Sister of the Dead

Chapter 7

T hey awoke before dawn at Aunt Bieja's urging, and gathered their belongings to leave before anyone saw them. Magiere was quiet the whole while, and said only a few words when she bade her aunt good-bye. She watched Bieja with worry as the elder woman exchanged token packets of herbs with Wynn. Leesil lingered back by his own pony.

The night before, it had surprised Leesil how little Magiere's aunt reacted to what he'd told her of the keep and the graveyard, though he'd said nothing of why he'd gone after Magiere. Aunt Bieja wasn't blind to the changes in her niece and remained sadly silent through Leesil's tale, only nodding now and then.

As they prepared to mount up, Bieja came to him last.

"Mind yourself," Bieja told him quietly, away from the others. "Between instinct and knowledge"-she nodded toward Magiere and then Wynn-"you'll need wisdom to balance things out."

To be taken so quickly into the gruff good graces of Magiere's one and only relative brought a lump up in Leesil's throat.

"You don't have to stay here," he said. "We have our place in Miiska."

Bieja's expression darkened like the Droevinkan sky. "This is my home, for better or worse."

"Think about it, please," he said.

Placing his foot in the stirrup, he swung up into the saddle and look down at her. The elder woman's face, for all its stoutness and darker color, wasn't far different from Magiere's.

"I'll think about it," she answered.

"Think hard," he said, and handed her a folded scrap of paper. "Or we'll be back to cause you more trouble."

Bieja frowned in puzzlement and took the parchment.

While the others had slumbered that morning, Leesil had torn a spare page from the back of Wynn's journal. He wrote a brief letter of introduction to Karlin and Caleb back in Miiska-with six silver sovereigns wrapped in it for Bieja's traveling money. He hoped she would heed his wish.

"If you change your mind," he said, "travel to Miiska and ask for Karlin or Caleb, and show them this letter. Either should recognize my scrawl, and it tells them you're Magiere's aunt. They'll get you settled at the Sea Lion. And this isn't charity. Caleb could use the help."

Aunt Bieja looked once more at the letter. She tucked it into her apron pocket, and her brown eyes grew warm as she patted his leg.

'Take care of my niece," she said.

And the next part of their journey began.

Three days later, Leesil felt little relief upon reaching the Vudrask River once again. His thoughts mixed upon themselves with all that had happened in Magiere's village, from the morbid discovery in the keep's hidden chamber to the chilling realization of Magiere's loneliness as a child. She had been shunned and despised for sixteen years, yet for all the cruelty, she'd had one person in those days who truly loved her and was willing to let her go her own way. It made him wonder if his parents had loved him, and if they had ever considered letting him choose his own path.

Part of him wished he and Magiere shared such thoughts more easily. In spite of their newfound closeness, they'd spent so many years avoiding any discussion of their pasts. Habit was quite hard to break.

When they reached a village along the Vudrask, it was late in the afternoon. They bought passage on another barge, east to Ke" onsk, the capital city of Droevinka. Cloak over his arm and charcoal scarf covering his ears, Leesil stood on the bank of the river. Its wide gray water flowed under an afternoon breeze that rushed across his face.

Down by the docks, Magiere haggled with two men from a passing caravan, trying to sell the ponies. Her cheeks glowed white under the overcast sky. When the sun peeked through the clouds, red glints surfaced in her black hair. Both men slowed their heated barter to stare. Even Leesil caught his breath, but not for the same reason.

Magiere didn't look like a creature of this world. She was too beautiful, her contrasts too severe. She frowned at the men as Leesil approached.

"I paid four silver sovereigns apiece for those ponies," she said, "and they're offering five for the lot."

Leesil looked at the men with lined faces and calculating eyes and wondered if they were brothers. "We're not in the trade… just looking for a fair price."

"If she paid too much for the beasts," one of them replied, "it is not our loss to bear."

Leesil glanced at Magiere. They had money to spare from the necklace Wynn sold off in Bela, but her stingy nature would not let this go.

The price settled at seven silver sovereigns for the ponies and the mule. Magiere wasn't satisfied, but the barge was leaving. Leesil pulled her away as he took the men's final offer. Once the barge left the shore, he settled with Magiere under their blanket. She was still annoyed.

"I'm not a miser," she said, though he'd made no such claim. "That was robbery. " She wrapped her hands around his leg beneath the blanket.

Wynn sat cross-legged on Leesil's other side. The young sage looked physically healthier for two nights indoors and eating Bieja's lentil stew. Her mood was another matter, though she wasn't half as withdrawn as Chap. The talking hide was laid out before him, but Chap showed little interest in conversation. After days on that troublesome pony, the barge's flat deck was such a relief to Leesil's backside that he didn't care. There was little reason to think Chap would be any less secretive than always.

And Leesil's mother waited-or so he hoped.

This urgent desire made him understand Magiere's desperation to discover her past even more. It also made him anxious to head north and trace what had happened to Nein'a. But the better part of him would still leave no stone unturned for Magiere's sake, and so they continued east, deeper into Droevinka.

Clear roads paralleled both riverbanks, and a stout oxen team on the south bank pulled them at a steady pace until dusk. Although they'd planned to sleep aboard the barge, at nightfall the vessel docked at another waterside settlement large enough to be a small town.

The trees nearby were too faded for this wet land, lacking the typical dark green, yet full winter was still a ways off. Between the clusters of huts spreading along the river to both sides of the landing, taller wooden buildings stuck up at the village's center and near the river. Along the road out the town's west end was a stable with a smithy. Just shy of this was one large, well-lit building.

