Act of Will

SCENE XXII



Opening Moves

We arrived back at the keep in time to hear Mithos report what he’d heard from the count.

“He has given us a tip on where we might start looking for the raiders once we have seen the coal to safety,” he said, with a hard smile. “Near Ugokan just south of the Verneytha border is a complex of catacombs constructed over two hundred years ago. Apparently a few months back some children from a nearby village were playing there and never came out. A party of the villagers went in after them and was never seen again.”

“Why did he not tell us this during the meeting?” said Renthrette.

“Not sure. I don’t think he completely trusts the governor of Verneytha or the duke of Greycoast, but if he had any specific reason, he didn’t say.”

Orgos produced samples of what we had bought. Lisha looked over the glass vials and thanked him significantly. He held her gaze for a moment and then looked at the floor as Renthrette said, “You were right about the quality of the horses here. The major traders are grouped just north of the river, only a few hundred yards from here. We went to four different stables. The biggest had hundreds of fine horses but their prices were ridiculous. The other places were more reasonable. We got mounts for everyone, including a warhorse called Tarsha.”

Her eyes lit up as she went on. “The war horses were a little expensive, so we only got the one. We will have to share him. He is fully battle-trained and is in perfect condition. He is magnificent.”

“How much?” interrupted Lisha.

“His coat is a glossy black that—”

“How much?” I jumped in.

“Six hundred and fifty silvers,” she said quickly.

“Bloody hellfire!” I exclaimed. “That’s over half the reward money!”

“That is a lot,” said Lisha with a long sigh. Mithos lowered his head.

“He’s a very good horse,” said Garnet reassuringly.

“Does it talk?” I demanded. “Is it gold-plated? I mean, how good can a horse be? I thought you two were the meticulous and reasonable ones! Why does the smell of a horse turn you into squealing adolescents? Six hundred and fifty silvers! Hell’s teeth, I could live for a year on that. I did! Two years!”

“He’s a warhorse,” Renthrette insisted. “Warhorses are expensive.”

“Usually not that expensive,” said Lisha. “I hope it is as good as you say. It’s a good thing the governor of Verneytha gave us that extra two hundred silvers. If the horse doesn’t prove its worth, we’ll sell it. I’m sure you checked it over carefully. But no more big purchases without consulting me first, all right?”

They demurred silently, with secret grins of joy wrinkling the corners of their thin pink lips. Lisha smiled despite herself, as if she was indulging children. Perhaps she was.



We slipped away at first light, our wheels and horses clattering across the cobbled courtyard and out through the gate of the perimeter wall as the kitchens were coming to life. In the cold, pinkish light Adsine looked peaceful and content as it sprawled by the banks of the Wards-fall. We breakfasted on bread and fruit in the saddle and said little to each other, waking privately.

We had lost sight of Adsine’s hilltop castle to the slow, rolling hills of the Proxintar Downs by lunchtime. We paused and I stole a look at the stallion that Mithos now rode. It was everything and more that Renthrette had suggested, and it was only by repeating the price over and over to myself that I managed to hang on to some of my former outrage.

“Do you want to ride Tarsha for a while?” said Mithos to me suddenly. I looked at the massive creature, its muscles rippling under its black, silky coat as it tossed its mane and flared its nostrils.

“You must be bloody joking,” I said.



I rode until sunset on a bay mare, which walked calmly and easily so that I only fell off once before we camped for the night. The country had been easy—coarse fields and scattered copses—and we were on schedule. An hour or so ago we had crossed the Greycoast border, but there was no obvious change in the land as yet. North of our little camp, the edge of the Iruni Wood loomed black, and a little to the east the darkening sky was brushed with orange. I nestled close to the fire and got out one of my books from the Hide in Stavis.

It was an odd little volume which purported to be a history of the region once called Vahlia that now housed the lands of Shale, Greycoast, and Verneytha. The book itself was at least fifty years old and its pages were cracked and flaking at the edges, but the events in it were much older, many of them rooted at least as much in legend as they were in actual history. I had been reading without much enthusiasm since we left Stavis, but the book had taken an odd turn and I was suddenly fascinated.

As I said, the three lands had once been a single country divided into dozens of little principalities, each claimed by a clan or family. These clans devoted pretty much all their energies into beating each other up at every available opportunity. Usually these minifeuds had something to do with bits of scraggy grazing land that everyone treated like they were gold dust, and from time to time, certain families would get powerful enough to control most of the region. But it never lasted, and within a couple of years, the region was plunged into civil war, goatherd against fisherman, brother against uncle, farmer against merchant. The usual, in other words.

The cycle stopped about 250 years ago, and it did so in an odd way. In the middle of one of these endemic feuds, people started telling tales of how one of the clans (which clan depended on who was supplying the anecdote) had summoned a spectral force to fight on their side, a ghost army that came out of nowhere and vanished, leaving heaps of steaming corpses in its wake. Sound familiar? Of course, no one ever proved who summoned the ghost army, because it seemed to attack indiscriminately, wiping out entire families on all sides of the war. The only way the Vahlia clans survived the phantom soldiers was by bonding together into larger units, burying their differences, and joining their fighting resources. When the wars ended, just over a year later, three distinct powers had emerged. Borders were drawn up and the countries of Shale, Verneytha, and Grey-coast were formed. In the next twenty years or so, the three capital cities emerged slowly from the ruined villages that had been there before, with construction on Ironwall, the most impressive and farthest east, starting first and finishing last.

I considered the ancient book and wondered what I was to make of such a yarn. There was clearly at least as much folktale here as there was history, but that is hardly unusual. The question, one I posed to the rest of the party after relaying what I had learned, was simple: Who would want to re-create some ancient legend about a ghost army and why?

“Someone who wants to scare people,” suggested Orgos. “Make the raiders seem impregnable, supernatural.”

“They’d have to be pretty superstitious to buy it,” I said, doubtful.

“People are quick to believe the worst, however implausible, when there is no hope of victory,” said Mithos, stirring the embers of the fire.

“But it’s just a story,” said Renthrette.

“There’s a basic link between story and history,” I said, beginning a lecture I had delivered many times before. But she scowled at me, so I decided to drop it.

“There was no reference to this ghost army wearing red, was there, Will?” asked Lisha.

“No,” I said.

“And you don’t believe in magic swords,” said Orgos, “so magic armies are probably . . .”

“Nonsense,” I said, “yes.”

“So it’s probably just a coincidence,” said Garnet, as if this closed the matter.

I shrugged, but I didn’t think so. I don’t believe in fate, magic, or ghosts, but coincidence makes me nervous. It always leaves me feeling like the world—the rational, predictable, mundane world—is very slightly off kilter. I let it drop, but it stayed in my head, nestled there unpleasantly like a toad.

The sun had gone down, but the eastern sky was still orange, and as the darkness grew, that portion of the night seemed to have gotten brighter.

“What’s that?” I said.

They turned and stared.

“A fire?” said Garnet.

“Too big for a fire,” said Renthrette.

“No,” said Lisha, staring at the sky and smelling the air. “It is a fire.”

“We should take a look,” said Orgos.

Everyone’s hands slid towards their weapons. I hesitated, then followed suit.

Here we go, I thought. Here’s where it starts.