The Winterstone Plague (The Carrion Cycle) Read online

  “May I ask you something?”

  Alain nodded. “Of course. What is it?”

  “What did you need to tell my father?”

  “It’s best I keep that private,” Alain said.

  “I don’t usually like to pry, but if this is a matter of life and death, I want to know what the two of you discussed.”

  Valthian watched as the blacksmith’s expression darkened. He had not intended to bring added tension to the conversation, but he was not sure how else to proceed. He often found it difficult to glean information from his elders, and this time he was convinced that the situation demanded his understanding. It was becoming tiresome to beg or eavesdrop, hoping to capture the crumbs of discussions that might be of some importance.

  Alain took a deep breath and exhaled. “Your father will be angry with me if I tell you.”

  “Then he will never know you told me,” Valthian answered.

  “I left Elyna to watch after things here while I went for supplies. Henri Danen owed me several lengths of rope and a few scraps that I was eager to smelt. I was barely at the halfway point to Solstice when I spotted Old Man Granin running in the opposite direction. I stopped him to ask what was the matter. He grabbed me by the arm and we headed back towards the village.”

  “Why was he fleeing? And why didn’t he go to my father himself?” Valthian asked.

  “He was frightened. I’m not even sure if he knew where he was going. It was a simple stroke of luck that I happened to be on the road at that exact moment.”

  “I’m still confused,” Valthian said. “What was so urgent? Why the panic?”

  “This is the part I’m not supposed to talk about,” Alain replied. “You would have understood his horror upon witnessing what I found when we made it back to Solstice.”

  “Tell me,” Valthian said. “Make me understand. I want to know.”

  “Well,” Alain said. “It’s difficult to explain. What I can say for certain is that I found a man—an outsider to be sure—who was very sick. By the time I arrived, he was vomiting blood. It was a gruesome sight.”

  The flesh of Valthian’s arm prickled. “Blood? Are you sure? That’s a rather rare symptom; it has only been present once in the history of Solstice.”

  “The Devil’s Plague,” Alain answered. “But this is not the same. This outsider was violent; he lashed out at me when I approached him. I was able to dodge his advance and find several guards to restrain him, but not before he attacked a few men.”

  “Were they harmed?”

  Alain shook his head. “Not that I could see, but it was still quite unnerving. The guards bound him and carried him off in the direction of Olivar Bastrik’s place. I have no doubts that they associated his violent behavior with his illness.”

  “But you did not?” Valthian asked. “And why is that?”

  Alain gulped. “I looked into his eyes. They were black as the night is dark. There was nothing in them that spoke of a living soul. Please, don’t make me speak of it anymore!”

  Valthian placed a reassuring hand on the blacksmith’s shoulder. He felt a lump in his own throat, growing larger with each passing second; it would have been difficult to believe such a tale if it had come from any other man. Alain had never been one to exaggerate. Furthermore, the man always wore a comforting smile, even on those rare occasions when he was forced to act sternly in the name of business. Valthian had known Alain since he was a small child, and never once had he seen the look of terror that was now painted on the man’s face.

  “I’m sorry. I did not understand the unpleasant nature of your story. I will not press you further. I have just one final question, if you do not mind answering.”

  “I will do my best,” Alain whispered. “What is your question?”

  “You mentioned the eyes. I do not understand what you mean by black. Are you saying this man’s eyes were nothing more than empty holes?”

  “No,” Alain replied, shivering visibly. “I mean what I said the first time. His eyes were black. It was like peering into twin windows of darkness where no light could ever escape. I don’t know how else to say it. It is a thing that must be seen to fully understand. I will say this; those eyes spoke to me. I now know what he is. Damn it, I wish I didn’t, but I know!”

  Valthian swallowed hard. “What do you know? What did they tell you?”

  Alain wiped his face with a grimy hand and raised his head. His eyes were wide; there was no color left on his cheeks.

  “Being close to him felt wrong somehow. That man was dead. He walked, but he was dead just the same!”

