Fire Heart (The Titans: Book One) (8 page)

His armor, though, had felt the new wealth most heavily, and he had payed a blacksmith to retrofit his leather gear with metal reinforcements that, while heavier, had managed to save his life twice since Brightstone. His helmet and weapons he had left unchanged, however, as well as his faded black traveling cloak. He had always been a slave to sentimentality.

Downstairs Castor was waiting with Katryna and the innkeeper, who was leaning with his elbows up on the bar and laughing at something the commander had said. Castor turned smoothly and smiled at the sound of Will's boots thunking down the wooden stairs. “Ah, the sleeping beauty awakes!” he cried, standing and throwing his arms out theatrically. Will made a rude gesture but grinned nonetheless.

At the bottom of the stairs Will swept back his cloak and bent to one knee. “You sent for me,
Lord
Castor? As always, I am your humble servant.” He inclined his head and made a little flourish with his hands.

“Get up, you ass,” Castor laughed, and threw a heel of bread at him; Will caught it and tore a chunk off with his teeth. “Well?” Castor asked. “How did you sleep?”

Will shrugged. “Well enough, I suppose. The heat is killing me, though.”

“Agreed,” said Katryna. “And between the heat and my man, I can't get any sleep either.”

Will raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Castor chuckled. “I didn't hear you complaining,” he said, nudging Katryna with his elbow.

“I wasn't, darling,” she said with a smile. “Though...you could use some practice...”

“There's been a message,” Castor said, ignoring her.

“Oh?” Will took another bite of bread.

“A little boy came by last night. Strange fellow. Seemed rather...distant. Anyway,” Castor reached into the satchel on his belt and produced a scroll of paper, “we've got a new job. Some town about a half-day's ride north of the city has been coming under attacks from a marauding group of bandits, and they want help.”

“This isn't the first one, either,” Katryna said. “I heard quite a few of the city folk here talking about it. A few other villages have been hit in the past few months. Some just got massacred—no survivors.”

Will took a seat and leaned back, thinking about the boy he had seen the day before for only a moment in the tavern. Could it be the same one? It might explain why the boy had been staring at him. He put it out of his mind for a moment. “Why would they ask for us and not the city guards...oh.” He scratched the back of his head and grimaced. “Ah, well then.”

Castor sighed. “Yes, well...it
was
addressed to the city guards.” He cleared his throat. “They, ah...seem to be a little short-staffed at the moment, though.”

Katryna snorted. “That's one way of putting it. You know, there actually
is
one who ended up being rather short staffed. I stuck my knife right in his—”

“So you want me to go help them, right?” Will interrupted, drawing a giggle from Katryna.

“No, actually,” Castor answered, “I'm going to take a contingent of men into the Foothills and take care of the problem.” He sighed. “It's my duty at this point, I think. Anyway, I'm leaving you and Katryna in charge of the rest of the men. The city guards are dead by my command, so I'm taking responsibility for this.”

Will held up a hand. “Castor, wait. Let me lead the group. There's no reason for you to go. You're the commander of the Ravens—what if something happens to you?”

“Yes, I agree,” said Katryna. “You should stay and watch over the larger force—and the city.” She directed her gaze at Will. “I've been telling him this all morning.”

Castor folded his arms across his chest and frowned. “This is a matter of personal honor, you know. I need to take responsibility for my actions and fix my own mistakes.”

Katryna circled her arms around him from behind and rested her chin on his shoulder. “Darling, there is a time for stepping up and doing things yourself and there is a time for being intelligent. This is the latter. Send Will. I've known him for a great long time; he's more than capable of disemboweling some bandits. And I won't be nearly as upset if he dies.”

“Your vixen speaks the truth,” Will said with mock sincerity. Katryna stuck her tongue out at him.

Castor sighed. “I suppose you two are right. Take ten men, Will. That should be enough, right?”

Will nodded. “Where is the boy? I'd like to speak with him before I leave.”

“He disappeared,” Castor said with a shrug. “I was going to have him stay for awhile, too, but...”

Will stood. “In that case, I'll be back tomorrow.”

~

The Southland foothills were renowned for both their beauty and their serenity—with the largest predator being the vicious but diminutive wood weasel, travelers had nothing to fear but the occasional hole chewed through their packs. Naturalists and scholars came from near and far to visit and observe
the wildlife of the foothills, drawn by the unique flora and fauna that could be observed in complete safety.

Will breathed deeply and smiled—it looked to be one of the beautiful summer days the area was famous for. In stark contrast to Prado, which had become infamous for sporting some of the most miserable summers in southern Pallamar, the more temperate foothills claimed air that was both drier and cooler. And with the light breeze rolling off of the mountains to the east, the mercenaries' journey was turning out to be quite pleasant. The birch trees that lined the hillocks and valleys around them provided a canopy against the sun, bathing the travelers in broken shade that, while not necessarily needed, was certainly not unwelcome. The trees to their left continued unabated until they melded into the gloomy darkness of a forest; to their right they thinned rapidly and soon disappeared altogether, giving way to the gently sloping rises from which the foothills derived their name. This time of year they were covered in tall, lush green grasses dotted with wildflowers. And far away over the emerald sea, down in the middle of the dead valley, Will could just make out the vague outline of Prado, its image distorted by a shimmering heat wave.

One of the mercenaries, a boy named Rik, played a wood flute as they rode, and it mixed with the rhythmic clopping of horse hooves to form a lively, upbeat tune. Will reached down and patted his mount—a gelding named, of all things, Horse. Castor found a great deal of humor in Will's lack of imagination, but the animal responded well enough, and that was all Will cared about.

