The Gathering, page 20
part #1 of The Hundred Series
“We’ll need to stay in touch,” Pieris said, digging into his pocket and bringing out what looked like a series of small birds carved in stone.
“Just how many secrets did Jaalam give you?” Guise asked, eyes narrowing as he saw the birds.
“Not nearly enough,” Pieris answered, mouth curving up again.
Guise shook his head slightly, but stayed silent as Pieris gave each of the Hundred one of the stone birds and then explained how to record a short message then send it back to him. All the birds were keyed to him, he explained, and would find him no matter how far away they were.
Yvonne took the stone bird with some scepticism. It seemed far too small, and too fragile, for the claims Pieris was making.
The weight of it surprised her. Despite fitting in the palm of her hand, with room to spare, it was heavier than a full bottle of spirits. Looking more closely she could see that although it appeared to be made of stone, it seemed in fact to be more like coils and coils of thread, each one sewn with spells.
“Just how long was this winter?” she asked Pieris, touching the bird with a fingertip. The threads stirred, wings fluttering. Like the map, it was exquisite work.
“Not long enough,” Pieris answered, the soft look vanishing into sadness.
Yvonne felt an echo of his pain in her chest. Along with his quick mind, Pieris had a warm heart, and had not shared it with anyone for many years. There was little prospect of a settled home and family for most of the Hundred. The Hundred were rare enough. Rarer still were people prepared to stand alongside them. And goblins and Hunar did not generally mix well.
CHAPTER TWENTY
A few days’ hard riding, Yvonne’s sturdy warhorse matching Guise’s goblin-bred mount for stamina if not speed, had brought them to Coll.
The rest of the Hundred should be at their destinations soon, too, Yvonne knew, hand straying to her belt pouch where she had put the small bird. It had settled into the pouch and now felt as though it weighed nothing, although if she took it out to examine it, the weight returned. Remarkable magic.
There was nothing to tell Pieris, not yet. She was looking forward to having something to tell Pieris, so that she could see the bird’s spells in action.
Quiet enquiries along the way, made by Guise of various individuals who had taken one look at the symbol on Yvonne’s shoulder then found urgent business elsewhere, had confirmed that a wagon, or possibly two, had been seen on this route. Possibly ones from Three Falls. Possibly other completely innocent traders, going about their normal business. Guise wasn’t sure, frustrated by the lack of information, even going so far as to complain at not being able to get straight answers from thieves, sending Yvonne a sour look as she laughed.
With no better information to go on, the trail had brought them to the castle itself, at the centre of the Coll lands.
It looked like a perfectly ordinary castle, sitting on a slight rise in the ground, a large moat dug around it. The wide river was shallower here, with a pair of sandbanks meaning that it was, just, possible to cross the river here rather than using one of the few bridges guarded by the King’s men. The distance to the sandbanks was a short swim for a horse, and manageable for a human. The water between the banks was just deep enough for the river barges to pass by.
The crossing had been used by armies in the past. There had been no wars here, no invading armies, for far longer than Yvonne had been alive. But the Valland Kings had not kept a grip on these lands, and ensured its peace, by being complacent. The castle, and its watch over the river, were a part of the kingdom. Yvonne remembered Dundac’s words and, not for the first time, wondered how the lord of the castle had got away with ignoring the King’s summons for so long.
In the weak light of an overcast spring day, the castle was oddly still. There did not appear to be any guards on the walls, or at the open gates, which would earn the lord a severe reprimand from the King, even if he had been dutiful in his attendance at Court.
“He’s going to lose the lands,” she said, half to herself. The Coll family had held this castle, in the King’s name, for generations, each one steadfast in their loyalty.
“Young fool,” Guise agreed.
They were concealed in the last group of trees before the open ground around the castle. Discipline might be lax among the castle’s inhabitants, but the boundaries were still maintained. They were out of range of any archers who might wish to attack the non-existent guards. Even with a bit of magic behind the arrow, it would have run out of any force by the time it reached the castle’s walls.
“There’s no easy way in,” Guise commented. He sounded speculative, rather than frustrated.
“But you have an idea?”
As far as Yvonne could tell, there were only two roads into the castle. There was the main route, on this side of the castle, that was wide, well-maintained road, leading up to a drawbridge over the moat and double doors, standing open, in the castle’s walls. There was a smaller road leading from the back.
At least, those were the only ones that were visible. A castle like this, built when wars were frequent and this river crossing far more important, must have secret entrances and exits, usually only known to the family.
“I don’t think you’re going to like it,” he said, still with that speculative tone in his voice.
Before Yvonne could tell him that she most certainly would not like it, whatever it was, and ask him to think of another plan, a soft sound behind them drew her attention.
The trees here were giants, worthy of places in the Great Forest, with deep shadows among them in and in their canopies above. The resemblance to the Great Forest did not end there, she realised. What had looked like dark shadows underneath trees had become solid creatures.
“Darkin?” she said in disgust. “I didn’t think there were any this far east,” she added, hand going to her sword hilt.
