EPIC: Fourteen Books of Fantasy (403 page)

“Young woman, are you all right?” Fenric asked.

Swallowing, she drew a breath and nodded. “Yes, I don’t know what came over me. I just had the strangest feeling…”

His gaze was questioning, and she realized he was still waiting for his transformation. She shoved the incident from her mind to puzzle over later. Closing her eyes, she envisioned the appearance of the man in the sketch, visualizing him clearly as she had seen him in her dream. She felt the magic rippling from her fingers and opened her eyes to see Fenric’s ordinary features distort into the rougher, wilder features of another. The transformation was complete.

“You’d best go now,” Fenric told her. It was bizarre hearing his voice coming from a stranger’s face. “You’ll want to reach the isle while you’ve still got the daylight.”

She hesitated, feeling she should say something to warn him. What if the glimpse she’d had of his suffering was a portent of the future?

“Fenric, I’m afraid you may be in danger,” she said.

He smiled slightly. “I’m always in danger.”

“Maybe, but this is different.”

Either he didn’t hear that or he chose to pretend he did not, as he loosed the little dory from its moorings and shoved it out from the pier.

There was nothing Eydis could do but take up the oars as she drifted out to sea. She rowed until Fenric and the pier became indistinct smudges in the distance. She had a sinking feeling something bad was going to happen to the Shoretown headsman and she had just missed her chance to stop it.

As the sun dipped beyond the horizon, a thick fog rolled over the water. Her backward view of the shoreline obscured by the mist, Eydis could only look ahead now, toward the looming shape of the island. It was strangely eerie being out in this little boat alone. In the gathering darkness, the slapping of the waves against the hull and the whistling of the wind seemed magnified. She had never felt such isolation. The dip and splash of the oars, the rhythmic rocking of the vessel on the waves—these were unfamiliar sounds and sensations, and she had the disconcerting sense of being at the mercy of the ocean.

For the first time in her life, she regretted having never learned to swim very well. For that matter, she regretted having never rowed a boat before. Her palms were already blistered with the last hour’s efforts at steering the little craft over the choppy waves. It was the pull of the tide more than her clumsy endeavors that drew her closer and closer to the nameless island.

When her hull scraped noisily against the shallows, she clambered over the side, into water up to her thighs, to tow the vessel in to shore. The beach, a slippery mixture of shale and sand, worked against her, but she eventually managed to haul the craft safely above the level of the tide.

Only then, shivering in the chill night air, was she free to take in her surroundings. The island she stood on gave every appearance of being deserted. Where was this mysterious person Fenric had told her to meet? If he hadn’t arrived yet, just how long was she expected to wait?

Beneath the silvery glow of the moon she made out a rocky rise at the edge of the beach, and thinking to get a better view of her surroundings, she picked her way up the slope. At its crest, she looked down on a sunken expanse of marshland, dotted with boulders and low scrub brush. Here and there rocky ridges divided the marshland, and overgrown paths snaked between the dips and mounds of the uneven terrain.

Straining her eyes, she tried to make out more details. And that was when she saw it—a tall, dark form flittering silently across the landscape. Its movements were stealthy as it ducked behind boulders and clung to the shadows, reminding Eydis of a wild animal stalking its prey. Only this animal walked upright like a man. Could this be him then? The one she had come to find?

She opened her mouth to call out to him but immediately thought better of it. One didn’t survive a childhood on the city streets without learning a degree of caution. She hadn’t lived within the safety of the seclusionary walls so long she had forgotten the habits learned during a rougher time. No, she would observe from a safe distance until she could ascertain whether this person was friend or foe. Only then would she announce her presence.

So she climbed down from the rise and trailed the dark shadow, mimicking his furtive movements, careful to keep a lengthy gap between them. Her progress was complicated by the occasional treacherousness of the marshy ground. At one point she sank into a mire, covering her boots and ankles in mud. In the process of wading free, she discovered the pale stick she grabbed for support was actually a bone. Possibly human. Dropping it with a shudder, she reassessed her surroundings. What was this place? A vast graveyard?

The rocks seemed to support this theory, for many of the shapes she had first took for boulders turned out on closer inspection to be manmade markers. The inscriptions were so weathered they would have been unreadable, even in better light. But she could make out enough to see they contained no familiar letters. Perhaps these were the runes of an ancient civilization. But there was no time to ponder that. She had to hurry on or she would lose sight of her quarry. The landscape was growing rockier and the ground firmer. Still, she knew now not to stray far from the path.

The moon scuttled behind a cloud, plunging the world into sudden darkness. Eydis froze where she stood, feeling exposed in the open, but unwilling to stumble on blindly. Though she strained her ears, the only sounds she picked up were the wind and the roar of the ocean waves tossing against the distant beach. Then there came a new sound. A blood-chilling howl she first mistook for that of a wild dog. But this wasn’t the cry of a beast, any more than it was the scream of a man. It was more like an uneasy combination of the two. And it was very near. Surely it hadn’t come from the man she was trailing?

Afraid of being caught in the open, she dropped to her belly, so when the moonlight returned it found her hugging the ground. She saw it then, a stark silhouette only yards away. The figure she’d been following was no man after all, and despite being covered with patches of mangy hair, it was no animal either.

“A minohide,” Eydis breathed, recognizing the half man, half beast commonly described in children’s stories. She had known the monsters were real but never expected to encounter one in person.

This one, although standing upright, possessed a bearlike snout and jaws. Its eyes glinted in the half-light like those of a wolf. For one breathless instant, those eyes seemed fixed on Eydis. But then they passed on. The creature lifted its snout, sniffing the air. Eydis saw it stiffen, growing suddenly alert, and she feared it detected her scent. When it pounced instead on something that moved in the brush at its feet, she dared to breathe again. The creature had captured a rabbit or a large rat and was devouring it on the spot.

