The Winterstone Plague (The Carrion Cycle) Read online

  “I am afraid comedy does not suit you as well,” Tomas said. “Now, shall we get to the bottom of this or are we going to sit around squawking like mother hens?”

  As they neared the ancient stone podium that was historically used for general village announcements and public meetings, the old man’s words became clearer. Townsfolk gathered around him, some shouting words of agreement. Most of them were waving their hands and jeering as he spoke. From the look of things, this was an event that could go one of two ways. While the people of Solstice were generally peaceful, no gathering of peasants was ever above rioting. As the sons of Lord Philip, the job of keeping the peace fell upon both Tomas and Valthian. The whole of the village loved them both; it was a fact that often helped matters far more than it hindered them.

  “Where is your king now?” Valthian heard the stranger ask. “What has Randil done for any of you? I’ll tell you. He has done absolutely nothing to keep you safe! When was the last time he even bothered to send a tax collector?”

  “I pay my taxes the same as every man,” came a voice from the crowd. “Just who are you to pass judgment on the king?”

  “I understand your concern. Please, just hear me out. Listen, if only for a moment’s time.”

  The shouts from the stranger’s audience grew louder.

  “We don’t even know who you are!”

  “Where are you from?”

  “Go back to wherever you came from and take your bloody book with you!”

  Tomas touched Valthian softly on the shoulder. “This is going sour quickly. We must do something.”

  “Agreed. You keep an eye on Elyna. I’ll make swift work of this bunch.”

  Tomas took Elyna by the arm and guided her back to a safe distance. Valthian took a deep breath, exhaled, and stepped forward.

  “Good sir. Is there a problem I can help you with?”

  The old man blinked and shut the book he was holding.

  “And who might you be, young one?”

  “I am Valthian of house De’Fathi, son of Lord Philip. Now that you have my name, will you do a young country noble the same honor?”

  He lowered his eyes and tilted his head, giving the merest indication of a bow. “I am Father Abytheos Haym.”

  “Father?” Valthian asked. “So you are a man of faith.”

  “I am,” Abytheos replied. “I serve the One God.”

  “I see. Please forgive my ignorance, but I know nothing about a religion with a One God. We have many gods in these lands.”

  “The One God is the only true god of Alvanshia. All others are false in his eyes!”

  “Father,” Valthian said. “You are most welcome in Solstice, but you must understand one thing; we do not think well of men who come here merely to insult the beliefs of our neighbors. Is this what you mean to do with your time in our peaceful village?”

  The curvature of Father Haym’s lips could have represented either a smile or a smirk. “Of course not, child. You misunderstand my intentions.”

  The old man took in the crowd with a wave of his free hand. “I have only come to talk among those who would listen to my words.”

  “There is certainly no harm in—”

  “I also seek to bring a message to your people.”

  “A message?” Valthian frowned. “What sort of message?”

  There was no mistaking the expression on the old man’s weathered face this time. His jaw was clenched; his teeth were bared.

  “Many towns in this nation have fallen victim to plague.”

  “I have only heard mention of two—”

  Abytheos laughed; the sound echoed through the throng of onlookers.

  “There have been many more than two, dear boy.”

  “Oh? Is that the truth?”

  “Indeed it is! And I fear that I have some unsavory news to report.”

  Valthian’s frown deepened. “What is that, Father?”

  “Solstice is the next to fall!”

  Valthian drew his sword, motioning for Tomas to do the same. The hilt rested comfortably in one hand, the deep red rubies that were his birthstones glinted even in the dim light of a cloudy day. He pointed the straight, wide double-edged blade at the old man’s neck in warning.

  “What is this?” Abytheos asked. “A man of the cloth arrives to warn you of horrors to come and this is the thanks he receives?”

  “You just cursed my people!”

  “I have done no such thing. I am not the one who seeks to destroy you! I am not your enemy, my lord!”

  Valthian felt his skin crawl. He did not like this so-called man of the cloth one bit. He resisted the urge to point the sword at the old one’s back and escort him to the village gates, but he couldn’t. This father had made his way into a peaceful place, nearly frightened a crowd into doing gods knew what, and threatened everyone living inside the walls of Solstice with death. He would have to be dealt with accordingly. But first, he must reassure the people.

  “Please pay no mind to this man’s words,” Valthian called, turning to face the crowd. “He only seeks to incite violence by playing against your worst fears. Our town has always believed in keeping the peace. Do not let a single unwelcomed guest change that.”

  An elderly woman stepped forward. Her clothing was dirty and torn in several places. Her skin was tanned from long years plowing the fields her husband had left to her after his death only two years ago. Valthian knew her well.

  “M’lord?”

  “Danna Wolheim; how may I be of assistance?”

  “I feel we should consider the priest’s words, if you’ll pardon my speaking against you. He has an honest enough face, I guess is what I mean.”

  “Ma’am,” Valthian replied, smiling warmly. “We do not know if he is truly a priest, or if his words have merit. Please be assured that I take all threats against our way of life seriously. I will take him to my father for questioning, and if he is able to show proof of his claims, you will be of the first to know. I make this promise to you on the honor of my house.”

  “Thank you, m’lord.”