"Is that an inn or common house?" Leesil asked one bargemen, and then he added to Wynn. "Perhaps we don't have to sleep outside again."

Wynn sat up expectantly and chattered to Chap in Elvish. The young bargeman looked at Leesil hesitantly.

"This is Pudurlatsat, a regular stop," he replied. "It's a strange place. Townsfolk will bring out any cargo in the morning."

"What do mean by strange?" Magiere asked. "If there's trade here, we should try to resupply."

The bargeman shook his head with a shrug. "Suit yourself, but this place is too dull for my taste, even when we land at midday."

Leesil raised an eyebrow, looking to both Magiere and Wynn.

"I prefer to sleep inside if possible," Wynn answered.

Magiere folded the blanket and picked up her falchion. "We'll see what they have to offer. There wasn't an opportunity to gather stores while we stayed with my aunt."

Leesil strapped on his punching blades and fastened his cloak so the weapons wouldn't attract attention. He didn't expect to need them, but the past few days had him on edge. He looked the place over as they walked up the dock and toward the sloping path to town.

Street lighting was scant as they approached the center of town. Oil pots hung from tripods at the four corners, where the dock path crossed the main road running through town. Wynn was a step ahead of Leesil, cold lamp crystal in hand to the light their way.

Chap growled softly and moved out ahead of her.

A tall wolfhound limped around the corner to peer at them from beside a tripod lamp. It didn't growl in return.

Leesil saw the animal's gaunt build and dull eyes coated in a film of age. He stepped up next to Chap, ready to grab the dog. Chap reacted to other canines in varied ways, sometimes friendly and at other times attacking without warning. Leesil never knew what to expect. Chap sniffed toward the newcomer and offered a soft whine.

"I think we should go back to the barge," Wynn said.

A trickle of fatigue washed over Leesil. He couldn't fathom why, and shrugged it off as he stepped onward past the wolfhound. "Let's at least check for an inn."

Once in the town's midway, Leesil made out signs above one shop for a leatherworker and another for a woodwright. There were a few people about, closing up for the day and going off to their homes or elsewhere. Most appeared to be old or middle-aged, moving slowly with a tired gait. He was about to head for the well-lit building they'd seen upon docking, when he realized Magiere was no longer beside him. She'd stepped beyond the intersection and stood looking down the main road the other way.

"What?" he asked, joining her, then noticed her worried expression.

"I'm… it's nothing," she answered. "It's a bit dreary compared to Miiska."

"You figure that out all by yourself?" he chided. "What tipped you off?"

She didn't even snap at him. As she turned around to head up the road, Leesil sighed and followed, waving Wynn on ahead of him.

Several villagers paused as they passed, but no one gave them much notice. The most distinct expression Leesil caught was a weary curiosity from a man with a burlap sack over his shoulder. He looked back once, for the man moved too slowly for his age, as if walking were an effort. The villager trudged along with his head down. The buildings around them gave way to small huts and cottages, and ahead Leesil caught the charred scent of the smithy.

"What can we do for you?" a voiced called from his left.

Leesil slipped his hand down to one blade strapped on his thigh. Magiere turned toward the voice as Chap circled back.

From a side path stepped a short, compact man in a leather hauberk wearing a sword sheathed on his hip. In the glow of Wynn's crystal, his eyes were light brown and alert, but his sand-colored hair showed hints of gray. Beside him was a petite young woman so pretty that Leesil blinked.

She resembled the man in coloring, but where his short hair was dull and lank, hers hung in a wheat-gold wave to the small of her back. Her eyes, round and large above a tiny nose, were nearly gold in the crystal's light. Her dress was the color of a sunflower, less drab and dingy than that of the other townsfolk.

"We're passing through on a barge," Magiere said, "and hoped to sleep indoors tonight, if you have an inn."

The man didn't answer at first, gaze dropping to her sword sheath peeking from beneath her cloak. "I am Geza, captain of my lord's guard," he said. "This is my daughter, Elena. The inn closed up a while ago, but there's the old common house."

He pointed to the well-lit building Leesil was steering them toward.

"The inn closed?" Leesil asked. "On a main route to the capital?"

"The proprietor passed away with no one left to take over," Geza answered.

Elena took a step closer, staring at Magiere's sword, as well as her bone amulet. She smiled at Wynn and Leesil.

"You are welcome," she said. "Father and I live near the manor, though I often come down with him on his rounds. I will help you settle in the common house, if you like. It's seldom used but for our own gatherings. Bring your dog, and I'll find supper for you."

"We can pay," Magiere answered.

"Of course," Elena replied.

She led them onward, and Geza followed behind, surveying all they passed along the way. There were fewer folk about and far more homes with scant light slipping through shutter cracks. Chap paused once along the way, head up and ears perked.

Beside a wide lumber cottage with a split shake roof was a small pen, its fencing made of scavenged branches bound by grass twine. The three thin goats within the enclosure made no sound, not even shuffling nervously at Chap's presence. Leesil noticed that the tall wolfhound was still following behind Chap at Geza's side.

"This is Shade," the captain said, and passed by to open the common house door. "She's a good dog, a fine hunter."

Leesil patted Shade's head, and the wolfhound wandered into the common house ahead of everyone. Wynn followed with Chap, but Leesil turned around. The road back through town was empty. The bargeman had called this place dull. A severe statement coming from one who lived in this land.

