Exile's Challenge (46 page)

Jaymes nodded. “Has it occurred to you,” he asked, “that the same thing might be goin' on in Grostheim?”

Var set down his cup. It seemed that cold fingers scratched each knobby ridge of his backbone. It had not, and the notion was horrifying. He shook his head in mute denial.

“Might be,” Jaymes said dourly. “Might be these demons are havin' the same effect there as they done here. Might be the whole o' Salvation is fallin' apart.”

Var said, softly, “God!”

Then Jaymes ducked his head at the window. “He's comin' back.”

Moments later the door flung open and Jared Talle stalked in. He was smiling as he shucked off his fur coat and went to the fire. As he extended his hands to the warmth, Var saw that his arms were bloody to the elbows, and that gore splattered his shirt and black coat.

“There's hot water?” the Inquisitor asked cheerfully. “And food?”

Var rose to indicate the pot boiling on the stove. “There's no food here,” he said.

“Ah, no; of course not.” Talle set to scrubbing his bloodied hands. “That will be in the kitchens. Do you see to it, Tomas?”

Var nodded. “Now, Inquisitor?”

“I'm hungry,” Talle said. “It's fatiguing work, necromancy.”

Newer, colder fingers trailed down Var's spine. “And was your work … successful?”

“Absolutely.” Talle turned from the stove. “A towel, if you will?”

Var handed him a towel and stood waiting. Talle said, “The food, Tomas? I've truly a great hunger on me.”

Var nodded again and went—like some indentured exile, he thought—to the kitchens.

The slaughter wreaked within the confines of Fort Harvie was bad enough, but when he stepped into the kitchens and saw what the Inquisitor had done to the bodies he felt his stomach clench. He hurried past the carnage to the pantries, snatching meat and loaves he hoped remained fresh: the makings of dinner.

Back in the room, he found Talle lounging at the table, a cup of Jaymes's brandy in his stained hand. He appeared entirely at ease; Jaymes seemed unusually discomfited. The scout rose and set to helping with the preparation of the meal for which Var felt little appetite. He forced himself to eat as Talle spoke.

“These were much better than the affected ones of Grostheim,” he said. His tone was conversational. “I wonder if
proximity to the wilderness does not render both the magic and its traces stronger.”

Var forced down a mouthful of salted beef, grunting his thanks as Jaymes pushed a filled cup toward him.

“It would seem,” Talle continued, “that a similar affliction applied—the garrison here dreamed and went mad, and set to slaying itself. But of course,” he chuckled, “you've seen that.”

Var nodded silently; even Jaymes appeared disconcerted by the Inquisitor's casual assessment of so many dead.

“It's the demons, of course,” Talle said. “Not the savages—who are really no more than that, save perhaps they own some crude form of magic. But this was done by the true demons.”

“Who are?” Var gasped.

“Demons.” Talle shrugged as if the answer were obvious. “They oppose the will of our God, no? The will of the Autarchy. So what else should they be?”

Var asked, “How? We've seen only ghosts.”

“Oh, they've no sure form yet.” Talle shrugged, smiling his thin-lipped smile, and reached across the table to help himself to more beef. “They seek that through communion with the savages—who are, of course, quite real. They have corporeal form in this land, and through them the demons would enter.” He chuckled. “What the savages fail to realize is that the demons will destroy them as surely as they'd destroy us. The ignorant beasts believe they've found allies. In point of fact, they've brought down their own destruction.”

“And ours?” Var asked, feeling himself massively out of his depth.

“Perhaps.” Talle's smug smile disappeared an instant. “Save I defeat them.”

“Can you?” Var asked.

Talle nodded solemnly, and then his smile came back. “Am I not an Inquisitor, Tomas? Chosen by God?”

“How'd you find all this out?”

Abram Jaymes's blunt question wiped the smile from the Inquisitor's face. “I raised the dead,” he answered equably, “and they told me.”

Jaymes swallowed, his grizzled face rigid. “An' what do we do now?” he asked tightly.

“What I said,” Talle replied. “We must capture a savage.”

“That,” Jaymes said succinctly, “will not be easy.”

