Angelslayer: The Winnowing War (24 page)

“Food rations running low, Captain?”

“This boy is the cook's steward,” answered Anton. “He is small and light, and he is a good rider. He just does not eat much. His name is Cathus.”

“There a reason you do not eat, Cathus?” asked Agapenor.

“I eat,” the boy answered. “When I am hungry, I eat.”

“He will do fine,” Rhywder said. “Strip him of the tunic.”

Cathus was given no time to protest. His tunic was pulled up over his head. Rhywder unlatched the witch's talisman from his belt and set it against the boy's ribs, strapping it in place with a strip of leather.

“Do not remove this,” Rhywder warned him.

The boy half-nodded.

“Give him back his tunic. Fit him with leather armor and give him a short sword before he leaves.”

“Leaves?” the boy said. “I am going to leave?” “You know your way to Galaglea?”

“Yes.”

“That is where you are going.”

Rhywder fished a small pouch from his belt and gave it to the boy. “Eat some of those.”

The boy pulled out crumpled, white flower petals. “What are they?” “They will make you bold. Keep eating them every few hours.” The boy folded a couple into his mouth, chewing.

“Now listen careful, boy, if you see a specter, a wraith of the night, there is no need to fear it; the talisman I strapped to your chest will protect you. But if you see a man, if you see any riders—outrun them. We are giving you a fast horse, and using a bit of witchery to make him even faster. Let us hope no one finds you, but should it happen, you are light, your horse is fast, and speed will be your only prayer, understand?”

The boy nodded.

“Keep moving. Do not ride in the open, stay out of the Vale of Tears, circle to the west, near the trees, until you reach the flooded quarry. Once clear of the quarry, find yourself a shallow crossing along the river Ithen, and then head for Galaglea. If you have to, ride this horse into the ground, but get to Galaglea; understand?”

The boy nodded. They were strapping on leather armor. Anton handed the boy a scabbard and a short sword.

Rhywder pulled a papyrus scroll from Anton's table and wrote upon it. He folded it, used Anton's candle to seal the edge, and pressed the signet of his ring into the wax. He stuffed the papyrus into the boy's tunic. “That is for Quietus, the king of the Galagleans. Since he is a king, he should not be difficult to find. Show that paper to anyone who asks to see it. Any questions?”

The boy shook his head.

“Good. You just ride for all you are worth until you reach the wooden ramparts of Galaglea. Now, go, boy. Elyon's Light be with you and Godspeed.” Rhywder slapped him on the back.

The boy nodded at Rhywder and stepped into the night.

Agapenor grunted. “That boy will never reach daylight, let alone Galaglea.”

“We have given him a good horse and he is a thief, which means he can ride and use a blade. Have a bit of faith, Agapenor.” Rhywder turned to give Anton a grim look. “I may or may not return, but whether you see me again or not, remember one thing: the gate remains closed.”

“It will,” Anton assured him.

As they left Anton's quarters and walked for the horses, Agapenor chuckled. “It looks as if all is well, Captain Rhywder of Lochlain. The Goddess smiles on you this night. You have sent a noble champion sure to reach Quietus in Galaglea, and you have a bold Daathan warrior and these fearless Galagleans left to hold the gate of Hericlon against all of Unchuria. No worries that I can see.”

“None that I can think of, either, my friend,” Rhywder answered, pulling himself into the saddle. “Let us find out what is waiting in the splendid swamplands due south.”

“I will try not to wet myself from anticipation.”

I
t was before sunup, the dawn's mist still on the ground. Aeson and Lamachus had set out already to cut timber for a new fence beam so Adrea did not worry of having to explain Loch's appearance. She had thought of saying good-bye to Aeson, and that night she almost did, but all she managed was to cry, so she decided to send an epistle later on, words of farewell by papyrus.

Adrea searched from the house, from behind the fence. She was packed, everything stowed and ready. Thunderbolt was saddled and she searched the skies, worried. She had thought over taking the horseman's gift or leaving the stallion behind, but finally decided to take him. He was swift, he would be useful, but that was not her reason. She knew enough of Marcian's nature that she believed he would want her to keep the horse.

She had said nothing to her mother. There would be too many tears, so she decided on a letter for her, as well, and perhaps one for Lamachus, who would never forgive her this.

Aeson helped Lamachus lash the last of the newly cut fence posts onto the side of the packhorse with strips of leather. They only needed one, actually, but there was no reason not to stock up—posts were laid to either side of the horse, enough to last a season of moons. Aeson would have ridden farther to the south, far past the sacred woods of the East of the Land, but Lamachus had found a small stand of wood that was separate by nearly a quarter of a league. Some would consider it too close; call it a part of the forest, and Aeson worried, but Lamachus told him this wood was safe to cut. It was new wood, he reasoned, since it was not part of the ancient trees, what could be the harm of it? They worked in the dark, cutting and shaping. Lamachus was determined to get the baron's fence solid before night and that meant a lot of riding, so they had come out early. Aeson kept staring into the shadows of the East of the Land. He kept thinking they were just too close, but he realized it was something else crawling beneath his skin. He began to have the certain feeling that in the deep shadows of the ancient wood something was stirring. He even thought for a moment he saw something indistinct, maybe no more than gray mist, but after seeing it he could not get it out of his head. Something was in the forest, something watching them, but how could he explain to Lamachus he was afraid? That they needed to forget about the posts and leave? There was no possible way, so instead Aeson worked as hard and fast as he could.