"I hate this country," Leesil muttered. "Oppressive and depressing, no matter where you turn."

"Figured that out, did you?" Magiere retorted. "And what was your first clue?"

Leesil ignored her teasing. Things here didn't fit together well. He'd seen no young people about except for Elena. Nothing but thin old goats, thin old dogs, and thin old people trudging about.

"Come inside," Magiere said. "We'll be on our way in the morning."

Leesil joined her, but the man with the burlap sack and half-hidden face lingered in his thoughts. There had been something wrong with that face. Like Geza's, it hadn't been quite old enough for the person who wore it.

Late in the night, Chap lay with his muzzle on his paws and his eyes on the common-house door. The place was little more than a large room with a simple kitchen out back and a few benches and tables. The dying fire still crackled in the wide stone hearth.

Magiere and Leesil had layered their bedrolls together and slept near the far wall. Magiere's leg was wrapped around both of Leesil's. Her head rested upon his shoulder, and her blanket of black hair spread across his chest. Wynn lay just behind Chap, curled under her own blanket, and Shade nestled against Chap's side.

Chap had never spent close time with another animal. Shade's eyes occasionally opened, and he licked her head, lulling her back to sleep with her own memories of warm hearths, wide fields, and mutton stew. But he would not close his eyes.

From the moment he had stepped across the town's threshold, a familiar discomfort nagged at him. His skin tingled, and he was on edge. It was not quite the hole he felt in the life of the world when he fixed his awareness upon an undead. Yet it was close. Then there was Shade, not as old as she appeared, who suffered the waning of essence that came only in late life.

Chap longed to hunt, to find what lingered in hiding here, but there had been no tangible scent or sense of what plagued this place.

So he lay with his eyes on the door.

Long past midnight, it creaked open.

Chap raised his head barely above his paws, scooting his back feet under himself, ready to lunge.

Shade's wiry head lifted. Instead of apprehension, Chap felt a weak glee from the wolfhound as she struggled up. Her tail switched slowly, and she stepped in front of him. Chap did not expect this and tried to maneuver around her. A wink of yellow in the dark caught his eye, and Elena slipped through the doorway in her sunflower dress.

He sensed only sorrow in the girl.

Shade went to Elena, haunches wagging as much as her tail. The girl dropped to her knees, and the hound licked her face. Chap stepped closer, looking directly into Elena's eyes.

"Help us," she whispered.

She thought he was a mere dog-yet she begged for his aid.

Chap trotted over to awaken Magiere.

Something wet pressed against Magiere's face.

She raised her hand to push it away. One eye opening, she stared right at Chap's nose. He grunted and dragged his tongue over her cheek again.

"Stop it," Magiere mumbled, wiping her sleeve across her face.

As she turned her back to the dog, her senses sharpened.

Chap would never wake her without a reason.

"Leesil, up," she whispered.

Next to Chap stood the tall wolfhound, Shade, and kneeling nearby was Elena. Her yellow dress was soiled from dust on the floor and her calm, friendly manner was replaced with urgency.

Leesil sat up beside Magiere. The soft sound of voices had roused Wynn, as well, and she rolled out her blanket, rubbing her eyes.

"You're the hunter," Elena whispered. "The one who kills the dead?"

Magiere felt heat drain from her flesh. No one they'd met on this journey had mentioned such things or connected her to the old backwoods rumors. She wanted nothing more of peasant superstitions.

"Help us," Elena said. "Please."

"Why do you think you need my help?" Magiere snapped at the girl.

Elena shrank back. "My lord sent me… to bring you to the manor to speak with him. Please help him. He'll pay whatever you ask."

"We're taking the barge to Keonsk tomorrow," Magiere said. "We don't have time."

Two tears slipped down Elena's face. "Just talk to him. That's all I ask."

"Now?" Leesil asked.

"He's waiting. He wants this kept a secret, so as not to give our people false hope."

Chap barked once. He trotted to the door and glared back at all of them with a low rumble.

"Oh, he actually wants to do something," Leesil grumbled. "He's been dragging his tail since we left Bela, and now he wants us to go with this girl."

"He thinks there's something to hunt," Magiere whispered.

She looked at Leesil, and though he was wide awake, he appeared haggard and exhausted. They'd shared a bed for nearly a moon, and only a few times had she awoken in the night to hear him mumbling in his sleep or feel him clench and twitch under an old nightmare. She would gently shake him and pull him close until he settled again into quiet slumber. But not this night, yet he looked as if he hadn't slept at all. Wynn swayed as she stood up.

"Are you all right?" Magiere asked.

Wynn rubbed her eyes again. "I am… just tired."

Magiere grabbed her boots and sword lying at the head of the bedroll. "Elena, what is going on here?"

The girl shook her head. "I don't understand it all. You must speak with my lord."

Magiere wished she'd listened to the bargemen and stayed out of this town.

"All right," Leesil said. "Give us a moment."

He pulled on his own boots and strapped on his punching blades. As he fastened his cloak, Magiere saw him pull out the topaz amulet she'd given him so it hung in plain sight.

"Wynn, bring the talking hide for Chap," he said.

Moments later, they hurried out into the night. Magiere took the lead, falchion unsheathed, and Chap trotted beside her. Elena and Wynn followed, with the wolfhound between them. Leesil fell back to the rear.

"How far is this lord's manor?" Magiere asked.

