Orlind (54 page)

The Bone Forest
at night is a dangerous place to be. The ground is marshy, spread
with silent pools of water waiting to catch the steps of the
unwary. A permanent fog shrouds the air in the colder months; in
winter little can be seen of the landscape save the twisted trees
looming out of the dark, their branches reaching into the sky like
stripped bones.

Once in a while,
though, the moon shines briefly from between layers of heavy black
cloud and the mists gleam bone-white in response. And even more
rarely, a flicker of ghostly white near the black earthen ground
begs to catch the eye: a glimpse of a marsh spectre, so easy to
miss.

The marsh spectre
is not, as might be inferred, a spirit but in fact a flower. It
grows in only the wettest of marshes; were its delicate petals to
dry out it would crumble and fade into the wind like a
wraith.

It crouches low
to the ground, its foliage ash-grey veined with silver. It is rare.
The conditions for its growth are specific; a particular
temperature, a significant degree of moisture, not too much light.
Without these it will never thrive and its coveted blossoms - only
one per plant - will never appear.

On one particular
frosty night, few souls were abroad to witness the delicate white
glow of the marsh spectre as it unfurled its petals. Coveted as it
was, few could brave the dangers of the night-shrouded Bone Forest
with impunity. Konrad Savast was one such, and as he navigated with
care through the dripping fog a bright glow caught his eye, blazing
briefly but powerfully in the grey forests that ringed the city of
Ekamet. It was a light he recognised, for he had set out on this
cold, wet night in search of this very blossom.

Swirling his
long, dark coat out of the way of his legs, he was on his knees in
an instant, heedless of the ice-touched, waterlogged mud staining
the thick fabric of his trousers.

But he was not
the first. He swore at finding himself too late; too late to
prevent this most virulent of poisons from being harvested,
processed, sold and above all, used. The centre of the flower was
gone; only a few petals remained.

Konrad sat back
on his heels, disturbed. Whoever had harvested this particular
specimen was not a professional poison master; the drooping,
bruised state of the few surviving petals spoke of the rough lack
of care with which the valuable parts of the flower had been
removed.

When amateurs
played at poison craft, the results were never good.

He closed his
eyes and let his consciousness shift into the spirit-world. In his
mind’s eye the landscape drained further of colour, becoming a
faded tableau in hazy white. He could see the wind streaming
through the trees, feel the faint traces left by the passage of
wraiths through the aether.

‘
Eetapi,’ he murmured. ‘Ootapi.’

An answering
whisper touched his thoughts, and then a second close behind. Twin
phantoms twined through his senses like a persistent cold wind,
making him shiver.

Yes,
Malykant,
they both said together.

Search the
aether
, he told them silently.
Bring me news of the
unquiet.

His companions
caught the ribbons of the wind and sailed away. He opened his eyes
and watched them go, their long serpentine bodies fading into the
mist. They had been brightly coloured in life, their beaded hides
advertising their venomous natures in vivid purple and red. In
death they were moon-pale, insubstantial and cold as
winter.

Abandoning the
broken marsh spectre, Konrad straightened and continued on, picking
his way expertly through the sluggish pools of water that saturated
the forest. He threaded through the hillocks of drier land that
dotted the landscape, ignoring the steady trickle of dampness that
ran off the brim of his hat and flowed down the waxed cloth of his
coat. After some minutes his workshop materialised out of the fog,
a wooden structure raised on stilts high above the stagnant water.
A rope ladder served as the only means of entrance; he climbed up
it to his trapdoor entrance and let himself in.

The pockets of
his coat were stuffed with folded cloth packets. He drew these out
one at a time, storing the fruits of his ramblings in the jars and
boxes that crowded the shelves in his one room. Dark purple inkwort
he had found in plentiful quantity, and sunbane and weak orange
pepperroot. He’d even discovered a pocket of ashleaf sheltering on
the lee side of one of the taller hillocks, hidden behind a mess of
tall, prickly grass. Were it not for the loss of the marsh spectre,
he would have considered it a fruitful day’s work.

Harvest stored,
Konrad shrugged out of his coat, stepped out of his tall boots and
removed his hat. He flopped gratefully onto the rude and untidy
bed, yawning. He had been walking all night and most of the day,
covering many miles of the marsh in his search for the materials of
his trade.

But he would not
sleep yet. Not until the serpents brought him the news from the
spirit lands.

He sensed their
return as he framed this thought. They came billowing through his
open door, bringing a renewed chill with them. He sensed agitation,
some manner of disturbance in the normally placid minds of his
familiars.

‘
Peace, Eetapi,’ he said to soothe them. ‘Ootapi. What have you
discovered?’

An unclean
death
, a hissing voice replied.
One of your kind,
Malykant.
He recognised the melodic tones of Eetapi, her voice
like the tolling of funeral bells.