  “Tomas said for me to apologize if he snores too loudly,” Elyna said, making her way into the room. “He was fast asleep the moment his head touched the pillow. Father? Is everything all right? The two of you look as if you just witnessed a murder!”

  “It is nothing,” Valthian answered in place of Alain. “We were just discussing the storm. Now if you will both excuse me, I need to join my brother. I am exhausted from all the walking.”

  “But Valthian,” Elyna said. “I thought we would stay up by the fire for a while. Just the two of us?”

  “Under normal circumstances I would be delighted, but Tomas and I have matters to attend to in the morning, and I should try to sleep.”

  He stood and approached Elyna, kissing her cheek softly. “I’m sorry. I looked forward to spending more time with you, but I just can’t manage it tonight. I hope you understand.”

  “Of course,” Elyna replied. “But next time you aren’t getting away from me so easily!”

  He smiled. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  Valthian turned to Alain and nodded. The blacksmith smiled weakly and nodded in return. He was sure that the man was thankful that his daughter had been spared the news. There was no need to frighten her or anyone else, at least not until he was able to confirm what had been said. For now, there was nothing to be done. The snow was piling up, and with the moon enshrouded in thick, gray clouds, the night was much darker than usual. Travelling would be impossible until morning. It might not even be possible then.

  He found Tomas sleeping on the floor beside a barrel of wheat and sat down beside him. Deciding that sleep would elude him, Valthian leaned back against the barrel and resigned to counting the minutes until first light.

  Chapter 6

  PHILIP LOOKED around, taking in the wonders in Olivar Bastrik’s shop. At second glance, there were many more items available for his clients than the various containers of unknown substances stacked all about. In the dim candlelight, he spotted several bones from a large animal resting on a crooked shelf. There was an old window just to the left of that shelf; the glass was covered in enough grime to make him wonder if the owner ever bothered to clean. It wasn’t only the dirty windows that gave him that impression. There was an odor about the room that Philip couldn’t identify. If he were to separate the various scents that made it up, he would be left with notes of herbs, spices, and exotic perfumes.

  And the scent of death.

  He walked to the window and tried to wipe it clean with a rag from a nearby table. His attempts only served to smear the dirt, but he kept at it until the dying light from his candle pierced through a small sliver of glass. It was impossible to see anything other than snow, but he squinted, hoping to spot movement, or any other signs of life. His horse had been alone in the storm for at least two hours, as far as Philip could guess, and he was beginning to wonder if the animal would survive the night. If Olivar did not return with Abytheos soon, he would have to brave the elements and go to the animal; perhaps try to find it some shelter.

  Philip stood and stretched his aching muscles. He wondered how Olivar was faring, although he understood that the harsh conditions made for slow travel. Maybe he should have been the one to go to the chapel instead of sending the injured mystic. The gash on the man’s face was probably throbbing as he made his way through the snow and freezing winds to fetch the only person who might be able to shed so
me light on the situation.

  Try as he might, his mind kept wandering back to the thing that was being kept in the storeroom. What were they going to do about it? The sword had plunged deep into its chest, yet the creature did not die. It hardly showed any indication of pain, now that Philip thought on it. Had it even been right to try and kill the bastard? Whatever it had become, there was once a man inside; he desperately wanted to feel some kind of compassion for it.

  “It’s dead now,” he said, rubbing a chin full of stubble. “To the ashes with it!”

  The dimming candles did little to keep the chill of night at bay, and Philip wasn’t sure he wanted to stand around and do nothing anymore. He started walking, finding himself in the narrow hallway again. Two doors stood across from one another at the end of the dark room. One room held their prisoner; the other room housed the lifeless bodies of the creature’s victims. It was unclear which door he should take, a realization that surprised him to the core.

  “I can do nothing for dead men.”

