The Shield of Weeping Ghosts - James P. Davis [21]
The feel of fragile parchment between his fingers had been one of the quiet joys of his life among the vremyonni- though many of those scrolls and maps had been stolen less than a tenday previous. Syrolf had noted their theft among Bastun's list of crimes, but truly he had no need to steal them. Keffrass had been one of the first to examine Shandaular and the Shield and had taught Bastun as much as he had wanted to learn.
He wished Keffrass were here now, though were that possible Bastun would have had no reason to come-at least, not as soon perhaps. The Shield had its secrets, secrets Keffrass had long protected and only after many years had passed on to Bastun.
The night of the theft and the murder seemed a lifetime away.
The fog thickened and progress slowed. Runners moved back and forth between Thaena and the lead warriors, taking directions and making reports. "Strange movement in the fog," they reported, and at least one scout's face was as white as the snow when she spoke with Duras. Bastun closed his eyes briefly and whispered a word of command, activating magic embedded in his mask to witness any manipulation of the Weave in the vicinity. When he opened his eyes again he gasped.
A ripple of energy flowed around them, swirling with the fog and forming into shapes that glowed dully with magic. Faces and dim silhouettes streamed past them, crowds of spirits rushing along in a silent drama. As Bastun maintained the spell, the visions grew more intense. Dull colors of blue and black trailed behind the spirits as they appeared beside him and ran through those in front of him. He could make out a whisper of sound, snippets of an ancient language in a dialect he did not understand, and faint screams of anguish echoed in his ears as if from far away. The ghosts of fallen Shandaular.
Once again, as before when they'd first made landfall, Bastun detected a strange pattern in the sounds. Something was missing, like hearing only one side of a conversation or every other note of a familiar song. He focused on the gaps, trying to fill in what could have been taken away, but to no avail. Letting the spell fade, he shook his head as the mundane world returned in the glimmer of distant torches and tumbling snowflakes. Narrowing his eyes, he tried to make out those spirits in normal sight, but they were invisible. Their mystery troubled him-the ghosts of Shandaular weren't a topic the scrolls detailed. They had been either overlooked, or it was something new.
A Rashemi runner came again, and the ethran raised her hand and called for a stop. After consulting with Thaena he returned to the front. Anilya stopped her own band and stood by while Thaena spoke with Duras.
"There is a large structure up ahead and what looks to be a clear road to the Shield's gates," she told the warrior. "We should scout for any threats before approaching the castle."
"Agreed," Duras said, and motioned towards Bastun. "Syrolf! You're with me."
Bastun let out the breath he'd almost replied with and watched as Syrolf reluctantly turned over his guard to the other warriors. The pair disappeared into the fog.
Anilya conferred with Ohriman, drawing a cautious stare from Bastun. Thaena stood on the north side of the road at the base of a ruined wall, and the vremyonni saw his chance to speak with her about his concerns. Glancing at the others, he made his way in as non-threatening a manner as he could manage. He was watched carefully but not stopped by his guards-their distaste for him apparently not as motivated as SyrolFs.
"Ethran," he said, "may I have a word?"
She nodded, but her eyes remained on the curving path ahead where Duras had gone. Bastun leaned against the wall beside Thaena, choosing his words carefully before speaking. Secrets and difficult subjects seemed to be gathering in crowds since they'd arrived in Shandaular, and words were only complicating matters further.
"I wanted to speak of Anilya," he said. "Her presence here-"