The Demon Shroud

by T. A. Miles

  “And gave implication that he was the same man—unchanged over all these years.” Ergen’s gaze was on the gatehouse and the gates it presided over. “I cannot help but to notice that he did not recognize you.”

  Bauris glared at him. “Don’t be a fool. I’m an old man. He’s yet young and beautiful—as graceful as he was thirty-four years ago.”

  “Is that what you noticed?”

  The statement might have inspired Bauris to laugh, except that he found himself too annoyed. “I’m not the only one. Thaylen’s scarcely allowed his gaze to stray from the red, and I’ve not seen your gaze wander very far either.”

  “His appearance is not exactly typical, now is it? Neither of them appear as ordinary men. I can admit that you’re right about that.”

  “That’s more than you’ve admitted to in all the years your father’s been dead, and left you to take his position. Which you have done, like a greedy and awkward child.”

  “Oh, have I?”

  Finally, Bauris had provoked a glare. More than a glare, Ergen even turned toward him, suggesting with his motion that he might take hold of Guidry, or maybe even strike him.

  “You slovenly, self-righteous cur,” the deputy accused. “Fine to delegate each and every task given to you, then to present yourself to Thaylen when the work is done, as if it’s all been the result of your careful labor.”

  Bauris put his hand out to maintain the distance between them. “Don’t harass me, boy! The Vadryn are real, and you should be thanking the gods that those two priests arrived.”

  “I’m going home, Constable,” Ergen decided, withdrawing from the stable entry and collecting his horse’s reins. “Deya’s been unwell.”

  “Illness is a sign,” Bauris reminded.

  Without paying another glance in Bauris’ direction, the deputy governor said, “Of illness. Potential plague, maybe. But not demons.”

  Chewing lightly on the end of his pipe, Bauris watched the man go, his and his horse’s shadows stretching across the grounds. A bitter taste had collected in his mouth and he eventually spat it onto the ground.

  •—•

  The plateau stakes were little more than lampposts. The wrought formation at the top of each thick iron post suggested that they may have been used as simply as that. Except that, for all of his examination of them, Merran was unable to find just how a fire would be started within the posts. There was no material to burn, and no apparent basin or holder for any such material. It would have been possible to hang a lantern onto the ornate design, though there seemed no part of it that was specifically made for that function. It suggested that any fire contained within the ornament would likely have been of magic.

  The Spectrum of magic was not accessible only to priests, but recognition of the order of the Spectrum and adherence to that order did tend to be exclusive to those trained within and operating from Vassenleigh. The Vadryn could be counted among those who had access to the Spectrum, but that access involved only one raw and potent resource, which was not theirs to take. The manner in which they supplied themselves, in their unending hunger, brought discord and death. Their very existence was evidence of the world’s imbalance.

  Stepping back from the post before him, Merran continued to examine the base and the ground around it. There appeared no evidence of recent activity, no leavings of any kind. The dry earth seemed only to have been disturbed by himself and Korsten. There were not even animal tracks; never mind the evidence that should have been left by a demon hauling victims.

  “I think that this place was once important to someone,” Korsten said from several paces away. “Maybe ages ago.”

  “Maybe,” Merran said, allowing all options for now. He moved away from the peculiar posts and joined Korsten at the center of the clearing.

  His partner was crouched down to examine something on the plateau floor. Beneath the shadow of clouds, he virtually glowed in his white habits and in his skin, which were not many shades apart from one another. In the rising wind near the apex, Korsten’s hair was as a curling banner of the richest red in contrast to the rest of him, and against his cloak.

  When Merran arrived beside him, he looked over the area his partner had been studying. At first, there appeared nothing to look at amid the dust and tufts of grass, but then the earth-colored tablet beneath all of it came into focus. It had been embedded into the ground. Lowering, Merran brushed his fingers over the tablet, uncovering further details of a mural that appeared to depict a scene of war.

  “It bears resemblance to stories of the fall of the Old Capital and the siege on Vassenleigh,” Korsten said first, drawing instinctively from his early profession as an historian.

  War was a prominent part of Edrinor’s history. However, the tablet was, in truth, a scene of slaughter, rather than of war. The crude forms of demons were etched upon their victims’ bleeding bodies, when they weren’t displayed with portions of those bodies in their monstrous jaws. The bipedal depiction of the Vadryn made the image more disturbing, even to someone well used to their tactics as possessors and corruptors …even to someone who had been alive and present at the time of the event the tablet may have been referencing. May have been, except that Merran knew the event should not have been depicted quite so plainly as the tablet had it.

  “This seems an odd place for such a thing,” Korsten said. And, in line with Merran’s thoughts, he added, “If it is in reference to anything specific, demons seem a curious way to depict what those outside of the Capital and Vassenleigh had been led to believe was plague.”

  Merran agreed with a nod. “Even if it isn’t a portrayal of the Siege, I think there’s a good deal more to this crest than we were told of.”

  “Maybe even than the townspeople are aware of,” Korsten offered.

