The Barrow (66 page)

He trailed off as Annwyn opened her coat wide, revealing the curves of her body, not taking her eyes from his, staring at him intently. Stjepan kept eye contact with her until he thought he could no longer stand it, and then looked down at her body. One of the amulets from Mizer, no doubt given to her by Leigh, dangled around her neck and between her breasts. Images and words and letters moved over her smooth, pale skin, and he started studying the icons being revealed upon her.

“There,” he said, leaning forward, his eyes narrowing, his lips parting in excitement and anticipation. “These symbols. And those. They are new. Yes. Leigh was right.”

Arduin choked out a small bitter cry, and stormed out of the tent, leaving Malia to stand there by herself, staring at the designs in the carpet, her cheeks burning red.

Pale blue crept into the black sky in the east over the hills of the Bale Mole, and a single bright star appeared above the far horizon, heralding the coming of the sun. Their camp was already astir, almost everyone clustered around the campfires before the last shift of the night's watch had come to its end. Sleep did not come easy in the Bale Mole. Gilgwyr squatted in front of the tent he shared with Leigh, his hands rubbing into his cheeks and chin, tears welling in his eyes to dribble down his face.

Stjepan had barely slept, spending most of the night hunched over books and papers by lamplight, trying to translate the new letters and words in Maerberos that had appeared upon Annwyn's skin. He was fairly sure now that he knew the next intended step along the path to the barrow, and it filled him with foreboding. He glanced at Gilgwyr as he walked past. “Are you all right?” he asked.

“Tears of joy, brother, tears of joy,” said Gilgwyr in a husky voice. “I have been having the most beautiful dreams.” He barked a laugh.

Stjepan grunted noncommittally, and continued off to one side, finding the eastern edge of Leigh's perimeter. He spotted Sir Clodin, who had been in the last watch, off ahead to one side, kneeling to the east in prayer as was his wont each morning. He stopped short, giving Clodin a wide berth, and found a similar position. The prayer he was about to offer was probably worded almost the same as that being offered by the knight, but Stjepan considered their intents and interests in prayer to be quite different. He took a deep breath, and tried to clear his mind before speaking in a low voice.

Dawn Maiden, Day Bringer, open the gate!
Helios rises from the Underworld,
having passed through the Halls of Death.
Greet the sun, and guide his return.
The world awaits!

Dawn Maiden, Day Bringer, coming swiftly!
Wake my spirit, stir my limbs,
help me shake off the terrors of the night.
Let me see with clear eyes.
Let me speak with a clear tongue.
Let me wake to grace!

Dawn Maiden, Day Bringer, softly stirring!
Greet Helios at the gate of brass,
bring the morning again.
Rouse the world,
announce the coming of bright Day,
and fill the sky with light!

And as if on cue, the sun broke over the hilltops to their east.

“The gods need our prayers to remind them of, and sustain them in, their duties,” his mother had once told him. “A day will come when enough people in the world will have forgotten the gods, and our prayers will have dwindled to a whisper. And when that happens, the gods will forget their duties, and abandon their divine tasks, and on that day the sun will not rise, the dead will wander the earth unjudged, the stars will recommence the War in Heaven, the Devil will take seat upon a throne of brass and fire to rule the wretched Earth, and the world will end once again.”

Thank you, Mother
, he thought drily.
But at least I have done my duty for this day
.

He rose, brushing dust and ash off his jacket and pants as he turned back to the camp. Arduin ignored him as he passed him, calling out to Sir Clodin. “Clodin! We're breaking camp! Get something to eat while you still can.”

Sir Clodin struggled to his feet, getting up sluggishly, and turned.

“Clodin?” asked Arduin. Stjepan hadn't really been paying attention, but he heard the worry in Arduin's voice and caught Sir Clodin's movements out of the corner of his eye and he stopped, his head swiveling around so that he could focus on the knight.
Arduin is right, something is definitely wrong
, he thought. Sir Clodin was trying to walk toward Arduin, slowly, stumbling; his face looked like it was covered in white powder, his mouth was open as though he was trying to talk, but all that was coming out were choking sounds and a long low
hhiiiisssssssssss
.

Stjepan was at a run in an instant, crying out “Lord Arduin! Stop!” as Sir Clodin collapsed to his knees. Arduin started to rush toward the kneeling knight, but something—perhaps Stjepan's cry, perhaps some instinct about what he saw—made him stop and then jump back with a start. Sir Clodin's body shivered one last time and then became still. Stjepan reached Arduin and a few moments later there was the sound of pounding feet and jangling armor and Erim, Sir Helgi, Sir Holgar, and Sir Theodras were there as well, weapons drawn. They all stared at Sir Clodin, kneeling motionless a few paces away.

He was dead, his flesh an odd grayish-white color, his mouth gaping open, his eyes sunken like black holes into his head.

“King of Heaven, what happened to him?” Arduin gasped out.

Stjepan stepped forward until he was almost touching the knight's body, peering closely at it as he went into a crouch.

“Stjepan, don't,” said Erim behind him, but he raised his hand.

“The amulet . . . Leigh's amulet, the ones he got from the enchanters at Mizer . . . I don't see it anywhere, he's not wearing it,” Stjepan said.

“Aye, he said he didn't want to wear any heathen magic charm,” said Arduin. “He said he preferred to rely on his faith in the King of Heaven, which had always stood him in good stead, Islik be praised.”

