The Keep of Fire (27 page)

It would not have been enough to qualify as a village—a small collective of farms was more likely. Otherwise, it looked exactly as Tarafel had. The destruction was complete. None of the houses had survived. Nor, Grace saw as she guided Shandis down the slope, had any of the people.

“There are no signs that the fires spread from house to house,” Meridar said. “The ground is not burnt between them. I fear these fires were set by intention.”

Durge scratched his stubbled chin. “But why, Sir Meridar?”

Plague
, Grace wanted to answer.
Fear. Purification
. But she could not give sound to the words. She could only stare at the twisted forms on the ground,
black as coal, shriveled limbs twisted in final poses of agony. So much for Tarafel being an isolated incident.

“We have to leave here,” Aryn said, her voice half whisper, half shriek. “We have to leave here now!”

Lirith laid a hand on the baroness’s left arm, her dark eyes intent. “Steady yourself, sister.”

Aryn swallowed, then nodded, and her trembling eased a bit.

Kalleth spat on the ground. “Her Highness is right. There is nothing for us here.”

No
, Grace tried to say.
No, we have to look
. There could be evidence in the ashes, something that might let them know the origin of the plague—and the direction it was moving. Had it struck Tarafel first? Or this place? They had to know if they were riding away from it … or toward it. However, fear locked her jaw like tetanus. Shandis followed after the other horses. Grace could only hold on as they left the scorched shapes behind.

They did not stop to eat a midday meal, and no one spoke as they rode along a track that led among rolling fields and vine-tangled trees. Grace wished they could have pushed the horses into more than a fast walk, but there were many more leagues before them on this journey, and they didn’t dare exhaust the horses now.

After a time, dark clouds pressed from the west, and thunder rolled across the land. Grace hoped for cooling rain, but it did not come. Instead the air grew still and oppressive as the clouds built. Finally, Grace clenched her teeth, certain that if the pressure increased another fraction she would scream. Aryn’s enthusiasm had vanished again, replaced by tight-lipped silence. Even Lirith looked wan, and the knights wore grim miens. Sweat poured down their faces, and their mail shirts exuded a sour, metallic reek.

All of them let out breaths of relief when, just as a
few straggling rays of the setting sun slipped through a gap in the western clouds, Durge rode back from ahead to say he had caught sight of a village.

“Is it … is it all right?” Aryn asked, twisting a lock of hair with her left hand.

“There is no sign of fire, my lady, except for cookfires. If we have ridden as far as I believe, then this village is called Falanor.”

“It is Falanor,” Kalleth said. “I squired under Baron Darthus along with the current lord, and I have visited here once before. Eddoc should offer us good hospitality.”

“I could use a little hospitality,” Meridar said. He shifted in his saddle and winced. “Especially the part I’ve been—”

Lirith raised an eyebrow, and Meridar clamped his mouth shut, his sun-reddened face deepening another shade.

“Sir Knight,” the witch said, “if you mean to let your hindquarters beg hospitality of the local lord, I hope they won’t be expecting a separate room from yourself. Otherwise, I fear your discomfort could increase.”

Meridar opened his mouth to reply, but his words were lost as a ruddy fork of lightning split the clouds overhead, and a clap of thunder broke the air.

“I don’t like the looks of this storm,” Durge said. “It is too hot. Let us make haste to Falanor.”

It was nearly dark as they passed the tall shadows of two trees and followed a well-worn track into the village of Falanor. There were no torches in sight, no oiled sheepskin windows glowing with the warm light of candles. Nothing moved. Grace clutched
Shandis’s reins, afraid this village had suffered the same fate as Tarafel. Then a jagged line of red arced from horizon to horizon, and in the hot strobe Grace caught the outlines of two dozen structures. All stood unharmed.

She forced the breath from her lungs. Even in Calavere most people went to bed at dark. And here, in a village on the fringes of the Dominion, it was doubtful they had much fat to spare for luxuries like lamps or candles. Everyone was asleep, that was all.

“This way,” Kalleth said above the moan of the wind. “The manor is just ahead.”

Another flash of lightning honed the hard lines of the knight’s face. Slow thunder rolled. The other riders followed after him.

“Do you feel it, sister?”

