When at last they reached the village the world was swathed in a purplish dusk. Like Vont Marbury before them they found old bleached bones, empty ruined cottages, cracked and weed-wrecked cobbled streets, and dry wells. If the mountains had often been silent, this place felt like a tomb. Was cold like a tomb. Smelled like one, dry and musty and drear. And like a tomb it held nothing of life.
They stood in what had likely been the public square, where naked, yellowed skeletons dangled from sagging, half-rotted gibbets. The rust on their chains spoke of infrequent rain.
Theyre not here, said Rafel, and rasped a gloved hand down his face. I dont understand. Where could they be?
He shrugged. Anywhere. This cant be the only village.
Maybe not, but its the first one, said Rafel. He sounded dismayed. Theyd have stopped here. Why isnt there some sign?
Stopped here for what? he said, impatient. Irritated by the mans distress. The place is barren.
I can see its b.l.o.o.d.y barren, Arlin. I aint blind.
He stared at Rafel, silent, until the Olken dropped his gaze. We should make camp. Come dawn we can inspect the place more thoroughly.
Aye, Rafel muttered. Aye, we might as well.
Rafel.
I said all right! Dont you start with me, Arlin. I aint in the b.l.o.o.d.y mood.
That was better. A dispirited Rafel was more likely to limp than leap between him and a grisly death.
Ill find some firewood, he said. You pick somewhere for us to sleep. Not inside. If there are creatures in this blighted place, we must be able to see them coming.
Leaving Rafel to his task, he went foraging for something, anything, he could get to burn. Fuel was scarce. By the time hed gathered enough half-rotted, splintered woodcottage shutters, doors, window-framesto keep them warm for an hour or two, the Olken had settled on the remains of a tumbledown hovel one street behind the square. The shelter it offered was meagre, at best. The roof was long gone, which meant there was no inside. Two of its stone walls remained upright; the other two had half-collapsed. But at least if it rained, or if a wind came up, theyd be a little protected.
Provided the other walls dont collapse, and crush us in our sleep.
Im glad you find this amusing, Arlin, said Rafel, scowling. The glimfire hed conjured lit the paltry hovel with a fitful, reluctant glow. How much food and water have you got left?
Enough, he said, and busied himself getting the fire started. Once it was burning, the only cheerful thing in the whole wretched village, he spread his groundsheet and sat. Ate and drank sparingly, trying to ignore the queasy churn in his guts. Morgs leftover magics had smeared these lands like old, rancid oil, leaving nothing untouched. He could almost imagine himself breathing in the foul incants. Could almost feel them coating his bones.
Under cover of throwing more wood on the fire, he looked at Rafel, leaning against a bit of wall, hunched and miserable. Feeling their surroundings, yes, but moping for his missing friend as well. Sentimental fool. And then the Olken felt himself being watched, and looked up.
I didnt bring all Durms spells with me, you know, Rafel said, defensive. Just a few. And not a single one my da used against Morg. Those spells dont exist anymore.
Carefully, he sat down again. So your father claimed. But we know now your father was a liar.
Rafels face darkened. Is a liar, Arlin. He aint dead. And he aint a liar, either. He danced around the truth a bit, to protect Lur. It aint the same thing.
Danced around the truth? he said, incredulous. He said there was nothing out of the ordinary about you. Lie. He told Jaffee he never once felt unrest in the earth. Lie. He said the Council had seen all that was left of Old Doranen magic. Lie.
Like I said, Rafel muttered. He was protecting Lur.
What else has he lied about? And dont tell me nowt, because I know thats not true. He leaned forward, the fires heat caressing. Tell me, Rafel. What can it matter now? Lurs far, far behind us.
Maybe, Arlin, but once weve found Lost Dorana well be going back there, wont we? Rafel retorted. Dyou think Im going to tell you anything asll hurt him?
Do you think h.e.l.l be alive to care?
Rafel shook his head. His shadow-smeared eyes were wide, and shocked. You are a sinkin, poxy b.a.s.t.a.r.d.
And you murdered my father. Dont think Ill forget.
Fine, he said, shrugging. Keep your little secrets, Rafel. I dont care. He held out his hand. Just give me those spells.
