At the sound of retreating hooves, Kian turned. Ba’Sel, the man who had stepped into the Ishin’s role as leader of the Asra a’Shah, had moved his men a safe distance off.
“Did you see something?” Kian demanded.
“No,” Ba’Sel said.
“Then what is it?”
Ba’Sel looked around at his men, receiving nods from each. He faced Kian again. “This is a place of the dead … a tomb. To enter is to invite a curse upon the blood of the living.”
“As you will,” Kian said dismissively. He dismounted and moved to the gate, skirting the ragged skeleton.
“By the gods good and wise, what are you doing?” Hazad asked.
“If everyone here is dead, there may be gold within, and it would not hurt to make up for what we will not receive from Varis,” Kian said, though in his heart he cared nothing for gold. Answers of any sort, no matter how flimsy, were more precious to him at the moment.
Kian heaved against the sally port gate, expecting it to be locked from within, or at the least to offer some resistance. Instead, it swung inward with a screech. As soon as the gate was fully extended, the rusted hinges gave way. Kian leapt out of the way as it came crashing down.
“We are going with you,” Azuri said.
Hazad scowled. “Speak for yourself. You heard them,” he said, jabbing a finger at the Asra a’Shah, “this place is an accursed tomb. That is all I need to know to decide there is no reason to enter.”
“If the promise of gold is not enough, are you not even a little curious about what might have happened here?” Azuri asked, having the same inquisitiveness as Kian.
Kian smiled up at the big man. “I promise not to let any spirits get you.” He left it unspoken that he wanted both Azuri and Hazad at his back. The two made a formidable team, and given the unknowns of what lay ahead, he would rather not trust his sword alone.
“So be it,” Hazad said, throwing up his hands up in surrender. He glanced at Ba’Sel. “When the screaming starts, just ride away.”
Ba’Sel gave him a bemused look, but nodded anyway.
After remounting, Kian led the way through the sally port and into a charnel house.
The dead lay everywhere, some alone, others piled high, all rotting. To the last, the corpses had been torn apart, the pieces scattered. There was no way to tell for sure whether that savagery had caused the deaths, or happened afterward. Something about the scene, beyond the sheer enormity of death, struck Kian as odd, though he could not say what tickled his mind. The stench was nearly unbearable, and flies clouded the air. Huge rats scrabbled about, boldly fighting vultures for scraps.
“Who could have done this?” Hazad gasped.
Azuri gave him a speculative look. “I would say what did this.”
“Another demon,” Kian answered flatly.
Azuri, who looked to be thinking the same thing, said, “There can be no doubt that Varis parted the veil of Geh’shinnom’atar, freeing the evil of that place upon the world.”
“I have seen enough,” Hazad said. “Gold and curiosity be damned.”
Before the big man could turn his mount, Kian raised a hand. “Wait.”
Azuri followed his gaze to the outbuilding built hard against the base of the keep. “Did you see that?” he gasped.
“What?” Hazad demanded, jerking his sword free of the scabbard.
Kian felt eyes on him, but saw nothing. He had been in enough battles to sense danger before it struck, but that did not fit with what he thought he had seen.
Hazad grabbed his arm. “What was it?”
“A child, I think,” Kian said slowly.
Hazad released Kian and looked around the body-strewn courtyard. “Come out,” he called, “and we will see you safe from here.” His shout did not echo off the palisade or the keep’s walls as it should have, but fell flat.
A vulture screeched, flies droned, and a thousand rats ran hither and yon, but for a long time there were no other sounds. The Black Keep loomed over them, its dark and blocky walls spotted with pale lichen. The tall, narrow windows and arrow loops were as dark as the rest of the keep’s stonework. Higher up, a square corner tower squatted on the battlements, and from its crenulated peak a tattered banner flitted in the wind, revealing the ebon boar of House Rengar charging across a crimson field.
“I think your eyes betrayed you,” Hazad said. “There is nothing here, save ghosts and vermin.”
“I’m here,” a phlegmy, croaking voice called from somewhere near the keep.
Kian tried to pinpoint the speaker, who sounded young despite the sickly tenor of their voice. Shadows lay deep and heavy around the outbuildings, so the child could have been anywhere. “Show yourself, and we will help you.”
Thick, tittering laughter rose up, then drifted away, the sound leaving Kian’s skin crawling. After a long moment, the child-a boy-said, “I do not need help.”
“I don’t like this,” Hazad muttered.
“Should I fetch your mother?” Azuri said, trying for a mocking quirk of his lips that fell short.
“If you are so brave,” Hazad said, “then you go find the boy.”
“Damn me!” Kian snapped. “Can you two cease your bickering, even for a moment?”
Chastened, both nodded in acquiescence, but Kian had already dismissed them and climbed out of the saddle. Azuri sighed and Hazad grumbled, but both climbed down. Together, the trio moved toward the keep, alert for any hidden danger.
When the boy showed himself, stepping out from between a pair of barrels set against what appeared to be the kitchens, all three halted. Hazad gasped, not doing half so well at hiding his revulsion as Kian and Azuri.
The scrawny boy’s cracked lips parted to show crooked yellow teeth in what Kian told himself was a smile instead of a hungry leer. His unkempt black hair stuck out at all angles, and his filthy tunic was coated in straw and dung. Every inch of his exposed skin was just as filthy, and covered in running sores besides.
“Have rats been at you, boy?” Hazad asked sharply.
“A leper,” Azuri said, swiftly dancing back a few paces, rubbing vigorously at his arms.
Kian gave him a quizzical look before understanding dawned. To Azuri, the boy must represent all that he hoped to avoid from the touch of filth.
“Can’t be a leper,” Hazad said. “He’s got all his bits.”
“Where are the others, your parents, the soldiers, Lord Marshal Bresado?” Kian asked, wanting to find out what was wrong with El’hadar. “Was there an attack?”
“My master wishes to see you,” the boy said, as if he had not heard a word from any of them.
“Lord Marshal Bresado?” Kian asked uneasily.
The boy nodded. “Yes. My master. He has been waiting for you.”
Obviously expecting to be followed, the boy turned and strode on scrawny legs and bare feet through the keep’s main doors.
“Tell me you are not going to follow after him,” Azuri pleaded, looking truly out of sorts for the first time Kian could ever recall.
“Should I fetch your mother?” Hazad mocked, sniggering to himself.
At any other time, Kian would have laughed with the big man at Azuri’s expense, but not now. “With or without you two, I am going after that boy. My guess is that he has lost his wits, but he may lead us to Bresado’s corpse … and the lord marshal’s coffers. If nothing else, perhaps we can learn what happened here.” It troubled him that the boy was still alive, surrounded by so much death, but then, everything about El’hadar was troubling.
“Then let’s be about it,” Hazad said with false enthusiasm.
“I’ll go,” Azuri said, “but when your ‘bits’ start falling off, do not say I did not warn you it would happen.”
Kian trotted after the urchin, calling for him to slow down. They had to stop at the huge double doors, through which the child had entered the keep, and force them farther open. Beyond lay a long corridor, lightless save for a flickering bubble of luminescence cast by the candle now held in the boy’s hand. Even this near the Qaharadin, firemoss was hard-earned, and cost too much for most border lords to use lavishly. To Kian’s mind, it was no loss. Stark light would only show how rotted was El’hadar’s heart and the rotting dead, which were just as plentiful inside the keep as outside.