A Man Rides Through

  Almost at once, she heard the squeal of a pig. Geraden nearly lost his seat as the gray wrenched itself aside to avoid collision with a fat porker. Immediately, his horse blundered into a squall of chickens. Terisa followed him through feathers and shadows.

  Into the center of the village.

  Like Aperyte, Naybel had an open-sided meeting hall among its houses.

  In the hall stood a group of men – six or eight of them. They wore heavy boots and battle-leathers; they were armed with swords, pikes, longbows.

  As soon as they saw Geraden and Terisa, they began to yell, waving their arms wildly.

  “Fools!”

  “Fornication!”

  “Get away!”

  “Stop!”

  Several of them apparently wanted to chase the horses off. Fortunately, one man had a different idea. Or he realized that the gray was a runaway. With the practiced ease of someone who had worked with horses all his life, he jumped at the gray’s head and caught the reins. The gray wheeled to a halt so hard that Geraden was nearly snapped out of the saddle.

  More to avoid hitting the gray than because of anything Terisa did, the gelding also blundered to a stop.

  “Fools!” a man shouted. “You’re going to be killed!”

  Terisa tried to hold herself still, but the whole village seemed to be spinning. A shadow as distinct as a cut lay across the roan’s head. The men from the meeting hall shifted in and out of shadows; their weapons disappeared, caught the sun, disappeared again. Geraden had nearly run into a pig. And chickens. Naybel wasn’t empty, not like Aperyte.

  Then what—?

  It was true: she could smell something cold, something that had begun to rot; something like the exhalation from a neglected tomb.

  Out of a hut beyond the meeting hall came a little boy. She thought he was a little boy, oddly naked. A grin split his face, leaving a wide, empty place. He didn’t leave the shadows; because of the dim illumination, a moment passed before she noticed that he had a chicken in his hands.

  The chicken was melting. It slumped over his fingers like heated wax. But none of it dripped to the ground. Instead, as it oozed it was absorbed into his flesh.

  Now she realized that his whole body was covered with slime. Maybe the shadows were playing tricks on her eyes. The boy looked green—

  A hoarse cry broke from the men. Two of them already had their longbows up, arrows nocked. Bows like that could have flung their yards straight through the walls of one of these huts. The two arrows that hit the little boy spiked him to the dirt.

  Terisa distinctly heard a popping noise, a sound of rupture; she. heard a brief wail claw the air.

  Instantly, three more green children appeared in the shadow beside the little boy. They grinned as they began to feed.

  Somewhere out of sight, the pig squealed – a shriek of porcine agony. The gelding took this occasion to pitch Terisa off its back. With a whinny like a scream, it rushed out of the village.

  Terisa landed heavily, knocking the air out of her chest. In the distance, Geraden yelled her name, but she couldn’t react to it. The jolt of impact stunned her. A streak of sunlight fell over her face: she looked up and saw one of ghouls standing in shadow no more than four or five feet away. She could smell the child—

  In fact, the odor wasn’t particularly strong. It was insidious, however, and its subtlety seemed to make it more nauseating, more corrosive, than a stronger stench would have been. Smelling it, staring at the small girl who grinned at her as if she were an especially tasty snack, Terisa decided that the slime on the ghoul’s skin was acid. It rendered flesh down to a tallow the creature could take in through its pores. And when someone tried to escape by barring the door of a hut, the acid probably set the wood on fire.

  The ghoul was so hungry that she started out of the shadow into the light that covered Terisa’s face.

  Geraden leaped over her and swept the girl’s head off with a long swing of his sword.

  The popping noise, the sound of rupture; a high, thin cry.

  Two, three, no, at least six more ghouls came at once to feed on their fallen sister.

  Around the meeting hall, a weird battle raged. Superficially, it was an uneven struggle: the men slaughtered the ghouls with relative ease. Swords, pikes, arrows, even stones thrown hard – everything worked. Panting, raging, the men hacked down, sliced up, or spitted the ghouls as fast as possible. They were only children, as simple to kill as children.

  But they were so many—

  No, they weren’t as many as all that. The truth was more complex. As soon as one of them got enough to eat, the creature split apart, became two. And whenever one of them died, the body provided enough food for three or four other ghouls to multiply.

