“We’ll find her,” Sallah said. “She’ll be all right.” Her tone was as soothing as her words, although they did little to ease his worries.
“You can’t know that,” Kandler said. “For all we know, she’s already dead.” He tried to keep the bitterness from his voice, but it echoed there anyhow.
“If you believed that, you wouldn’t still be on this path, chasing after her so hard. Revenge can always wait.”
Kandler bowed his head. It was a moment before he spoke, and Sallah let the silence lie between them easily. He liked that, and he liked her.
“I used to live in Metrol,” he said. “That’s where I met Esprë’s mother. She was one of the king’s elite battle sorcerers, working in Cyre at the behest of her family in Aerenal.”
“I didn’t know she hailed from the elf homeland,” Sallah said.
“Esprina had more class than anyone I’d ever met before. I’d known elves, but they mostly left me cold. People who live ten times as long as you don’t ever seem to have the same set of problems.
“She was different, though. Her father said her time in Khorvaire had tainted her, made her too ‘human.’ Maybe that’s so. She was two hundred years older than me, but that never seemed to make a difference.”
Sallah dropped her hand from Kandler’s shoulder and moved up next to him. He put his arm around her. The warmth of their bodies together pressed back a chill in the air that, up until that point, he hadn’t known was there.
“How did you meet her? Metrol is a long way from Sharn.”
“In more ways than one,” Kandler said. “I came to Metrol in the secret employ of King Boranel.”
Sallah cocked her head up at the slightly taller man. “You were a spy?”
“I preferred the term ‘elite agent of the Citadel.’ ”
Sallah looked out at the city in the distance. “Did she know?”
Kandler squinted at the Metrol skyline a moment before answering. “Eventually.”
He looked down at Sallah and saw her gazing up at him. Her green eyes seemed to shine even under this dead-dull sky.
“She was one of my assignments. I was supposed to get close to her and learn everything she knew, then report back to Sharn.”
Sallah glanced away. “Did you?”
“I got close to her, all right. Closer than I’ve ever been to anyone.”
Sallah nodded. “But did you report back to Sharn?”
Kandler held the woman closer. “Burch and I were on our way back to Sharn with Esprë when we ran into Argonth and hailed it for a ride.
“Argonth? The floating fortress?”
Kandler nodded. “We figured it would get us to Sharn eventually, and despite our orders we weren’t in much of a hurry. Better to get there safe than fast, we told the captain.”
“The captain?”
“Captain Alain ir’Ranek, the commander of Argonth. While our excuses still echoed in the general’s quarters, he informed us that Breland was mounting a massive offensive against Cyre. Argonth had already unleashed an army of thousands to stab deep into Cyran territory. We were to sit tight until the operation was complete, then follow the troops in to report on our efforts.”
“You had a child with you,” Sallah frowned, confused.
“We were all going to move to Sharn. Esprina had a few details to work out, she told me, but she promised to follow as soon as she could. Just one more mission for Cyre, she said, then she’d be free to leave her adopted country for another.”
Sallah shuddered against Kandler’s side. As she did, the justicar remembered how they’d passed by a monument to the dead when they’d first entered the Mournland. Esprina was buried there, he’d told Sallah then, killed on the Day of Mourning.
“Did you know she’d be part of that battle?” Sallah asked, her voice soft and low.
“I left Esprë with Burch and commandeered the fastest horse I could find. I rode hard in the wake of the army, following its trail of trampled land, until I reached the borders of Cyre.
“As I got closer, I saw a long bank of clouds settled along the ground before me: the dead-gray mists that surround the entire nation, although I didn’t know that at the time. All I knew was that Esprina was in there somewhere, possibly in the middle of a vicious battle, maybe dead.”
Sallah closed her eyes and held Kandler tight around his broad chest. “What did you do?” she asked.
“What I had to,” he answered. “I gave my horse its head and galloped straight in.
“I rode hard into the cloud bank for a while, hoping I’d just dash right through and into the sunlight beyond. After a minute, I realized that something was wrong. The mists swirled about me like a tornado, but I felt no wind. They blotted out the sky. It was impossible for me to tell which way was east. I almost couldn’t tell up from down.
“I stopped for a moment, lost. I thought I suspected the worst. I was wrong, but only because I couldn’t have imagined how bad things would be.
“I spurred my horse on and rode through the mists for what seemed like days, although it could only have been hours. I got turned around though, and I found myself back outside the mists as the sun set over Breland, painting the sky crimson red.
“I knew that I would soon not be able to see, so I uncapped an everburning torch and held it high. The heatless flames didn’t do anything to burn away the mists that curled out at me from the edge of the cloudbank, almost as if trying to draw me back into their embrace.
“The only thing I knew for sure was that I couldn’t go back. I couldn’t face Esprë without some sort of news about her mother, and I couldn’t face myself without knowing what had happened to Esprina. I turned that horse right back around and dove into the mists again.
“I wandered about in there for I don’t know how long. Eventually, I emerged from the mists again. For a moment, I thought I’d just come back out into Breland again. It was darkest night, and it’s impossible to tell one side of the border from the other around there—or at least it was. Then I looked up and saw that there were no stars. What I’d thought was a cloudbank reached up into the sky and covered the entire land beyond.
