The Blood Knight - J. Gregory Keyes [128]
“There are certain old gods and even saints who take their sacrifices hung on trees,” he continued. “And it was common even in Church lands to hang criminals like this, at least up until a few years ago.”
“Maybe that’s why the boy didn’t mention it,” Themes suggested. “Maybe this is just where his town brings its criminals.”
“Probably,” Stephen agreed. “That makes sense.”
But despite the logic, the creak of the ropes swaying in the wind and the eyeless faces were still very much with Stephen a few bells later, when Demsted came into view.
To Stephen’s eye, most of the towns he had seen since leaving the ruins of Ever hadn’t been what he considered proper towns, and he didn’t expect much out of Demsted. He was, however, pleasantly surprised when they came down through the fog and were greeted by a myriad of lights in the glen below. In the twilight he could make out the outline of a clock tower, the peaked roofs of at least a few houses that boasted more than one story, and a squat cylinder that might be an old keep.
The entire town was encircled by a stout stone wall. It was no Ralegh or Eslen, but considering where they were, Stephen was nothing short of amazed. How could a handful of sheep herders support a town of this size?
The mountain way joined an older, embanked road shortly before they reached the town. Another surprise: It resembled the sort of road the Hegemony had built, though as far as Stephen knew, the Hegemony hadn’t expanded all the way into the Bairghs.
They soon found themselves at the city gate, a pair of iron-bound wooden portals about four kingsyards high. They weren’t closed yet, but a hoarse shout from above warned them to halt. Or at least Stephen supposed it was a warning.
“We’re travelers,” Stephen shouted up. “Do you speak the king’s tongue or Almannish?”
“I can speak the king’s tongue,” the man shouted back down. “You’re out awfully late. We were about to close the gates.”
“We might have camped in the mountains, but we met a boy who told us we could find lodging here.”
“What was the boy’s name?”
“Ven, he called himself.”
“Je,” the man said reflectively. “Do you swear you’re not warlocks, wirjawalvs, or other creatures of mischief or evil?”
“We’re monks of Saint Decmanus,” Ehan called up, “or three of us are. The fourth is our friend and a huntsman.”
“If you’ll allow the test, you can come in, then.”
“Test?”
“Step on through the gate.”
The gate didn’t open directly into the town but into a walled-in yard. Even as they entered it, Stephen watched the opposite gates close. He waited for those they had just passed through to shut as well, but apparently if Stephen and his companions were warlocks or wirjawalvs, the townsfolk would just as soon leave one door open for them to exit through.
A door opened to their left, at the base of the wall, and the hairs on Stephen’s neck pricked up as two large four-legged shapes stepped out, their eyes glinting red in the torchlight. He couldn’t tell if they were dogs or wolves, but they were something from that clan and big.
It was a moment before he noticed that there was someone with the beasts. Whoever it was wore a weather cloak and a paida like his, and his face was in shadow.
The beasts were coming closer now, growling, and Stephen reckoned they were some sort of mastiff, albeit the size of a pony.
“This don’t make me feel easy,” Henne said.
“Just hold still,” said the person with the dogs. Stephen thought it sounded like a woman, though the voice was a bit husky. “Make no sudden move.”
Stephen tried to obey, but it wasn’t easy when the huge, wet toothy muzzles of the animals were snuffling against him.
“This is the test?” he asked to try to curb his nervousness.
“Any dog can scent what isn’t natural,” the woman said. “But these have been bred for it.”
The dog sniffing Stephen suddenly bellowed out a bark, bared its teeth, and backed away, the hair on its back standing visibly.
“You’re tainted,” she