Page 69 of Magick and Lead
Langford adjusted the dark glasses that hid his eyes. “Poison?” he asked with a frigid smile.
“Oh no,” Kortoi laughed. “It’s much worse than that. You’ll see.”
32
ROHREE
For days, Rohree and Clua had hiked through the wilderlands. For much of the time, the memory of their encounter at the village lingered with them, difficult to shake as a nightmare upon waking.
The whole village had pursued them for miles, and only Rohree’s natural woods-wisdom, innate to all sprites, paired with Clua’s sheer determination, had allowed them to escape with their lives.
But slowly, step by weary step, the feeling of dread the encounter had brought on faded. They spent their days tramping through flower-painted meadows and wading through glistening streams. Traversing forests so ancient, their grandeur made them whisper with awe. And wading through grassy glades so full of birdsong, they were tempted to whistle back. Rohree’s feet went from sore to unbearably painful to numb. Her cramped legs hurt for many miles, but eventually they began to unkink from her time in the box—and even started to feel good.
Her soul seemed to be unkinking, too. For the first two days, every crack of a twig or whisper of the wind had her startling and going invisible for fear the witch—or the brainwashed villagers—had found her. But as the hours slipped past and the milesbetween them grew, her dread diminished—though she doubted it would ever go away completely.
It was Clua’s tiny kindnesses, more than anything, that helped lessen the painful memory of captivity. When she broke a piece of bread in two to share, Rohree noticed Clua would always give her the larger half. When they went to bed down at night, Clua would give her the softer patch of ground, or the place most protected from the wind. When water was scarce, she’d give Rohree three glugs from the water skin to her one.
They spoke little, at first. Rohree was used to the witch’s tower, where any sideways word could evoke a twisted punishment. But as the miles wore on, Clua would make small comments. Pointing out a pretty patch of violets. Or an edible mushroom. Or a majestic kelmoon flying high above. As Rohree grew more comfortable, she’d comment back. Noting a funny-shaped cloud, or a shy animal in the brush, or a subtle branching-off of their trail.
As time passed, their conversations turned to more substantial topics, like the fall of the kingdom. Clua had already told Rohree briefly of all that had befallen the kingdom in her absence. But now, she brought Rohree up to date, in detail, on all the happenings that had taken place since she’d been captured. The rebellion of the Gray Brothers and the nobles. The fall of Issastar. Essa’s victory in the challenge and her ascent to Irska of the Skrathan. Kit’s betrayal of Essa. And the ongoing fight against the golenae that still harried the countryside.
Rohree had shaken her head at all these revelations. Some of them didn’t surprise her too much. She’d never much liked or trusted the nobles or the Gray Brothers. Although shedidlike Kit, it had seemed inevitable that Essa’s infatuation with him would bring grief to them both in one way or another.
But the idea that Issastar, the great city, was destroyed? That the mighty fortress Charcain lay in ruin? That Queen Synaedaand her mighty dragon were dead? That the mighty queen’s heir was reduced to hiding and scrapping like a common rebel? These ideas seemed so outlandish that she could hardly wrap her head around them.
“It reminds me of the stories my parents told,” she said to Clua. “About when the Sylph Lord took control of our ancient homeland in Koratain and enslaved all the sprites who had been living there since the dawn of time. No one believed such a thing could happen—until it did.”
Clua had nodded grimly. “Yes. Unfortunately, I’ve come to realize that anything can happen in this mad world. But anything that can be done can also be undone. The only question is, how much blood and courage will it take to accomplish it?”
“I can’t wait to get back to Essa and help—in whatever way I can. If my legs can make it that far, that is. Gods, we’ve been walking forever…”
“I know. We’ve been keeping up quite a pace,” Clua said with a wary glance over her shoulder. “I just don’t want us caught from behind. But we’ll rest soon, I promise. If I’m reckoning right, there should be a village up ahead where I have friends. We’ll have a place to sleep and all the food our bellies can hold.”
“Cheers to that,” she said, and they foraged ahead with renewed vigor.
The next evening, the woods they were trekking through parted, revealing a farm field—the edge of the village where Clua’s friends lived. Rohree could have cried with joy and relief.
Still, unease from the last village they’d walked into lingered, like a cloud over the sun. Clua must’ve sensed her mood, because she said:
“Don’t worry. Mik and Ayal are good people. Mik is a cousin of Bootham, the smith I’m apprenticed to—wasapprenticed too, that is, before those bastards burned our forge to the ground… Anyway, they’ll have beds for us. And Ayal’s cooking ought to be famous. And they have little tots who are about as cute as a pair of puppies. If you like that sort of thing.”
“I love kids,” Rohree said. “Always thought I might adopt one or two someday.”
Clua smiled. “Me too.”
They walked on, the dream of the welcome they’d receive carrying Rohree ahead as if on wings.
But the moment they entered the village, Rohree could see right away that something was wrong. The men working in the fields watched them with suspicion as they passed. The shops were silent, the vendor carts closed up, the dirt streets mostly empty. They found eleven flagpoles planted in the town square, each with a long black pendant affixed to it, moving like serpents in the breeze. Neither Rohree nor Clua had to say out loud what that meant. It was Gray Brotherhood religious symbology for the eleven lords of the abyss. Every single person seemed to be gathered in the town square, and everyone, even the children, was clad in gray.
“Perhaps we should keep walking,” Rohree whispered.
But Clua shook her head. “No. Whatever madness this is, Mik won’t be caught up in it.”
They avoided the square, cutting instead down a side path that ran behind a row of small, thatched-roof cottages. Goats in pens bleated, and crows perched atop fence posts watched, cawing as they passed. All else remained eerily silent exceptfor the distant, droning voice of someone speaking in the town square.
Some Gray Brotherhood propaganda, no doubt. What sort of dark lunacy were those dark monks peddling, Rohree wondered. She would have much preferred to slip out of town without finding out. But one glance at Clua’s face told her that wasn’t happening. The dwarf was concerned for her friends—and, perhaps, still dreaming of a warm meal, just as Rohree was.
“It’s just up here,” Clua said, speaking in a breathless whisper.
