What Remains of Heroes (19 page)

Gamghast shook with anger and he tugged at his white beard. “This talk is no more than drivel. Now bring me to the High King!”

Alamis abruptly stood and his countenance darkened. “It is I!” he shouted, the sound reverberating through the massive hall. “It is I who commands the throne! It is I who rules in the stead of our mad king! And it is I who accuses your order of high treason!”

“We serve the High King!” Gamghast roared, taking a stride up the dais. “Your charges are rubbish, and by inventing them you cast dishonor upon the Lector’s death!”

Alamis’s eyes seethed as he looked upon Gamghast from the top of the dais. “Do not dare attempt to deceive me, Prefect. I have many eyes and many ears. Missives can be intercepted, and even the quietest discussions overheard.”

Gamghast spat on the ground and turned to take his leave. “You have overstepped your station, Chamberlain. There are others on the council who will honor my request.”

“Prefect! I have not dismissed you.”

Gamghast turned, readying a response, but paused when he noticed the chamberlain withdrawing a note from within his blue garment.

Alamis held the note before him, an accusation. “I have proof, written in the Lector’s own hand. A plea to the Sentinels that they return to Rune, ready to make war.” He shook his head. “Most believe the Sentinels vanished long ago, but we know better, don’t we, Prefect?”

What does he know? Could he know the Lector’s true
identity?

“Your Lector’s actions stand in direct violation of the ancient edict banishing the Sentinels from Rune. He was summoning them! The Sentinels, the very ones who tried to usurp the throne those many years ago! Has your Sanctum grown so bold as to believe you can ignore history and the rule of law? To believe you can draw old traitors within our walls?”

Gamghast breathed deeply. “The Lector served the High King, just as all members of the Sanctum are bound by faith to do. I am most certain he acted in defense of Rune. If he called for the aid of what were once our greatest heroes, then the question is why? I would gladly offer my assistance to your investigation, as the Lector’s actions clearly speak of an urgent danger to us all.”

“Strange,” Alamis said, inspecting the note. “If your Lector was acting in defense of Rune, why then was the message intended for Zyn? Why was it being sent to the capital of Arranan, the very nation with which we are at war?” He leveled his eyes at Gamghast. “Your Lector meant to betray us all.”

What could this
mean?

The chamberlain began descending the dais. “Lector Erlorn not only disregarded the edict of banishment, but he sent word to Rune’s most ancient traitors, summoning them to battle. And now, as though on cue, Arranan invades our borders! Your Sanctum has grown so mad with ambition that it has chosen an alliance with Rune’s enemies, and invited this invasion.” He tucked the note within his robe. “If I so choose, I could have every member of your sad order arrested and executed for treason. Do you wish to press me on this, Prefect?”

Gamghast’s face sagged. “Chamberlain, you have me at a disadvantage. I am willing to assist you, if you’d just allow me to inspect the note.”

Chamberlain Alamis descended the last stair and came close to Gamghast. “Every man who deals with me is at a disadvantage, Prefect. Rune bows to the banner of the High King, but I am the true ruler of this realm. Mine may not be the head that wears the crown, but mine is the fist that wields the power. You and your kind will stay clear of the Bastion. The days of your meddling with the High King are at an end.”

Gamghast realized his mouth had fallen open and he snapped it shut. “But… It is our holy charge. Our reason for being.”

Alamis smiled wickedly. “Ah, my dear, pathetic Prefect. I pity you. It is always a shame when the old realize they are no longer needed. You can almost see the life drain from their eyes when they realize the workings of the world have passed to younger, more capable hands. Stay clear of this place, Prefect. Stay out of the way.” He brushed a finger against the Gamghast’s shoulder, as though removing lint. “Pass quietly into the night.”

14

Fear

F
encress Fallcrow guided
her skinny gray mare along the tree-darkened path which ran atop the bank of a shallow stream. The water ran noisily, making conversation difficult. But then, none of them had spoken much at all since they’d fled Raven’s Roost two days before.

She rode at the rear of the company, just behind Drenj and Paddyn. She smiled wryly as she watched them. The two swayed slump-shouldered and silent in their saddles, not daring to exchange even glances, as though they struggled mightily with something in their souls.
Ah, the difficult moral conundrums of
killers.

