Poking the bear

Previously: Esmiralda and her companions have discovered that the shattered ship—found upside-down and in the middle of a forest—was once captained by Harfirgorn the Merciless, a pirate of some repute that had vanished long ago. Following clues in a log book they find in the pirate’s quarters, they hope to discover his final resting place. On the way, they meet up with a lady of the wood, whose husband has succumbed to the vile magic of the pirate's witch. Together, they search for the source of her vile magic. They approach a small village in hopes of news, information or, at least, a hot meal.

 

Unfortunately, they may have found something else, instead...

 

As the man approached, he stuck his little finger into the corner of his mouth. Slurping noises followed.

Merrick shifted uneasily on the bench, while Broo Fang Tane let out a deep sigh and hung his head. Across from him, Seymuhr chuckled briefly.

The men were all dressed alike: dirty pants with long shirts that hung open about the neck. They were stocky, if not large, and looked like they were used to hard labor with thick arms and broad shoulders. One of them followed their leader, a step behind and slightly to the side, scratching at his beard. The other broke off in an attempt to circle us.

"We don't want any trouble," Merrick said. "We're just looking for a hot meal, and maybe a bath."

The first man sat down beside Tane, slipped his finger out of his mouth, stuck the damp digit into Tane's ear and wiggled it vigorously. His companions laughed at Tane's disgusted expression and even Seymuhr hid a snicker.

"What do you think about that, monk?" The man said. There was a smile on his face, but little humor in his voice.

"I thank...you," Tane responded in his usual, lilting way. "I had not cleaned....my...ear in some...time." His eyes were closed and his breath came in slow, even intervals. 

"Well, then the other one is just as filthy!" With that, he slipped his arm around Tane's shoulders and stuck the wet pinky in his other ear. Several things happened at once.

The tavern keeper reappeared. "Now, Lobern, we don't want to start a fight with these good people..."

"What's wrong with you?" I shifted away from Tane and directed the indignant outburst to the man called Lobern.  

"Nothing. What's wrong with him?" He patted Tane on the top of his head like he was rewarding a dog—only with a little more force.

"I only seek a meal and some rest," Tane said. "Please there are...other...places to sit."

"And other ears to poke," Merrick put in. "Please, you've had your fun. You don't know what are doing."

"Sure I do," Lobern said and he looked up at one of his companions, a blond man who stood behind Seymuhr, just out of reach. "Gorb, what am I doing?"

"Sending a message," Gorb said with a shrug, "and making sure it is heard."

"What you are doing," Merrick hissed, "is making a terrible mistake. That man is a mighty warrior—a fighter and killer without peer. You tempt your own fate and court your own end. You beckon Ewl."

I glanced from Merrick to Tane. Surely, Tane had dispatched the Hunyn easily enough. I had thought that Seymuhr, with his thick slabs of muscle and pair of maces, was the bigger threat.

"Is that so? Are you working for the dark god itself?"  Lobern leaned in and pinched Tane's cheek. His voice suddenly got higher, and he affected a lisp--like a mother speaking to a small child. "But you're so yittle! And cute!"

Seymuhr laughed at that. The third villager closed in.

"I work for no dark god," Tane said. His head was still lowered, his breath coming in slow even intervals. I thought I detected a ragged edge to them, though. His fingers twitched and formed a fist. "I..."

Lobern wasn't paying attention. Instead he had pulled a long, slimy thing from his nose and dangled it for his two companions to see. He draped it over Tane's clenched fist. "Thanks. I was wondering where I was going to put that," he said, then sparked a round of laughter with a bellowed guffaw and slapped Tane on the back.

I looked helplessly at Merrick, wondering what we should do, then at Seymuhr, begging him silently to intervene on Tane's behalf. He looked as amused as the three villagers.

Lobern leaned in, sneering. "We don't like people walking in here, speaking of evil--there's enough of that about already. But mostly, I just don't like you, no matter how 'yittle' or 'cute' you may think you are..." He continued to poke Tane and then I saw Merrick's eyes open.

