CRY FEAR

by Mike Morris

  They traveled across white fields and through silent woods. Simon's head never stayed still, always scanning the landscape for hidden foes. Lin did the same but nothing caught her eye. She almost wanted to spot something. Better to fight whatever was out there and get it over with instead of the thought and the fear playing on their minds.

  She still didn't understand why someone would want her dead. So what if she'd escaped from the Masters? What did her fame matter? She was just a slave girl and of no real importance. A nobody who nobody would miss. So why the bounty? Why go to all that trouble? It didn't make sense.

  They stopped long enough to eat a lunch of cold meat. There was no chat and no fire and they both kept their eyes on their surroundings instead of each other. Just as they remounted, the first snowflakes drifted down from the sky.

  "Marvelous," grunted Simon as he pulled his hood up. "Bloody marvelous."

  They rode on. The road cut through a forest of silver beech trees, their bare branches twisting and tangling with each other, catching some of the snow but letting far more fall past. The only sounds came from Lin and Simon and their horses. Even the forest animals had the sense to stay out of the freezing weather. Lin could feel herself relaxing, though, despite the cold. No assassin would last long if they were lying in wait somewhere for the two of them. She smiled at the thought. The cold nibbled away at her despite her many layers, and it would be far worse for anyone planning an ambush.

  Her confidence nearly got her killed.

  They'd been riding for a couple of hours. Lin's cloak was wrapped tight against her, tighter than any rope could bind her. Her hood covered most of her head, protecting her from the wind that had decided to add to their discomfort. She'd taken her eyes off the road long before so that her hood took the brunt of the weather, and boredom had put her in a state of near-sleep.

  Luckily, Simon was a professional.

  "Watch out!" His cry jerked Lin awake. Her head shot up in time to see an arrow whistle toward her. She threw herself backward and slipped from her saddle by accident rather than intent. She saw the arrow fly past as she fell. The ground was still more ice than snow and she landed hard, jarring her back. A second arrow caught her horse in the neck. The animal reared, offering its underbelly to the next volley. It fell to the ground, kicking wildly and snorting in pain and fear as it died. Simon fired into the trees but Lin had no idea if he saw a target or it was a wild guess. She scrambled to the side of the road, drawing her sword as she frantically searched for whoever was attacking them.

  Simon jumped from his saddle as more arrows came toward them. He slapped his horse out of the way and dived into cover beside her.

  "How many are there?" she asked through gritted teeth. Her clothes were already wet from the snow and the shivers wouldn't be far away.

  "Fuck knows," replied the Black Dog. He pulled a cartridge from his belt and bit the end off. "They're too far back in the woods and well camouflaged." He primed the pan of his pistol, poured the rest of the powder down the barrel, spitting the bullet in after. The paper from the cartridge went in next, trapping the ball and the powder in place. He rammed it in tighter with the pistol's rod and then slipped that back in place under the barrel.

  "So what do we do?" asked Lin. "Run?"

  Simon shook his head. "If we run, they'll just shoot us in the back. Same if we go for my horse."

  "We can't wait here. We'll freeze if the arrows don't get us."

  "I agree. Staying's not an option either." He glanced down at her sword. "Can you use that thing?"

  "Well enough."

  "Good, because our only hope is in going forward." Simon pointed into the woods, toward their attackers.

  "Great," said Lin. The trees were four or five feet apart from each other, half- buried under snow and a carpet of fallen leaves, and disappeared into the distance. She couldn't see their attackers. It might be one man or a dozen, but judging by the speed the arrows were coming, she wouldn't bet a penny on it being the former. It looked a suicide run.

  "Don't worry," said Simon, as if reading her thoughts. "They won't be expecting it. A good bit of speed and enough aggression, we'll have them. Besides — a good run will warm us up." He pointed to the right. "You go that way. Keep some space between us so they won't know where to aim. Then hit 'em hard." He grinned, a wild smile, eyes full of fire. "Keep your head down, and don't stop until you hit them."

