The Charnel Prince - J. Gregory Keyes [55]
“Where do you think we are?” Stephen asked.
Aspar took a slow look around. His bearings had been thrown off a bit by the unfamiliarity of what they had seen earlier.
The forest was more or less west of them, running north-south. East were the rolling fields of the Midenlands. He could make out five or six small farmsteads, a scattering of sheep, goats, and cows on the gentle hills. The tower of a small country church stood perhaps a league away.
“Do you know what town that is?” Stephen asked.
“I make it to be Thrigaetstath,” Aspar said.
Stephen had his map out and was scrutinizing it. “Are you sure?” he asked. “I think its more likely Tulhaem.”
“Yah? Then why ask me? I’ve only traveled these woods my whole life. You, you’ve got a map.”
“I’m just saying,” Stephen said, “that this is only the third town I’ve seen since passing Cal Azroth, which ought to make it Tulhaem.”
“Tulhaem’s bigger than that,” Aspar replied.
“It’s hard to tell how big a town is,” Stephen said, “when you can only see the top part of a bell tower. If you says it’s Thrigaetstath, I’m happy to mark it that way.”
“Werlic. Do it then.”
“Still, Thrigaetstath ought to be nearer—”
“Winna,” Aspar asked, “where are you going?” She had quietly started her mount walking down the hill, away from the forest.
“To ask,” she said. “There’s a farmstead just down there.”
“Bogelih,” Aspar grunted. “Are you sure?”
The boy—a straw-headed lad of fourteen or so named Algaf—scratched his head and seemed to think hard about the question.
“Well, sir,” he said at last, “I’ve spent my whole life here and never heard it called nothin’ else.”
“It’s not on my map,” Stephen complained.
“How far are we from Thrigaetstath?” Aspar asked.
“Ogh, near a league, I reckon,” the boy said. “But ain’t nobody living there now. Them black brammels grew over it.”
“The whole town?” Winna said.
“I always said it was too near the forest,” a female voice added.
Aspar’s gaze tracked the sound to a woman of perhaps thirty who was clad in a brown homespun dress and standing near the stone-walled pigpen. Her hair was the same color as the boy’s, and Aspar reckoned her for his mother.
“Pride, that’s what it was,” she went on. “They went over the boundary. Everyone knew it.”
“How long ago was this?” Stephen asked.
“I don’t know,” she said. “Before my grandmother’s grandmother. But the forest thinks slow, my grandmother said. It doesn’t forget. And now the lord Brammel has waked, and he’s taking back what was his.”
“What happened to the folk of Thrigaetstath?” Aspar asked.
“Scattered. Went to their relatives, if they had any. Some went to the city, I reckon. But they’re all gone.” Her eyes narrowed. “You’re him, aren’t you? The king’s holter?”
“I’m the holter,” Aspar acknowledged.
The woman nodded her head at the small buildings of her farm. “We built outside the boundary. We respected his law. Are we safe?”
Aspar sighed and shook his head. “That I don’t know. But I intend to find out.”
“I’ve ney husband ner family that will take me,” the woman said. “I’ve only the boy there. I can’t leave this place.”
Stephen cleared his throat. “Have you heard anything about other villages being abandoned? About people who run—pardon me—naked, like beasts?”
“A traveler from the east brought tales like that,” the woman said. “But travelers often bring tales.” She shifted uncomfortably. “Still, there is something.”
“What?” Aspar asked.
“Things come out of the brammels. The animals smell them. The dogs bark all night. And yesterday I lost a goat.”
“I saw it,” the boy said eagerly. “I saw it at the edge of the woods.”
“Algaf,” the woman snapped. “I’ve told you not to go there. Ever.”
“Yes, Mum. But Riqqi ran up there, and I had to go after him.”
“We can get another dog, if it comes to that,” the woman said. “Never, you hear me?”
“Yes, Mum.”
“But what did you see, boy?” Aspar asked.
“I think it was an utin,” the boy said cheerfully. “He stood taller than you, but he was all wrong, if y’kann me. I only saw him for a minute.”
“An utin,” Aspar grunted. Once he would have gruffly