The man who had first spoken to them dismounted and stepped forward. “You remember the boy’s name, but how about mine?” he asked.
Jacob smiled more widely. “Ah, Ephraim. Your boy looks just like you.”
Ephraim beamed. “So you do remember.”
“I never forget a face, my friend. Ever. However nice these pleasantries are, I must ask…why is the village deserted? It was an alarming thing to stumble on, especially for the boy.”
“I’m not a boy,” muttered Roland.
“It’s not for me to say, Master Eveningstar,” Ephraim said, ignoring him. “Please, follow us. I’m sure Escheton will fill you in on the details.”
“So the great Escheton is here, is he?”
“That he is.”
Jacob and Brienna exchanged a queer look, but they followed the others just the same. Roland waited until Azariah was able to tame his horse, and then they trailed after the group.
As they neared the strange, skinny mountain, Roland realized it wasn’t a mountain at all. No, it had been fabricated by humans—a massive tower that rose up from a wide and round base in a gravelly inlet close to the banks of the Rigon. People were gathered all around it, some raising heavy stones with ropes, while other stones seemed to be floating to the top on their own accord. Others were chiseling the great blocks, and still others were mixing huge vats of a strange gray substance. Hundreds of individuals were busily setting about their tasks—men, women, and children alike. Roland gave a low whistle of awe. Given the sheer number of people present here, it was no wonder the village had looked abandoned.
Even more amazing, however, was what lay in the tower’s periphery. It was as if the entire township had picked up and transplanted itself. The rock-strewn field was filled with tents and a few minor stone buildings. Roaring cooking fires peppered the encampment, and Roland could smell the sweet scent of roasting meat. His mouth watered and his stomach grumbled. He hadn’t eaten anything more filling than a few lean rabbits over the entirety of the journey north. He sure could go for a home-cooked meal, and soon.
The quartet was guided beyond the tower and past a collection of strangely robed men who chanted around a giant boulder. Their hands began to glow as they chanted, and the boulder started to change shape. It twisted and shifted, splitting into six pieces that became smooth and flat on all sides. It was a mesmerizing process; Roland had seen it a couple of times before, but not on such a grand scale.
“And that’s our…special craftsmen division,” said Bartholomew, his voice still giddy.
“Turock’s training spellcasters now,” Roland heard Jacob say to Brienna, which only made him all the more intrigued to meet this odd man.
Four of their guides stayed behind at the work site while Ephraim and Bartholomew led them into the encampment. They tied off their horses, dismounted, and followed the pair through the maze of fabric enclosures. Almost every face Roland saw lit up with a smile, but something wasn’t right. There was a certain darkness to the complexions of these northerners, and the heavy bags beneath their eyes told of sleepless nights and constant worry. Roland felt for them and wondered what could cause an entire populace such agony.
They stopped at the largest of the tents, positioned at the center of the encampment. Bartholomew held open the flap, nodding for Ephraim to lead the others inside. Roland allowed his elders and betters to go in before him, entering last and exchanging a strangely cheery farewell with Bartholomew on his way past him.
The interior of the tent was spacious, but that space was being taken up by stack after stack of hand-printed tomes. A man and woman stood in the center of the stacks, arguing so intensely that they didn’t seem to notice that others had entered their space. They both had heads of wildly curly red hair, but that’s where their similarity ended. The woman was short and very pretty, looking dignified in her blue dress, her upper body covered in a finely made cardigan. The man, on the other hand, was quite tall and wore an outrageous robe made from a greenish-yellow material that was so bright, it seemed to glow. His beard was trimmed to be thin, but it stretched all the way to the top of his stomach, an odd look for someone so young.
Ephraim whispered something into Jacob’s ear and then stepped out of the tent. Roland and his travel companions stood in a line, looking on as the argument droned on and on. Finally, Jacob cleared his throat—loudly—and the man and woman rapidly turned toward them.
“What in the name of the three gods are…” said the man. “Wait—wait! Jacob?”
Jacob smiled wide. “Hello, Turock, Abigail. Good to see you two again.”