  Lin nodded, wishing she'd not been so keen for a fight. Now it came down to it, the thought and the fear of ambush was a hell of a lot better than the reality. Thoughts and fears don't kill, after all. Arrows and swords were a different matter altogether.

  Simon didn't wait for her. He was off, half bent over, a pistol in one hand, zig-zagging through the trees, kicking up a trail of snow as he went. No one expected it. Lin could hear their attackers shout warnings to each other, saw a shape break free of cover and aim a bow toward the priest.

  Somehow Lin got her legs working, stood up and ran herself. She headed off to the other flank, her stolen Nostros sword bright and sharp and ready to kill. Her heart pounded, breath ragged in her throat, mouth dry. Her eyes looked for targets, searched for danger. She fixed her direction on the one with the bow, planned to kill him — or her — at least.

  She sprinted along, the anger in her now, burning away any fear. All her life, people had been trying to kill her for no reason other than the fact she was alive. She'd had enough.

  Something moved off to her left. A body rose from the snow, dressed in furs and crossbow in hand. The assassin raised the weapon, stock to shoulder, and aimed the bolt straight at Lin. She threw herself to one side as she heard the clack of the string being released. She hit the ground and rolled forward, toward her assailant, springing back onto her feet.

  Lin grinned. Crossbows were useless after they'd been fired. They took too long to crank the string back for a second shot, and all her assassin had now was a heavy bit of wood — no match for Lin's sword. The blade slashed through the falling snow and bit deep into the assassin's side. She heard a cry of pain as she yanked the sword free and blood spurted over the white-covered bushes.

  She kept on, moving fast. Others rose from hiding, all advantage gone. There were three of them, but then Simon's pistol roared and the odds were even. Lin went for the one nearest her. A man's face stared at her, wide-eyed and petrified. Didn't the fool know that death didn't care who it claimed? He dropped his bow and fumbled with a sword but it was a waste of time. Lin hacked his hand off before the sword was half-drawn and got covered with the man's blood for her troubles. Still, it was better than being soaked by her own. He looked from his hand to her and managed a squeal before she opened his throat.

  Simon was still in battle with the remaining assassin. The man had more skill than his companions. Perhaps he was the professional among amateurs. The leader. Lin felt her anger rise once more. She walked up behind him as he parried an attack from Simon and stabbed the assassin in the back. It was the least he deserved. He crumbled, leaving Simon and Lin standing.

  "I was hoping to capture him alive," said the Black Dog as he caught his breath. "We could've questioned him."

  Lin gazed down at the dead man and the growing red stain beneath him. "He wouldn't have told us anything we don't already know."

  "We'll never know now," replied Simon as he sheathed his sword.

  "You were the one who told me to be aggressive," snapped Lin.

  "There's no honor in stabbing someone in the back."

  "Honor?" Lin spat the word out. "There's no such thing as honor where I come from. There's just alive and dead."

  "Yeah?" said Simon. "Well, you're not a slave of the Nostros any more. Maybe it's time you decide what you want to be."

  Barking stopped Lin from replying. They both looked back down the road to Taveson. Lin couldn't see anything, but the sound was clear, the intent even more so. "A hunting party."

  "Shit. Time to move." Simon bent down and picked up a quiver of arr
ows and the bow from the man he'd killed. He glanced at Lin. "Do you know how to use one of these?"

  She shook her head. "Not yet."

  "Take the crossbow, then. If it comes to a fight, you might be able to pick one or two off with that."

  Lin cocked an eyebrow. "If it comes to a fight?"

  "Let's hope it doesn't."

  Lin fetched the weapon and the quiver of bolts. The man she'd killed stared up at her as she took them. He was young, maybe not much older than her, but already with a face that had seen some hard living. Probably thought he was going to earn some easy money. Instead he found a hard death. She wondered if he had anyone who'd miss him, someone who'd shed a few tears at his passing.