For the monk had started to make a strange sound: a sort of quiet, high-pitched growl that grew in intensity as his hands tightened into fists and I heard the bones there cracking. The growl grew in volume and then, as his eyes snapped open and lip quivered in rage, Broo Fang Tane exploded into action and the screaming started.

Next: Down on Maim Street

A meal, interrupted

Previously: Esmiralda and her companions have discovered that the shattered ship—found upside-down and in the middle of a forest—was once captained by Harfirgorn the Merciless, a pirate of some repute that had vanished long ago. Following clues in a log book they find in the pirate’s quarters, they hope to discover his final resting place. On the way, they meet up with a lady of the wood, whose husband has succumbed to the vile magic of the pirate's witch. Together, they search for the source of her vile magic. They approach a small village in hopes of news, information or, at least, a hot meal.


"You seem unsettled," I said to Tane, who looked like he would rather be anywhere else in Korin, even if it meant having his ears chewed off by rats.


"It is...nothing," he responded with a quick half bow. "I will be strong."


"Strong? The only strong thing you'll need down below is your appetite," I said. "I, for one, am looking forward to a meal we don't have to catch."


"We can hope."


I glanced at Merrick, who looked as anxious as Tane. I caught up to him at the base of the hill as he ran a hand through his tangled hair. Slightly winded, he leaned on his staff.


"Is there something you should be telling me?"


He gave me a tight, false smile and shook his head. "No need to fear," he said, his words clipped.


There were three structures huddled around the base of the hill. The Inn or blacksmith shop to our left, a rather large home to our right--both square buildings with stout roofs made of straight logs covered with entwined branches. A small flat road of sorts separated them; it curled around a large barn and disappeared into the forest. The sound of an axe biting into wood came from beyond the barn.


"A strange place for a public house of any sort," I muttered, wondering if that was the cause for my companions' nervousness. The only one who seemed oblivious to the tension in the air was Seymuhr, who stood idly by, sniffing his armpit.


"Perhaps there is a larger settlement beyond that bend," Merrick said.


I was not overly familiar with the area and did not know for certain. I shrugged and headed for the door of the larger building. My stomach led me. I was so hungry I didn't know if I had enough coin to fill my belly.


Inside, we found a large open room filled with rectangular tables bordered by sturdy benches. There must have been a large number of people nearby, for the room could comfortably sit several dozen. A staircase to our left led to an upper level. Near that sat an empty counter  with several stools in front of it. A door was on the other side and I could hear someone working behind it, whistling as he did so. There was another door to our right and it looked like a type of good store beyond. This structure was apparently the center of commerce.


"Pick a seat," Seymuhr growled, "and I'll pick mine."


I ignored the implication, but reminded myself not to shake his hand. I chose a table near the far wall and Merrick followed, clapping his hands once. He called out and I heard a muffled response from beyond the counter.


Seymuhr slapped the table as he sat down. It wobbled and dust filtered down from the ceiling under the force of his blow.


"I'm coming!" A short bald man emerged, scowling. "Early AND impatient today, eh...?" He stopped short when he saw our odd company. He had evidently been expecting a crew of regulars, fresh in from the fields or wherever else they toiled. "My apologies, good sirs," he muttered as he hurried toward us. "I meant no offense. Travelers are rare this time of year."


"No offense given," Merrick bellowed, a broad grin on his face. A sheen of sweat on his forehead was the only thing to betray any nervousness he felt. I glanced around, still wondering at the source of his and Tane's anxiety. "My companion here is indeed impatient--and with an empty belly besides. It is he who should be offering apologies."


Seymuhr did not take the hint.


"Alas, he's a bit simple," I put in. "I offer mine in his place. We are indeed quite hungry and the thought of a well-cooked meal has dulled our sense of decorum. What do you have to offer?"


