The Nethergrim (20 page)

Edmund shoved the woolen tunic into Tom’s hands. He grabbed the reins of the horse. “What’s his name?”

“Berry,” said Katherine.

“Tom can ride him.” Edmund led Berry around to the door of the stables. He found Jumble waiting there, cut and bleeding across his muzzle but still wagging his tail.

“He’s coming, too,” said Tom. “He’s got nowhere else to go.”

Indigo stamped a hoof and snorted from the first stall past the door. Edmund had to duck under his head to pass by. He felt his way along in the dark to the stall at the end—Rosie’s stall, a horse the color of dead blood, bought cheap at market by his father the year before to serve as the family riding mare.

Tom stood slack and shivering in the faint cut of moonlight by the door. “Where are we going?”

“Put that shirt on.” Katherine grabbed her saddle and threw it over Indigo’s broad back. “We’ll get you clear of the village and then we’ll work things out.” Tom put his head through the neck of Edmund’s shirt and shrugged it on. It fit well across the shoulders but was far too short in the arms.

“We should take the long way out of Elverain.” Edmund pulled Rosie’s dusty saddle off the rail. “Down the Longsettle road and over the cutoff by Woody End, then up the banks of the Swift. That might take us straight there.”

“Papa took the West Road.” Katherine reached down to fasten the girth under Indigo. “If he’s trying to come back on foot, I don’t want to miss him.”

Edmund rummaged in the dark for Rosie’s tack. “If we go that way, Tom’s master might hear us going by and come after us.”

Katherine slid her sword through the loops by the pommel. “He can follow us right up into the Girth if he likes.”

Indigo lowered his head to let Katherine slip the bridle on. He stamped a hoof, impatient to leave. Jumble barked in reply.

“Then what?” Tom bent to quiet Jumble with a pat behind the ears. “Do we know where to look?”

“We have some guesses.” Edmund fussed with Rosie’s girth—every time he thought he got it straight, he found that he had twisted it on the other side. “We’re looking for a high mountain valley with ruins in it, at a place where two rivers meet. There’s more I can tell you on the road.” Rosie turned her head and shrank from the bridle. She was easily three times Indigo’s age, and looked much less eager at the prospect of a sudden departure in the middle of the night.

Katherine poked her head into the stall. “Edmund, are you ready?”

“Er—almost.”

“Ride with it like that and you’ll be riding under her soon enough.” Katherine stepped in and bent to fix the mess he had made of Rosie’s tack. “Come on, girl. Come.” She clicked her tongue and coaxed Rosie from her stall. Indigo came out on his own. He ducked under the door and led them out to the road, then stopped, facing up into the square. He cocked an eye at Katherine and stamped. Jumble walked out in front and looked back at them, waiting with his odd-colored ears pricked up.

“Indigo says the West Road, too. That decides it.” Katherine leapt into the saddle. Edmund dragged himself up onto Rosie’s back on the second try. Tom had no more skill than Edmund did, but was so tall that his ungainly jump could hardly fail.

Clouds came in to claim the moon, leaving the village deep in darkness. Edmund looked to each of his friends, then up at the shuttered window of his parents’ bedroom. There was nothing to be said. Indigo started at an eager walk, and the other horses fell into step—up the Longsettle road to the square, then around the old statue of the knight, and away.

Chapter
21

K
atherine let Indigo pick their pace up the rising crests of the foothills. Neither Rosie nor Berry looked happy to keep up, but neither would they let themselves be left behind. Jumble seemed to find their progress rather too slow, for he raced up ahead, turned and scampered back to them again and again, traveling two miles for every one trod by the horses.

Trees drew in, oak and elm around the tiny hamlet of Thicket. The grange smelled of hay and threshing, the woodlot of hewed hardwood. Edmund expected a challenge, at least a call from Thicket manor, but all lay mute around them. No one stirred in the houses, no one came out to ask who passed in the dark.

“We’re really going.” It was Tom who said it.

They rode on through the Widows, past the rotted cottages and thrown fields and by the place where stood the battle marker and lay the long graves. The clouds had blown wide and left the moon alone in the sky. The dead commons of the old abandoned village lay to the left, straggled grass chased in silver light. Curled weeds and hardwoods ran the opposite edge of the road. Edmund drew out Geoffrey’s long knife and looped it in his belt. Every shadowed stand of trees might hold an ambush. His heart beat for the thrill and the fear.

He drew level with Tom. “Have you ever been up here?”

“Never. What’s that stone thing?”

“That’s the cairn. This is the Widows—folk used to call it Byhill.” Edmund swept a hand. “This is as far down as the Nethergrim came—last time.”

“Oh—the Battle of the Potter’s Field. That was here?”

Katherine pointed. “Just over there, behind the oaks.”

“I like the song they made about it, even if it’s sad.” Tom looked out across the graves. “It’s different, though, when you see it as a place.”

The black line of the West Road rose on the foothills, driving its course up turns in the land as though its builders had thought it easier to move earth than to change direction. Oak gave way to pine, elm to spruce, crowding in around the bramble-choked tofts of cottages collapsing with the years beneath the twisting weeds. The last of the fields on either side of the road had been left unplowed for so long that it was hard to tell if they had ever been farmed.