At the group’s lead, perhaps thirty or so feet ahead, rode Karnag. His broad back seemed a fortress wall, adamant and impregnable, and the weapons slung across it served a grave warning. Fencress had always held profound respect for the highlander’s skills in combat, but now there was something else mingled with those feelings.
Fear
.

She tugged at the black leather of her cowl to bring it low over her brow, hiding her blue eyes in shadow. She had a knack for gambling, and her many games of deadman’s dice had taught her much could be learned from the eyes. It’d be best if Karnag couldn’t read hers.

Fencress reckoned she’d killed more than a hundred men. She’d killed folk of all sorts, from deadbeat debtors to petty royalty, from simple farmhands to warriors of great renown. She’d killed with blades, axes, fire, poison, and even a pot of boiling rabbit stew. Most of those killings had been at a close, almost intimate distance, such that she’d been able to watch the life drain from the eyes of the dying. Yet, she’d never seen a man die in a fashion remotely like the horse trader in Raven’s Roost.

Fencress had heard of rare magic, as well. The old tales told of great sorcerers wielding the fires of the dead gods, speaking with the dead, and moving in ways unseen. It was rumored the old codgers of the Sanctum could heal the sick by prayer alone, and summon the lost spirit of Illienne to aid in their protection. But those tales were of sorcerers and spookers, folk who pored over dusty books and arcane objects in studies lasting decades before such secrets could be plied.
How could Karnag command such a
power?

She’d poked at his memory with countless, cynical challenges, but she could no longer question what she’d seen. Karnag had ripped a man apart, from cock to crown, with nary more than a
word
.

Fencress had sensed a change in the man even since they’d massacred the Lector and his men. Karnag seemed set with a grim purpose, and the taking of lives was no longer a means to a greater end but an end unto itself.

Fencress’s horse stopped suddenly, uncertain how to navigate a jumble of tree roots stretching from an old poplar to the creek below. Fencress scratched the space between the mare’s ears and patted her neck, encouraging, and after a tremulous step she was across the obstruction and on the trail once more.

“It’s alright, girl,” she said. “The path is frightening to us all.”

That night they found a clearing atop a rise and made camp in silence. Karnag chose a spot near the campfire, where he sat motionless and stared at the flames. Fencress and the rest gave him a wide berth, choosing to remain within their tents or near the horses.

For what she knew was overlong, Fencress tended to her mare, picking barbs and bugs from her mane and feeding her chunks of a bruised apple Fencress had found discarded on the path. In truth, she was wary of being near the highlander, and didn’t fancy the thought of the fellow’s conversation. She turned from his horse and saw Karnag’s silhouette atop the rise and aside the fire, and couldn’t help but finger the religious totem—the rough, wooden carving of Illienne’s golden sun—dangling from her throat.

She thought of the look in Karnag’s eyes just after they’d left Raven’s Roost, just after he’d killed the horse trader. They hadn’t been the eyes of her old friend. Instead, those gray eyes had been lifeless, as though the soul no longer lit them. She’d seen the eyes of cold-blooded killers, even in the mirror at times, but this was a different gaze.
The look of the
dead
.

“Your horse is as clean as the day she tumbled from the womb,” came a quiet voice in the darkness.

Fencress whirled about, her hand finding the hilt of one of her twin blades and pulling the weapon loose. There was Drenj, standing on the other side of the horse and scratching its shoulder with his long fingers.

“You just nearly lost that hand,” hissed Fencress, sliding the weapon back into its sheath.

The Khaldisian nodded his head toward the rise. “You and I should speak.”

Fencress walked to the other side of the horse to stand beside Drenj. “Carefully, Khaldisian,” she whispered. “After what we’ve witnessed, I’d reckon any talk among us that doesn’t include Karnag would be viewed as conspiracy.”

“I’ve spoken with Paddyn,” he said. “We’re ready to abandon this madness and head north to Riverweave. We’ll take all four of the horses, to ensure a good start ahead of Karnag.”

“That is inviting death. I’ve known Karnag for years, ever since…” she said, her voice trailing off. She’d known Karnag for a dozen years, ever since he’d killed three bastards trying to have their way with her after catching her drunk and unarmed in Riverweave’s slums. She paused. The young Khaldisian hadn’t earned the right to know that. She held his eyes with a steady look. “He’d kill you for such a thing even if he were right in the head, which he isn’t now. Haven’t you seen how he’s changed?”

