Rhapsody, Child of Blood (51 page)

Every now and then Grunthor slowed his pace and looked around, tilting his head as if hearing distant noises. He nodded to Achmed, who listened as well, then shrugged.

The giant sighed, then quickened his pace again. Each time they stopped Rhapsody ceased her whistling. And each time she resumed it, the tune lost a little more of its sprightly tone, settling into a slower, more haunting melody.

Finally Grunthor came to a dead stop. He looked around the woods, and then glared directly ahead.

'Somethin's wrong 'ere."

'What do you mean?" Rhapsody asked. Achmed's cwellan was already in his hands.

The giant squinted in the sun. "Oi don't know, miss, but somethin's wrong. It feels tainted, and it's worse up there." He nodded down the path they were following. Al three looked in that direction.

'What is it—men? Animals?" Achmed looked over his shoulder.

'Oi don't know," Grunthor replied. "It's like the ground is sick."

'Bend down here a minute." Rhapsody ran her hand over the giant's brow. It was hot and moist with fever. "It's not the earth that's sick, Grunthor, it's you."

'Perhaps it's both," Achmed said, swiveling around and listening again. Nothing but the silence of the forest answered him. "Grunthor is tied to the earth; we've seen it, remember? And if there's something here that's poisoning the ground, it's not surprising that it's affecting him. Get that steel torch of yours ready."

Rhapsody nodded and loosed the tie to the scabbard, but did not draw the sword.

Grunthor shifted his grip on the poleax he was carrying.

Achmed closed his eyes and concentrated, focusing his thoughts on the road as once he had focused on human targets.

In his mind's eye he could see the three of them, as if from above, and the world around them, tipping at an odd angle.

The path stretched before them, choked with branches and brambles hanging amid the shadows cast by the forest light. Then, as he had on the Root, he loosed the lore he had gained in the Earth's belly. His vision raced along with the speed of one of his cwellan's projectiles, the trees becoming a blur of motion as the image passed them.

His course zigzagged with dizzying speed as his second sight raced along every turn of the road, under one fallen tree, and over another. Suddenly the picture turned to a clearing where a large house with a tower in one corner stood. On either side of its doors was a heavily armed and well-armored man. The vision stopped, but the image did not fade. Instead as he watched the picture it became awash in red light, and the guards that he had seen seemed to wither into nothing more than shadows.

Achmed felt his pulse increase as his own heart began to match the beating of another. In his ears he could feel the pressure of his blood rise, hearing the rhythm of this alien pulse. For most of his life he had known this feeling, and long before his name had been taken he made his trade by it. He was sensing his bond to blood, the bond he had lost when passing through the fires of their rebirth along the Root. It was not quite the same as it had been, but similar; the bond was coming alive again. As the vision drowned in the dark red that filled his mind, his head began to ache and his stomach to knot in fear.

Grunthor was right; whatever lay beyond the door was twisted, evil. With some effort he drove the image from his mind and ripped his senses back into his own body.

Suddenly disoriented, he stumbled, feeling the bile rise in his throat. He fell to the earth, retching.

At once Rhapsody was by his side, her hands on his shoulders. She gasped as the first splattering stained the pristine snow blood-red. Achmed coughed, then breathed heavily, shaking the last vestiges of the vision from his head. He looked up into the Singer's worried face. "Are you all right?"

'I think I'll live," he said, swallowing hard "What happened? What did you see?"

"Well, the House is indeed in that direction, and Grunthor is right, something's fundamentally wrong there." Grunthor offered his hand to Achmed, pulling him to his feet. The Dhracian bent over from the waist and took several deep breaths, then stood up again. "Everything along the path seemed normal, but when I saw the House, my vision was clouded with blood, and a pulse. Almost like what I used to sense back on the Island."

'But I thought you said you had lost your contact with blood," Rhapsody said.

'I did. I had. This wasn't the same."

'Maybe this is the way you sense things through blood in the new world," Grunthor suggested.

'Because it's the new world, I shouldn't be able to sense anything through blood. Do you ever remember me vomiting before?" The Sergeant shook his head.

