Part 15 (1/2)

Mihn let out a sigh of relief. He'd found the bi-toed tracks of a gentry pack that way - daemons or no, they wouldn't enjoy it if they did track down a score or more of the fierce forest spirits.

As though to confirm his notion, when the Enkin disappeared into the trees Mihn heard a warning hiss, the sound clear and unmistakable in the silent night air, first from the trees where they were heading, then closer to Mihn. Then an inhuman chatter came from deeper in the woods. He scanned the shadows but he could not see the gentry anywhere; they were perfectly hidden, and not about to reveal their location yet.

The Enkin shuffled through the undergrowth, pausing at every warning hiss, but continuing until they had reached the tree-line - when the whole gentry pack began growling, sounding far more threatening now. Mihn tried to follow the sounds, but they came from different directions and he guessed the full pack was there, two dozen males and females, each stronger by far than a human.

Whether they could count or not, the Enkin appeared to come to the conclusion that they were outnumbered. Mihn glimpsed the angled body of one turn and head out back towards the lake, but now they moved so quietly that once the bushes again concealed them only the warning growls of the gentry moving further away told Mihn they were leaving the area.

It took almost a quarter of an hour before there was quiet again, long enough for him to feel the chill settling in his bones. He headed back inside at last, intending to bar the door as soon as he was in, but he stopped short at the sight of Isak, sitting on the edge of his bed. His long legs were stretched out and Eolis rested across his knees. The right knee had been the last of his injuries to heal. Considering the damage, Mihn was expecting Isak to walk with a limp. In spite of the remarkable healing that had taken place, ridges of scarring had changed the shape of the knee entirely.

Mihn stared at the silver sword a while, musing on how it had just appeared from nowhere - from Ghenna. He knew Eolis was bound to Isak's soul even more than the gifts of the Chosen normally were, but the last time he saw it Xeliath had been attacking the Jailor of the Dark with it. Though it was not now needed, the weapon showed no sign of disappearing again. It looked as real, as solid as anything else in the room, however out of place it might be.

Isak suddenly looked up at Mihn, his face so mournful and anguished that Mihn felt the guilt strike him like a kick to the chest.

'It hurts,' the white-eye whispered in a hoa.r.s.e voice.

Mihn was too stunned to speak for a moment. 'What hurts?' he said eventually.

'Everything,' Isak replied. 'The echo is everywhere.'

Mihn opened his mouth to reply, but Isak turned away and lay down on his bed, Eolis still clutched in his hand. The puppy trotted over, unconcerned, and clambered up too, settling himself on Isak's feet.

Oh G.o.ds, Mihn thought with a heavy heart, does he remember the pain of the Dark Place? How could any man live with that echo in his bones? does he remember the pain of the Dark Place? How could any man live with that echo in his bones?

Mihn slept badly and woke with the dawn. From the taut stillness of Isak's body he guessed the white-eye was also awake, but he still faced the wall, and he did not respond when addressed. Mihn left him alone and wrapped himself in his heavy coat to attend the stove. The sky was overcast and a cold, whipping wind stung his cheeks, but as he watched the puppy bound out to the sh.o.r.e, nose pressed against the ground, Mihn feel the gladness of life again.

He left the dog to his explorations and used the outhouse, then went to check his rabbit snares in the trees. He hadn't caught anything - something had knocked the snare aside without being snagged - so he reset it and returned to drop a line in the lake.

When he reached the cottage he found Isak standing at the water's edge, his robe fluttering in the wind. Without speaking, Mihn went to stand by his side. For a long while they stood and stared down at the rippling water. Despite his desperate desire to hear Isak speak again, Mihn knew the man couldn't be rushed: his mind might not have been broken in Ghenna, but that didn't mean Isak was quite the same man as the one Lord Styrax had killed.

'How long?' Isak said at last in a croaking voice.

'For me or you?'

There was no reply. Mihn continued to watch the steady movement of the water at his feet. The wind was blowing from behind them, and it carried the whisper of leaves.

'Am I alive?'

'Yes, Isak,' Mihn said firmly, 'you are.'

'I don't feel alive.'

Mihn turned and saw puzzlement and pain on Isak's face, the sort of disbelief Mihn had seen on the faces of the mortally wounded as they stared at the haft of the spear or blade that had killed them.

'It will take time, that much is certain,' he said softly. 'Do not expect too much of yourself. What you have experienced would have broken a lesser man.'

'I am not broken?' Isak replied in a whisper that struck at Mihn's heart, but before he could respond there was a gasp from behind them.

Mihn turned quickly, stepping in front of Isak protectively until he saw Chera, a girl who lived in the nearest village, standing by the tree-line. She had several times brought supplies from the witch, though she had never entered the cottage. Now she stared aghast at the two of them, not noticing when Mihn waved her forward.

