Tapestry of Dark Souls Read online

  Its body was thin and black against the sky. Though I couldn’t see its features clearly, it appeared almost human in form. Its wings were huge and leathery, like those of some dark dragon. Where there should have been hands and feet, I saw only talons. A drop of blood fell on my arm and I looked from the terrible creature to the road in front of me. The remnants of the creature’s kill covered the road. My breath froze; my heart skipped a beat.

  Judging from the shape and size of the limbs and head that remained, the meal had been a human child. I couldn’t tell the sex or features from the face, for every shred of soft flesh had been devoured. Only the hair remained on the head, pale copper curls that danced in the wind and glowed in the rising sun.

  “Kill it, before it kills us!” I whispered to Vhar.

  He nodded irately and jumped from the wagon.

  With his sword down, he walked toward the terrible feast. The creature circled lower and shrieked a warning, one that Vhar deliberately ignored. Instead, he fell to one knee beside the remains and reached out, as though he intended to take what was left. The second warning shriek was louder, higher-pitched, filled with rage. The thing rose on the wind, then pressed its wings tightly to its body and dove straight at Vhar.

  With eyes fixed on his diving opponent, Vhar raised his sword. Though the creature’s taloned arm managed to rip across Vhar’s shoulder before veering away, the short sword sliced through one flapping wing. The creature tried to rise for another attack, but its balance was lost, and its wing beat uselessly. Once on the ground, the creature’s body was clearly smaller than Vhar’s. The long talons, so perfectly suited to airborne battles, provided little balance on the uneven ground. As the bat-thing stumbled back against the hill, seeking an escape, Vhar offered it an obvious opening. The creature, either stupid or unused to fighting a full grown man, lunged at the chance. Vhar’s first stroke took one of its arms. Its dark wings beat around Vhar, spattering him with blood, but he stood his ground as the beast moved forward. The black wings circled Vhar, hiding him from my view. I rushed to attack the beast from behind, but saw its dark body stiffen, heard its desperate shriek, and watched it fall.

  After noting that Vhar’s wound wasn’t deep, I walked to where the child’s remains lay scattered on the ground. Among the bones lay a small gold ring in the shape of a vine. I thought of my own lost infant, thought of the mother who might be searching frantically for this one. Before Vhar could see what I had discovered, I hid the ring in my pocket. Perhaps I would be able to return it to the family someday.

  Vhar moved beside me. “What a mess,” he whispered.

  “We should bury the body,” I said.

  “We ought to get out of this infested place before nightfall,” he responded in a tone that allowed no argument. He paused only long enough to pick up the monster’s severed limb and a portion of its wing, then hid them in our wagon before we continued on.

  The area around the monastery had been harsh and scrubby. But, as we approached the river crossing that led to the land Dominic called Tepest, the trees were thicker and towered far above us. The woods were filled with dark shadows and unsettled rustling. Though the day was warm, I was thankful when the road widened enough that the sun beat down on us, as if its heat, like fire, could hold the predators at bay.

  We traveled only a few miles beyond the crossing before we reached an area where the land had been cleared for grazing. Beyond the fields, a cluster of buildings marked a village. The central buildings were a stone inn—The Nocturne by name—and a brick livestock barn with wide plank doors. These were surrounded by a scattering of sturdy cottages and smaller barns. Every wall was whitewashed, and adorned with intricately painted flowers and vines, which garnished the doors. The houses had bright shutters, and flower boxes that overflowed with wildly colorful blooms.

  After the emptiness of the land around the fortress, all this beauty was more than just a diversion for my eyes. I believed that the town held peace, and I hoped that Vhar and I could share it. I waved to a pair of children tending a flock of snow geese nearly as tall as they, but instead of waving back, they only eyed me suspiciously. Their copper hair glowed in the noonday sun, reminding me of the dead child we had seen on the road. I gripped the ring in my pocket, holding it like a luck charm as Vhar and I walked through the open door of The Nocturne.