  But something deep inside was telling a different tale altogether. Part of him wanted the door on the right to swing open, revealing corpses and pools of dark blood covering the floor; to see firsthand what that damned, cursed thing was capable of doing. Maybe he also needed closure. The men lying dead on the cold stone floor were people of Solstice, and he had known them well. He would march into that room and confirm tonight’s events for himself. It was his job as the village’s overseer. The people of Solstice depended on the De’Fathi family to keep them safe, and they needed leaders with good judgment. How could one make a fair ruling in the best interests of others without experiencing all there was about a thing beforehand?

  Philip reached for the doorknob and stopped. The hall was so dark and he had forgotten to bring a candle; he wondered if there were any already lit in the storeroom. Why there would be was a mystery; only corpses awaited him inside. There would be no need to waste such resources on them. Perhaps there would be a sliver of light coming in through a window—it would be enough to let him see the victims with his own eyes.

  “Stop scaring yourself, old man. This is not the first, nor will it be the last time you see death.”

  * * *

  “Where in the name of Alvanshia did you say these men were? The ones who were killed?”

  Olivar glanced sideways at the priest. Abytheos, as he was called, did not carry himself in the gentle, fatherly way that most men of the cloth did. He walked with grace, seemingly in spite of a slight limp that he hid rather well. His long, white hair whipped behind him in the cold night breeze; the snow-white collar around his neck and the thick black cloak wrapped around his thin frame somehow lent authority to his very presence. He had the look of a determined warrior; he seemed the sort who would walk over your charred bones just as readily as he would promise to cover your back in battle.

  “They’re locked in one of my storerooms. Why do you ask?”

  “And Philip is there as well?”

  Olivar shrugged. “Of course. He wanted to stay behind. I left him in the main room where I sell my wares.”

  “You said those men were killed by the one you tied up. Did the murderer have an empty look in his eyes?”

  “I must also answer yes to this question, father.”

  Abytheos stopped dead in the snow. He whipped around with a litheness that was surprising. “Did you restrain them?”

  “Of course not! They are dead! Why would I restrain corpses?”

  “You are a damned fool!” Abytheos hissed. “How much further until we reach your shop?”

  “It’s just ahead,” Olivar stammered. “Maybe fifty yards.”

  “Then we must walk faster! Pick up your pace, you bumbling idiot!”

  * * *

  Philip reached out again and seized the plain brass doorknob. Just as soon as he saw the bodies and confirmed their identities, he would storm into the other room and find a way to end the miserable existence of the prisoner. Just one day before, Vel’Haen was nothing more than a word used to frighten children into their beds at night. How had it become a reality?

  Philip’s hands were shaking; he hadn’t realized it at first. He tried, with a small measure of success, to still the tremor, giving the knob a turn. It resisted for a moment before giving way with a shrill scrape.

  “Stop letting your mind play tricks,” Philip breathed. “You have seen worse.”

  He paused, his hand still resting on the brass knob. Something felt wrong. His stomach threatened to tie itself into knots, and beads of sweat poured from his face despite the cold. A grim expression set on his face, Philip pushed the door open and stepped into room. There was no candlelight; he bit back a curse as darkness enveloped him.

  * * *

  The ache in his right thigh did nothing to slow Abytheos. He was no longer the young man who travelled great distances alone with nothing to eat or drink for days at a time, but his body was still strong. He was not dressed for the weather, but the black cloak he wore was made of fine leather and provided enough protection for the moment.

  “Hurry up, you fool!” He yelled at the plump mystic who consistently trailed him by several paces. “You have left a kitten to fend for itself in a lion’s den!”

  He had seen for himself what these creatures could do with nothing but their bare hands and gnarled teeth. Olivar Bastrik would pay with his life if the lord of Solstice was allowed to fall victim to the destruction of the Vel’Haen.

  Vel’Haen. It was the word Philip had used earlier to describe the monsters. Abytheos liked the sound of it. It fit much like a pair of boots straight from the cobbler’s leathery hands.

