24
The Horadric Chambers
The woman had been alive.
As they approached the miserable port town, the clouds darkened overhead. Guilt washed over Cain like the threat of rain. Clearly the woman had been another victim of the feeders, with those bruises on her neck, yet he had panicked, breaking her arm to get Leah free. His desire to protect the girl was so strong, he had reacted without thinking.
The feeders were only pawns in a much larger game. They were worker bees, mindless drones carrying out a mission. But what was the mission, and who had ordered it? What had the people who died on this road been running from?
The crows were everywhere. They settled on the broken, blackened limbs of trees, pecked at the human corpses on the ground. They circled overhead, cawing and flapping, like a macabre welcoming parade under menacing skies, flitting shapes against the boiling clouds that hovered over the town. The very air seemed run through with a charge, and Leah remained so close to Cain’s feet that he almost tripped over her as they entered Gea Kul.
He put a hand on her shoulder to calm her. He had sensed something building again before he had intervened with the woman, that familiar drop in temperature that had preceded a manifestation of her powers before. They all felt the tension.
Gea Kul’s streets were a maze of shoddy, decrepit buildings and confusing intersections. The stench of the sea permeated the moist air as a light mist descended, turning everything at a distance into murky, indistinct shapes. The call of the crows was amplified, the mist serving to bounce the sounds in strange and disorienting directions.
There were people here. Cain sensed them hiding in shadowed doorways, keeping out of sight; they caught glimpses of haunted, pale faces hovering in windows before ducking away, flashes of movement in alleyways, faint footsteps and scraping noises. They were more skittish than wild deer. The mist made the entire scene feel dreamlike and unsettling. He glanced at Mikulov, who slipped his blade out.
Around the next corner a young boy not much older than Leah stood in the street. The line of his ribs showed through his shirt, his eyes sunken and haunted.
He raised his arm slowly and pointed a long, thin finger at them.
Leah gasped and pressed herself against Cain’s legs. Two men were standing behind them holding makeshift clubs. Several more people materialized soundlessly from the mist, all of them as thin as death itself. Cain glanced up to find that the rooftops around them were lined with crows, their black bodies fluffed against the cold, their eyes staring relentlessly, motionless.
The men with clubs shifted closer. The silence of the crowd was unsettling, the threat of violence hanging over them. Leah’s grip on Cain’s arm tightened painfully, her nails digging into his flesh; she was so tense she seemed to be vibrating like a struck tuning fork.
The rigging of a distant ship creaked in the stillness. A long, low moan rose up over the streets and grew to an echoing wail. The crows lifted off the rooftops all at once with a thunderous flapping of wings. The sound went on, growing louder, and the crowd scattered in all directions, fading back into the shadows until it seemed as if they had never been there at all.
A man hurried down the street. The mist made it difficult to make out his features, but he was large and white-haired, and slightly hunched. As he hurried closer, Cain could see that he carried a horn in one hand.
The man raised the horn to his lips and gave off another blast. “The streets of Gea Kul are no place for a fine young lass like this,” he said. “They don’t like the sound, reminds them of a feeder’s call at night. But it won’t take them long to return. Follow me, quickly now, my friends. You don’t want them coming back on you, believe me.”
They followed the man to a weathered structure with a sign hanging outside pronouncing it the Captain’s Table. He opened the door and ushered them into a silent, empty dining room lit by lanterns, the surroundings as worn as the building’s exterior. Thick boards had been nailed across the windows, but the room was neat and clean. “Not sure why I bother,” the man said, as he closed and bolted the door behind them. “No patrons anymore, but I know no other way. ’Tis the service that taught me. Make your bunks tight enough to bounce a coin, they said, or swab the decks ’til your fingers bleed.” The man stuck out his hand to Cain. “Forgive me; my manners are as rusty as the old tub sitting at the dock. Captain Hanos Jeronnan, at your service. These seas have seen plenty of me over the years. Settled here with my daughter to make a life of it, back when Gea Kul was a better place.” The old man’s eyes grew distant. “’Twas a long time past.”
Cain sensed a kindness and strength about Jeronnan. He was old, his face lined and haggard, curly hair and sideburns white as snow, but he was wide in the shoulders, and his grip was still strong.
“Does your daughter still live here?”
Jeronnan shook his huge head. “Lost her many years ago. I kept up the place, though. Had my reasons.” He nodded at Leah, and his face softened as he looked at her. “Are you hungry, lass? A bowl of fish stew would warm your bones.” He shuffled into the kitchen as the three of them took a seat in the nearest booth away from the door, and returned only moments later with three bowls balanced on a tray. As Cain began to speak, the big man raised a blue-veined, meaty hand. “Fill your bellies,” he said. “Then we’ll talk.” He stood back and folded his massive arms.
Cain took a bite and realized he was starving. The stew was delicious. He finished the bowl in moments, and saw that Jeronnan was already on his way with more, along with mugs of frothy ale and water for Leah.
Finally the three of them sat back while Jeronnan pulled up a chair with a scrape of wooden legs and settled his bulk on it. “Nothing makes a man happier than seeing his cooking enjoyed by a group of fine strangers,” he said. His energy was infectious, and soon Leah was smiling shyly too, stealing glances at the big man when he wasn’t looking: apparently she’d found a new hero. When Jeronnan pulled a wrapped honey stick from his pocket and gave it to her, she beamed with surprise and happiness, as if he’d handed over a pound of gold.
“Now tell me what you’re doing in a place such as this? Gea Kul’s been my home for near on forty years now, but it’s a cursed town. Legends tell it was built on top of an ancient mage battlefield. There were many who said I was crazy for staying through the worst of it, but I won’t give up. Just don’t see many others coming here voluntarily.” Jeronnan looked Cain up and down. “You’re a sorcerer,” he said.
“I’m a Horadric scholar,” Cain said.
“Ah.” Jeronnan rubbed his beard. “You’ll be looking for your brothers, then.”
A chill raced through Cain’s bones. “I am,” he said. “Have you seen them?”
“Aye.” Jeronnan sat back in his chair, the look on his face impossible to read. “Have a soft spot in my heart for sorcery, and there’s good reason, even if you might think it’s a strange one. There was a lovely necromancer who passed through years ago and sat in this very booth . . .” He shook his head, a soft smile on his big, shaggy face. “I know the very thought of necromancers makes most people want to run the other way, and most of them look stranger than a ship on dry land, but Kara was different. She was sweet, and gentle in her own way. Kara’s passed on, either from here, or from this world, or both, while I remain, a bullheaded old sea captain who doesn’t know when to quit.”
“The Horadrim,” Mikulov prodded gently. “You’ve seen them?”