The River King's Road

by Merciel, Liane

  “Well, go ahead and sit,” he muttered.

  They did, carefully, taking chairs equidistant from him so that one or the other could see any hidden movements he might make, and so he couldn’t lunge at one without turning his back to the other. Albric grinned sourly when he understood what they were doing. He finished his mug and stood, unsteadily, to fetch another. “Don’t trust me?”

  “Would you?” the girl replied. The Burnt Knight stayed silent.

  “Oh, no question, my judgment’s always been fine. Look where it got me.” Albric snorted so hard he nearly dropped the empty mug. “Do you want anything? The bread’s half sawdust, the sausage is likely made of patrons who didn’t pay their tabs on time, and I’d call the wine pig piss if it wouldn’t be such an insult to swine. But the beer’s all right.”

  “Suppose I’ll have a beer, then,” the girl said. She sounded amused.

  “Bread and water will suffice for me,” the Burnt Knight said.

  “What, salt-pickled rat meat not good enough for you?”

  The Burnt Knight turned his head slightly toward Albric. He could see nothing of the man’s face in the hood; only the pale shapes of the shells in his hair stood out. They tinkled against one another, oddly musical, as the knight shook his head. “Those of my order do not pollute their bodies with the flesh of the dead, nor do we muddy our wits with wine.”

  Albric chuckled, a raspy sound without any real warmth. “Funny. She won’t touch meat, either. Says it cheapens the animal’s pain. Suppose the proper thing to do is make it suffer and then leave the corpse to rot. I’ll get the bread.”

  He saw them put their heads together and start whispering behind him. They stopped and pulled apart when he came back with two mugs of ale, a wooden cup of water, and a platter of rough-hewn black bread. Albric pretended he hadn’t noticed.

  “So,” he said, sitting, “can we talk?”

  “We can. I apologize for not making proper introductions earlier. My name is Kelland; my companion is Bitharn.” No hesitation over the word ‘companion,’ Albric noticed. So the two weren’t lovers. That was in line with what little he knew of the Sun Knights, but he couldn’t comprehend how the man could spend his nights sleeping next to such a beautiful girl and keep his hands off her. Celestia’s Blessed had to be nearly as crazed as Kliasta’s.

  “Albric,” he replied. No point lying about his name. It was common enough, and at this stage of the game he wanted to keep close to the truth. The rest of the tale could be shaped and shaded, but first they had to believe him and listen.

  “You wish to betray a Thorn.” Kelland took his cup in a gloved hand and drew it up to his hood for a sip. The gesture struck Albric as peculiar; the under-commons were chilly, but not that cold. A man could take his gloves off at the table. Then he realized that this man could not: a glimpse of the Burnt Knight’s dark hands would tell the whole tale, and his faint hope would die with the first whisper to reach Severine’s ears.

  They’d been more careful than he had. Good. Albric nodded appreciatively into his mug. Perhaps their youth wasn’t such a concern.

  “I do.” Albric took a long swig of his beer. He glanced around for eavesdroppers and saw none. “There’s one Thornlady here. Her name is Severine. She plans to lay an ambush for you. You’re the only threat to her in these parts, now that the local Blessed’s gone to tend some dying noble. I don’t know exactly how or when she’ll do it, but I’ll warn you as best I can. If you want to ambush her first, I’ll do what I can to help.”

  “What forces does she have?” Bitharn asked.

  “She’s the only Thorn I’ve seen. I don’t think there are any others about. She has ghoul-hounds that run at her command. Six or seven of those, I think, but most of them have gone away. About a dozen dead crows that do her spying. And me.”

  “What’s your role?” Bitharn inquired, at the same time that Kelland said, “Where have her other ghaole gone?”

  “She sent the other ghouls to attack a band of Vis Sestani on the road.” Albric didn’t have to feign the grimace that came to him at the thought. “I pledged her my cooperation in exchange for their lives. I didn’t dare lie to her about that, not while her ghoul-hounds are out ranging. She has some way of sniffing out lies; I don’t know how she does it, but she knows when what’s said isn’t true.”

