"I think your prey has been following you," an old man's voice said from behind them.
The three looked over their shoulders and took in the sight of a decrepit, gray bearded man. His bent form tilted to the side, betraying some kind of leg or hip ailment. He wore an old uniform, the seams giving way to overuse and stained with all manner of previous alcoholic drinks. Red wine stains cascaded down his front and appeared to be a colored feature of the brown tunic he wore. He was a mess.
The three looked at him as if he were a fish out of water. "Are you Sir Appleton? Formerly of the Brethren of the Sword and Arrow?" Malwynn asked politely.
The man with the dirty, shaggy beard that looked like gray, snow covered straw chewed his lip with toothless gums and nodded. He belched and the air of digesting beer invaded everyone's noses. Umaryn could taste it.
"I am Sir Appleton, though my stock has fallen considerably of late with the Knightly orders and the Brethren. I am however held in very high regard by the local tavern owners," he slurred as he leaned against a table near them to steady himself. In the background the barmaid scolded the drunk who'd dropped his beer.
"How did you find us?" Weston asked. "We've been searching for you for hours."
The old man tried to look sly but only looked drunk. "Well you see I frequent many reputable taverns in this part of Daris, and they would never dream of giving up one of their best customers to a bunch of hilltop richies," the old man said proudly. Hilltop richies was a derogatory term the poor of Daris used for the more well-to-do folks who could afford homes nearer to the Cathedral. "It was easy business after that to follow you around. I took a chance and headed here to keep an eye on you."
"Very clever old man, but how do we know it's you, and you're not merely a local cretin looking to profit on a name you heard bandied about?" Umaryn asked him, her voice filled with skepticism.
The man agreed with her rubbing his hands together vigorously. "No doubt, no doubt. I'm a former member of the BSA, true as the sun shines during the day. I've a hundred tales to tell about my days as a glorious mercenary. All you need to hear my years of wisdom this very night is buy an old man a drink. This old man would suit me best."
"What?" Mal asked at the strange comment.
"I like wine," the old man said in response.
"You didn’t answer her question. How do we know it's you?" Malwynn posed the elderly man, shaking off his momentary nonsense.
He had a look of desperate, sad greed in his eyes, like a man who'd just reached the point where his hunger turned from a nuisance into pain. "Look, I just need a drink. One glass of wine, red or white will do. The cheap house wine they make here is more than enough. Buy an old man a glass. I'll tell you anything I know truthfully. My word as a Knight. That must count for something still."
Weston got the attention of the barmaid who wasn't cursing at the drunks in the back. "Ma'am, a carafe of your house red please." As she got it ready the old man began to salivate. Weston turned back, removed the slip of paper from his coat once more, read something off of it and addressed the man. "If you are Sir Appleton, name your daughter."
"My wife and I were never able to have a daughter, or a son. One of us was barren. Is the wine ready yet?" The man seemed irritated by the question.
"Patience sir. I would remind you that you are still a Knight. Speaking of which, who Knighted you? How did you earn your title?" Weston asked, consulting his slip of paper.
The man licked his lips and watched the chunky barmaid pour the wine into a large glass carafe. "I was Knighted by the King of Duulan himself. King Roland put the sword to both my shoulders after several of us came to the aid of a House Dragovich patrol. They were too deep in the forest that marks the edge of the Eastern Wilds, and had brought out something dark and evil with their foolish mistake. We gave them aid, and brought them north to the rails at Golden Vale. House Dragovich gave us a handsome purse for our efforts, and the King gave us noble title. Now if I've given you enough proof that I am who I am, I would love a glass of that red." He reached out with a hand that had swollen, arthritic knuckles and liver spotted skin. After a moment, it began to shake from weakness.
"That is correct. I think we have the genuine article here." Weston turned and poured a mouthful of the red from the carafe into a dirty wine glass. He handed it to the old man and without a sniff or a chance to savor it he gulped it down and extended the empty glass back at Weston. He licked his chops, closed his eyes happily and exhaled. He had a new air of contentment about him. He leaned back on the table and kept his hand out. This time it shook less.