Grace jumped in her saddle at the whisper, the sound of which was somehow more unnerving than the crash of the electrical storm. She glanced to the side and saw that Lirith had guided her palfrey close to Shandis.

There are eyes upon us
.

Lirith’s lips did not move, but Grace heard her voice clearly. This might have startled her, but the witch’s words were more troubling than their means of conveyance. Grace glanced in either direction, but it was impossible to see in the alternating blackness and glare. She clenched her teeth, then shut her eyes and reached out quickly to touch the Weirding.

It was difficult, and once she did touch the web of life she lost it a second later. However, it had been enough to feel the lives huddled inside each of the houses. And the fear that crackled on the air along with the lightning.

She opened her eyes. “I don’t understand. What are they so afraid of?”

Lirith met her gaze.
Us
.

She winced at the word that sounded in her mind.
Had Lirith used the Weirding on purpose, to call attention to Grace’s inability to hold even the scantest thread of magic together?

Stop it, Grace. This is your problem, not Lirith’s. Just because you can’t seem to use the Touch anymore doesn’t mean every other witch has to stop
.

The horses came to a halt as a stone wall rose before them. They had reached the manor house. To her relief, Grace saw lights glowing behind translucent windows. Someone was home.

The riders dismounted in the manor’s courtyard, then Durge and Kalleth approached the door while the others watched. Kalleth raised a fist and knocked three times, but the third blow was lost in a clap of thunder. He raised his hand to knock again. However, just then the door swung open, and gold light spilled onto the steps.

It was difficult to make out the silhouette in the doorway. A man, Grace decided, although whether old or young, serf or noble, she couldn’t tell. Regardless, his hunched posture spoke clearly of fear. Would the man refuse to let them in? But that was impossible. Afraid or not, one did not deny a request for hospitality made by knights of the king on behalf of a baroness, a duchess, and a countess of Toloria.

Durge gestured, and the man jerked his head up to cast a wide-eyed look at the ladies. Grace couldn’t help but smile.
Care to bet he wasn’t expecting nobility for dinner?

The man made a hurried motion with his hand. Kalleth stepped inside, and Durge returned to the others.

“It seems Lord Eddoc is away,” the Embarran said. “However, that man is the reeve of Falanor. He is overseeing the manor in his lord’s absence and has opened the house to us.” He glanced at Grace. “Sir Kalleth has gone to see to the rooms, to be certain they are adequate for your needs.”

“I’m certain they’ll be fine,” Grace said, grateful they would not have to try to sleep outside in the storm.

“When will Eddoc be back?” Aryn asked.

“Jastar—that’s the reeve—did not say,” Durge answered.

The baroness shuddered. “It doesn’t matter as long as we can go inside. This storm is so queer. It makes me feel like … like screaming.”

Durge glanced at Aryn, concern on his craggy face. Her shoulders crunched in and she hung her head, obviously embarrassed at the words she had spoken.

It’s all right
, Grace wanted to say.
It makes us all feel like screaming
. But Lirith moved first. The witch laid a hand on the young woman’s arm.

“I always wait until the thunder sounds.” Her full lips turned upward. “That way no one can hear me.”

Aryn nodded and gave her a grateful smile.

Durge looked to Meridar. “Accompany the ladies inside. I will see to the horses.”

Grace was glad when the door swung closed behind them, shutting out some of the din of the storm. They stood in a narrow entry hall. Candles infused the air with oily light, and benches lined the wall, that travelers might sit and lay down their burdens. There was no one besides the four of them.

Really, Grace? Then who closed the door?

She turned and saw a boy of perhaps eleven or twelve standing beside the door. A squire? Grace took in his bare, dirty feet, his ragged knee pants, and his heavily patched shirt. A peasant’s son, then, come to work as a servant in the lord’s house.

“Where is the reeve?” Meridar said.

The boy turned his face toward the knight. Though smudged with grime, his skin was clear of disease, and his green eyes were bright beneath a crooked fringe of brown hair. He smiled, showing teeth that were already stained with rot.

“Reeve Jastar has gone with your brother, my lord. They look at the rooms in the manor, to choose the best.”

Grace coughed. The air was dry and metallic, and it was hard to swallow.

“Can I get you some water, my lady?” the boy asked.

Grace lifted a hand to her throat and nodded.

“Can I, my lady?”

Grace frowned. “Yes,” she croaked. “Yes, thank you.”

