The Barrow (53 page)

From Acyrage they traveled north-north-east for a few miles along the roads and towpaths that ran up the Eridbrae toward Westmark, the capital city of Erid Dania, passing through or near clusters of thatched-roof stone houses and walls. They passed fields of winter wheat and new potatoes, leeks and rhubarb and spinach, and Danian Forest sheep and brown-and-white Danian cattle grazing at pasture. Stjepan then turned them northwesterly onto country farming roads, heading higher up into the hills and away from the river. As night fell the rain worsened, and they passed out of cultivated farmlands and into the wilds of a broken hill range, following a well-worn shepherd's path by fizzling torch and lantern light. The path led them through wooded copses and past small ruins, then down into the Dagger Vale and across the Daverbrae at an easy ford. Coming up the other side they split off the main path to follow a lesser path due north until they saw the lights of Woat's Inn up ahead.

Stjepan would have preferred that they swing to the west and onto the West King's Road, so that they could approach the inn as though they were coming from the west and the castle of Burnwall; arriving at close to midnight at this particular Inn was hardly unusual, but coming up out of the Dagger Vale might draw some attention. But they needed their lanterns and torches in the rainy dark, without the stars to guide them, and so would likely be seen anyway should there be a lookout at work, and the wet and cold and long day's march had everyone close to falling out of their saddles from exhaustion. So he led them directly to the Inn, deciding not to care if anyone noticed that they were coming up out of the Dagger Vale.

To describe Woat's Roadside Inn as an inn did not, perhaps, do it justice; better to say instead that it was a version of the caravanserai that could be found crisscrossing the wastes and deserts of the Great Midlands to the west or the deserts of the Thessid-Golan Empire in the south, a massive complex of buildings and walls that could potentially house men and animals by the hundreds, if not thousands. Though unlike the caravanserai of other parts of the Known World, Woat's was made mostly of wood with a bit of stone and, having grown piecemeal over the many years, was laid out somewhat haphazardly rather than by plan. The wall that surrounded its perimeter was mostly stone, but in some places the stones had fallen away and been replaced by wooden walls and fences of dubious construction, so its defensive value was nominal at best. Several large wooden gates led into the interior at seemingly almost random points along the wall.

The central feature was a long and ancient great hall, part stone and part wattle-and-daub framed with timber and much patched throughout. It was surrounded by stables, kitchens and smokehouses, smithies and farriers, a stone bathhouse, storehouses, a common sleeping hall (which during the heights of Tournament Season was for women only) and a long two-story wood boarding house with smaller rooms for rent, and then the “King's Hall,” the fanciest looking building on the lot, with an ornamented gabled roof and leaded glass windows. Despite its name kings almost certainly did not stay there. One might have stayed there once, perhaps by accident, as royalty and high nobility could expect far better accommodations at the castle of Burnwall to the west, where they would be hosted by Prince Hektor, son of King Eolred, or in the capital city of Westmark to the east. But some amongst the more adventurous earls and barons of the Middle Kingdoms had been known to take the house for the night.

As they rode in through the wide-open gates, they could see horses, wagons, and coaches packed into its yards and sheds and stables. Drums and the muted roar of voices raised in song and argument came from the great hall. Dozens of drunken revelers were stumbling about through the rain, mixing with twice as many leather-clad stable hands and porters. All of them ignored the newcomers.

“King of Heaven, I think it looks even shoddier than the last time I was here,” mumbled Arduin. He and Stjepan peered through the rain at some of the stable hands lounging, unconcerned, under dry awnings. They all looked more or less the same, but Stjepan finally focused in on one of them who seemed a bit older than his companions.

“Oi, you there! Woat!” barked Stjepan.

The stable hand peered over his shoulder and waved his hand. “Oi, whatcha want?” he cried.

“Is the King's Hall taken?” Stjepan asked loudly.

“No, it's free tonight!” the young man shouted back, suddenly a bit more interested. He started walking toward them, pulling his hood up over his head as he stepped out into the rain. He had long straggly black hair, and a patchy growth along his chin and mouth, as well as the curled lip and the surly, shifty, slightly crossed set to the eyes that seemed the mark of the Woat clan. He wore a jacket of patched, undyed leather under his hood and short chaperon cape, torn hose, and mismatched short ankle boots, and had a sheathed dagger tucked into his belt.

“We'll take it, then!” Stjepan said. “Private baths for two ladies in the King's Hall, oat bags and stabling for the horses, and food and drink now and in the morning for our whole party.”

“Kitchens are still going, the baths are still hot, and the pussy's still warm, too,” the Woat grinned.

“That part's to every man's individual discretion,” Stjepan said with a sour grimace. “So tell your girls to ask for coin up front, Captain, it's not going on the general tab.”

“Right, your call,” the Woat said with a nod, and whistled. A half dozen of his brothers and cousins sprang into action, dashing out into the rain to help the dismounting knights lead their horses toward a set of stables right by the King's Hall, while a few ran off to deliver news and instructions to other parts of the compound. The coach was directed to swing in front of the King's Hall, and Gilgwyr and Leigh clambered off the rumble seats in the back as the knights and squires formed a cordon for the Lady and her handmaiden into the building. A few of the younger Woats looked on in not-so-idle curiosity until a long hard stare from Sir Helgi Vogelwain made them slink away, laughing into the rain and the night like a pack of wild dogs.

