The Banned And The Banished - Witch Fire Part 9

Someone carrying a shovel yelled to the man, "Forget it, Harrol! First we stanch the fire! Then we'll worry about those children."

"No!" the man argued. "Those young 'uns are demon sp.a.w.n!"He spat the last words toward the crowd.

"So what! Demons don't keep food from my family's mouth. We need to salvage what we can of the season's crop, or we'll all starve this winter."The man on the stage was now red faced; his shoulders shook. "Fool! It was them kids that set those fires! If we don't find them, they'll keep torching other folks' orchards. Is that what you all want? The whole dang valley ablaze?"

This last argument silenced the protester in the audience.

Nee'lahn had crept into Er'ril's shadow. She looked up at him questioningly. He shrugged. "Just wagging tongues. Sounds like they're looking for a scapegoat."

A grizzled old man at a nearby table overheard his words. "No, my friend. Word's come out of the hills.

It was those Morin'stal whelps. Evil's taken their hearts."

Er'ril nodded and offered a weak smile as he stepped away. He pulled Nee'lahn toward the bar, trying to avoid being drawn into local affairs. He slid two stools close for them to sit on.

The innkeeper manned his post behind the bar, but this morning an actual smile played around his usual scowl. The fire was an obvious boon to the inn. Nothing like a commotion to fill his coffers with coin.

Er'ril caught the eye of the innkeeper, who sidled down the bar toward their seats. "Nothin' but cold porridge left," he said as an introduction. Er'ril saw the innkeeper's eyes drift to Nee'lahn. As his gaze drifted over her slight form, he licked his fat lips. She shrank from him. Sneering, the innkeeper turned back to Er'ril. " 'Course for an extra five coppers, I might be able to scrounge up a bit of blackberry preserve for your little lady here."

"Porridge and bread will be fine," he said.

"Bread's an extra copper."

Er'ril frowned. Since when didn't porridge come with bread? The innkeeper was obviously taking advantage of the crowd. "That'll be fine," he said coldly, "unless you're going to charge us for the spoon."

The ice in his words must have reached the portly man. He backed away with a grumble. When their food arrived from the kitchen, it was fetched by a timid maid, her eyes bloodshot and tired as if she had worked through the entire night. Er'ril snuck her an extra coin. At these prices, few patrons would be tipping the maids this morning. He saw her eyes brighten as she s.n.a.t.c.hed the coin and made it vanish into her pocket, her hands as quick as a carnival magician's.

Behind him, the men continued to argue a course of action. It seemed they were stuck in a stalemate when suddenly their arguments were interrupted.

Two men bustled in from the courtyard, faces flushed from the morning chill. The smaller of the two, gnomish in comparison to his giant companion, walked with a limp and swung his weak leg wide as he marched into the common room. He led a huge s.h.a.ggy-bearded man with wide shoulders. Outfitted in a heavy, furred jacket and calf boots, the bigger fellow's coal black eyes searched the crowd warily, his lips thinned with threat. He had a rangy look to him, as if the company of people made him edgy.

Er'ril guessed him to be one of the mountain folk, a nomadic people living among the frozen peaks of the Teeth. Seldom did they venture to the lowlands outside of trading season when the pa.s.ses thawed. To see one so close to winter was rare.

The smaller man waved a fist into the air. "We have news! News!"

Since the previous argument had become a stalemate of grumbles and complaints, all eyes turned to thenewcomers, including Er'ril's. "What have you heard, Simkin?" someone called from the tables.

"Not heard. Seen!" The tiny man named Simkin shook his head and proceeded to elbow his way through the crowd, creating a path for the lumbering mountain man. Once he reached the stage, he crawled onto the platform, waving the larger man forward impatiently. With Simkin's added height from his position on the stage, he was now almost eye to eye with the mountain man, able to rest a hand on the tall man's shoulder. Simkin turned to face the crowd. "This fellow saw the demon!"

The crowd broke into dismissive hissing, though a few placed thumbs to foreheads just in case. "Quit your tall tales, Simkin!" someone yelled.

"No listen. It's true!"

"What did he see? Your wife!" The crowd erupted in laughter, though there was a clear vein of nervousness in their response.