  Simon had mounted his horse and held out a hand to help Lin climb up behind him. "We can't go fast, but hopefully we can put some miles between us and them."

  Lin looked back down the road as she wrapped her arms around Simon. The dogs were getting louder. It sounded like there were a lot of them. But then trouble always did like company. "I should've stayed in Whitehaven," she muttered.

  11

  Jack

  Jack stood to one side of the room with Edward while everyone around them argued. He felt more out of place than he ever had in his life. He was just a street kid from Brixteth, a Black Dog from Whitehaven. Apart from a brief speech the queen gave before they left for Grosnar, Jack had never seen royalty, and he'd certainly never been in a palace before. He wasn't sure he ever wanted to again.

  A messenger had come in the middle of the night to inform Nial that he had been summoned to the palace to explain what was going on. He'd taken Jack and Edward with him to the royal palace on the banks of the Thyme an hour earlier, not long after first light, and they'd been taken to one of the Queen's private audience chambers.

  The room was spectacular. A long oak table ran down the center surrounded by chairs on either side, with gold-painted legs and backs. A large portrait of the queen stood watch on one wall. In it, she wore full battle armor and leaned on a broadsword that looked too heavy for her to lift, let alone use. It was nothing compared to Orsmond's weapon, but impressive all the same.

  On either side of the painting were large windows overlooking the river and south Arbour. From where Jack stood, he could see the roofs of Brixteth, but it might as well have been another world.

  The queen hadn't arrived but a Lord Willingham was overseeing matters, as well as a dozen other privy councilors. The meeting wasn't going as planned.

  Willingham sat at the head of the table, leaning on his elbows, the palms of his hands pressed together as he watched and listened. He had an intense gaze that seemed to look straight through you, seeing all your secrets. His dark hair was slicked back, accentuating his thin face and chiseled cheekbones. A thin mustache sat under a hawk nose.

  Nial was arguing across the table with a man with shoulder-length grey hair. He was the duke of somewhere that Jack couldn't remember. Obviously he was someone important judging by the way he behaved. Or at least he thought he was. He acted as if the whole world should bow down to him. Or rather he was just full of it, as Jack's father used to say.

  "The fact of the matter is that neither you nor any of your men have seen a demon. Let alone an army of them," said the duke, jabbing a finger toward Nial. "You only have these ghastly killings to offer as proof that there is a Nostros in Arbour, and it's not enough proof to warrant what you are doing."

  "I don't think you realize the seriousness of what I'm saying, Westland." Nial took a deep breath. "If we don't search every house and home in Brixteth during daylight hours, then more people will die. To do that successfully, I must use as many men as I can."

  The duke shook his head. "And I'm saying we can't allow you to take an army into the city and just start kicking in doors for what may well end up being the act of one sick individual — not a demon. And certainly not an army of them."

  "The injuries that killed the girl were the work of a Nostros," said Nial. "The body's in the crypt at the monastery — you can see for yourself."

  "I'm not an expert," replied the duke, shaking his head. "It would be meaningless to me to look."

  "Brother Silas examined the body and he is an expert. Will you not take his word?"

  The duke waved a hand at the suggestion but said nothing. Jack had never taken such an instant dislike to anyone before.

  "There were twenty-four dead bodies in the room we found. Twenty-four!" said Nial. "Does that not satisfy your need for proof?"

  The duke sniffed and looked away from Nial, seeking support from the others. "Any death is a tragedy and obviously a killer is loose in this fair city, but you can't confirm it's the work of a Nostros."

  Nial threw up his hands in exasperation. "Come on — no human could've done that."

  "You'd be surprised," said another minister, a woman with grey hair tied up in a bun and wearing a black dress. Her only jewelry was a necklace with the circle of God. "Once evil finds its way into men's hearts, they are capable of anything."

