The Bone Mask Trilogy: (An Epic Fantasy Boxed Set), page 42
“No. There was an accent that I couldn’t place.” She shook her head. “Not even an accent. An inflection. I don’t know how to describe it.”
“Well, I’ll be watching.” He already had his sword drawn, resting it across his knees. “Get some sleep, Sofia.”
She prepared her own bedding and lay back.
***
Ihris spread around its trees. Most buildings had space enough for a small family only – many appeared suited to a single person. They were squat, with thatched rooves and not one of them over a single storey. Vines and moss grew across the surface of the buildings but all were built of wood, which surely was hypocritical? To revere the woods yet cut them to make their homes? Maybe Luik could explain it.
There was no strict boundary to the town, it simply began with a home nestled between two broad oaks. Moss climbed the walls and a flowering plant grew over the doorway. A white petal fluttered to the ground as she rode by.
Most people, their clothing green, grey and brown to blend with the forest, moved between homes without giving Sofia even a glance. Many wore longbows and quivers, both women and men. One large man, chest bare, sweated as he heaved slate across the path ahead.
Some of the Braonn however, cast unfriendly looks their way. One woman stood, arms folded, and watched them pass. Notch nodded to her but she did not respond.
“Chilly,” Sofia said.
“It’ll probably get worse.”
“Wonderful.” The Braonn continued to move from their homes to watch them pass. Muttering darkened some doorways. Several doors slammed and Sofia flinched. The significance of the action was not lost on Notch either, who tapped his horse’s flanks, moving into a fast walk.
Further along, they passed a young couple standing around a small garden plot beside a home. Inside a sapling had been planted, it’s broad leaf shot through with red veins. The young man’s expression was expectant. The woman smiled and took the man’s hand and he gave a cry of happiness.
“What was that?” Sofia asked once they’d passed.
“Part of an old Braonn courting ritual. She accepted him so they’ll care for the tree now, to symbolise their commitment to one another.”
More and more houses popped up, stretching back into the trees on all sides. There was no centralisation, just more houses, the mossy slope of their rooves making odd patterns.
“How do you find anything? A tailor, or somewhere for fletching?”
Notch pointed to a home with a man passing quivers to children. “Each family’s responsible for their own tools, clothes and weapons. For gathering food. The Braonn don’t buy much, they mostly barter with a neighbour.”
“Then who are the traders you mentioned?”
“At the edge of town there’s a Trade House where people get materials they cannot easily provide for themselves. Some steel items, some medicines, food for the few travellers who aren’t taken in to Braonn homes.”
“They do that?”
“That’s one of the reasons I know Luik has a cousin here – he’d stay here when he travelled.”
The Trade House was much larger than the other buildings. A wide bench rested across its front, where a smiling man stood, sleeves rolled up. He stopped smiling when they dismounted and approached. Behind him lay shelves of assorted items, many jars – some of which looked to be jam, along with weapons and even a few bolts of Anaskari silk.
“What do you want?” His Anaskari was fair.
Notch answered in Braonn, stating their purpose then gesturing to Sofia.
She continued. “He would have come through some weeks prior, dressed as a Mascare, in red robes. He may not have worn a mask, but he would have sounded educated. He was a little older than my friend here and finally, he was being pursued. Others may have passed this way, close behind.”
The man worked his jaw a moment. “You know this is a Trade House, missy?”
“Of course.”
“Then I think it only fair that you offer something in exchange for information.”
Notch leaned in. “Then you saw him? He came here?”
“You know, Ihris could use another horse. We have few at the moment.”
Sofia blinked. Notch’s face was turning red and his lips made a white line. “A horse?”
The Trader folded his arms. “Yeah. A horse.”
Notch withdrew some Anaskari silver. “Three silver pennies.”
He shook his head. “Don’t want Anaskar coin. You know my terms.”
Sofia put a hand on Notch’s arm, which had begun to tremble. “Agreed. Take mine,” she said. “Now what do you know?”
