There was no time to lash out with blade or blaze, but the raunie's hatred offered up this parting blow: No love, no light, but that which causes pain. Everything you hold dear will perish by your own hand.
That curse, swift as a vengeful thought, followed Ganelon into the darkness, just as it would hound his every step for the rest of his life.
Ten
'It's time,' Azrael said cheerfully. 'I want you and your little friends down in the pit right now. They're almost done loading the crates. Make certain they don't leave anything behind on the landing, then get started on that other business we discussed. Understand?'
Ambrose did not respond. As the dwarf tromped out of the store, the shopkeep got stiffly to his feet. 'You heard him,' he said to Kern and Ogier.
The two miners exchanged puzzled looks. 'What about the wine?' Kern asked. He held up a half-full bottle of Chateau Malaturno. Its twin stood empty in front of Ogier. 'We've enough left for one decent toast. After all the trouble I went through to get this stuff, it'd be a shame to waste it.'
Ambrose missed Kern's unsubtle jab. The shop-keep had never looked into finding the bottles for Kern, despite his initial offer to do so. As a result, Kern paid twice the wine's worth in order to fulfill his debt to Ogier.
''Sides,' that white-haired stalwart now chimed, 'you said we was going to do another job for Azrael. That meant we wouldn't have to lug crates with everyone else.'
'That special duty is still yours,' Ambrose said rather sadly.
'A mysterious errand for the homicidal dwarf, and we get to cart boxes besides,' noted Kern. He held his empty glass up in salute. 'Only a true friend would set us up with that kind of deal.'
Ogier elbowed the smaller man. 'Leave him be. He's doing the best he can.'
Still glowering, Kern filled his glass to the brim, then did the same for Ogier. He went to top off Ambrose's mug with the remaining wine but found that the shopkeep hadn't touched a drop that had been poured for him. With a shrug, Kern handed the bottle to Ogier. The big man put it to his lips and drained it in two gulps.
Kern raised his glass again, this time in earnest. Solemnly he said, 'To absent friends, who leave us shadows until their return. May it be soon.'
Nodding his approval, Ogier tipped back his glass. After a moment's hesitation, Ambrose raised his mug. 'Friends and shadows,' the shopkeep said flatly.
The statement was no more cryptic than anything Ambrose said these days. Ever since the night Helain and Ganelon disappeared, he'd been acting strange. Kern dismissed it as the man's way of mourning. In his own childlike fashion, Ogier noticed a deeper change in Ambrose. His voice was stronger now, missing the wheeze that had softened every word he'd uttered since the accident. He was more forceful, too, even cruel. Ogier knew that this was not the stuff of mourning. The murders of those politskae had changed him. Something grim and loveless had taken hold of Ambrose's heart.
Faces flushed from the wine, the three made their way from the store up to the mine. A hundred torches lit the grounds around the pit. Workers from both shifts carried boxes from the lift and loaded them onto heavy wagons, then trudged back for another load. The entire process was supervised by Azrael's Politskara. They were everywhere, silver axes at the ready. Whatever Azrael had the men unloading from the mine, it was more valuable than salt.
The dwarf clearly thought so anyway. He'd shut down the mine so everyone could focus on the task of moving the heavy crates. It was an unprecedented event, one that disturbed the workers more than the sudden appearance of the white moon. That was beyond their understanding. They knew what the work stoppage meant: lost wages, maybe even lost jobs. Worse, there were rumors that the mine was going to close down for good. To men with no other skills, that meant starvation and hardship as deadly as any creature lurking in the woods.
As Ambrose and the others got close to the lift, they could see apprehension, even fear, etched on every miner's face. It was not merely concern for their lives and their livelihoods that weighed heavily on the men. They were frightened for their souls.
The dwarf had insisted the work proceed day and night, breaking every rule the miners had established to protect themselves from the salt shadows. Since the damned creatures could not survive in daylight without a host, nothing ever left the mine unless the sun was shining. Even if a shadow had attached itself to someone, a single shift was too short a time for it to completely possess him. Exposing it to sunlight quickly would reveal its presence. The unfortunate host might not be saved, but he could be destroyed before the salt shadow drove him to a life of corruption.
Azrael dismissed it all as superstitious nonsense and ordered the men to keep working after the sun went down. A few of the younger miners agreed, having never seen evidence of the shadows themselves. To them, the creatures were no more real than the Bloody Cobbler or the Whispering Beast. The older workers, though, kept a careful eye on the boxes, in case a shadow should be hiding on it. A few had even burned their palms and the soles of their feet, since dead flesh supposedly repulsed the creatures.
Ogier said a little prayer as the last of the boxes was unloaded and he, Kern, and Ambrose stepped into the lift. The big man did not fear the salt shadows, but he was scared of the trip down the pit. One of the lifts had broken free of its cable recently, killing everyone inside. Ogier asked the fates to keep this one safe.
Kern chuckled at the serious expression on his friend's face. He leaned close so the two dour polit-skae in the lift wouldn't hear and whispered, 'You should be praying to the dwarf to keep us safe. The lift never falters when it's carrying anything important to him.'
'Enough foolishness,' Ambrose said more loudly than was necessary. Kern shot him an angry look, but the shopkeep met his gaze defiantly.
Ever the unknowing diplomat, it was Ogier who broke the tension. 'Even if you're right, Kern, Ambrose is important to Azrael, and we're important to Ambrose. We'll be safe.'
Silence fell upon the three men as the lift started its descent. They listened to the creaking of the pulleys and the groaning of the ropes. After a time, they could make out quiet voices from a cross shaft far below. The mine usually rang with the shouts of workers and the impact of hammer and pick on stone. The muted sounds took on an eerie quality for the men so accustomed to that din.
With a jerk, the lift came to a stop. The landing was crowded with men and crates. Kern and Ogier didn't recognize the miners. Grunts from the night shift, they assumed.
'Last load,' said the group's foreman. Ambrose walked past him as if he hadn't heard. He went straight for a knot of six politskae gathered where the landing narrowed into a tunnel. They were a sullen bunch, half-concealed in the shadows. As Ambrose quietly discussed something with them, the rest of the workers set to loading the lift.
Ogier was quick to lend a hand, hefting even the larger boxes with ease. The crates were a mismatched lot, everything from salt barrels to children's coffins. The only things they had in common were their weight and the clanking sound they made when dropped or jostled. Even someone of Ogier's meager intellect could guess what was inside.
'An attack's coming,' one of the workers muttered to Kern. 'That's why we're moving this. Azrael don't want the Invidians to get it.'
Kern, who was poking around the boxes in search of the lightest burden, yapped a dismissive laugh. 'We're about as far from the border as you can get. Besides, if a raiding party attacks Veidrava, this stuff would be safer down here.'
'If the Invidian army shows up,' someone noted wearily, 'we'd all be safer down here.'
'Not in this tunnel,' hissed an old man named Divelg, who'd been down the pit longer than anyone else at Veidrava. 'Better to be sitting in Malocchio Aderre's lap than here. You know what that leads to?' He gestured toward the tunnel.
Ambrose was suddenly beside Divelg. He grabbed the old man by the throat and slammed him against the wall. 'What's back there is something best forgotten,' he rumbled.
'You're hurting him,' Ogier said quietly. 'Ambrose, stop.'
The shopkeep whirled to face the big man. 'Shut your bleating, Sheep, and get back to the boxes.'