The couple’s demeanor shifted quickly—in a matter of seconds they went from scowling to cheerily rushing toward Jacob for a hug. They moved on to Brienna and Azariah next, embracing them just as emphatically as they had Jacob. The pair looked absolutely shocked to see the travelers, and both of them kept repeating how surprising it was that Jacob and his band had made it through, whatever that meant. The separate parties then turned to Roland, who shifted uncomfortably as his master introduced him.
“Friends, this is Roland Norsman, my humble steward and an upstanding young man. And Roland, standing before you is Abigail Escheton, once Abigail DuTaureau of Ashhur’s First Families. The man beside her is her husband, Turock Escheton, student of the mysterious arts and one of the most bewildering men you will ever meet.”
“Been called much worse,” Turock said with a laugh.
Roland bowed, his heart thumping wildly in his chest as he stared at Abigail. The woman was striking, her small stature accentuating her sprite-like beauty. He’d run across Bessus Gorgoros and his wife many times, and Bardiya, their son, as well, but this was the first time he had met someone from Ashhur’s other First Family. The Gorgoroses were of larger stock, and Roland had always felt intimidated by their combined intensity. Abigail, on the other hand, was all charm.
“An honor to meet you, my Lords,” Roland said in reverence.
“Oh, stop that shit,” said Turock, waving a dismissive hand at him. The grin on his lips was infectious. “We’re no gods here. Just men and women of the north, trying to make our way, learning and screwing and doing all sorts of things you could never get away with down in Safeway.”
Abigail slapped her husband’s shoulder. “Turock, watch your language.”
“What? We have six children, Abby.” He raised an eyebrow. “Well, to be fair, the fornicating is rather abundant in Safeway as well. Fine. But it’s the other stuff that really matters anyway!”
Abigail rolled her eyes.
Jacob placed a hand on Turock’s wrist. “Friend, the pleasantries are all well and good, but there are dire matters to speak of, not the least of which is why you’ve abandoned the village.”
Turock’s lips twisted into a thin, white line, as did his wife’s. For the first time Roland noticed creases of age around both of their mouths and fading streaks in their hair that would soon turn gray. Now that their smiles were gone, their troubled demeanors were as plain as the day was bright. It seemed as though all joy had left the tent.
“Sit, Jacob,” said Turock, his voice little more than a whisper. “We have much to discuss.”
Abigail handed each of them a finely woven sitting rug, and they all settled down on the gravelly earth as the couple started to tell their tale.
“It’s been—what?—a month?” Turock asked, glancing at his wife to confirm the date. “It started with wolves howling. Nothing strange about that, but these howls were territorial; they were vicious. Most nights, it sounded like the wolves were dying. Chilling, let me assure you. Later we found grayhorns slaughtered, their innards torn out and splayed across the grass like someone was playing a sick game. We started setting out patrols, keeping a closer eye on our livestock, but it never seemed to matter. And now.…”
Turock let out a sigh and shook his head. Abigail patted his leg, squeezing his knee.
“They started taking children,” she said when her husband would not.
“Then finally, yesterday, a whole family.”
“The Rodderdams,” Turock said softly. “We found a trail of blood, and it led from our village to this very spot.”
He fell silent, and Roland winced in sudden discomfort. Children taken at night, but by what? It sounded like a bad campfire story, one meant to scare him…but there was no glint in their eyes, no smile to betray the amusement of a storyteller. Just exhaustion, frustration, and fear. Roland glanced at his master, wondering what Jacob thought of their tale. To his surprise, he saw a smoldering fury in the First Man’s eyes.
“You’re both wise beyond your years,” Jacob said. “What do you think is happening?”
Turock shrugged.
“Up here in the north, the Gihon’s a torrential force. I’ve seen its waters carry off a man before he knew he was even wet. But everything we’ve seen indicates that something is crossing that river. The blood trail ends at the narrowest passage between our lands and the dead place on the other side. More convincing, we found tracks leading into the water.”
“Tracks of what?” asked Brienna.