“I understood,” Talle said with horridly reasonable menace, “that you know the wilderness. You are the scout, no? So lead us to them, and leave the rest to me.”

“Why d'you want one?” Jaymes pushed his plate away as if, like Var, he lost his appetite in Talle's presence, in the Inquisitor's bland acceptance of horrid and arcane practices. “Don't you know all you need to? Why d'you want another body to chop up?”

Talle mopped greasy gravy with a hunk of old bread, and for a moment did not speak. Then he looked at Jaymes as might, Var thought, watching, a cat observe a cornered mouse.

“Do you argue my command?”

Jaymes shrugged, and suddenly Var became aware that the scout wore a brace of pistols on his belt and that his hands fell toward them. No less Talle, whose smile grew wide and ugly.

“Those shall not harm me. But I can do you great hurt.”

Jaymes's hands returned to the table, toying with a crust. “I don't doubt you can, Inquisitor.” He managed to invest the title with insult. “But what if you do? You and the major go ridin' off into the wilderness woods all on your own? You think you can find your way through the trees? You think you can find the savages you're lookin' for without me? You think you'd last long in the snow and the forests?” He paused, holding Talle's suddenly outraged gaze long enough to cut a plug of tobacco and insert it in his mouth, begin to chew. Var admired his courage. “I'd reckon you'd both be dead inside a week. From the cold or arrows, whichever, or maybe starve to death. I surely to God don't believe you'd find any savages. But they'd find you.”

For long moments Var feared the Inquisitor should work his magic on the scout, thought that Talle should raise his hands and hex Jaymes as he'd done the recalcitrant settlers. He wondered, aghast at his conflicted loyalties, which he
would support. But then Talle shrugged and said, “You say I need you?”

Jaymes nodded. “You want to survive out here, yes. You don't understand this land. You think you can come here an' tell folks what to do—jump this way an' just so high—but this isn't Evander. This is a whole new world, with new thinkin' an' a whole different set o' rules. God knows,” suddenly he smiled, exposing tobacco-stained teeth, “that's what you just said, no? An' for that—to live in the wilderness—you need me.”

“I could hex you,” Talle said. “I could make you obey me.”

“Sure you could.” Jaymes leant away to direct a stream of black liquid into the fire. “But don't your magic attract the demons? So if you hex me, I'd likely be a real attraction, an' then the demons'd likely tell the savages where I am—which would be with you—an' then they'd all come lookin', no?”

Var could applaud the argument; Talle could only scowl and duck his head in agreement.

“So best,” Jaymes said, “if you don't hex me, eh?”

“Perhaps,” Talle allowed slowly, “it were better I don't. But …”

“I'll bring you safe as I can into the wilderness,” Jaymes interrupted. “I'll do my best to find you a savage. But you don't ever threaten me again.”

For long, slow moments the two men stared at one another, then Talle raised an agreeing hand. A lie, Var thought, that should be broken soon as Abram was no longer useful.

“An' when we leave this godforsaken fort,” Jaymes said, “you'd best do what I say. You want to survive the wilderness, then you'd best agree to that.”

Talle said, “Very well. You are, after all, the expert in such matters.”

“Yes,” Jaymes agreed, “I am. An' now I'm going to find me a place to sleep that don't stink. I'll see you in the morning. Major.” He waved at Var and went away.

“The man is incorrigible.” Talle reached for the bottle Jaymes had left on the table. “But we need him, so we shall use him.”

“And when you've got what you want?” Var asked. “Does he find us a savage for you to …”

“Question,” Talle supplied. “Why, then we shall need him to bring us back to Grostheim.”

“And when we reach Grostheim?” Var asked.

Talle smiled and shrugged and gave no answer—which was all the answer Var needed.

Abram Jaymes lay wrapped in his bedroll, his seamed features impassive as Var spoke.

“He plans to hang you. He'll use you and then have his revenge.”

The scout eased up just long enough to empty his mouth of tobacco. “I figured that,” he said amiably, “but there's been folk looked to kill me afore, an' I'm still alive.”

“He's an
Inquisitor
,” Var said.