Weston took the glass and sat it on the bar. When it clinked down, the old man's eyes snapped open, and then narrowed. "Sir Appleton, we need information about an area in Duulan. Chantelle at the BSA keep said you might know of the area."
The man didn't answer immediately. Instead he flapped his hand about, gesturing at the wine on the bar.
"Will you answer our questions to the best of your ability?" Weston asked him.
"Yes of course, please the wine," he urged. "It'll still my nerves and loosen my memory. I'm rather more pleasant to converse with when I've had my wine."
"Have you been to southern Duulan? Along the rails heading towards Farmington?" Mal asked the old man. For no sensible reason Mal's hand had found its way down to the pommel of his sword. He glanced over and saw that his sister's hand had made her way down to the grip of her dagger as well. Perhaps it was their instincts telling them the old man was a threat.
"I have. I've ridden that rail line more times than I can recall, and traveled it on foot and on horseback as well," he gruffly answered, staring at the twin's uncle as he poured a more full glass of the rotgut wine. It was nearly vinegar.
As Weston handed him the drink, he asked, "Have you heard of a village called New Falun? It was on the western side of the rails nestled in the mountains. About twenty years ago I visited there and we're trying to learn news about it."
The old man sipped the glass this time, clearly thinking about the question. His eyes lit up. "I know the place. I know it precisely. They had a sign. They got big about twenty years back. No reason I could tell, maybe they hit a gold vein in the stone."
"Got big?" Umaryn asked.
"Aye. Money came from a deep pocket I imagine. Someone swept in and got them a small independent rail station built, as well as special rail line that headed from the main line through the village and into the gap beyond so I heard. I suppose it headed deep to where their copper mine was, but I never saw with my own eyes. All that iron construction got the Artificers in a huff too. I remember the ticket taking Guilder on my train at a stop there one day cursing about how 'normal people' shouldn't be able to just build a train station, or install rails, even just a small stop. That was the Guild's sole responsibility. He took it as a religious offense he did."
"So the village grew?"
"For a time. Then it died," the old man said absently as he took a mouthful of the wine.
"What?" Weston asked.
"It died and took everything with it a year later. Maybe two years. Hard to say. I don't think there's enough wine in the city for my memory to work that good again." The old man harrumphed at his joke and took another sip.
"Do you know how it died out?"
The old man seemed to search for the words and they eluded him. "I guess they ran out of gold, or copper, or whatever it was they were digging out of the ground there. I don't know what caused the town to collapse, but I can tell you everyone there died. Or close to everyone. Once you reach a certain level of death it doesn't matter how many actually survive. They're dead inside anyways. Trust me on that."
Somehow, the whole tavern seemed to quiet. An odd moment of silence for the passing of a village they had never visited. The small crowd resumed their chatter after no one said anything further.
"Died how? What else can you tell us?" Umaryn asked.
"I remember riding in a train on that leg late one night not l
ong after the town was declared dead when the moons were both full. Red Hestia burned bright high above, and Lune cool blue. The world was lit purple and gray. Dull. Lifeless in more ways than one. Our train was going full steam heading towards the gorge into Farmington when we heard something hit the sides of the train. Over and over again. Wet. Sounded like someone crying out, and bones breaking at the same time. Eeriest thing I've ever heard." The man went back to the wine.
After some quiet the twins both leaned forward. He caught the hint and started to tell the tale again. "I went to the window and looked out. Call it luck or the ancestors, but I went to the west side of the train just as we were passing the old rail platform they'd newly built. I could see 'em. Dead. A hundred or more. Maybe two hundred. And fast. Not like the regular dead, shambling and slow, filled with dim witted anger. These were overcome with hunger and rage, and they ran. They ran faster than a man could—a living man mind you—and they were leaping onto the side of the moving train like ticks leaping onto a forest deer running past. Ten feet high they jumped, as easily as you or I might step over a city curb. Like no undead I'd ever seen before. And when they grabbed hold some were breaking their own arms and wrists to keep hold in the wind. They dangled off the side of that train in that dim purple light like lampreys. They'd sacrifice anything to get inside at us."
