“It’s only a trap if you don’t know about it,” D’Jenn said. “Come on, let’s finish up here and get some rest. I’m going to lay down some wards around camp tonight. I don’t want to be surprised like that again.”
“Agreed.” Dormael nodded.
“Tomorrow we’re up and riding before the sun,” D’Jenn said. “And much more carefully than before.”
Everyone murmured their agreement and sought their blankets. The smell of burnt bodies lingered in the cold night air. Dormael’s ears perked to every sound until he was too tired to raise his head. He thought he heard the silver croon of the armlet’s song as he drifted to sleep, but his mind was too fuddled to be sure.
His dreams were haunted by a woman with eyes made of fire.
***
Grant’s eyes fluttered open, leading his hazy mind back to wakefulness like a horse pulling a cart. His cabin was dark, though bars of moonlight filtered through a pair of portholes in the hull. The ship creaked as it rolled in the swell, and odd things made bumping noises in the darkness. His nose was full of the ship’s odors—salt, tar, and unwashed men.
“Colonel,” a rasping voice uttered from the shadows.
Grant’s chest went cold. The Cloaked Man!
He raised from his bunk, shooting his eyes around the room. His stomach tightened at the fear of facing the Maaz naked, though he knew his armor and weapons would be useless against him. The comfort of a hilt in hand would have been welcome, nonetheless.
A piece of shadow deepened in the corner of the room, and a tall, thin figure stepped out. He was cloaked in a black robe, his head hidden deep in its cowl. Maaz took care to keep his skin hidden, but Grant had seen it peeking from the robe in the past. It was pale, tight, and covered with scars. Grant shuddered at the memory.
“I see you, Colonel.” The voice from the hood was a dry, scratchy rattle. “Do not cower like a fool. I don’t sense the presence of the artifact. Why?”
Grant cleared his throat, licked his lips. “The Baron Llewan’s daughter escaped, taking the artifact with her. We’re pursuing her now. She’ll be ours soon enough.”
Maaz glared for a long, dangerous moment. Grant had the distinct feeling the man was sizing him up for a spit. Why did the Emperor tolerate this creature? Why would he place him in such high position?
Why did the gods tangle me with this bastard? How did he find me, even here?
“Colonel,” Maaz hissed the word like an insult, “I thought you were the cream of the crop, the very epitome of the Galanian officer, the shining example of genteel brutality. I thought we had a gods-damned deal.”
“We still do.” Grant drew himself up. “Nothing has changed. As I said, she’ll be ours soon enough, and I’ll sail into Shundov Harbor with the armlet in tow.”
“You’d best hope that’s true, Colonel. The Emperor would be most displeased if you failed in this.” Maaz looked around the cabin. “And the child? You have her?”
Grant froze. “Ah…the girl. She escaped.”
The room grew colder.
“She escaped.” Maaz raised his chin.
“In Ferolan.” Grant cleared his throat—his mouth was dry as a desert. “Two of the castle guards disappeared the same night, so I assume they aided her.”
“And why would they do that, Colonel?” Maaz stared like a snake watching a mouse.
“I don’t know. I was indisposed. We searched for her, but…she was gone. Disappeared.”
“Disappeared.” Maaz stepped forward, his cold glare sweeping the cabin. “Colonel, if there is one thing that displeases me more than anything else, it’s ineptitude. Stupidity. Utter uselessness.”
Grant bristled. “I’m not—”
“I tasked you with capturing her because I had something else to deal with.” Maaz stepped closer. “I was assured you would care for her and return her to me in Shundovia when your mission in Cambrell was complete. Why did she run, Colonel? Why would the girl try to escape? What’s more—why would someone help her?”
Grant’s mouth was heavy with the truth.
Because I beat her, he wanted to say.
Because I touched her.
I couldn’t help myself.
“I don’t know,” was what he managed to say.
Maaz scoffed. “Colonel, do you remember the deal we made?”
Grant nodded, his heart beating into his ears.
“You work for me, do my bidding in all things. In return, I allow you to speak with your daughter. What was her name?” Maaz asked, as if he didn’t remember.
You know her name, you fucking snake.
“Geraldine.” Grant forced the word past a lump in his throat. Her name was a knife to his heart.
“Little Geraldine.” Maaz sighed. “So young, so innocent when she passed. How old was she?”
“Nine,” Grant hissed.
“Nine.” Maaz shook his head. “I know what happened to her, you know. I have ways of knowing things, Colonel, and I know what you did to her.”
Grant’s stomach was like a block of ice. “I did nothing to her!”
“Liar.” The word echoed in the confines of the shadowy cabin. “I spoke with her. It takes time to call a soul back from the Void, Colonel. It takes multiple tries, preparation, but it is possible. Little Geraldine told me a very strange tale.”
“Shut up.”
“Da hit me.” The voice that came out of the hood wasn’t Maaz’s. 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’s lips peeled back from his teeth.
“It was fine until her mother died.” Maaz smiled. “That’s when it got tough on little Geraldine, wasn’t it? Geraldine, though…she couldn’t take your hands on her. Couldn’t take the rigors of your…attentions.”
Maaz leaned closer, his voice deadly quiet.
“She was only a little girl, Colonel. She didn’t understand why her father would hurt her so much. You were supposed to love her. She’s happier now. She doesn’t regret jumping into that river.”