  “Then how can we trust you?” Bitharn’s frown came through in her voice, although her face was hooded.

  “You can’t, not to a certainty. Maybe you shouldn’t. I wouldn’t, were I in your place.” Albric drew a deep breath and knitted his fingers together on the scarred tabletop. “But I tell you this truly, and swear it on whatever hope of Celestia’s grace I still have: I want nothing more than to see that woman dead and defeated, and I will do everything in my power to make it so.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m hardly Blessed, lady. I’ve had my share of sins. But the things she’s done, the things she’s made me do …” Albric trailed off. He shook his head mutely.

  “I accept your oath,” said the Burnt Knight. “What is the Thornlady’s plan?”

  Albric nodded in Bitharn’s direction. “She knows you’re a tracker. The crows have seen you in the woods. The little girl, too—the runty one with black hair, the one you’ve been teaching.”

  “Mirri,” Bitharn breathed. She sounded sick.

  “I wouldn’t know her name. The crows have seen her in the forest. She sneaks out alone, did you know? I suppose she’s trying to put her lessons to use. Anyway, Severine plans to seize the child during one of her ventures outside the wall. She expects you’ll go out to find the girl, since you know her and the family’s sure to beg the Burnt Knight for aid. The trail will lead you right into her ambush.”

  “We can’t allow that to happen.” Kelland shifted his weight, and Albric heard the creak of leather and chain under his robe.

  “You should,” Albric said flatly. “I’m not telling you this so that you can hare off and try to interrupt it. She’ll kill whoever interferes, if she can, and if she can’t, she’ll pick another target. And another, if you don’t go after that one. It’s better if you know her plan so that things run smoothly and people don’t get hurt without reason. Listen to me. The girl won’t be harmed, not if all goes the way it should. Severine only needs her to create the trail that’s to lead you into her trap. As soon as that’s done, I’ll take her home, out of harm’s way. You have my word on this; I fought hard enough to make the Thornlady let me. But you must also pretend not to know that she’s safe, and go out onto the trail as if you truly expected to save her.”

  “And then?”

  “And then I hope and pray that you can best a Thorn in combat. You won’t catch her unawares. Her crows watch throughout the forest and along every road. If Severine thinks she’s at a disadvantage, she won’t stand and fight. She’ll flee. The only way to draw her out is to let her think that she has chosen the battle. But if you can’t best her, we’re all wasting our time. So that’s what I’m asking: Can you?”

  “Yes,” Kelland said. There was no doubt in his answer. Looking at him, and seeing the familiar, fanatic light of the divine burning in his eyes, Albric believed the man. A tightness came loose around his heart.

  “Good. Don’t tell me how you plan to do it. I don’t want her learning it from me.”

  Bitharn gazed at him, steady and searching. “Will you fight with us?”

  “Yes. If she doesn’t kill me first. She doesn’t need her servants to be living, and I doubt she’ll leave me alive if she learns of my treachery. If she kills me, and makes me one of those monsters . . . I hope you’ll end it quickly.”

  “Bitharn’s very good with a bow.”

  “I’ll take some comfort in that.” Albric grunted. An arrow in the heart was a far better death than the baker’s. Better than he deserved. “That reminds me: If you see any crows outside when you leave this place, shoot them. Real crows don’t lurk on roofs at this hour. Anything you see is a spy.�
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  “May as well make our position clear,” Bitharn agreed wryly. A short silence followed. Then she asked, oddly gentle: “Have you thought of what will happen after she’s dead?”

  “No.”

  “You’ll have earned some powerful enemies. The Thorns may want to make an example.”

  “Then it’s a good thing you know how to use that bow.”

  “There are other ways, other choices. You could travel with us.” Kelland’s hood lifted slightly in evident surprise as Bitharn spoke, but he did not interrupt. “The Dome of the Sun is always looking for servants with skill and courage. Whatever you might have done in the past, you’ve shown your true colors in coming forward now and trying to stop her. We’d be glad to have you with us.”

