Daybreak (35 page)

Doors swung open. Men cursed at the sight of the flames devouring the floor beneath them. Elena knew they would all go sprinting for the front door, and she planned to be well ahead.

She held Aerilyn tightly against her chest as she tore down the stairs. Horatio stumbled from his chambers, eyes wild and the wooden ladle already clutched in his hands.

“What was that confounded noise about? What’s happening up there?”

“The house in on fire, and we’re under attack,” Elena called as she shoved past him. “Follow me if you want to live!”

She threw her shoulder into the front door and broke it off its latch. The cook’s panting erupted into swears when he saw the horde waiting for them outside.

Blackened figures stood silently before them, their edges barely illuminated by the flames rising from the house. They stood so impossibly still that Elena almost didn’t see them. Some of the shadows were the size of men — some were much larger. They looked almost like … giants.

Something tugged on her memory: the image of a body washed up from the lake …

Elena froze as the fires grew and cast a light across the nearest man’s face. He was a desert man. His deadened, milky-white gaze fell from hers and dropped onto Aerilyn. His mouth opened, and he let out a shriek.

Maids, servants, and mercenaries tumbled out of the house behind them. Torches were beginning to flare up down in the village — no doubt awakened by the noise. One of the mercenaries shoved past Elena. He wore little more than his underthings and the sword at his hip.

“All right, who needs a gutting?” He bellowed at the frozen army. A handful of his comrades clustered around him, weapons drawn.

The man at their lead didn’t answer. His eyes never moved from Aerilyn. They widened, he shrieked again — and this time, the others joined them. 

Elena tore away as they charged, sprinting for the woods. The mercenaries swelled in behind her and cut the deadmen off. Their swords fell in skilled arcs. They fought angrily. But the horde never stopped.

The man at their lead swiped an arm at a mercenary’s blade — only to have it hewed at the wrist. He didn’t cry out. He didn’t so much as grimace. His mouth hung slack and his dead eyes stayed locked onto Aerilyn. Even when a second mercenary swiped off his head, his body lumbered a few paces more before it collapsed.

A string of curses flew from Elena’s lips as the deadmen broke through the mercenaries’ line. She was well into the trees but could hear their footsteps pounding behind her. A swell of men from the village tore into their flank and slowed the deadmen further. But they would never stop.

Elena had seen the corpses of men who looked like this before, after their battle in the Endless Plains. And she suddenly understood why the Countess had come to Pinewatch, and why there’d been so many dead Midlan soldiers at Lakeshore. It wasn’t the
King
she feared: it was Gilderick.

Lord Gilderick’s army of deadmen was coming after her.

Even though it made sense, Elena couldn’t believe it. That horrible witch of a woman! Was there nothing she wouldn’t do to survive? She’d used her own daughter as bait — she’d thrown Aerilyn into Gilderick’s jaws and put all of Pinewatch in danger.

The crash of Garron’s roof caving in sounded off in the distance, but the noise of battle was growing fainter. Perhaps the mercenaries had been able to hold the deadmen off —

“Argh!” 

Elena saw the shadow out of the corner of her eyes and managed to dart away just in time to avoid the swipe of a deadman’s arm. It was a forest man. An involuntary gasp raked Elena’s throat when she saw his face.

She knew this man. He was one of the guards at D’Mere’s castle. His eyes hadn’t given over to death quite yet. They were still dark, but vacant. His tongue lolled as he moaned:

“El-na … El-na.”

He was trying to speak her name. That must’ve been what he was saying. She slowed for a moment, a breath to listen. And it cost her dearly.

A pair of monstrous hands ripped Aerilyn from her arms just as a monstrous fist collided with her ribs. Elena steeled herself against the shock of a second blow and tore Slight and Shadow from their scabbards.

She managed to bury them in the back of the giant who had Aerilyn before the second flung her away. The world spun as she rolled onto her shoulder, but she quickly found her feet. Elena knew the giant wouldn’t go down easily. His throat was far out of reach. His stride was too long. It would do her no good to run.

She would have one chance at finishing him — and she’d be lucky to get it.

When he barreled towards her, she matched his charge. Elena drove Slight downward, burying him deep in the giant’s thick chest. She pulled herself up by the dagger’s grip before his arms could wrap around her and swung Shadow for his throat.

