The Nightblade Epic Volume Two: A Book of Underrealm, page 11
She could not know, not at least for a while yet. And until she knew, it seemed foolish to throw away such a great amount of wealth—and a great amount of power.
Loren put the magestones back in her cloak and leaned against the rock once more. She put her hand on the dagger, then removed it, over and over again, watching the world turn from night to day each time. After a time the vision faded, and she saw nothing more with the dagger in hand than she did without. But her thoughts went on wild journeys long afterwards, recalling all she had seen when the Elf touched her, and the words it had put into her mind.
Nightblade. The one who walks with death.
Those words stayed with her the longest.
LOREN WOKE CHET AN HOUR before dawn, when the sky was just beginning to grey. He roused slowly, but when he moved to wake the others, she stopped him.
“Come with me,” she said. “I have something to tell you, and I would not tell the others. Not yet, at any rate. Come.”
He did as she asked, though she could see the questions in his eyes. Loren led him up the side of the hill, until they sat on a flat shelf in its northwest side. From there they could see the camp down below, and the open plains for many leagues to the north and west. All the land was empty, as far as they could see, though Loren wondered if she would see anything different if she was to eat another magestone. But that was something she was not yet ready to test.
Loren told Chet everything that had happened, as best she could remember it—for already the memory had begun to fade, a grey and hazy thing, like a dream half-remembered. But all she had to do was recall the Elves’ black eyes when she had eaten the magestones, and she knew with certainty that they had been real.
When she first mentioned them, Chet went white as the Elves’ robes had been, and made the sign of the plow over his heart. Loren doubted that would have helped, for she guessed that the Elves cared little for such superstitions.
She did not tell him of the magestones, for she had never told him that she still had a packet of them with her. But she told him all the rest of it, and how it had felt when the Elf touched her, which she said was because she had not fetched the dagger quickly enough. By the time she finished her tale, Chet was looking down at the ground between his feet in thought. Loren waited a while, but when he still said nothing, she began to feel uncomfortable.
“You must promise not to tell the others,” she said.
He looked up in surprise. “Why not?”
She paused, for in truth she had not thought overmuch about it—she only knew she did not want to tell them. “I am not certain. Only it feels like something that was for me, and me alone.”
He chuckled. “Why tell me, then?”
“I had to tell someone,” she said, sighing. “The memory fades even now, against my wishes. I was terrified for every moment of it, and feared that we might all of us be killed where we lay. Yet at the same time it was beautiful, like something from one of Bracken’s tales, and I would not be the only one to know it happened. And somehow … I feel that if I were to tell them, they might not believe me.”
“I believe you,” he said quietly.
“I hoped you would. Come. We have rested long enough, and should put as many leagues behind us as we can.”
They went down the hill again and woke the others. But when Loren shook Xain awake, his gaze locked with hers.
“What happened to you?” he said, eyes wide with wonder.
“What?” she said, feeling a chill run down her spine. “Nothing.”
“Your eyes … something is different about them,” he said slowly. He sat up straighter and peered at her more intently. “Something I feel I should recognize, but I cannot.”
Loren swallowed, and thought she could feel Chet’s eyes on her back. “Nothing,” she said. “Mayhap it is a symptom of the magestone sickness.”
Xain stared a moment longer without answering. Then he sighed and turned away. “Mayhap. I am weary, and feel as if I have hardly slept a wink.”
When she turned, Loren saw that Chet was indeed looking at her with worry. But she smiled at him, and he looked away, and they readied for the day’s travel.
The ride went swiftly. They turned their horses due east around midday, for the land seemed flat and easy, while to the north and south it was rocky and harsh. Three more days they rode this way, and each night Loren went to sleep thinking of the Elves, and woke to memories of their faces in the moonslight. The party gave a wide berth to any villages or farms they spied from afar; doubtless someone would mark their passing, but they wanted to leave as little information in their wake as they could.
On the fourth day, Loren found Xain studying their saddlebags with worry. Her earlier optimism about his recovery seemed to have been justified, for he was slowly regaining his strength. But now he was looking at their supplies, and seemed displeased.
“We do not have enough to reach the coast,” said Xain.
“We thought we might not.”
“That worry was far off when we were still in the Birchwood. Now it presses close. I would counsel that we should stop at the next village we see, only I fear that if the Shades still follow us, it could freshen the trail.”
“We have seen neither hide nor hair of them for days now,” said Gem, piping up from behind Annis on their horse. “And I would welcome a change from the endless, unbroken brown of this kingdom, and the wilting scrub brush that covers its landscape.” He had taken to complaining day and night about Dorsea, never tiring of pointing out its flaws when compared to the lush green of Selvan, until Loren had to grit her teeth to keep from cuffing him.
“He is right, Loren,” said Annis. “And I try not to complain, but I too would welcome a stop. This road is lonely and dirty and boring.”
“Very well,” said Loren. “We shall rest in the next town we see. Mayhap we will even spend the night in an inn.”
“It will seem poor compared to Mag’s,” said Chet quietly.
They all rode in silence for some time after that.