“That’s it,” said Edmund. “We’re clear of Elverain.”

Tom breathed out. “I’ve run away.” He looked behind him.

Katherine dropped back to ride abreast. “I’m glad you came.”

“So am I.” Edmund said it, and then felt how much he meant it. “You know, I should have thought—we could have brought him a weapon.”

Tom shrugged his bony shoulders. “I wouldn’t know what to do with it.”

“We’ll want to get far from settled country before we rest.” Katherine reached out to touch Berry’s neck. “How is he bearing up?”

“He’s tired,” said Tom. “He must have come a long way before I found him.”

Katherine’s features contracted in worry. “Papa.” She twitched in her heels—Indigo needed little prompting to speed them to a trot again.

The clouds slid from the distant peaks of the Girth, opening the deeps of night. Jumble gave up his gambols and kept pace at Tom’s side. Edmund fell back into his thoughts. Ahead lay his brother, somewhere amongst the black and jagged teeth of the mountains. Behind lay his father, in agony or already dead. His breath steamed out into a chill that deepened as he rose.

“Maybe we should try to plan things out.” Tom drew level with his friends. “In those stories you like to tell, the heroes always seem to have some sort of plan.”

Katherine sat up straight in her saddle. “We should. I’m forgetting everything Papa ever told me.”

“We are on a perilous journey, after all,” said Edmund. “What do you think your father would do in our place?”

“He’d say to keep a watch as we go.” Katherine steered Indigo off to one side. “I’ll take left and upward. Tom takes right, and Edmund, look and listen behind us as much as you can. And from now on ride with your longbow strung. A pack of bolgugs aren’t going to sit by and wait for you to get ready.”

“Yes, my captain.” Edmund turned a smirk on Tom.

Katherine drew up the bind on her scabbard, putting her sword within easy reach. “We should make Upenough before dawn. From what I’ve heard, it’s thirty miles on past Thicket, give or take.”

“Oh.” Tom peered up ahead. “I didn’t know there were more villages up this way.”

“There aren’t anymore.” Edmund craned around to watch behind him down the road. “Upenough marked the farthest border of the kingdom before the Nethergrim came. You’ve heard the story—it’s where Tristan and Vithric first met.”

“I always get the stories mixed together,” said Tom. “I can never remember what happened where or when.”

Katherine gave Rosie’s head a gentle push to keep her from wheeling right around. “You don’t need to sit backward, Edmund. Just look and listen over your shoulder.”

“Oh—right.” Edmund turned forward again, and after a reluctant moment so did Rosie. “After that we start searching for a valley where two rivers meet. There should be ruins there, too—some sort of grand fortress. Did your father ever tell you of a place like that?”

Katherine paced along in silence for a while. “I don’t remember—from what he told me, there are dozens of ruins up here.”

“Maybe if we look, we can figure out the same things Vithric did.”

Her smile came weak, but it came. “If anyone ever could, Edmund, it’s you.”

“With the help of my bold companions, of course.” Edmund turned to include Tom—and found him staring up ahead with his brows dropped low. Jumble bristled and let out a throaty growl.

“He smells something,” said Tom. “So do I. A death smell.”

Katherine drew her sword. Edmund did the same with Geoffrey’s knife, then put it away again—what good was a knife from horseback? He gripped his reins. “What do we do?”

“Forward, slow.” Katherine reached around to pull her shield off her back. “Watch every side, and don’t say a word unless you need to. If I make a move, follow it.”

Indigo blew out a snort, stepping high with his head arched forward. Edmund dug his heels into Rosie’s flanks to keep pace. They followed the road up out of the trees and onto a ridge of barren ground, every breath taken sharp between their teeth.

Katherine nudged Indigo in between the other horses and half a length in front. Moonlight glinted off the boss of her shield. They rose through a meadow to find a new fold of mountainside, cut by a pass of a length that could not be guessed at in the dark. The farther they climbed, the farther away the peaks seemed to get.

“It’s ahead.” Katherine turned with the road, and as Edmund followed, the shapes of houses stuck out in shadow against the sky. The village of Upenough clung dead to a ridge over the last remove of useful land up the pass into the mountains, no more than a ragged run of hovels left to fall apart in silence. The air hung thin beneath a sky dusted wide with stars. The land around them lay so still that the careful walking tread of the horses came back in dull echoes.

“This must be how Tristan felt.” Edmund shot fearful glances left and right, expecting the glow of yellow eyes behind every tumbledown byre.

“Stop, everyone.” Tom leapt from Berry’s back, nearly tripping from the stirrups. He scrabbled into the weeds beside the road. Jumble followed him off into the dark.

Edmund hissed in fright. “What is it?” He tried to nudge Rosie over to look, but she cowered, ears flat along her head. Indigo shoved past, carrying Katherine to the large dark object next to Tom at the roadside. There rose a smell that made everyone retch.

“It’s stiff.” Tom rolled it onto its back—a bolgug. “Dead for a day or so.”

Edmund kept his sleeve across his mouth. “What killed it?”

