Shadows of myth, p.12
Shadows Of Myth, page 12
And who the hell was she?
But Sara was determined to keep her distracted with chatter, and Tess was more than willing to let her. She listened to the update from Archer and the others, which seemed to indicate they had as yet learned nothing. The food filled her with warmth, and finally with a sense of well-being, and she was able to settle again before the fire and listen to the storm rage outside as if it had nothing at all to do with her.
But deep within, some voice said it had everything to do with her.
The storm worsened throughout the night, sleet beating angrily at the windows as if the very heavens raged at the world. The old inn, built of wood in days almost forgotten, creaked before each blast of the storm's icy breath and occasionally shuddered as if it, too, were trying to hunker down.
Unable to sleep, in part because of the fury outside, and in part because she couldn't stop thinking of those outside in this weather, particularly those beyond the town walls who wouldn't even be able to keep their ragged tents from blowing down, Tess rose and dressed. Her mind filled with images of the hundreds, if not thousands, who would be dead by morn.
Torn by the anguish the very thought gave her, she crept out of the room, trying not to wake Sara, who slept in the trundle bed.
But apparently Sara could not sleep, either. "Where are you going?"
"To save what lives I can."
"Wait for me."
Sara dressed swiftly, an easy thing to accomplish when, for the sake of warmth, she had worn most of her clothing to bed. Together the two left the parlor and headed downstairs.
The fire burned low in the public rooms, and no one stirred. Tess paused to open the wood box and load more logs onto the fire. Almost as soon as they touched the coals, they ignited.
"What is your plan?" Sara asked.
"To bring as many people off the street and into these rooms as can."
Sara laughed quietly. "Our host will probably throw us all out."
"Then let him try."
Chin set, Tess marched to the door and with Sara's help lifted the heavy bar. At once the door blew open, as if the wind had been but waiting for an opportunity to reach inside.
Together they stepped out into the street, glazed now with ice. At first they could see no one, but as they slipped and slid their way to the narrow passages between buildings, they began to find shivering bundles of people all huddled together to share what warmth their own bodies made.
"Come to the inn," Tess told them, pointing. "I have left the door open. Come to the inn, and bring any others you find."
Aching, shaking bodies began to move as directed, helping one another to balance on the ice, to bring along children, who seemed worst off of all.
The two women continued their mission until they, too, could not stop shivering and their hands felt as numb as the ice that coated everything. Only then did they make their way back to the inn, bent into a glacial wind that seemed determined to stop their progress.
"By the gods!" said Archer's angry voice, and suddenly strong arms were around them both, sweeping them to the inn's door. "You could have died out here! Why did you not wake us to help?"
Neither Sara nor Tess could speak a word. Their mouths seemed unwilling to obey any command from their brains.
But Archer seemed to expect no answer. With his great strength, he half carried them both back to the inn and through the door into the public rooms. Behind them, someone slammed the door shut and barred it.
Tess barely had the strength to look around her, but she saw that the public rooms were crowded, until hardly another soul could be squeezed in. The fire leapt in lively warmth, and gaunt faces looked back at her with such gratitude that her heart almost broke.
But Archer continued hauling them toward the stairs and up to the parlor. There he put each woman in a chair directly before the fire. He piled on more wood, until the blaze made their icy skin feel as if it were burning.
"Stay here. Tom will bring you tea and gruel. And I need to go deal with our host, who is still screaming that he will call the soldiers against us."
Tess tried to say she was sorry for causing him trouble, but her lips still would not form words. He astonished her then by placing his warm, strong hand on her forehead. "Next time," he repeated more gently, "tell me in advance."
She managed a shaky nod. He was right, of course. It would have been better to have had his help.
"I'll be back," he promised. "After I deal with the landlord, I will see to your refugees."
She managed at last to speak, though the words sounded rubbery. "So many will die tonight."
He nodded. "I know." Then he left them.
Tom appeared moments later, carrying a tray with two large bowls of gruel and a large pot of steaming tea. "This will warm you," he said, setting the tray near the hearth. Then he brought them each a bowl of warm gruel, not too hot to hold, just right to eat.
He sat near them, as if he had decided they needed to be watched over. "Our host is an angry man," he told them. "He was the first to wake as the people began to fill the public rooms. When he told them to leave, they told him a lady in white had sent them. Then he knew who was responsible, and he came to wake Archer."
"I cannot say I'm sorry," Tess said, her spoon halfway to her mouth.
"Nor should you," Tom agreed. "Archer told our host to calm down, that he would be paid for the disruption, then set out to find the two of you. After that the man stopped arguing with everyone who came in the door, but he was still grumbling quite noisily."
"He's afraid," Sara said. "He's afraid all these people will take everything he has left to get his family through the winter. He's afraid he will starve--like them."
"An understandable fear," Tess said. "But I could not leave those people out there."
Sleet rattled against the window again, loudly, and somewhere a shutter banged. The building creaked and groaned.
