The Winterstone Plague (The Carrion Cycle) (8 page)

Philip nodded. “Indeed you did. My apologies. I need a cup of fine brandy and a good night’s sleep after all that has happened.”

“I am sorry, My Lord, but it may be many nights before any of us receives a good night’s rest. I suggest getting as much as you can for what remains of this night; tomorrow you must gather your best guardsmen. We shall visit a place with a much greater number of
those who have arisen from below
, as you so eloquently put it. As for the people of this village, we shall have to pay close attention to all injuries and deaths. Those who are afflicted must be put into their graves the proper way before they have a chance to do harm.”

Philip swallowed hard. He gazed into the priest’s eyes and saw a look of steel determination. “Are you saying that this is some sort of disease?”

“Philip De’Fathi,” Abytheos said, his voice unwavering. “It is my guess that this particular winter has brought with it a great and damning plague. As lord of Solstice, you will witness a great many deaths before it is done. Some of those deaths will be the people you have cherished and even loved for generations! Without immediate action, Solstice shall fall and only the dead shall rise from the ashes to spread the sickness throughout the land of Vintermore and beyond! It is my feeling that the whole of Alvanshia shall shift until the world becomes nothing more than a great ruin among the stars!”

The priest took a step forward, standing close enough to make Philip uncomfortable. He was tall, his frame thin, but Abytheos Haym still managed to be an imposing figure.

“But the future that I see does not have to come to pass.”

“How can we change what has already been set into motion?”

Abytheos smiled. “Do as I say. Take my advice and I shall rid Solstice of this plague forever. In doing so, I shall keep it from spreading to the rest of the world.”

“What assurances do I have that you can be trusted?”

“Have I not saved your life? Without me, you would have been killed—or worse. Are the words I have spoken since our first meeting not all true? My lord, I have only known you for a day and a night, and I have been nothing if not forthright with you. Tomorrow, I shall keep an additional promise. If you cannot trust me, who can you trust?”

“If you can truly help us as in the way that you claim, I am inclined to give you a chance to prove your worth,” Philip said, sighing. “However, you should know that not every villager will listen to you. You are an outsider to them; many shall resist. I will also not allow you to prance around Solstice as if you own her. It is my belief that you have been honest thus far. I should hope this honesty continues.”

“You have my word,” Abytheos said, smiling. “It is not my place to turn your people against you. I only seek to provide help in any way that I can. I will spread the words of my faith—this is true—but I will also use what little experience I have with the Vel’Haen to prepare your village. Although I have no extensive knowledge of them, I have spent more time around them than you or any other man in Solstice. My method of killing them is the only one that has worked. I only ask that you heed my advice to keep your beloved village from being destroyed.”

“Your words are wise,” Philip agreed. “I will take what advice you have to offer.”

“Good. Now let us rest until sunrise. Tomorrow, we shall brave the elements and send more of the dead back to their graves!”

* * *

“T
here are far more of these devils than you said there would be. I do not appreciate misinformation, as you are already aware. Are they all dead now?”

Balin of Dor, captain of the king’s guard walked among the rubble that had once been a merchant’s covered wagon. His men had found the merchant and his wife only twenty feet away, gnawing on the remains of what might have been one of their children. Balin had been able to identify the merchant’s sigil, a small pin typically worn on a bright green vest. A good peddler was rarely seen without his vest and sigil, and this man still wore his even as soldiers tore him from his victim, placed his head on an oaken stump and severed it from his body. The same courtesy was provided to the wife; Balin of Dor was a man of compassion. It pained him to think that the souls of even those as low in position as these two might never transcend into the plane of the gods. Now that their bodies were granted the rest they deserved, Gehash the Beloved would welcome them into the kingdom that lies beyond the clouds.

“Johak, did you hear my question or does it bear repeating?”

“No, Sir. And yes, we have killed them all. The merchant’s family we saved for last, as you requested. We wanted to make sure there weren’t more of his kind wandering around, so we could take care of them all at once.”