“I wandered through darkness so thick it almost seemed solid, my magical torch the only thing shedding light as far as the eye could see. As I rode, the sky began to grow lighter, but never bright, like an overcast winter’s day. It was then that I finally saw it.
“Saw ‘them,’ I should say, what was left of the battle from the day before.
“I later heard reports that it was a three-way affair, with Cyre and Breland skirmishing for a bit before the goblins of Darguun swept in, unable to control their bloodlust at the sight of such a hard-fought conflict. There were no goblins in the part of the battle I stumbled upon, just a sea of dead people, mostly human.
“I knew there was at least one elf floating in there though.
“The carnage seemed to stretch on forever. I’ve been in battle before, seen more fights than I care to remember, killed more people than I can count. I’d never seen anything like that. It was as if everyone on the battlefield had been dropped in their tracks, all at once.
“I looked for the standards from Cyre. It was easy to pick out the golden crown on the bright green field. Those flags seemed to shine as if they could still see the sun hidden overhead.
“I spent the better part of the day picking my way through the bodies and the wreckage. As I did, one thing struck me: there was no smell.
“Bodies that lay out in the weather begin to turn fairly soon, but these looked freshly dead, as if they’d all been breathing just a moment ago.
“Few of them looked like they had any reason not to be walking around. Some had fallen in the battle that had been going on when the Mourning happened, but most were unscathed. All of those had one thing in common though: their eyes and mouths were frozen wide in absolute terror.”
Kandler felt Sallah shudder against him, and he fell silent.
“Go on,” she said quiet
ly. “I didn’t mean …”
“It’s all right,” he said. He took a moment before he started again. He felt all the long-buried emotions welling up in his chest once more. It had been more than four years since that horrible day, but it still ate at him.
“I got there before anyone else. Over the years, scavengers have started to strip the place. There’s so much of it though, so many bodies, it’s hard to imagine how long it might take before they’re done.”
“Did you ever find your wife?”
Kandler bowed his head. “I looked for three days. Most people would have given up, but I knew what her unit’s standard looked like. I had some hope. Besides, I knew that getting back through the mists again would be chancy at best.
“On the morning of the third day, I found her. It was in that spot near that black stream, right where Burch and I and the rest of Mardakine raised that monument after the Last War ended, right where Gweir was killed.”
Sallah wiped her eyes at this. Kandler could tell she’d been thinking of her fellow knight already, before he’d mentioned the young man’s name. He’d been the first of the knights they’d lost on this mad chase through the Mournland trying to save his daughter or, in the case of the knights, to keep her from permanently falling into the wrong hands.
“I found her collapsed near her unit’s green and gold standard, face down in the turf. It looked like she’d been trying to run toward Breland, where she knew Esprë and I waited for her.
“I don’t know if she made it more than a few steps. She had the same horrified look on her face as everyone else, although on her I saw the tracks of the tears that had fallen from her eyes.
“I buried her right there next to that foul, awful stream. I recognized some of the others in her unit, and I thought about burying them too. When I looked out across the swath of bodies, though, I knew if I started down that path I wouldn’t be able to stop.
“Instead, I lay Esprina to rest by herself. I said a few words as I knelt over her fresh grave, and I left her there to rot.”
“Only nothing ever rots in the Mournland, does it?” Sallah said.
Kandler shook his head. “I couldn’t leave her lying out in the open like that,” he said. “I wanted to give her back some of the dignity she’d had so much of in life.
“That’s one of the things I hate about this place,” Kandler said as he gazed out over the low hills that separated them from the deserted city of Metrol in the distance. “The whole land is an insult to everyone who ever lived here. It’s bad enough they’re all dead. There’s no one left to bury them.”
Kandler fell silent. He hadn’t ever said so much about that fateful day, not even to Burch. He stood there holding Sallah to him.
He hadn’t been with a woman since Esprina. Until the end of the Last War, two full years after the Day of Mourning. He’d been too busy. The time since then was, if anything, more of a blur than those first two years: helping found Mardakine, building a town in that forsaken crater; trying to maintain some semblance of law in a new place on a merciless border; trying to raise Esprë the way he thought his wife would want, knowing that the elf girl would barely be an adult by the time he was a doddering old fool.
Now, though, he couldn’t stop thinking about Sallah. He hadn’t known a woman like her since Esprina: strong-willed, beautiful, powerful.
When Kandler had first met the lady knight, he’d chalked her off as just another religious fanatic. The intense time they’d spent together showed him that she was much more. She was devout, to be sure, but she didn’t let her faith define her so much as she lived within it. He didn’t know everything about her, yet, but he knew that he wanted to know more.
Kandler turned to Sallah, and she raised her face to meet his, their eyes locking together, saying more than their words could ever. He leaned in to kiss her, and she lowered her head so that his lips met her forehead.
“My apologies,” he whispered to her. “I thought you might want that too.”
Sallah nodded, Kandler’s lips still on her brow. “I do,” she said softly. “I do. You are an amazing man, the kind of man I could give my heart to.”