"Only a little ways," Elena answered. "It's not too far to walk."

When they reached the town's midway with the tripod lamps, Elena directed them inland. The dock path extended past its meeting with the main road and widened a bit as it headed through the trees and away from the river. Magiere glanced back every so often to see Leesil watching the side ways between the buildings. Once beyond the town, he looked through the trees to either side, all the while fingering the topaz amulet.

The land rolled slightly, but it wasn't as sharply hilled as around Magiere's home village. They came to a wooden bridge with railings that spanned a stream running over a rocky bed. The bridge was sturdy and wide enough for two horses to cross abreast. At the far side, a branch hung low in the way. Magiere pushed it aside to pass, and the limb snapped off. A cascade of pale needles fell loose to litter the bridge flooring.

The branch seemed dead, but it had withered and rotted so quickly that its needles had no time to wilt off.

"Something's out there," Leesil whispered.

Magiere looked back to see him watching the forest upstream.

"Wait here," he added.

As he slipped over the bridge's side, Magiere tightened her grip on the falchion. She glimpsed Leesil's cloak in the dark before he vanished from sight around a tree. When he didn't reappear on its other side, she stepped closer to the railing, trying to spot him again.

Leesil reappeared upslope from the stream and nearer the road beyond the bridge. As he stepped out into the open path, he waved them forward. Magiere urged Wynn and Elena on, and Chap ran ahead. When they caught up, Leesil gestured for Magiere to follow him.

"Chap, stay and keep watch over Wynn and Elena," he said.

Magiere followed Leesil into the forest. Any undergrowth was all but gone here, with patches of bare muddy earth all around. They headed downslope through the thinning trees, until Leesil stopped and pointed.

"Close to the water, this side of that large embedded rock," he said.

At first Magiere wasn't certain what to look for. Then she spotted a scattered handful of cattle by the water. They were so still.

"Didn't even jump when I came out of the trees," Leesil said. "Not surprising, from the look of them."

Magiere let her night sight open up.

The cattle were thin. Even from this distance, their ribs stood out against sagging skin. Their large eyes were half-closed, nether asleep or fully awake. What were they doing wandering loose in the woods, as if no one cared what happened to them?

"These are the worst," Leesil said. "The goats in the town were similar, and so are the people."

"I don't understand. " Magiere sighed, and Leesil shook his head in agreement, but his handsome face looked tired, like everything and everyone else here. She reached out and touched his cheek, letting her finger run down to his chin. "And I'm worried about you. I don't like this."

"Me neither, but we should find out what's going on."

She led the way back to the others, and they headed inland once more. Their destination appeared after only two more curves in the road.

While it wasn't a proper keep, the square building was two stories of fortified stone. Perhaps this deep into the country, away from the borderlands, there was no need for more. Other wooden buildings were set off to its sides, one tall enough to be a barn but with a peaked shake roof. A low stone wall encircled the grounds, and the road curved by a side path up to its large iron gate. Geza was waiting there.

"You came," was all he said, and he waved them through. The captain led them on to the doors of the large stone manor. Once they passed inside its entryway, there was a change.

Magiere felt jarred, as if in one step she'd crossed a distance to another place far away, separated from the world right outside. The interior was suitable for a fief noble or vassal lord, but it wasn't the luxury of their surroundings that brought this strange sensation. Something else had just happened, and she peered suspiciously back as Geza shut the doors.

"This is much better," Wynn commented, rolling her shoulders.

Braziers hung from the walls at the entryway's sides, and there were lanterns down the hallway ahead. Geza had them kick off their muddy boots in a small side room before he led them down the hallway. Over the stone floor was a dark blue carpet with fringed ends and patterned borders of maple leaves.

"It feels different here. " Leesil sighed in relief. "Less oppressive."

Geza gave them a quick side glance but didn't comment. "This way."

Magiere noted her companions' reactions. Both Leesil and Wynn looked more awake. Not fully rested, but alert. The captain ushered them through an open archway and into a large chamber.

Tapestries of hunting scenes were illuminated by old-fashioned iron braziers mounted in the stone walls. A walnut table with stiff high-backed chairs ran end to end across the room. On its other side was a large, arched fireplace. Piled logs crackled therein, sending a wall of heat across the chamber to its entrance. There were no servants, and Magiere had seen no other guards on the grounds besides Geza.

One chair was pulled near the blaze. In it sat a tall man in his early thirties staring blankly at the flames. He wore simple breeches and soft clean boots. His shirt, what Magiere could see of it, was dull white and in need of a wash, and he clung to a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and covering his arms.

Magiere couldn't imagine anyone feeling a chill in this sweltering room, and she stripped off her cloak to drop it over a chair.

The man's hair was sandy, like Geza's, but longer and ill-kept. Thick stubble on his jaw didn't suggest a beard so much as many mornings of forgotten grooming. Elena hurried over to him, putting her hands protectively on the back of his chair.

"They're here, my lord," she said, but when he didn't respond, she added, "Stefan… the hunter is here."

Magiere winced at the word hunter. She watched Elena's hand settle on the lord's shoulder and gently slide up to his neck into the back of his hair. Leesil tapped Magiere's arm and raised his white-blond eyebrows.

Was Elena serving as mistress of this house?

"You asked for us?" Leesil said.

The man blinked and turned his head to look at them. The lost expression in his eyes faded, but he didn't stand up. Instead, Elena motioned to wooden benches placed near the fire.

