Patricia Briggs (12 page)

He'd been a big man, a hand or so larger than Daryn. I couldn't repress the feeling that he watched me as I walked past him to the room beyond.

His larder was small, but stocked with the sorts of food a traveler would need: rice cakes, sweet oatcakes, and salted, dried beef. I took all I could carry in a tablecloth I'd brought from the first house. And all the time I stacked the food, I had the twitchy feeling that someone was observing me. Just before I tied the bundle together, I took an oatcake and a piece of the beef and set it aside.

I walked into the front room and set the bits of food I'd kept out on the floor before the dead man in the chair. Remembering what the Beresforders had said about the unrestful dead and stories learned at Gram's knee, I knelt before him as if he were a king on a throne.

“Good sir,” I said, in as formal a manner as I could muster, “I take this food to ensure the safety of others, not for personal gain. Accept this offering as my good faith and hear my prayer for your rest. Be at peace.”

If there had been someone with me, I wouldn't have done it, but it made me feel better. Coming to my feet, I brushed against something hanging on the stone wall. It fell to the floor with a clatter and a thunk.

A glance showed it to be a crossbow, oiled so dark it was black. I picked it up and took the quiver of arrows that hung next to the space where it had been. Then I nodded respectfully to the man who had owned them, and began to leave.

A chill touched my shoulder, stopping me where I was. I turned back to the skeleton who brooded in his chair, staring not, I saw finally, at the door but at the wall where the crossbow had hung. I, too, looked again. A black leather bag rested on the same peg the crossbow had hung on. I'd left it there. Now, after a careful look at the resting warrior, I lifted it down, too. Inside was an odd metal contraption, the same color as the crossbow—tarnished silver, I thought.

“For the crossbow?” I asked.

It almost surprised me that there was no answer. I took the bag with me. When I set the bag of food outside the door, I kept the crossbow and slung the quiver into its proper place across my shoulders. The leather bag I attached to my belt.

My last experience made me wary as I opened the door to the next house. Nothing greeted me but the faint scent of lemon verbena.

The first room was so prosaic it seemed to disallow a world in which a warrior could guard his domain after death. Ruffled curtains framed the windows covered only by a screen of creamy linen to keep out insects and dirt.

The next room was a bedroom, and I walked quickly through it. There were two doorways on the side of the room. I opened the first and walked into another bedroom, much smaller than the first. A cradle creaked back and forth as the breeze swept through the window where the protective screen had been torn loose.

Almost involuntarily, I stepped farther into the room and looked at the tiny bones lying clothed in a soft gown embroidered with yellow and orange flowers. A rose-colored quilt had been tucked lovingly around the baby. I tightened my hand around the crossbow until it hurt, but the pain didn't help.

A soft lullaby filled my head. The breeze died, but the cradle still rocked. I watched as a mother sang her babe to sleep. The dead woman looked up at me and smiled—a simple, uncomplicated smile—and raised a finger to her lips, protecting the sleep of a child who would never awaken.

I walked out of the house and shut the door gently behind me with a hand that shook. It hadn't felt like a vision.

Sweat gathered on the small of my back. I knew I should have gone on and searched for the larder, but it was beyond me. Perhaps Kith could have done it, but not even the power of old taunts was going to make me go into another house.

Kith came out of a house on the other side of the narrow lane, and looked at me. Something in my face must have shown how I felt, because he crossed the street and frowned.

“What?” he asked.

“Well,” I answered, smiling grimly, “at least we know we don't have to search for babies left unattended. The one in there was only a few days old, and the spell took it as surely as it took larger creatures.” I decided not to mention the ghost.

Kith closed his eyes briefly and nodded. “I have enough food for the journey if there aren't many more people than it appears. What you have should fill in the gaps.” He gave me a look that told me what he had found hadn't been much better, then he chose to change the subject. Soldiers were probably good at avoiding unbearable things. “I see you found a crossbow.”

I gave it to him, and he looked it over closely before returning it. “Steel bow,” he said. “They're expensive. My own is a composite, easier to draw but less range. Most of the weapons like this belong to noblemen—Moresh has one. I wouldn't have thought a town this size would have a weapon of such quality. It's too bad we can't use it.”

“What do you mean?”

He set the bow on the ground, holding onto the stock first, then bracing it against his shoulder. He ran a finger down the stock and showed me two black metal pegs, one on each side.

“This was meant for a goatsfoot. You'll not be able to draw it by hand.”

“A what?” I asked, trying to picture how a goat's foot would help to draw a bow.

“Goatsfoot,” he repeated. “It's a device that you hook under the string and over the pins.” He fingered the pegs he'd shown me. They didn't look like pins to me. “Then you pull it back. The extra leverage allows you to draw the bow.”

I opened the leather bag and pulled out the contraption it held. “Is this one?”

He took it from me. “
That
makes this bow a lot more useful.” Kneeling, he pressed the toe of his boot to the bow, holding it steady as he showed me how the goatsfoot cocked the bow.

The back of my neck crawled suddenly, and I glanced behind me. But the houses all stood empty.

T
HE SUN WAS LOW IN THE SKY WHEN WE FINALLY SET
out from Auberg. It had taken longer than I'd expected to collect the two men who were out. Then the Beresforders had a bunch of livestock—cattle, sheep, pigs, mules, and a few horses (including Danci's dun)—in a larger paddock behind the inn. At least Wandel had worked the magic of his charm on the Beresforders: there wasn't a grumble among them at the hurry. And everyone except Danci avoided me as if I had the pox.

Once we set out on the road, the animals gave us little trouble, seeming almost as relieved as I to leave Auberg's shadows behind them. By the time we reached the lower slopes of the Hob, the children began to play and laugh.

