The Winterstone Plague (The Carrion Cycle) (13 page)

The heavy chair in which he sat provided little comfort, but he relished in the fact that he still drew breath. Each breath of fresh air that was inhaled into his lungs and expelled was a gift from the one true god. He knew that Gehash saw fit to take care of his every need, and as long as he trusted in The Beloved, nothing would ever happen in vain. He was a soldier of the king, but Balin’s heart belonged to the one who had saved him from a life of villainy.

“Guide us through these hard times,” he spoke allowed. “I take each step so that your blessings may touch the lives of each man, woman, and child in Alvanshia. Even the wild animals bask in the glow that is your love, and it is for these reasons that I devote my life to your teachings.”

He finished the prayer by crossing his right hand over his heart and tracing a half moon in the air. The road ahead would stretch out for many years to come as Balin lived and walked upon Alvanshia’s soil. He would brave what horrors awaited him on life’s winding path until his god saw fit to grant him entry into the realm of souls, or provided him with a place by his side. All uttered prayers from this moment forward would be in honor of those who were to lose their lives to the struggles ahead—or worse.

Noticing that Johak had consumed all the spirits in the tall decanter, Balin resolved to finish reading through the documents in the morning. For now, he thought it would be best to sleep, even if only for an hour or two. In the days to come, rest would become a luxury for which he could spare no time, for taking part in any luxury was sinful when Gehash called upon you to see his work through.

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V
ALTHIAN SEARCHED some of the places he had been asked by his father, but he could not find Jentha’s husband, and so he made a choice of his own. He decided to disobey his father’s orders. Enough information had come to him about the creatures from the decimated villages surrounding Solstice, and he was not about to stand by and allow the same fate to befall the ones he loved the most. It was time to pay Elyna’s father a visit. He would talk to Alain; convince him to take his daughter somewhere safe. Perhaps they could start a new life in Molhadius; maybe Valthian would join them when business in Solstice had been dealt with properly. He would not regret sending them away, though he loved Elyna with every fiber of his being. Her safety was more important to him than his own greed and lust.

He wasted no time walking, instead opting to
borrow
a horse from the nearest farmer, a man named Culvin Rill. Under normal circumstances, Valthian would have been vehemently against taking an animal from someone without first asking, but recent events demanded immediate action, and so he now sat upon Millie, an old mare that had seen a few too many years to have a rider on her back, but she was the only horse within a mile of where he found himself standing.

Despite of her advanced age, Millie was able to move at a gallop for most of the way, and once Alain’s smithy and cottage was in plain view, Valthian slowed the horse to a trot.

“I hope you forgive me for pushing you so hard, Old Girl,” he said, reaching down to give her a gentle pat on the neck. “I assure you it is for a good cause. I will see to it that your master is paid well and you shall receive your fair share of oats.”

He dismounted and tied the horse to a wooden post. He noticed almost immediately that the front door of the cottage was closed tight and breathed a sigh of relief. Nothing looked like it had been disturbed, so whatever madness threatened to unfold back in the heart of the village had not made its way here. That did not surprise the young lord; he knew full well why Elyna’s father had set up his home and business so far away from the daily hustle and bustle; Alain was a kind gentleman who would go out of his way to help another, but he was also a private man who enjoyed the peace and quiet of the surrounding forest. The time it took him to reach the door and give it three hard knocks was less than a minute, but it felt like forever, for his heart was beating wildly and his fingers were numb from the cold air; he had been so alarmed by the news of more creatures rising from the dead that he had neglected to bring the pair of the woolen gloves his mother had knitted for him for his seventeenth birthday.

The young lord gritted his teeth and was prepared to knock again when the door creaked open. Alain stood before him; his usual smile had been replaced with a sullen expression and deep lines of worry that had never been present before.

“Where’s Elyna?” Valthian asked. He tried not to notice the squeak that escaped his throat with the words.

His expression deepened. “She is safe, locked in the cellar.”