"It's so warm in here," Wynn said, and the lord sat up straight at her words.

"You may call me Stefan. " He spoke in Belaskian. "We lost the need for decorum a while ago, as prisoners do not have titles."

Stefan's gaze wandered to Magiere's sword and to Leesil's blades as he tossed his cloak on top of Magiere's before circling to the hearth. Magiere followed, ushering Wynn and Chap before her. Stefan's eyes rested a moment on Chap, and his mouth formed the beginning of a smile.

"I see my Shade has found a friend. All the dogs but mine were the first to go."

He slipped his right hand out from under the blanket, the other still tucked away, and Shade walked stiffly over to lick his fingers.

Magiere remained standing, while Leesil straddled a bench, loosening his shirt collar. Wynn sat down with Chap beside her.

"What about the other dogs?" Leesil asked.

Stefan didn't answer, but his faint smile remained as he studied Wynn more closely. The hide of Elvish symbols was half-unrolled beside her upon the bench.

"Who are you?" he asked. "It's difficult to imagine such a bookish girl involved with these other two."

"I help as I can," Wynn answered.

Magiere folded her arms. A few moments in this lord's languid presence was enough to stir her dislike of the man. He was likely useless and found himself far too tragic.

"Why don't you get to the point… why you called for us," she said.

"It's a rather long tale, but if you can help, I will pay anything you ask."

"Just tell us what plagues these people."

"My replacement," he said.

And he began his story.

Lord Stefan Korbori's wife, Byanka, wasn't beautiful, accomplished, or overly rich. He was a soldier, son of a second-generation noble who'd died in military service to Prince Rodek's father. Distinguished by only a minor title, he possessed both the ambition and the ability to lead, but he considered himself most fortunate to have won Byanka's hand. She was blood kin of the Antes house, favored second cousin of Ivanova, half sister to Prince Rodek. And Rodek was reining Grand Prince of Droevinka.

In Byanka's company, Stefan surfaced from the ranks of lesser nobles to the attention of Baron Cezar Buscan, Prince Rodek's chief counsel and Protector of the City in the capital, Keonsk. After quelling a peasant uprising over grain tax, at the age of twenty-eight, Stefan was rewarded with the Pudurlatsat manor and its coveted fief, only two days' travel down the Vudrask River from Keonsk.

He took his new responsibility seriously, and Byanka served well as his lady without complaint at being taken from court. She shared his ambitions and knew the fiefdom was a stepping stone toward favor with the Grand Prince himself. After two years in the fief, Stefan celebrated the birth of a son. In that hour, he felt affection for his wife that had nothing to do with her royal blood.

Crops flourished, his son learned to walk, taxes were collected on time, and the fief's commerce grew. After excelling in arms of war, Stefan showed his worth in orderly governing. Life was good as he returned home on a quiet night from a neighboring village. Byanka sat in the main hall by the huge hearth, teaching their son to pet Shade more softly and not pull on the dog's fur.

Stefan smiled. "Any luck?"

"Not really," Byanka answered. "It's fortunate she's so patient with him."

Stefan's wife was short, plump, and plain, with mouse-brown hair, but she paid careful attention to proper appearances. She had engaged Geza's daughter, Elena, as a personal maid to dress her hair every morning, though she rarely left the manor. Her idea of a good day was raising their son and enjoying a dinner with her husband, when they might discuss the future together. He appreciated her calm demeanor and understood her sacrifice in marrying him, and he promised himself she would never regret such a choice. In the years to come, he would surely be appointed to serve on the prince's counsel at court.

Geza, the captain of his guard, entered. "My lord, you have a visitor from Keonsk."

'Taxes aren't due for a month. Who is it?"

"I don't know him, my lord," the captain answered. "He calls himself Vordana and says he was sent by Baron Buscan. Should I show him in?"

"Vordana? No title?"

"None that he mentioned, sir."

This visitor was unlikely to be of serious importance and perhaps was only a messenger. Until he was certain, Stefan thought it best to receive this Vordana privately.

"Byanka, why don't you take the boy upstairs?"

With a smile for her husband, she whisked their son away. Soon after, Geza escorted the visitor in and left the room. Stefan didn't bother to mask his surprise.

Vordana was of medium height and slight of build. Unarmed, he wore a shin-length umber brown robe that swished when he walked, and it was tied closed by a scarlet cord. There was no mud on his boots. His clothing, unusual for travel, was not the most remarkable thing about him.

Around his young face of twenty or so years hung hair as white as that of an old man in his final days. It lay unbound across his shoulders, reaching to midtorso, and glowed vividly in the firelight of the warm hall. He wouldn't be thought handsome, with his thin-lipped mouth and deep-set eyes, but he was striking.

Stefan didn't know what to say and forgot even a polite greeting as Vordana circled the room, looking at everything but Stefan and nodding in approval.

"Yes," he said in a hissing slur, "this will do nicely."

"You are from Keonsk?" Stefan asked. "Baron Buscan sent you?"

Vordana turned as if seeing Stefan for the first time, or perhaps as one forced to take notice of another's presence. "Yes," he said again.

"You didn't come alone? Do you have men who need barracks for the night?"

Vordana stared at him through black eyes. "I have, two guards outside. I required no others, as those stationed here will serve my needs."

Stefan tensed, disquiet growing inside him. "My people will see to your needs for the night. Perhaps you should state your business."

"Business?" Vordana stopped near the hearth with his arms folded. "I am to assume the stewardship of this fief. Is that not part of Baron Buscan's authority, to award the fiefs of the Antes?"