“How much farther, Will?” one of the more seasoned mercenaries asked. “We've been on this trail for
belltolls
.”

“It's a nice day—you should learn to enjoy the little things, Sam,” Will called over his shoulder. “We'll be there soon enough, and then it'll be time to work.”

“Work,” another grumbled, stretching his arms above his head. “I worked enough in Prado, I should think. Come springtime next year I should have five little bastards of me own runnin' around the place, thanks to the ale they serve there. God
damned
strong stuff, that.”

“Five?” another scoffed from the back of the column. “That's it? I've a dozen at least. And I didn't have to go after the ugly ones, either. I bet even young master Rik's got more mistakes comin' than you!”

A burst of mercenary laughter drove a flock of songbirds from a nearby tree and sent a lurking wood weasel scurrying into the underbrush. Will chuckled and turned back around in his saddle, letting his mind drift and his horse find its own way.
Learn to enjoy the little things,
he thought with a chuckle. It seemed the men were already far ahead of him in that area; there had certainly been no shortage of beautiful women in Prado, and he supposed his fellow Ravens' actions were to be expected.
I wonder what it's like,
he thought idly.
Must be strange, to be able to jump into bed with any woman who's got two legs and a hole in the middle.
Katryna leaped into his mind then, and her words from the day before danced around inside his head. She had been his friend for a very long time—longer even than Castor. He wondered if she had been serious—and whether she had always harbored such feelings for him.

But that train of thought made him decidedly uncomfortable, and he pushed it from his mind, letting his thoughts drift instead to Priscilla and her family.

Never hurt somebody unless they absolutely deserve it—without question.
The thought of his own words seemed to mock him, dredging up long-forgotten memories in their wake.
Did they all deserve it?
he wondered, but the answer was painfully obvious.

If you feel so guilty about it, then why not just stop?

Will frowned, and what remained of his good mood evaporated. Helena had been right; who was he to lead by example? Death was his life—killing was what he was good at. It was all he knew. Guilt was an emotion he could not afford to feel.
So why am I feeling it?
he wondered.
It's been so long...I'd forgotten what it was like.

If you feel so guilty about it, then why not just stop?

The image of Priscilla's smiling face danced tauntingly through his mind, looking up at him adoringly. He laughed softly at that—adoration for a killer.
Maybe this is a sign that I'm supposed to
retire,
he thought. At least he had made things right with her—he hoped. If he was going to be the object of her worship, he was at least going to get her to worship him for the right reasons.
And what reasons would those be?
some little part of his mind asked.
Remember the part where you kill people for money?

Remember the part where you killed
me
?

Something flashed across his vision for only a moment, darting across his path like a frightened animal. It was small and dark, its dirty face flecked with blood and streaked with tears. The Eastland girl glared up at him accusingly before disappearing into the undergrowth to his left. Will's heart pounded in his chest, and his breath came in short, quick little gasps, but he forced himself not to jump in his saddle. He waited for the specter to leap back out of the brush at him, but she never did.

“Up ahead!” one of the mercenaries cried suddenly, startling Will so that his hands jerked the reigns and his steed snorted in irritation. He shook himself from his daze and looked up to see that just around a gentle curve in the road farther ahead the birch forest was beginning to thin, halting abruptly only a hard stone's throw away. Past the end of the tunnel of trees he could just make out several stone buildings at the top of a grassy rise. There didn't seem to be many of them, and they looked rather primitive. And deserted.

“Doesn't seem to be much activity,” a man named Stefan murmured, echoing Will's thoughts. He trotted his horse up next to Will's and squinted into the distance. “In fact...I don't see anyone at all. Maybe they're holed up until help comes?” He looked questioningly at his captain, who could only shake his head and shrug.

Soon they left the forest behind and broke out into the sun. The path narrowed from there, and on both sides the foothills sloped steeply downward to the stifling valleys far below—a long fall with an unhappy landing for the unwary. The road wound its way atop the rises for a short distance until widening once again at the town's entrance, which was marked by a stone trilix on each side. The holy symbols were smudged with soot at their pointed tops, and Will suspected they doubled as lantern waypoints for late-night travelers.

This isn't a town,
Will thought as his horse passed through the makeshift entrance.
This is barely even a village.
There were no more than a score of stone huts set in a circle around a slightly larger building at the center, which Will guessed to be a crude Gefanite temple. With its high, vaulting glass windows it seemed curiously out of place amid the thatched roofs and weathered shells of the huts. A handful of crows perched atop its canopy took flight as the mercenaries drew near, screaming in protest as they wheeled clumsily through the air.

Stefan had been right—nobody came to meet them, and Will could not see another soul for leagues in any direction. At the very least he had expected to hear the sound of shutting windows and slamming doors as they crossed the town's border, but a silence broken only by the caw of the crows overhead was their sole greeting. The birds were a bad sign; Will had walked enough battlefields to recognize a scavenger when he saw one. The horses seemed to agree, knickering softly and tossing their heads in agitation. Will's danced to the side, its eyes wide with fear at some unseen terror, and he patted the gelding's neck in a futile attempt to calm it.

“Hello!” Will called, cupping one hand around his mouth while trying to steady his horse with the other. There was no response. He passed another look around the village with narrowed eyes, a sense of unease forming in the pit of his stomach.
Perhaps they've fled,
he thought, but even to him the words lacked conviction. More than likely the bandits had returned to wipe away any trace of witnesses. He remembered suddenly the conversation he had overheard in the tavern, and sickening thoughts of Karkashian marauders flashed through his mind. “We've come to help you!” he called, but it was little more than a formality. He knew no answering yell would reach him; they were walking into a ghost town.