The Shadow at the Gate (73 page)

Father?

Yes, son?

I know what a twig is, but I don’t know what a cheese is. What’s a cheese?

I don’t rightly know, son, but I’ve heard it is something wonderful. Now, don’t interrupt. As I was saying, one day, Cheesetwig packed a lunch and set out to see the world.

Father?

Yes, son?

What did he pack for lunch?

Two squirrels curled up in a hole in an oak tree.

Walnuts. Let’s see. One for you, one for me. One for you, one for me. One for you, one for—

You gave me the same walnut twice.

No, I didn’t.

Yes, you did.

All righty! All righty! We’ll start over. Walnuts. One for you, one for me. One for—

That’s an acorn.

No, it isn’t.

Yes, it is.

Giverny smiled. And then realized there were other voices besides the animals. Quieter, slower voices.

Sweet water. Sweet water deep down here. Deep down.

Aye, deep down. Beneath the rock. But your roots have already broken a way. I thank you, friend oak.

It is nothing. Nothing, little willow. You are still young.

“The trees,” said Giverny. “I can hear the trees.”

“Hush,” said Ehtan. “Something is not right.”

The wolf stopped in his tracks and turned his head from side to side. His lip curled in a snarl.

“Can’t you smell it? Something comes near. Something of the Dark.”

“What do you mean?”

Giverny only had the vaguest of notions of the Dark. Her father had told her tales when she had been a child, but they had been only that to her, just tales. Deliciously frightening stories that sent children to bed with the shivers.

“I don’t think I’ve ever believed in the Dark.” But her voice was shaking, for she could now smell something strange in the air. It was the faintest of odors, a whiff of decay and blood and something even more dreadful than those.

“Believe, Mistress,” said the wolf. “The Dark believes in you.”

“What shall we do?”

Ehtan glanced around. He shook his heavy head.

“The old oak there, Mistress. Climb as high as you can. Find a place in the branches to wait in stillness and silence for my return. The oak will hide you in its quiet. I shall find the creature and slay it before it draws near to you.”

“Let me come with you!”

“No. Remember, climb high and then await me there in silence.”

With that last word, the wolf disappeared into the dark trees. Giverny scowled and stamped her foot, but then she shivered. She ran to the oak and began to climb. The branches were wet with rain, but it seemed as if the tree shifted ever so slightly beneath her so that her hands and feet always found a secure hold. She settled into the fork of a branch high within the foliage and listened. Other than the dripping of the rain, the forest was silent. The murmur of the animals within her mind had ceased. Instead, there was only a breathless expectancy, a stillness, and dread. Giverny strained her eyes, trying to see through the darkness to the forest floor below, but the night had grown so complete that she could see nothing save her own hands and the leaves in front of her. A thought formed in her mind.

Cats.

They see at night, don’t they?

Giverny growled, deep in her throat, and then stopped, shocked. Where did that come from? She blinked. And then discovered that she could see much more clearly. How strange. Through a gap in the leaves, she could see the ground below.

She heard Ehtan howl somewhere to the north. It was a sharp bay, the call of the hunter that means the prey has been sighted and the chase is on. The howl came again, but it was fainter and further away this time. Giverny thrilled with the sound of it. Her fingers flexed. Surely she was safe now. Ehtan had headed off the intruder and, no doubt, he would pull it down to the kill. But he had told her to stay in the tree until he returned. She frowned. And then climbed down several branches. The wolf’s howl wavered through the air a third time. It was so far away now that it was barely discernible. Giverny climbed down another branch and then froze.

The smell.

It was back.

Decay and death. The smell was so strong it made her eyes water. The skin on the back of her neck pricked uncomfortably. It felt as if someone was watching her. She peered down at the ground below. Nothing stirred. Rain dripped down her neck. And then the branch broke beneath her.

Giverny didn’t have time to scream. She fell, grabbing at branches and only getting handfuls of leaves. Something whipped past her face and she felt a burning line of pain on her cheek. The ground rushed up fast. It was far to fall. But she landed lightly on her feet like a cat. For several seconds she crouched there, her heart beating wildly. The forest was still silent. Nothing moved. But the stench was stronger now. Blood trickled down her cheek. Something rustled in the bushes next to the oak. It was the quietest of noises, but it was appallingly loud in the silence. Giverny backed away.

