by T. A. Miles
It was in the midst of the consideration, that the monument seemed to lean, as if it might take flight from its perch. But the statue was not becoming animated. It was being moved, by an unseen factor.
“Merran,” Korsten said, alerting his partner to stop.
The monument came down shortly afterward, dragging with it further debris, which was blocked by Barrier when it flew toward them.
Merran waited for all projectiles to finish falling and to slide away from his Barrier before he lowered it. “I wonder if we’re not supposed to go any further.”
Korsten eyed him, though it was difficult to fully cite him, since whenever Merran made such comments, he tended to do so with a straight face.
A visual search of the immediate area did not reveal who, or what, the culprit may have been. Whether the intent was to do injury or merely to discourage, the act had accomplished neither. Still, there may have been some value to maintaining distance from the nearer rocks.
“If we’re close enough to draw protest from Endmark’s residents, we must be drawing near to where the battle was supposed to have taken place. Perhaps we should venture away from the road.”
Merran agreed and they guided the horses around the spread of debris.
And that was when someone called down to them. “Why don’t the two of you stop, precisely where you are?”
Korsten looked once more to where the toppled monument had been. This time, a cloaked figure was swiftly located. The man crouched near the edge with a crossbow at the ready. For now, he was primarily bent on harassing Merran with the weapon, as was indicated by where his aim lay.
Merran was not in the spirit for such harassment and let that be known with his words and his tone. “We have somewhere to be, and no interest in a quarrel with you.”
“No one is welcome in Endmark,” the stranger said, presuming their destination and, in all likeliness, announcing his town of residence.
“We’re not seeking welcome,” Merran informed the stranger.
“What are you seeking?”
“Demons and evidence of a missing army.”
“There are no answers for you there.”
Merran had no further interest in the discussion, and made that evident by directing Erschal toward the woods.
The bowman fired. His bolt was promptly deflected by the day’s second Barrier spell. The projectile, in turn, was flung back toward the cliff, striking the rock wall awkwardly near the base. From there, it found a home in the dirt. The man who the arrow belonged to had gone.
Korsten scanned the cliff and the viewable space around it in search of some trace of his departure, but the stranger was smart enough to stay on the higher ground and out of sight. “I wonder how persistent he’ll become over this.”
“He’s not a genuine threat,” Merran decided, heading into the forest, “else he would have tried harder to do us harm.”
“That’s probably true,” Korsten admitted. “But I wonder why he would rather we be warded off by his attempts, than to tell us anything that may have done the warding for him.”
“My theory is that he doesn’t believe that tales of demons or murder, or plague will faze us. And that he believes, that if none of those topics will scare us off, then our purpose in being here might be owed to any one of them.”
“And he’s opposed to us taking action,” Korsten finished for him. “Which means that he’s aware that we can and will. Word of our activity as of late has been traveling quickly.”
“We know what he’s trying to hide,” Merran said. “Which is that his community has fallen to the Vadryn, in one way or another. Either it’s suppressed by their presence and he fears what measures of cleansing we may try to impose on the town, or we’re far too late, and he believes he can guide us away from a worse danger than arrows and falling idols.”
Korsten could admire the latter option, if it were true. He suspected that, either way, they would encounter the stranger again.
The prospect was dropped and all but forgotten soon after they entered the forest, when Onyx brushed past, not bramble, but a spear shaft. The weapon was lodged through the brush at a leaning angle.
Bringing Onyx to a halt, Korsten reached back for it. It moved easily, so it probably had not driven a body into the brush. He pulled it free of its entanglement, then tossed it to Merran, who had stopped to allow him his investigation.
Merran caught the weapon by the shaft and adjusted it in his grip so that he could examine its head. “The crest of the Old Kingdom is stamped on the guard,” he announced.
“So, we’ve arrived, then,” Korsten determined, and now he began to wonder if the man from the cliff had been a witness or a participant to the battle.
Merran dropped the spear, which scattered enough leaf litter for something else of interest to peek through.
Korsten moved Onyx forward a few more paces, then slid from the saddle and crouched down, brushing away leaf litter, until enough of the emblem of the Old Kingdom had been exposed, this time upon fabric rather than iron. Three lion’s heads glared out of a wreath made of lilies.
Seeing the design upon the deep indigo fabric increased the sensation of scope for Korsten. Now tales of the Kingdom Alliance were brought forward, nearer to reality, as the Vadryn had been years earlier. This was not rumor or hearsay; this was a banner dedicated to the Old Kingdom, flown by men determined to fight on behalf of all that it had and continued to represent. Lilende may have had one somewhere, but Korsten had not seen it. In fact, the keep had managed to seem very isolated from the greater effort, in spite of any talk of the Alliance that may have gone on while there. It had also been grossly undermanned for its location and strategic significance. That said, so was the Order.
“We must be near the battlefield,” Merran said, drawing Korsten’s gaze up.
Standing, Korsten looked through the trees. “Or is this the extent of it?”