“There shouldn’t be,” Guise confirmed, drawing his sword.
“Cousin. You are far outside your borders,” one of the shapes said. They were creatures made up of shadow and bits of darkness, able to blend in with the shady depths of the Great Forest that they usually called home. Quite real, though, and deadly fighters. A match for goblins. Her heart sped up, body tensing, readying for battle.
“I was about to say the same thing,” Guise answered.
Without speaking, Yvonne put her back to Guise’s, and they stepped a little further towards the light. Darkin were not bound to stay in shadow, but it was easier to see them, and easier to fight them, in the light.
And there were four of them, Yvonne saw, disgusted with herself that she had not noticed them before. But they were, as Guise has said, far outside their borders. She could not remember the last time she had seen a darkin outside their own homeland. Her last experience with them had been almost cordial, as they had asked for her help. Not long after Elinor’s funeral, when she had not really cared who asked for her help, as long as her mind and body were active.
“Hunar, what brings you here?” It was a teasing question, and she did not think that the speaker expected any response from her.
“Someone has been stealing children from their families, and then selling them,” she told the darkin. Children were rare, and prized, among their kind, like many of the rarer races. “And we think there may be information in the castle.”
“There is,” the darkin replied, a darker tone in his voice. His outline shimmered a fraction, became solid for a moment, and Yvonne saw that he had a metal band of some description around one of his wrists. “But we can’t help you. We have orders.”
“Someone bound them with iron,” Yvonne told Guise. Most humans might scoff at legend, but some, like the Hunar, had been born out of truth. And this was another. Putting iron onto one of the darkin was torture for it, and bound the darkin to service.
“I can help you, if you ask me to,” she told them.
“We have orders,” he answered, and the four of them moved forward.
The approach of the darkin had concealed something else. There was something large and solid coming towards her. She caught movement out of the corner of her eye and turned her head, a cry of alarm stuck in her throat. The last thing she saw was a heavy object descending rapidly towards her head.
~
The world was shaking, moving in an extremely uncomfortable way. Her stomach twisted. Head was pounding. She tried opening her eyes and got a confused impression of light and dark and flickering shadows, closing her eyes quickly as her stomach rebelled at the motion and sight. She was upside down. Even as she realised that, whatever it was that was carrying her let her fall.
She hit stone with a force that made her grunt involuntarily, the cool, hard surface a momentary relief against the hot skin of her face. She tried opening her eyes again. The nausea was worse and, a moment later, she threw up whatever was in her stomach onto the stone floor. The smell made her retch again, and she scrabbled to her hands and knees, backing away from the sickness, try not to breathe through her nose, turning her head away from the smell and the sight. It did not help much, her stomach lurching again. She did not think there was anything left in her to bring up and stayed kneeling, trying to breathe lightly, one hand going to her head and coming away sticky with blood.
“Humans are fragile, you know,” Guise’s voice said, in a conversational tone. He was not speaking to her.
She blinked, trying to clear her eyes, and turned her head away from her sickness, moving very slowly. He was standing near her. He seemed to have been in a fight. His clothes were torn, there was a spectacular bruise on one side of his face, and from the way he was holding himself she thought he might have broken ribs as well. He had also been stripped to his shirtsleeves, his weapons removed, she did not need to look down to know that her weapons had gone as well.
More surprising, was the identity of their captors.
“Vettr?” Her voice squeaked in astonishment.
The stone creatures explained her thumping head. They did not need weapons, when no sword could cut through their skin.
They were generally thought of as slow, and stupid, but that was not always the case. They were, however, fanatically loyal. Obedient dogs, she had heard them called more than once. She thought that was insulting to dogs. Vettr were mean, and petty.
The one who had been carrying her bared its teeth and what she thought was a smile, small eyes gleaming with amusement. Pleased at her discomfort, she thought.
“I told you to be careful with them,” a new voice said.
She forgot all about the vettr, her pounding head, and her twisting stomach. That voice held far more power than it should.
Her eyes finally cleared and she saw who Guise had been talking to.
They were in the main hall of the castle, a giant room with high ceilings and walls that would typically be covered by tapestries and the coats of arms of the family who lived here, and those who owed them service.
The walls were bare, only a few torches here and there, their light unnecessary in daytime. The focal point of the room was, therefore, a stone dais on which sat a massive, carved wooden chair.
The chair would easily have held four, but there was only one occupant, who managed to sit on the chair without looking stupid.
A young man, at least outwardly, he was strikingly handsome with clean, even features and black hair swept back from his brow, on which sat a simple gold band.
She forced herself to her feet, wobbling slightly. Guise made no move to help her.
“Lord Coll?” The age was right, and from what she remembered of the family, the face was right as well. But nothing else was.
He smiled, and where there should have been white, even, teeth she saw darkened teeth that were slightly ragged. Even at this distance, she could see that his eyes were not the pale blue common to people of these lands, but a darker shade that did not belong on anything human.