He grinned at her. “I saw a man like you describe. He traded for food and headed toward Avaon.”
Sofia drew breath. “When?”
“Must be over a full turn of the moon.”
“And those who followed?”
“Three Masks, but none of your fancy Guards. They paid too.”
Sofia thanked him and joined Notch, who was already transferring supplies from her horse to his own, the stronger of the two. He handed the reins to the Trader. “Here.” Notch said. “The saddle is a gift for your generosity of spirit.”
The man gave a mock bow and led the horse away. Notch shook his head, switching to Anaskari. “That was robbery. We could have asked any other person in Ihris and found the same information.”
“Not the people I saw, Notch. And Father didn’t speak to them, he spoke to the Trader.”
He grunted. “Well, you can ride. I don’t want to overburden Swift now that she’s carrying everything.” Notch helped her mount up, then slung a pack over his shoulder. “At least we’re on the right path.”
She flicked the reins gently. “I hope so. We’re so far behind.”
Notch led them into the trees. “We’ll find him.”
Chapter 7
Ain fell back against cold stone of the palace dungeon, Schan close by.
In the dim light a slender arm stretched through the bars, long fingers still more than a foot from being able to touch him or Schan.
“What does it want?” Schan breathed.
“The egg?”
Ain gaped as the creature’s skin changed colour to match the bar, and then the light inside the cell, blending the dark grey and grime. Its body was too broad to fit between the bars, but not by much. Ain inched away. The arm strained, clawing toward him.
Light burst into the cells.
The creature fell back, seeming to melt into a wall as a pair of guards approached, boots scraping on stone. One held a torch, the other chains. Both wore shiny breastplates and hard expressions. The one with chains motioned for Ain to turn around. A long scar crossed his throat.
Ain glared at the man.
The guard only repeated the motion.
Ain folded his arms.
The Anaskari exchanged a few words. The one with the torch shrugged. Chain-man leant against the bars. “Do as I say,” he rasped. “The King wishes to speak with you. He didn’t specify what condition you were to be in. Cooperate.”
The man spoke Medah. And more than competently. Ain frowned. “Why would I trust an Anaskari dog?”
The guard growled. “Last chance.”
Ain snorted, then did as he was told. He exchanged a glance with Schan, who shrugged.
“Hands behind your back.” The key turned in the cell door as Ain complied. The guard continued. “Not your friend. Move across the cell, warrior. And no moving. Giovan likes to use his knife.”
Cold steel clapped over Ain’s hands with a clanking. Then he was jerked toward the door, pushed outside and marched down the hall. He twisted his neck. Schan watched from the cell. The older man mouthed the word “strength” and then Ain stumbled over the threshold and a door slammed shut.
Had the creature followed? Or was it watching Schan? Wherever it lurked, Schan could take care of himself. Even locked in a cell.
His guards did not speak as they marched him along dim corridors of stone. Ain couldn’t stop a fresh bout of shivers. Damn the cold. Anaskar was a nightmare of chill and unforgiving stone. Outside was worse, the cutting wind.
And paths.
A constant, hideous mess of them. Everywhere. From youngest whispers to the oldest thump of boots on stone from centuries past, the whole palace was littered with them. Their rumbling filled his head until it throbbed, assaulted by their persistent creeping from even the city below. Grinding his teeth, he was able to push it back for the most part but the pressure remained.
After twisting through a maze of dark corridors he found himself blinking in new light, as the guards stopped before a plain door and knocked. Ain flexed his hands while the guard waited, anything to distract from the paths.
“Come, Holindo.”
Holindo opened the door and dragged Ain into warmth. An old man with silver hair sat in a rich room. Wooden chairs and the table, both set with some manner of bone, rested in the centre. On the table, strangest of all – most wasteful of all – were red flowers in a clear vase. Their stems drank deeply of water.
Ain licked parched lips. He studied the silver-haired man. Black clothing, no distinction to it. He wore no jewels or obvious marks of status, but his authority was clear, even without the deferential pose of the guards.