"Tell them!" The tiny man poked the mountain man's shoulder with a finger. "Go ahead!" Er'ril spotted a momentary flash of anger in the man's eye at Simkin's poke. One didn't goad the mountain folk.

Still, the bigger man cleared his throat, a sound like bark being ripped from a tree. Then he spoke, his voice as deep as the caverns that burrowed through the icy peaks. "It flew through the Pa.s.s of Tears at twilight, near our home. Pale as the fungus that grows on dead trees and wide of wing as three men stretched. As it flew past, its red eyes glowing, our beasts panicked and a woman of my fire gave birth to a stillborn babe."

None dared call a mountain man a liar-not to his face, at least. They were known for the truth of their speech. The crowd stayed hushed at his words.

Er'ril sat straighter on his stool during this exchange, a spoonful of porridge frozen halfway to his lips.

Could it be, after so long? None had been seen for centuries.

Someone spoke softly from the back of the room. "You came all this way to warn us?"

The mountain man's voice deepened to a rumble. "I came to kill it."

Er'ril lowered his spoon and was surprised to hear his own voice call to the mountain man. "Was this beast gaunt like a starved child, with skin so thin you could see through it?"

The mountain man swung his beard in Er'ril's direction. "Aye, the fading light cut through it like a knife.

Sick, it looked."

Nee'lahn whispered at his sleeve. "Do you know of the creature he speaks?"

Another man spoke from the crowd. "You there! Juggler, what do you know of this beast?"

All eyes were now on him. Er'ril regretted his quick tongue, but there was no way now to take back his words. "It means disaster," he said to the crowd and threw his spoon on the bar. "You have no-hope."

The crowd became agitated. Only the mountain man stood quiet among the milling men. His eyes remained fixed on Er'ril, narrowed and determined. Er'ril knew his words had not swayedihe giant. The blood of the mountain folk ran with the ice of their peaks and the stubbornness of their granite home. The threat of death seldom shook their resolve. Er'ril turned away from the giant's stare.

Nee'lahn caught Er'ril's eye and leaned closer. "What manner of beast is it?"His voice was a whisper, meant only for his own ears. "One of Gul'gotha's dreadlords-a skal'tum."

"The sssun risess." The skal'tum stalked across the dank bas.e.m.e.nt chamber of the garrison toward Dismarum. It shook its wings like a wet hound in the rain. The rattle of the leathery bones echoed loudly in the room. "Iss all prepared?"

Dismarum shied a step back. The stench in the cell of rotten meat and filth drove him away as much as the threatening menace of the skal'tum. "Rockingham is on horseback. He spreads word of the girl through town. She'll be found soon. She has nowhere else to go but here."

"Pray ssso. The Black Heart hungerss for her. Do not fail him again."

Dismarum bowed slightly and backed toward the door. He blindly reached for the latch and swung the door open. Morning sunlight, barely discernible with his weak eyes, streamed down the nearby stairway and edged through the doorway, spilling in around him. Dismarum smiled inwardly as the skal'tum backed from the light. Unlike some of the Dark Lord's minions, these creatures could survive the sunlight's burn, but the beasts still preferred to avoid its warm touch.

Their translucent skin darkened when bared for long stretches of time to the sun. It was considered disfiguring among its foul kind to be so marred.

The seer kept the door open longer and wider than necessary, chasing the skal'tum to the back of the chamber. How Dismarum would relish the chance to stake the beast in the noon sun and see it squirm.

His hate for the winged beasts had not been dulled by the years.

Finally, the creature hissed angrily and stepped toward Dismarum. Satisfied that he had pushed as far as he should, Dismarum swung the door closed. For now the creature had its uses, but if the seer were given the chance. He knew how to make even a skal'tum howl.

Keeping his hand on the damp stone wall, he followed the hall to the stairway. Torches brightened the stairs enough for him to see rough outlines. Using his staff, he worked his way up the worn steps. As he progressed, his knees ached with exhaustion. He was forced to stop several times to rest. Closing his eyes and breathing hard, he tried to remember what it was like to be young: to see with sharp eyes, to walk without the st.i.tch of pain in his bones. It seemed like he had been old forever, crumbling with h.o.a.ry age. Had he ever been young?

During one of these breaks, a soldier coming down the stairs almost barreled into him. The officer pushed against the wall to allow him room to pa.s.s. "Pardon me, sir."