“Good. See to it that they are given a proper burial. They were different from the rest of these. In all likelihood, they were ambushed on the way to one of the surrounding villages. Their sacrifice should be recorded; their traditions honored. From the looks of their wares, they are originally from the eastern realms. See to it that their death rituals are carried out in accordance with the laws of their homeland. If I know this merchant’s kind, you will probably find a religious document somewhere among the wreckage. See to this task at once.”

“And the rest of the ones we beheaded? What of their traditions?”

Balin glared at the short, middle-aged, balding man standing before him. “Johak, most of the others have been out here for weeks. Some of them appear to have clawed their way from rather old graves, judging by the rate of decay of their flesh and burial garbs. If you can find among them more men who deserve burial rites, by all means carry them out.”

“Yes, Balin. As you wish.”

The old man turned to leave, but the captain stopped him. “One more thing.”

“What is it?”

Balin scratched his thick red beard. “What is the nearest village called? How far away is it?”

“According to the maps, Solstice is an hour’s march from where we stand; maybe two hours’ march at most. It is a small farming village, not remarkable in the slightest.”

“Yes,” Balin replied. “I know of the place. My father and I passed through Solstice when I was but a small child. It has been many years, but I can still recall the taste of the roasted lamb chowder I was fed in the inn where we lodged for the night. When you are finished with the merchant’s final affairs, send no more than two men to the village. Tell them to stay until they uncover enough information to aid us. Have them dress as peasants. Tell the men to arm themselves with weapons that can be concealed easily, for their own protection of course. We do not want to raise too many eyebrows. Not yet.”

“Aye.” Johak bowed and waddled towards the wagon wreckage.

Balin scanned the horizon; the clouds had parted, and the snow was quite deep. He quickly dismissed the urge to shiver against the bitter-cold breeze that blew back a generous length of his deep crimson hair. Wrapping himself tighter in his flowing alabaster cloak, he set his warhorse to a gallop. There was little time to waste.

A message detailing his findings had to be sent to King Randil at once.

––––––––

H
E FLOATED in a great void. It was everything, and he was a part of it. Valthian did not have a body at first; he was nothing more than a series of memories echoing through an unseen chasm, but then the void disappeared and he was himself. He opened his eyes and tried to blink the sleep from them, but quickly realized that he was not tired.

Valthian was surrounded by darkness. There was nothing to grasp; he could see nothing regardless of the direction in which he looked. Somewhere in the distance, he could hear a faint buzzing that reminded him of the sound a honeybee makes as it travels from flower to flower, only the sound that he heard was more like a thousand of those bees flying in unison. He tried to walk, but his legs felt as though they were submerged completely in a great tub of molasses. His muscles would not respond, so he remained still, listening to the distant buzz drawing ever closer, until finally the noise reverberated through his skull, threatening to drive him mad.

"Please go away," he thought, for he could not speak. "Leave me alone!"

Just when Valthian thought the droning buzz might just drive him mad, it stopped. The silence was almost worse, for at least it had been something. He tried to recall the buzzing, but he could not force his mind to cooperate. It was as if a great fog had invaded his mind, devouring each of his memories.

"It shouldn't be long now."

The voice was familiar, yet he wasn’t sure that he knew the speaker. She spoke in a melodious tone, each syllable almost musical.

"I am very close to finding you."

The speaker stepped out of the darkness and stood tall before him. She had a slim figure; her movements were lithe, not unlike the dances performed by the young maidens of Solstice during special celebrations and the yearly harvest day festival. The comparison made Valthian realize that the fog had lifted; he was himself again.

"Who are you?" He asked.

"No need to speak," she whispered. "I am so close to the one who will rise."

"Rise from what?" He asked, ignoring her suggestion that he not speak.

"He who shall rise from the ashes," she replied.

Her robes shimmered, but Valthian could find no source of light. The hood covering her face was deep and as dark as the world around them. He wasn't even sure that she had a face.