"This is no common weather," Tom said, looking over his shoulder at the windows. "I have seen ice storms before, but this is more violent than any I can recall. This kind of wind rarely comes even with a thunderstorm, and when it does, it does not last this long."
Sara spoke. "This entire winter is unnatural. We all know that. Even the beasts that stay through the winter have vanished somewhere. These poor people can't even hope to go out to hunt for meat."
Archer returned as Tess and Sara finished their gruel and began to sip the tea Tom had been keeping hot by the fire. The warmth of both food and fire had driven away their chills, and comfort began to seep back into their bodies.
"All is settled," Archer said, sitting on a trestle near the hearth. "Ratha and Giri will keep an eye on the peace downstairs. The inn is bursting to its very rafters with refugees, but our host has agreed to make enough gruel for everyone. What is to become of them on the morrow is uncertain. They cannot remain here."
Tess nodded slowly. "Tomorrow," she said, feeling suddenly as if she were drifting away on some current of thought that pulled her along, "there will be very few refugees left except those that are here."
Her words cast a pall over the room, punctuated only by the fury that battered the windows.
Another shudder passed through Tess as her eyes drooped closed. In her heart, in places seldom explored, she sensed that the fury had a name.
* * *
Chapter 14
The storm blew itself out just before dawn, and the sun's rising brought amazing relief. Before it had cleared the rooftops, the ice was melting, water dripping until small rivers began to run in the streets.
Archer opened a window in the parlor, and a warm breeze blew in, so at odds with the night before and all the preceding days that it felt like another world.
It might have caused rejoicing among the party except that the damage had been done. They all knew that many had died overnight.
"This thaw will be a problem," Archer said, having realized something that hadn't yet occurred to the rest of them. "All the ice that fell overnight is going to turn the ground into a mire."
"It's just one plague after another," muttered Giri. "Ratha and I must go out. We have some information to pursue. The people downstairs are still mostly asleep with exhaustion, but I expect it will not be long before they're herded out onto the street again."
Archer nodded. "Go take care of your business. I'll see what I can do about affairs here. Tom? Come with me."
At the door he paused and looked back at Tess and Sara, who had slept as much as they had been able by the fire.
"Both of you stay here," he said flatly. "Don't defy me this time. With so much death out there, matters could turn ugly very soon. Breakfast will be brought up to you."
Then he was gone, leaving the two groggy-eyed women to look at each other.
"I suppose he's right," Sara said reluctantly.
"I'm sure he is." Tess tucked her hands beneath the blanket someone had spread over her, needing warmth despite the promise of a pleasant day. "I don't want to see what's out there, Sara. Somehow I know what it will be like, and I don't want to see it."
Sara nodded. "I fear it, too. I can't bear to think of all those children."
"Nor I. In fact, I'm starting to feel very angry."
"At what?"
"At whoever or whatever is behind this. A wizard, Mistress Alcanti said yesterday. If that's indeed what it is, then he deserves to be consigned to eternal fire."
Sara winced and made a silencing motion. "The air might carry your words."
The superstition at once surprised Tess and seemed to hold the possibility of truth. But with her life so upended, who was she to judge the truth of anything? "Well, if he hears my words, then let him mark them," she said angrily. "The crops are despoiled, many have already died of starvation, the storm, I am sure, took most of the refugees, and now starvation may well take the rest. Who would do such a thing? What kind of mind and heart?"
"I would prefer not to know."
At that moment the door opened and Tom stepped in, bearing their breakfast tray. "I can't stay," he said apologetically, his eyes on Sara. "Archer needs me."
"That's all right," Sara assured him, smiling. "How are the people downstairs?"
"Well, that's part of what I'm needed for. I'll tell you later."
Then he was gone, the door closing firmly behind him.
Tess tossed off her blanket and her cloak, and strode to the window to look down on the street. A river was running down the center of it now, and ice lingered only in the deepest shadows. From too cold to too warm, so fast. Something was most definitely amiss, and she wondered if that oily feeling at the back of her mind was related to it.
There were not enough people willing, or able, to do the work, to carry all the dead far from the town. Instead funeral pyres were built outside the walls, bodies thrown upon them like kindling. Nearly everyone who had been outside the walls overnight had died. Within the city, only a few more of the shelterless had survived.
Derda's refugee problem had vanished overnight, leaving the survivors, both citizen and refugee, stunned by the scope of the devastation. The city reeked of the stench from the pyres, but people kept up the body removal until well past exhaustion, for failure to clear away the dead would lead to plague.
Along with the deaths of the refugees had gone any hope that, come spring, the farms of the great basin would once again yield abundance, for now there was no one left to plant and reap.
Archer and Tom, moving among the tired, dirt- and soot-streaked populace, helping where they could, memories seared into their minds that would never leave. Tom's youth vanished from his face forever.
It was then, when the survivors were worn to the bone and full of limitless despair, that two names began to be whispered, almost as if they were carried on the warm breeze.