  And with every death wail, more creatures swarmed out of the shadows.

  In addition, the weapons of the men didn’t last long. Every arrow that struck home caught fire; every blade that cut came back pitted and weakened, streaked with ruin; every pike that pierced a ghoul lost its head.

  Geraden tried to wrestle Terisa toward the meeting hall, into the relative center of the battle, where the men watched each other’s backs. She thought she ought to help him, but she couldn’t get her legs under her; the fall from her horse seemed to have broken the connection between what her brain suggested and what her muscles did. She wanted to say, Water. Try water. Maybe the acid could be washed away. Or diluted. Unfortunately, all that came between her lips was a hoarse gasp for air.

  And the air was full of wails and death; the stench of rot; men cursing for their lives; sunset.

  Then, so suddenly that the sound of it almost relaxed her chest enough to let her breathe, she heard a trumpet.

  That high penetrating call seemed to change everything.

  At its signal, twenty or thirty men charged through the village on horseback.

  They knew what they were doing: they didn’t risk any of their mounts in an attempt to trample the ghouls. Instead, they carried lights of every description – torches, lanterns, blazing fagots, even oil lamps. Shining like a host of glory, the riders swept into Naybel at dusk.

  Obliquely, Terisa noticed that one of them was the Fayle himself. She recognized him by his age, his leanness, his long, heavy jaw.

  She didn’t have the strength to wonder what he was doing here. She was too busy watching.

  The light seemed to hurt the ghouls worse than death did: it paralyzed them. They lost their grins, their hunger, the power of movement. And when they couldn’t move, they couldn’t feed on each other; they couldn’t multiply.

  Clearly, the Fayle’s men knew this would happen. At once, they took advantage of it.

  In grim concentration, as if they had never been able to reconcile themselves to killing creatures that looked like children, they began hacking the ghouls apart and setting the pieces to the torch.

  They used cast-iron tongs and shovels to pile the dismembered corpses together so that the flames fed on each other. Before long, the bonfire beside the meeting hall of Naybel grew so large that its flames seemed to reach the darkening heavens. After the last of the sun went down, there was no other light in the village except fire.

  Hot fire and acrid smoke slowly took the cold, rotting odor out of the air. A gust of wind carried smoke into Terisa’s eyes; tears ran down her cheeks as if she were weeping. But she was able to breathe again, able to get air all the way down into the bottom of her lungs, able to move her shoulder. So that was why, she thought deliberately, distracting herself from the slaughter she had just witnessed so it wouldn’t overwhelm her, that was why the bodies in those burned huts in Aperyte hadn’t been consumed, when every other form of flesh in the village was gone. Once the acid had set fire to the wood, the flames had cast enough light to keep the ghouls away.

  After a minute or two, she became aware that Geraden still had his arms around her. Like her, he had taken a face full of smoke; like her, he appeared to be weeping. The light of burning children
reflected in his eyes.

  She hugged him, held him; clung to him. She didn’t know how much more she could bear.

  Trying to recover his composure, he muttered, “I’m never going to tell Quiss about this. Never as long as I live.”

  Terisa coughed at the smoke, cleared her throat. Remembering the way he had kept her sane when the Congery’s champion had brought the ceiling of the hall down on her, she made an effort to return the favor. “That’s probably a good idea. If I hadn’t seen it myself, I wouldn’t want you to tell me about it.”

  In the same tone, as if he were talking about the same thing, he said, “If I ever get my hands on Master Eremis, I swear I’m going to kill him.”

  Distinctly, so that there would be no mistake about it, she replied, “You’ll have to get to him before I do.”

  Geraden studied her through the dusk and firelight. Then, just for a moment, he grinned. “If he knew we’re this angry at him, he would break into a sweat.”

  He made it possible for her to smile as well. “You know,” she murmured close to his ear, “until I met you, it never once occurred to me that someday I would be able to make my enemies sweat.”

  “Your enemies, my lady?” Geraden gave her an extra hug. “You make me sweat.”

  When she saw the Fayle riding toward her, she realized that she felt able to face him now.