Dismarum noted the man lugged a feeding bucket for the prisoners in the cells below. It stank of sour meat and mold. Even his weak eyes could see the maggots roiling within the slop.

The young soldier must have noticed the seer's nose curl in distaste. He spoke up, raising his bucket.

"Luckily, there's only one prisoner down there. I'd hate to have to haul more of this filth."

Dismarum nodded sourly and continued up the steps, leaning heavily on his poi'wood staff. He wondered who the young officer had crossed to warrant this punishment. There was only one occupant among the labyrinth of cells-the skal'tum. And it wouldn't be feeding on the sc.r.a.ps in the bucket.

He heard the soldier whistling as he descended into the bowels of the garrison. Dismarum continued up into the main hall. Just as he reached the next landing, the young soldier's scream rang up from below, only to be cut off abruptly.

Dismarum sighed. Perhaps the meal would put the skal'tum in a better mood. He climbed the remainderof the stairs without stopping, ignoring his complaining joints. Right now, he wanted to put as much distance as possible between him and the creature below.

Leaning on his staff, he pushed into the main hall of the garrison. The high doors were open to the large courtyard, bathed in morning sunlight, where horses and wagons jostled for s.p.a.ce. Soldiers milled among the clopping hooves and creaking wheels. The clang of beaten iron could be heard coming from the smithy on the far side of the yard.

Dismarum turned his back on the doorway and struck out across the hall, stomping his staff on the flagstone floor. More soldiers bustled around him. Swords slapped thighs, and the odor of oiled armor clogged his nose. He proceeded unimpeded through the melee. No soldier dared come within an arm's length of his robed figure. As he pa.s.sed the three doorways that led to the soldiers' sleeping quarters, he noted the rows of empty cots. All were on duty. On this morning, the streets bristled with armor and blade.

Suddenly a familiar voice called out from behind him. "Dismarum! Hold up, old man!" It was Rockingham.

Dismarum swung to face the man. Rockingham had changed out of his singed riding clothes and now wore the colors of the garrison, red and black. His polished black boots climbed to his knees, and his red overcoat was festooned with bra.s.s hooks and b.u.t.tons. He had oiled his mustache and finally washed the soot from his face, but as he approached across the stone floor, Dismarum's keen nose still smelled the smoke on him.

Rockingham stopped in front of the seer. "We may have too many patrols out," he said.

"How so?" Dismarum asked in irritation, his nerves still jangled by the skal'tum.

"With this much activity, we might spook the boy and girl away from town." Rockingham pointed out the door. "You can't walk two steps without b.u.mping an armsman. I'd be spooked myself to enter this town."

The seer nodded and rubbed his eyes. Perhaps the foolish man was right. If he weren't so exhausted, he might have realized the same. "What do you propose?"

"Pull the soldiers back. I've spread the word. The people are inflamed. They'll do the hunting for us."

Pismarum leaned hard on his staff. "She mustn't slip our snare."

"If she shows her nose in town, she'll be nabbed. The fire and the talk of demons have the townsfolk roused. Every street is watched by a hundred eyes."

"Then no more hunting." Dismarum swung away. "We'll wait for her to come to us." As he limped across the flagstone, he pictured the skal'tum crouched in its warren of cells, like a starved cur awaiting its bone.

To think of betraying its l.u.s.t and the master it served was a madman's folly.

But Dismarum had waited for so long.

From above the tree line, Elena spied the red roof of the town's mill ahead. By now, the fire had been left far behind, though the smoke still chased her and her brother across the morning sky. The sight of the pitched roof gave renewed vigor to Elena's steps. She caught up with Joach, dragging a protesting Mist by her lead.

"Almost there," Joach said."What if Aunt Fila's not at the bakery?"

"She always is, El. Don't worry."

The two of them had already decided to seek out their widowed aunt, who owned and operated Winterfell's bakery. Their mother's sister was a stern woman with a backbone of iron. She would know what to make of the previous night's horrors.

As Elena followed her brother around a bend in the creek, the mill came fully into view. Its redbrick exterior and narrow windows were a comforting sight. She often ran errands here for her mother, collecting a bag of flour or bartering for corn-meal. Its large paddle wheel turned slowly in the deep silver current as the creek plummeted down a short wash. Just beyond the mill stood the Millbend Bridge, a stone span that forded the creek and connected the town road to the wagon ruts that led up into the spa.r.s.ely populated highlands.

