Return to Canifis

Probably as much to avoid conversation as to guard us better.

Castimir tethered his yak to a sapling which stood alone and far enough away from the ill-looking fungi that grew nearby. His friends did the same with their steeds, and Albertus’s mule. He wondered whether he should take the time to consult Master Segainus’s books, to see if they contained any insights into the land of the dead. His thoughts were stalled when he saw Albertus stagger after sliding off his horse. The old man groaned and would have fallen had not Gar’rth grasped him under the arm and guided him to sit alongside Theodore.

The knight gave the old man a look of concern and handed him a water skin. Albertus sipped quietly, his face pale.

We have ridden hard and far in the last three days. It has been too much for him. Far too much.

“Let us have some food,” Doric said eagerly as he rummaged inside his steed’s packs. “Cured meats and bread with cheese, and a skin of wine. That would satisfy even the ravenous, I shouldn’t doubt!”

“Fool,” Despaard said angrily. “Do not speak so lightly of such things. They are creatures driven mad by their hunger, tormented for centuries…”

He stopped short, and turned his back on the dwarf.

An awkward silence fell as Kara and Arisha sat down opposite Theodore. Gar’rth remained standing, as if unwilling to relax despite the loose perimeter the werewolf guards maintained. Doric made a grim face but said no more as he handed out the rations to his friends. Castimir took his with a grateful nod and sat beside Albertus, the old man on the verge of sleep.

“Tell me, Lord Despaard, if you will,” he asked. “What has made you hate Morytania so? Reldo told me on the journey here that everyone in your society has lost a loved one to this realm.”

The grim man looked around the group quickly and grunted.

It is hard for him. He is a man who has put up barriers between himself and the world.

“Reldo talks too much for an apprentice,” Despaard replied. Suddenly he smiled mirthlessly. “But it is true-or very nearly true-that most of us have lost people to the undying one. For me, it was my father. It happened long ago, and I was only a boy of fourteen winters.”

“I am sorry,” Theodore said. “It must be hard for any son to receive word of-”

Lord Despaard laughed, cutting him off.

“Sir Theodore, you amuse me. More so as it is not your intention. I never received word of my father’s death. No. I saw it. Here, in Morytania.”

He took a bite of his bread and chewed quickly, shaking his head.

“It was winter, the worst Misthalin had seen in decades,” he continued. “So cold the Salve had frozen over. The peasants were starving. Neighbour turned on neighbour and some had taken to dressing up as wolves to take by force or fear what food remained. In some cases, where no food was available, they would take the children of the villagers.”

“Children?” Castimir said in disbelief.

“Aye, children, master wizard,” Despaard said. “It is apparent to me that you have never starved before. It drives good men mad, and turns the lawful into savages.” He looked Castimir long in the eye and the wizard felt a chill creep down his spine. “Cannibalism. That is what they resorted to when there was no food available. So it was that my father set out with two-dozen of his men, the best of his house. I went with them, for as heir to his titles and land I had to see that justice was done against such evil. We trailed them for miles, and we crossed the frozen river. Some told my father that we should turn back, that we had gone too far, but by then it was already too late.”

No one spoke as Lord Despaard took a deep swig from his wine skin.

“He was adamant that justice be done. So we followed them. I don’t know how far we went, but it seemed like many long miles in that snow. Eventually we found him, or he found us.”

“He?” Doric asked.

“One of the ravenous, Doric. He stood at the crest of a frozen hill before a dead black tree in as bleak a landscape as you can imagine. We thought it was a man and called out to him to ask if he had seen our quarry, and only when we drew closer did we realise it was one of them, and that our wolf-skin wearing foe had already been found and devoured.

“Our scout cried a warning but it was too late. There were dozens of them, charging upon us from all directions. My father’s horse was dragged to the ground and his weapon was useless against the vampire. From my horse I shot it, but my arrow went wide. My father’s last look at me was one of contempt, as if I was to blame, as if I had put that arrow in him, instead.”

Despaard grunted bitterly and shook his head, then he emptied his wine skin in a final gluttonous swig.

“Then how did you get out?” Kara asked gently as he wiped his hand over his mouth.

“There was a man, an excellent man. Thomas his name was. He had served my family from before my birth.” Despaard shook his head. “The ravenous had us. They were all around us as those with horses tried to flee, among them Thomas and me. He led my horse, for I am not ashamed to admit that after seeing my father slain, my nerve was lost.

“Thomas guided me out, but there were too many of them. It is the way they move that makes them so fearful-jaunting, as if they were puppets in the hands of a mad master… they were just so fast. They caught up with us, even on our horses. Then Thomas cursed me and ordered me to ride west, to the river, and he charged into their midst. He cut his wrist with his own blade to draw them to him with the scent of his blood.”

Despaard sighed and shook his head.

No one else spoke. Castimir looked at the man in a new light.

What a burden that must be, to have someone give their life for yours, to live up to the memory of that sacrifice every day.

“His sacrifice gave me time to escape, although even as I crested the river bank a ravenous attacked me, dragging me down onto the frozen surface. The screams it made were terrible as the ice cracked under it and the water consumed it, boiling without heat. I have never heard a man make such a sound. But that day I was set upon my course.

“I have left the lands and titles to my younger brother for he has a family and an heir, while I do not. Just my Society of the Owls.”

Theodore’s mare neighed suddenly. Castimir looked briefly at the animals, tethered together on the sapling. His yak snorted and kicked at the ground.

Ill-tempered beast! Just you mind my books.

“And since we have come to know each other so well,” Despaard continued, turning back to face the group, “You may like to call me by my first name. Titles are all well and good beyond the river, where men… and women should know their place. But not out here, not when your life depends upon the person sitting next to you. Here, titles are forgotten.

“My name is Reinhard Despaard now.”

Albertus Black sat up with a sudden start, causing Castimir to spill a thimble’s worth of wine.

Has he seen a ghost? Out here that’s quite possible.

“Hmm… I drifted off there for a moment,” the old scientist mumbled, then he yawned and pulled his black coat about him.

“I suppose we should get ready to move on,” Kara said. “Imre will be-”

“Something is wrong!” Gar’rth shouted. He sniffed the air and looked to the north, his gaze following the stream.

As if on cue, Imre howled from the east, across the bridge. In an instant his human face was gone, replaced by his true one as he charged toward them.

“Arm yourselves!” Theodore shouted as the rest of their escort exploded into motion, a dozen werewolves running at them from all directions as the perimeter they had formed contracted.

Doric drew his wolfbane dagger, and Castimir saw Gar’rth wince at its proximity. Arisha’s pale face was suddenly blanched with fear.

“Why?” she said. “Why now? Why here would they betray us?”