Squinting up at the sun, Evann guessed the time at just after noon. Another hour, he thought, and they would stop for a rest and a quick meal.
Taking a deep breath, he checked his sword, then pressed onward.
The day proved singularly uneventful, which pleased Evann. The most danger they encountered was a brown bear, but this one showed no interest in them and ambled away even as they approached.
Toward evening, they passed completely through the forest and onto a small grassy plain. Ahead lay a large lake, the origin of the Gletscherel, and on its shore, jutting up from the grass, he could see the scattered stone walls and chimneys of a ruined settlement. There were only fifteen or twenty houses, and they looked as though they had been abandoned for decades.
Evann hesitated. Darkness had almost overtaken them, and he hadn’t relished the idea of spending the night out under the stars. Here, on the plain, an open fire would be visible for miles in all directions.
Harrach moved up beside him. “What do you think, Captain?” he asked.
“It may be a good place to shelter,” Evann said slowly. “On the other hand, some of the Hag’s creatures might well inhabit the ruins.”
“Shall I check them out?”
“Aye,” Evann said. “Take Freisch and Uwe with you. Be careful … keep everyone in sight at all times.”
“You heard the captain,” Harrach called to the others. He shrugged off his pack and drew his sword, and Uwe and Freisch did the same.
“Give a shout if you see anything,” Evann said.
The three of them spread out in a line, advancing on the village. Evann watched as they carefully ventured among the ruins. Several times, he tensed as he lost sight of one or two of them, but they always reappeared.
Nor did they seem to find anything lurking in the ruins. He relaxed a bit as Harrach sheathed his sword, called something to Uwe and Freisch, and the three of them jogged back to join him.
“Nothing there but stone,” Harrach reported, panting a little. “I think we’ll be safe enough tonight.”
“Good.” Evann found his mood brightening a little. He hadn’t been looking forward to spending a night in the open in the cold. Dusk had started to fall, and with it came a cold breeze off the lake.
Shouldering his pack, Harrach led the way. Evann looked around curiously as they entered the ruins. The buildings seemed to have been abandoned voluntarily; he saw no sign of char marks on the stone to show the inhabitants had been burned out. They might well have fled when the Hag took up residence here; the buildings were old enough.
Harrach said, “I think we’re best off in here for the night.” He indicated a large building in the center of the village. It had the highest standing walls. “Someone camped here—there’s still a fire circle in the middle and some of the wood they scavenged from the ruins.”
“When?” Evann ducked through the low doorway. Though the roof had long ago fallen in, it seemed a good enough place to spend the night. The walls would also shelter them from the wind and provide some cover for a campfire.
“At least a year,” Harrach said, following him inside.
“Ah.” The large circle of stones in the center of what had been the main room held a few gray smudges and half-burned logs. “Probably some of the Hag’s men on patrol, perhaps even Orin Hawk.”
“Perhaps,” Harrach agreed.
The others came in and threw down their packs. Without a word, Uwe set about laying a fire, kindling it with dry grass he’d carried in. Striking sparks with his flint and steel until one of them caught, he leaned forward and blew softly on the tiny ember, feeding it more grass and splinters of wood. Finally it caught fire, and he started piling on the wood that the ruins’ previous visitors had left stacked in one corner.
Evann sat with his back up against one wall, staring into the flames and thinking back to Wolf-gar and Breitt, dead before they had halfway reached their goal. It would be a long, long journey yet to come.
“I’ll take first watch,” he said. “Freisch, you’ll have second, then Turach, then Uwe, then Harrach. Eat, then get some rest. We’ll leave at dawn.”
Everyone else seemed to share his dark mood. As the fire warmed the ruins, they stretched out their bedrolls, ate trail rations, and stared into the flames or the sky, now full of stars. Slowly, one by one, all but Evann curled up in their blankets and fell asleep.
Rising, he put a couple more logs on the fire, then went to the doorway and gazed out across the lake. It glimmered faintly in the moonlight, low waves rippling with silver. Around him the wind made a low moan as it whipped around the old stone walls, hummed down ancient chimneys, or slid catlike through gaping doors and windows. He shivered a bit, wondering about the people who had lived here.
Suddenly he heard what sounded like a footstep to the left, outside the building. Whirling, he drew his sword, ready to give a cry of warning.
It wasn’t a soldier, though. It was a woman in a long, flowing white dress, with a veil across her face. Her eyes glimmered like blue diamonds, and she stretched pale arms toward him.
“Terrill,” she whispered, “come to my, my love.”
Powerless to stop himself, Captain Terrill Evann put down his long sword and walked into her cold, cold embrace.
Sixteen
The morning of his fifth day in Grabentod, Candabraxis rose with the sun, threw open the shutters of his room, and breathed in the cold, crisp air. It felt good to be alive, he thought, gazing down on the city below.
His journey, and then the forced use of so much magic at once, had left him exhausted. Although he had gone through the motions that polite conversation and society demanded, his heart had not truly been in them. Now, though … now, he felt like exploring the city. He still had a mystery to solve: why had Grabentod called to him when he was at sea?
The fishing boats had already left port, and several of the roundboats were missing—doubtless off on some new raid—but still the city bustled with life. Market day had arrived. In the largest square, some merchants had spread brightly colored blankets on the flagstones to display their wares. Others had set up little stands or booths, and still others had pens or cages for livestock. Children darted here and there, men and women shopped, and barkers hawked their goods in voices that carried faintly even as far as the castle.
Candabraxis smiled. It had been a long time since he’d been to market. This would give him a chance to see more of the city, meet some of the people, and see if he could find answers to his questions.
Shuttering his window to the cold, he washed up quickly, put on loose gray pants and a white linen shirt with laces up the front, which the castle’s tailor had provided for him, and threw on his heaviest wool cloak. Then, taking a small pouch of coins from his chest, he descended to the ground floor. He’d find something to eat at the market. His stomach rumbled hungrily.
By the time he reached the market square, the happy bustle had grown to a crushing throng. Half of Alber had turned out, it seemed. He squeezed past a pair of women carrying huge baskets of bread, ducked under the bundle of reeds a man carried past on his shoulder, and stepped around a line of five goats being herded past by a pair of young boys.
Everywhere, bedlam ruled. Merchants haggled with customers, sheep and goats and chickens baaed or bleated or clucked, and people jostled one another in their haste to get by.
Candabraxis eventually made his way to the center of the square, where a large platform stood. Here he found half a dozen servants he recognized from the castle. They were all selling goods at a brisk pace from long wooden tables.