  It was his attempt to preserve some of the innocence of humanity, to not assume that all men stood poised at the lip of some betrayal or another. Given the circumstances of Korsten’s journey in life, it provided Merran with more optimism than worry. At least, for now. There was a finer line between wisdom and nihilism than Merran ever would have believed, before becoming a priest. He had watched the line draw even finer over the centuries.

  When Korsten had satisfied himself with the details of the tablet and any theories he may have formed as to why it was there, he stood. “I think it’s clear that this location was of some significance at one time. I wonder if this is a burial ground. Maybe a place where victims of a past battle were laid to rest.”

  “That could explain the tablet,” Merran said, rising to a stand as well. “That could also mean that bodies which were potentially contaminated were brought here.”

  “Which would explain the location.”

  The comment deserved some pause, though no real concern, since any bodies that would have been inclined to leave their graves would have done so long ago. Still, Merran felt that some detail was yet missing. Something, beyond ancient events, had led the people of Feidor’s Crest to suspect that the culprit behind their missing and their murdered might be found on the plateau.

  Merran surveyed the area once more. Wind scraped across the landscape, making grabs at the base of his coat. The heavy material beat against the backs of his legs while beside him, Korsten’s cloak rolled, like a sail unfurled over rough water. Overhead, clouds continued to loiter in front of a low sun. The Lantern hovered in place nearby, providing an air of tranquility to the gloom.

  He studied the alignment of the stakes. They followed the plateau from end to end, which was a considerable distance, easily enough ground to encompass the whole of Dunlar’s estate, maybe part of the town with it. The apex loomed above. It was roughly centered, in relation to the rows of stakes. In the growing darkness, one could take it for the silhouette of a giant, hulking over the plateau.

  It was possible that the crest’s essential form inspired more nightmare than reality
. It could very well have been that there was nothing at Feidor’s Crest, except for disease. And Merran had no intention of dignifying that possibility beyond the simple allowance for its existence as an option. His instincts told him that there was something there, and that it was hiding.

  The Vadryn hid as a matter of course, and they would hold on to their hiding places and their lies, even as they were being exposed.

  •—•

  Ergen returned home to find the stable doors open. He spied movement within and only had a moment to wonder what the boy was up to, when one of his horses rushed through the doors and past him. Rel was atop the animal, looking pale and stiff as freshly starched linen, as if someone were dead or dying. It occurred to Ergen in that moment that someone may have sent the child for a physician, and he took his horse swiftly into the stables. He dismounted and didn’t bother to secure the animal, rushing into the house.

  Only a few steps in, something came under his boot and threw him off balance. He stumbled and fell hard on his knee, letting out a groan before he looked behind him. A turnip rested half under the kitchen table. He stared at it as if it should have been something else.

  “Lis!” he called out, rising to his feet.

  No answer came from the cook, so he called out again, pushing on the kitchen door. Its failure to open easily caused him to jam his wrist against it. The partition had moved out from its frame only marginally. He could see the corridor floor beyond it, but not what was blocking his way. With his hand on the latch, he shouldered the door. It took a few hard nudges, but it finally opened enough for him to slip through, whereupon he was able to see the body leaned against it. The rug was gathered at Lis’ feet, implying that she might have fallen and broken her neck.

  It didn’t occur to Ergen to wonder what might have caused the accident, or even really whether or not that had been what panicked Rel into his flight. It crossed his thoughts only superficially while a more important fact drifted to the front of his mind.

  He was going to have to put Lis with the others now. Deya would want her near when she got well again anyway.

  The corridor darkened while the notion pressed through the haze behind his eyes, like all the remaining hours of the day drawing across the window in a matter of moments. His gaze drifted down the passage, to the figure standing at the end of it. The features were obscured by shadow and distance, but Ergen knew who it was. He’d not forgotten him since he was first met along the road, months ago. He had said he would come. And so, he had.

  Three

  The streets held the look of a town abandoned, emaciated by suffering. Bauris had witnessed such a transformation once before. He recognized it intimately, and he knew that the priests’ coming was not a matter of happenstance.

  Decades ago, Master Merran had been adamant and unwilling to renege on matters of the Vadryn in Haddowyn. Korsten Brierly had come to the constable hall himself then and attempted to apologize to him, for not believing his claims. He and Chief Constable Hedren had agreed to let the man hunt for the demon.

  It was Bauris who had been the one to escort Merran into his superior’s office that night. Though Bauris had been dismissed afterward, he lingered in the vicinity, and listened in when he was able. What Merran had said about the demons, Bauris would never forget.

  “The Vadryn often will occupy a household where a member is already ill, in order to better conceal its presence. The victim is slowly sapped of his vitality and becomes highly susceptible to the will of the demon, useful in more ways than simply providing sustenance.”

  Bauris should have left Haddowyn that night. He’d had little to attach him to the town, save his sense of duty at the time. And now that he saw Haddowyn happening at Feidor’s Crest, he should have been gone again. But now, beyond any sense of duty, his awareness of demons was honed to a lethal edge. He was far too old to try running from the terror as he had done decades earlier, when gouts of blood stained the very air. If such horror came again, he knew he would be among the dead this time, but he would be damned if he would let that horror come unannounced.