Joach held up a hand to stop Elena from proceeding out from under the canopy of the trees. "Let me see if anyone's at the mill. You stay hidden."

Elena nodded and pushed Mist's nose to back her several steps. The mare shook her head in protest; a hoof stomped the ground. Elena knew the horse itched to get out from under the branches and reach the meadow that still grew green beyond the trees. "Shh, sweet one." Elena scratched Mist behind an ear.

Her whispered consolations settled the anxious horse, but not herself.

She watched Joach steal across the open expanse to the mill's door. He tried the iron latch. She saw him tug at it. It was locked. He climbed atop a flour barrel and peered through one of the windows. Then he hopped off. scratched his head, and disappeared around a corner.

Elena hated seeing the last member of her family vanish from sight. What if he never returned? What if she was left alone? Pictures of life without any family bloomed in her head. What if she was the last Morin'stal alive in the valley? She clutched her arms around her chest, holding her breath.

As she waited, a kak'ora bird sang from a nearby branch, a lonely song. The scent of dewflowers, open only during the first rays of the sun, perfumed the morning, strong enough to penetrate even the smoky pall. As she watched for Joach's return, she saw a rabbit burst from hiding in the prairie gra.s.s and bound toward the trees. Disturbed by its pa.s.sage, a flight of b.u.t.terflies blew into the air. It was as if summer held eternal sway in this little meadow.

She sighed. As horrible as the night had been, she had somehow expected the land to be wildly changed once the sun rose: trees twisted, animals corrupted. But valley life continued undisturbed, like any other morning. Strangely, she found this rea.s.suring.

Life continued and so could she.

Movement near the mill caught her eye. Joach reappeared from beyond the mill and waved her from hiding. Thank you, Sweet Mother! Elena flew forward, wanting to narrow the distance between them as soon as possible, though Mist kept grabbing mouthfuls of gra.s.s as Elena pulled her on. When she reached her brother, he shook his head. "Empty. Must be out trying to stop the fire."

"What if Aunt Fila is out, too?" Elena asked as Mist attacked the leaves of a thrushbush.

"No, El. Our aunt's a tough old lady, but the men wouldn't let her battle the flame no matter how much she might kick a fuss. She'll be home."

"I suppose you're right.""Let's go." Joach led the way to Millbend Bridge. Elena had to keep tugging Mist to get her to follow, but the mare was determined to get a full belly before leaving the meadow.

Finally, she did manage to get the horse on the bridge. The mare's hooves clopped loudly on the stone as they crossed. As they reached the top of the bridge, Elena glanced back to the mill. She spotted a curtain snap shut across a window on the second floor. "Joach, someone isin the mill." She motioned to the curtained window.

"Odd. They had to have heard me. I even pounded on a window in back."

"Maybe it was one of the miller's children, frightened while their parents were out."

"I know Cesill and Garash. And they know me. I don't like this." Joach wore a stern expression.

From down the road, the wheels of an approaching wagon clattered toward them. Joach scooted them off the bridge and into the trees on the north side of the road. He pushed Mist back until they were well hidden.

"But it might be someone we know," Elena said. "Someone to help us."

"And it might be one of those men from last night."

Elena bent closer to Mist. From their shadowed hiding place, she could spy the open wagon as it pa.s.sed.

Men dressed in red and black crowded the buckboard and rails- garrison men. She remembered that the thin man from last night had claimed to be from the town's garrison.

Neither she nor Joach called out to the wagon as it clattered past.

Joach motioned for her to slink deeper into the forest. She came upon a deer trail that gave them room to maneuver Mist around. From here, they could just discern the wagon. Soldiers hopped from the back to take up posts by the bridge. Two men marched toward the mill.

"We'd better get out of here," Joach breathed in her ear.

Just as they turned to leave, Elena saw the mill's door pop open. She watched the miller and his wife rush toward the soldiers. She couldn't hear what the miller said, but his arm kept pointing toward the road to town.

"I don't understand," she said.

"Get on Mist." Joach boosted her onto the mare's back. He jumped up behind her. "We need to reach Aunt Fila before anyone else sees us."