‘We’re nearly there,’ he said. ‘You’ll be able to rest soon.’
If only that were true. She made an effort to collect herself, and dabbed at her eyes with a cloth. He was staring at her. ‘The cold air makes them water,’ she explained lamely.
‘Sure,’ he said, not seeing.
At length she started taking an interest in their surroundings. The scenery was becoming semi-rural, with buildings standing more in isolation, and now she saw barns and smallholdings. Much further and they’d be in farmland proper.
‘Quinn,’ she asked, ‘where exactly are we going? The only thing I know of in these parts…’
‘Is the Pastures of Sleep. You guessed, Tan.’
She couldn’t suppress a shudder. Had this all been an elaborate scheme after all? A ruse to lure her into a terrible retribution of some kind?
He read her expression. ‘No need to look so grim. I know it isn’t everybody’s favoured location, but it’ll be fine, believe me.’
A couple of minutes later they had first sight of their destination.
The Pastures of Sleep was Valdarr’s oldest and most extensive necropolis. It had already existed in a modest form when the city was founded, and over the centuries it had grown in size, and in the elaborateness of its monuments and tombs. For generations it served as the last resting place for high and low alike. Bhealfa’s leading dynasties maintained grand family mausoleums within its grounds, but less regarded, or easily seen, were the acres given over to paupers’ mass graves. Now the cemetery was full, unfashionable and largely unused.
A high stone wall surrounded the burial ground, though many of its more ostentatious memorials stood taller, displaying the tips of decorated spires. Mature trees towered higher still, their skeletal branches swaying in the brittle wind.
‘It wouldn’t be safe going all the way in this carriage,’ Disgleirio announced. ‘We’ll have to lose it and walk the last part. Can you manage that?’
‘I’ll be fine.’
He pulled into a small piece of open land with only a single darkened house overlooking it. After helping Tanalvah down he went to the gig’s horse and gave it a reassuring pat. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said, assuming her interest in the animal’s well-being, ‘I’ll see he’s taken care of.’
They set off.
Curfew was in force and the streets were deserted, though that didn’t make Disgleirio any less alert. However, their short walk, hugging shadows, was uneventful, and soon they approached the cemetery’s imposing iron gates. An impressive entrance demanded an impressive lock, and the necropolis’ gateway was no exception. It bore a mortise larger than a man’s hand.
‘It’s got an alarm spell,’ Disgleirio explained as he dug into his pocket. He produced a key the length of a small dagger. The gate creaked shrilly as he opened it just wide enough for them to pass through, then he ignited a glamoured orb to light their way.
It was, literally, deathly quiet. They took the central avenue, a broad boulevard edged with ghostly sepulchres. At the avenue’s far end, dark and brooding, stood an imposing temple, now falling into decay. Well before they reached that, Disgleirio led them round a corner and along a much narrower path, which was less well maintained, with crooked gravestones on either side, amid a tangle of untended vegetation. There was barely enough room for them to walk abreast.
A voice growled, ‘Remember me!’
Tanalvah squealed and grabbed Disgleirio’s arm.
‘Steady, Tan.’ He took her hand. ‘There’s nothing to be scared of; they’re only living memorials. Look.’
Several nearby headstones had activated, projecting spectral likenesses of the graves’ occupants. The one that had spoken was an ancient man, bald of pate and with skin like yellowed parchment.
‘Passing sets them off,’ Disgleirio continued. ‘Sorry, I should have warned you.’
She disentangled herself from him, feeling foolish. ‘Silly of me,’ she said.
They carried on.
Every few paces they triggered a glamoured memorial, conjuring animated images of the dead. Men, women, old, young; ailing in appearance or hearty; smiling or scowling. Tanalvah noticed that not all the graves were set off though.
‘They only work if relatives keep recharging the magic, of course,’ Disgleirio offered, almost conversationally. ‘It’ll all run down eventually.’
Many of the deceased’s glamours were vocal. They presented greetings, pearls of wisdom and dire warnings. Some recounted their life stories or recited poetry. Others mumbled prayers or mouthed prophecies. The voices were beseeching, cheerful, hectoring, doleful, jaunty. A few sang or played musical instruments.
Tanalvah loathed the place. She couldn’t help thinking what kind of messages would have been left by the people she’d consigned to their graves. When they rounded another corner and entered a quieter spot her relief was intense.
They trudged on, encountering only the occasional garrulous crypt. An area of dense trees lay ahead and they made for it.
‘There’s something coming up I need to warn you about,’ Disgleirio told her. ‘We have sentinels.’
‘Are they dangerous?’
‘They look dangerous. But they’re not top-grade magic. Essentially they’re for deterrence. If our enemies knew how feeble our defences really were-’
A long, drawn-out howl sounded. It raised the hairs on the nape of Tanalvah’s neck.
‘Ah,’ he said, ‘here they come.’
A creature loped from the treeline, looking grey from this distance. It was joined by three more, sleek and fast. As they got nearer their features became distinct. They had powerful jaws and razor-keen talons. Their silky fur was pure white, and their eyes were pink.
Tanalvah wondered why albino wolves were thought appropriate, before deciding they were probably all the Resistance could get.
The wolves slinked closer, fanning out into a semi-circle, apparently positioning themselves to strike. They growled and snuffled convincingly.
Disgleirio snapped his fingers at each beast in turn, one-two-three-four. The wolves turned into clouds of faintly phosphorescent green mist, then nothing. Tanalvah caught a distinctive whiff of sulphur.
‘The next line of defence is human,’ he promised, ‘and it’s just about the last one. Come on, it’s not far now.’
He strode towards the trees. She had to hurry to keep up with him.
They entered what proved to be a small wood. It was thick, with trees growing close together, and there was no path. In places, dead leaves had drifted into sizeable mounds, but Disgleirio knew exactly where he was going.
‘This copse runs to the foothills,’ he said.
‘That’s where we’re going?’
‘Yes. We’re nearly there. Are you all right with this? No problem with the walk?’
‘I’ll let you know if I need help.’
Two armed men, black clad and sober faced, slipped from the foliage ahead of them, barring the way. When Disgleirio was recognised they lowered their weapons, but they continued to eye Tanalvah. She didn’t know either of them. Disgleirio told them about the abandoned gig and ordered it taken care of. The guards returned wordless nods and stood aside for them. It all happened so quickly and smoothly that it felt like a dream to Tanalvah, but her mind was on other things, and her trepidation was growing ever stronger.
Shortly they reached a wall of rock, smothered in creepers and vines. Another pair of guards appeared, identified Disgleirio and hailed him. A moment later they were at the rock face, dragging aside a mass of netting cunningly woven with scrub. They revealed a cave entrance.
Disgleirio took out another orb and handed it to her. It snapped into life. As they entered, he said, ‘This is actually the oldest part of the cemetery, the catacombs. No one comes here any more. Nature formed it, but there was a lot of tunnelling in the past, too. This is where our primitive ancestors first started depositing their dead, Tan.’ He stopped and looked at her. ‘I should have asked. You’re not jumpy about going underground, are
