Merris was ashamed to admit how deep her relief was. It made her voice sharper and her words more cutting. “What, you can’t wait out your Internship before you get yourself killed in the line of duty?”
“Maybe you’re right,” Coryn said. “Maybe you’re not. Either way, you should have someone at your back.”
“Why? Have you Gifts that can help? Can you transport me there instantly? Read the Lady’s mind? Blast the Keep into rubble?”
His cheeks were bright red. “I’m nothing either special or spectacular as Heralds go, and the gods know I’m not highborn. But I am a Herald. The King’s authority rides with me. If this bargain is unholy or unsanctioned, there are things I can do to put a stop to it.”
“Yes,” she said nastily. “You can die for being too stupidly brave to stay away.”
He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. “Maybe so. And maybe my death will count for something. We’re going with you.”
She hissed in frustration. If she pushed past, he only had to follow. He had a mount and she had none. He could gallop ahead and be there hours before her.
She stared him down until he stepped aside. When she went on down the road, so did he, with his Companion clopping behind like a common horse.
She wished they would go away—but she was glad they were there. If nothing else, and if they survived, they were witnesses. They could tell the world what Darkwall’s Lady was.
It was strange to be walking roads that Merris had only known on maps, and to see the country come alive around her. For a while she walked, then she rode because the Companion insisted—saying through the Herald that she was flagging and the day was not getting any younger, and she had to have some strength left when she came to her destination. On that broad back she rode through a wilderness of trees, over stony streams and across sudden outcroppings of rock and scree.
She had chosen Astera’s shrine because it was closer to Darkwall than Forbidden Keep, but it was still a long way. They were most of three days on the road, in rain and sun, camping by moonlight and starlight. Coryn had a useful Gift after alclass="underline" he could start a fire out of anything, though when she challenged him to do it with a cup of rainwater, he responded with a flat stare. He had a sense of humor, but it had limits.
Late on the third day after Merris slipped out of the shrine, they came around a curve in the road—which by then was little more than a goat track—and looked down on a valley she had never seen before in her life. And yet she knew it as if she had grown up there.
Its walls were steep and wooded. A river ran through the bottom, deep and wide enough for traders’ boats. Villages clustered along it. High above it on a black rock sat the Keep, crouching like a raven over a rich store of carrion.
Merris had expected to find the valley sinister. She could apply that word to the Keep, but the rest was beautiful. The fields cut from the woods and the hillsides were rich with ripening crops. Vineyards clung to the slopes higher up, thickly clustered with grapes.
Darkwall wine was famous hereabouts. It was a dark vintage, strong and sweet. It was wonderful in winter, heated with spices, or diluted and chilled with spring water in the summer.
The memory was so vivid that Merris could taste it. She swallowed and made her eyes lift past the vineyards to the Keep.
It was black, built of the same stone as the rock it stood on. A round tower stood at each corner. The flag that flew from it was black, with the blood-red outline of a raven flying on it.
The Companion moved without her riders’ asking, picking her way down the steep track. On the road she had found a mud-wallow, then a patch of brown dust to roll in until she was covered from ears to tail. She was still white, but she had managed to dull the brilliance of her coat.
It was a long way down to the river. The track brought them into the village at the foot of the crag, in among a cluster of houses. Fishing nets hung on walls, and boats were drawn up in alleyways and along the riverbank.
There were people out and about. They looked much like the villagers of Forgotten Keep, or like Coryn for that matter. The strangers attracted glances, mildly curious but neither greatly interested nor hostile. There must be enough trade on the river, and enough traders coming through, that unfamiliar faces were not unheard of.
Merris had meant to find either an inn where questions could be answered in travelers’ tales, or a temple where the priests might be welcoming to strangers. But there was no inn. One or two places looked like taverns, but they had a peculiarly deserted look. And there was no temple.
Every village that Merris knew had a temple, if not two or more. There was none here. “So where do travelers rest?” she wondered aloud. “And where does anyone worship?”
“On their boats, I suppose,” Coryn said, “or they go elsewhere.” He frowned. “It is odd. Maybe there’s a market town downstream?”
“I don’t know of any,” said Merris. “This is the chief town that answers to the Keep. Look, there’s the marketplace.” She pointed with her chin to an open space visible down the alley.
“Except there’s no market,” Coryn pointed out.
“It’s not market day, then,” Merris said, but her voice lacked conviction. “I could swear the books talk about the market. And there should be an inn—the Raven’s Nest.”
“I gather we’re not encouraged to spend the night here,” Coryn said.
He touched his heels to Selena’s sides. She went forward obligingly, playing the role of ordinary horse with perceptible relish. Merris thought she overdid the floppy ears and plodding step, but these fishermen were unlikely to know the difference.
Their lack of curiosity was beginning to bother her. No inn, no market, no temple—did traders really stop here? Or did they unload their cargo and get out as fast as they could? There were no other horses in the streets, not even a donkey, and no dogs or cats. Selena was the only fourfooted creature that Merris could see.
“No birds either,” Coryn said under his breath. “Does the air feel dead to you?”
Merris started to ask him what he meant, but she changed her mind. She suspected she knew.
The sun was bright and the breeze was warm, with a smell of water and fish and baking bread, all very pleasant. And yet it felt hollow—false. As if it were a painted backdrop, concealing . . . what? A fane of monsters?
She almost laughed. Her imagination was running away with her. There were fish in the river: she saw one leap well out toward the middle, a silver flash. And yes, there were birds. Black wings circled overhead: a pair of ravens, flying high above the Keep.
She had to get up there. If there was nowhere to stay in town, travelers must be expected to stay in the Keep. She slipped down off the Companion’s back, too quick for Coryn to stop her.
In a town with narrow alleys and people coming and going at inconvenient intervals, a man on a horse, or a creature like one, was at a distinct disadvantage. Merris gambled that the Herald would not leave his Companion. It seemed she was right.
Her back felt cold without Coryn and Selena to watch it. She clamped down the urge to run back to them. This was too dangerous to share with anyone else.
She was beginning to think she had miscalculated. There was nothing to put her finger on, but what she felt here was the wrong kind of wrongness. People were too quiet—too complaisant.
There were no children. No young adults, either. Everyone was older than she was—but not very much older. There were no old people, either. No white heads or wrinkled faces. Everyone seemed to be between the ages of twenty and fifty.
Young people could be in school, except there was no temple for them to be educated in. Old people should be sunning themselves in doorways or manning stalls in the market.