Something stepped out of the bushes. It was a creature straight from a nightmare. Moonlight gleamed on bare bones and dangling shreds of hide. Its breath steamed in the air, stinking with decay and death. The thing stared at her for a moment. And then it lurched forward.

Giverny screamed and ran. She blundered through bushes and tumbled down sudden embankments. Briers scratched and tried to hold her. Her heart pounded painfully in her breast. Her lungs could not gasp in enough air and she was drowning in the darkness. She did not dare look behind her, but she could hear the strange, staggering run of the creature, crunching across the leaves on the forest floor.

She did not know where to run, only that she had to get away from that thing. Ehtan! If only she could get to him, then she would be safe. He had gone north. Something in her mind nudged at her. North was
that
way. She turned and stumbled down what seemed like a long avenue of trees leading away into the darkness. But a blot of shadow shambled out from the trees ahead of her. It was the creature. No—a second one, for the first one still followed in her wake.

With a sob, Giverny angled away from them both. Trees loomed up out of the darkness. Oaks and willows and ash. For a moment, she could hear voices—old, deep, and slow—murmuring anxiously on the edge of her mind. But the frantic beat of her heart drowned out the voices and she blundered on. She came to the edge of the forest. The trees thinned and the rain fell down in earnest. She tried to turn back, but she could not. The two things hemmed her in on every side except toward the plain. Whimpering, she ran on.

The stars were hidden and the plain stretched out into the night. The two creatures drew closer and Giverny could hear the harsh, greedy rasp of their breath. With a frantic gasp, she ran faster and, for a while, it seemed as if she were outstripping her attendant nightmares. It was then she saw the light in the distance. A tiny smudge of radiance in the darkness. She wiped rain from her eyes, uncertain whether she were only imagining the light. But no, it was there. She ran toward it.

The light grew brighter as she ran. It was a fire of some sort. A campfire. Giverny sobbed out loud with relief. People would be there. Behind her, she heard a hissing snarl and the two creatures increased their speed, stumbling along on their long, grotesque legs. It was a campfire. She could see the flames dancing up from the ground. The firelight gilded the outlines of several tents grouped near the fire. Figures were visible in the encampment.

“Help!” she screamed.

She was nearer now. Near enough to see faces turning toward her. The flames of the campfire roared up as if in response to her scream. But behind her, the creatures snarled and lunged forward.

“Help me, please!”

Several men ran toward her. The firelight glinted on the edges of swords. A tall man with hair as bright as polished gold charged past her. She heard a hideous shrieking noise. Giverny stumbled past the first tent and was in the warm wash of the campfire. Someone wrapped a blanket around her. Voices spoke but she heard nothing of what they said. Her body shook uncontrollably. Hands gripped her shoulders and she found herself looking up into the face of the man with golden hair. He was extremely tall. He said something, his face tight with concern, his eyes intent on hers. He spoke again, more slowly this time.

“They’re dead, girl,” he said.

“Th-thank you!” Giverny stammered.

“You need not fear them anymore, though such strange beasts as they were—I haven’t seen their like in Tormay.”

He led her to a chair set beside the fire. A young man hurried up with a mug of steaming broth. She was aware of other faces watching her from across the flames and in the edges of the shadows.

“Drink,” said the golden-haired man. “With some of that in you, you’ll feel better in no time.”

“Thank you,” she said again, clutching the blessedly hot mug in her hands and breathing in the steam.

“I bid you welcome to the camp of Brond Gifernes, the duke of Mizra,” he said. He bowed and smiled. “And, as I am he, be assured you’re safe here.”

Giverny drank deeply from the mug. The heat of the broth flooded through her. She could not keep her eyes open. The last thing she saw was the man watching her.

This story continues in

The Wicked Day

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thanks to Jen Ballinger for copy-editing this book. Also, thanks to Bryan Ballinger for drawing the map. I greatly appreciate the time and honesty of my test readers: Jaemen Kennedy, Frank Troya, Wayne and Jessica Collingwood, Scott Mathias, Dave Palshaw, Rob and Sandra Kammerzell, and the various long-suffering members of the Bunn family (David, Michael, Jodi, Benjamin, Micha, Megan and, of course, Jessica).