“Thank you both.” The old man looked to Giovan. “Ensure we are not interrupted.”
The guard left without a word. Holindo stood beside the old man but did not take his eyes from Ain. No-one spoke. Sands. He wouldn’t indulge them. Let his captors speak first. Curiosity be damned. Just sit still and block out the paths.
“Welcome to Anaskar.” The old man’s Medah was perfect. “I wonder if it meets your expectations?”
“Not at all.”
He laughed. “Sometimes I must agree. But I am being ill-mannered. I haven’t introduced myself. I am King Oseto and I have brought you here to make you an offer.”
Ain narrowed his eyes. “You jest?”
“His Majesty does no such thing,” Holindo snapped.
The old man raised a hand. To Ain, he smiled, though it was predatory. “Indeed I do not. Now, Ain, Pathfinder of Cloud Oasis, would you like to hear my proposal? I trust the chatter of the paths is not too great here in the palace?”
“You know a lot about me, King Oseto.”
“Your name from conversations with your warrior, your skill set via your cloak and as I understand, it has been the responsibility of the Cloud to send Pathfinders on the Search for the last few decades.”
Ain smothered a spark of surprise. “You don’t expect me to be impressed, surely?”
“I expect you to be interested.” The King toyed with a petal. “Your skills as a Pathfinder are useful to me. It’s my hope that they’re worth your life. And Schan’s life. That is what I’m offering you. Help me locate what I seek, and you shall both be set free to return to your Oasis.”
Ain shook his head. “Your word is worth nothing. I hardly trust it, the word of a usurper.”
“Very well.” The King stood. “Back to your cell then.”
Holindo called for Giovan and the King walked to a second door, one built to resemble the wall. He passed beyond without a backward glance, and before Ain could react, he was hauled to his feet.
“Guess you like it down there,” Giovan snickered.
Ain gave no reply. For days now, ever since he’d been captured, he’d known his fate. They would execute him; a fitting reward for failure, perhaps. And all the time in the cell, staring at the steel door where the egg had been locked away, choking down bread and water, waiting for them to come, hope draining from his body like invisible blood, and suddenly the King of the devils offered him a chance to see Silaj again.
It had to be a lie.
Chapter 8
Flir rubbed her temples with fingertips, turning from the calm man waiting in the sunlit street with a beatific smile. Why couldn’t he let it rest? “Pevin, can you at least stand a bit further away while you stare like that?”
He took a single step back. “Of course, dilar.”
Luik grinned at her.
“Don’t you laugh, Luik, or I’ll smack your fat head into the harbour.”
He glanced down the quiet street to the Lower Tier wall, as if to draw attention to the considerable distance, but said only, “Give him something to do.”
She turned to her follower. “Pevin, go find us some food, will you?”
“Certainly.” He turned with a nod, starting back up the cobbles toward the clamour of conversation from a market.
“Meet us at the Beast,” she called after him.
He turned to bow again, before quickening his step. Flir let her shoulders slump. If only he didn’t know. Or better yet, no-one knew. At least Luik, and Notch when he was around, never treated her differently. No dilar, just Flir. No ridiculous lies about the Goddess Mishalar, just Flir.
She started toward the harbour. “How do you think Notch and Sofia are doing?”
“I wouldn’t worry about them, Flir. Notch knows what he’s doing and Sofia has the Greatmasks.”
“You’re right I suppose. But I’ll admit, I wish I was with them.”
Luik gave a grunt.
Was he agreeing or not? She waved an arm at the tall buildings, mostly warehouses or large workshops and shipyards. “All this running around, looking for acor, maybe it’s a goose chase and there’s none left.”
“Sure of that?”
“No, I’m not.”
“Well, Vinezi’s still out there. Or his brother.”
“That’s just what we need, two Vinezis.”
“We’ve got a possible riot to break up at least.”
She cracked her knuckles. “Good.”