“But?” Kandler’s heart fell into his stomach. He desperately wanted to hear this answer—needed to—but it terrified him.
“But I need someone who’s not still in love with his wife.”
With that, Sallah turned and walked back to the fire that Burch had set. The fast-blazing, grass-fed thing was already starting to die.
Kandler watched her for a moment, then turned back and stared out at distant Metrol once more.
Walking through Metrol as night fell over its silent streets was like wandering through a mausoleum, only the bodies still lay out in the open rather than encased safely and respectfully away in their graves. The riders, with Xalt loping along behind, had yet to enter any of the buildings in the place, but Kandler was sure that the mayhem inside was if anything worse than that without.
Parts of the city seemed almost untouched, apart from all the bodies, almost as if everyone in them had simply fallen asleep and was trapped in an eternal dream. Some moments, Kandler felt that a simple spell would cause the people to climb to their feet and resume their interrupted lives as if nothing had ever happened.
Other parts of the city, though, looked as if they’d been trampled by a pack of iron-booted giants. Buildings lay toppled against each other like felled trees in a forest of cut stone and treated timbers. Stacks of cobblestones crunched up out of streets as if the land itself had tried to vomit upward in the aftermath of the horror. Large, deep holes occupied what had once been thriving neighborhoods.
“This must have been a magnificent city,” Xalt said as he trotted alongside Kandler’s horse.
“It was,” the justicar nodded, then shook his head in a mixture of wrath and despair. “The crime committed here …” He couldn’t finish the thought, much less the sentence.
“Better find a place to hole up for the night,” Burch said.
Kandler glanced at his old friend and saw the hairs on the backs of the shifter’s arms standing on end. He could sense that something was wrong here. He might not be able to give voice to his concerns, but they were tangible even so.
“True,” Sallah said. “We could run into scavengers or worse.”
“We could take them,” Brendis said. The young knight was healthy again finally. He seemed embarrassed by how badly he’d been hurt, now determined to show through false bravado that he would never be laid so low again. “How many of them could there be?”
Kandler knew that Brendis was deluding himself, but he decided not to do anything about it. If the young knight needed to believe he was invulnerable to get through the coming days, he wasn’t about to disagree with him. False bravado was better than nothing at all.
Sallah, though, wouldn’t let the younger knight get away with it. “We are not here to do battle with the ghosts of Metrol,” she said. “We are passing through as quickly as possible on our way to rescue Esprë. Keep your focus.”
“Yes, Lady Sallah,” Brendis replied. Although Kandler didn’t turn around to look at the young man’s face, he could hear the tension in his voice.
Kandler looked up at the sky overhead. Although the Mournland’s ever-present mists still smothered the place, the rushing in of the dusk almost made it possible to ignore the mysterious overcast, as if it were little more than the thick cloud cover of a wintry day. Kandler had spent many a night in Metrol under just such a sky, wishing for a glimpse of even one of the moons that danced through the heavens on a clear night. Now, though, the break in the clouds he longed for—a sign of an encroaching spring—might never come.
Off in the distance, an unearthly howl broke the eerie silence that engulfed the city.
“By the Silver Flame,” Brendis said, his voice quivering, “what was that?”
Kandler craned his neck around to where the sound had come from off behind them. The vacant buildings lining the wide street
stared back at him blankly, their doors and windows void of life. He shot a look at Burch, but the shifter just shrugged.
“No animal I ever heard,” Burch said, sniffing at the air. “Nothing but death around here.”
The horses whickered nervously. Kandler kicked his along a little faster. “Let’s keep moving,” he said. “Whatever that was, I’d rather it didn’t catch up with us.”
“Indeed,” Sallah said, making the sign of the Flame by touching her forehead and drawing her fingers down to touch her heart with a flourish.
The horses’ hooves on the cobblestone street rang like a dozen crude bells, drowning out any sounds for a moment. Kandler remembered Metrol as a city always filled with noises, even in the dead of night, and the way the clatter of the hooves echoed along the street made him wonder if they could be heard anywhere in the city.
Something loosed another howl into the night, this time from somewhere off to the left.
Xalt, who had been trotting alongside the horses, slid to a halt. “It sounds like a wolf being turned inside out,” he said.
Kandler tried to ignore the image that leaped into his head. “Just keep moving,” he said. “We stay in one spot, they’ll get us for sure.”
“Do you know what’s making that noise?” Sallah said. “If so, don’t keep it to yourself. We must know whatever it is we face.”
Kandler frowned. “It’s the reason I haven’t been back to Metrol before.”
“Other than the whole of the Mournland between it and Mardakine,” Burch said.
“Other than that,” Kandler agreed, “but mostly it’s the ghostbeasts.”
The justicar reached down and pulled Xalt up to sit behind him. The horse was too scared by the noises to protest. The two riders would be too heavy for the beast to carry for long, but Kandler suspected it soon wouldn’t matter.
“What are these?” Sallah asked Kandler as he spurred his horse forward to lead the others ahead.
“I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe no one does. Some say they’re the ghosts of the dead of Metrol. Others think they’re the remnants of whatever it was that murdered Cyre. They might be something else.”
The Road to Death: The Lost Mark, Book 2 Page 3
