They stood, heaving from effort, looking up the little valley to the mountain beyond, and a few pigeons began cooing from their roosting tree at the edge of the forest.
It was silent, peaceful. A cool wind played with Thomas’s hair, and his breath came out and blew away in a fog from his mouth.
Then for no discernible reason except to ease his stress, Chance let out a long howl, as if he were a wolf. In the center of the clearing below them the ferns erupted and a jaybird flapped into the sky, chattering angrily, searching for the source of the howls.
Thomas and Chance looked at each other, both of them realizing at the same time that the jaybird had been feeding, and as one they jumped into the deep ferns below them, raced tripping and fumbling until they climbed on a wind-fallen tree and looked down. Chance hooted for joy, for there in the ferns lay a dead demon with one massive hand wrapped around the throat of the most beautiful woman Thomas had ever seen.
She had golden hair that she wore in tiny braids, and over her hair she’d worn a net of silver with teardrop-shaped disks of gold. Even now, a blue jewel glowed in the net just above her eyes. She wore a cloak that was colored the green and yellow of ferns, and beneath it was some kind of armor made of a material that Thomas imagined to be some sort of exotic spun metal, like silver maybe. Her face was regal, and her arms were strong, with sensitive hands.
For her part, she had thrust a magic sword through the heart of the demon before she died, and even now, the sword shimmered and its blade looked as if it were liquid quicksilver in motion, baffling the eye.
Behind the demon lay its severed right hand and its magic rod, just where it must have fallen when the angel lopped it off.
The bodies were well hidden from the sun. The icy ground had preserved them remarkably well. The jaybird had been having a go at the face of the demon, scoring on its huge eyes, which were glassy yellow-brown in death.
Thomas caressed the flawless skin of the woman’s face, and she looked as if she were sleeping, her mouth in a tiny frown as if she had just had a disturbing dream. Her skin was stiff from cold, and the wind blew through her delicate eyelashes. Thomas saw that as he touched her, his own hand was shaking, and he sat and considered just how he felt right now.
For years he had lived on the road, plying his trade as a minstrel and satirist, and though he had seen many beautiful women in the far corners of the world, he had never before seen anything quite so exquisite and wondrous as what he beheld right now.
Thomas had always been a cautious man, unable to trust others. He’d never much believed in God. The imperfections of the world had always seemed ample evidence that there could not be a powerful and compassionate god. Yet now he quivered inside as he touched the dead angel, and he felt somehow transformed, holy.
It was as if a great light welled up within him, burning away years of doubt and cynicism that he had carried as some burden, almost unaware, and he dared not look up at Chance, lest the boy see the tears forming in his eyes. This is as close to heaven as I may ever get, Thomas thought. And he wondered if this was the true reason he’d come back to Clere. In part he’d wanted to take care of his niece Maggie and spend a profitable winter away from the cold, but deep in his heart, he’d hoped to see this wonder, to see an angel and be certain.
So, God, he thought. You’ve played a good joke on me, letting me go on in my doubts for all these years. And yet he wondered, he wondered what kinds of creatures these were-demons and angels as mortal as men. Perhaps their own immortal powers had somehow canceled each other out, so that they could kill one another. No doubt the priests would find some explanation. Yet here he was, caressing the cheek of a fallen angel, daring to hope that she would come back to life under his touch.
“Let’s get into town,” Thomas whispered to Chance roughly, his voice tight from emotion. “We’ll hire some men and bring my wagon. She died to save us. I can’t let her sit here through another night.”
* * *
Chapter 5
Just after dusk, Maggie served in the common room at Mahoney’s Inn. The place had filled up with fishermen who knew how to draw their own rum from the tap and could be trusted to leave the proper coins on the table.
They were a nervous lot, wondering aloud how soon Thomas might come in from the woods, speculating as to whether it would be wights-a very common threat in this neck of the woods-or demons who got him.
And of course there were many there who wished him well, for they’d come to hear him sing.
Thus it was that Maggie’s uncle came bustling in a fluster, smelling of the road, with an odd expression-something between exultation and manic joy. Thomas just stood in the doorway for a moment, grinning.
“I found them-” he said softly to the crowd. “A dead demon and an angel with it, and they’ll both be on display in the stable in an hour!”
For one moment, no one spoke, then suddenly everyone was talking.
Thomas hurried Maggie into the kitchens, and began pulling sacks of flour and sugar out onto the mixing table. He said urgently, “Old John Mahoney must have had someone who helped out during his busy season. You’ll need to round up those folks-anyone who’s handy at cooking and serving. Then you had better go to the butcher and buy a pig and a goose and get them roasting. We’ll need dinner for a hundred tonight.”
“A hundred?” Maggie said in astonishment.
“Aye,” Thomas said with a wink. “At the very least. I know you resent me, but I promise you, Maggie, I’ll make you a fortune at this inn. Between my singing, and heavenly hosts on display-this place will be a madhouse within a fortnight!”
And Maggie said in frustration, “The larder is empty and I don’t have coin to buy so much food. The shops are closed or closing for the night-” Thomas reached to his belt and pulled out his purse, heavy with coins. “Hurry, then, and buy what you can for tonight and tomorrow.”
Then he rushed into the night, out the back door. Maggie grabbed her shawl and ran to the butcher’s and the miller’s. She saw Thomas and four men go rumbling off into the dark in a wagon moments later, and half wished that the wights would take them all.
In an hour the town was bustling and the inn was deluged. Whole families who had never set foot in the inn were too flustered to fix dinner for themselves, and they pounded on the tables. Maggie muscled a hundred-pound pig onto the spit, planning to carve off the meat as fast as it roasted. Ann Dilley came in of her own accord and began cooking potatoes and loaves of bread, while Ann’s daughters waited tables.
Gallen came in just after dark, and he took Maggie’s hand, went into the kitchen with her, and stood beside the woodbox. “What is this I hear? You’ve got an uncle who has called off our marriage-and brought the bodies of a Vanquisher and one of Everynne’s guards into town, all in the same afternoon?”
“Aye,” Maggie said angrily. “The jolly old bugger. He’s paid Father Brian to call off the marriage!”
Ann Dilley rushed into the room at that moment, hurried past them. “You might as well bring the ale and wine out front and save us some trips,” she said, grabbing a small keg of whiskey, then she hurried out.
“I’ll have a word with your uncle,” Gallen said.
“Don’t stab him!” Maggie said, suddenly fearful at the note of anger in his voice.
Gallen looked at her askance. “Stab him? What do you take me for?”