“Then your King of Heaven is what happened to him,” Stjepan said quietly, standing straight and relaxing a bit. “The Sun Court cursed Uthedmael in His name. Leigh said a couple of days ago that the curse on Uthedmael was to punish those that sided with Githwaine, the Last Worm, and aye, that's true. But the curse was also intended just as much to keep men from even entering into Uthedmael, though for what reason only the Sun Court knows. The curse doesn't care who it touches; devout Kingsman or heathen Yheran, foul Devil-worshipper or simple unbeliever, the wind from the Wastes drives some men mad, poisons the life out of others, and cares not a whit who you pray to or even if you pray at all. Don't lose your amulets. And if you do, tell Leigh right away so he can give you another.”

He started to walk away back to camp, and Erim fell in behind him.

Arduin cried out angrily. “Here, we have to burn him! Send his ashes to the Heavens!”

Stjepan looked back over his shoulder at the Aurian lord. “He's ash already.” And he turned and kept walking back toward the center of camp.

Arduin and his knights stared at Sir Clodin.

Arduin took several tentative steps forward until he was standing in front of the kneeling body. He reached out with his booted foot and gave Sir Clodin a push.

The body toppled over and the armor it was in cracked and shattered as though it were ancient, brittle, rusted iron, and the flesh encased in that armor broke into great clumps of ash that spilled out across the hard ground. Small flakes of ash started to float up into the harsh wind. Sir Helgi, Sir Holgar, and Sir Theodras stepped back, making signs to ward off Evil.

Arduin took a sharp breath. “King of . . .” He cut himself short. He stared at Sir Clodin's ashes floating in the breeze for a moment, and then turned away.

They discovered that three horses had also perished in the night, collapsing into ash and clumps of hard stone. It was hard to tell if the amulets that had been woven into their hair had simply fallen out, or if someone, perhaps Sir Clodin, had removed them; one of the horses that died was his destrier.

Their progress that day, the 2nd of Ascensium, was slow going. The old funerary road that they were following had long fallen into disuse and disrepair; horses or men on foot would have had a better time of it, but with wagons and a coach they were forced to stop several times to sort out difficult turns or a stuck wheel. The lead wagon became stuck once, requiring six men to get it moving again, and the coach became stuck about an hour later as the road followed the top of a deep ravine. Some delicate and nerve-wracking moments followed for all while Annwyn and Malia dismounted from the coach and were helped to safe ground, and then Godewyn and his men were able to free the wheel that had gotten stuck.

A few hours later and they were stopped again, spread out on the funerary road through a stretch of dead and petrified trees and gnarled, thorny brush. They had cleared the ravine and were now on the other side of the Bale Mole; to their south ran the great central ridge of the hills, while now to their north they could see down a broad valley leading into the great central plain of the Vale of Barrows. Stjepan and Erim were on point, dismounted at a crossroads. The funerary road split in three different directions in front of them. One possible path turned back toward the south, back up into the hills. The middle path followed the curves of the hill line that they were on. And the third path turned north and down into the valley, toward the flat river plateau and the barrows and pyramid mounds that were dotted across it. Erim peered off into the Vale with curiosity and dread; in the eastern Middle Kingdoms, burial grounds and cemeteries were unusual, as most of the people were worshippers of the Divine King and were cremated in their last rites, and the idea that the great highland plateau that they now looked over was filled with the bodies of the dead was mesmerizing and frightening. Across the flat, desert-like terrain Erim could see a mountain line far to the north, the great snow-capped peaks of the Harath Éduins, and a part of her wanted to scream in delight that she had gotten so far into the wild world as to see such a sight. Another part of her wanted to flee in terror back down the road on which they'd came.

There was a marble statue of some kind at the crossroads, damaged and decayed enough over time as to be unrecognizable. She was pretty sure it was a woman, though, or perhaps even a goddess. In the Old Religion, the goddess of the Dark Moon, Djara Luna, was also said to be the goddess of crossroads, and she guessed that the statue was meant to represent her. Strange amulets and stick figures made of branches dangled from the petrified tree branches nearby, swaying in the breeze. She wondered who had left them there, and how long ago. She turned to ask Stjepan, saw that he was busy consulting his journal and a book of maps, a frown on his face, and she shrugged and bit her tongue.

Gilgwyr and Leigh were in the front wagon, along with Caider and red-haired Giordus, who were nervously eyeing the countryside around them. Gilgwyr glanced at Leigh; the enchanter had his eyes half closed, staring back at the rest of the caravan. Gilgwyr followed his gaze. Arduin and his knights were clustered around the Ladies' Coach, forming a protective phalanx around it on their armored destriers. The Aurian lord was fuming, a dark cloud upon his face, and a sober shroud had settled upon his shoulders and that of his men. Gilgwyr hadn't seen them look so grim and dour since the death of their squire back on the river. That seemed like ages ago when he thought about it. He couldn't even remember the young man's name.

“I think our patron would very happily see Stjepan hanging from the nearest tree,” said Gilgwyr lightly to Leigh. “That's two of his that we've lost on this trip.”

The enchanter snorted. “And no doubt more to come. But
our patron
would likely be happy to see all of us hanging from the nearest tree,” said Leigh. “He may now hold a special hate for Black-Heart, but I do not think that any of the rest of us are exempt from his condescension. A man like that knows in his heart that he's better than everyone around him by birthright. Makes it hard to find friends.”