At first, Stefan suppressed his rising alarm, wondering what he could possibly have done to fall out of favor. All was in order in the fief, and more so, it had improved in his care. He stilled his thoughts and stood his ground.

"I oversee this fief," he said, "and Baron Buscan has sent no word to the contrary. By your own address, you aren't even titled."

Vordana smiled with teeth as white as his hair. He coiled one hand into his robe and pulled out a rolled parchment.

"Here is the order signed by the baron. You have been reassigned to the cavalry under Baron Lonaes, on his way to Stravina concerning border matters. I understand you have a wife and child, so you are welcome to wait until morning to take your leave."

Stefan snatched the parchment from Vordana's hand. It bore the Antes seal.

He tore it open and scanned the contents twice to confirm every poisonous word. It ended with the rough signature of Baron Buscan. Stefan had somehow fallen from favor.

"It has all been arranged," Vordana said. "I am told you are devoted to the grand prince and the Antes house, and that you would respond with good grace and duty."

Stefan remained completely still for a moment. Then he jerked his sword from its sheath. Vordana's smile didn't have time to vanish before he ran him straight through the heart. Stefan's voice was quiet and sharp as he whispered to Vordana.

"Here is my good grace to you."

Vordana's smile faded. He tried once to gulp a mouthful of air and died before his body struck the floor. Dark red blood spread outward through the white shirt beneath his robe. From out of the shirt's collar tumbled a small brass vial, some strange token hanging by a chain, and it dangled over his shoulder upon the floor.

"Geza!" Stefan shouted.

His captain ran into the room, sword drawn, for Stefan never shouted. "My lord?" Geza began before he saw the body.

"Where are his guards?" Stefan demanded.

"Outside, in the courtyard," the captain answered. "Waiting with the horses."

"Find men you trust for discretion, and send them to the stables. Tell those two guards to take their horses there. When they are out of sight, have your men kill them both. Dispose of the bodies and mounts in the forest where they will not be found. If anyone comes to ask, we have had no visitors from Keonsk. Do you understand?"

Geza stared at him, but Stefan knew his captain would obey. Geza's own success in the ranks depended on Stefan's position. With a brief hesitation, the captain hefted Vordana's body over his shoulder and left once more.

Stefan took two long, slow breaths to quell his anxiety, then stood up straight. If Buscan truly wished to replace him, he would know soon enough, but something about the parchment felt wrong. It was unprecedented for a fief steward of title to be replaced with no prior word-and certainly not a lord in good standing. And not by some untitled miscreant. He would wait for further word from Keonsk.

A month passed, and nothing came.

Stefan began to relax. Geza showed some disquiet in his presence, but otherwise life remained ordinary. Until the night Byanka screamed.

Stefan sat in the hall by the fire and heard her horrified wails from the upper floor. He ran up the stairs, following her voice, and found her standing in their son's room, ripping at her hair.

In the bed lay his son, or what had once been his son.

The little face and hands were shriveled husks above the covers, and his eyes were open but dried and sunken. He looked like one abandoned in a wasteland to die of starvation and thirst, transformed into a dwarfish, withered old man. Stefan had kissed his son good night just hours before, and now the boy was dead.

Byanka cried out like a madwoman. "I hear the guards whispering. The visitor who came that night… What have you done to us?"

When Stefan reached out to give her comfort, she shoved him away and began howling again.

In the days that followed, her mood remained unchanged. One evening when Stefan again tried to calm her, he saw lines in her face and the darkening rings about her eyes. Fear filled him at the thought of an unknown plague spreading among them. He closed the manor to outsiders and kept his guards out of the villages as much as possible. Byanka continued to wane over the next three days. No matter how much water or broth she drank, she suffered from a terrible thirst. When she finally died, Stefan wept, crouched by her bedside, where she lay as withered as their son had been.

Within a moon, the peasants and animals of Pudurlatsat began dying.

Crops and trees withered along with them. Geza followed orders without question but wouldn't look his liege lord in the eyes. At the month's end, Stefan rode to an outlying village of the fief and found it thriving. Only the town nearest the manor, on the river to Keonsk, suffered this mysterious blight. He returned home that night at a loss for what could be done.

He feared sending word to Keonsk for assistance. He feared an inquest. Once in the courtyard, he handed his horse to a guard, walked to the manor's main hall, and froze in its archway.

A cloaked and cowled figure stood by the hearth. It took effort for Stefan to breathe evenly as he entered. Someone had come looking for Vordana. When the figure turned his way, Stefan's anxiety turned to horror.

Fair skin was as gray as Stefan's dead wife and son when he had buried them. The man's shin-length robe was soiled all over, as were his boots and bloodstained shirt. Stark white hair hung out of the cowl in dirty, lanky clumps. His eyes peered out from sunken sockets.

Stefan tried to speak, but his voice caught in his throat.

Vordana stood by the hearth.

Yes, came the word with its taint of reptilian slur, but Stefan was uncertain if he actually heard it aloud. He jerked out his sword and rushed around the hall's table.

Laughter surrounded him, and he stopped before the pale figure of Vordana. Disbelief made him dizzy as he held out his sword.

I am already dead, and that will not help you.

Vordana's dead lips never moved.

I could drain you to a husk, like your mate and offspring, but I want you to live a long, painful life… my puppet! Even your guards I will leave… for a while.