“You need not kill yourself, boy,” Lamachus said at one point. “We have time.”

“Just feel energetic, Father.”

He was trimming off limbs with single blows, working quickly. But the eyes, the thing watching them, waiting in the shadows of the East of the Land—it did not move, it had found what it was seeking, and Aeson figured it had been seeking them. Aeson was almost in a panic, but he could think of nothing to say that would do anything but provoke Lamachus.

Besides, Lamachus seemed burdened himself. It had been with him all morning, since leaving the cabin, this heaviness—sadness. It was an odd emotion for Lamachus to carry.

Usually he was telling stories or talking of the wars, but this morning he had hardly spoken and once or twice he had sighed, heavily. Once he paused, holding his axe, looking to Aeson.

“You think I have ever been good to her, boy?”

“Adrea, you mean?”

“Her whole life—I ever been good to her?” “Of course, Father.”

“You know, son, I have loved that girl. When she was little and I would toss her into the air and she would screech with delight, ah, did I ever love her. But she grew and things—somehow they changed. I no longer knew how to speak to her, what to say to her. But lately, well, lately I been downright mean. And wrong, not trusting her. Marcian saw that. Just wrong.”

“It is the pressure of knowing she is leaving, Father; it weighs on all of us.”

“Aye, but then I think to myself, I been cold with her my whole life. Now it is ending, she will be leaving, and I cannot go back, make things different. God, why could I not have given the girl a hug now and then, why not tell her what has been in my heart? But no, I've just been hard on her, thinking it is a hard life and she best just learn that truth. It is the war did this to me. Stripped so much out of me. Hard was all it left me.”

“She knows you love her, Father.”

He sighed, cinching down the last strap.

“Well—that should do it, you think?”

“Plenty. Enough for spring and even summer, I figure.”

“You worked damned hard, guess that is why we are done so early.”

He shoved his axe in the saddle thong. Aeson was anxious to leave, he had already mounted, but for a moment Lamachus just stood there, staring off at the dim predawn sky.

“No matter how I think it, though,” he said, “what I come up with is that I have been a bastard to her, Aeson, pure and simple. She is a good girl; she has not been betraying me, not that girl. She has a heart in her that is pure, always has been. What is the matter with me, son?”

“It is simply your nature, Father, being firm. She will be fine; she is strong.” Aeson wanted to tell him to mount up, to get out of there. His skin was crawling. He couldn't remember ever being this frightened.

Lamachus sighed, deeply. He finally circled around and mounted his horse. “Well,” he said sadly, “still a bit of time left, I suppose. Maybe I can make it right, not much, but maybe just a bit right. You think?”

Suddenly Lamachus turned to the east, toward the forest. He had spotted something in the trees. He had been a warrior and his eyes were quick. Whatever he spotted, it startled him. His mouth dropped open from what he saw.

Aeson turned, breathless.

They came swiftly, no warning, not a sound. It happened so fast neither Lamachus nor Aeson had any time to react. Lamachus pulled back so hard his horse reared, but they came like the wind, twisting out of the shadows. First they soared high and then dove straight for Lamachus.

“Father!” Aeson screamed.

All Aeson made out were gray shapes, shades, hands with groping fingers, open mouths moaning, some screaming, some of them women. They slammed into Lamachus, one after the other, like blows from a hammer, jerking him from one side to the other. How many there were, Aeson could not count, but they dove in and they did not come out.

“Father!”

Silence.

Lamachus was on his horse, barely gripping the reins, head hanging. For a moment, Aeson thought he was just going to fall, drop off. Aeson started forward to help, but paused because Lamachus slowly looked up, his manner strange, jerky. Aeson gasped. Lamachus had no eyes. They were gone, just holes there, covered by a kind of damp mesh and behind them a glow, like greenish coals burning.

Aeson backed his horse away. He was terrified, but still he raised his right hand, spread his fingers in the sign of the word. “Elyon's light before us!” he shouted. “Elyon's Light protect us!”

He was there; Loch was there at the fence. How he could appear out of nowhere on his enormous white stallion astonished Adrea. She had the ring tucked away in the folds of her tunic. After the dreams, knowing how many were going to die of the Seraphon, of her son, she wanted no more dreams. If she died, maybe, it was for the better. She knew if the Seraphon lived to reach manhood, many, many would die. Countless would die. The entire world would twist in an agony of death. How could the death of so many be asked? How could Elyon bless such dreams?

“It is time,” Loch said.

“I am ready.” She pulled Thunderbolt, equipped for travel, from the barn. All that was left was to cinch down the haversacks and bedroll.

She paused, seeing her mother in the doorway. It was early, and Camilla had not needed to make breakfast since Lamachus and Aeson had both left when it was still dark, so Adrea had held to the faint hope her mother would take the opportunity to sleep later than usual. But she was there now, and she knew. Sshe glanced from Adrea to Loch and back again. Adrea walked to her slowly, gave her a hug, and as she did, whispered in her mother's ear.

“Elyon's Light, dear mother, but I must leave now. I will not come back. Perhaps … perhaps you can tell them good-bye for me.”