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  “Great!” cried Connor. “This stupid horse!”

  Adrian looked over and saw a fresh pile of dung beneath the horse Connor was tending to. He shook his head and could not help but smile as he watched Connor fetch a shovel to clean the mess. He gently ran a brush down Wind’s side, laughing at his cousin’s curses, most of which he had learned down at the docks and none his father would be too pleased to hear him spout.

  “It’s always this one,” Connor muttered to himself, and then crossly to the horse, “What’s the matter with you?” The horse whinnied and tossed its head.

  “You’ll get kicked if you keep that up,” Adrian warned as he worked with the brush. He had found that as long as he kept himself busy the dreams did not have so strong a hold on him. He tried to keep himself very busy.

  “If it weren’t for its owner, I would have broken the shovel over its idiot face long ago,” Connor said.

  Adrian laughed at the thought, and became aware how odd his own laughter sounded to his ears. It sounded as though he were trying to remember how to do something he had forgotten.

  He and Connor threw down hay from the loft and fed and watered the horses. With their tasks done they sat down pulled out their bags of marbles. They had just begun when Bertha poked her head in from the kitchens.

  “Come in and eat, you two! Nina cooked fish, but it won’t last forever!” Before she had finished, the two boys were up and making for the door at the rear.

  They waded their way through the bustle of cooks and helpers, trying not to get in the way, and headed to the large table on one side that was reserved for the workers. They sat down beside one of the serving girls, Hailey. Across the table sat Bertha and Anne, Connor’s oldest sister.

  Hailey immediately made a face. “God, Connor, when was the last time you had a bath? I could smell you coming.”

  “Always a pleasure, Hailey,” Connor said with mock sincerity. “Where’s the food?”

  “If you want it so badly, why don’t you go fetch it yourself?” Anne asked with all the poise that her seniority over the rest carried. Adrian smiled secretly to himself as he watched Connor frown at her.

  Nina waddled over to the table like a proud hen. Behind her one of the servants came bearing a tray with roast salmon on it. Nina watched carefully as the boy set the tray. Adrian felt sympathy for Tin, having to put up with Nina’s austere rules as he did. The boy grinned and gave him a sly wink as he laid out the food. The head cook was a wide woman, the white apron she wore straining around her middle, and she ruled the kitchen like a strict monarch. Adrian avoided meeting her gaze; she was not above giving any of them a firm spanking, as she had done many times in the past. He and Connor had both felt the sharp sting of her tongue when she caught them trying to pocket something from her kitchens.

  “It’s about time,” Connor muttered, and received a cold stare.

  Nina surveyed the rest with a small smile, silently urging them to eat, and then turned to Hailey. “You’ve had a long enough break, girl. Get up and get back to work.”

  “Well, now we know where Bertha gets it from,” Connor muttered under his breath.

  They set to the food with a will. From the common room came the loud sounds of men talking and laughing, and floating along those rough voices was the tuneful whistle of a flute.

  4

  The boys were sitting by themselves, hoping to get a slice of pie from one of the helpers when Nina’s back was turned, when Connor’s father strode over to them. Jon Moor would have towered over the two boys even had they not been sitting. His short, light brown hair curled back from his forehead, making his head seem a soft bird’s nest. For a moment he studied the boys with calm blue eyes. “Done eating, are you? Good. We’ve just had two new arrivals and I need you to go and tend to their horses.”

  “But, da, it’s after hours!” cried Connor.

  “I know, Connor. But I can’t find Quinn or Joni anywhere, and these are the last patrons we’ll be taking for the night. Take care of their horses and you can go to bed.”

  Connor sighed and stood up. Adrian followed him and the two headed to the stables again. Adrian supposed Connor’s sour mood could be boiled down to the fact that it felt more of a chore to his cousin than it did to him. They unsaddled the new horses, watered them, rubbed them down and threw down some hay. It was only when they had nearly finished that the other two stablemen came sauntering in. Adrian noticed Connor staring at them balefully.

  “Where did you two go off to?” Connor demanded the two grizzled men.

  “Wha?” Jic mumbled. “Stepped out for a drink, is all. Calm down, boy.”

  “I should report you to my father!” said Connor. “Someone could have robbed us while you two were enjoying yourselves!”

  “Calm down, Connor,” Adrian told him quietly. He didn’t trust the two stablemen at all, and he didn’t like the severe stares they directed towards him and Connor. To the stablemen he said simply, “Well, now that you are here, make certain to stay here. And do your job properly. We’re tired of having to do it for you in the morning.”

  Quinn bowed mockingly. “Of course, young master. Beg your pardon, young master.”

  Adrian led Connor away and the two returned to the kitchens. When they had gone inside to eat the day had slowly been edging towards dusk, by now night had completely descended. One of the cooks warmed some milk for them before sending them to bed.

  5

  Living in an inn, one became used to the sounds of loud voices that seemed to ring throughout the night - or at least until Tarak threw them out - and Connor was instantly asleep. Adrian , however, lay on his bed and stared at the ceiling. Now that there was nothing to keep him busy, he had only the dreams. They picked at him, and he could not stop thinking about them. Even when he tried to focus on the music of the flute coming some two floors below him, he eventually found himself thinking about the dreams again.