"What happened?" Mal asked.
"That night we were fortunate to have a strong Brethren presence on the train. Eight of us heading all the way south to The Kingdom of Oakdale. Four Apostles in that eight and that was the feather in our cap, Ancestors bless us. The four were able to turn those strange dead away from the train with The Way, and we were able to fend them off with blade and shield long enough to buy them time to pray to the spirits. We lost too many passengers for my liking, but we won the night."
"What were the undead? Wraiths? Wights? How did you kill them?" Malwynn's interest was strong. He had a horse in the race with his skill in the necromantic arts.
"I cannot say for certain what they were. We were only able to kill them my severing the head from the neck. Though they did do something quite peculiar…" The old man drowned his though in the last gulp of red wine in his glass. He extended it for a refill, and Weston obliged.
"What was peculiar? Please. Any details, no matter how small could be very important." Mal pleaded with the old man.
Sir Appleton took another mouthful of his wine and looked hesitant to answer, but he did. "They ripped at the throats, and thighs. With more than human strength they tore open the arteries that pumped the freshest, reddest blood and they drank deep, and ate heartily of the living. They only stopped when the body was a husk, emptied of both life and vitae. Then they moved on. That was what was peculiar. Five of them made it into that train and they killed a score of the innocent before we could put them down."
"Vampires," Mal said with sorrow in his voice.
"What are vampires?" Umaryn asked. She'd never heard the word before.
"They're a special, rare form of undead. Born from ancient necromantic rites, never naturally occurring like a Wight or a zombie. Sunlight destroys them the myths say. They cannot spread through mere death. Only a spell, or a bite from one of their kind can transfuse their state. They're far more intelligent than a normal undead as well. Cunning not calculating thankfully. Very dangerous creatures. Very evil."
"Vampires or not they were like nothing I'd seen before. I hope all of this encourages you to go home, forget about all of this and never go there. Even the Artificer's guild knows better than to travel through that stretch when the two moons are high. They time the departure of all trains through that area to pass when the moons are low, or gone now. If the Guild itself seeks to avoid them, you should too."
"I fear we have no choice but to brave the ruins of New Falun old man. We are grateful for your memory this night," Weston said, handing the man the rest of the carafe. It was already half gone.
"I thank you for the wine," the old man said back, a heavy serving of his own sorrow and shame in his voice.
The three got off their seats and left behind a handful of coins for what they'd bought, delaying long enough to ensure the barmaid saw them and came to get them before starting to walk out. From behind them, as they pulled open the heavy wooden door to the cool summer night outside, they heard the shrunken knight call out.
"You three," he said creakily.
They turned.
"I'd never seen those things before but I've heard a tale of where they've been seen since."
Mal took several long strides to the old man. From under his raggedy, wine stained tunic the old man produced a dagger. It came free with startling ease, and the old man held it low but at the ready. Mal's approach had threatened him. The Everwalk man stopped, and held his hands up, indicating apology. The dagger stayed low, but the man's face gave up some of its fear.
"Sorry, but what did you say? They were seen somewhere else?"
"Aye. About five miles from there. Due north, further into the forest of southern Duulan. There's an area where some of the Brethren reported seeing some kind of blood hungry dead. I can't speak to them being one in the same, but I thought you might want to know."
"Was there anything notable to the area? Another village, a house? Perhaps a marker of some sort we could look for?"
"A bluff overlooking a valley. Some kind of sandy stone that was slowly sliding down. I know the spot. You can see it from a south bound train from Eden Valley as it crosses an old wooden bridge. You could ask the conductor to stop for you I'm sure, but the valley would be a treacherous hike."
