floor. Black earth and mold filled the crevices between the stones. “The same men who were outside when Jarad was here. I can tell by the bootprints. And there’s a lot of old blood here.”
The tomb slab, Geran realized. He moved over and crouched beside the heavy stone that covered the grave. “So some old party of tomb-breakers dug out the barrow and removed everything from this chamber,” he mused aloud, “but either they didn’t take anything from the body under this slab, or they put the slab back when they were finished. Neither seems very likely to me.”
Kara glanced over from where she knelt, and she frowned. “No, it’s not,” she agreed. She moved beside him and looked for herself. “This slab was dragged over and set here not long ago.”
“I thought so,” Geran answered. He glanced up at Kara and Hamil. “Be ready in case I’m wrong.” Then he shifted to get his fingers under the edge of the slab, tested its weight briefly, and breathed, “Sanhaer astelie!” Magical strength flooded into his limbs, and with one great heave he rose from his crouch, lifting with the power of his long legs, and threw the heavy slab away from the dank hole beneath. A sickening stench of foul air rose around him.
“Damnation!” Hamil hissed. Only a handful of despoiled bones remained of whatever chieftain had been buried there. But atop the ancient skeleton lay two additional bodies-the corpses of a young woman in a tattered dress of red wool and a short, broad-shouldered man in a shirt of mail. The woman’s skin was darkened and tight, and her sightless eyes stared up at the ceiling. Her throat had been cut. The soldier’s coat was dyed red from a wound just under his ribs that had left a long scarlet trail down his coat.
The smell was strong and unpleasant, and Geran quickly backed away, covering his mouth and nose. Kara and Hamil did likewise. “Two of Jarad’s killers, I suppose,” he managed from under his hand.
Kara held her hand over her nose. “I think she’s the woman who was with the riders. Her shoes match the marks I found outside. I was wondering why someone up in the Highfells would wear shoes better suited for a dance hall. As for the warrior, he could very well be one of the men injured in the fight in front of the barrow door. Perhaps Jarad managed to mortally wound one of his attackers before they cut him down.”
“Do you know the woman?” Geran asked.
Kara shook her head. “No, she could be anybody.” She knelt and looked closely at the body. “She’s dressed like a townswoman. And her wrists are tied behind her back.”
“What of the armsman, Kara?” Hamil asked.
“Look at the mail,” Geran answered for her. “It’s barred horizontally, Mulman-style.” That meant little in and of itself, but it was an unusual style. None of the armorers in Melvaunt or Thentia made their armor in that fashion; it was favored in the city of Mulmaster. He realized that he’d noticed mercenaries wearing Mulman-style mail recently and simply hadn’t thought much of it at the time. Thousands of armsmen wore Mulman armor, after all.
The ranger looked at the man’s body. “No coin or jewelry that I can see. They didn’t bother to strip the armor, but his weapons are gone. An old scar across his cheek…” She frowned suddenly and straightened up. “Damn. I think I’ve seen this man before. It’s a little hard to tell in this condition, but that scar, I know I’ve seen it.”
Geran glanced at Hamil then back to Kara. He waited in silence, allowing her to search her memory without interruption. After a moment, she gave a soft snort and nodded. “He’s a House Veruna man. I’ve seen him around town, usually in the company of other Veruna armsmen. Most of them are Mulmasterites and wear mail coats just like this. He left his colors at home, naturally. There’s nothing here to positively identify him as House Veruna.”
“So, they dragged the dead or dying armsman in here and left his body in the barrow grave. But why was the woman killed?” Geran wondered aloud. “I doubt that she was part of the ambush, since she’s hardly dressed for a fight.”
“She outlived her usefulness,” Hamil said darkly. “The Veruna men brought her here as a prisoner, maybe for the purpose of luring your friend Jarad to this spot. Once they’d killed him, she was nothing more than an inconvenient witness. Her bad fortune, I suppose.”