Danci deposited her youngest in Kith's lap without asking and rode her horse to me.

“I hadn't realized what it was doing to us, staying there among the dead,” she said.

I watched Kith struggle to hold the squirming toddler in front of him and guide Torch at the same time. But, interestingly enough, he didn't try to give the boy back.

“It would be enough to give anyone the creeps,” I agreed with a smile.

I'd noticed the lift in my own spirits when we rode out of the valley. Comparing the rascal who held Torch's reins while Kith held him with the mopey, whiny child at the inn, I thought it was more than just the silent town that held us in thrall.

“Gram always said death magic leaves its mark on the land.”

“Death magic?” asked Danci softly.

I nodded. “I don't think Auberg is a healthy place to be.”

T
HE HOB HEARD THEM BEFORE HE SAW THEM.
R
EFUGEES
, he thought, watching the ragtag bunch climb out of the shadow-shrouded valley. Looking past them, he wondered what had caused the fog of ill that grew thicker as it stretched away from the mountain. Bits and pieces still clung stubbornly to the party riding onto his mountain.

He was exhilarated from the chase he'd given the pack of grims—they wouldn't be coming back to his mountain anytime soon. He rather regretted that; truth be told, they made great sport. He wished there were another pack around—he was in the mood to play.

The big horse the woman called Aren rode saw him and whickered a greeting, though the one-armed man's dun gelding, who saw him as well, chose to ignore him. Aren looked hollow-eyed and tired.

As suddenly as that, he decided to give her something to think about that might take the shadows from her eyes. He skittered down the tree and wandered among the riders. The knowledge that either Aren or the warrior—both touched by magic—might detect him added to the fun.

Just yesterday he wouldn't have been able to hide himself from any of them in the bright light of day, but the mountain was waking up from its long sleep.

The hob rubbed the red gelding's chest and slapped him lightly on the haunch as he passed, sending him bouncing forward a few steps. Half-fey herself, the minstrel's white mare cast a merry glance and snorted at him. He grinned back. Mischief that mare was, much like himself.

Toward the back of the party, an aging herd dog limped soberly at the side of an old man on a mule. The old man kept up a constant reassuring murmur that belied the worry on his face. Worry he should, for the hob could see the shadow that clung to the dog's tail and hindquarters. The dark of the valley beyond had used the animal's age and infirmities to attach itself like a burr.

The hob stooped and ruffled the dog's fur, washing it free of shadow—and managed to clear a bit of the age-related problems as well. The dog whined his appreciation and rolled in the hob's embrace, licking his face with frantic gratitude. Dogs were like that.

“Here, now, Cary, what's up with you?” The man stopped his mule.

At the sound of his master's voice the dog threw himself out of the hob's care and leaped up to lick at the mounted man's hands before taking off to run a frantic circle around the entire group—for all the world as if he'd not been a trained cattle dog for a decade. The hob laughed, and one of the two spotted milk cows answered him.

Grinning, the hob turned to see the one-armed one approach him as surely as if he could see him. The child who rode in front of the grim warrior saw the hob quite clearly, of course. The babe clapped his hands and caroled encouragements so clearly that the hob's smile widened in answer. Here was a child after his own heart. He did a couple of back flips for his audience of one, then turned his attention to the soldier.

This close he could see the workings of the bloodmage the harper had spoken of yesterday while the hob spied upon them—though he couldn't tell how deeply the damage went. Whatever had been done to the man made him aware that the hob was there. The taint of the bloodmage made the hob more wary than he might otherwise have been. He'd never feared humans, but the bloodmages had taught him a bitter lesson in caution.

The one-armed man set the child with gentle firmness in the arms of a nearby rider. One of the cows, deciding this halt might last a while, began grazing. The bloodmage's warrior approached warily, drawing his iron sword—as if even cold iron could hurt a son of the mountain here.

Experimentally, the hob crouched, and the dun's ears followed his descent—a moment later the soldier's attention focused downward.

If a child of five or six hadn't begun to cry—soft, tired sounds of a soul pushed beyond enduring—the hob might have gotten caught up in the fun. Wariness only added spice to the play. But these were good folk, entitled to the mountain's protection. He darted silently to the sobbing girl, who was riding by herself on a pony led by a man who might have been her father.

The shadow upon her wasn't strong enough to do her harm; likely it would leave as soon as she'd spent a night on the mountain. Still, it was easy enough to banish it.

He couldn't resist a last dash through the middle of the group, tugging gently on the dun's tail as he swept by. If the war-bred gelding's feet were quicker than most—well, then he had only to dodge a little quicker yet. Aren's big horse stretched his nose out for a pat before he left.

“W
HAT IN
F
ARAN'S NAME IS GOING ON
?”
EXCLAIMED
one of the old men, the worry in his voice finding its echo in the shivers that crept up my spine. “I've never seen animals act like that.”

Kith watched his horse's ears a moment, then sheathed his sword and said thoughtfully, “It must have been a wildling of some kind. It didn't smell of bloodmagic, but no natural creature runs about invisible. I don't think it did any harm.”

The old herdsman had dismounted from his mule and was rubbing his dog, to the dog's great delight. After Kith spoke, he nodded. “The opposite, I would think. I haven't seen Cary look so well since he caught cold last winter. I was worried I'd have to put him down before we reached Fallbrook—now look at him.”

To demonstrate, he threw his arm out and gave three sharp whistles. The black and white dog took off at a dead run, aiming for a pig that had taken advantage of the stop to ease away from the rest and root at the base of an old ash tree. The dog drove the protesting pig back with the bunch.