"Lantav."
"Glassidor."
But even as Archer heard them, they never seemed to come from anyone right around him. When he asked who Lantav was, people grew glassy-eyed and silent. When he asked about Glassidor, they drew away from him.
Finally he drew a man aside and asked where he might find Lantav.
At once the man began to tremble like a leaf in a storm. "I don't know what you're talking about!"
He pulled hard away, and Archer let him go.
Tom spoke, his eyes wide and hollow. "I think if we can find this man, we may find many answers."
"It would seem so." Archer stood a moment lost in thought. "I thought I knew all the remaining mages. Perhaps I was wrong."
"Perhaps this one concealed himself until he was ready to act?"
Archer nodded slowly. "I cannot tell you, Tom, how very much that thought disturbs me."
Ratha and Giri moved freely among the slaves and bondsmen. The people of Derda were not accustomed to seeing Anari in any other role and did not even suspect that these two were freemen. Throughout the morning they worked alongside other Anari, carrying the dead from the city. As they worked, they quietly asked questions. Because they were among their countrymen, some of their questions even received answers, however indirectly.
"There is rumor," one man told them as they pushed a laden cart toward the city gate. "Only rumor."
"Of what?" Speaking their own language gave them some privacy.
"Take care," said another Anari nearby. "Someone always listens."
The man who had begun speaking nodded and lowered his voice. "It is said there is a great wizard in Lorense. I do not know if this is true."
"I've heard it, too," whispered another man. "They call it the hive. It is said he has raised a group of--"
"Hush!" The command came from a man nearby, and all fell silent as they passed through the gate, the guards watching them with deadened eyes.
Then came the truly difficult part of pushing the heavy cart through mire already made worse by the passage of so many other carts. The air was stifling with the stench from the pyres, and the sun beat hotly upon them as if it would burn them, too.
When at last they unloaded their cart, they turned about and headed back to the city to seek more victims.
"'Tis said," the first man whispered, "that they all share one mind. I do not know how this can be."
"It can't" said the other, looking over his shoulder. "'Tis not possible."
"I know," said the first man. "I know. But that is what I hear. That and whispers of assassins..."
After that, no one would say anything more. Satisfied they had learned all they could, Ratha and Giri departed to return to the inn.
They had barely turned the first corner when they saw the man against the wall, his attacker lunging in with a gleaming blade. Ratha and Giri had left their swords at the inn--the better to pass unnoticed among a slave people--but their instincts and training fired as if led by a single thought.
They rushed forward, Ratha moving between the attacker and the already sagging young man against the wall, while Giri expertly grabbed the attacker's knife hand and spun it backward, until the blade dropped into the mud. The man's eyes widened, but Giri continued to twist, his face an impassive mask, until the man's wrist snapped audibly and his scream cut through the unnatural silence that had engulfed them.
Giri released the man's wrist and he fled, none the richer and much the poorer for his attempt at robbery. But it was too late for his victim. The young man who had been attacked lay bleeding and barely breathing. Ratha knelt beside him, knowing there was nothing he could do.
At that moment, a cry rang out. "Murderers! Murderers! They have killed my son."
There could be no doubt who the man screaming about his son could mean. Ratha and Giri exchanged only the quickest looks before taking flight into a warren of twisting streets, away from the inn.
Being Anari in the Bonzandari Kingdom meant only that anything they might say in their own defense would be disbelieved. Slaves, after all, could never be trusted.
The night's tragedy seemed to have brought a new awareness to Derda. Or perhaps it was that so few refugees were left, they no longer frightened anyone. But for the first time, doors opened and food was shared with those who remained. And those who had worked so hard to clear the streets were rewarded with the heartiest meals of all.
"One would like to think there's been a change of heart," Archer said as the evening began to fall over the city. The heat of the day still lingered, welcomed by all who ventured out. "But I can understand why those with families are so protective of their stores. I cannot say I would give away food if it might cause my children to starve."
"I know," Tess said sadly. "'Tis the great sorrow of this. All might die if none are selfish."
"'Tis not only the sorrow, 'tis the evil," Archer replied. "Hearts have been twisted by this. Some will never again be generous."
"And so many dead." A lone tear trickled down Tess's cheek as she closed her eyes. She could feel it, as if this place had been scarred forever by recent events. It was as if the very ground cried out in protest. Some part of her wished she had the power to reach out and mend the world, to soothe the sorrow that had blighted it and made this place so unholy.
"I still feel it," she said.
"Feel what?"
"We have both been feeling it," Sara offered. "The evil. An evil pall lies over this place."
"And it does not rise from within," Tess said. She opened her eyes and wiped away the tear. "I am certain of it."
Archer nodded and turned back to the window, where the sky was reddened not only by sunset but by the pyres that would burn for days. "I have learned a little, though I am not quite sure what it means. I will not speak of it, but I may have to leave you for a while."
Tess stood up and went to stand beside him at the window. "If you leave us, it will not be here."