“We only know of one Veruna who was here, and he’s in the ground at our feet,” Kara answered. “We don’t know for sure that the others were Veruna men too.”
Geran made a sour face. “I have a strong suspicion about that, especially after what Mirya told me about Jarad’s missing dagger.”
Kara grimaced, but she didn’t debate Geran’s point. Instead she stared at the two bodies, her azure eyes gleaming in the dim light. “What I don’t understand is why they left Jarad outside,” she said. “If they went to the trouble of burying two bodies in here, why not three? Why leave Jarad out in the open to be found? If they’d simply dragged his body in here too, we might still be looking for him.”
“That’s simple,” Hamil said. “They wanted his body found. The killers wanted to send a message, something more pointed than an unsolved disappearance. But why bury these two here, where they might be found? It would’ve been better to carry these bodies away and bury them somewhere else.”
“It would have been awkward if they’d met somebody else out on the Highfells while carrying the bodies with them?” Geran guessed. “They were lazy? Or perhaps they thought that the harmach’s law would keep anyone from looking too closely at the barrow?” He shook his head. “It could be anything. All right, let’s have some fresh air while we figure this out.”
They withdrew from the barrow chamber and made their way back out from the entrance, climbing into the bright afternoon sunlight. The wind was cool and deliciously fresh after the stale dead murk of the barrow. Geran took several quick strides out into the hollow around the mound, straightening and stretching, before he realized that someone was standing by their horses, watching him. “Hamil!” he hissed.
The halfling stopped close behind him, and Kara halted too. They stared at the man who was watching them. He wasn’t human, that much was apparent. His skin had a ruddy brick hue, and two sharp, black horns jutted from his forehead. He dressed in a long coat of bright scarlet embroidered with gold thread over a ruffled white shirt, and his black silk breeches were bloused into low boots of fine leather.
“You should be more careful,” the horned man said in a rasping voice. “There are dangerous men abroad these days. They might have been lying in wait for you.”
Geran set one hand on the hilt of his sword and slowly moved away from his friends. “Well, it seems that we were fortunate to encounter you instead of them.”
“I didn’t say I’m not a dangerous man too,” the stranger replied. He carried a short, rune-carved staff in the crook of his left arm, but kept it at his side. He nodded at the barrow behind them. “Did you find anything in there? Anything like a book?”
“A book? No, only corpses,” said Hamil with a scowl. He shifted behind Kara to hide his knife hand from view.
The horned man snorted impatiently. “Well, of course. Barrows are full of them.”
Geran narrowed his eyes. He could make out some of the sigils on the horned man’s staff, and he didn’t like what he saw. Unless he misjudged the horned man badly, they were dealing with a formidable sorcerer of some sort. Symbols of fire and lightning glinted among the runes.
“Who are you?” Geran challenged. “What are you doing here?”
The sorcerer’s nostrils flared. “Who I am is no business but my own. As for what I’m doing here, well, I’m looking for something. But if this barrow’s empty, then it would seem I am in the wrong place. I will trouble you no more.” With an eye over his shoulder, he turned away and started back down the thready trail.
“Not so fast!” Kara called after him. She hurried after him. “In the name of the harmach, stand where you are! I will have some answers from you!”
The sorcerer glanced back in irritation. “I think not,” he said, and he struck his staff to the ground. “Arkhu zanastar!” he cried, and then he leaped up into the air. His scarlet coat rippled behind him as he soared off into the sky.
Kara swore and dashed over to where Dancer neighed and pranced nervously, reaching for the bow cased by the saddle. But by the time she retrieved the weapon, the horned sorcerer was only a distant speck in the sky, speeding away over the moorland until he topped a low rise and vanished from view. “Damn,” she snarled. “If that… person… was not involved in this somehow, then I’m an orc. What was he, anyway? Some manner of devil?”
Hamil shook his head. “No, a tiefling. They come from the distant east. They’ve got some infernal blood in their veins, but they’re not really devils.”