  The inside was as dark as the outside had been bright. There were deeply stained wooden walls and floors, and black slate tops on the dozen tables and the long bar that faced the door. Behind the bar stood a man, singing in a deep baritone suited to someone far stouter than he. As he sang, he polished an ornate collection of mugs that rested on a pair of stretched wolf skins—one silver, the other white. The wolves had been monstrous in size; even the sight of their pelts was chilling. Wolves also filled murals on every wall: a she-wolf suckling her young, a pack hunting, and, near the door, a winter landscape with a wolf howling at the starry sky.

  The man behind the bar could easily have fathered the children outside, his complexion and hair color was so similar. He stopped singing as soon as he saw us. The only patrons, two blond men and a woman—her raven hair all the darker in contrast to the single streak of silver that fell from her widow’s peak—were playing cards at a corner table. They stopped in mid-game and watched us as well. I took Vhar’s arm as he walked boldly forward, loudly inquiring about food and a room.

  “And your coin?” the innkeeper asked, his voice nearly as loud as Vhar’s.

  Vhar untied the purse from his belt and laid three coins on the counter. They were of a common metal, stamped with the eagle symbol of our land. The innkeeper kept his eyes on the coins as he said, “I could take these as a curiosity, but they’ve no other value here. I wouldn’t show the coins to others, if I were you. I’m used to meeting strangers. Most in Tepest aren’t.”

  Vhar nodded grimly. “Then perhaps a trade of goods?” he suggested, slowly pulling his dagger from its tooled leather sheath and laying it within reach of the man.

  The innkeeper’s hand brushed the glittering blade then pulled back quickly as if it burned him. The wolf’s head pendant he wore around his neck caught the dim light from the doorway and glowed. He picked the dagger up by its wooden handle and tested its balance.

  “I have others just as fine,” Vhar told him.

  “Silver is a rare metal in this land. There are many here who would pay well for a blade such as this,” the man commented coldly. “I’m not one of them.”

  “Could you suggest a shop that might be interested in buying some of these?” Vhar asked.

  “Shop?” The man smiled. “You have traveled a long way, I see.” He poured us each a glass of ale. I glanced at the card players, noting that they were still watching us. “My name is Andor Merriwite and I own the inn and the barns behind it. If you’ve a less precious blade, perhaps one better suited to skinning game than an aristocrat’s collection, I might be interested in a trade.”

  “Leith, show him your knife,” Vhar said.

  I had been fingering the ring in my pocket. As I pulled out my hand, the ring fell, rolling across the floor. I hurried to retrieve it, but I wasn’t fast enough. The innkeeper’s eyes were sharp. His earlier friendliness vanished. He held out his hand. “May I see that?” he asked.

  I set it on the bar beside Vhar’s knife. “Where did you get this?” Andor asked, his voice much lower now.

  “We found the body of a child on the road. The ring was among the bones.”

  “The creature left the ring?” Andor asked doubtfully.

  “The creature that killed the girl is dead,” I replied. “My husband destroyed it with one of his aristocrat’s blades. We have proof enough of that in our wagon.”

  Vhar gripped my arm, painfully indicating that I had told a stranger far too much. He was right. For all we knew, the town had sacrificed the child and Vhar had just destroyed the local deity.

  Andor seemed to understand our fear for he quickly allayed it. “We saw her l
ifted by the darkflyer. We almost reached her in time.”

  “The foolish child was always running off. At least she had a quick death, far less painful than the beasties might have provided,” the woman in the corner commented.

  Her coldness stunned me. I frowned and looked more closely at her, staring far longer than was polite. The woman had a vitality that was impossible to ignore. Sensing my scrutiny, she looked my way. I quickly lowered my eyes and pointed to the ring. “I would like to return the ring to the girl’s mother,” I said.

  Surprise glittered in Andor’s bright blue eyes. “She’ll be thankful,” he said. He picked up my knife, running a finger along the fine steel blade. “I will give you a room and your meals tonight and tomorrow for a tool such as this.”

  “I have a horse and wagon full of goods. Is the brick building your stable?” Vhar asked.