  He was beginning to have doubts that there was anything on the crest itself now. After a few days hosting the priests, entertaining their questions, brooking their private conversations that they managed with mere looks exchanged in front of everyone, the plateau seemed the place to send them. There had been reports of someone—or something—seen in the woods and along the path leading up. There had been eerie fires come to light near the peak, so it must have been something. But now, with the priests gone looking, Bauris didn’t know if that was true.

  After all, Haddowyn had not come with any peculiar fires or reports of anything. In fact, it was Merran who had brought word of the first murder to them—and most believed he was the killer. Before his arrival, their town seemed moderately well, for a town of its size in the northern reaches of Edrinor. Threats of impending war loomed on the near horizon at all times, but the battles seemed to be happening everywhere else first. And then the governor’s eldest fell ill, for no explained reason, but no one thought too much of it. Illness happened, and didn’t always have a reason. Over the course of some few years, others became affected—Constable Hedren’s own child among them. But no one had died. No one seemed to be dying. Not until the murder of a girl.

  The arrival of a priest followed directly. Haddowyn, as it turned out, was beyond saving, and died.

  The disappearances had begun at Feidor’s Crest months ago. And now there were two priests present. The priests of Vassenleigh hunted demons. Bauris was not of an age to recall what the original function of the Order was. Probably, it was to keep people in some semblance of alignment where the gods were concerned.

  The gods were no more, however. In the wake of their departure, lesser powers toppled. Darkness filled the cracks of a ruined foundation, and demons rose to the surface. It was a pattern begun, one that filtered through to each town—and into every household. Bauris struggled to believe that he should witness such a fall twice in his lifetime.

  The first person to have become ill in Haddowyn had been Edmore Camirey, eldest child of Governor Ithan Camirey. It had been a member of the governor’s own household who had been harboring the beast, and it had been the Camirey family who argued the presence of Master Merran the hardest.

  The first person to have come down with the disease at Feidor’s Crest was Ergen’s wife. Ergen had been the one to argue. He was careful not to do it in the presence of the priests, though. Yes, it was time to have another talk about ‘careful labor’ and who was doing the lying.

  After piecing it all together, it seemed simple enough. Bauris didn’t know why it wasn’t clearer before. Unless that was the work of the demon as well; to deny men the ability to see plainly, what was directly in front of them.

  Bauris stopped at the constable hall first, and sent two of his men out to the crest. Afterward, he proceeded to the home of Deputy Governor Ergen.

  At the door to Ergen’s house, Bauris found himself hesitant. The house itself was not menacing—a well-constructed three stories of simple stone and timber—but the possibility that Ergen might have been in some way harboring a demon …

  Or maybe it wasn’t that. Maybe the man was merely hiding something, such as the possibility that his wife had been growing steadily worse—same as Thaylen’s son—or perhaps she had died and he was unable to come to terms. Unburied corpses would surely spawn disease, or worse.

  The thought of Deya’s potential death raised some sense of humaneness in Bauris, and he might have gone, cursing himself a paranoid old fool.

  He noticed a man nearby, settled on horseback …witness to his hesitation.

  Bauris was indeed paranoid enough to assume as much—that the individual was watching him—though in truth the rider’s eyes were not visible beneath his hood. Only traces of a drawn jaw and thin lips could be seen. He seemed a stranger. Bauris det
ermined that he might question the man later, since this was not a good or safe time for random strangers to be visiting their town.

  For now, there was Ergen. Bauris mustered the sense to announce himself. He did so by pounding on the door with the side of his fist. One of the man’s servants would answer soon enough, and then they could get on with the business of confronting Ergen’s attitude as of late.

  It was Ergen himself who answered the door. “What do you want, Constable? Be quick; the hour grows late.”

  Bauris studied the man’s blocking stance—one hand on the open door with the other braced upon the frame. “You mentioned Deya. I came to inquire of her condition.”

  Ergen’s expression was one of mixed response; some dry amusement, some irritability, and also some relief. “You’re not a physician,” he declared, and set about closing the door.

  Bauris braced his own hand upon it. “You may as well know, I’ve already announced the illness of your house to my own men.”

  “Everyone knows that Deya has been ill. What are you inferring?”

  “This won’t be another Haddowyn!”

  “You cock-eyed fool—” Ergen changed his mind abruptly in the midst of protest. He took Bauris by the collar and dragged him, with startling force, into the front room of the house. “I’ll show you my wife!”

  The front door slammed shut, but it was only one resounding thud amid several, as the deputy governor slung Bauris into one wall, and then another. The violence spiraled around Bauris’ mind, as did the deeper sounds that violence seemed to offset, which rolled through the house, like near thunder. When Ergen released him, Bauris sank to the floor, aches blossoming throughout his body.

  In a rage, the deputy governor left the room. There was the sound of a door, and of footsteps on a stair.

  Bauris held his head for a moment to regain his bearings. The main door was several paces away, but he was not foolish enough to head in any other direction. He believed he had the proof of something, and he would come back with a force to have it revealed in the open. He would return with the whole of the constabulary—and the priests as well.