The Dread: The Fallen Kings Cycle: Book Two (49 page)

Aidane stopped at an inn that was far enough from the palace to assure her that none of the guards who stopped in for ale would recognize her. It was early enough in the day that the inn was still mostly empty of customers. In
the bar, a drunk dozed near the fire while two men drank and played dice in the corner. Aidane approached the man behind the counter. He was big and raw boned, with a broad face and unremarkable features topped by a shock of hair the color of dried cornstalks.

“What’s your business here?”

Aidane managed a businesslike smile. “I’m a seer and a fortune-teller. I’d like to pass the evening in your common room telling fortunes, and I’d be willing to share my wages in return for a meal and a bed for the night if there’s any to spare.”

The innkeeper tilted his head to have a closer look at her and Aidane was grateful for her decision to leave her fancy clothes behind at the palace. Nothing about her very plain dress and cloak indicated her status as a
serroquette
. “Are you any good?”

Aidane took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a moment, reaching out to the spirits around her. She frowned, listening. Finally, she opened her eyes and looked at the innkeeper. “There’s a little girl named Vivian who wants to know why you don’t sing to her anymore. She liked to hear you sing, but you don’t sing at all, not in a long time.”

The blood drained from the innkeeper’s face, and he made the sign of the Lady in warding. “You can see her?”

Aidane nodded. “Her head’s just about as high as your hip, and she’s got hair like you, but dark eyes and a nose that tips up.”

The innkeeper steadied himself against the bar, looking as if he might faint. “That’s my daughter, my little Vivian. Took fever last spring and died. I used to sing her to sleep, sang all the time she was sick, hoping it would bring her around. I haven’t sung since I buried her.”

Aidane swallowed hard and listened to the ghost before replying. “She’d like to hear you sing at the bar like you used to. She’s sorry she had to go away, but she’ll stay with you here if you’ll sing to her now and again.”

The innkeeper’s pale blue eyes had gone as wide as saucers. He nodded, as if still overwhelmed by the message. “Yes, tell her I’ll do it. It’s good to know she’s still with me. I miss her so much.”

“She never left,” Aidane said gently. “When you stopped singing, she thought you’d forgotten about her.”

“Never,” the innkeeper said, his voice breaking. “Never.” He looked at Aidane for a long moment without speaking, and then nodded as if finishing an internal conversation. “All right. You’ve convinced me. And I owe you for that. Tell your fortunes for as long as you want. Pay me a third of what you make and I’ll give you a meal and a room if there’s one to spare; else, you can sleep in the hayloft out back.” He managed a wan smile. “Not as much traffic as there used to be, with the war and that Buka around, but maybe people will hear tell of you and that would be good for business, huh?”

Aidane thanked him and found herself a chair near the fire where she would be able to strike up conversations as the inn grew more crowded. As she turned away from the bar, she heard the innkeeper begin to sing in a faltering voice, quietly, as though to himself. She looked back and saw Vivian’s ghost seated cross-legged at the end of the bar. The ghost smiled and waved at her, and Aidane waved back.

The evening was prosperous. With Sohan over, many travelers were on the road, returning to their homes after visiting the city, or resuming their travels after having paused a while for the festival. As the night wore on and
word spread about Aidane’s ability to communicate with the spirits and weave fortunes from their advice, she found her services in demand until late into the evening.

Aidane listened to the talk as the tavern’s regulars gossiped. Tales of unfaithful spouses, hard luck, and unfair taxes circulated, much as in every tavern. One conversation made Aidane focus her attention.

“Said they found his body in the woods outside of town. Horse must’ve bolted,” a soldier said with a shrug to the other guardsmen who listened to his tale. “Broke his neck when he fell. Snapped clean. Lord Norden’s beside himself, so they say.”

Lord Norden’s son
, Aidane thought, catching her breath.
It can’t be an accident. Kolin must have found out. This is all my fault
.

“Lord Norden’s got other troubles to keep his mind busy,” said one of the other guards. “Heard the queen’s guards took him for aiding the Durim. Wonder who’ll get his lands, with his son dead and all.” He tossed back the last of his ale. “Won’t be me, that’s for sure.” The other soldiers chuckled and rose, leaving coins on the table for their ale.