  Redemption. The idea chimed in his soul like a high pure note unexpectedly struck from a tarnished bell.

  It was a sweet image, for the heartbeat he let himself hold it. It was also a false one. The girl thought him a better man than he was, but Albric knew the truth. This wasn’t about redemption, though he hoped Celestia might forgive his sins if he stopped Severine’s. It was about revenge. He’d never been a particularly good man, but he’d never been a monster, either, until the Thorn had made him her dog.

  Beaten dogs bit back sometimes. That was all this was. All he was. An oathbreaker and a knight who’d sullied his vows until he wasn’t worthy of the name. Redemption was a pretty dream, but it wasn’t part of his world.

  “I’ll think about it,” Albric lied. “But keep your arrows ready all the same.”

  They left a little while after that. Albric drank another mug of beer, dropped a handful of small coins on the table to pay for the meal, and went up the stairs to the night.

  The cold startled tears into his eyes as soon as he stepped outside. He pulled his cloak closer and started for the west gate, which gave him the longest way to walk before he got back to Severine’s camp.

  There was a small crumpled form on the cobblestones outside the Dancer and Drum. Albric initially took it for a clot of old rushes or an unlucky alley cat, but then the moonlight caught a fan of spread feathers and he recognized the dead thing as a crow.

  He turned the bird over with the toe of his boot. It was too light, and by that he knew it was one of Severine’s: muscle and organs all withered away, leaving the empty shell as her spy. And it was dead, truly dead, but not by an arrow.

  In the uncertain light it was impossible to see puncture wounds, and of course the girl might have pulled out her shafts, but Albric doubted they’d shot it. The stink of burned feathers drifted up from the little corpse as he nudged it, and melted ice glistened between the cobbles where it lay.

  The stories said that Knights of the Sun could call upon Celestia’s holy fire to strike down evil creatures, leaving the innocent untouched. It seemed there was some truth to the tales. A little, at least. Enough to raise his hopes.

  Albric crushed the crow’s skull under his boot. The brittle bone snapped with barely a sound, and he ground it against the cobbles until he could feel nothing under his heel but dust and gritty feathers and stone.

  Then he walked on to the west gate and out of Tarne Crossing, the chill night warmed by visions of ghoul-hounds aflame.

  SEVERINE WAS SEATED ON THE MOSSY log, reading a book in the dark. A hollow-eyed crow perched on her shoulder, its ragged head thrust forward at the pages. The bones of its neck peeped out from the rough collar of black feathers around its throat, showing the wound that had killed it.

  “Where have you been?” the Thornlady asked once he stepped into the clearing. She marked her place in the book with a ribbon and closed it, tilting her head toward him.

  “Drinking.” He didn’t stop. Albric had no interest in talking to her. He only wanted to sleep, and his tent was not twenty paces away.

  “Have you had enough? You stink of beer.”

  “I’m still walking, so the answer’s probably no.”

  “Clever.” Her voice was cold and sharp as cracking ice. “Have you contrived of a plan to lure the Sun Knight to us? As I recall, that was your reason for spending the day in taverns.”

  “As I recall, the reason for that was to drink. Which I did, so I’d count the day a success.” Beer and contempt were making him too reckless. Albric realized it even as he spoke. The gods promised victory to no man; he could lose everything if he was foolish.

  He paused and turned back toward the woman. She was luminous and monstrous as ever, a thin creature of shadow crowned with trailing silver and staring at him with an eye that burned like a ghost-torch of Narsenghal. Albric swallowed uneasily, suddenly conscious of what he had been tempting.

  “But I do have a plan,” he muttered, “so you might count it one too.”

  She said nothing. She sat there, waiting, and her terrible eye raked his soul. He could just see the tips of her maimed fingers glinting in the moonlight, cold silverbound claws waiting to be warmed in blood.

  “There’s a girl,” Albric said, struggling to work spit into his mouth so he could talk. “Her name’s Mirri. The Burnt Knight’s friend has been teaching her to track. Sometimes the girl goes out into the woods by herself. It’d be easy enough to take her and bait a trap with her. They’d have to come for her—they’d have to. People like that … they’d blame themselves for the danger she was in. Then you’d have them.”