She reached out and touched his shoulder with a bony finger. He gasped; her touch was as cold as winter snow. Before he could speak, she backed away, each step some small part of an intricate dance. The fog returned and he fought in vain to regain consciousness.

The world surrounding him—the eternal darkness from which there had been no escape—faded, leaving Valthian floating in the void once again. He was one with the nothingness until he himself was a part of it, save for a series of memories floating in a deep, never-ending chasm...

Valthian awoke to find Elyna standing over him with a platter of fragrant bread and sliced apples. He stretched his arms and legs, and attempted to wipe the sleep from his eyes. Tomas must have decided to get up without disturbing him, for the young man was nowhere to be found in the tiny room.

“I feel horrible. I don’t think I slept for more than an hour, and I was having the worst nightmare.”

“You were snoring all night, silly. You even managed to sleep through most of the morning,” Elyna said, smiling. “We could hear you all the way up there. It’s almost time for lunch. Father asked me not to bother you; the snoring was rather loud, and he said that you seemed to be resting well enough.”

“What?” Valthian asked. “It’s that late? I have to get home immediately!”

“You are going nowhere until you have eaten!”

Valthian stood and wiped the front of his shirt with a grimy hand. “I do not have time for breakfast—err—lunch. I have to see my father as soon as possible. It is very important that I leave now.”

Elyna stomped her foot and shoved the platter into Valthian’s chest. “You will eat what is on this plate, or I will have you tied down so I can feed you myself!”

He grimaced, but grabbed the food from her hands. “Fair enough. It
does
smell delicious, and I
am
starving!”

Valthian popped an apple slice into his mouth and reached for a hunk of bread. In all probability, riding horseback in the snow would make for slow going, and there was no way he would make the trek home without some decent food and drink in his belly. He ate another hunk of bread, and grimaced when he reached for more apple slices and found the platter empty.

“You were much hungrier than I thought you would be,” Elyna said, her smile wide. “Should I fetch more for you?”

“No,” he replied, waving his free hand. “I thank you from the bottom of my heart, my love, but I have had plenty. I do not want my stomach weighed down with too much bread and my head feeling groggy from overeating while trying to make my way through whatever mess is waiting outside. I would like a mug of water very much, though.”

“Certainly! I made sure to bring in plenty of water for fear of the well freezing up. There’s a fresh bucket for drinking in the kitchen, if you will follow me.”

Valthian nodded and walked with Elyna from the room, up the narrow steps, and into the kitchen. His muscles ached from sleeping on the hard floor; the bit of straw that had been spread out for the two brothers did not compare to the soft bed to which he was accustomed. He watched, his heart beginning to flutter about, as Elyna dipped a tin mug into the small wooden bucket resting upon a plain—but sturdy—table made from thick cuts of
farthenwood
. It was the first choice of carpenters for building cheap, but serviceable furniture, although woodcarvers found shaping it into toys and other small trinkets too difficult.

He took the mug and drained it greedily. He handed it back to Elyna and asked for more; she filled it and handed it back. This time, he sipped the delicious liquid. His father preferred to have a small cup of wine each morning, but Valthian rarely touched it. Nothing helped him prepare for the day like a fine selection of fruits and a few mugs of the fresh water from the stream running through their land. Alain’s water did not have the slightly sweet flavor of the minerals from the De’Fathi stream, but it was more than acceptable by his standards.

“Where is Tomas?” Valthian asked, looking around. “He was gone by the time I awakened; is he off pestering your poor father?”

“Not at all,” Elyna replied. “I wanted to ask you the same question. I prepared enough food for the both of you, but when I came to check if you were awake, he was gone, so I brought just enough for you.”

“I wonder where he could have gone?”

Elyna laughed. “Knowing him, you will probably have luck tracking him down at The Hound’s Rest. I’ll wager he’s off stalking that bar wench; whatever her name is.”

“You mean Elsa? The one with the missing tooth?”

“I am sure she is a perfectly nice girl. These days, having most of your teeth is something to be proud of. That’s not to say that there is anything dishonorable about having only a single tooth. Especially one that happens to be rather sharp.”