Still smiling, the boy moved to a sideboard and lifted a pitcher. It wasn’t until he poured the water that Grace realized the truth. He didn’t stop pouring until liquid ran over the rim of the pewter cup and onto his hand. Then he turned and held the cup toward Grace, missing her direction by only a few degrees.

He’s good—he’s adapted well. But then children usually do. Still, you should have noticed it sooner. No eye contact. And he didn’t see your nod in answer to his question. You’re losing your touch, Doctor—in more ways than one
.

She took the cup from his outstretched hands. “What’s your name?”

“Daynen, my lady.”

“Are you Eddoc’s son?”

He laughed at this. “No, my lady. My father works the farm by the hill north of the village. When I lost my sight, he begged the lord to take me, because I was no use to him on the farm and he could not feed me.”

Grace’s jaw dropped. A man would cast his son out just because he went blind? But she shouldn’t have been surprised. She knew the rules of this world, and they were harsh ones. Love was a luxury, not a necessity.

She started to speak, but Kalleth stepped into the hall, the reeve Jastar on his heel.

“This way,” Kalleth said without preamble.

Durge entered at that moment, and together the travelers followed Jastar. Now that Grace could get a clear look at the reeve, she saw he was a plain man: short and sturdy with a pockmarked face, just like most men on this world. He wore a tunic and hose of forest colors, with a brown gorget around his neck, the hood pushed back. By the sour odor he exuded, bathing was not as frequent here in the hinterlands as it was in Calavere. However, his face was cheerful if homely, and his bow and gesture for them to follow were polite, although Grace caught the trembling of his hand.

Poor man. This is probably the first time in his life that a baroness has come to stay at this manor, and here his lord is away
.

They followed the reeve up a flight of steps to the second story and found themselves in a hall that ran the length of the manor, doors on either side.

“This is your room, Sir Knights,” Jastar said to Durge and Meridar, pausing before a door. He moved on, then gestured to another door. “And I hope this chamber will please the ladies. It is the largest in the house.”

As Grace followed down the hall a fly buzzed past her face, and she caught a whiff of a putrid scent. She wrinkled her nose and batted the fly away.

“There is a foul humor on the air,” Durge said to Jastar.

The reeve spread his arms in apology. “I fear the cook allowed a joint of meat to spoil in the kitchen, my lord. I am having difficulty purging the bad air from the house.”

“I hope he had an easier time purging the bad cook,” Lirith murmured.

Aryn moved to a door across the hall. “What of this room, reeve?”

The man winced. “I’m afraid, my lady, that by
some trick of halls and angles the odor is strongest there, in Lord Eddoc’s chamber.”

Aryn hurried away from the closed door, then bent her head toward Grace. “I hope for the reeve’s sake that the air clears before his lord’s return.”

Grace could only nod as she concentrated on breathing through her mouth.

The knights retreated into their chamber and the women into theirs. The room was large, as promised, and surprisingly clean and odor-free. There was one large bed with a straw-tick mattress, which Lirith said she would share with Aryn, and a smaller cot, which would be Grace’s. An oiled parchment window was shut tightly, and every few seconds it glowed with a flash of lightning. The rafters above creaked from the wind, but there was still no sound of rain. The storm was all heat and energy with no release. Grace hoped it would pass soon.

After a short while Durge came to the door to see if they were well settled. Before Grace could answer, Daynen appeared in the door behind the knight.

“Forgive me,” he said, gazing with blind eyes, “but the reeve asked me to tell you that supper has been set on the board.”

By the time the women and Durge reached the manor’s main hall, Kalleth and Meridar were already there, along with Jastar. They sat on benches at a well-worn table, and the reeve offered them a meal of bread, cold venison, cheese, and dried fruit with cream. It was simple enough, but Grace had had far worse meals. Apparently the cook had mended her ways.

Jastar was pleasant, if dull, company. He inquired after their journey, but he did not ask for details; Grace knew that, in the Dominions, a common man did not question the motives of nobles. Throughout the meal the reeve sweated profusely, until his tunic was stained with moisture. It was clear that speaking
with knights and ladies was not something the man was accustomed to. But he performed well enough, and Grace hoped they’d be able to relay a message to Eddoc saying this. She felt bad for imposing on the poor reeve.