The underbrush was sparse in the area and the ground reasonably level. At his feet lay a banner and a discarded spear. Troops might have staged in this very place. Several hundred men, and four priests who were trained in strategy and in battle. The presence of four suggested the value of Endmark and the effort that had been put into its defense, even beyond what had been stated by the Council before he and Merran had left.
But, where were they? There was not a single body in view.
Korsten thought about the demon that had been in Ergen’s cellar, and how it had ravenously devoured the bodies offered to it. But there would still be at least some bones, or clothing …something to indicate that so many had died, even if the majority of their substance had been taken into an abomination of that nature. Helplessly, Korsten found himself looking for evidence of the stakes, to prove whether or not the possibility was a valid one, but none were to be found.
“This can’t be everything,” Korsten was determined to believe.
Merran’s silence seemed to accept that it, in fact, could be.
•—•
Fog continued to collect around the trees as the day progressed. Observing its growth, Merran was reminded that there seemed no natural pattern to what happened in the northern reaches anymore.
As he and Korsten followed the likely area the troops would have covered, they came upon a narrow ravine. It was empty. All of the area was empty, save for the odd banner here and there, a discarded weapon peeking out from the leaves from time to time, and an occasional arrow lodged into a tree.
There were no bodies anywhere. There was no blood. And there were no stains upon the earth where a priest might have expunged a demon.
“What is this?” Korsten wondered aloud.
Merran honestly didn’t know, so he made no attempt to guess. Their best source of answers would be elsewhere. “Let’s see what the town has to say. Hopefully, more than its first ambassador.”
Korsten gave a nod, though his eyes appeared to yet be lingering on the unseen details of his imagination regarding what may have happened. Merran couldn’t begin to guess why Korsten sampled so readily from the suffering of others. Perhaps the taste was less bitter than his own trauma. Or perhaps it was a method by which he was able to leave his suffering behind and give himself to a better focus than the gloomy aspirations of his past, which would have surely ruined him had he allowed it to.
The Order had become Merran’s better focus. While he did not abide the suffering of others, he would in no way internalize it. All of his internalizing had happened early, when it was personal …or at least, when it felt that way. He imagined that Korsten was still, even now, caught in that early phase. It would pass, if he would let it.
Merran scanned the area once again. There was minimal evidence that anything more than an autumn storm had passed through the vicinity. Though the situation was mysterious, one promising aspect of it all was that there was no sign of massacre. Even if someone had sought to hide evidence of the fact and piled all of the bodies into the ravine to be burned, there would have been some trace of the remains. There was no fire—nor any magic—that could burn anything quite so completely as to not leave even a fragment of bone. And even if there was, the ground itself should have showed signs of scorching. The lack of disturbance and the lack of presence indicated that the troops had vanished. Whether by spell, or by abandonment, the only way to learn would be to continue to Endmark and ask what, if anything, the local residents had witnessed.
“Let’s go,” Korsten eventually said, letting go the scene with a last look into the woods and up at the high canopy. His gaze lingered while he directed Onyx forward, inspiring Merran to have one more look himself. But there was nothing to see, save sparse branches and gathering mist.
•—•
“Let’s go.”
An eye opened in the haze among the upper branches of Endmark’s forest as the voice filtered into notice. It was a touch, more than it was a sound …a caress.
Within the eye’s range of perception were two figures on horseback. One black as oblivion, the other white as spectral light, scored with the red of the soul’s mortal form.
The pair retreated into the trees, their forms diminishing from view.
Before long, Leodyn withdrew from the further peripheries of his vision and opened his eyes. The book in his hand remained balanced where he had left it in the moments he ventured away, and, as he was finished looking outside, he closed it. Through such means, it was a simple task, to leave the host for scant moments at a time, long enough to travel the mists and survey his domain.
He knew to expect the priests eventually, if not more troops. Vassenleigh especially would not simply accept the disappearance of such a large party of bodies. It might have been prudent to leave some scattered on the would-be battlefield, but priests were not fools, nor easily fooled, certainly. They still would have felt the need to investigate.
Now the village would be tested.
Leodyn placed his book onto the table before the bench. His eyes appreciated the fabric’s rich colors and patterns. Color was something the host had found most inspiring in the world. Leodyn agreed that it held much value. At the moment, red yet stained his vision. It swelled brighter when he closed his eyes.
Desire came to a curious conflict within him; whether to capture it and hold it on display, or to devour it utterly.
Fourteen
Endmark appeared more a village than a town. At a glance, Korsten believed it was smaller than Haddowyn, which had not been as densely arranged as Feidor’s Crest. Riding through the empty streets felt discouraging, but at least there did happen to be the occasional curious onlooker peering through a window or doorway. There were also some few animals moving throughout the vicinity. There were no children to be seen, however.