The soldiers’ conversation replayed itself in Aidane’s mind throughout the evening. When the tavern was empty of all but the innkeeper and a patron who had passed out over his table, Aidane finally stood and stretched.

“Goddess, what a night! I hope you did as brisk a business in ale as I did in telling fortunes!”

The innkeeper stopped humming, glanced up, and then blushed self-consciously. “Aye, that we did. And I’ll thank you for telling them good fortunes, for the most part, so that they were of a mind to drink a toast or buy a round for
their friends.” He winked at her. “Though come to think of it, the ones who found out they were to come to grief drank many a pint to ease their sorrows.”

Aidane emptied out the apron where she had kept the night’s earnings on the bar and counted the coins in front of the innkeeper, giving him his share. To her surprise, he pushed the coins back to her and shook his head. “Not tonight. I appreciate that you meant to hold up your end of the bargain, but you gave me back my Vivian, and I can’t take your coin tonight.” He managed a sad, crooked smile. “Now tomorrow night, if you’re of a mind to stay a while, I’ll take a cut. Sit down while I get you the food and ale I promised you. As for a bed, well, the rooms upstairs are full, but I can give you blankets to take to the hayloft. It’s warm out there above the horses, and none of the guests should bother you.”

Aidane was about to decline, but the thought of making her way back through the dark streets made the hayloft an attractive alternative. “Thank you,” she said, gratefully accepting the heel of bread the innkeeper handed her and the bowl of steaming soup. Vivian’s ghost scampered from her place at the end of the bar to sit across from Aidane and prattled on with tales and imaginings that kept Aidane entertained as she ate. When one of the girl’s comments made Aidane chuckle aloud, the innkeeper gave her a sideways look.

Aidane pushed the empty bowl aside. “Your daughter is a charming girl. She’s been telling me stories while I ate. Your singing has cheered her up tremendously, and she likes that I can hear her.”

Sorrow darkened the innkeeper’s eyes. “Aye, she was a spark of light, my Vivian. There’s nothing good as having
her live again, but since she can’t, it’s something to know she’s still with me. Something important. Thank you.”

To shake off his mood, the innkeeper began to bustle around, closing up the tavern and fetching two hard-used and threadbare blankets for Aidane. “It’s all I’ve got,” he said apologetically. “They should be right enough for you, with your cloak. Night’s not too cold out.”

Aidane thanked the innkeeper again and followed him to the back of the tavern. A small barn sat a few dozen paces from the inn’s back door. “There’s a ladder on your right to the loft. I don’t fancy taking a candle or a lamp out there what with the hay and all, but the moon’s bright enough you should be able to make your way. Sleep late as you want; not much happens at the bar until after midday.”

With that, the innkeeper headed back inside, and Aidane made her way across the patchy grass in the small open area between the barn and the inn. Between the light that shone from the windows of the inn and the partial moon, Aidane could see well enough to avoid the well and the watering trough, as well as the hitching rail. Twice, she thought she caught a motion in the shadows, but no ghosts answered when she called, and when she turned her head, she saw nothing. With a sigh, she climbed the rickety wooden ladder to the loft.

Down below, horses snuffled and shifted. The loft was open in the center, all the way down to the horses and the packed-dirt floor below. Ropes and pulleys hung limply from the beams overhead. The barn smelled of animals, new hay, and sweet feed. Once more she thought she saw shadows move strangely toward the back of the barn, but when she stood still and stared, she saw nothing else, and she finally convinced herself it was just a trick of the
waning moonlight. Stomach full and still happy about being able to do a good turn to Vivian and the innkeeper, Aidane wrapped herself in the blankets and settled down on the hay to sleep.

The moon had set when the voice woke her.
Wake up. Bad man coming. Wake up!

It took Aidane a moment to realize that the warning had not been spoken but sounded in her mind. She shook herself awake to see Vivian crouched beside her. The child looked terrified.
Wake up. Bad man is downstairs. Hide!