“We don’t know,” Abigail said. “They’re strange—cloven. I’ve never seen anything like it before in all my life. No one has.”
“You have to realize something,” Turock added. “The Tinderlands beyond the river are an altered land. Before Celestia reworked Dezrel, they used to be the homeland of the elves—many apologies about that, Brienna. It seems the arrival of humanity was trouble for everybody—for the humans themselves especially. But it seems as though something is living there…and that something has found a way to survive in a wasteland where even crows and vultures stay away. What manner of beast is that? What creature? What monster?”
“Control your mind, Turock,” Azariah said, interrupting him. “You speak and speak, and it builds the mystery into something far more horrible than it could ever be. But let’s get back to what we know…the children who were taken—were they dead or alive?”
“They must be dead,” Turock insisted. “Nothing can live out there.”
“But you just said something must be living there,” Roland pointed out, and then immediately flushed red when he realized he was interrupting a conversation between people far more intelligent than him. He shrank down as all eyes turned to him. “Sorry,” he said. “But you can’t say nothing is living there and also say something is living there.”
“He’s right,” Azariah said. “Stop making guesses. Were the children alive or dead?”
The question obviously made Turock uncomfortable, and he shifted on his little mat.
“Sometimes there was so much blood, it seemed nothing could be alive,” he said. “But not always. No, it’s possible the children were taken alive, and might still be.”
“If that is the case, these beings must be hunted down and destroyed all the faster,” Jacob said. “But what are we hunting?”
“It doesn’t have to be monsters,” Brienna offered. “How about mountain dwellers? Or perhaps some of my people who stayed behind?”
Roland gave her a confused look.
Abigail shook her head. “Who would live in the coldness and thin air of those mountains? Why would anyone leave Paradise to scrape together an existence up there? It makes no sense. And as for your people…if any elves went missing a hundred years ago, your leaders would have said something about it. You were few enough as it was.”
“True,” Brienna said.
“I think Turock is on the right path,” Jacob said. “We are fools to think we’ve managed to tame this world after being here for so few years…we’ve only touched the surface of its mysteries. Some creature we’ve yet to encounter is responsible for these disappearances. I’m sure of it.”
Roland frowned at Jacob, but this time he dared not interrupt. Someone was crossing the river, yet none of his companions had made mention of the rumored army Jacob had told them of while in the delta. By Ashhur, it was the entire reason they had trekked north in the first place!
“I’m glad you’re with me, friend,” Turock said.
“So, this great tower—” Azariah said, gesturing toward the exit flap of the tent, “—is it being built to frighten them away?”
“No,” replied Turock. “It will be a stationed tower, keeping watch over the comings and goings on the other side of the river. This is only the first of many that I plan to build. Two of my most trusted men are scouting the river during the day, seeking out narrow points where the wild things might cross next. Assuming our people endure, we’ll build towers there as well. I also have a veritable legion of talented spellcasters whom I’m currently training in defense magic. A few spells here, a few incantations there, and anything that crosses with the intent to harm will find itself going boom in the night.”
Roland shifted again. Unable to keep quiet any longer, he said, “I don’t understand. This has gone on for a month? Why has no one been told?”
His three companions exchanged a glance, and Brienna said, “Good question.”
The expression on the Eschetons’ faces soured even further.
“We’ve tried,” said Abigail. “We’ve sent out birds, and they never reach their destination. We’ve sent riders…and have never seen them again. That is why we left the village and came here. The wild things may have infiltrated the forests inside our borders, surrounding us, isolating us. That you made it here safely is stunning.”
“That doesn’t mean they’ll be able to leave,” Turock said, eyeing his wife.
“Excuse me?” said Azariah.
“You don’t know that,” Abigail insisted. She looked to the others. “Our youngest sons are in Mordeina and have been for six months. I fear they will believe we’ve abandoned them.”
“Well, Jacob was in Mordeina just—what?—six days ago?” Brienna said, elbowing her lover in the side.
