Jonmarc spotted their destination. A small family cemetery lay long abandoned among the trees. In the Black Mountains of Principality, villagers gave their shrouded dead final rest in the high treetops and in the rocky ledges, making it easier, legend said, for their souls to embrace the Lover. But here in the lowlands, people were more likely to bury their dead. Bits of glass and metal hung from the lower branches of trees to ward away dark spirits. A few worn monuments stood tilted in the frozen ground. In the center of the plot, a stairway descended into another shrine.
The boy with the cat ventured closer. Before he was ten paces from the stairway, the cat reared up and hissed, crying out like a baby and clawing at its cage. Jonmarc waved the boy back and three men brought the bundles of dried wood and kindling. Jonmarc and the archers covered the men as they went as far down the stairs as they dared before setting the fire. They overturned the pitcher so that the oil ran down the stairs and into the shrine, and then one of the men struck flint to steel. The bundles burst into flame, and the fire roared up, as flames followed the trail of oil deeper into the shadows. Jonmarc set his jaw, forcing down old panic that triggered at the smell of burning oil as his heart thudded wildly, wanting to be anywhere but here.
Behind them, the cat yowled like a crazed thing, hissing and spitting in terror. "Get ready," Jonmarc murmured.
From the depths of the shrine came an ear-splitting wail. A blur of flame rushed toward them up the stairs.
"Fire!" Jonmarc shouted, loosing his quarrel.
Two fiery shapes burst from the shrine entrance. Jonmarc glimpsed faces contorted in agony as the flames consumed the two men and the arrows found their mark. Forced into the sunlight, the vayash morus's outlines flared. Their skin grew translucent, as if the flames glowed beneath it, and then fire shot from their eyes and mouths, rapidly cindering the two forms, which fell in a charred heap in the snow. The smell of burned flesh woke old memories, and he fought the urge to retch. Warily, Jonmarc and the Magistrate approached, but there was no movement, and as one of the men poked at the heap with his pike, it was clear that little remained beyond charred bone. "Were they the ones we sought?" the magistrate asked.
Jonmarc nodded, feeling sick. "I recognized both from the battle. If there were others who used this site, they'll keep their distance now. Let's move on."
The Magistrate led them to another site at the edge of the forest. It was clear that long ago, a substantial home stood here, although only ruins remained. By the look of it, the home had burned. Before the group could get within fifty feet of the ruined building, the cat began to throw itself against its cage, claws reaching between the bars as if it were trying to run for its life.
Jonmarc had always prided himself on not being a superstitious man. Yet as the group approached the burned foundation, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. It wasn't just a sense of vayash moru presence, Jonmarc thought. It was a shadow that even the bright sunlight did not dispel. He remembered the last time he had felt that coldness: in the presence of the Obsidian King.
"This is an evil place," the Magistrate said. "It burned a generation ago. My grandfather told me about it. Servants disappearing. Errand boys never seen again. They say the lady of the house was mad, and that she murdered the lord and then slept beside his shriveled corpse. Some said that she wanted blood to bring him back to life, but my grandfather thought she bathed in it."
Weapons ready, the group moved warily forward, leaving the crazed cat behind in its cage. They picked their way across the fallen rocks and past the remnants of walls. At the western corner of the foundations lay what remained of a private chapel. The feeling of uneasiness was oppressive here, and Jonmarc knew they had found the right place. He looked around for an opening.
"There," the Magistrate said, pointing to a cracked marble altar. Jonmarc summoned two of the village men, and together they slid the altar a few feet across the snow-covered floor. The air that rushed up from the darkness beneath smelled of decay. "Do you want the brands?"
Jonmarc shook his head. "I'd bet this goes deeper than the last one." He smiled ruefully. "I've had the privilege to sleep in quite a few places like this with Lord Gabriel's folks, under emergency circumstances." He motioned for one of the men to hand him a torch and headed down the stairs warily, crossbow ready. As he expected, the stairs went deep. As several of the other men descended, their torches lit the small antechamber at the bottom. Six other doorways opened from the main room. Pairs of men, weapons at the ready, brandished their torches as they searched, finding only the bones of the dead. Many of the skeletons were missing their skulls, Jonmarc noted; proof that they were not the first hunters to come this way.
The sixth room had a heavy wooden door. Jonmarc approached it carefully, expecting an ambush. Here below the ground, if the vayash moru could extinguish their torches, they were vulnerable in the dark. He jerked back hard on the door, and stumbled as it gave way unexpectedly. When he thrust his torch into the room, he found a comfortably appointed sitting room, filled with furniture to suit a fashionable salon. The room was empty, save for one shape on the floor curled into a fetal position. As Jonmarc held the torch aloft and his bow at the ready, a pikeman poled the shape over.
Uri lay on his side, a shiv in his back through his heart. His body was immobile, but his eyes snapped open at the intrusion, and his gaze locked on Jonmarc.
"Hold your fire!" Jonmarc commanded. "Let's get him closer to daylight-mind that you don't dislodge that shiv."
As Jonmarc kept his crossbow trained on Uri's chest, two of the village men handed off their torches and weapons to pick up the immobilized vayash moru by the shoulders and legs, moving him gingerly with their eyes fixed on the shiv sunk hilt-deep in his back and the large stain of black ichor surrounding it. They retreated until they reached the step just below where the daylight reached. The sun was now high overhead, and after the gloom of the crypt, the forest seemed glaringly bright.
"All right, Uri. Riqua bet you'd burn without too much effort, so I want to make you a very clear offer. I'm going to keep my crossbow against your chest while my friend pulls out the shiv. These two gents are going to hold you on your feet. Any move-any move at all-and I put a bolt through your chest and they let you fall into the sun. You know I'd welcome the excuse. Blink if you understand me." Uri blinked once.
"I want to know where Malesh is. Get in my way and I won't wait for Riqua to watch you burn. Are we clear?" Uri blinked.
Slowly, the Magistrate withdrew the shiv, as Jonmarc pressed the crossbow against Uri's
chest. When the blade was out, Uri remained still, although his features lost their frozen appearance.