The Charnel Prince - J. Gregory Keyes [39]
“But they’re all dead,” Leoff said.
“Most are, auy,” Artwair allowed. “But some were afar, or late in the fields.”
“And the children,” Leoff said. “Who will look after them?”
Gilmer and Artwair had made a house-to-house search the morning after the fire. Thirty children they had found in all, still in cribs or abed. Those old enough to be out had shared their parents’ fate.
“They will be cared for,” he said. “Their duke will see to it.”
“Yes, that,” Leoff sighed. “Why did you not tell me who you were, my lord?”
“Because one learns more, sees more, lives more when people aren’t constantly calling him ‘my lord,’ ” Artwair replied. “Many a greffy and kingdom has come to ruin because its lord had no knowledge of what went on in its roads and on its streets.”
“You’re an unusual duke,” Leoff said.
“And you’re an unusual composer—I suppose, though I’d never heard of one before I met you. You’ve done me—and this empire—a great service.”
“It was Gilmer,” Leoff said. “I didn’t understand. I would have run far away, if it had been just me. I’m no hero, no man of action.”
“Gilmer has lived here all his life. His obligations and duty are rooted deep in his bones. You are a stranger, and owe this place nothing—and as you say, you aren’t a warrior. Still you risked all for it. You are a hero, sir, the more because you wished to run and did not.”
“And yet we saved so little.”
“Are you mad? Do you have any idea how many would have perished had they broken the dike? What cost to the kingdom?”
“No,” Leoff said. “I know only that an entire town has died.”
“It happens,” Artwair said. “In war and famine, in flood and fire.”
“But why? What were those men about? Where did they get that terrible creature?”
“I wish I knew,” Artwair said. “I very much wish I knew. When I returned to the dike, the last two men had fled. The rest were killed by the fire or by the basil-nix.”
“And the creature,” Leoff asked. “Did it escape?”
Artwair shook his head. “It burned. That’s it on Galast, there.”
Leoff looked. The packhorse had an irregular bundle on it, wrapped in leather.
“Is it safe?” he asked.
“I wrapped it myself, and have suffered no ill.”
“Where did such a thing come from?”
The duke shrugged. “Some months ago a greffyn was slain at Cal Azroth. A year ago I would have sworn all such creatures were nothing but children’s alvspellings. But now we have a basil-nix, as well. It’s as if a whole hidden world is waking around us.”
“A world of evil,” Leoff said.
“The world has always had plenty of evil in it,” Artwair said. “But I’ll admit, its face seems to be changing.”
By noon, Leoff saw what he thought at first was a cloud hunkered on the horizon, but he gradually made out the slim towers and the pennants upon them and realized that what he saw was a hill rising up from the great flat bottom of Newland.
“Is that it?” he asked.
“Auy,” Artwair replied. “That’s Ynis, the royal island.”
“Island? It looks like a hill.”
“It’s too flat here to see the water. The Warlock and the Dew meet on this side of Ynis, and divide around it. On the other side is Foambreaker Bay, and the Lier Sea. The castle there is Eslen.”
“It looks big.”
“It is,” Artwair said. “They say Eslen Castle has more rooms than the sky has stars. I don’t know—I’ve never counted either.”
Soon they came to the confluence, and Leoff saw that Eslen was indeed on an island of sorts. The Dew—the river they had crossed at poor, doomed Broogh—ran into another bediked river, the Warlock. The Warlock was enormous, perhaps half a league in width, and together the rivers formed a sort of lake from which the hills of Ynis rose precipitously.
“We’ll take the ferry across,” Artwair said. “Then I’ll make certain the right introductions are made. I’ve no way of knowing if your position is secure, but if it is, we’ll find out. If it isn’t, come to my estates at Haundwarpen, and I’ll find a place for you.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
“Call me Artwair—it’s how you came to know me.”
When they came in sight of the ferry crossing, Leoff feared they had come up on an encamped