Abigail and Turock looked to him with pleading eyes, and Jacob sat up straight and cleared his throat. “That’s right. I apologize. I was there, meeting with your mother. Your sons are fine, and they seem in good spirits. And your mother did seem concerned for your safety, though not terribly so. I think she assumes you’ve simply forgotten to write. I mean, the two of you are a little absentminded.”
The married couple shared a look, and it was so private, so hurt, it made Roland uncomfortable. He so wished he could do something to help them out.
“So true,” said Turock. “And look how well the world rewards our flights of fancy.”
Jacob slid forward on his knees and lifted the man’s chin beneath that long red beard. “You’re a good man, Turock. Your flights of fancy are what make you special. I’ll have no self-hate here. You have endured a terrible situation—and not just that: you have risen to the challenge. Instead of cowering, you have acted. That is what matters. And now that we are here, we may help, at least in deciding what your next course of action should be.”
“Thank you, friend,” said Turock. “But I’m curious, why are you here?”
Jacob paused, leaned back in thought.
“I’ve heard rumors of strange happenings in the Tinderlands,” he said. “Isolated as you feel, it was a merchant in Haven who first mentioned such happenings. So I convinced Ashhur to allow me to venture north to make sure there is no risk to our people.”
Roland frowned and opened his mouth to speak, but a sideways glance from his master stopped him.
“Thank Ashhur you have come, my friend,” Turock said, and it looked like relief was finally starting to work its way into his face. “Your concern is much appreciated. As for our course of action, what plan do you feel is best?”
“We go in,” Jacob replied, as if it were nothing. “We cross the river and discover for ourselves what foul thing troubles your village.”
“Are you sure that idea is prudent?” asked Abigail.
“You tell me,” Jacob said. “With your people disappearing, and the threat ever present, do you see any other way?”
“But what if
you don’t come back?” she asked.
Jacob stood, gestured to his party.
“I am the Eveningstar, and with me is a Warden of mankind and an elf of the deep forests. I fear no creature, no monster, no shadow, for what can withstand us? Tomorrow, we go into the dead lands. Tomorrow, we find out the truth of this, and then we will know whether to fight or flee.”
He smiled at Abigail.
“Either way, I assure you that we will return.”
CHAPTER
19
The courtyard of the Castle of the Lion was already a bustle of activity when Soleh stepped through the portcullis, entering her own secluded world on the other side of the walls. Her regiment of guards was with her, as they had been for the past several weeks. She’d grown quite attached to them, Pulo in particular, whose mane of curly black hair reminded her so much of Adeline’s before her daughter had gone gray. But she greatly appreciated all three of her protectors. Given how the mood in Veldaren had taken a sharp downturn over the passing weeks, she could not do without their protection.
She marched up the central walk, passing a pair of arguing merchants whose fingers lingered a little too closely on the handles of their daggers, and climbed the pulpit on the edge of the yard, which had been built on her orders. Behind her was the cobbled footpath that led to the entrances to the three towers. In front of her stretched an undulating sea of grass, carts, and people.
Just as she had done every day since her meeting with Karak, she lifted her arms in the air and let out her cry.
“All who are gathered in the courtyard of the Lion, here in Veldaren, capital city of Neldar, hear my voice! I beg you to pray with me!”
A few turned to face her while the rest went about their business, but she recognized the faces of those who chose to participate. These were the people who visited the courtyard on a regular basis, who had seen her demonstrations and listened. She had done what her god had demanded of her, but she found it amazingly difficult to turn heads. There was so much fear throughout the city—fear of anarchy, fear of starvation, and the sublime fear of not knowing. By now, everyone had heard of the attack on Haven, and the rumors were spreading far and wide that the fast-approaching deadline for the delta’s surrender would be a bloody affair. Commoners were being drafted into the new army, fathers leaving their families, sons leaving their mothers’ bosoms. With Karak’s return, it shouldn’t have been difficult to draw forth an act of worship from the populace. But from experience, Soleh understood that her fellow humans were a stubborn and doubtful race. They would never believe in their god’s wrath until they saw it with their own eyes.
Dawn of Swords Page 28