  “And the main livestock barn for the town of Linde as well,” he said and peered out the door to see the amount of space we would need. “The horse must be kept in the barn tonight,” he said, stepping back through the doorway. “There are creatures in these woods that have a taste for any warm flesh.”

  “Wolves?” I asked, thinking of the pelts on the inn’s wall.

  “Aye, wolves, but not often. Twice each year, they migrate across the river from the south. Their skins are rare and much prized.” He turned to Vhar. “As for your wagon, there’s no space for it in the stable. While no one from Tepest would steal your goods, it wouldn’t be wise to leave them unprotected. If you pull your wagon to the back of the inn, I’ll help you unload your crates into my storage room. It’s always locked. I have the only key.”

  “I can manage to unload, myself,” Vhar said and touched my hand in an uncommonly loving gesture, so at odds with his usual ill temper. “We have traveled far. While I unload, Leith should rest.”

  “Of course.” The man led me to the staircase and pointed up it. “You’ll have the first room on the right. See that your shutters are latched tonight.”

  As I climbed the stairs, I listened to the low voices of the card players and the melodic laughter of the woman.

  While Vhar worked, I rested on a feather bed far softer than the one we carried for travel. A green quilt, beautifully embroidered with tiny blue flowers, covered me. Thinking myself safe, my trials ended for a time, I slept.

  I woke, hot and sticky from a nightmare I couldn’t remember. I lay for a moment, listening for Vhar’s familiar breathing, but heard nothing. Though it was nearly dark, Vhar hadn’t returned. I dressed quickly and went downstairs to look for him.

  All the seats at the bar and most of the tables were filled with drinkers and card players. I scanned the outer room for Vhar and, skirting the tables as best I could, looked into the dining hall in the back. No sign of him.

  When I turned to go, someone gripped my arm. I flinched, sucking in my breath with an audible hiss of alarm. “Drink with me,” the man said, his words slurred. He was a huge man, larger even than my husband, and dressed in brown leather pants and vest. His hair hung in greasy strands around his unshaven face, and he smelled of sweat and stables. I tried to pull away, but his grip tightened, and I cried out with pain. “Drink!” he ordered, pushing his glass into my hand. I sipped the brackish liquid and gagged at the bitterness that assaulted my tongue and throat and rose into my eyes, bringing tears to them. “Another,” he ordered, giving my bruised arm a shake.

  “Is it a Tepest custom to maul women?” I asked coldly.

  Before he could respond, Andor moved beside him. “Leave her alone,” Andor said. The man’s grip slackened. Though he was much larger than Andor, the innkeeper’s eyes were narrow and the grin on his face had a far from friendly look to it.

  “No harm,” the man said and meekly put his glass on a nearby table. Lifting his grimy outercoat from a hook by the door, he unlatched the door and disappeared into misty twilight. Though no one but Andor seemed to have noticed our exchange a moment earlier, the entire tavern paused when the door opened. Drinks held at the mouth remained there. Cards were left unplayed. Even the dart player halted with his hand raised to throw. They remained that way, frozen, with their eyes fixed on the tavern door until it closed. One of the patrons latched it, and the tension that gripped the room eased.

  “Where’s Vhar?” I asked, watching the door, half expecting a darkflyer to dive through its thick wood.

  “Your husband made a fortune tonight selling his knives … and he drank too much …” Andor’s rich voice fell to a softer tone, “and he talked too much about the fortress in Markovia.”

  I flushed. Even though we had fled the place, I never would have broken my pledge to Brother Dominic. Vhar had made no such promise, but he wouldn’t have invited theft by speaking of treasure—usually. “Where is he now?”

  “I sent him off in the company of a half-deaf old townsman who’d once been a village elder and thinks he still is. The man’s so senile that Vhar can brag to him all night long and not a word’ll be remembered come morning. Considering how much he drank, your husband’s probably safely asleep by now, as you should be.”

  I understood his veiled warning and glanced at the patrons. They were large and strong, and the way they faced each other made me think of gamecocks in a ring, talons ready to strike. The only other woman present was the one I had seen earlier. But she somehow looked more dangerous than the men—the only patron completely and inexplicably at ease.