  “The door’s unlocked,” Olivar breathed as they approached the shop. “The first room is where I keep the things I sell. Straight back through the hallway are the storerooms I spoke of.”

  Abytheos stepped onto the porch and stopped. Reaching into his front coat pocket, he removed the well-worn book he vowed never to be without.

  “What good will such an old tome do us?” Olivar asked.

  “Absolutely none,” Abytheos returned. “It’s the blessings inside the book that count.”

  He kissed the brown leather cover and returned it to his pocket.

  “You will believe in the One-God soon enough, fat one. Mark my words!”

  * * *

  “Who’s there?” Philip asked. He silently begged his eyes to adjust to the darkness, but there wasn’t even a small window in this room to provide illumination of any sort. He thought something had stirred nearby—it was possibly a large rat—but he could see nothing. The sickly-sweet odor of death was much stronger in the room than it should have been. The men had only been dead a few hours as far as Philip knew, and the cold temperatures should have slowed the decay of flesh. He felt around until he found a wall, hoping that he could retrace his steps back to the door. No light shown in from the hall, and he cursed aloud for not bringing a candle. The moment the curse left his lips, the stirring returned; this time it was much closer, and a lord’s intuition told him that it was no rat.

  Using the wall for support, he tried to walk faster, but he wasn’t fast enough. Unseen hands seized Philip by the ankles. A sudden jerk was all it took and he was facedown on the floor. He groped all around, searching for his attacker, but found nothing. The hands gripping both ankles pulled harder, slowly dragging him away from the wall. No amount of fighting could free him; the hands held fast. The pungent fragrance of rotting meat grew stronger and Philip felt a second pair of hands seize his arm. His heart fluttered as he tried to cry out and the screams caught in his throat. Try as he might, Philip could not move. He was frozen stiff, two sets of strong hands in a death grip that nailed him to the floor.

  Oh, gods... This is it. If any of you bastards are listening, I’ll do whatever I can to serve you! Gods above, please save me...

  Philip De’Fathi took a jagged breath and cringed against a sudden sharp pain shooting through his chest. He saw several brigh
t spots of color dancing in his vision. The spots faded as soon as they appeared, and he felt himself floating above his own limp body.

  There was nothing but darkness.

  * * *

  “There is no one here!” Abytheos shouted. “Where did you say your storerooms were located?”

  “Just through that door,” Olivar replied, pointing. “The room to the left has the man. The one to the right are where I put the victims’ bodies.”

  “I have a feeling I know where we shall find our country lord,” Abytheos whispered. “Grab a candle and lead the way.”

  Olivar did as he was bid, leading the priest to the small room where the two victims were. Once they were outside the door, Abytheos nodded for him to open it. Olivar stalled for a brief moment and then turned the knob. The door had barely lurched open when the priest made a quick jerking motion with his right hand. A flash of candlelight against steel was the only indication that Abytheos had produced a dagger that must have come from a pocket hidden somewhere within the thick leather cloak, or perhaps they had been tied under his sleeves. He signaled for Olivar to follow close behind and glided into the room.

  “Over there!” Abytheos called. “They’ve already got him, you fool!”

  Before Olivar could react, the priest knelt and with a single swift motion, buried his weapon into one of the monsters straddling Philip. He watched as the dagger sank hilt deep and was jerked from the creature’s ear. It fell lifelessly to the floor in a heap. Without pause, Abytheos sank the dagger into the next one, and it also fell the moment the weapon was pulled free.

  “He hasn’t died; not yet. We need to get him to a clean room and inspect his wounds!”

  Olivar nodded, trying to fight off the fear that threatened to overtake him. Those men had been corpses just hours ago.

  “Stop dawdling and grab his feet,” Abytheos snapped. “We have a long night ahead of us. Standing there with your tongue hanging out will do us no good!”

  Olivar doused the candle and placed it on a wooden crate. He bent and grabbed Philip’s legs. The two men did their best to carry the burly lord of Solstice to safety.