A cold wind whipped a spray of ice crystals into Rhapsody's eyes. There was something deeply frightening about seeing the two Bolg, who had seemed indestructible for so long, trembling and sick. She took a few measured breaths in the hope that the thunderous pounding of her heart would slow at least a little. Still, deep within her she knew they had to go forward, to discover what lay within the ancient house.

'Perhaps once we get closer we'll be able to tell what's going on," she said.

Grunthor wiped the sweat from his forehead and fixed his gaze on her. "Excuse me, Yer Ladyship, but why would we want to? Oi mean, after all, Oi don't mind a bit o'

trouble, but Oi don't see no reason to go lookin' for it."

'No, she's right," Achmed said. He ran a thin, trembling hand through his unkempt hair.

'I never expected to hear you say that," Rhapsody admitted.

'Don't let it go to your head," Achmed said. "We need to know why I suddenly was drawn back into my blood lore, and what made you sick, Grunthor. We need to be certain that it isn't an old problem, come back to haunt us in a new place. The only way to find out is to investigate."

Rhapsody was rummaging through her pack. "I have some wintergreen leaves; they might settle your stomachs. And if you'll wait a moment, I'll give you each a wet handkerchief to sponge off with." She dipped two linen squares into the snow, then held them in her hands, concentrating on the fire within herself. An instant later the snow had melted, soaking the cloths, which she then handed to the two Bolg.

Even in the grip of nausea, Achmed forced a smile. "I see you're getting a little more comfortable with the idea of your new lore," he said. "I knew you'd see it eventually."

Rhapsody smiled back at him and handed him a wintergreen leaf. "Suck on this. You were right. Don't let it go to your head."

'Right then, let's get goin'," Grunthor said, wiping his forehead and cheeks.

'There are two guards at the gate who will need to be dealt with," Achmed added.

'Wait; what does that mean?" Rhapsody asked nervously. Grunthor and Achmed looked at her incredulously. "What if they're not responsible for the taint, haven't done anything wrong?" The two continued to stare at her. "We can't go killing innocent people just because they're in the way."

'Well, miss, that never sto—" Grunthor started, but stopped with a quick look from Achmed.

'Listen," Achmed said impatiently, "you seemed to like Stephen. He didn't mention any guards at this memorial, did he?"

'No." The hand that rested on the hilt of her sword began to tremble.

'What does that tell you?"

'Nothing conclusive," she said quickly. "They could be investigating the place, just like we are. What if they serve someone important? Do you really want to have gone through everything we have just to end up being hunted again?"

Achmed sighed in annoyance. "What do you suggest, then, O Wise One?"

'We could try talking to them."

Grunthor opened his mouth to object, but Achmed forestalled him.

He studied her face for a moment, the green eyes matching the boughs of the evergreen trees, glistening like the branches heavy with ice crystals. The rose-petal upper lip was set bravely, but the flawless forehead gave away the anxiety within her in each of its furrows. Normally it was an enchanting countenance, but with the added attraction of worry bubbling below the smooth surface, it was absolutely hypnotic. This would be a good test of its power.

'Are you willing to be the one doing the talking?" he asked at last. "Grunthor and I don't generally get the best of receptions when we knock on doors."

-3^ 'Yes."

The Dhracian looked back at Grunthor once more. The Sergeant wore a decided look of disapproval, but said nothing.

'Very well, we'll try it your way," Achmed finally muttered. "We'll stand in the brush and cover you."

Rhapsody smiled unconvincingly.

'Fair enough," she said.

Che gray day began to give way to a dim twilight. The forest had gone deathly silent long before the light had left the sky. No winterbird song could be heard, nor the rustling of any living thing. Even the wind was quiet. The only noise to break the stillness was the creaking of the white branches under the weight of the snow, the occasional crash of a limb giving way under the icy burden that bent it.

Finally they came to a clearing, the edge of which was choked by thick, thorny underbrush. Rhapsody noted absently that the brambles were blackberries, though they bore no sign of fruit on their sharp branches, and from the look of them, she doubted they ever would. Beyond the scrub they could see a shape, a house, it seemed, though at first it was difficult to tell through the brush.