In the morning, said Rafel. Im tired now. I want to sleep.
Youre tired? He had to wait a moment. Had to subdue the urge to strike. I see. So that was a lie too? A shining example of like father, like son?
Rafel didnt quite manage to hide his flinch. Those spells are dangerous, Arlin. Theyre weapons. And like I said, Im tired. Ill show them to you when Im feeling more rested.
You think Ill attack you?
Rafel smiled. I think you think I murdered your father. He snapped his fingers, and the glimfire went out, plunging his hollowed face into shadow. Get some sleep, Lord Garrick. Morningll be here soon enough.
Long after Arlin had surrendered to his furious exhaustion Rafel sat awake, too tired to sleep, listening to the nights relentless silence. Feeling its emptiness. The deadness of this land sc.r.a.ped his nerves raw. Even Lurs discordant music was better thanthan this nothing.
And underneath the deadness, a dreadful, rank disease. The blight hed felt in Dragonteeth Reef, in the Weather map, unchallenged here and left to flourish. Sour and knotted, twisting everything it touched.
Will it twist me too, if I stay here long enough? Will it twist Arlin?
Although in Arlins case, it might not be possible to tell the difference.
The fire was dying, their supply of wood run out. But he didnt want to risk hunting for more. Arlin might wake. And if he woke alone, hed go after Durms spells. And that wasnt You hear that? Arlin whispered, in the dark. Theres someone out there. In the street.
Yes. There was.
He heard it again, that peculiar, snuffling grunt. Almost like an animal, but the shape of it felt wrong. The sense, the presence. It was a man. Or almost a man. Heart thudding, raw nerves thrumming, he cautiously unsheathed the sword hed hoped never to use and stood in one smooth motion, tension obliterating his loud aches and pains. Arlin was on his feet already, easing close to what pa.s.sed for the tumbled cottages door.
Joining him, Rafel touched his arm lightly. Wait. Wait.
A stealthy, shuffling sound. Another snuffling grunt. Whoeverwhateverwas coming, it was close to them now. Close closer Now! he shouted, and pushed Arlin into the street. Leapt right after him, and as he leapt conjured enough glimfire to wash night bright as day. The mansthe creaturessnuffling grunt slid into a panicked scream. Half-blinded himself, Rafel raised the sword ready to maim or to kill.
And then he caught sight of their attackers terrified face.
Goose?
Flinging the sword away to clatter on the cobbles, he rounded on Arlin. Shoved him hard, both hands to the chest, as the Doranen prepared to strike with magic.
Dont! Dont! Cant you see, Arlin? Its Goose!
Arlin stepped back, for once surprised out of his customary self-contained arrogance. Leaving him to fend for himself Rafel turned again, to his friend.
Blinking in the glimlight, Goose shuddered like a shambled ox. Clothes near to rags. His filthy hair wild and unkempt, his face scabbed, his spa.r.s.e beard straggled. Thin, so b.l.o.o.d.y thin. Worst of all, the dumb terror in his eyes.
Sickened, Rafel took a step towards him. Goose? Its all right. Its me. Its Rafel. He took another step, reached out his handand stopped as Goose raised an arm, whimpering.
Hes lost his mind, said Arlin, his contempt like a knife. His wits have wandered.
Poxy b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Shut up, Arlin. Youll fright him. Gentling his voice, he eased another step forward. Goose Goose dont be frighted. I aint going to hurt you. Youre safe. I promise. Its me. Rafel. Remember? He heard his voice break, felt tears sting his eyes. Arlinfetch Durms spells from my pack. Im sending Goose home.
No, said Arlin. You cant. He has to stay.
Stay? Even though Goose whimpered again, this time he didnt gentle his tone. He cant stay. Look at him, Arlin. Somethings happened to him. Hes hurt. He needs help. Pother Kerril.
Arlin shrugged. And he can have Pother Kerrilbut not yet. We need him, Rafel, even if he cant find his own pizzle to p.i.s.s with.
Need him? he said blankly. Arlin Are you as witless as he is? Arlin demanded. Rafel, weve got to find Sarle Baden and the others. We need all the mages we can get, in this place. And your friend here might be our only chance of finding them.