Pulling his coat tight around his body, Mihn hurried over. Chera had barely twelve summers, but she was a sensible girl, and the witch had entrusted her with a number of tasks. Though she had been wary of the newcomer in their midst, she had never looked terrified, as she did now, staring at Isak.

'Chera, what is wrong?'

'It's the ragged man,' she whispered, eyes wide with fear. 'Don't you see 'im?'

'Of course I see him; he is a friend of mine.'

As soon as he said that Chera dropped her bundle and began to back away. 'Friend?' she gasped. 'The ragged man's a stealer o' souls!'

Mihn shook his head. Llehden had its own folklore; the region was one well-known for its particular spirits and ghouls. The stories weren't entertainment to the locals but rules to live by, otherwise their babies would be stolen by the Coldhand folk, and travellers snared by the gifts of the Finntrail or hunted down by Eyeless Sarr.

'He is no spirit,' Mihn gently chided, realising she was on the point of fleeing, 'just an injured man who needs my help remembering who he is.'

Chera shuddered and her mouth fell open as she began to cry. With a start Mihn realised she had wet herself in fear. 'The ragged man's king o' the Finntrail,' she sobbed, 'and 'is soul got swept off by a storm - he can't remember who he is so he has t' steal the souls of others!'

Mihn blinked. He hadn't expected his words to fuel her terror. 'Chera - ' he began, reaching out towards her.

The movement shattered the remains of her resolve and the girl fled, running h.e.l.l-for-leather down the path away from him without a look back. Mihn watched her disappear into the woods until he couldn't hear the sound of her feet any longer. He looked back at the lake. Isak hadn't moved the whole time.

'The ragged man, eh?' he said wearily as he picked up the bundle of food. 'And here I am: the Grave Thief. What a cheerful pair we make.'

CHAPTER 12.

Major Amber looked up from his meal when a horn sounded in the distance: a single note that carried from the edge of the camp. It was all he needed to hear. With the help of crutches he got to his feet and made his way to the window.

'What's that about?' Horsemistress Kirl asked through a mouthful of mutton. Food in the Fist was far better than what was being served to the troops outside.

'Nothing to concern you,' Amber said distantly.

After another week of daily ministrations from the mages of Larat and the Priest of Shotir, his injuries had healed enough for him to get up and move about without help, if not without pain. His entire body still hurt, and he'd not be fighting any time soon, but it was a blessing to be out of his bed again nonetheless.

Kirl shrugged and went back to her food. In the darkness outside there was little to see, but Amber remained looking out of the window. He could just about make out the shapes of soldiers moving on the ground below and after a minute he caught sight of the one he was looking for.

The road to the Fist was marked with torches, clear lines in the evening gloom that stood out amidst the campfires. A pair of hors.e.m.e.n approached through the bustle of an army yet to settle down to sleep. Amber couldn't make out any detail, but guessed the smaller of the two would be Gaur's man, Chade. Lord Larim had told them to expect the Poisonblade at nightfall. When the riders were a hundred paces from the main gate Amber turned and headed for the door, grabbing a large sheathed sword as he did so and swinging the baldric over his shoulder.

Kirl watched him struggle to open the door without letting either crutch or sword fall, but she did nothing, just helped herself to the food he'd left. Amber glanced back just before he closed the door as she sc.r.a.ped the last of his rice into her bowl. The horsemistress had surprised him by showing a greater piety than he'd expected from her. From his sick bed it had been hard to miss her quietly saying the morning devotionals, or the prayer to Grepel of the Hearths when she lit the fire. Though she'd never given the impression of being a great supporter of dogma, or the priesthood in general, Amber was keen to avoid her discovering anything about the meeting he was heading off to. She caught him looking and flashed a brief smile; the major felt himself colour and retreated.

He made his way to the apartments General Gaur had made his own. Gaur's huntsmen stood guard rather than Menin soldiers, but they allowed him through with nothing more than a suspicious glance. They were an ugly lot, criminal-looking, but under the tattoos, ritual scarring and bone piercings, there were some educated minds as sharp as the long knives they carried.

Inside he was greeted by General Gaur, who relieved Amber of the sword and directed him to an armchair. Unusually, the beastman was out of uniform, dressed instead in a formal robe of red, edged in white fur and detailed with black insignias of the Menin and Chetse legions under his command. Amber looked at his own uniform and felt a flush of embarra.s.sment when he realised how in need of cleaning it was. Convalescence and renown were making him forget the officers' code.

'How are you, major?' Gaur asked abruptly.

'Well enough, sir,' Amber confirmed. 'No strength for much more than walking from room to room yet, but at least I can do that. I've recovered some of my senses since I stopped taking the pain medicine.'