“A sword.” Tom let its arm drop. “From above.”

“From above?”

“From horseback.” Katherine turned Indigo forward again. “If I remember the story, there was an inn somewhere. It’s likely the only shelter left.”

Tom scrabbled up and they pressed on, past weeded-over cow paths that would once have served as cross lanes, up toward a clump of huts bald of thatching and falling to bits under the shadow of a burned-out village hall.

“That one.” Edmund pointed. “It’s got a wooden roof, and I think that’s a stable around back.”

“Everyone down.” Katherine brought them to a halt. “Tom, take the horses.”

Edmund slid out of his saddle behind her. He drew Geoffrey’s knife—the skin arched and prickled up his arms.

Katherine beckoned him over to the doorway. “Smell that?”

Edmund nodded—sick and sweet. More rot, more dead things.

Katherine pulled off her glove with her teeth, then took her sword in a fighting grip. “Ready? Here we go, then.” She kicked the door—it came off its cracked leather hinges and fell inward. She went through with her shield up and her sword over its edge. Edmund followed at her back—and trod on something soft.

“What is that?” Katherine’s voice rose and quavered from the dark. “Is it—?”

Edmund forced himself to kneel over the corpse. “No—another bolgug.” He leaned out the door to catch a breath of good air. “Tom? Get a torch lit.”

They fumbled farther in, feeling out against a haphazard row of trestle tables. “Seems like a tavern—can’t see a thing.” Edmund got a mouthful of cobweb. “Augh!” He spluttered and bent, hoping with all he had that he had not swallowed a spider.

“If anything wanted to ambush us in here, I suppose it would have by now.” Katherine moved off across the room. “I found the hearth.”

“I put the horses out back.” Tom bent low to get under the sagging lintel. He stood up inside with a torch sputtering in his hand.

Katherine let out a cry.

Edmund turned, his stomach sinking. Katherine knelt over a sword lying on the hard-packed earth of the floor—plain and martial with a wide iron guard and a hilt wrapped in hide.

“Oh, no.” Katherine picked it up—a piece in both hands. The blade had snapped a few inches past the guard. Edmund did not need to be told whose it was.

“That doesn’t mean he’s dead.” He crouched at her side. “It doesn’t.” He caught sight of something small and blood-specked next to Katherine’s foot and sucked in a breath. She read his face and looked down before he had decided how to tell her.

Katherine screamed and jumped away from the severed finger on the floor, a man’s finger cut off at the first knuckle. Edmund bent low and looked around. He found no others, but amongst the stains of bluish black on the floor were some that were rusty red.

“Katherine.” Tom grabbed her shoulder. “Katherine, look at me! The bolgug in the doorway was bludgeoned. Do you understand what that means?”

Katherine looked up at Tom.

“Your father survived—he got out.” Tom paced around the floor. “He didn’t bleed much in here. He got out right after he was wounded—he probably killed that bolgug on the way.”

“But—why didn’t he come home?” Katherine sat back on her haunches. “He was hurt.”

“He wasn’t finished,” said Edmund. “Whatever he came up here to do, he was still going to do it.”

Katherine heaved herself up onto a bench, still shaking. Edmund looked to Tom. “We stay here.”

“Until dawn. We’ll need to set a watch.” Tom slid the torch into a sconce on the wall. “I’ll go fix the door.” He grabbed the dead bolgug by the feet and dragged it outside.

• • •

The fire threw flickers on the steep-angled ceiling—faint ones, muted mottles cast by embers whose failing heat did little to ward off the draft from the door. Edmund rolled onto one side, then the other.

“Can’t sleep?” Tom sat up in his bedding, faced out from the fire with one long arm stretched over his knee. Whipping scars crossed his naked back—some old, healed to white, others red and new.

“I guess not.” Edmund propped himself on his elbows. Chill swept into the space between his chest and the bedroll beneath. They had encamped as close to the hearth as they could get. Katherine curled away on Tom’s other side, sleeping on a pillow of her hair. She had put her bedroll down last, crushing Edmund’s hopes that he might feel the warmth of her breath. Instead he got Jumble’s breath—the dog had wormed himself in between him and Tom, and seemed to be having a dream where he was chasing something, for his paws paddled and scratched through the bedding. A dusty old hat lay discarded on the tavern floor—a shank of bone, an upended mug. Their shadows fell long behind them.

“It’s strange to sleep in a different place.” Tom reached to the nearest table. He felt around in his sack and pulled down a crust of bread. “I’m not used to it.”

Edmund sat up. He nudged the unburnt edge of a log onto the embers. It did not catch.

“And no one’s been back here?” Tom kept his voice to a murmur. “Not in all these years?”

“Not that I know about, not since the Nethergrim came. See these chairs?” Edmund nudged the closest one. “I’ll bet Tristan and Vithric sat right here the night they met. The folk who made it with them down to Elverain never came back—never felt safe enough, I suppose. It looks like some of them left right in the middle of supper.”

Tom gathered a handful of kindling that had fallen half burnt off the fire. He poked them one by one onto the flames. “I wish I had a brother like you.”