What? Arlin, how can he? Look at him. Look at his face. Like poor ole Jeds face, the eyes vacant. The witsyeswandered. The only place h.e.l.l lead us is over a cliff.
So I was wrong about you, Rafel, said Arlin, coldly. Youre not your fathers son. Youre a pathetic, mawkish dolt. Youd let a kingdom perish to spare one man.
Arlin might as well have picked up that ole sword and shoved it right through him. Thrust it in one side of his heart and out the other. Spare Goose or lose Lur. Were those his only choices?
You think I dont know how you feel, sprat? I know. I spoke the words that killed my best friend.
Das words to him before he poured himself into Barls Weather map, and nearly died.
He was weeping, he could feel it. He didnt care that Arlin could see. Hating Arlin, for being Arlin, for being right, he tried to smile at his best friend.
Ive got to do it. Ive got to use him. Or Im not my fathers son.
I know youre frighted, Goose-egg, he whispered. I know you want to go home. And Ill send you home. I will. My word on it, man to man. Just help us a little bit, and then Ill send you home.
Get him inside, said Arlin. He might bolt, out here.
Tentative, he risked reaching out to Goose again. This time his friend didnt whimper or pull back. Instead, flinching like a bear cruelly tamed to do tricks, he let himself be led into their tumbledown shelter. Cause a part of him remembered? Or cause he was so addled and worn out he had no fight left? He didnt know. It didnt matter. All that mattered was this time, Goose listened.
Arlin followed them inside, picking up the discarded sword first, then tugging the glimlight behind him with one snap of his fingers. Propped the sword in one corner and stood beside it, arms folded, closely watching. What, did he think Goose might suddenly attack?
b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Poxy b.a.s.t.a.r.d. I dont care if hes right. Before this is over I want him broken and weeping.
Rafel dropped to a crouch on his groundsheet. Here, Goose. Sit here.
Oh, and it nearly killed him, to see Goose stranded there, uncertain, barely able to understand such simple words. His best friend the gold medalwinning brewer, sure to be his guilds meister one day, just like his da. Funny and wise and amiable and loyal. Goose, who loved Deenie. Goose, who loved him.
Goose. Goose, Im sorry. Forgive me.
He glowered at Arlin. Hes all right. He wont run. He knows me, Arlin. He knows hes safe.
Really? With another finger-snap, Arlin dimmed the ball of glimfire almost to darkness. Enough light to see by, barely. Enough darkness to sleep. Then he knows more than I do, Rafel. I dont think any one of us is safe.
But that didnt stop the poxy s.h.i.t falling back to sleep. Soon after, Goose slept too, huddled against the stone wall. And then, though he tried to stay awake, just in case of danger, exhaustion claimed him and he was plagued by terrible dreams.
Screams. Howling. Violent, b.e.s.t.i.a.l faces. Blood. So much blood. Flames and agony and feasting carrion crows. Wolves creeping out of the shadows, devouring corpses and the wounded and babies starving to death.
He woke at the first weak touch of sunlight, aching and sick. Full of misery and dread. Woke to see Arlin up and watching him, his expression disdainful, his eyes without warmth.
We might need your friend, Rafel, but hes your problem. Not mine. You can feed him, water him and wipe his a.r.s.e, for I wont. And make sure he walks downwind of me. He stinks.
Rafel nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
Broken and weeping, Lord Garrick. Broken and weeping.
Goose stirred awake then, so frighted, so lost. Soothing Goose, trying to ease his fears, wiped Arlin Garrick from his mind completely.
Helping Goose, he couldnt keep the tears at bay.
Im sorry. Im sorry. This is all my fault, Goose.
Eventually, their bellies teased with miserly mouthfuls of food and water, they left the desolate village behind. Took the overgrown road leading away from the ruined buildings, trustinghopingthat soon theyd stumble upon a larger, living village, or Baden and Pintte, or both. Goose still hadnt spoken, but he was calmer, and seemed content to follow them like a dog.
Rafel kept him close by. A dog. A bear. And his nickname was Goose. Is that what he is now? Just a beast? No more a man? The thought was enough to start him weeping afresh.
If he wasnt careful, he would weep himself to death.