The constable hall stood plainly marked, and Korsten and Merran saw themselves to it immediately. Indoors, they were introduced to a long table occupying a central floor, which was occupied by one elder. Behind the table stood a closed doorway and to the left of it, a stairway. The building had two reasonably-sized stories to its structure and was among the large structures visible. Even so, the holding cells would not have been enough to keep an army, even if a small town’s constabulary had the skill or resources to overcome soldiers.
Merran appeared interested in analyzing the space, so Korsten addressed the elder. “Hello. We’ve come on urgent business, and would appreciate a meeting with your governor.”
The old man appeared to have been dozing. When he opened his eyes, they stuck on his visitors. He said nothing, but he didn’t have to. He appeared startled, as one awakened from a disturbing dream, only to find himself in a reality that continued to show him elements of that same dream.
“We would like to meet with the governor,” Korsten repeated.
The words brought the man’s eyes directly to Korsten. Fear spiked within the elder, clearly enough that Korsten could feel it without even trying. And then something else took hold of that fear, sliding over it as if Korsten had taken hold of the man’s hand himself, and not only quieted his panic with that touch, but inspired something more as well.
It seemed that the elder was extremely susceptible to charm which, at this point, was purely incidental. Korsten understood that he would have to take care with this one, and be alert to others in the same state.
The sound of footsteps could be heard through the floor in the man’s stultified silence. The noise soon transferred to the stair and a young woman came down. She wore trousers beneath a dress that appeared to have been deliberately cropped and hemmed to resemble an overlong shirt. Her platinum hair was heavy, framing a light-toned oval face with large blue eyes.
In a tone that suggested she would not accept acknowledgment of her youth, of her gender, or of her fear—which was not as visible as she may have felt—she said, “Governor Izwendel is not speaking to anyone.”
Glancing toward the elder, who continued to stare, without regard for the arrival of the young woman, it scarcely seemed that the man was taking responsibility or title for anything. So, she must have been referring to someone else.
“What of your chief constable, then?” Merran asked.
The girl merely fixed him with a look of impatience. Afterward, she walked over to the elder and gave him a firm smack on the shoulder.
He shook himself out of his trance, then rose from his chair and saw himself through the door at the back of the room.
The girl watched him go. And then she said, “My name is Sesha. Chief Constable Sesha Izwendel.”
Outside of Vassenleigh, a woman of such station was largely unheard of. The surname seemed to explain any elevated notions she may have had, however. As well, the severe lack of able men witnessed thus far suggested there was scarcely anyone to challenge her.
Still, it was important to clarify matters. Korsten asked, “Are you the daughter …”
“Niece,” she told him, giving him no opportunity to finish either his question or any presumptions she may have felt that he had in relation to anything else. “His …son …named himself Lord Endmark over three years ago and has since disappeared.”
“Disappeared to where?” Merran asked.
“Somewhere far away from here, I can only presume, and good riddance.”
Korsten detected a marked discomfort emanating from her, but that was the extent of his empathic talents. As his sensitivity was more physical than emotional, it left out the finer and more complex details of just what the subject of his observations was feeling. The most important evidence he ever was given when his blood-related talents were actively at work was whether or not a body happened to be contaminated or possessed. Neither she nor the elder appeared to be in either state. For the moment, there was no evidence to conclude that a demon was present.
The
situation had felt similar at Feidor’s Crest, and it had turned out to be quite the opposite. Ergen’s mind had been under a more specific influence than mere loss of hope and among his peers, his plight had blended with everyone else’s. Elwain’s situation felt no different, given that the lesser demon was working actively to hide from one greater. Korsten would have benefited from more time with either party, but he understood that was not always an option and that his talent had only within the last year achieved its most potent state.
“Who’s been hindering us on the road?” Merran asked the girl constable, pulling Korsten from his thoughts and simultaneously reminding him that they yet had other tools available, such as interviewing and observation. It wasn’t necessary to fret over the lack of consistency of Allurance.
“We don’t patrol out that far,” Sesha told them. She said it, as if in conclusion to a discussion that hadn’t even begun. And it didn’t require any special talent for Korsten to read that particular behavior. “Stay until tomorrow, if you’d like, but then you’re probably better off leaving. As you can see, Endmark doesn’t have much to offer.”
•—•
“She’s not being entirely truthful,” Korsten said to Merran after they’d left the constable hall. The inn stood across the way, separated by a wide path of dust and patches of leaf-littered grass. The sign was off its chains on one side, turning slightly in the breeze.
Merran nodded, agreeing with Korsten’s statement.
“She does seem sincere about in some way being on watch over this town, however,” Korsten continued.
The words inspired Merran to look freshly upon the structures surrounding them. They appeared hollow, void of activity. It seemed odd to find that windows, doorways, and the street itself were shunned during the day, except by a small handful, who meandered about with no specific purpose. They looked as if they were merely biding their time.
A select few gave an air of beleaguered, but focused, as if there were tasks to be done, and no time to be spared for socializing with one another or acknowledging strangers. Their behavior looked too deliberate to trust very far.