Stefan rammed the blade through Vordana's chest. The man lurched back one step, but that was all.

Unintelligible words, like a hum, built to an ache inside Stefan's head. His vertigo increased with those sounds in his skull, and he lost control of his body. His hands dropped limply to his sides, and his legs buckled until he knelt upon the floor.

Vordana did not bother to remove the sword from his chest. Stefan watched helplessly as the man's pale, begrimed hands clamped about his own head. Over the hum in his head came words he could understand.

I can maintain my watch here just as easily behind a puppet, but for my broken life, yours is forfeit. You remain in the manor, and by my command, if you step beyond the threshold, you will die in that instant. You will do whatever I instruct but always while locked within your stately cage. I will drain your town and land as I need to sustain myself. When they are gone, I will turn to you and your household.

And before you think that death is your escape, you will not join your son and wife by such an act. Look upon me to see what lies beyond your death if you attempt to take your own life.

Stefan lost awareness of the room, of himself, and of Vordana, except for the words that subjugated his own thoughts over the chant buzzing within his skull.

Then all was sudden silence, and he opened his eyes.

The hall was empty, as was the passage through the archway. He ran along it to the front door and pulled it open. There was no one outside.

In that quiet moment, it seemed his fevered imagination, fed with guilt and loss, had conjured him a nightmare. Had Vordana even visited him? Light-headed, he put his hand on the edge of the doorway to steady himself. A chill bit his hand through to the bones, and he fell back with a scream.

"What happened?" Wynn asked abruptly. "Could you not leave the house?"

Lord Stefan closed his eyes and shook his head. He opened the blanket wrapped about him and held up his hands. Or rather one, for the other was missing. All that Wynn saw of his left hand was a scarred stump of wrist.

"We had to cut it off," Geza said in Belaskian.

Wynn jumped at his voice. She had forgotten his presence across the room while she listened to Stefan's tale.

"It had to be removed before the rot of dead flesh spread," the captain added.

"Your wife and child," Magiere asked of Stefan. "Were there any wounds or other marks on their bodies?"

Elena shook her head, answering for him. "They just faded, the life draining from them."

"How did Vordana survive two thrusts through the heart?" Leesil asked. "And how did he trap this lord in the manor? What are we dealing with here?"

There was long pause.

"We hoped you would tell us," Stefan said.

"Well, he was certainly an undead, judging from your description," Leesil said. "Perhaps even a type of Noble Dead we haven't heard of."

"What is that… a Noble Dead?" Stefan asked.

"The highest, most powerful of the undead," Wynn answered. "They retain more of who and what they were in life than simple spirits of the dead. They move freely in the world under their own volition, but must feed on the living to sustain themselves. They can learn, grow, become more than they are, like the living."

Magiere grunted at this last comment, but Wynn did not respond. They never spoke of their disagreement over Chane in the sewers of Bela, but Wynn knew Magiere had been wrong. It stood to reason that if not all humans were the same, then not all vampires were the same either. Lord Stefan's replacement was certainly another matter.

"So Vordana is one of your Noble Dead," Stefan said, pulling the blanket around himself again. "He gained a title after all."

"By what you described, he's a mage," Leesil said. "We've run into such among the undead before."

Wynn caught Leesil's glance toward her. Obviously Magiere was not the only one to recall that moment in Bela's sewers.

"Could he do this to himself?" Leesil asked her. "Raise himself from the dead?"

Wynn shook her head. "I don't know. At my homeland guild, we study many things to prepare for becoming journeyman sages. Domin il'Samaud was my instructor for arcane arts, but I never heard mention of anything like this. There was talk of life-theory, and how some conjurors focus on spirit work. A few to the extent of reanimating the dead."

There was one small detail of Lord Stefan's tale that surfaced in Wynn's thoughts.

"You mentioned that Vordana wore something around his neck."

Stefan nodded. "A small brass vial on a chain. A token of some kind, I assumed."

"Some conjurors use brass containers," Wynn continued, "to trap conjured or summoned elemental material, including that of spirit-even a human spirit. But to do so as preparation against one's own death, or to reconjure one's own spirit back from death… It would be impossible."

Wynn felt Chap pawing at her leg. The dog snatched the rolled hide sitting on the bench and pulled it to the floor. She reached down and finished unrolling it, and Chap began tapping upon it with his paw.

"What is he doing?" Elena asked.

"It's a bit much to explain," answered Leesil.

Wynn followed his movements until he stopped and looked up at her.

"Tolealhan "… will-craft?" she asked in puzzlement.

At first it made no sense, but when clarity struck, she wished it had not.

"Sorcery," Wynn whispered. Chap barked once to confirm it before she continued. "I know what was done. Vordana placed a has upon Lord Stefan."

"Sorcery is outlawed," Leesil said. "And what do you mean?… What's this has?"

"It is Numanese, my language," she answered. "I do not know a Belaskian word for it. Tolealhan' is Elvish and could refer to a mage of the mental realm. That is sorcery, just as the arcane of the physical realm is thaumaturgy, and that of the spiritual is conjury. In the Elvish of my continent, has translates to gyeas. It is a task set so deeply into one's mind that the victim would 'will' its own death rather than fail to accomplish it."

She looked at Stefan, and though there was twisted justice here for what he had done to keep his position, she pitied him.

"Magic does not hold a gyeas in place," she said to Stefan. "It becomes part of you, your thoughts, like a hidden memory you refuse to forget. Deep inside, you believe beyond doubt what will happen if you fail to obey. Only a countering gyeas might break this."