Grant took step forward 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 hard against the wood, limbs flattened to the door. 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 no air would enter his chest.
“Do not presume to take such a posture with me, Colonel. If I wished, 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 retrieve her and return her to me. Then—and only then—will I complete my end of our bargain. If you fail…well, there are worse fates than crucifixion or being strangled by an Imperial assassin. And this time, Colonel, control yourself with the girl. Find another 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, 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 to a table 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 aga
in.
***
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 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 wishing the ground would freeze again.
No one spoke about the events of the night prior, but Dormael could tell it was on everyone’s mind. Even Bethany was somber—more somber than normal, anyway. Most of the morning passed in silence.
They turned 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 ocean beckoning from nearby cliffs. The smell of salty water hung in the air and sunlight beamed on scattered patches of snow.
A strip of land—little more than a dark stripe on the northern horizon—appeared across the bay around midafternoon.
“Dannon.” Shawna peered at the distant coastline. “That’s the southernmost point of it.”
Dormael nodded. “A dangerous place full of dangerous people.”
“Borders will be in the valley at the mouth of the bay.” Shawna held her cloak against a strong gust of wind. “We must be getting close.”
“The land slopes down from here,” D’Jenn said. “We’ll pick up the pace, but we should be careful not to twist the horses’ legs in this muck.”
“What’s wrong with the water?” Bethany leaned over Horse’s flank to peer at the ocean. The water in the bay had a strong current. On the southern side—the Cambrellian side—the water flowed inward, toward the city. It flowed in the opposite direction on the north side of the bay, past the coast of Dannon.
“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?”
“Maelstroms,” Dormael said. “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 shuddered. “If you’re close enough to see them, it’s probably too close.”
D’Jenn nodded.
Bethany looked over the water again. “What causes them?”
“Some say it’s a hole in the ocean floor that leads to the underworld.” Dormael smiled. “Saarnok takes any vessel that sails too close.”
“Don’t tell the girl such things.” Shawna rolled her eyes. “Saarnok is not waiting for us out in the ocean, dear.”
“I’ve heard there’s a hole in the sea bottom out there,” D’Jenn said, “and the water comes out on the other side of Eldath, in the Sea of the Beast.”
Shawna scoffed. “Do you believe that?”
D’Jenn shook his head. “No. I don’t know what it is.”
“Maybe the gods reach their fingers into the sea and stir it every once in a while.” Dormael winked at Bethany. She smirked and rolled her eyes.
“Whatever it is, I’m glad it’s there,” D’Jenn said. “It makes this place hard to reach, and the captains who do sail here must be amongst the best.”
Dormael snorted. “You hope.”
D’Jenn scowled and waved his comment away.
“I hope you’re right about that. There’s nothing up here but the cold, the trees, and Dannon marauders.” Shawna shook her head. “No one wants to come here, and no one wants anything that comes from here. I don’t know why any ships would come 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 smoke on the horizon before Borders came into sight. The sun was close to setting by the time they crested a hill and began the descent into the valley. Dormael could smell woodsmoke and horseshit, though the acrid stink of a tannery was mixed with the odors on the wind.
It was dark when Borders appeared in the valley. It was a crowded town of wooden buildings huddled against the wind, with no real order to the streets and avenues. It looked like a forgotten outpost on the edge of nowhere. A thick forest stood to the east, and to the north were the windswept hills of the Dannon Steppe. Dormael was heartened to see a few masts in the harbor, though it was difficult to tell what sorts of vessels lay at anchor.
I suppose this place is prime for those who want to avoid a customs man.
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.
A wooden palisade encircled the town. It reminded Dormael 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 around a Nelekan camp that Dormael did a double-take. It was made of bare tree trunks, cut and erected in a hurry. They were sharpened on top and there was even a gatehouse constructed of fresh timber.
“Those are new.” Dormael nodded to the fortifications. “The wood hasn’t even cured.”
D’Jenn turned to Shawna. “Do the Dannons raid into Cambrellian territory?”
“Not in years—at least, not that I’ve heard of.”
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 hard-bitten features and bored expressions.
Dormael raised his eyebrow at the guards. 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 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 is holding a boar spear.
“Hold up right there.” The man standing in front spit 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 smiled at the man’s straight-forward nature. D’Jenn reached into his cloak and produced a pair of silver marks, flipping them to the guard. The man took a second to examine the coins before tucking them out of sight.
“Right, then.” The guard nodded and moved aside. “Take this path straight on toward the harbor, you’ll pass an inn before you get there.”
Shawna cleared her throat. “Sir—where did this wall come from?”
The other three men snickered and began to mutter amongst themselves. The leader 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 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—”
“Did you just call me ‘sir’?”
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. Her cheeks reddened.
The man smiled at her with crooked teeth. “It’ll cost you.”
Shawna stiffened. “You should learn how to speak to a lady.”
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. Dormael nudged Horse in Shawna’s wake, and D’Jenn followed. He ignored the curses the guard yelled at their backs and Bethany’s questions about what they meant.
Borders was an odd sort of place. There were spots where enclaves had sprouted—walled compounds of modern brick and stone much like those in 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.
They passed two defensive positions made of fresh wood, 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.
Dormael nodded. “I was thinking the same thing.”
“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.
Child of the Flames (The Seven Signs Book 1) Page 24