  He dreamt other dreams as well, but upon waking only remembered the ones that caused his eyes to swell with tears if he thought too much on them. And after every occurrence of the nightmares, for that was what they truly were, he would promise himself that he would tell his uncle about them, but he never did. He knew that something had to be done soon, he just didn’t know what. Was there a cure for nightmares? He hoped so; he feared that every night that he dreamt pushed him a step closer to madness.

  He struggled to stay awake, but couldn’t fight his body’s needs forever. His eyes fluttered behind the lids as the nightmares swallowed him at last, and he was sucked into a darkness full of carnage.

  6

  The sky above him is a mass of churning black clouds. It makes Adrian think of ashes spread across the heavens. A harsh wind pushes at him, raising clouds of dust around his feet and choking him. He breathes the wind in, and tastes ash clearly ... and death. He is on a small rise, and the crops of wheat before him sway towards him, golden strands like slender arms welcoming him into their embrace. He refuses to walk towards the wheat and what lays beyond with the unpleasant sensation that he has been here before, walked beneath this dead sky before. A part of him knows it is a dream, and in some depth understands that he has experienced this before, no matter that it is a little different every time, and yet he is as helpless to wake as he is to stand in place. His feet begin to carry him forward as the wind howls past him.

  The stalks of wheat swallow Adrian, blocking out his view. He walks down a small slope of grainy soil. Ahead he can see the top of a lone tree leaning out to one side. He walks through the wheat, feeling its rough texture run through his hands. A bright flash overhead catches his eye and he looks up to see three bright streaks of maroon shoot across the ashen sky. The sight fills him with dread, and he struggles to turn back, to wake, anything but to continue on as he is. But his body refuses to heed his commands, and he is but a frantic ghost within the confining shell of his being.

  He breaks through the wheat, and the sight before his eyes leaves him standing still as
a statue. His eyes grow wide and his dry mouth hangs open in horror and revulsion. It feels now as though he has lost control of both mind and body, unable to think, unable to act. Before him stretches a small pond, the water a pitch black that promises certain death at a touch. The water is still, he sees, though the wind is now howling, attempting to push him into the pond. His eyes drift to the tree rooted to one side, leaning drunkenly over the water. From one thick branch four corpses sway in the wind by the thick ropes around their necks. The wind rollicks their bare feet above the water, snapping their torn rags around their frail bodies.

  He watches miserably as the wind moves the corpses in unison. There is something very haunting about the way they all face him, eyes closed in death. He struggles to break free of his stupor, but finds that he is only a small voice inside his own mind. The eyes facing him snap open. Gray eyes that no longer seem dead but full of anguish stare into his. For a moment he can do nothing but stare into those accusing faces as they look to him, and feels as though he should do something for them, if only to make them stop looking at him in such a pleading manner. But there is nothing he can do.

  Grasping some control over his body, Adrian turns and staggers back the way he has come, refusing to look over his shoulder, aware that the corpses are pursuing him.

  And abruptly he is running down a broad road covered in red dust, empty save for himself. The barren land all around is as flat as the road and he can see for miles to either side. A look behind him shows the same as a look before him: the empty road stretching on out of sight. A slight movement of white in the breeze catches his attention and he looks to the side of the road. He staggers back as he sees the dead bodies lining the road. The dead forms are all shrouded in white, with only their faces revealed. Frantic, Adrian looks to the other side, and sees the same shrouded forms lining the road out of sight before and behind him, as though guiding the path he must walk. Their lifeless eyes transcend the sky, which he sees is now the rusty crimson of dried blood. His heart is pounding in his chest with a frantic beat.. The sight of death all around him overwhelms him. He closes his eyes, refusing to see the road lined with death, and prays to awake. He is not certain if he runs with his eyes closed, or if he is only fleeing in his mind, but death still greets him at every turn.

  He runs past burning houses and past farms aflame. He runs past men, women, and children hanging by their necks, their bodies feathered with arrows. Their lifeless eyes roll in their sockets and follow him. He can feel them upon his back, yet he dare not turn around to meet them. He continues to run. To his right a boy little older than himself lies wailing in anguish, holding the bloody stump of his right arm. Before him carrion eaters flee, the reapers of death. Crows and ravens in the hundreds take wing before him, and somewhere among them he sees a small flock of white doves, and knows that they are important somehow. He watches as the doves are swallowed in the dark flurry of wings all around, and a few emerge.

  He runs past rapes and murders beyond count, the screams of the innocents following him. In the end he realizes that there is no escape. With a wordless scream he sinks to his knees while all around him the darkness waits.

  And then comes the woman.

  Adrian stands and finds himself on the outskirts of a thick mob of villagers. Men, women, and children fill the air with shouts of condemnation towards something in the center. Their faces are twisted in fear and revulsion. Adrian knows what is in the center, what they are all watching, and he tries to turn and run back the way he has come. But even as he begins to turn around he realizes he will never make it past his first step. He is pulled towards the mob, and they dissipate around him like fog. He is pulled to the forefront, helpless to turn away, helpless to do anything but watch. To struggle against that great force that pushes him feels as though his thoughts are being torn from his mind, ripping apart all sense from his grasp.