  Valthian nodded and turned back to the one who had stirred up so much trouble this morning. “You are to go with my brother. Do as he says and nothing more. You are to meet with Philip De’Fathi, a lord of Vintermore and the mayor of Solstice. I have someone else to escort at the moment, but I will rejoin you shortly.”

  “It’s all right,” Elyna said, placing a hand on Valthian’s shoulder. “I can see myself home.”

  “Are you sure, my dear?”

  “Yes,” she replied. “I will ask Danna to walk with me.”

  Valthian nodded. “It appears that you will have two escorts after all, father.”

  “The more the merrier,” Abytheos hissed. “Isn’t that what they say these days?”

  “I suppose it is.”

  Valthian took a moment to disburse the crowd, reassuring them all that nothing foul was afoot. The old man had upset many of the women almost to the point of tears; it was not a pleasing sight to behold. He had never seen his neighbors so shaken to the core before, and that was a fact that he would be sure to pass on to his father.

  “Do not just stand there,” Valthian called. “Let’s get moving.”

  “If you don’t mind, young lordling, I would prefer not to have a sword pointed at me.”

  “And I would prefer not to have my people frightened.”

  Abytheos nodded. “I will refrain from frightening the little sheep, but please put away your weapons.”

  Valthian sighed and returned his sword to its scabbard. “You too, Tomas. We don’t want to make our guest feel threatened.”

  “Are you sure, Val? I don’t trust him in the slightest!”

  “I do not think he will cause us additional trouble. Isn’t that right, father?”

  “I am a man of my word,” Abytheos replied. “You will not hear another peep from this old timer.”

  “See that you keep your promise. I do not take kindly to liars.�
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  Valthian motioned for Tomas to take the lead. He fell behind a few steps—just enough to give him room to act should the stranger’s intentions become nefarious—and they marched in the direction of De’Fathi Manor.

  Chapter 2

  THE SUN had already begun to set by the time the three reached De’Fathi Manor. The chill air of midday had given way to the biting cold of the evening, and Valthian was ready to get inside and heat up by the fire. He was prepared to hand his new guest over to his father and to be done with the whole thing. Of course, Philip De’Fathi might have other plans for the man—plans that would require Valthian’s assistance. Either way, he would be glad when this day was well behind him. The frightened faces of his fellow townsfolk were still fresh in his memory, and he was fighting back pangs of anger.

  “Just up those steps, Abytheos.”

  The old man nodded and advanced.

  “Tomas, be sure to get the door for him. We do not want to frighten mother.”

  Valthian remained a few feet behind, walking slowly while gauging each of Abytheos’s steps. He was nowhere near as trusting as his brother, which is why he chose the rear guard in the first place. Tomas had always been so carefree and unwilling to believe that most men were capable of evil. Valthian had seen otherwise during the brief travels his father allowed. He enjoyed fetching supplies from the nearby towns; once, he had even been given permission to make a trip to Vinter’s Edge. It had been quite exciting at first, at least until the group he had gone with decided to stop at one of the city’s seedier inns. Valthian had seen a man’s throat cut for a pittance of copper coins that day. It was something he would never forget. Now he was more cautious than his sibling. Understanding how the world worked had that effect on a young man.

  “Thank you Tomas. I can take it from here.”

  Tomas wrinkled his nose. “Aw! Can’t I come with you? I always miss everything.”

  “There is nothing to miss, dear brother. I will take him to father and all shall be dealt with. I want you to check on mother. She mentioned not feeling well before we left for school this morning.”

  “Did she?” Tomas looked concerned.

  “Indeed, she did. You were probably too busy making jokes to have heard.”

  “Fine. I’ll check on her THIS time. You better not be lying just to get rid of me.”

  “Why would I ever do that?” Valthian asked, trying to hide his smile.

  “Tomas shot a sideways glance, but he didn’t argue further. He shook his head, turned, and disappeared around the corner at the end of the long hall.

  “You are in my home now,” Valthian whispered. “Do not disrespect my family in any way. You are to speak to my father only when he asks you a question. Is this perfectly clear?”

  Abytheos bowed deeply. “Perfectly, My Lord. I wouldn’t dream of bringing shame or embarrassment to your family name.”

  Valthian sighed. This one was far more trouble than he was worth. For the second time since their meeting, he wondered if it would have been better to simply escort the supposed priest to the gates and warn him never to return. He blinked away the doubt and grabbed the ornate golden doorknob. He turned it and opened the door to his father’s study, feeling a tinge of relief when he looked in and saw that Philip was seated at his thick oaken desk, looking over papers. He resisted the urge to take in the expanse of leather bound books that filled the majority of the space in the large study. Many of those books were stories that Valthian had enjoyed as a child, while others were related to governing, land ownership rights, and myriads of other subjects that interested his father. Several small tapestries hung from the sections of wall that were not buried behind shelves of thick books. Valthian’s favorite of the three tapestries hung behind the desk in which his father sat; it was close enough to the room’s only window that sunlight would often highlight the features of the figures painted upon its surface. On the left, knelt a young woman. Though the paint had faded over the years, Valthian could see that she had a very young face. Standing above her, a king held a broadsword in his hands. The tip of the sword just touched the young woman’s shoulder. It always seemed odd to him that a woman could be knighted, and he had asked his father to explain it more than once. The man had simply smiled and told him that some legends were better left unexplained.