And wild dogs they were, for the Woat clan was marked by notoriety and infamy. Their line traced to the Wyvern King of the Manon Mole, from some bastard child of his that fled the hills and his father's cruel reign to find refuge in the hold of Davers and discovered some skill at procreation. For centuries the now-sprawling clan of murderers and thieves had been tied to every crime imaginable in the central hills between Newgate and Westmark, and despite the strenuous efforts of kings and earls and sheriffs and their god-fearing neighbors to stamp them out, the clan had not only survived but prospered and eventually settled into the role of innkeepers along the West King's Road. Many argued that the Inn was little more than a civilized form of highway robbery, given the prices they sometimes charged, and despite the thin veneer of respectability the establishment granted to the clan, rumor still associated them with every dastardly deed and foul doing within twenty miles of Dagger Vale.

“Stay armed the whole time you're here, though inside the Inn it's not the Woats you have to be worried about,” Stjepan said under his breath to Erim as they pulled saddles and bags off their steeds. “And we'll arrange a private bath for you, if you want,” he added. She nodded absently as she scanned the yards and the great hall from the dry refuge of the stables.

“It's after midnight. Is it normally so busy?” asked Erim, finding that she was warming to the place. “I'd expect this in Therapoli, but not out here in the middle of nowhere.”

“This isn't really busy for Woat's, I'd guess it's just the first traders of spring hitting the roads,” said Stjepan. “Just wait a couple of months until there are thousands of travelers on the roads to and from the Tournament of Flowers, and this place will be packed to the rafters and the late and unlucky will be camping outside the walls. They slaughter an entire herd of cattle during that month just to feed everyone coming through,” he added with a hint of disapproval.

A small crowd of Woat serving girls and porters ran past them to prepare the King's Hall and the baths. “The privies and a bath, I think, in that order; and then it's off to see what there is to see,” said Stjepan, and Erim nodded in agreement.

Annwyn stood in the dark, listening to the rain on the rooftop and the murmur of quiet voices from down the hall, silently watching Malia sleep. For days, she had been trapped either in the back of the coach when they were on the road, or in her pavilion when they were in camp. Arduin had allowed her to walk and stretch her legs once in a while, or to relieve herself should the necessities of her body demand it, but she had been under constant guard and discreet observation when she was outside. When she wasn't drifting in and out of consciousness or sleep, that is, as the events of the last weeks, the constant travel, and the enchantment that appeared to be upon her left her exhausted and at times delirious, sometimes forgetting who or where she was.

In some ways, she supposed, very little had changed in her life except for the opportunity to travel once again, as she had spent the last ten years . . . perhaps longer, perhaps even all of her life, if she thought about it . . . under constant guard and supervision. Her father, her brothers, her household; they were as much her jailers as anything else, keeping her locked away in a prison. They might have tried to line that prison with flowers and velvet and silk and finery, but sweet smells and fine textiles could not cover the stench of her own rot and decay and the walls that surrounded and kept her. And so she had slowly removed all of the gilded refinements from her life and her chambers until only the stark truth remained: that she was a prisoner, in black mourning clothes staring at blank walls. They all were. Her father; her brothers; Arduin, in particular, the golden boy heir to the family title now staring at a life without a future; Harvald, the brightest and smartest and most obscenely cruel of them, but born the youngest, and therefore of such limited prospects in society even from the start.

And now Harvald was dead. She had to remind herself of that.
We burned his body and he is now ash in the wind and water. Am I not now freed from what was once Harvald?

But something
had
changed. She could feel it inside her, the presence of what for lack of a better word she simply thought of as
the map
like a living thing. She wondered if that was what it felt like to be pregnant; a rite of passage for most women that she had resigned herself to never experiencing. Except rather than just being concentrated in her belly, she could feel the tingle and pressure of the enchantment almost everywhere, playing over and under her skin, in her arms and shoulders, coiling about her heart and lungs, tightening around her spine. She could hear the map like a voice in her head, whispering to her in incomprehensible words, as though it were the wisp of a thought in search of form, poised forever on the tip of her tongue.

She had thought of telling Malia what she was feeling, what was happening to her, but could not figure out how to put it into words without scaring or even simply confusing her most loyal handmaiden and companion. They had prepared for bed almost wordlessly, helping each other bathe in the Aurian style and then inspecting her skin for new signs and images, but nothing new was moving upon her body yet. As she watched Malia sleep, she felt an overwhelming surge of gratitude that someone so steadfast was in her life: the sister she had never had.

She slid her black dress back on over her shift, and drew a dark cloak tightly about her before pulling the hood over her head. As quietly as she could, she opened the door to their room, and eyed the antechamber beyond; finding it empty, she slipped out the door and slowly closed it behind her. Through the door on her right she knew she would find the larger main hall that they had entered in through, and undoubtedly several of her brother's knights and squires talking softly as they drifted off; or perhaps they were already asleep, exhausted from their long journey. The door opposite was another private room, to be held by her brother when he was done with his late-night meal. But it was the small door on her left that held her interest.