“Sure.” Jaymes rearranged his blankets. “But he don't know the wilderness, nor much about Salvation.”

“He owns magic.” Var set out his bedding. “He can hex you and hang you, and no one will argue his right.”

Jaymes chuckled. “You thought he was about to do just that, no? An' you was wondering whether you'd go with him or with me.”

“Damn you,” Var said, “you know where my loyalties are.”

“Maybe,” Jaymes answered. “But do you?”

Var asked, “What do you mean?”

“Work it out” was all the answer Jaymes gave.

They set out the next day, not to the forts Var had sooner checked—though he assumed them likely in the same disarray as Fort Harvie—but directly into the wilderness. It was a high, clear day, with no threat of snow and the sun burning bright out of a steely sky. Crows rode the air currents above, and a lonely hawk. They passed the fort's cemetery, where Matieu Fallyn's body lay with the others slain in that first attack. Var thought they likely rode to their deaths, but could not argue against Talle's decision—for was the Inquisitor correct
in his necromantic prognostications then all Salvation stood in dreadful jeopardy and he could see no alternative save to trust the man, and pray he was right.

The forest stood threatening before them, a vast swath of darkness stretching across the western horizon, cut as if wounded by the wagon road, the great mountains beyond no more than a cloudy line under the hard sky.

Somewhere in there, Var thought, are the savages. And their demonic allies? What if those creatures achieve physical form? He thought on what he'd seen—the golden-armored rider on his awful horse, and those other warriors on their indescribable beasts—and stroked the hammer of his rifle for the comfort of honest steel, a thing he could understand. It should serve him well against the savages, he thought. But the others? Even did they become corporeal, could powder and shot slay them? He wished he had his marine company with him.

Nor less was he concerned for the fate of Abram Jaymes. He had no doubt but that Talle would look to extract his revenge once the scout's usefulness was ended, and had no wish to see Jaymes die. He felt a great fondness for the grizzled, foul-smelling scout, and none at all for the Inquisitor. But Jared Talle was his commanding officer and he was sworn to support and defend Evander and the Autarchy, and did it come to that line he hoped he might avoid, he could not help but wonder which side he'd take.

He raised his eyes to a sky that offered him no answers and followed Jared Talle down the forest trail that Matieu Fallyn had taken to his death.

“We leave the animals here.”

Abram Jaymes indicated the clearing he'd chosen. A stream ran through, swift enough to disrupt the ice, flanked by sufficient tall pines that the deep bowl might remain invisible to passersby not seeking three intruders. Scrub grew between the trees, holly and other bushes that served to conceal the depression, and he'd flanked it with rope that the beasts not stray. There was forage under the snow and sufficient fodder packed on the second mule that the animals could survive for some days at least. Five, he calculated, wondering if he should be still alive in that time, or the horses and mules still there. He felt a terrible fear that he would die on this mad venture. But even so, he had given his word—less to that dark raven bastard Talle than to Tomas Var—and he'd keep it, even were his life forfeit.

Nor less Salvation, he thought, was Talle correct in his assumptions of demonic interference. Almost, he laughed, thinking that Talle's interference was not much different. Was there much difference between one form of demon and another? He didn't know. He had little experience of hell's minions, save in the form of the Autarchy he despised, and the Inquisitor surely seemed as evil as any savage or ghost Jaymes had encountered. But Var—Major of Marines Tomas Var was a bird of different hue, and Jaymes could not but help feeling hopeful that the major understood.

And live: he checked the last of his camouflagings and brought the Hawkins rifle to his shoulder.

“Let's go hunting, gentlemen.”

“Where?” Talle asked, gesturing irritably at the surrounding mass of the forest, all shadowy under the pale winter sun.

“This way.” Jaymes beckoned, bringing the Inquisitor and the major up through the stream to where tumbled rocks afforded footing that might not be seen; from there to a patch of wind-bared ground where only pine needles lay. “This is a game trail, see?”

Talle shook his head, strands of lank black hair flapping about his face; Var, more knowledgeable, nodded.

“We follow this,” Jaymes explained with exaggerated patience, “so that our tracks get lost amongst the others. Then we find an ambush site an' wait.”