“Not quite.” He lifted his arm and turned his hand, palm up, and she saw that fingernails had been replaced by claws. “Human bodies are so limiting.”
Her stomach twisted again and she swallowed against more nausea. There were very few things that could enter the human body and interfere with its to this extent. And none of them were good.
“Where is your master, young lord?” Guise asked, sounding bored. “I do not deal with underlings.”
Yvonne tried to turn her head to look at Guise. A wave of pain and nausea had her crouching down on the floor again, eyes watering as she breathed lightly, waiting for the wave to subside.
Even through the discomfort she heard the lord’s answer.
“I have no master.” The voice held a sneer that spoke of contempt. But there was something else there, and if she had not been nursing her pounding head, she might have been able to work out what it was.
“Creatures like you always do,” Guise answered, still in the same tone. “No imagination.”
“I will grind your bones to dust.” The voice had shaded further to dark, the mask of humanity slipping a bit more.
There were very few things that could take over a human body that way, Yvonne reminded herself, trying to keep her breathing steady so she could think. If she pretended she was calm, her mind might settle. Very few things, she repeated. There was a parasitic plant found in the Forbidden Lands. That did not fit, as the victims were usually immobile, unable to function once the plant had taken hold, releasing its spores. A small, vicious, insect that was also found in the Forbidden Lands. Still, the host would not have black teeth and claws.
Her head swum again and her stomach twisted. She was running out of things. She went through another few possibilities, dismissing them at once.
None of them fit. Nothing she knew of would cause claws and darkened eyes and blackened teeth and the aura of crackling power the lord carried.
Nothing she knew of. But there were darkin outside, secretive and wary of contact beyond their own kind. And their distant cousins, the goblins, held onto their secrets with vicious determination. And there were unexplored territories beyond the northlands, and beyond the Great Ocean.
Arrogant to assume one knew everything. Elinor had said that often. She had found herself saying it to Mariah and Joel more than once.
“Why do you want bone dust?” Guise asked, cutting through her spiralling thoughts and rising panic.
There was a short, charged pause. Long enough for her to raise her head and see something in the lord’s face. Something she was quite sure he had not meant to give away. Guise had touched a nerve. There had been what looked like fear in the lord’s face. He had not meant to give that away. Bone dust.
In some small villages there was still a superstition about protecting your house by scattering the ground-up bones of murderers. And in at least one case when they had run out of murderers, the village elders had decided that petty criminals would do. There were always a few of those to be found.
But that was stupid human superstition.
Bone dust.
The way Guise had said it carried meaning. Goblin magic was quite different to human magic. It had taken Pieris an entire winter to break down some goblin spells for use in the Hunar way. And Guise had wanted to know how many secrets Pieris’ goblin paramour had spilled. It had not been an idle question.
“Better question. Why does your master require bone dust?”
Bone dust. Graves. He is coming.
Her mind spun, making connections where they probably weren’t any. She wanted to ask questions, find out information, work through the puzzle, but could not find the right words.
“Not your concern,” the lord answered Guise, with a dismissive wave of his hand. “You will be dead anyway. You and your human whore.”
Yvonne choked on an unexpected laugh. It was not the first time that the insult had been thrown in her direction. A lot of men seemed to have limited imagination when it came to describing women.
“And now you are offensive,” Guise said, across her laughter. He did not sound amused. He sounded quietly furious.
“But it is funny,” Yvonne managed to say, voice hoarse from being sick. She coughed to clear her throat. “Next he will probably say that I should be paying you for your company.” That was a very common follow up. She choked on another laugh. “No imagination.”
“How true,” Guise agreed, turning his attention to her. “A very shallow little man.”
There was a loud crack and bang. They turned to find that the not-quite-human lord had flung his chair to one side, the vast throne cracking as it fell, and he was coming down the steps of the dais towards them. Her eyes were clear enough, and her head had stopped pounding long enough, for her to notice that he was wearing floor-length robes of a rich red fabric, over sewn with gold thread. They were clothes fit for a king.
“Lovely robes,” Yvonne commented. She did not seem to be able to help herself, even though it simply made the lord more angry.
He stopped a few paces away and she had another shock seeing fine lines of darkness across his face, under his skin. Whatever corruption has taken him over, it was in his veins, tainting his blood. She was confident that if she opened a wound on him, he would bleed black.
His nose wrinkled, and he looked to one side, to where she had been sick. The smell doubtless offended him. She didn’t like it much, either.
“Lick that up,” he ordered the vettr that had been carrying her. “I told you to be more careful with her.”
Yvonne’s stomach clenched again as the vettr knelt on the stone floor and began licking up the sickness, its thick, great tongue scraping against the stone floor.
“A new look?” Guise asked, tilting his head to the bare walls around them.
“I have not decided yet,” the lord answered, seemingly happy to be diverted into decoration. He was frowning, slightly, as he looked at them. “You are not as impressive as I thought you would be. The wastrel son of the Karoan’shae. The youngest Hunar. You are boring me.”
Yvonne tensed. That seemed dangerous.