“Why is she in the cellar? What happened here?”

“I do not know how to explain without showing you. I am actually pleased—as pleased as I can be at a time like this—to see you. I was not sure how to proceed.”

“Proceed with what?”

Alain sidestepped Valthian and walked slowly in the direction of the smithy. He turned and motioned with a finger. “I need you to follow me.”

He tried to put the confusion out of his mind and did as he was told. The rickety barn that had been converted to allow for blacksmithing work was not far off, and right away Valthian noticed that for the first time since he could remember, the smell of molten iron did not pervade the air around the building. Alain never missed a day of work, and here it was, the middle of the day, the blacksmith prancing about his property, and no sign that any weapons, armor, or wagon parts had been produced today.

“What are we doing?” Valthian asked.

The blacksmith paused and turned to face the young man. “As I mentioned, I need you to see something.”

“Look, I haven’t got all day. I need to speak with you about Elyna.”

“It’s not far now,” Alain replied. “Just a few more paces in this direction.”

He continued onward and Valthian followed. Something about the situation wasn’t right, but the only option was to keep walking, which is what the young lord did. They rounded a corner and found themselves standing at the back of a clearing just hidden from view by the smithy. A few unfinished pieces were scattered about, left to rust on the snow-blanketed ground, but that wasn’t what caught Valthian’s full attention. A lone tree stood tall in the center of the clearing, seemingly untouched by the cold of winter. Its leaves were still green and plentiful; it stood straight, as if with great pride that it had managed to beat the odds of survival in the midst of a season that brought with it the demise of most plants—and of many small animals lacking the wits to borough deep into the ground or seek shelter in a cave. Only this thriving oddity did not represent life, at least not on this day. A man, quite dead, was pinned to the tree by the head with a woodcutter’s axe. The axe crushed, more than it pierced, the skull, the blade stuck halfway into the thickest point of the tree, leaving the dead one in a standing position. He resembled a grotesque puppet, posed for a child’s enjoyment, only there were no strings to be seen. Instead, spatters of blood and brain formed an oddly breathtaking contrast to the endless miles of alabaster spread upon the floor of the world.

“They were right,” Alain said absently as he stepped forward and placed a hand on Valthian’s shoulder. “Those things are real. He was one of them, and now he is no more.”

“What did you do?”

“I did what needed to be done.”

“Will you at least tell me what happened?”

“I saw it limping about as I was preparing materials for the day’s work. I hadn’t even begun to light the forge.”

Valthian stepped closer. “I believe this is the man we have been looking for. I cannot tell from what is left of his face, but his clothes are similar to the description I was given, and he seems to be about the right size.”

“This was a man you knew?” Alain asked.

“Not that I knew personally. It is a long story, and I am afraid that I have no time to explain further. We must act quickly to keep you and Elyna safe. I fear that what we have seen will only get worse as the days go by.”

“You believe there will be more?”

Valthian nodded. “More of these creatures? Perhaps there will be, but I also have a gut feeling that these things are only the beginning of a much larger problem; although I have nothing more than a feeling to back up those words, it is a feeling stronger than I have ever experienced. We must go inside now and discuss how to get the two of you to safety.”

“What if I choose to stay?”

He grabbed the blacksmith by the shoulders and shook him. “Are you a madman? Wake up! You must think of your only child! Your daughter is counting on you to keep her alive;
I
am counting on you to keep her alive!

“I—I understand. Yes, let us go inside and discuss the next plan of action. I also need to finish dressing my wound. I was almost done preparing the cloth for wrapping when I heard you knocking at the door.”

Valthian backed away. “Wound? How were you wounded?”

“It is nothing,” Alain replied, smiling weakly. “That one managed to sink his teeth into my arm before I could get a good swing in. I got the last laugh, it seems.”

The blacksmith held up his right arm and drew up the sleeve of his shirt. A series of deep, crimson bite marks shown upon his flesh, blood still trickling menacingly down his forearm. Valthian stepped back and drew his sword.