"That could be very important. Thank you Sir Appleton," Mal said as he turned away.
Umaryn hesitated as her brother and uncle opened the door to leave. She had one more question for the old Knight. "Sir Appleton?"
"Yes young lady?"
"Did anyone on the train that night smash one of the strange undead's skulls in with a hammer by chance?"
The old man swigged straight from the carafe, already having discarded the dirty wine glass on the table he'd leaned on earlier. "I can't recall."
"Thank you," Umaryn said.
"Good news you three. You won't need your night vision spells," he said as he swigged another gulp straight from the nearly empty wine carafe.
They didn't respond as the door swung shut behind them. The city had gone to sleep. Only a few lantern street lamps were still burning in the late evening, and everything was dull.
"What did he mean by we won't need our night vision spells? Do you think he knew we could use The Way?" Umaryn asked.
"No. It's an old adventurer's expression; to bring your night vision spells. It means you're headed into Shadow Wolf territory. You'll recall they only strike at night. In fact, they only exist at night, and the only light that allows you to see them is the light of the moons. The light from a torch or campfire does no more to reveal them than putting a blindfold on would. Night visions spells filter your vision with The Way. They show the wolves more surely than anything else. He means to tell us there are no Shadow Wolves in that forest."
"Those things must've killed them all," Mal said.
"A frightening proposal. Shadow Wolves are one of the most successful predators of Elmoryn. Half real, half made of The Way." Weston looked above as he spoke to the more than half full Lune above the clouds. Hestia was nowhere to be seen.
"We've a week. Maybe eight days before the two moons are full," Weston said.
"What does that mean? You think we should head to Duulan now? Try and find that spot in the valley where the old BSA people found the strange undead? Or should we wait and let the moon phases pass? We ought not risk heading there when the two moons are high. Seems like an ill omen," Umaryn posed.
"I think we now know how your parents escaped that collapse in the copper mine. I knew there was no way for them to exit how they entered. They found a way out, and somehow, the undead from New Falun found it as well. I think there is no way we will be
able to get the box and the key and make the trip all the way to New Falun before the moons are full. We are far better off getting the key and finding a safe place to let a few days pass. Somewhere small and quiet. Out of the way. Somewhere no one will think to look for us. Then we head to the valley near New Falun," Weston said quietly as strangers walked by. You never knew who was listening for Alisanne.
Umaryn continued, "Do you think the great evil Alisanne thinks our parents could have released are these undead? Vampires or whatever Mal calls them. Do you think she's trying to protect us all by keeping them there? Contained somehow?"
"The only way to find out is to get that damned key from her, and that's our next step. We must summon James tomorrow, and make a plan. A good plan. Once we have that key, and deal with Alisanne we can leave for Duulan," Weston said.
"How do we deal with her?" Mal asked.
"Each of us has a skill that will be required to do this correctly. Malwynn, the undead will be your and James' problem. Umaryn and Chelsea will visit tremendous harm on the things that will attempt to hurt us. But Alisanne…"
"What of her?" Umaryn asked.
"You leave that bitch to me."
- Chapter Seventeen -
STABBED IN THE BACK
"Did you find it?" Malwynn asked his sister as she let herself into the Rourke family home. Gathered in the cozy two-story home was the entire assemblage of conspirators, minus Agnes and Nathan, Chelsea's parents. James had arrived at dinner time the night prior, and Chelsea had been here all along. The twins and Weston had come and gone and returned repeatedly, getting the things they needed to follow through on the ornate and incredibly dangerous plan they'd worked out to get at Alisanne, and get her small wooden box with the precious key inside.
Umaryn looked angry. "A damned mushroom that grows on the side of a tree a few hundred miles away should NOT take four hours to find in the middle of a city this large," she said shaking her head.
The Motive for Massacre (The Kinless Trilogy Book 2) Page 21