  He dismounted carefully and gave her an old man’s brittle bow. “My lady Terisa,” he said in a voice like dry leaves, “you astonish me. When last we met, I believed that Master Eremis was the source of my surprise, but now I can see that I was mistaken. The surprise is in you.

  “This trap was set for ghouls, my lady. It was never my intention to ensnare you – to endanger you.”

  “Of course not, my lord Fayle.” She didn’t know what kind of bow to give him. Fortunately, he didn’t seem to expect one. “We were just—” She caught herself, made an effort to take one thing at a time. “My lord, this is Geraden.”

  The Fayle looked at Geraden. “Son of the Domne,” he murmured. “Translator of the lady Terisa of Morgan. A prominent figure in the Congery’s augury of Mordant’s need.” Again, he bowed. “You are welcome in the Care of Fayle.”

  Geraden returned the bow. Terisa wondered whether he – whether she herself – would still be welcome if the lord knew of their talents; but she wasn’t given a chance to explore the issue. Without pausing, the Fayle went on, “I must get out of this smoke. Our camp is a mile from here. There we can offer you hot food and a safe bed. If you will consent to accompany me, we will hear your story in better comfort.

  “In the morning, the villagers will return to cleanse their homes, and we will ride to attempt this tactic again elsewhere. You will be welcome to accompany us then, also, if you wish.”

  “Thanks, my lord,” Geraden answered promptly. “We’ll be glad to go with you – at least for tonight. We’ve got a lot to tell you.”

  “I am sure you do,” said the Fayle. “Perhaps you will be able to tell me whether Master Eremis is honest – whether I was wrong to betray his intentions to Castellan Lebbick.

  “Come.”

  As if all his joints ached, he climbed back onto his horse.

  All his joints probably did ache. Terisa would have thought that he was too old for ambushes and battles. Privately, she wondered what drove him to it.

  She also wondered how much it would be safe to tell him. She and Geraden had come close to disaster by telling the Termigan too much.

  Before she had time to wonder what had become of the roan gelding, one of the Fayle’s men returned it to her; he had found it in the woods. Soon she and Geraden were riding among the Fayle’s companions toward his camp.

  After the turmoil and fright of the battle, the ride seemed reassuring and peaceful, too brief. In a short time, she found herself dismounted before a bright fire near the center of a clearing. Around her were servants and supply wains, bedrolls set out on the ground, more men, extra horses; a few of Naybel’s people had come to hear what had happened to their village. A steward brought a flagon of heated wine for the Fayle, then hurried away to get more for the lord’s unexpected guests. The way the men looked at her reminded Terisa that she hadn’t had a decent bath for days. Her hair probably looked like a rat’s nest, and her clothes were filthy. Unfortunately, there was nothing she could do about those things at the moment. Instead, she attempted to ignore the stares of the Fayle’s men.

  A campstool was brought for the lord, and he seated himself near the fire as if he were chilled. Almost at once, more stools appeared for Terisa and Geraden. They sat down, accepted warm flagons of wine. Terisa took a sip, then forgot her self-consciousness – forgot that at least thirty people were watching her – long enough to give a grateful sigh. The wine was full of cinnamon and oranges, a blissful antidote for the smell of ghouls. If she had enough to drink, she might be able to get that reek completely out of her mind.

  She wanted to spend a while savoring the sensation that she was safe.

  But Geraden was already eager to talk. “My lord Fayle,” he said before she was ready, “we’ve come a long way to tell you Master Eremis isn’t honest. He’s the one who translates these ghouls into your Care – he and Master Gilbur, and probably the arch-Imager Vagel.

  “We came to tell you King Joyse needs help. If he doesn’t get it, Master Eremis may destroy him.”

  By force of habit, the Fayle sat upright on his stool. His eyes were keenly blue; his gaze was precise. Looking at him, Terisa was struck by the odd thought that he would never have been able to do what King Joyse had done – make himself appear weak and foolish for years. No one who met the Fayle’s gaze would doubt that he knew what he was doing.

  “It is comforting to know,” he muttered dryly, “that Master, Eremis deserved to be thwarted. We will discuss that further. Nevertheless his dishonesty does little to explain how you came to fall into a trap which I had set for ghouls.”