Blood poured from his wound in arcs and torrents. The giant fought on even as his body slowed. Elena ripped her daggers free and tried to dart away when the giant’s arm struck her in the back.

He swatted her down and she fell hard upon her stomach — but somehow managed to scramble away before his body could crush her.

She had to find Aerilyn.
 

Following the other giant’s trail wasn’t difficult. His heavy steps left tears through the foliage; the wounds in his back made the brush tops shine with gore. After a few moments of panicked sprinting, she saw them: two giants and the forest man crouched in the path ahead of her. While the forest man stared listlessly at the trees above him, the giants’ heads stayed down.

The wounded giant was bent over Aerilyn. The other held … something else.

Elena couldn’t be sure, but she thought she saw a pair of emaciated legs dangling from them. She’d set her eyes upon the wounded giant when a slimy voice burst out:

“Fools — this isn’t the Countess! She’s slipped past us again. All isn’t lost, however … this pretty little thing knows where she’s headed. Move, all of you! No, leave that here. Her body isn’t any use to me.” 

Elena crouched low and stayed perfectly still while the giants and the forest man tore away. Once they were gone, she sprinted for Aerilyn.

The merchant’s daughter lay still in the grass, her eyes gazing upwards. They seemed so distant, so transfixed by something that hovered in a world just beyond them. Elena knew that look. She’d seen it before. And her heart plummeted from such a surprising distance that she felt it shatter at the bottom.

“Aerilyn!” She grabbed the sides of her face and pulled her head from the ground. She tried to get her to move, to blink. But she wouldn’t. She … couldn’t.

Elena didn’t even feel the tears begin to fall. It was only when she pressed Aerilyn against her that she felt the wetness staining the leather of her mask. She had no idea where those tears had come from — no idea that she actually
cared
. She couldn’t even remember when she’d started caring. But she supposed, somewhere along the way …
 

This was her fault. Elena realized it with a second bitter coating of truth. She never should’ve led Aerilyn from the seas. This was entirely, completely, her …

A pair of arms wrapped tentatively around her shoulders, and Elena pulled back so suddenly that she nearly strained her neck. “Aerilyn?”

She blinked as her gaze slid to Elena. “Why did you wake me …?” She frowned. The sleep faded back as her eyes focused upon the trees. “And why are we outside? I could’ve sworn I fell asleep in my room …”

“You did.”

Her eyes went sharp, and her grip tightened. “The Countess! She was here.”

Elena sighed heavily — too relieved to worry over the mess that awaited them in Pinewatch. “Yes, she certainly was.”

*******

“What do you mean, she
poisoned
me?” Aerilyn gasped as they fought their way through the woods.

It’d been a trying number of minutes. Elena told her what little she knew about the attack, but didn’t have nearly enough answers to suit Aerilyn. She didn’t know what the Countess had planned, or why Gilderick was after her in the first place. They’d always been close allies. She suspected Gilderick was even a bit fond of D’Mere …

Well, as fond as a soulless bag of bones could be of anything.

“But why would she …?” Aerilyn gasped and snatched Elena around the arm. “She’s been doing it for years, hasn’t she? Every time she would come to visit, I would get so sleepy that Papa would have to carry me to bed. I thought it was just the excitement of having the Countess over to visit.”

“Maybe it was,” Elena said, hoping that would be the end of it.

But it wasn’t.

“I wonder how she did it? The servants always handled the tea, and she was nowhere near me tonight.”

“She probably had someone do it for her,” Elena said absently. She bared her teeth against Aerilyn’s indignant squeal.

“That’s it! She had one of her agents sneak into the kitchens and slip it in. Oh, that horrible, awful …”

All at once, Elena’s neck arched back as Aerilyn snatched a large handful of her hair. “What —?”

“Did
you
ever drug me, Elena?”

“I would nev — ow! I
rarely
drugged you,” she amended, when Aerilyn twisted her hair.

“Why would she knock me out? Am I really that unbearable?”

Elena thought quickly. “No, it’s just that she and Garron always had a lot to talk about, a lot of merchant talk. And she knew you would be bored with it.” 

That wasn’t at all what their meetings had been about. But if Aerilyn never noticed the Countess’s room being left untouched, then she supposed she didn’t need to know anything further.