Thinking fast, Eydis used this opportunity to make for cover, scrambling to her feet and running in a low crouch to duck behind the nearest screen. It was a stone structure of some sort—an oblong building about twice the height of a man. Considering her previous discoveries, she suspected its purpose could be the housing of a corpse. Whatever its intended use, it was the only place at hand for concealment. There was little hope of returning to the beach and the waiting boat without attracting the notice of the beast, and she wouldn’t have wagered much on her ability to outrun it. The best option was hiding and waiting for the beast to move on.

Exploring the rough surface of the stone, she found fissures in the rock that would serve adequately as hand and toeholds. Cautiously, she scaled the side of the tomb and dragged herself onto the roof. There she lay flat, watching from above as the minohide finished its scanty meal and resumed its prowling. How long would she have to lie up here? If she remained trapped until dawn, what would happen when first light revealed her hiding place? She tried not to think about that. Tried also not to wonder what was delaying the man she had come here to find.

Chapter IV

O
RRICK

F
OR
A
LONG
TIME
Orrick had heard nothing but the incessant dripping of water and the scratching sounds of rats’ feet scurrying along the walls. That was why his ears perked up at the tread of two approaching pairs of feet echoing down the corridor.

One set of steps was uneven. Irregular. The familiar tread of the big-bellied prison guard who always walked with a limp. He had no name to Orrick—none of the guards did. They were just the hands that fed him, the mouths that spit on him, and the fists that beat him when he retaliated.

But the other footsteps, those were new. Those were feet he’d never heard within these walls. The tread was heavy, like that of a large man, but it came without the accompanying ring of boots. Not another guard then.

Curiosity stirred despite himself, Orrick sniffed the air. His nostrils were met by the scent of decay. Stale air, moldy straw, the feces of humans and rats, and rotting fish guts. All the smells you’d expect in a water-bound prison like the Morta den’Cairn. Orrick had had plenty of time to get to know these smells.

But now there was something new added to the stench. Fear sweat. Of all the kinds of sweat Orrick was acquainted with, fear was the most common in here. The fear of the prisoners who were dumped into cells to rot. The fear of their keepers when the occasional prisoner attempted escape.

Fear was not new. Thus it wasn’t worth his interest.

He settled against the damp wall again and returned to picking his teeth with a rat bone, the last remnant of his most recent meal. Capturing the bold rodent was the closest thing he’d had to a good fight in months. If only he could get this bone shank into the neck of a prison guard, now that would be a satisfying victory. Far more fulfilling than the brief pleasure of a full belly…

Outside, the footsteps stopped before the thick door of his cell. Muffled voices followed, their conversation too low to make out.

Once Orrick might have gone and poked his face between the sturdy bars of the small window at the top, to see what was happening. But not anymore. He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of watching him peer like an animal out the bars of his cage or of hearing him call out questions that usually went unanswered. No, if this business had anything to do with him, he’d know soon enough.

There was a light grating sound as a key turned in the lock, and then the door swung open.

So they
were
coming for him. Orrick smiled and fingered the shank.

“Watch this one. He’s mean as a fire asp and would as soon crush your windpipe as look at you.” The words penetrated the cell, but the guard who spoke them remained outside. Smart fellow. The last time he’d stuck his hand into the cell to deliver the swill that passed for food in this place, Orrick had bit off one of his fingers. And been whipped for it. But it was worth the punishment to have his first taste in weeks of any flesh besides fish.

“Thank you for the warning,” said a second voice. “But in my line of work I’m used to dealing with this sort. Murderers, thieves, traitors… All of them roar like lions but go out like lambs. The loss of his head brings about a remarkable change in any criminal’s disposition.”

That was enough to get Orrick’s attention. For the first time he looked up, through hanks of greasy hair, to examine his visitor.

“So you’re the one they call the Betrayer of Blood,” said the unknown newcomer. He pushed the door shut, leaving the guard outside.

He was a big man, broad shouldered and fair bearded, his face hidden within the deep shadows of his hooded cloak. From the flickering torchlight filtering through the bars from the corridor, the glint of his eyes was just visible. His scent was less ambiguous. Sharp and clear at this distance, it smelled of unease. Despite his bold stance and steady tone, despite the heavy, double-headed axe he carried, this stranger was worried about something.

“My name’s Orrick, and I’m no betrayer,” Orrick told him, “although there’s some that call me such.”

“Your innocence or guilt doesn’t concern me,” said the stranger. “Only that you are the man I seek, the one charged with the betrayal of Endguard.”

Now it made sense. “You’re here for the execution,” Orrick realized. “And that means they’ve decided not to give me a trial. So much for the famous justice of the Lythnians.” He laughed bitterly.

“I’m an executioner, yes,” the stranger said. “But I haven’t come to take your head today. That event is planned for two days hence and is set to occur at a more public place—the market square of Shoretown. You’ll know when the hour arrives because there’ll be a cleric in attendance.”

“I have no use for your religion, headsman. In case you haven’t heard, I’m not of your race. I’ll leave this world the same way I came into it, a heathen from the Kroadian wilds.”

He watched for a reaction, but the other man showed no anger. That was disappointing.

“What have you come for anyway?” Orrick growled. “If my day hasn’t come, why are you here?”

The headsman glanced toward the door, where the turnkey hovered on the other side of the barred window. “It’s my custom to visit the condemned before they fall under my axe. I accept their gifts and explain to them what to expect on the day. Sometimes the prisoner wishes to practice, ensuring all comes off cleanly at the final event…”