Just then, Aidane heard footsteps and the crunch of gravel. She reached out to sense if other ghosts might be able to tell her what was happening, but the spirits that had been plentiful earlier had fled, all except for Vivian.

Buka!
Aidane thought. Only Buka or the Black Robes could inspire such terror among the dead. Just then, Vivian gave a choked sob of terror and winked out of sight. Aidane heard the ladder creak under someone’s weight as the intruder began to climb.

Desperate, Aidane looked around the loft. She saw a pitchfork stuck tines down in a mound of hay and wriggled out of her blankets, stretching and shifting as noiselessly as possible until she could grasp the pitchfork. She waited in the darkness, pitchfork poised, watching the space where the ladder opened into the loft.

A man’s head and shoulders rose above the opening. In the dim light, Aidane could barely make out the form of a bald man’s head and broad shoulders. The head turned until the man was staring straight at where she hid in the shadows. A dangerous smile crept across his features and his eyes glinted with malice.

“I know you’re up here, ghost whore. I can feel your
magic. I have a little of my own. Just enough to feel the souls when they slip from their bodies. All I need is your blood. Just blood. Blood to feed my amulets, to silence the voices for a little while. I have a charm to make them go away. You shouldn’t have run from me. I’d have killed you quickly. Now,” he said and clucked his tongue. “I don’t have all my knives with me. It will take longer.”

Aidane gave a loud
whoop
and ran toward Buka, pitchfork angled at his throat. His arms had not yet cleared the narrow opening in the floor, and Aidane sank the tines deep into his chest and shoulder and then ran for the edge of the loft as Buka howled in pain.

The long handle of the pitchfork thrashed as Buka struggled to free himself, and it caught Aidane on the knee, sending her sprawling. She had hoped to let herself over the loft’s edge and drop to the floor below, but she fell, stumbling toward the edge. At the last minute, Aidane managed to grab one of the ropes dangling from overhead. It was enough to slow her fall to the stable below, though the rough hemp burned her hands. Aidane gathered her skirts and limped out of the barn, hearing Buka’s footsteps pounding behind her.

Buka was gaining on her. She caught a glimpse of him, blood streaming down his shoulder and left arm. His face was twisted with hatred and the intensity of a hunter keen on his prey. She also saw the glint of metal in his hands—knives meant for her. She screamed, wondering whether the innkeeper and his guests would bother to rouse themselves. A sharp pain exploded through the back of her head, and Aidane stumbled as a rock bounced behind her. She could feel something warm and sticky begin to drip down her neck. She was almost to the back door of the
inn, but there was no guarantee that the innkeeper hadn’t thrown the bolt. Another rock caught her between the shoulders, and a third found its mark against the other side of her head.

Aidane fell but she kept on crawling, even though she could hear Buka just steps behind her.
Somewhere, there has to be a weapon
, she thought, but the ground near the hitching rail was bare. She dug her fingers into the dry dirt and flung a handful in Buka’s face just as he reached down to grab for her, then rolled to the side as he clawed at his eyes. She kicked hard at his kneecap, scrambling to get back to her feet before Buka could see again.

Suddenly, the shadows began to move. Aidane caught her breath. Her magic sensed no spirits, and yet shadowed shapes were closing in on them from all around the yard. Featureless, yet with the bodies of men, the shapes moved silently and swiftly. Aidane braced herself to fight, curling her fists tight. The shadow shapes were nearly upon her.

A flash of silver streaked through the air. Crimson fountained from Buka’s throat and a look of surprise crossed his face. His hands clutched at his open flesh as blood continued to gush down his chest. More silver streaks hissed through the cold night air, piercing Buka’s body with deadly accuracy. The shadows grew closer. Their approach was silent and their movements had the fluidity of dancers. Buka gave a hoarse cry and collapsed in a pool of his own blood, his chest studded with silver knives.

The shadow shapes gathered around Buka, and one of them toed the body over and then bent to yank a charm from the strap around his butchered throat. He tossed the talisman on the dirt and ground it under his heel.