The barkeep's brow wrinkled, as if he puzzled over my words. "We've some piping hot spider stew that will chase that hunger, right enough," he said. "'Tis a creamy mixture with hunks of potatoes and plenty of meat. No need to skimp on that, hereabouts!"


"Indeed not," I tried to keep the disappointment out of my voice. "I was hoping for something a little..."


"Bigger? Oh, a man-sized appetite is it then?" He chuckled and winked at Merrick. "I should've guessed that, so I should. It would be no trouble at all to stoke up the fire and cook up a couple of flank steaks, then. Perhaps with some turnips and mushrooms?"


I nodded. "That sounds wonderful. I am a bit surprised; I didn't see or hear any cattle on the way here."


The barkeep made a funny noise through his loose lips. "Cattle? Why in Allon's Mallet would you think we'd have cattle? There's no point--the spiders would just eat them all. No, no no. I caught some huge, fresh beasties--plucked them first, of course--and sliced only the best part of the carapace. Very juicy."


"Oh. Spider flanks. I see."


"I thought you'd be impressed. Would you like one or two?"


"My good man," I said instead, "would you have anything for a more, er, discerning tongue?"


He stiffened a bit and color rose to his cheeks. "Of course. My manners and my brains must having a tryst in the shade. You are obviously city-folk, and accustomed to more than simple fare. This will cost you a bit more coin and take a little longer--I've not yet started to prepare it yet--but I can offer you a fine plate of Sarf d'broule."


"We are fortunate to have such a creative and thoughtful host. I'm not familiar with the dish, however. How is it prepared?"


He leaned in, a conspiratorial gleam in his eye. He even looked to either side, as if unsure if he should offer the details to us. "I start with fine, aged spider legs, smoked for a full fortnight over..."


"Actually, I'm not that hungry after all." I sat back, crestfallen, and let Merrick order four bowls of spider stew.


The tavern keeper turned, but Seymuhr put a hand on his arm. "Bring the rest of that slop, too," he said.


"Mira," Merrick said sympathetically. "It's better than eating them raw, or burned over a fire."


"Meh."


"One man's delica...cy is another...man's vomit," Tane whispered, his expression still grave.


"That's not helping," I said and was about to say more when the door opened and Merrick cursed under his breath.


Three men stood in the shadows of the door frame. They looked surprised to see four strangers sitting in their tavern. Then the first man gave the other two a sly smile, pointed directly at Tane and said:


"Well, well, well. What do we have here?"


They closed the door behind them and headed our way.








 

The Village in the Hills

Previously: Esmiralda and her companions have discovered that the shattered ship—found upside-down and in the middle of a forest—was once captained by Harfirgorn the Merciless, a pirate of some repute that had vanished long ago. Following clues in a log book they find in the pirate’s quarters, they hope to discover clues to his final resting place. On the way, they meet up with a lady of the wood whose husband has succumbed to the vile magic of the pirate's witch. Together, they search for the source of her vile magic.


We crested a hill and saw a small village laid out in the valley below us. A few houses were huddled near another, larger structure that looked like an inn or a trading post--perhaps both, for it had an enclosed pasture behind it that backed up to the forest. Near that a barn sat with open doors. Two horses grazed outside, although what they nibbled on I could not be sure. The yard contained more dirt than grass. I heard the rhythmic sound of someone chopping wood, but could see no one.


The inn was a long rectangular structure that had a second story perched above the end closest to us. A chimney made of rough stone let out a thin wisp of smoke from the other side. The smell of roasting meat reached my nostrils and my stomach rumbled with desire.


Merrick frowned down at the small settlement and scratched his head. He looked questioningly at me, and I nodded. Seymuhr stretched his arms and Broo Fang Tane wore a slightly worried expression.


"Do you know anything of the people here?" Merrick asked Baram.


She nodded once. "They are simple folk, but good. They may be wary of strangers, but I doubt they pose any danger--if that is your concern."


"It is," he admitted with a gesture toward Tane. "My companion does not always mix well with 'simple folk.' Or rather, they do not always mix well with him."