  The woman hanging limp between the two large men might once have been beautiful. That beauty is now certainly marred by the blood and dirt that streaks her golden hair and fair face. A large gash splits her scalp above her right eye, surrounded by dried blood. There are others, many in the same state as her, all being dragged towards the great pyre that burns in the center of the clearing. But Adrian’s eyes rest only on her.

  He feels a tightness within his chest, as though some great hand is slowly squeezing the life out of him. A part of him wants nothing more than to be able to turn and run from this sight, to ignore it and live in ignorance, but another part of him can only feel helpless at the desire to want to be able to do something.

  At first he believes her to be unconscious, then he hears her soft moans and understands that she is awake. He looks around at the faces of the mob. The flickering orange-yellow glow of the fire casts them in a demonic light, and for a moment they look to him like jackals. He watches in horror as the bearers begin to heave the bodies onto the pyre like deadfall. Adrian shouts for them to stop, pleads with them to stop, but his small voice is lost in the greater roar of the mob.

  He rushes forward to try and stop the golden-haired woman from getting to those flames, not understanding why she is so important, and a massive arm wraps around his small chest. He fights against it, but it will not let go. He watches as the woman is thrown onto the edge of the raging pyre.

  Tears overspill his eyes and roll down his cheeks, warm in the heat of the flames. The arm around him suddenly lets go and he breaks forward. He leaps onto the pyre, scattering chunks of wood, mindless of how the fire burns him. If only he can get the woman away from the flames .... He grabs her by the arm and begins to pull her free, all too aware of how the flames are licking at her clothes. There is a sickening scent in the air that makes him think of roasting meat.

  The woman’s face turns towards him and her pale gray eyes meet his. He sees confusion in that gaze, as though wondering who he is and what he is trying to do. Slowly her eyes grow clearer, as if she is just awakening from sleep.

  Abruptly Adrian is seized from behind and pulled away. He breaks free and attacks the pyre again, but once more he is pulled back. He looks into the woman’s pale, understanding gaze, and knows that he cannot do anything for her.

  “Do not be afraid of what is to come,” she whispers. And smiles.

  “Mother!” he screams.

  Chapter 2

  Strangers

  1

  It was two days later, in the middle of the afternoon, when the three strangers arrived. They walked their horses slowly towards the Golden Lilly, pots and pans tied to the saddles and creating a painful, clanking tune. Connor watched them approach from where he sat with a marble in hand. It was the steady clump-clump of the horses’ hooves on the cobble-stone street that had drawn his attention.

  Two large men led the small procession and a younger one followed at their rear. Of the two men in the lead one had dark hair with spots of gray at the temples and a face like an anvil. The other’s dark orange hair blew freely in the breeze. He wore the same stony expression as the first, and a faded scar running down his right cheek did nothing to make that face any gentler. Both appeared thick and solid, the kind that looked as though they could stand up to a raging river.

  The one behind them was a completely different story, however. If the first two resembled boulders then he matched a willow, Connor thought. He was of a height with the others, but slender were they were thick. His black hair curled down to his shoulders, providing some cover for his youthful, clean-shaven face. He beamed at nothing in particular as he gazed at the city around him, and Connor thought he must never have been in a city before.

  Their attire looked as though it were the only thing they did share in common. All three wore long drooping coats over open-throated shirts of faded hues and dark breeches. Their hands were adorned with dark gloves that exposed only their fingers and thumbs.

  Connor watched them come with a feeling of unease and dread. Those stone men in the lead with their stone eyes sent a chill through him. Boun
ty hunters?

  “Well, go on and meet them!”

  Connor glanced at Quinn near the rear of the stables, throwing feed for the chickens, and back to the approaching men. He steeled himself and walked out by Adrian’s side to greet the newcomers. He didn’t know why he should feel so unsettled, only that he did ... and those cold eyes would not leave him. For a moment he felt as though they were staring right through him, disregarding him as something insignificant.

  “Welcome to the Golden Lilly,” Adrian said to the men.

  The one with the graying dark hair made a gruff sound in response. The three men unloaded their blanket-rolls and traveling gear and handed the reins to the boys. The man with the graying hair tossed a copper penny into the air. Adrian caught it in surprise.

  “Take care of the horses. Rub them down, and have the gear stowed away someplace where it won’t be bothered.” His voice was a deep rumble; the voice of a man who expected his orders to be carried out without any qualms.

  “Yes, sir,” Adrian replied.

  Connor stayed quiet and kept his eyes lowered, lest the strangers take note of his dismay. Why could they not have gone to some other inn? The city was full of them, and these men looked as though they were only good for trouble. When he looked up the three men were walking away towards the inn. Connor watched them, and thought it odd how the men preferred to carry their own belongings rather than entrust it to Adrian or him. Perhaps they’re not that trusting.

  He and Adrian led the horses inside, the pots and pans making their dull and noisy music with every step the horses took.

  “A copper penny,” Adrian said as he looked at the coin in his hand. “I suppose it’s better than nothing.”