They walked and they walked, athwart the rising sun, and saw no sign of Fernel Pintte or Sarle Baden or any member of their expedition. Saw no sign of any man or woman, or any hint that one had pa.s.sed this way in days or even weeks. Perhaps longer. Rafel asked his friend again and again, Wheres that Fernel b.l.o.o.d.y Pintte got to? Dyou remember where you left him, Goose? But Goose only looked at him, mouth slackly open, eyes dull. No-one home.
They did come across rabbits, though. A sign of life, at last. Rafel, his mothers hunting son, killed six. They broiled them over a fire, devouring the stringy, poorly skinned carca.s.ses like starving men which they were. Goose tried to eat the bones as well, and cried when Rafel stopped him. Then they found an odorish, sluggish streamand drank from it anyway. Filled their waterskins with the brownish sludge and trusted it wouldnt kill them.
When night fell, they slept. In the morning they woke, ate cold rabbit, drank foul water and started walking again, in silence. There was almost nothing to say. Rafel waited for Arlin to mention Durms magic. Demand again to see the spells. Curse and rail against interfering Olken. But Arlin never did. Perhaps he doesnt care anymore. I know I dont. All I care about is Goose. Show me the spell to fix him and then Ill get excited. Then Ill care.
Their journey continued through barren wastelands, through shallow rivers, into gnarled copses and out the other side. Three more villages they came to, all of them deserted. All of them dead. They caught enough game that they didnt perish from hunger. Found enough wood to burn that they didnt freeze to death. They walked for nine days seeing no-one. Learning nothing. No sign of Pinttes expedition. No sign of any life but the animals they killed to survive. And the tainted earth tormented them, gifting them with bad dreams.
Then on the tenth day it all changed.
Hold up! said Arlin, his clenched fist lifting. Do you smell that? Wood smoke and roasting meat.
Sunk into a mind-numbing stupor, barely aware of his body, its pains, his thoughts drifting homewardsAre you still alive, Da? Please dont be deadRafel staggered to a halt. Shambling Goose halted beside him, anxious, a whimper building in his throat. They were deep within another straggled copse, the afternoon sky criss-crossed with unhealthy branches, its light fractured and mean, their ankles held captive by brambles and blackweed and sickly foxfoot. Odd, to recognise such foliage so far away from Lur.
Aye, he mumbled. I smell it. Arlinbest be careful. We dont know if thats Sarle and Arlin bit off an impatient curse. Stay here if youre afraid. With your witless friend. Ive no fear of strangers. Theyll do well to fear me.
So bludgeoned was he by nine unrelenting days of the blight soaking these lands like old, rotten blood, Rafel had no strength to argue. To caution arrogant Lord Garrick that he might not be the only b.l.o.o.d.y mage in these parts.
Arlin started towards the strong smell of wood smoke, and out of exhausted habit he followed. Goose stumbled along with him. He was beginning to wonder if it wasnt a cruelty to keep his sick friend here. He was beginning to fear that if he left it much longer, theyd be too far from Dorana City for him to send Goose home. For all he knew they were already too far. And if they were, and he tried Durms conjuring spell, Goose would die for sure.
Tomorrow. Ill decide tomorrow. I will.
Up ahead, the crackle of woodfire. A horses whinny, cut short. Voices, low and carrying. The copse thinned to a clearing. Without hesitation Arlin strode out of the shadows. Stinking and filthy, weeks and weeks unshaven, still he stamped about the place as though he owned it. Poxy, arrogant little s.h.i.t.
Slowing, almost halting, one arm out to bar Gooses way, Rafel took in the scene.
Three horses, ungroomed, common-bred and ribby, tied in a line. A fat-sputtered fire, with spitted venison roasting above it. Twelve men on their knees, rope halters round their necks, yoked together and staring at the damp, leafy ground. An open fronted tent, tattered, but opulent once. A long time ago, surely. A man on a rickety chair alone in that tent, clothed in mothworn red velvet and a tarnished tin crown. He had silvery-blond hair Sarle! cried Arlin, striding towards the seated man. Sarle Baden!
Blinking, Rafel stepped a few paces closer. Sarle Baden? ButbutInstinct stirred, a sluggish warning. Something was wrong here. Dreadfully wrong.