Tane bowed his head, embarrassed. "My message does not...always...find suitable...soil," the little man said in his usual, halting way.


"Do you think we should risk it?" Merrick asked me.


I didn't want to answer too quickly. I would have, at that moment, given my left leg to eat anything besides spiders. We had consumed so many of those eight-legged beasts that I would not have been surprised at all if I started to sneeze silk. I pretended to consider our options, looking down at the valley and then up at the mountain again. Also, I was in no hurry to face the mountain witch, if her power was as vast and dark as I suspected.


"I think it might prove valuable," I answered. "It may be that these good, simple folk, know of our quarry and can aid us--with information, if not sword or axe. We may also find provisions."


"Indeed. It's settled." Merrick looked at Baram. "Are you familiar to them? Do they know you enough to put credence in your word?"


Baram gave a slight shake of her head. "I do not think so. I fear most who live near here would consider me somewhat aloof. They do not seek me out, nor I them."


Seymuhr grunted at that and I flashed him an irritated glance. "We will have to introduce ourselves, then. Perhaps we should leave Seymuhr behind? Until we know it's safe?"


"Keep him in reserve, you mean? In case they are hostile?"


I shrugged. That hadn't been my first thought. My first thought was that our best chance to make a good impression on a cluster of wary strangers would be to keep Seymuhr out of sight and, if possible, down wind. There was no reason to risk offending him by giving that thought a voice, however. "I just think we should be cautious, this close to the witch's lair."


"I a...gree," said Tane. It was the first time I heard him sound anything but cheerful. What had happened to make both him and Merrick leery of interaction with others?


"Then let me do the talking," I said. "I would guess that I am the least threatening of all of us."


I shouldered my pack and led them down the hill.

The words we make

Previously: Esmiralda and her companions have discovered that the shattered ship—found upside-down and in the middle of a forest—was once captained by Harfirgorn the Merciless, a pirate of some repute that had vanished long ago. Following clues in a log book they find in the pirate’s quarters, they hope to discover clues to his final resting place. On the way, they meet up with a lady of the wood whose husband has succumbed to the vile magic of the pirate's witch.


Baram paused, a quizzical look on her face. The forest was deep around us, the mountain still distant. Between us and its gray slope, a thin curl of smoke rose into the air. The trees teemed with life, even though the chatter of birds sounded sullen and muted.


"We must be drawing near," she said. "The air grows foul."


Seymuhr turned away, snickering into his palm, and I rolled my eyes. "Your senses are indeed keen, daughter of the wolf, but they mislead you this time. Our companion has difficulties that frequently cause exception to the nose."


It was as polite as I could put it and it made the thick brute howl with laughter. I felt my cheeks color, having to explain such a thing to this noble forest warrior. I looked to Merrick for help, but he had not paused. His back disappeared behind a thick trunk and so I walked on, instead. I fell into step with Broo Fang Tane, happy that Seymuhr was behind us and the wind favored his position.


"How came you to this company?" I asked him. I knew little of any of my companions, of course, other that Merrick was an agent of the Ministry of Human Preservation and Tane was a monk, an optimist by calling or disposition. "It is unusual to find someone of such continual good cheer this far south in Korin."


He nodded slightly and beamed, his eyes half closed. His fingers, tucked up into his sleeves, suddenly appeared as he plucked a forest poppy from the ground and held it up.


"What use is the seed, if it stays where it is...planted?" He asked. A slight breath scattered the white pods from the flower. One of them landed on my upper lip and I sneezed so violently my ears rang. "We train not to perfect our art, our joy, but to share it."


"I see," I said with a nod. In truth, we were much the same, except his charge was to spread the seeds of optimism throughout the land and mine was to gather these nuggets and preserve them in the annals of Queen Phedera's history books. I was a Falcuhn, a gatherer of histories and stories.


"In truth," he said. "I was never much...welcome...at the Temple of the...Sun. No one would tell...me of my fam...ily, or the circumstances that brought me...there. I...taxed my tutors more than my peers did."


