“I do apologize for these two,” he said, and waved a hand in the direction of the guards. “We are not normally so suspicious, but the times demand it, I am sorry to say. I am Lord Brand. You are on your way to Kurast?”
“We are,” Cain said, introducing himself. “And in need of your hospitality.”
“And you shall have it.” Lord Brand’s gaze swept over Leah, his glittering eyes seeming to linger upon her face for a little too long as his smile widened further. “Who might this be?”
“My niece,” Cain said. “Forgive me, but she is hungry. We’ve come a long way, and have not eaten since this morning.”
A howl went up from somewhere beyond them, the sound echoing through the valley, bringing chills to Cain’s spine. Brand looked to the trees, his smile fading, and he stepped aside, motioning them forward. “You’ll stay at my manor,” he said. “We should get behind the walls. These days it is not safe to remain outside after dark.”
The guards fell in behind as the small party walked through the gates and into the town. A dozen townspeople waited there with their lanterns held high. They all wore the same shapeless, gray clothing, and all of them stood with slack faces, their skin the color of their clothes. They had the skeletal look of the terminally ill, with sunken features and filmy eyes. Several of them muttered under their breath as if to themselves, and their gaze did not meet Cain’s as he passed. He wondered what strange illness might be sweeping the little town, and considered turning back with Leah and taking their chances in the jungle.
But the strange procession had its own momentum. He was swept along as Brand took the lead, and the sound of the gates clanging shut behind them rang through the empty streets like a harbinger of doom.
13
Lord Brand’s Manor
A few lights flickered in the windows of houses as they proceeded toward the center of town, but Leah did not see anyone else, and after a few minutes she dropped her gaze to her own feet and simply followed along behind Deckard Cain.
She had begun to regret asking him to come here. Something about this place made her terribly afraid, but she did not know why. Lord Brand acted friendly enough, but he looked strangely tall and misshapen, with his arms and legs so long and thin, and his smile made him look hungry.
The streets reminded her of home, with their looming stone houses and storefronts and narrow alleyways that seemed to lead nowhere. But Caldeum had been full of noise and activity during the early evening hours. There was no life here, nobody out shopping or headed to the local tavern for a drink and a meal. The townspeople walking with them muttered to themselves like madmen, their faces looking as though they hadn’t slept well in months. She was only eight years old, but she was perceptive for her age; Gillian had always told her that she could read people better than most adults. And what Leah felt about this place made her stomach churn.
She risked a glance at Cain, who was just ahead of her. He was favoring his right leg more heavily now, leaning on his staff with each step. When they had first met, he had seemed impossibly old to her, with his wrinkled face, white hair, bushy eyebrows, and long, stringy beard, and now he appeared to be about to collapse.
What if he falls down dead here, in the middle of the road? What will become of me?
At the thought of that, Leah’s fear became a near full-blown panic. She had run from him earlier because she had thought he was dangerous, but as odd as he was, he had done nothing other than try to protect her so far. Without him, Leah would be entirely alone. Now they were surrounded by people she trusted even less, and the old man was the only thing between her and starvation, or far worse.
She had had terrible dreams last night, of monsters that attacked her. She stared at the dark alleys on either side, imagining things watching them. Goatmen with glowing eyes and bloody mouths. Demons, looking for blood. They want you, Leah, and if they find you, you’re never coming back from that. Never. A sewer grate beckoned, its iron bars like teeth; she imagined claws wriggling up through it, grasping at her feet.
Another howl rose up from somewhere in the distance. The small procession stopped abruptly, and Leah stared at what appeared to be a small castle. It had its own stone walls and gate, a smaller ring inside the town’s larger one, and was built on the highest point of land, so that it appeared to loom over them. There were so many angles, turrets, and roofs it was impossible to make sense of its shape, and Leah became dizzy and looked away.
Lord Brand turned to face them with another broad smile. “My home,” he said, as two of the guards opened the gates and stepped aside, standing at attention. “The Brand manor. You are most welcome here, for as long as you like.”
Something about his voice brought deeper chills to Leah’s spine. She glanced around at the houses that huddled against the night, and for a moment she was sure she saw movement in the shadows, something that slithered like tentacles, but when she focused on the spot, there was nothing there at all.
Cain and Leah followed Brand and the guards through the gates and up the huge, sweeping front steps, leaving the other townspeople behind. The double doors of the manor opened with a slow screech, revealing a cavernous entry hall with an enormous fireplace at the far end and a fire roaring in the hearth. Torches blazed on the walls, illuminating a series of elaborate tapestries hanging by iron hooks. A breath of air guttered the torches and set the tapestries fluttering, their shadows moving across the stone floor like black wings.
The fire seemed to do little for the cold, which made Leah shiver and draw her cloak more tightly around her thin frame. There was a strange smell in the air. She looked up, but the ceiling arched so far above her head that she could barely make it out. She clutched her arms to her chest and tried to think of warm summer days, but the darkness closed in again, making her want to scream.
Brand’s footsteps echoed as he led them through the hall. They seemed to walk far longer than they should, but when Leah glanced back, she was surprised to find that they had barely moved; the entry doors were just a few steps away.
Eventually they reached another large room, with an enormous wooden table set for a meal. A gray-haired woman who might have been about Gillian’s age stood muttering to herself. Brand clapped his hands, and she immediately scurried off.
“We were about to sit down for supper,” Brand said. “Fill your bellies, and then I would be pleased to hear more about your travels.”
Leah sat down with Cain at one end of the table. A few moments later the servants returned with heaping platters full of steaming food: whole chickens skewered on blackened sticks; thick, juicy slices of red meat; asparagus; potatoes; and loaves of warm bread. In spite of herself, Leah’s stomach rumbled, and she and Cain sat down at one end of the long table and dug in as Brand settled across from them and watched intently with his fingers steepled before his nose, the ghost of a smile still on his face.
The food was strangely tasteless, but Leah didn’t care; it was hot, and there seemed to be an endless supply. She tore into a leg of chicken, juices running down her chin, and ripped off a chunk of bread to mop up the pool of salty broth on her plate. The potatoes burned her fingers, but she ate them anyway, and washed them down with a mug of wine.
Next to her, Cain ate in silence. Brand never took a single bite and simply watched them without comment, occasionally gesturing to the servants to bring more of one thing or another as supplies ran low.
Leah ate until she could not eat another mouthful. The remaining strings of meat on her plate were too rare and oozing pink fluid; she swallowed against the gorge that suddenly swelled in her throat, and as she looked around, the room filled with shadows that pooled in the corners and crept like black mist.