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was not with her. I should have been, I know, but& I wasn t.
And there lay the key. Beoch felt guilt over her disappearance. What he wanted
more than anything was to get Gwendith back and absolve himself of that guilt. Or,
failing that, he wanted to seek absolution for himself by taking revenge against her
attackers.
This would be even easier than usual. Only a few words and phrases would be
needed. Hardly an application of Talys talent at all.
 Why was that, Beoch?
The smith responded to the light touch of talent and looked to Talys as if he was
some sort of father confessor.  I& I had gone off with another woman. Remorse twisted
his features.  I m so sorry for it Gwenny deserved better treatment from me, I know
she did. Because of my failings, she was alone when those Wizards-damned muddies
took her!
Talys looked sympathetic, knowing his words would be like a twist of the knife.
 There was no way you could have known.
 I should have been there, Beoch insisted.  I could have stopped them. But I
failed her. Please, colonel, I love my wife. Let me make it up to her by helping rescue
her! I used to be in the army I can fire a rifle.
Talys nodded sagely, pretending to think it over.  Very well, then. I m sure there s
something you can do.
 Thank you, Beoch gasped, as if being granted a great favor.
 I ve sent some soldiers out looking for her already. A man named Johann went
with them is he your brother?
 No. Beoch glowered, and Talys was glad Johann had left beforehand. Normally
he didn t have to work to keep order among his followers, and it would be an
inconvenience if he had to start now.
 You ll stay at my side. I may have need of your smith s skills soon. Oh, one last
question, if you will.
 Of course. Anything.
 I originally came here because I was looking into something for the army. As a
smith in a town assigned to a fort, I assume you have access to phoenix stones to fuel
your forge?
Beoch seemed puzzled but answered readily enough.  Yes. Not as many as
some larger forges elsewhere certainly not as many as gunsmiths have but enough
to get by with.
 Have you noticed anything odd about the phoenix stones lately? Does there
seem fewer of them than before?
 Theft?
Talys sighed mentally. The phoenix stones were the last legacy of the Wizards,
burning with a white-hot flame that never consumed the stones themselves. Or at least,
that had been the case until now. The idea that the magic in them might someday die
was incomprehensible to a man like Beoch, whose faith in the Wizards was likely close
to unshakable.
Well, if he fell in with Talys, it would be shaken very well in the days to come.
 Not exactly. Just let me know if you notice anything strange.
Beoch looked confused but nodded his assent. Giving Talys a rusty salute, he
shuffled out the door.
Alone, Talys sighed and relaxed. He ran his fingers over the ragged old journal
on the desk, reverently opening its pages. A soldier had kept this diary over two
centuries ago; his terrible handwriting had combined with age to render some passages
unreadable. Even so, the book was invaluable, for it contained a first-hand account of
the time just before the Wizards abandoned their flock an account not written to order
by the Wizards and their priests.
And it contained a chronicle of the war with the Skull People, which had
otherwise been expunged from all records. Neither the priesthood nor the military had
wanted posterity to remember their ignominious defeat at the hands of savages armed
with bows and stone arrows.
Ironic that he had found it in the old library at Fort Reed, hidden back behind
some dusty volumes that no one had opened in at least forty years. He liked to think
that it had been waiting for someone who would appreciate the truths it contained,
instead of burning it for blasphemy.
The book fell open to the page Talys had turned to most often as of late.
Although the handwriting of the anonymous soldier was atrocious, the man had
displayed some artistic skill. This particular page showed a picture of something the
soldier had witnessed in the battles with the Skull People: a native man, barbarically
dressed in a deerskin breechclout, with a skull tattooed over his features. The
accompanying entry talked about men called ghost eaters and noted that everyone was
terrified of them. They could supposedly kill a man by drawing the life out of him, yet
were themselves immune to even the most terrible wounds. Hut Sitter flame-callers had
to be brought in to deal with them.
It had seemed an exciting coincidence when Gwendith mentioned having visions
of a native bearing the distinctive ghost eater markings. More than a coincidence,
really it had seemed a path leading to an answer to the dangers threatening New
Rhylach, dangers no civilian like Gwendith could know about.
And then there had been the attack on the Sanctuary supply depot. Reports of
soldiers slain by a woman who wore fire on her hands like a lady would wear gloves
accompanied by a tattooed man who apparently killed by some means other than any
known weapon.
This morning, another report had come in concerning two soldiers missing since
the day before. Rather than being found in a drunken stupor as expected, they had
been discovered in shallow graves in one of the farther Sanctuary fields. One had
clearly had his head bashed in with a rock. But as for the other, the fort doctor was
unable to find any cause of death, putting the case feebly down to some kind of
paroxysm of the heart.
There was a ghost eater here last night, he thought with a thrill of excitement.
And now Gwendith is gone. It can t be a coincidence. If I can find her, then I can find
him.
And I must find him. For all our sakes.
CHAPTER FOUR
As the sun walked her long trail over the sky on the way to her mother s house
where she would sleep the night, the ghost eater and his small band of fugitives walked
their own through the forest. It proved a frustrating day for the ghost eater. During the
five moons of his wandering, he had almost forgotten what it was like to be mortal and
have to stop for rest, food, and other necessities. He had simply walked until his mind
became so fogged with exhaustion that he more or less dropped in his tracks. He had
always found it a bit odd that an untiring body should still host a mind that craved sleep
and dreams.
They sound like an entire herd of frightened deer, he thought, annoyed with his
companions. Twigs snapped loudly under their feet, and the ruined skirts of Gwendith s
dress caught on every other branch. Earlier, he had instructed them to walk single-file,
stepping in his own footsteps, so that any pursuit would be confused as to how many of
them there were. Glancing back, however, he saw that he might as well not have [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]