  "I've fought the Nostros for twenty-five years. I know their work!" Nial stared at the woman, daring her to contradict him. She returned his gaze for a second or two before turning to look at Willingham. The man hadn't said a word after greeting them on arrival — just sat and listened. Jack didn't know much about politics but even he realized that Willingham's opinion was all that mattered. But still the man remained silent.

  "Brother Nial," called a man next to Willingham. The way his head popped out of his ruffled collar reminded Jack of a goose. "No one is doubting your expertise, but you must understand: the people are scared enough as it is. We've warned them of an imminent attack by the Nostros. Men and women are being trained as militia. We've dragged them away from their homes and livelihoods to help build watchtowers and fire beacons. All while they are trying to allow life to go on as normal as much as they can. To send a mass of troops into the capital because there may be a Nostros will send everyone into a mass panic. They would lose faith in us at a crucial stage."

  "What if we have to start burning bodies on every street corner? Do you not think that will cause more panic?" asked Nial. "What if their neighbors return from the dead and want their blood? What if the whole city gets Turned?"

  The man smiled, all tight-lipped as if he was trying to swallow something unpleasant. "You'll have to make sure that doesn't happen."

  "Which is why I need more men." Nial slammed his fist down on the table.

  "If there is a Nostros in Arbour, how sure are you that it's still in Brixteth?" asked the duke.

  "I'm not sure," replied Nial. "I can only hope."

  "Hope? I'm afraid that's not good enough," said the minister.

  "Look," said Nial. "I say again: the facts are that a Nostros has been in Arbour for some time. He's been hidden in Brixteth for that time. Twenty-four hours ago, he moved elsewhere, killing a six-year-old girl on the way. I don't believe he's gone far, as no one has yet reported seeing a seven- or eight-foot monster walking the streets. We've shut down access to the city during the night hours and closed ways in and out of Brixteth the moment we discovered the Nostros was here — so we have a good chance he's still in the district. But if you make me reduce the men I have on the streets, then you only increase the demon's chances of escape."

  "How long do you think it will take to find the Nostros?" asked Willingham. His voice was like stone, but it silenced the room.

  "It could be a day. It could be a month," said Nial. "Only God knows for sure."

  The duke laughed. "The man's mad. You can't keep the city locked down for that long. I demand you deal with this murderer in a more rational way."

  Nial fixed his gaze on him. "Do you understand how the Nostros work?" He paused, waiting for an answer, but none came. "They don't just kill us. Only the lucky ones get that fate. The rest aren't so fortunate. First of all, they will drain your blood from your neck until you are at the very edge of death. They then feed you their own blood, i
nfecting you with whatever magic is in their veins. Within a few days, you've become like them — a child of the Nostros, super strong, super fast, unable to stand daylight and desperate for blood. And utterly loyal to the demon that made you." Nial looked around the room so every person there could see how serious he was. "Two hundred thousand people live in Arbour according to the last census. Imagine that number as an army turned against us. Men, women, children — all eager to kill on one Nostros' command.

  "The creature has been here nearly a month already. You don't have to imagine too hard how many he could've turned in that time already."

  The words shook the room and the danger they all faced seemed to sink in — with good reason. Jack had faced the Nostros' Children in Grosnar. They were as deadly as their masters. If the Nostros only turned a fraction of the city, it would be catastrophic. The room broke out into a cacophony of nervous chatter. In the midst of it all, Nial and Willingham watched each other.

  "Enough," said Willingham after a few minutes had passed. His word once again was enough to command the room. "Brother Nial, you have my authority to do what you need to do." Willingham stood, signaling the meeting was over. "Let us all pray you are successful."

  Nial nodded. "God willing."

  "Thank you."

  "There's one more thing," said Nial as people began to rise from their seats. "We need to talk about Bridgewater."

  The privy councilors all looked at Nial with barely hidden disdain. Willingham, however, returned to his seat, so they did likewise.

  "I thought you dealt with the traitors in Bridgewater," said the duke. "You hung Lord and Lady Husk, did you not?"