“What’s gotten into you?” Alain asked. “What is the meaning of this? What have I done wrong?”

“Don’t you realize? That creature has placed its mark upon you! You are a dead man walking; if I don’t finish the job, we’ll all meet the same fate!”

“No,” Alain whispered. “You’re insane. It’s barely a scrape! I feel fine!”

“Damn you, Alain,” Valthian said, willing his hands not to tremble. “Damn this whole plague that has fallen upon our land!”

The young lord advanced towards the target, his eyes stinging from tears dripping down his cheeks.

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T
HE SUNLIGHT was fading quickly by the time Tomas left the inn. He had tried his best to find the innkeeper before departing, but the old man was nowhere in sight. In the end, he decided it would be best to drag two heavy benches into the kitchen and place Elsa upon them. The blood was something Tomas would have to worry about later; first he had to find his father and tell him what had happened. A grizzly sight he would have been should a passerby take notice of his bloodstained clothing and matted hair, but there was no one around. Maybe the unfavorable weather was keeping everyone inside, he thought.

He had known the young barmaid his entire life; indeed they had grown up together and even attended the same classes until Harel, her father, decided that it was time for her to take up a trade and provide for the family. Harel Deros had never been a hardworking man, and when his wife passed from the world, he resorted to using his children as wage earners. He also beat them regularly; it was the reason Elsa had lost most of her teeth. Tomas begged his father on many occasions to stop the abuse, but the king’s laws regarding the rights of parents kept even the highest authority in the village from taking action until the girl reached adulthood.

Now she would never reach that age. She would never taste freedom.

People made jokes about her looks, but she never cared. Tomas hadn’t cared either, for even the ones who knew something of her plight were still unaware of the beautiful person contained within her battered and overworked body. None of that mattered anymore. The only thing to do now was wander the village in search of the only man he knew who could make sense of the situation. Even then, nothing could be done to bring Elsa Deros back from the dead.

Tomas was underdressed for walking in such terrible weather, but he barely noticed the cold. Not wanting to return home, and sure that it was still too early for his father to have retired to his study anyway, he took the main road through the heart of the village. It wound around the marketplace, just avoiding the old church that hadn’t seen a worshipper of any gods ancient or otherwise in many months. As he walked, an old tune came to mind; he had learned it from a grizzled old mercenary he met a year ago at The Hound’s Rest. He distinctly remembered that the man tried to pay for his room and supper by performing the song for the few patrons who weren’t too drunk to listen.

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T
hrice it comes into the fray

To wipe the deeds of men away

A cycle of flesh and bone will start

A sea of blood from rotting hearts

A wave of fire to cleanse the land

A shattered world, destroyer’s hand

Of dark-eyed desire, one now is born

Deliver us from Carrion’s cycle by morn.

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H
e was not sure of the song’s meaning, but one thing in particular always caught him off-guard about the words—they didn’t seem to go with the music; it was as if the words had been taken from someplace else and made to fit an entirely different tune altogether. The innkeeper had also been so put off by the words that he escorted the traveller outside and asked him not to come back. Now, thinking back to that time, the memory of the performance gave him shivers, forcing him to bring his arms closer to his chest, crossing them for warmth. The clouds above had parted and the sun had already disappeared over the horizon, replaced by a giant red moon. Tomas always wondered why the moon sometimes changed colors; his mother told him it was the gods sending the world a message. What sort of message they would bother to send after all that had transpired today, he did not know. Indeed he was starting to doubt the very existence of gods.

The youngest De’Fathi lord turned toward the schoolhouse and kept walking, hoping that the entire day would prove to be nothing more than a hallucination—or maybe just a terrible dream. If he was only dreaming, he thought, it was the worst nightmare anyone had ever conjured.

The silhouette of a man kneeling in the snow just in front of the schoolhouse that came into view as he rounded the old path’s final bend made him feel as though his day was about to go even further downhill.