They moved forward slowly, creeping along the edge of the road, until at last they could see beyond the brush. There they saw a large house in the clearing, too large to be mistaken for anything but the place they sought. In one corner was a tower, built of ancient stone and overlooking a square courtyard. It was protected on all four sides with walls guarded by sentries.

In this courtyard was a leafless tree, which from a distance looked dead rather than dormant to Rhapsody. Her time at Llauron's had given her ample schooling and opportunity to gauge tree health, and this one to her seemed choked with disease.

The walls of the courtyard were whitewashed, with many years' growth of moss and lichen clinging to them. The roof was made of slate, and a large front door was left partially ajar, almost as if someone was expecting visitors.

Achmed and Grunthor split to either side and began circling the house through the forest cover. It never ceased to amaze Rhapsody how silent they were in heavy brush, and how hard to discern, especially given Grunthor's gargantuan proportions. She looked around, praying desperately that they would not be seen while on their maneuvers out of her sight. She looked back at the house.

The door was guarded on either side by men holding long spears, clad in leather-backed ring mail. No candles could be seen in the open-paned windows in the growing dusk. The only sound came from the scratching of the long white limbs of the birch trees reaching out from the forest edge to tap gently on the windows, walls, and roof of the House of Remembrance. Rhapsody thought she heard a muffled wail, but decided after a moment's pause that it was the wind.

'Are you ready? Try to stay where we can see you." Achmed's whispered voice seemed to be next to her ear, though he stood a few feet behind her, obviously having returned from his circumspection of the outpost. She nodded, and he slipped into the shadows again, moving to the far side of the road. Grunthor readied the poleax for a charge. Rhapsody took a deep breath, then stepped out of the underbrush and walked toward the front door.

Instantly the guards leveled their spears. Rhapsody felt almost giddy as nervousness swept through her. She smiled at them and a disengaged calm came over her. She thought, distantly, that she smelled the odor of rotting meat.

'Hello," she said pleasantly. The effect on the guards was immediately obvious: their grip on their spears loosened, and Rhapsody thought she could see one of them tremble visibly, seeming entranced. "Could you tell me, is this the House of Remembrance?"

One guard nodded dumbly. She noted that the second man was not so quick to drop his guard. In him she sensed a stronger, almost consuming desire that set her ill at ease.

'Well, that was easy," she said, smiling brightly. The second guard's hands were now trembling, too. Whatever transformation I underwent in the Great Fire must have left me frightening to behold, she thought in amazement. Surely these guards were not intimidated by her small stature.

'I'm supposed to meet some friends here. Have you seen them?" Rhapsody chose her words carefully, thinking she might be able to tell if Grunthor and Achmed had been spotted during their scouting a few moments before.

-H 'Will—will you marry me?" the first guard stammered.

Rhapsody blinked, then laughed. She thought about what Grunthor's reaction might have been to the comment if he had been close enough to hear it.

'You know," she said, leaning forward confidentially, "I don't think my friend would particularly like you joking with me about that. He's rather protective and can be quite ferocious if he thinks I'm being insulted."

Panic seized the guard's face. "No, miss, I 'Anyway, have you seen him? I'm sure you would know him if you had, he's rather—well, frightening."

The two guards looked at each other, and Rhapsody saw a look of fear pass between them. Her words had some meaning to these men that she had not intended.

The second guard summoned the courage to speak. "You're here to see him, then?

No, he's not here, miss, but he's expected later today. Please come in and wait in the warmth; my friend didn't mean no insult."

The first guard stumbled backward, pushing the door open, and then held it for her.

Rhapsody looked behind her, but saw nothing where Grunthor and Achmed had been.

A shouted warning went up from the sentries which appeared to have been directed to the others about her. She could almost hear the curses Achmed was undoubtedly directing her way under his breath.

Placing her hand casually on the hilt of the sword, she followed the first guard across the threshold. They entered a darkened foyer with heavy doors to either side and an open portal in front of them that led into a large garden. Rhapsody stopped and gasped in horror.