The girl was sickened by Rigga's breath. She squeezed shut her eyes.
«Mark this truth, child, else the Cloak of Lies blinds you for ever.»
Rigga's voice took on a droning cadence, and all at once the girl stiffened. Rigga, Riggalai the Seer, the wax-witch who trapped souls in candles and burned them. Souls devoured in flame-Rigga's words carried the chilling tone of prophecy. «Mark this truth. I am the last to speak to you. You are the last to hear me. Thus are we linked, you and I, beyond all else.»
Rigga's fingers snagged tighter in the girl's hair. «Across the sea the Empress has driven her knife into virgin soil. The blood now comes in a tide and it'll sweep you under, child, if you're not careful. They'll put a sword in your hand, they'll give you a fine horse, and they'll send you across that sea. But a shadow will embrace your soul. Now, listen! Bury this deep! Rigga will preserve you because we are linked, you and I. But it is all I can do, understand? Look to the Lord spawned in Darkness; his is the hand that shall free you, though he'll know it not-»
«What's this?» a voice bellowed.
Rigga swung to face the road. An outrider had slowed his mount. The Seer released the girl's hair.
The girl staggered back a step. A rock on the road's edge turned underfoot and she fell. When she looked up the outrider had trotted past.
Another thundered up in his wake.
«Leave the pretty one alone, hag,» this one growled, and as he rode by he leaned in his saddle and swung an open, gauntleted hand. The ironscaled glove cracked against Rigga's head, spinning her around. She toppled.
The fishergirl screamed as Rigga landed heavily across her thighs. A bead of crimson spit spattered her face. Whimpering the girl pushed herself back across the gravel, then used her feet to shove away Rigga's body. She climbed to her knees.
Something within Rigga's prophecy seemed lodged in the girl's head, heavy as a stone and hidden from light. She found she could not retrieve a single word the Seer had said. She reached out and grasped Rigga's woollen shawl. Carefully, she rolled the old woman over. Blood covered one side of Rigga's head, running down behind the ear. More blood smeared her lined chin and stained her mouth. The eyes stared sightlessly.
The fishergirl pulled back, unable to catch her breath. Desperate, she looked about. The column of soldiers had passed, leaving nothing but dust and the distant tremble of hoofs. Rigga's bag of turnips had spilled on to the road. Among the trampled vegetables lay five tallow candles.
The girl managed a ragged lungful of dusty air. Wiping her nose, she looked to her own basket.
«Never mind the candles,» she mumbled, in a thick, odd voice. «They're gone, aren't they, now? just a scattering of bones. Never mind.» She crawled towards the bundles of twine that had fallen from the breached basket, and when she spoke again her voice was young, normal. «We need the twine. We'll work all night and get one ready. Dadda's waiting. He's right at the door, he's looking up the track, he's waiting to see me.
She stopped, a shiver running through her. The sun's light was almost gone. An unseasonal chill bled from the shadows, which now flowed like water across the road.
«Here it comes, then,» the girl grated softly, in a voice that wasn't her own.
A soft-gloved hand fell on her shoulder. She ducked down, cowering. «Easy, girl,» said a man's voice. «It's over. Nothing to be done for her now.»
The fishergirl looked up. A man swathed in black leaned over her, his face obscured beneath a hood's shadow. «But he hit her,» the girl said, in child's voice. «And we have nets to tie, me and Dadda-»
«Let's get you on your feet,» the man said, moving his long-fingered hands down under her arms. He straightened, lifting her effortlessly. Her sandalled feet dangled in the air before he set her down.
Now she saw a second man, shorter, also clothed in black. This one stood on the road and was turned away, his gaze in the direction the soldiers had gone. He spoke, his voice reed-thin. «Wasn't much of a life,» he said, not turning to face her. «A minor talent, long since dried up the Gift. Oh, she might have managed one more, but we'll never know will we?»
The fishergirl stumbled over to Rigga's bag and picked up a candle. She straightened, her eyes suddenly hard, then deliberately spat on to the road.
The shorter man's head snapped towards her. Within the hood seemed the shadows played alone.
The girl shrank back a step. «It was a good life,» she whispered. «She had these candles, you see. Five of them. Five for-»
«Necromancy,» the short man cut in.
The taller man, still at her side, said softly, «I see them, child. I understand what they mean.»
The other man snorted. «The witch harboured five frail, weak souls. Nothing grand.» He cocked his head. «I can hear them now. Calling for her.»
Tears filled the girl's eyes. A wordless anguish seemed to well up from that black stone in her mind. She wiped her cheeks. «Where did you come from?» she asked abruptly. «We didn't see you on the road.»
The man beside her half turned to the gravel track. «On the other side,» he said, a smile in his tone. «Waiting, just like you.»
The other giggled. «On the other side indeed.» He faced down the road again and raised his arms.
The girl drew in a sharp breath as darkness descended. A loud, tearing sound filled the air for a second, then the darkness dissipated and the girl's eyes widened.
Seven massive Hounds now sat around the man in the road. The eyes of these beasts glowed yellow, and all were turned in the same direction as the man himself.
She heard him hiss, «Eager, are we? Then go.» Silently, the Hounds bolted down the road.
Their master turned and said to the man beside her, «Something to gnaw on Laseen's mind.» He giggled again.
«Must you complicate things?» the other answered wearily.
The short man stiffened. «They are within sight of the column.»
He cocked his head. From up the road came the scream of horses.
He sighed. «You've reached a decision, Cotillion?»
The other grunted amusedly. «Using my name, Ammanas, means you've just decided for me. We can hardly leave her here now, can we?»
«Of course we can, old friend. just not breathing.»
Cotillion looked down on the girl. «No,» he said quietly,» she'll do.»
The fishergirl bit her lip. Still clutching Rigga's candle, she took another step back, her wide eyes darting from one man to the other.
«Pity,» Ammanas said.
Cotillion seemed to nod, then he cleared his throat and said, «It'll take time.»
An amused note entered Ammanas's reply. «And have we time? True vengeance needs the slow, careful stalking of the victim. Have you forgotten the pain she once delivered us? Laseen's back is against the wall already. She might fall without our help. Where would be the satisfaction in that?»
Cotillion's response was cool and dry. «You've always underestimated the Empress. Hence our present circumstances: No.» He gestured at the fishergirl. «We'll need this one. Laseen's raised the ire of Moon's Spawn, and that's a hornet's nest if ever there was one. The timing is perfect.»
Faintly, above the screaming horses, came the shrieks of men and women, a sound that pierced the girl's heart. Her eyes darted to Rigga's motionless form on the roadside, then back to Ammanas, who now approached her. She thought to run but her legs had weakened to a helpless trembling. He came close and seemed to study her, even though the shadows within his hood remained impenetrable.
«A fishergirl?» he asked, in a kindly tone.
She nodded.
«Have you a name?» «Enough!» Cotillion growled. «She's not some mouse under your paw, Ammanas. Besides, I've chosen her and I will choose her name as well.»