"How so?" It was the most I had heard the little man speak, and I was curious. I wondered if his usual slow, halting pattern of speech was due to a lack of practice and was determined to help him. After all, in the dangerous world of Korin, one who tried to bring happy news could not afford to be slow about it.


"I saw it in the ...little things. I knew I was tol...erated but not love...d."


I gave him a sympathetic look and patted his right shoulder. My arm briefly encircled his back and I was surprised at the coiled power I felt there. He might have been a slight man, but he was in his own way as sturdy as Seymuhr--perhaps more so.


Tane looked up at my touch and smiled broadly. Suddenly, the words flowed out of him like a creek gurgling down a hillside.


"I remember one day I was helping in the kitchen," he went on. "It was not my usual station but the sun was...hidden...and it was cool. I thought my assistance would be welcome there. The head cook went by the name of Grool, named so because of the meal he served up on odd-numbered days.


"He was a fine cook, given to ominous words," Tane went on. "He weighed each one and delivered them like they were a dish prepared for the High King. I found him that day stirring a vast pot of bub...bling brown...liquid. A silver plate piled high with sliced meat and mashed fruit was nearby.


"'You'll find a gravy boat on that shelf, in the corner,' he told me when I asked if I could...help. Make it live up to its...name.' I leapt up to the counter and stretched to find the vessel, then dropped it into the steaming...vat."


Tane paused, giving me a sheepish look. I wasn't sure what to say. Had I missed the significance of this odd tale? He was silent for a few minutes, so I prompted him. "What happened?"


"He swore at...me, of course. 'What are you doing, you rock-headed toad?' I told him that I had followed his instructions. I pointed to the dish, floating--somewhat, any...way--in the gravy. 'Is that not what boats do?'


"'You fill  a gravy boat with gravy'," he said. He spoke very slowly, a kind of...wonder...in his voice. "You don't float them in gravy."


"'Why aren't they called gravy buckets, then?' I asked him, but he didn't answer my...question.


"'Just take it out of there,' he grumbled, a hand across his forehead. 'Put it aside.' I did as he instructed--again--and tilted it on its side. 'There,' I said, 'now it's a gravy shipwreck.'"


I smiled, in spite of the gravity in his tone. "They made you leave the temple because of that?"


"Oh. No. I was still very young then. That did not make them show me the door to that hoiy place, but I suspect it unlocked it. I gave them...other reasons...to make me leave. I was not a good...student."


And then he was silent, his hands tucked up into his sleeves once more.

Song of the fallen giant

Previously: Esmiralda and her companions have discovered that the shattered ship—found upside-down and in the middle of a forest—was once captained by Harfirgorn the Merciless, a pirate of some repute that had vanished long ago. Following clues in a log book they find in the pirate’s quarters, they hope to discover clues to his final resting place. On the way, they meet up with a lady of the wood whose husband has succumbed to the vile magic of the pirate's witch.




That afternoon, we trekked solemnly north.


I tried to ignore the stench of the fire that clung to my damp clothes. I did not mind the smell of a natural fire, of course, but a funeral pyre carries a distinct smell that lingers for days and I could not help but be reminded of the shambling thing that was Baram's chosen man. Even the dignity of the fire had been stolen from him. If the smell bothered me, how much worse would it be fore her? Yet if she noticed it, she gave no indication. If she felt compelled to look over her should to see the last white tendrils carrying his soul to the beyond, she did not show that either.


Then a new smell invaded my nostrils. I glanced up, repelled, to see Seymuhr's lopsided grin.


"Hello," I said. I wondered if I could lift my shirt to cover my nose without risking his ire. I decided not to.


"You are a storyteller," he said, his voice as raspy as ever. "A Falcuhn?"


"As I've said, yes."


"You know things of wordcraft, then. Of language."


I felt an absurd glow of pride that he--brute that he was--recognized such a thing. Then I realized that he was asking a question, not stating a fact.


