The Gates of Winter - Mark Anthony [112]
Grace met Durge's eyes. “Something's wrong.”
“I think you're right in that, Your Majesty,” said a woman's voice.
Grace gasped as, with a flick of her silvery cloak, Samatha appeared out of thin air.
“What is it, Sam?” Grace said, doing her best to swallow her heart back down.
The Spider's mousy face was pinched with concern. “Two of our brothers are missing. We all went ahead a few hours ago to seek a place to stop for the night, but Henrin and Wulther never returned.”
That was strange news. It wasn't like a Spider to get lost, even in rugged country such as this, and Grace would hardly expect one to fall into a ravine.
“Where's Aldeth?” Grace said.
“He's gone off in search of the missing Spiders. Leris and Karthi are helping him. I wanted to inform you what's happened, but now I must help Aldeth in the search.”
Grace nodded, and Samatha started to move away, but before she could wrap her mistcloak around herself, a cry rose up from the far side of the camp. Several of the men gathered around, shouting. Grace cast glances at the others, then they were running across the camp.
The knot of men parted when Grace approached. She hurried forward, Tarus and Durge at her heels, then clasped a hand to her mouth as she lurched to a halt.
The two men lay in a patch of brambles, staring upward with dead eyes, silver-gray cloaks tangled, limbs entwined as if in a final embrace. A knife protruded from one's chest. Another had bled out from a long gash in the throat.
“Sweet Jorus, no,” Samatha gasped, her face white. She fell to her knees, clutching their bloodied cloaks.
Tarus clenched his hands into fists. “By all the gods, who did this to them?”
“They did,” Paladus said.
The others stared at the Tarrasian commander. He had been in the group of men gathered around the bodies.
“Do you not see it?” Paladus pointed to the bodies. “Look at the way they have fallen, and how this one grips a knife still. These men murdered each other.”
“But why would they have done such a terrible thing?” Tarus said, shielding Tira's eyes with a hand.
“Maybe they accepted what we've all been denying,” Samatha said, rocking back and forth in her grief. “Maybe they knew we're all doomed.”
“Yes,” Durge said softly, gazing at the dead men. His hand crept up to his chest. “Doomed.”
Paladus spun around, his face flushed. “I might expect that kind of talk from a weasel and spy like her, but not from a man of war. Speak that way again, sir, and I will show you doom.” His hand moved to the hilt of his sword.
Tarus advanced on the commander. “Hold your tongue, Paladus. You have no right to talk to a knight of the Dominions in such a coarse manner.”
Tira wriggled free of Tarus and ran to Grace, clutching her skirts. Grace picked the girl up, staring, unable to believe what was happening.
Paladus's eyes narrowed. “I'll say what I know to be true. You northerners are a lot of weaklings and cowards. You'd be dead already without us.”
Tarus bared his teeth. “We're not going to stand for talk like that, are we, Durge?” Durge only stared at the corpses, but Tarus seemed not to notice. He advanced on the commander. “We don't need help from a bunch of mangy southern dogs.”
Paladus's face darkened, but before he could speak Samatha leaped to her feet. “Go away!” Her voice rose into a shriek. “All of you, go away! My brothers are dead, and you're like vultures circling the bodies.”
Aldeth stepped out of a swirl of mist; a fog had begun to rise from the ground, its touch clammy and chilling. He took in the fallen men, the angry faces, and his eyes went wide. “By the Seven, what's going on here?”
That was a good question. Grace shut her eyes and reached out with the Touch.
It yawned like a mouth in the Weirding, black and hungry, swallowing all light, all life that came near it.
She was a fool. It was in western Perridon where they had first encountered such a thing. She should have known they might come upon another. Her eyes flew open.
“Durge,” she said, pointing a trembling finger toward the thicket