  “Valthian!” Philip nudged his sturdy chair back a few inches and stood. “To what do I owe the honor of this visit? Who have you brought with you?”

  Valthian bowed slightly. “Tomas and I found this one causing trouble. I thought I would bring him to you for questioning.”

  “Gods boy, there’s no need for bowing. You are my son, after all. Trouble you say? What sort of trouble could one old man possibly cause?”

  “He was stirring up emotions among some of the villagers.”

  “Oh?” Philip motioned for them to come closer. “Please, Old Timer. You’ll forgive my insistence on referring to your years upon Alvanshia. I am afraid I do not know your name.”

  The old man smiled and bowed deeply. “I am Abytheos, My Lord.”

  “Abytheos? That is a rare sort of name around these parts. What is your surname?”

  “Haym.”

  Philip scratched his bearded chin. “That sounds like a southeastern name. There’s just one problem with that, as I am sure you understand.”

  “I do,” Abytheos replied. “Men haven’t lived there since the sun baked the land and mountains of sand swept in to blanket where the great cities had once been built.”

  “And just how does one mysteriously show up in the freezing northwest with a name men have not used in centuries?”

  “Forgive me,” Abytheos said. “I can explain. You see, my father was a learned man, albeit a superstitious one. He was convinced that we were descendants of the people of those lands. He changed our family name. What it was before, I fear that I do not know. I am only aware of the change because he told me of it. Unfortunately, it was all he would have the chance to tell me.”

  “And why is that?” Philip asked.

  “He was killed when I was very young. Raiders came to our village and destroyed everything. My father died defending us.”

  “I am sorry to hear this,” Philip whispered. “What was your village called?”

  Abytheos blinked. “The chances are small that you would know the name.”

  “You might be surprised with my range of knowledge about lands. I ask again, what was the name of your village?”

  “Deggon’s Path.”

  Philip squinted momentarily. “You are right. It is not a name I know. It is of no matter. Many small villages rise and fall throughout the ages. Please forgive my manners, Sir Haym, but won’t you please sit?”

  Philip motioned to a chair situated in front of the old wooden desk. “It’s not the most comfortable, I am afraid, but it should do well enough.”

  “Thank you,” Abytheos said, sitting. “But please, do not call me Sir. It is not fitting to my position. I am but a simple priest; I am not of noble blood.”

  “Father,” Valthian chimed. “A word of warning, if you do not mind?”

  “Of course, my son!”

  “This one is far more cunning than he seems. When I attempted to question his motives, his tongue grew quite sharp. His words had the stench of one who is used to making threats.”

  “I shall keep that in mind. Thank you for the warning. Now if you wouldn’t mind, will you run along and help your mother set the table for supper? I am sure your brother is pestering her with his questions and jokes to no end.”

  “Are you sure you do not require my presence? I still haven’t told you everything.”

  “You can tell me in a few hours’ time over a nice mutton stew. I will see to it that Abytheos is dealt with in accordance to whatever laws he might have bent or broken, if any. I thank you for bringing him to me, but I do not believe he will cause us more trouble.”

  “As you wish.” Valthian nodded his head and turned to leave. In
five long strides, he was out of the study and standing alone in the main hallway. In the narrow room hung more tapestries, each one telling a story about the origins of house De’Fathi. Most of them had been passed down through the generations. A few were worn well beyond the point of recognition. Still, his family was a proud one, and all accounts of the house’s history that were in their possession were to be displayed, as was the tradition.

  He forced himself to stop gawking at the hangings and headed towards the kitchen. If Valthian was certain of one thing, it was that his mother was already cursing under her breath while her youngest son attempted to help with supper.

  * * *

  “I want to thank you for giving me the chance to speak to you privately,” Abytheos said, smiling. “Children can be somewhat impatient at times, as I am sure you understand.”

  “Valthian is quite a good lad,” Philip replied. “He has never been quick to anger, and I trust him completely. You must have startled my son to no end if he chose to escort you to me. If I may ask, what is your reason for visiting our quiet village?”

  “I have been witness to some horrible things throughout my travels, Lord De’Fathi. I only sought to warn the people of Solstice of what may come should they not prepare.”

  Philip looked down his nose at the robed man. “Exactly what is coming to my people?”

  “I beg of you not to take my words the wrong way,” Abytheos said. “I do not mean to sound threatening. I only wish to speak of that which I have witnessed. I assume you are familiar with the happenings at Grovenwell?”

  Philip sat up straight. “I am not at liberty to discuss Grovenwell.”

  “And who gave those orders? Was it the king?”

  “No,” Philip said. “It was not the king.”

  Abytheos nodded. “Have you even spoken to anyone of importance in the king’s army?”

  “My answer to this is also no.”

  “My lord—I have yet to see a single act of goodwill from this nation’s king in many months. Do you not find this troubling?”

  “You seem to know more than you should, Old Timer. Perhaps you can speak, and if our information matches, I will chime in.”