“Seto wants us to defuse trouble, Flir. Not start it.”
Flir shrugged.
The street fed into a busy thoroughfare. Women with baskets of silver-scaled fish and vegetables, men in overalls and the city Vigil all went about their business, but children, idle merchants and even a few nobles by their dress, paraded toward the corpse of the Sea Beast. They laughed and shouted as they bounced along.
One man was waving his hands and a dried fish-head charm swung from his neck. “You’ve never seen anything like it, Puco. They’re actually cutting it up-is, but it’s so big it’s taking forever.”
Puco’s bushy eyebrows rose. “I should have come home sooner. Reckon we could take a piece for luck?”
“We’ll ask when we get there,” the first man said, as the two passed by.
Idiots. It wasn’t a novelty at a market.
Flir let Luik make a path with his broad shoulders, rather than accidently flinging someone into a wall herself. Even so, it was slow going. “Seto needs to do something about this. Ban gawkers already.”
“Think they’d listen?” Luik said over his shoulder.
“Good point.”
The watery sun fell behind a cloudbank and the street darkened a shade as the Sea Beast came into view, its black bulk towering over the street. It remained in the wreckage of the wall, but significant portions had been cut away over the weeks since its death. A rotten piece of fruit it was. Black and slime-covered on the outside; pinker flesh within. In places it still hung from the massive white rib bones. Scaffolding had been erected around the beast’s body and the Guard were tiny where they cut into the flesh.
Their spoils would be heading to two places. The flesh itself dumped in the harbour to disintegrate, as early on Seto discovered that the flesh would not burn under any flame. The precious bones, however, were placed in massive wagon beds and transported to the palace. As far as the populace knew, it was so the beast’s skeleton could be reassembled in the palace grounds. Flir smiled. It had to be one of Seto’s more brilliant deceptions – it so naturally fit his love of the grandiose.
The wind changed and the fetid stink of old fish ran through the crowd. Groans and curses went with it, and Flir spat. “No wonder there’s been rioting. I couldn’t live with this.”
Luik grunted his agreement, a hand over his face.
At the barricade, which blocked off a good deal of the streets surrounding the corpse, they were given cloths soaked in lemon to tie around their faces. Flir knotted hers with a sigh. It didn’t remove the smell, but it made being near the corpse bearable. Captain Holindo himself handed them out.
“How goes it?” Flir asked.
“We lost two more men today. A vein exploded. We tried to clean them, but there was too much blood.” Holindo’s jaw worked beneath the cloth. “This creature had better be worth the cost.”
“At the least, we’re protecting the people from it,” Luik said.
Holindo nodded.
“Has there been any further trouble?” Flir asked. Both Shield and Vigil lined the barricades day and night, to protect the people from the corpse but also to safeguard the precious bones. The Mascare were present too, their red robes stirred by the chill sea breeze. While there was shouting and pleading from the crowds, much of it directed at the Guard, no-one shouted at the Mascare whenever one of the masks completed a circuit.
The Captain pointed to a section of crowd pushing up against the barricade, waving their fists and shouting. Many were fishermen and all had the look of Lower Tier folk, their clothing drab. “There, see that lot?”
“They look unhappy.”
“They are and they should be,” he rasped. “They want the beast gone and so do I. It’s as I feared, there are reports of people falling ill.”
“From the smell?”
He spread his hands. “Perhaps, but likely from the sea. Dumping the flesh in the harbour will now stop.”
“That’s what’s making people sick? They aren’t eating it are they?”
“I hope not. First, the flesh we cut away disintegrated as it sunk. It didn’t seem to be doing any harm. Why would it? The beast has swum the sea for centuries.”
Luik slapped his thigh. “The fish!”
“Right. That’s what we think. The dead flesh is poisonous and fish are eating that flesh, then our fishermen catch those fish, feed them to their families or sell it in the markets.” He paused to swallow. “People have been sick for days it appears, and not every symptom worsens at once. With others it may have been fear; they did not want to tell us.”
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