"And that would require a sorcerer, like Vordana," Stefan replied, his gaze distant.

There was nothing more Wynn could offer, and the following silence bore down on her. Leesil finally changed subjects.

"Your replacement was sent by the prince's man," he said to Stefan. "Why didn't someone come to investigate when you never reported for your new duties?"

"Perhaps it was all a lie, and Baron Buscan didn't know. " Stefan pulled the blanket tighter, shaking his head. "And all I did was for nothing but fear."

"That seems unlikely," Magiere said. "Anyway, all that matters is what we can fight."

"Sorcery is not just used upon victims," Wynn cautioned.

"It can be used to expand the powers of the sorcerer's mind. It is the most insidious of the three magics, but it is not what brought Vordana back. To do this, he would also have to be a master of conjury, with power I have never read of. Even in studies with Domin il'Samaud, there were few legends of individuals who mastered and combined all three magics into what is called 'wizardry. "

"Oh, lovely," Leesil groaned. 'Then there's someone else who did this for him."

Magiere's expression hardened as she paced once before the hearth's expanse, tossing her head toward Stefan.

"So, now we decide… whether or not we help a murderer."

Wynn's own surprise at such harsh words was broken as Elena spat back with equal venom.

"How dare you? You've no idea what he's suffered. Will you help our people or not?" Her tiny hand remained protectively on her lord's shoulder.

Stefan raised his one hand to cover hers. "Enough. It's all right."

Wynn stared up at Magiere. "It is the people here who need our help."

"We need to discuss this ourselves," Magiere said bluntly. "Alone."

Stefan nodded and stood, heading for the archway. Elena followed him with Geza close behind.

Until leaving Bela on this journey, Wynn had always lived with the sages and worn simple gray robes. For a moment, watching Elena with her lord, she wondered what it would be like to have a mass of wheat-gold hair, to wear a dress, and to have a man grasp her hand. She pushed such thoughts away.

"Magiere, you know we can't refuse," she insisted. "Vordana may take his time in torturing Lord Stefan, but he does so through the people of this fief. Sooner or later, he will kill everything here and perhaps move on to another settlement."

"I'm not so sure… about moving on," Magiere said. "And we have no way to find this Vordana. I've sensed nothing since we docked here, and Leesil's topaz has shown no sign."

"Perhaps Vordana is too far off, somewhere else," Wynn argued.

"No, he's close," Leesil answered. "With what this lord has told us and what we've seen, he's near enough."

"Could Chap track this thing?" Magiere asked.

The dog barked three times.

"That means maybe, so he is uncertain," Wynn said. "But he might not need to. I am not a mage, but there may be something I can try… a small mantic trick. Connections exist between all things, especially the living. If Vordana sustains himself by absorbing life energies around him, I might be able to see it happen, as it affects the layer of Spirit in this place. I could find him."

Leesil shook his head. "Wynn, this sounds like-"

"It would be like watching the surface of a lake," she cut in, "when a trough has been gouged somewhere along its shore. The whole surface shows signs of movement in the direction of drainage-in the direction of Vordana. I have some notes from my studies, and I think I can do this much. We have to try. Is this not what you do? Hunt the undead?"

Wynn fell silent. Once, in Bela, she had tried to focus her own life energies to speed the healing of Leesil's flash-blinded sight. It had seemed to work, but she was forthright in stating that she was no mage. What she proposed was more than bolstering the natural processes of life. But what choice did they have? She could not believe Magiere was ready to walk away from this on the moral grounds that Stefan was to blame, even if he had murdered two innocent guards.

Magiere closed her eyes in resignation and nodded. That was enough answer for Leesil.

"We'll try it your way, Wynn. " Leesil reached out to pat her hand. "We'll try it your way. But there's one more thing. By Stefan's tale, Vordana said he was here to watch. But for what and why?"

"I caught that, as well," Magiere said, "but I'm not certain what it means."

Elbows on knees, Leesil folded his hands and leaned his forehead upon them. "A spy… perhaps a scout, someone preparing a foothold for war."

Wynn sat up straight and spoke out too loudly. "That makes no sense. Belaski is prosperous, and Stravina is on constant guard from the provinces in what you call the War-lands. Who would invade?"

"Not from outside… from within," Leesil said. "A civil war. If Buscan did send Vordana, then why hasn't he followed up? Unless he can't do so openly. Or it's possible someone else tried to place Vordana here on watch for a reason."

"It's not our concern," Magiere said, though Wynn saw Leesil's words working upon her. "So, do we assist Lord Stefan… all three of you? This may get ugly in ways we can't foresee, and I want to be in agreement."

Chap yipped once, and Wynn nodded.

"No matter what Elena says," Leesil growled, "that lord is a self-serving bastard. Make him pay until it hurts. And as much as this pains me, make him throw in some horses. That barge isn't going to wait for us, and we'll be back to traveling by land when this is over."

"We'll gather our belongings from the barge in the morning," Magiere said. "We stay on the manor grounds tonight.

It seems to be the only place Vordana doesn't touch, and judging by the change in you and Wynn since we entered the manor, I believe that much."

"Yes," Wynn said in relief. "I will tell them we are staying."

Magiere picked up her cloak and turned back to Wynn. "I'm glad you're with us.

Wynn's face flushed. "I am, too. " To her surprise, she meant it. She only hoped that when the time came, she could do what she claimed.