  I didn’t want to return to bed; too many evils had transpired when I slept in the wagon or the Guardians’ room. But, without Vhar, I needed another protector. This woman had come with no one, her presence challenging every male in the room.

  Perhaps she sensed my watching her, for she looked toward me. Her eyes were wide spaced and slanted, making me suspect that she had elvish blood. Though her irises were nearly black, they flickered with the same violet highlights as her raven hair. She was dressed in men’s clothing, but with colors more garish than those of the dour men around her—a red blouse slashed nearly to the waist, flowing gold breeches, and a wide, green leather belt. Gold chains circled her neck and gold bracelets her wrists, and her greenstone earrings glittered when her head moved. Her feet were bare, her toenails, like her fingernails, painted blood red.

  I found myself speechless as she rose from the table, approached me, and repeated nearly perfectly the innkeeper’s words, “… and he talked too much about Markovia.” She held out her glass for the innkeeper to fill, then asked for wine for me. Andor’s eyes met hers for a moment and shifted uneasily away. “She’s safe with me,” the woman said. “I promise that. But there are things a bard must know.”

  “Let the poor girl go back to sleep, Maeve,” her drinking companion called out. At first glance he seemed an old man—ghastly pallor and wisps of long white hair—but his face had the look of a man in his prime.

  “Be quiet, Ivar,” the woman ordered, turning to me.

  If she heard my words to the landlord, she was close enough now to hear my heart, to listen to me breathe. “He said you two stole the cloth from the order,” she whispered.

  “He made that up. He’s always …”

  “Look at me,” she ordered and I did so. “Are you certain you’re telling the truth? Think before you answer.”

  I did. Vhar hadn’t lied to these people; he’d lied to me. I felt a surge of emotion, more anger than fear. Though I didn’t answer, my reddening face betrayed me.

  “So I thought,” Maeve said, her breath warm against my ear. “Did you know that powerful treasures are often guarded by curses for thieves?”

  “Yes,” I replied softly.

  “See that your husband speaks to me tomorrow … unless the curse claims him tonight, that is.” The woman tossed her head, turned, and strode alone from the tavern. The others paused, but didn’t freeze as she left, sensing perhaps that any horror in the darkness would be well-matched in her.

  “Things the bards must know …?” I spoke the words aloud,
more for Andor’s ears than any other’s.

  “Bards sing of the terrors of our world,” Andor said. “Soulless tyrants, warlocks and witches, goblins, hags, vampires, ghosts—the phantom who lives forever in the longings of men. The Gathering Cloth imprisons them all in its burning folds.” Andor’s voice had acquired a definite cadence. He seemed to chant the last words. “Songs warn the wary, to let them live.”

  Hearing the innkeeper’s words, a drunken man climbed onto one of the tables. “She’s not heard the tale of the phantom, then? Let me tell it.”

  Some of his party nodded. Others called out alternate subjects, but the clamor silenced when a bell clanged insistently outside, impossible to ignore.

  Gazing at each other with fearful eyes, the revelers emptied their glasses and left the inn with some haste. Only Andor, the white-haired man—Ivar—and I remained. As soon as they had gone, Andor barred the door and checked each of the windows to be sure the shutters were locked. As he did, a thin, dark-haired woman brought a tray of bread and soup from the kitchen and set it on a table at the back of the room. Our eyes met for a moment, and I sensed the sympathy in her gaze. “We may as well sit together for our dinner,” she said, glancing worriedly at the shuttered windows and gesturing for us to join her at the table.

  The four of us ate together. Andor and his wife, Dirca, said only a few words during the meal, and, when we had finished, they left me alone with Ivar.

  “I heard your husband speaking to Maeve earlier tonight. I assume that he isn’t always so foolish,” he said with a candor that shocked me. “I think I should tell you plainly what I know of that cloth.”

  “Plainly?”

  “Yes. I didn’t speak before the others because they know next to nothing about the cloth, and it’s better that way. But you do know, enough to be dangerous, but not enough to protect yourself, or your fool husband.”