that you would provide this proof.”
With considerable effort, Alain sat up straight and motioned for Merriam to come closer. She looked down her nose at him at first, but he motioned again and she relented, coming to stand inches away from his chair.
“You look dreadful,” she whispered. “If you ate rotten food, perhaps Olivar can be summoned. He’ll have something to ease the nausea.”
“Forgive me madam,” Alain replied. “But there is not a damned thing that mystic can do to ease my pain.”
The blacksmith rolled up the sleeve of his long shirt, exposing the bloody gashes on his arm. Valthian could see that the veins running up the length of his arm were starting to swell. They were also taking on a rather strange violet hue. Dark blood still flowed from the gaping wound. Although the injury had been sustained many hours ago, it appeared new and fresh.
Merriam gasped. “Gods. How did you get that? How long ago? It looks as if infection is setting in, but why is it still bleeding like that?”
“It was caused by something that kills a man every time it strikes. I fear that I am not long for this world.”
“What in Alvanshia are you talking about? Was it some sort of animal that—”
“Mother!” Valthian cried, standing up from his chair. “We haven’t got all day to argue about what caused it. Alain is right—he will die soon and there is nothing that can be done about it! We will all die the same way if you do not listen to us and act now!”
Merriam looked ill; her face had grown white and she began wringing her hands together nervously.
“I am listening,” she finally said. “But what of Tomas, and your father? Should we not wait for them?”
“There is no time,” Valthian said. “Alain will soon be at death’s door. He only wanted to come here so that he could see his daughter once more. I need the two of you to pack a change of clothes, and some food, and ride out of Solstice with the best horses we have. Have the damn things tied to a sturdy carriage and don’t get out until you’re both safely in Molhadius. Take plenty of gold and go into the city. Seek good lodgings. Be sure to take a few trustworthy men with you; arm them with swords! I will ensure that Alain is comfortable, and then I will find Tomas and my father. We shall not be far behind. I swear it.”
Merriam nodded and smoothed her long, brown dress. “Please keep your father and brother safe, Valthian. Swear it to me again.”
“I swear it to you,” he replied. “I will not rest until we are all safe somewhere far away from here. Do not fret, Mother, for this is only temporary. Once Solstice is safe again, we can all come back and live out the rest of our days.”
She looked down at Alain. The man was clearly fighting to keep his eyes from rolling into his head. He took ragged, uneven breaths. “I will raise your daughter as one of my own.”
“I know you will.” Alain covered his mouth and coughed; tiny spots of dark blood appeared on the back of his hand.
Merriam looked as though she wanted to hug the both of them, but instead she quietly left the room. Valthian hoped that she was doing as she had been asked, but he knew his mother to be a stubborn woman. She was sharp as a whip though, and he was counting on just that to help her do what was right.
He turned his gaze towards the blacksmith. “We have to get you away from here before it happens.”
Alain nodded. “Can I see Elyna once more before we go? I won’t wake her.”
Valthian shook his head. “It is better that we go now. I do not think that either of us wishes for her to see you when the change takes place.”
“Yes,” Alain said. “I suppose you’re right about that. Will you see to it that she receives my letter?”
“She has it already. I slipped it into her satchel. With a little luck, she will be well on her way to Molhadius before it is discovered.”
The blacksmith nodded and tried to stand, but sank back into the chair. He wheezed and tried to stand once more. Valthian grabbed his good arm and hoisted him into a standing position.
“Valthian?” Alain gasped. “Something is very wrong.”
“What is it?”
“The drums,” Alain replied, stifling a cough. “I hear drums.”
Valthian’s breath caught in his throat. “Did you say drums?”
“Great war drums, pounding in the distance. They’re so loud! Can you hear them?”
“We have to go,” Valthian said sternly. “I don’t care how you manage it, but damn it, you must get to the ravine now!”
“I can still make it alone, my boy. You must gather your family and make sure that my daughter finds her way to safety.”
Valthian gazed into the dying man’s eyes. “I would prefer to see this through. I don’t want you to turn before you reach your destination. It wouldn’t be safe for any of us.”
“I’ll get there,” Alain said. “Just find me a decent horse before we go our separate ways.”
“I must take your word for it, then. Just be sure that you see it through.”
“I don’t want to become one of those creatures, Valthian. I will see it through, just as sure as you’re standing before me at this very moment.”
Chapter 18
THE HOUND’S Rest was dark—no candles had been lit to welcome in the usual local patrons who spent far too much time in the old place, apart from their families, drinking and gambling their money away. But there was nothing normal about tonight, and Tomas knew that better than anyone. Once he was close enough to the place, he noticed that the mostly rotten wooden door—the innkeeper refused to replace it for reasons unknown—had been left open and was swinging in the wind.
At first he thought that it could have been his own mistake, but Tomas remembered closing it behind him. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a single wooden stick with a bit of something red on one end. They were a new invention, something created by one of the great minds in Vinter’s Edge. They had intrigued him when a travelling merchant brought them to the village to sell, and while they might have been too expensive for the average person in Solstice, Tomas had purchased one hundred of the little sticks. Fire Twigs, the merchant had called them. Though a simple name, Tomas like it, because it suited their use. He entered the building, his steps even and as quiet as his thick boots would allow. He closed the old door behind him, locking it to keep unwanted guests from coming in. The young lord could just make out the silhouette of a thick candle sitting upon the heavy countertop where patrons would sometimes stand, drink, and share tales from lands both near and far. The coated tip of the thin, finger-length strip of wood he held was consumed by flame when he struck it against the wooden counter. The flame continued to burn, slowly consuming the twig, creating an unpleasant aroma that reminded him of burials and burnt bread. Tomas lit the candle before his little flame was spent and dropped the fire twig into a half-finished mug of ale.
The Winterstone Plague (The Carrion Cycle) Page 12