We sense the
displeasure of The Malykt
, added Ootapi, in a voice like
splintering ice.

Konrad tensed.
The Malykt was the spirit Overlord who presided over the transition
from life to death, and incidentally he was also Konrad’s master.
Years ago now, The Malykt had made Konrad His chief servant,
granting him the serpent-seers as his aides. As the Malykant, head
of the Order of Death, Konrad’s duties were clear.

That the Overlord
was displeased by this particular death did not bode well. It meant
that it was time for Konrad to go to work.

Show me
,
he instructed, and the serpents complied, seizing his mind and
carrying it away, back out into the marsh. Along the aether they
sped, weaving through the ghostly trees, their essence mingling
with the mist.

Less than a mile
from Konrad’s workshop a wide hillock rose out of the fog like a
barrow, and here they stopped. The patch of ground was dry and
largely bare of trees, clothed in short, half-frozen grass. Atop it
lay the corpse, shreds of its soul still lingering at the scene of
death. Konrad sensed the Malykt: the Spirit Lord had been here,
drawn by the dank and acrid aura of defilement that polluted the
air.

An unclean death
indeed. Konrad felt The Malykt’s anger and shuddered under
it.

As he took note
of these details Konrad was distantly aware that his body followed
where his mind had already gone, drawn inexorably through the trees
until consciousness and physical form merged at the splayed feet of
the corpse. He stood motionless for a moment as his mind and body
merged once more, waiting until the dizziness faded away. When he
felt stable, he opened his eyes.

The corpse was a
woman, and a young one, perhaps in her twenties. Her dark hair was
decorated with jewels and she wore a fine gown. A knife was buried
in her torso, a small weapon with a plain handle. But her blue
tongue and blackened face told him that the stab wound had not
killed her.

Poison, he
judged, and he could guess which: marsh spectre. A blade coated in
that sticky substance would have killed her within five, maybe ten
minutes. That was far too long a time to suffer the vicious pain
that this type of poison inflicted.

Konrad frowned
and crouched by the woman’s side. Agony had distorted her features,
but he recognised her. She had been a prominent figure in the city
of Ekamet, owning a fine house in the centre and much property
besides. She had also been a popular society hostess.

His frown
deepened. What had Lady Navdina Rostikova been doing out in the
Bones? Wearing her finery, no less, and as far as he could tell not
a jewel was missing.

‘
Eetapi,’ he whispered. ‘Ootapi. Bind her.’

They did as he
ordered, collecting the flickering shreds of her spirit and binding
them together. There was not much of her soul left; most had
already fled into the Deathlands. He would be lucky to get anything
out of her at all.

The Serpent Seers
dived into the corpse, dragging the sundered and shredded soul with
them. The corpse choked, wracked with violent shivers. Then Lady
Rostikova’s eyes opened and stared blankly at the sky.

‘
Speak,’ he commanded.

‘
Rostikova,’ the corpse gasped. ‘I am Lady
Rostikova.’

‘
I am
aware of your name. Who killed you?’

‘
Rostikova,’ the corpse repeated. ‘
I
am Lady
Rostikova.’

‘
That
has been established. I ask the name of your killer.’

The corpse
shuddered and said nothing.

‘
Very
well. Why were you here?’

‘
I was
meeting…’ The dead eyes blinked. ‘Rostikova,’ it said again. ‘I am
Lady Rostikova.’

Konrad said
nothing further. He was too late; her distressed spirit had already
fled too far. She was too confused and disorientated to be of
use.

‘
It
hurts
,’ the corpse gasped, shivering more violently than
ever.

‘
Release her,’ he ordered. The serpent-shades streamed out of
her and the corpse collapsed back into inanimate silence, its
borrowed breath escaping in a long sigh. Lady Rostikova’s spirit
frayed into ribbons and melted away.

Recognising his
duty, Konrad bowed his head.

‘
I am
in the service of The Malykt,’ he said to the wind. ‘I do his
bidding with respect and honour for the dead.’ He clasped his bone
talisman as he spoke, protecting himself from the malignant
influence of unquiet souls.

Then he drew a
long and wickedly sharp knife from his boot. Kneeling by the side
of the corpse, he laid his blade to her torso and cut down. Layers
of clothing parted and fell away, revealing her dead white skin.
This too he carved through, cutting with strength and efficiency
until he could see the wet gleam of her bones.

Another few
moments were all he required. With practiced movements he extracted
one of the largest of her rib bones, wrapped it in cloth and stored
it in his coat. Later he would clean it and sharpen its ragged
edges. Until he had found Lady Rostikova’s killer, this piece of
her body would remain with him at all times.

‘
For
The Malykt’s Justice,’ he said to the still night air. A gust of
wind howled in response, brief and unnatural and very, very
cold.