"I like to think so." I kept my voice cool, somehow.


"I've come up with a new poem, I'd like you to hear it. It describes our fight with the giants."


Oh dear. I felt cold, weak and a little ill. I had head Seymhur's poetry before and the sound left me wanting to scratch my ears off. What if he wanted my honest opinion? The maces that hung at either side of his hips swayed menacingly.


"Have you, now? That's good. A man should stretch his mind as often as he stretches his legs."


"Would you like to hear them?"


"Them?" Bones of Barnok, there was more than one. That figured. "Would these be of the Nogovian sort? Like the others?"


A grunt and a nod. "They are, but not like the other. My poems are like belches. No two are alike."


I had to give him that one. It was probably an adequate description. "Very well."


He cleared his throat and paused. Baram, Merrick and Broo Fang Tane also stopped, Tane with a mild smile on his face and Merrick wiping sweat from his. The tang of his perspiration hung in the air.


"They came through the trees
hungry, tall and hideous
I hit them; they fell."


"Wonderful," I said, my voice flat.


"I struck first and their
ruptured flesh and splintered bones
made a foul, red swamp"


"Pretty," I glanced at Baram, who flashed me a quizzical expression. "Like a tapestry the size of a wash rag."


"Crows gathered nearby
summoned by the ghastly, shrill
womanish death cries."


"That about describes it," I said, clapping him on the back. "Well done. If the fight had not been fresh in my mind already, your words would bring it there."


"I like the...part a....bout the rup......tured flesh," Tane added, slowly.


"Ghastly and shrill, like a woman," Merrick mused. "Sounds like someone I knew, for certain." He winked at me and I turned away.


"Crows will be gathering nearby once more," I put in, "if we are not soon on our way."


"There's more," Seymuhr said. He cleared his throat again and his eyes took on a wistful look, as if he were staring at a plate filled with beef and nuts.


"Why don't we save them for the fire tonight?" I said. "If we need to pause, we'll have use of some cheerful words to keep the dark at bay. And if we don't start moving, we'll indeed have to spend the night in these woods."


Seymuhr considered. "Good. That will give me time to hone them a little more."


"One can hope," I said.


We set off again.

The silent tribute

Previously: Esmiralda and her companions have discovered that the shattered ship—found upside-down and in the middle of a forest—was once captained by Harfirgorn the Merciless, a pirate of some repute that had vanished long ago. Following clues in a log book they find in the pirate’s quarters, they hope to discover clues to his final resting place. On the way, they meet up with a lady of the wood whose husband has succumbed to the vile magic of the pirate's witch.


Baram watched the fire smolder in silence. She may have wished for immediate revenge, but none came to investigate the source of the black smoke that curled up into the bright blue sky. None that we saw, at any rate. The forest was never quiet; creatures stalked at the edge of our clearing making small but innocent sounds. Now and again a bird soared overhear, some of them quite large and black, but whether they were spies of the Mountain Witch or not, we had no way to determine.


None of my companions wanted to disturb the Daughter of the Wolf as she watched her husband burn. I took note of the single trail of tears that flowed unabated and undisturbed. I was reminded of a day, long ago, when I saw similar smoke, smelled the same stench of scorched flesh and mourned one who had meant the world to me. I was just a young girl, then, clinging terrified to my wailing father's shirt. My mother had been all I had known. I saw no way forward without her kindness to ease the sting of my father's hand or harsh words. I understood Baram's grief--I suppose, in a way, we all did--but did not think that gave me the right to intrude on it.


Instead I flipped through the pages of Harfigorn's log, seeking clues to our destination or, at the very least, our foes. the idea that the pirate himself was the lesser evil was still growing in my mind. I thought it possible now, that he was merely a puppet for a stronger, blacker power. Perhaps even the witch Athelane did not know what she trifled with.