By the time they returned, Garron’s home was awash in flame. Billows of smoke seeped from its ruins and drifted down into the village, hazing its lanterns and lights.

Elena had been expecting the weeping of an age when they arrived, but Aerilyn was strangely quiet. Her chin jutted out defiantly at the smoldering ruins before she went to Horatio’s side.

The cook sat atop a fallen tree near the forest’s edge. Gathered around him were the maids and menservants, the kitchen help and the stable boys. All eyes were turned upon the fiery remains of their home.

Loss deepened the shadows on their faces.

Aerilyn wrapped her arms as far as she could reach about Horatio and pressed her cheek against his thick shoulder. Elena kept to the shadows and tried to listen from a distance.

“I’m sorry, dear girl. I’m so terribly sorry.”

“It isn’t your fault. I brought this trouble here,” Aerilyn muttered into his shirtsleeve. Her arms tightened, and she bit her lip. “I’ve done things, Horatio. I’ve been a part of all sorts of trouble.”

“Things like toppling the Duke? I’m not as slow as my gait,” Horatio said when she looked up in surprise. “The news of Reginald’s fall reached the forest only days after your letter. I had a feeling your new friends might’ve been behind it. I told Garron from the beginning that I didn’t think they’d come from the Earl. They’re far too strange a pair not to be trouble.”

“They are, indeed.” Aerilyn’s slight smile faded quickly into a frown. “Well, no matter what we’ve done, it doesn’t mean much to us now. Midlan is marching on the council and the seas haven’t got the army to stop it. The whole Kingdom is falling apart.” She sighed into his arm. “Papa was always telling me to bargain only with the coin I carried. I should’ve listened to him.”

Horatio said nothing in reply. The mercenaries and village men were returning from the woods. Their chests rose and fell heavily from their sprint. Their hair was matted with sweat, and their nightclothes stained with blood.

They slowed as they reached the burning house. Their faces were taut and angry. One of the mercenaries and a burly man Elena recognized as the village blacksmith walked far behind the others, obviously deep in talk.

Elena tried to listen over the crackling of the house:

“… I don’t know. I’ve not seen anything like it before, I swear,” the mercenary said. “Sure, there were rumors of folk disappearing in the southern woods. But there’s always rumors. You learn not to listen.”

The blacksmith carried a thick sword. He turned it over, frowning at the dark wet that covered its blade. “Did you see their eyes?”

“Like corpses,” the mercenary said with a nod. “They kept running, too. No matter how much of them we lopped off — if they had the legs to move, they did.”

“And if they didn’t, they crawled.” The blacksmith’s chin dragged up to the burning house. “Desert men, plains folk … our own people.”

“Do you think it’s some sort of plague?”

“Could be. Maybe the barbarians bit them.”

While they went on about all the things it could’ve been, Horatio and Aerilyn were silent. The cook’s eyes reflected the flames like mirrors — each tendril recast perfectly in the dark of his gaze. Aerilyn’s seemed to take the fires in. 

She seemed able to feel their heat from a distance.

“Perhaps you have more coin to bargain with than you realize,” Horatio murmured as the men headed towards them.

Aerilyn frowned at his smile. “What do you mean?”

“The seas might find an ally, yet.” His shoulders slumped and he made a great show of sighing as the men drew even with him. “I’m sorry, boys — but I’m afraid that’s it. The fire’s just taken out the last of my supplies and destroyed my tavern. I have nothing left to cook with.”

“You could rebuild it,” Foster called as he limped his way up the road. Judging by how his scant patch of hair stood on end, he must’ve just rolled out of bed. “We’ve paid you enough coin to build that thing twice over.”

“It’s all burned up.”

“Coin doesn’t burn.”

“Well, it’s melted, then. The copper’s run into the silver, and the gold’s run into that. We’d probably have to scrape out every grain of wood just to get half of it back. And I’m far too old to bother with all that. No,” Horatio sighed again, “it’s hardly worth the trouble. I’d rather just shutter the whole thing and live off of what I have left.”

“What if we got your coin back?” a mercenary called. He turned to his companions. “One of the fellows I cut down had the Countess’s mark on his chest. I’ll bet a month’s wages she had something to do with all this.”