Page 61 of The Cruel Dawn
The crowd takes another step back.
Head bowed, Separi approaches me. “I apologize, Lady.” The platinum fox amulet—a gift from me that had been worn by Veril—now dangles from her neck.
In my rage, my eyes skip from face to face, from thought to thought. My gaze soon slows and lingers on the non-tattered, too-new crimson banners hanging from rusted lampposts and splintered shop doors. In the middle of the banner is an embroidered golden tree that reaches up to coins and runes of wheat, hearts and sheep.
This is not the paddled colure of Syrus Wake found dangling around the necks and signposts of Maford, nor is this the moth displayed in my honor all throughout Gasho.
“Your visit is not entirely a surprise,” Separi says, guiding me from the crowd. “I’m happy to see that you’ve survived your journey back.” She pauses, then adds, “And I’m relieved that you’ve also survived Caburh so far.”
We hug, briefly. “I survived my last visit and this one just now because of you.”
Separi peers at me with strange black eyes. “You look different, Lady. You look…more.”
I squint back at her. “And you look…less. Your eyes. Your fingers. You’ve changed.”
“I’ll explain once we’re alone,” she says. “You’ve been attacked recently. Which otherworldly?”
I chuckle. “How can you tell that otherworldly did this?”
“You always pause too long when you’re attacked by the natural world—and they use that reluctance to do…” She nods at the scratches across my cheeks and chin. “To the inn?”
I scan the town, which used to be great, and remark, “It’s bleak here.” A bitter taste fills my mouth as I inhale the polluted air.
“A great depression has settled across Caburh,” Separi says, her voice tight, her eyes easing from the swords and scowls of the citizens. “This isn’t the same place my forebears established. The old gods—Emperor Wake,you—have fallen out of favor because…” She waves at the town’s disrepair.
I point to the sigil that bears the mysterious golden tree. “Who does that celebrate?”
Separi squints at the banner. “A new god, I’m told.”
“And this new god’s name?”
Separi shrugs. “I started seeing that tree weeks ago as new crates of supplies arrived at the gates. The tarps that covered the wood, steel, and foodstuffs were embroidered with it. The grateful and starving cut up those tarps and made these banners, and now they’re sewing that golden tree into dresses and tunics and forging pendants of golden trees. I’m sure some mediocre bard is composing a song about bushels of wheat growing like his lady’s hair. And some holy man is crafting a prayer and rituals that include burning something or tying someone up to that tree.”
“Next time. The arrow will land next time.”
Who just thought that?
I spin around and look up, at the window of a brightly lit house.
A young boy—maybe thirteen—stands tall and defiant. His blue eyes burn with hatred, loathing in his heart. He stands there, rigid, sneering. He doesn’t hold the bow, but I know he did.
And I want to shoot a line of fire at him right now instead of waiting for the fire I will throw at him ten seasons from now—that is, if Vallendor survives. His heart has already been poisoned with hatred.
“He’s a child,” Separi whispers. “His name is Dalbald.”
“Dalbald will keep doing evil things,” I say, eyeing him. “He’s not scared of anyone or anything.”
“But he’s only a boy.”
I meet Separi’s eyes. “And Dalbald will be a stronger evil by the time it’s right for me to kill him. I predict that, by that time, though, he will have murdered and raped in those towns outside of Caburh and across the realm, and then people—including you—will call upon me for help, but only after he’s—”
“He’s only a boy,” Separi repeats. “And you may be wrong, Lady. Have mercy. Leave him be.” She gazes at Dalbald and at the boy’s mother now standing behind him with that same evil in her eyes.
The boy will kill her first.
16
Separi sends me a sidelong glance as we head south on the gunky cobblestoned road. “Tonight, Dalbald is a lucky boy.”