  “Actually, it explains a lot, my lord,” countered Geraden. “The rest is just details.” For reasons Terisa understood perfectly, he was being cautious. “We rode here from Sternwall. The Termigan wasn’t especially glad to see us.

  “Like yours, his Care is being badly hurt by one of Eremis’ translations. We told him the same thing I just told you. King Joyse needs help. He didn’t seem to care about that. I think we were lucky he let us leave.

  “My lord, I don’t want that to happen again. The lady Terisa and I are going to fight for the King. Even if we have to do it alone, we’re going to do it. If you stand in our way, we’ll have to fight you, too.

  “I’d rather cut off my hands.”

  All the men around the camp were listening. Some of them pretended to be busy with their weapons or their bedding, but they were listening. A focused hush covered everything except the snorts and rustling of the horses.

  The Fayle gazed at Geraden steadily. “You must have told the Termigan something he especially did not wish to hear.”

  Geraden nodded.

  “What was it?” asked the Fayle. “What could you have said to him that would make a loyal and trustworthy ally of the King suspicious of you?”

  Geraden referred the question to Terisa.

  Simply because the lord’s eyes were so blue, so exact, she assented to the risk.

  “We told him the truth,” Geraden answered the Fayle. “We’ve both become Imagers. Terisa is an arch-Imager. The ghouls have started getting worse, haven’t they? Just recently?”

  It was the lord’s turn to nod.

  “That’s because of us. Eremis knew we were coming here. Or he figured it out. We were at Houseldon first. Then we were in Sternwall. Where else would we be going?

  “He wants to kill us before we find a way to hurt him.”

  “And have you found a way?” the Fayle inquired dryly.

  “We’ve been trying. That’s why we went to Sternwall – why we came here. We’ve been trying to gather support for the King.” Geraden too
k a deep breath. “And if we can’t do that, we want to find somebody who can help me make a mirror.”

  “You have no glass?” The Fayle’s gaze was sharp.

  Geraden straightened his shoulders, and Terisa thought she heard a distant echo of strength in his voice, a strange menace. “My lord,” he said, “a number of things would be different if we had as much as one small mirror between us. For one, we would have helped you fight those ghouls.” He was speaking through his teeth. “That’s what our talents are good for.”

  After a moment, however, the menace faded from his tone. “Unfortunately, we’re helpless. So far.”

  The Fayle considered Geraden and Terisa for a while. He turned away to request food and more wine. Then he commented, “Perhaps you should tell me your story now. While we eat.”

  Geraden glanced at Terisa again. She nodded without hesitation. She was remembering the way the old lord had left the meeting Master Eremis had arranged between the lords and Prince Kragen. Queen Madin is a formidable woman, he had explained in an apologetic and even vaguely foolish tone. Whatever choice I make here, I must justify to her. His peaked shoulders and elongated head should have made him look silly as he walked out on Eremis’ plotting. And yet he hadn’t looked silly at all. His clear loyalty had made him admirable.

  Under the circumstances, she didn’t know what to expect from the Fayle. She was willing to trust him anyway.

  Apparently, Geraden felt the same. As soon as the decision to speak freely had been taken, he began to relax.

  He didn’t try to include everything, however. He still wanted an answer from the Fayle. So he only described the broad outlines of what he and Terisa had learned, what they had done. The Fayle flinched at the news of what had happened to Houseldon, what was happening to Sternwall; but Geraden kept on talking. Whenever the lord stopped him with a question, however, he replied in more detail.

  Most of the men were listening openly now. A few of them fingered their weapons in anger or fear. But because their attention wasn’t on Terisa she was able to ignore them.

  While Geraden and the lord spoke, she drank her wine, ate the food placed in front of her, and did a little calculating backward. That brought her to the unexpected realization that thirteen days had passed, thirteen, since her translation from Orison. In thirteen days, anything could have happened, anything at all. Prince Kragen could have taken the castle – and the Congery. High King Festten could have taken the castle and the Congery and Prince Kragen. On the other hand, Castellan Lebbick could have stuck a quiet knife in Master Eremis’ back.