I found troubling accounts of battles against gigantic creatures, ambushes on hapless merchant vessels and the blood-soaked rituals that followed. It was a circle of horror; the fluids and pieces of those doomed traders called the dark things that lay wait below the surface of the Big Seas to the surface. Some fought and died, others were allowed to return to their gloomy domain. I could see no pattern in it.


Merrick appeared beside me, tugging his sparse beard. "Anything?"


I shook my head. "The tales are wild, but not too informative. They detail the witch's power and depravity, but not her purpose."


A grunt. "I suspected. Those who crave this dark knowledge rarely let us know why. For us, it is enough to know they exist and must be stopped."


"Do you think we'll be able to? If she has found a way to harness Ewl's power, or gain his favor, all the weapons we have might not be enough." I stared at Seymuhr as I spoke. He sat warming his feet by the pyre and munching on a dried spider leg as long as his arm.


"My--our--companions are stout fighters, and I've a few tricks up my sleeve," he said. "But there is no way to guarantee success in any battle. We can only prepare ourselves, bolster our own spirits, and do our best."


I nodded. Sound philosophy, of course. I had always followed it--and that was how I found myself bereft of coin and home and at the mercy Merrick and his agents of the Ministry of Human Preservation.


"That, and hope my luck changes," I said.


Baram bowed her head. I heard a few murmured words and then a deep sigh. She stood, brushing the grass from her backside and the tear trail from her cheeks.


"Enough," she said. "Let's be on our way. My sword is still dry and my soul hungers for vengeance."

The cleansing flame

Previously: Esmiralda and her companions have discovered that the shattered ship—found upside-down and in the middle of a forest—was once captained by Harfirgorn the Merciless, a pirate of some repute that vanished long ago. On a quest to find his final resting place and the treasure that he is most likely buried with, they are accosted by a shambling, undead thing and draw the attention of a mysterious woman. Now, they ponder their next move.


Later, we gathered wood for a fire and Seymurh placed Ranfyrd's body on it.


"You are certain of this?" I asked Baram. She had been quiet since she had instructed us not to bury the body of her husband, her gaze alternating between his shriveled, misshapen corpse and the blue mountains to the north. "Our errand is urgent, but we still have time to bury your man, perhaps build a small shrine...?"


"I am sure. Under other circumstances, I would be honored to give his body back to the land, so that he may sustain it for those who still live." She met my gaze and I saw a quiet rage there. "The evil the mountain witch infected him with must be contained. I would not want it to poison the land, or the creatures who may pass through here. It must be the fire. That is another crime this Athelane must suffer for--denying Ranfyrd his rightful place in the soil."


Merrick had drawn a short, thick vial from some hidden pocket. He shook it, dipped a finger in it and then inspected the green liquid that coated its tip. Satisfied with what he saw, he crouched over Ranfyrd's body, mumbling something, as he drew a quick circular pattern on unfortunate man's forehead. Then he closed his eyes and brought his hands together in front of his chest, took a deep breath and held it for so long I wondered if he would ever take another one.


HIs eyes flickered open and he flashed me a smile with no humor in it. "Merely a precaution," he said. "The flames should cleanse what the soil cannot."


Broo Fang Tane stood on the other side of the pyre, his head bowed in prayer. Seymuhr swatted a few more insects. I was not sure what, if anything, I should say, so I shifted my weight and held my tongue.


Merrick bent and picked up a log that jutted from the fire we had started nearby. The end smoldered, ready to give birth to new flame. He held it up to Baram. "It is time," he said, his voice soft and filled with compassion.


Wordlessly, she took the torch and held it below the shriveled corpse of her husband. the dry wood caught quickly, the fire spreading in great crackling leaps. the body was consumed in moments as the flames reached toward the clear blue sky. The black smoke curled upward, tinged with a bizarre, bright green.


I glanced upward, noting three large black birds that were circling overhead. the smoke would reach the top of the trees soon, and be visible for leagues.


"Will the smoke draw the attention of our enemies?" I whispered to Merrick, who shrugged.


Baram must have overheard. "Let them come," she said.


We watched the flames and readied our weapons.