“I
have
seen how he’s changed!” he hissed. “And that is precisely why we must be rid of him. It is inviting death to stay at his side.” He shook his head, eyes downcast. “I have followed him only for the coin, but even that has lost meaning in his shadow. He’s unstable, Fencress. He has made me terrified of the night.”

Fencress nodded, for she knew of what the Khaldisian spoke. Karnag’s sleep, if it could be called that, was tortured, and the highlander whispered incessantly in a strange tongue while he slumbered. The night before, he’d screamed out in seeming terror, shrieking madly at some unseen horror.

Drenj shivered, as though shaking off a chill. “He will kill Tream, and cover the town in his blood. But what else? What other havoc will he wreak? Who knows how many others will die in the wake of those deeds, how many others will be caused to seek revenge upon him? ‘Dark work brings dark rewards,’ they say in Raven’s Roost. The place at his side is a dangerous one.”

“Perhaps,” Fencress said, frowning. “But of all the enemies we could have right now, he may be the very worst of them.”

Drenj was silent for a moment, scratching the horse absentmindedly. “You may be right, Fencress, but he won’t stop with Tream.”

“Perhaps he won’t. Perhaps he will. Perhaps things will be finished after Hargrave, and we can all parts ways as friends.” She smiled slightly. “Those are long odds, but the best bet isn’t always the safest one. I’ll not consider abandoning a friend such as Karnag until I’ve seen how the dice roll.”

The next morning the skies were solemn and greeted the company with a chilling rain. Rocky earth and mossy tree roots crowded a path slick with muck, and the ride grew treacherous. More than once Fencress nearly toppled into the swift-moving stream from her horse, and the company quickly reached a consensus to dismount and guide the beasts by their reins.

At midmorning their path met a stout bridge and the wider road that crossed it. At the intersection stood a rotting signpost, upon which was scratched a marker. Hargrave was but five leagues distant.

The horses seemed to delight in the road’s firmer footing and the company remounted. Their pace quickened and the horses became playful. Fencress’s mare splashed ahead several paces on the puddle-filled road, and soon Fencress found herself just a few feet behind Karnag at the group’s lead.

She made no effort at conversation, and instead sat with eyes fixed on the road ahead as rain dripped from her cowl. It was a straight path, shaded by an overhang of trees, and Fencress reckoned she could see several hundred yards along its gradual upward slope. Beyond that, through the forest’s canopy, she could discern the distant, black smear of the Southwall Mountains against the gray sky.

“A killing ground,” said Karnag, his voice an unnerving monotone. “In days this road will be awash in blood.”

Fencress nodded, hoping it would suffice as a reply.

Karnag gestured at the road ahead. “The Arranese army has chosen this as one of their passageways into Rune. The road heads right to Riverweave, and the High King’s army is too late to mount a stout defense. The southern garrisons will take arms but they will be overrun, and the Arranese will take the whole of the south, from the Southwalls to the Sullen Sea, before they tender their terms. Already they’ve crushed the mountain garrisons and are marching upon this very road, putting villages to the torch and men to the sword.”

“You know this?” Fencress asked, unable to resist engaging the highlander in spite of her better judgment.

Karnag turned in the saddle, his bent face battered from a hundred battles. His gaze was just as Fencress remembered it from that awful day with the horse trader: heavy lids drooped over lifeless eyes. He stared at Fencress with those dead eyes for long moments before answering. “My dreams.”

Fencress looked away and lowered her head. The thought of such things was disquieting, unnatural.

“I have seen it,” Karnag said. “Just as I can see Tream now, sipping at a tall tankard of ale before him at the town’s only tavern.”

“Karnag,” said Fencress, squeezing her horse’s reins in gloved hands until her knuckles ached. She breathed deeply before continuing. “How can this be? I am not the sort to fear others, but lately I’ve seen things that have left me a bit… unnerved.” She steeled herself and turned to Karnag. The highlander’s eyes no longer held hers, but had drifted to the road ahead. “You are my friend. What’s happened?”

“There is a call I hear,” Karnag said quietly, the heavy braids of his black hair dripping with rain. “A whisper in my head. If I struggle to listen to it, it fades away, but when I am quiet I can hear it clear. It tells of paths before me, of things yet to come, and of my hand in such things. I can do naught but harken to it, for it tells my destiny.”

Fencress kept her eyes down, staring at the wet road and pulling again at her cowl to keep it low.

Long odds, indeed
.