  “His friend has been teaching this child?”

  “That’s what I said.” Albric shook his head. “A waste. She’s too pretty for that. The Sun Knights must be mad.”

  “Perhaps,” said Severine. She laid the book open again, its pages blank leaves of shadow, and the dead crow hopped forward to read. “See that the child is taken.”

  Albric’s shoulders sagged in relief, even as dread sank into him. He was committed now. “One other thing,” he said, suppressing a flinch as her head lifted toward him again. “I want your word that the girl won’t be hurt. She’s just a child. You don’t need to hurt her to draw out the knight. Once the trail’s laid, I’m taking her somewhere safe. Give me your word that you won’t interfere, that you won’t hurt the child, and that you’ll let her go.”

  “If you like,” the Thornlady agreed, utterly indifferent.

  It was the best he would get. Albric nodded gruffly, despising himself, and resumed walking back to his tent.

  Behind him the crow croaked.

  Albric froze. An icy shiver ran up his sides and along his neck, prickling the small hairs on its way. None of her dead things had ever made a sound before. If death itself had a voice, it was in that hoarse, choking rattle, feeble but viciously triumphant.

  And yet he had faced death, many times in his life, and never felt such fear as the crow’s croak stirred in him.

  “Oh, yes,” Severine said, “I forgot to tell you.”

  For an instant the breath stopped in his lungs. She knew. She knew of his betrayal, of his meeting with the Burnt Knight, of the lengths to which his hatred had gone. All his plans were laid bare by her magic—how had he dared to imagine otherwise?—and all his hopes of stopping her were dust on the wind.

  He wondered, for a fleeting mad moment, whether he would have any prayer of killing her if he simply lunged at her now.

  “What?” Albric forced the word out, his voice nearly as hoarse as the crow’s. He could not muster the will to turn around and face her, to see his doom come.

  “I sent my pets after the baby today. Our bargain should be fulfilled shortly. With, as promised, a minimum of unnecessary killing.”

  She was mocking him with that last bit, Albric was certain, but it hardly mattered. Nothing mattered, except that his plan was still safe. He felt like a condemned man let free from the gallows; he could hardly think through the fog of his relief, and wished that he’d either had less to drink or a great deal more. Being only half stupid was not helping tonight.

  He shrugged, for her benefit, and kept walking, praying that the weakness of his knees did not show in his
step. “Hope they don’t take too long with it. I want this done.”

  “Oh, I know. Do not forget what you owe me in turn.” The crow cawed again. It sounded like a dead man’s laugh. “And do not think to shirk it. I know your doubts. I see the shadows on the surface of your mind. But remember the costs if you think to betray me—and remember how many will pay.”

  “Would that I could forget,” he muttered, and opened the flap of his tent. She did not try to stop him again.

  Inside his tent Albric fumbled, stiff-fingered, with the latches and knobs of his lantern. It was nearly out of oil; he’d been so preoccupied that he’d neglected to refill it. He’d neglected many things, it seemed. After an interminable struggle he managed to pour a thin stream of oil into its reservoir and coax a small flame into the glass. It would have been easier in the moonlight, but he would rather work blind than endure another instant in the Thornlady’s sight.

  With the lantern burning, he tied the tent flap to keep its scant warmth inside. The tent was musty and cold and creaked in the wind; it smelled of wet canvas and dirty clothes, but for all that it was peculiarly comforting. Even canvas walls offered a sense of protection from the Thornlady’s presence. Illusory it might be, but he’d take it.

  Chafing his hands to restore feeling to his fingers, Albric searched for the prayerbook that hid his writing tools. He tore out a page, unwrapped the tip of his writing-stick, and, by the faint flickering light of his lantern, began to write his confession.

  He did not trouble to hide this letter behind a false one. He wrote it plainly on the page. If other eyes should happen to find it on its way to his lord, so much the better; then others would see, and know, that Albric claimed all the sins of this journey as his own.