They did not have to wait long, for later that afternoon they saw a small cluster of brown houses near the horizon. Loren stowed her black cloak in the saddlebag, for it was far too distinctive. But despite misgivings about the wisdom of such a stop, Loren found herself nudging a bit more speed out of Midnight. The mare seemed to catch her mood. The town sat on a small stream that headed to the northeast, and likely ran all the way to the ocean many, many leagues away.
The sun was nearing the horizon as they reached the place. From a ways off they saw some folk at the town’s western end, waiting, or so it seemed. But once they got close enough to be seen more clearly, the villagers turned and shuffled off back to their homes. As they left, Loren saw weapons in their hands: staves and simple cudgels, no blades or spears. It gave her an unquiet feeling.
“Did anyone else find that odd?” Chet said, and she knew he had seen the same thing.
“Again you forget that we are in Dorsea now,” said Xain. “Villages and towns cannot afford to be so friendly as in Selvan. And we would not do well to mention it, either, for that and your voices would mark us as foreigners.”
The village was a small place, but a road ran through it parallel to the river, and there was an inn at the southwestern end. They caught a few glances as they rode past the homes, but the villagers seemed filled with curiosity rather than suspicion. The inn was low and squat, only a single storey high, with the rooms around the outside of the building and all their doors leading straight to the common room at the center. A fat and bearded innkeeper greeted them cordially at the door.
“Evening, good folk,” he said. “You will need rooms for the night, I imagine?”
“We will,” said Loren. “And stalls for the horses, if you have the room.”
“That we do, though you have a couple of fine steeds there. Likely they are used to finer quarters than ours.”
Annis smiled down at him. “We value hospitality more than feather pillows, and yours seems in plentiful supply, good sir.”
The man grinned wide at that, and he gave Loren a low bow. “Always a kindness to have guests of such fair words under our roof. My boy Ham will take your steeds. Get yourselves inside for a pint.”
They dismounted, and Loren raised a questioning eyebrow. Annis smiled, suddenly shy. “Dorseans hold hospitality as a high virtue, and disdain finery, which they see as unnecessary luxury,” she said. “Or so I was taught upon the Seat.”
“Mayhap you should do all our talking while we are here,” said Chet. “He grinned wide enough to split his head open.”
Annis ducked her head, cheeks darkening with embarrassment. They found a table inside, and soon the innkeeper came personally to bring them supper. After they had eaten for a while, and had drunk of his ale, which was fine enough (though nowhere near so good as Mag’s) he asked if he might sit with them for a time, and they happily obliged. He introduced himself as Crastus, and did not ask for their names in turn, though they had prepared false ones.
“Where might you be headed? If my asking is no discourtesy, I mean,” he said once he had settled down and taken a swig from his mug.
“Southeast, for the Seat,” said Loren, for they had discussed this story before they entered the town. “Bridget here has a cousin in a courtly position who means to take her for a handmaiden. We are friends of her father’s, and promised to see her safely to her destination.”
“I have family north and west of here,” said Crastus. “From where do you hail? Mayhap I know the place.”
“It is only a tiny village, many leagues north of the King’s road and deep within Feldemar,” said Loren smoothly. “Too small a place to warrant a name.”
“Like our own village,” said Crastus. “Do you know the family Mennet? They are my kin, and are from around about those parts.”
“Mennet?” said Loren, Gem, and Chet all at once.
Annis’ eyes widened, and she pursed her lips. With a quiet look to Loren, she urged them all to silence. “I have met many Mennets through my father, though it pains me to say I cannot remember their names,” she said. “You must forgive my friends their surprise. They are travelers, as you can plainly hear by their tone, and not from Dorsea by birth.”
At that, Crastus gave them all sharp looks. “I should say not. Were I a wagering man, I would lay a gold weight that you three come from Selvan. The dark fellow there has hardly said a word, so I would make no guess as to him.”
“From Selvan stock, but born in Feldemar,” said Annis, cutting off Gem, who had begun to open his mouth. Loren kicked the boy under the table. “And certainly they hold no truck with that kingdom now, what with the goings-on in Wellmont.”
Crastus eyed them a moment more. But then he shrugged and went to his mug again. “Ah, it is no worry of mine. As long as the fighting stays far, far away, I care nothing for it. Though you might wish to keep your words to yourselves, for some hold more tightly to their kingly bonds—more tightly, I would say, than seems reasonable.”
“Thank you for the warning,” said Loren. “Is that why we saw some men waiting for us when we rode in, bearing weapons?”
“No, that is something else entire,” said Crastus, leaning in to speak in a hushed voice. “Some say there have been Elves sighted west of here.”
The others’ eyes all widened—all but Loren, who tried to keep her face calm. From the corner of her eye she saw Chet looking at her.
“Elves!” said Gem, giddy. “Truly?”
“I would rid myself of that smile if I were you, boy,” said Crastus. “Elves are no playthings for children such as yourself.”
“I have heard they are beautiful—though, to be certain, few enough have seem them and lived to describe it,” said Gem. He had done nothing to follow the innkeeper’s advice, for his smile remained.
