"You don't have to hang on to him," Inza said. "Find a decent tree and pin him to it."
"As you wish, raunie? Alexi said.
It took only a short time for the Vistana to bind Ganelon to the trunk of a large, moss-covered tree. As he did, another of the Vistani made a show of setting a trio of large metal pokers in the cookfire's coals. Inza supervised silently, her form bathed in the fire's glow. "I will have what I want from you," she said to Ganelon. "Make no mistake. I always win."
The young man snorted, displaying a bravado he most certainly did not feel. "Hot pokers? Isn't that a bit primitive for the Vistani?"
"Oh, those are only my reserve tools," Inza said cheerfully.
The raunie reached into a hidden pocket in her cloak. With a smile of satisfaction, she withdrew a small, ornate box, and presented it in her palm. "One last chance, Ganelon, before I loose this on you."
"I will not dishonor myself or my love for Helain," he answered simply.
Inza gave the young man a last thoughtful look before she placed the tiny box on the ground and opened it.
A soft black shape slid out of the box. It expanded as it slithered forward, its saline stench overpowering every other odor in the camp. Ganelon gaped at it for a moment before the shock wore off and the horror set in.
He closed his eyes and conjured an image of Helain. It would be the last time he could envision her with the same passion in his heart. The shadows knew nothing of love and did not tolerate such emotions in their slaves.
The gasps of the Vistani and Inza's loudly uttered curse made Ganelon open his eyes. The shadow pooled at his feet. Tentatively, it extended a tendril toward his boots, then recoiled as if burned. The thing was like a dog rooting after a bone that it knew was near but remained tantalizingly out of reach. Finally it grew frustrated and slithered back to its box.
With a cry of frustration, Inza grabbed one of the pokers from the fire. "The Cobbler's plied his trade on you, hasn't he?" She looked to the other Vistani. "He has a dead man's soles. The shadow can't see him."
With her free hand she snapped the box shut and tossed it to Alexi. The man cringed as he caught the captive soul but did not drop it or put it down. Secretly the raunie smiled. Her mother never inspired such unswerving, unquestioning loyalty. Magda's kind heart had always interfered.
That weakness had never plagued Inza. In fact, she intended to demonstrate to this maddening mine rat just how cold her heart really was.
"I'll never give in," Ganelon proclaimed as Inza came close. His fear was gone. The salt shadow's defeat had vanquished it. The young man knew that he was going to die, but he knew, too, that he would not break his oath.
Ganelon heard it first in the hissing of the poker as it approached his face. A voice whispered to him. The susurrus spread to the pine trees and the cookfire, gathering strength. Just before the iron touched flesh, the whisper exploded into an unearthly howl that drove the steaming poker from Inza's hands and scattered the Vistani like frightened birds.
Of all the people in the little camp, only Ganelon saw his rescuer clearly. It reached from the shadow trailing behind the tree to which he was bound and pulled the young man in. At the sight he screamed until there was no breath left in his lungs.
Inza saw only the thing's gangly arm, covered with matted hair, pluck away her victim. Ropes, still knotted and looped, sagged on the tree trunk where they had held Ganelon fast a moment before.
There was no time to lash out with blade or blaze, but the raunie's hatred offered up this parting blow: No love, no light, but that which causes pain. Everything you hold dear will perish by your own hand.
That curse, swift as a vengeful thought, followed Ganelon into the darkness, just as it would hound his every step for the rest of his life.
Ten
"It's time," Azrael said cheerfully. "I want you and your little friends down in the pit right now. They're almost done loading the crates. Make certain they don't leave anything behind on the landing, then get started on that other business we discussed. Understand?"
Ambrose did not respond. As the dwarf tromped out of the store, the shopkeep got stiffly to his feet. "You heard him," he said to Kern and Ogier.
The two miners exchanged puzzled looks. "What about the wine?" Kern asked. He held up a half-full bottle of Chateau Malaturno. Its twin stood empty in front of Ogier. "We've enough left for one decent toast. After all the trouble I went through to get this stuff, it'd be a shame to waste it."
Ambrose missed Kern's unsubtle jab. The shop-keep had never looked into finding the bottles for Kern, despite his initial offer to do so. As a result, Kern paid twice the wine's worth in order to fulfill his debt to Ogier.
"'Sides," that white-haired stalwart now chimed, "you said we was going to do another job for Azrael. That meant we wouldn't have to lug crates with everyone else."
"That special duty is still yours," Ambrose said rather sadly.
"A mysterious errand for the homicidal dwarf, and we get to cart boxes besides," noted Kern. He held his empty glass up in salute. "Only a true friend would set us up with that kind of deal."
Ogier elbowed the smaller man. "Leave him be. He's doing the best he can."
Still glowering, Kern filled his glass to the brim, then did the same for Ogier. He went to top off Ambrose's mug with the remaining wine but found that the shopkeep hadn't touched a drop that had been poured for him. With a shrug, Kern handed the bottle to Ogier. The big man put it to his lips and drained it in two gulps.
Kern raised his glass again, this time in earnest. Solemnly he said, "To absent friends, who leave us shadows until their return. May it be soon."
Nodding his approval, Ogier tipped back his glass. After a moment's hesitation, Ambrose raised his mug. "Friends and shadows," the shopkeep said flatly.
The statement was no more cryptic than anything Ambrose said these days. Ever since the night Helain and Ganelon disappeared, he'd been acting strange. Kern dismissed it as the man's way of mourning. In his own childlike fashion, Ogier noticed a deeper change in Ambrose. His voice was stronger now, missing the wheeze that had softened every word he'd uttered since the accident. He was more forceful, too, even cruel. Ogier knew that this was not the stuff of mourning. The murders of those politskae had changed him. Something grim and loveless had taken hold of Ambrose's heart.
Faces flushed from the wine, the three made their way from the store up to the mine. A hundred torches lit the grounds around the pit. Workers from both shifts carried boxes from the lift and loaded them onto heavy wagons, then trudged back for another load. The entire process was supervised by Azrael's Politskara. They were everywhere, silver axes at the ready. Whatever Azrael had the men unloading from the mine, it was more valuable than salt.
The dwarf clearly thought so anyway. He'd shut down the mine so everyone could focus on the task of moving the heavy crates. It was an unprecedented event, one that disturbed the workers more than the sudden appearance of the white moon. That was beyond their understanding. They knew what the work stoppage meant: lost wages, maybe even lost jobs. Worse, there were rumors that the mine was going to close down for good. To men with no other skills, that meant starvation and hardship as deadly as any creature lurking in the woods.
As Ambrose and the others got close to the lift, they could see apprehension, even fear, etched on every miner's face. It was not merely concern for their lives and their livelihoods that weighed heavily on the men. They were frightened for their souls.