“Aye, and that is because they will kill you without a second thought,” said Crastus. “I pray they stay far, far away from here, that I do.”
Loren cleared her throat and took another bite of her dinner. She had become aware that Xain, too, was looking at her now, and his brow had furrowed in thought.
The conversation turned to other things, and soon Loren rustled them all from their tables to go into town and get the supplies they had come for. Food they bought, and oats for the horses, and from the river they filled their waterskins to bursting. All these they put in their room, ready to be packed and loaded in the morning.
Night had fallen by then, and they met back in the common room for a drink before bed. Crastus joined them once more, and began to tell them a story of a time the king of Dorsea himself had come through the town, and tried Crastus’ ale and proclaimed it the best he had had in years. The innkeeper was a fair tale-spinner, better at it at any rate than his ale was to drink, and Loren was leaning back in her chair enjoying the story when a man poked his head in the front door and gave a sharp whistle. Some rose from their seats and moved to the door outside.
“What is that?” said Xain, eyes suddenly sharp.
“Another party spotted coming in,” said Crastus. “Probably just more travelers like yourselves, but half these boys will go and fetch their weapons expecting Elves. As though swords would help if indeed those demons decided to put our town to the torch.”
He went on with his story, but Loren gave Chet a worried look. It might be more travelers, or it might indeed be the Elves. What if Loren had done something wrong since they saw her last, something she could not understand? From the look in his eyes, Chet seemed to understand something of her worry.
“You will forgive me, Crastus, but I think I shall take a stroll for the night air,” she said, standing from her chair. “I have had more of your fine ale than is good for my head, and I wish tomorrow’s ride to be a pleasant one.”
Crastus looked somewhat miffed that she would miss the end of his story, but he waved them off, and she and Chet walked into the darkness. Quickly they made their way through the city streets to the west, and soon came to the edge of the town. There stood many of the villagers, more than had waited for them when they came riding in, and all of them held their weapons at the ready. Loren felt her pulse quicken, but she could not see beyond them yet. Grabbing Chet’s sleeve, she pulled him to the side, moving around the men so she could see into the west.
She did not see Elves, or at least not the silvery glow she had seen from them before. At first she saw only torches, like a dozen orange eyes coming at them through the darkness. When the torches neared, she finally saw the figures carrying them—and then blanched, for they were soldiers on horseback, wearing armor and clothing of blue and grey.
“SHADES,” SHE WHISPERED.
“WE HAVE to go,” said Chet, and she could hear the panic in his voice.
“This village … the people …” said Loren. But she did not know what to do. Certainly they could not do anything from here, without their horses and the others. “We must tell Xain and the children. Come.”
Now they ran as fast as they could, feet pounding along the dirt streets, their cloaks flying behind them in the night. They nearly ran over one or two passersby, who shouted after them, but they never slowed to listen. The front door of the inn slammed into the wall as they threw it open, and everyone in the common room fell silent and turned to look at them.
“Riders,” said Loren. “Dozens of them, with arms and armor, coming from the west.”
She found Xain’s gaze and held it, and he understood at once. He rose from the table, while Crastus stood and began shouting orders at the townsfolk in the room. Loren and the others ran to their room for their supplies, while outside the Dorsean villagers mustered themselves in case there was a fight.
“They found us,” said Gem, voice quivering.
Annis took his hand. “That is unlikely. If they were so close behind us, we should have seen them days ago. Likely these riders came from the south, or some other direction entirely. They do not know we are here, and will remain ignorant if we leave at once.”
“That is our course,” said Loren. “Bring your things to the horses as quickly as you can. Gem and Annis, see to mine, and help Xain with his as well. Mount up as quickly as you can, and ride east.”
Chet gave her a look. “You speak as if you will not be with us.”
“I will be just behind you,” said Loren. “I must find out what the Shades know—if indeed they are aware we are here already. Once I find that out, I will come running out the eastern end of the town, and you had best have Midnight ready for me.”
“That is far too dangerous,” said Annis. “And it is a worthless piece of information next to your life. Whether they know we are here or not, our path seems the same: ride for the east until our horses drop.”
“It makes all the difference,” said Loren. “If they know where we are, we must learn how, or we will never evade them. And there is no time to argue this. To the horses, now.”
She went running from the room, but Chet was on her heels. When she turned to him, he shook his head. “There is no time to argue with me, either. I will come with you. I am as sneaky as you ever were, and two are safer than one.”
Loren nodded, and they went off. First Loren went to Midnight and took her bow from the saddle, strung it, and slung it on her back. Then she led Chet back the way they had come through the village. By the time they reached the west end again, the Shades had come to a halt just beyond the buildings. There were more than she had seen before, scores and scores of them.
She shook in her boots as she recognized Rogan at their head.
Chet joined her in cover behind the edge of a house, Loren thanking her stars that they had not been seen. Rogan sat high in his saddle, his horse covered with thick plates of armor the same as he was. His helm left his face exposed, but chain mail hung from the back of it to cover his neck. She remembered the tattoo on the back of Trisken’s neck—the tattoo that had kept him alive, and which Jordel had destroyed in order to kill him, though at terrible cost.
