Hierarchy (Book Four of the Torrent Skies Saga)

Chapter Forty-Three: The Warmth of Winter

It was easy to get back into Hearth-Home. Katerin, and everyone who had joined her waited until the streets were clear, and stole out of the Boar's Backstrap, as evening fell. The city streets were dirty, snow covered, and in disrepair.

Cobblestones that had not been tended to had worn. Trash and refuse were visible in places Katerin had never thought to see it, and if the streets had been scarcely populated before, they were empty now. It seemed the only sign of life was smoke from the chimneys. They walked loosely together, and after some debate, Katerin turned from an alley onto a major road, with Fykes and Brazen by her side. Everyone else knew where to go and what to do, and her easiest way to Kryrial, was through his guards.

Lugaria had said they would have a way out, and she knew better than to doubt him. She could not hold any doubt today. She needed to focus.

It took only ten minutes for a host of crimson-clad guards to stop them, as they walked for the castle. Katerin made no move to hide her face, or her weapons.

"Lady Katerin." The guard in the formation's lead said, holding out a hand to her.

She slowed and did her best to hide the pity she felt for the soldier. There were very few of them, who had not been warped by Kryrial's magic. She doubted this man had his own mind. She knew better than to check if this man was under such enchantments, but the book of Ralore beckoned her, anyway. And refusing the book was much like refusing water in the desert.

"You are expected in the throne room," he said, as the guards surrounded them.

"I know," she said with a terse smile. "Will you try to take our weapons? Or separate us?"

"No, lady." He gave a curt bow. "We are only to escort you." The half dozen guards took up a protective stance around the three of them, though no weapons were pointed, and they marched down the primary thoroughfare of the city, in a tense state.

Her gaze passed across Fykes and Brazen. Both looked uneasy, hands on their weapons as they walked.

Wrongness sank into Katerin when they passed the market square, and she saw it bare, save for a homeless man who scurried away as they approached. She had seen the square in many states during sales, celebrations, executions, graduations. She had seen merchants fight, watched haggling turn bloody, smelled the fresh smells of food brought and priced to sell before the day's end. She had seen the square covered in snow, in ash, in flower petals and in blood. But she had never seen it empty. Its emptiness was more disquieting than any other view. The soldiers did not notice the hesitance in her steps, and they did not slow their brisk pace.

They passed it by, as if they thought nothing of it. As if they thought nothing of anything. Katerin straightened her shoulders and turned her thoughts away from it.

The castle gates stood wide open, the stone wall walk above them, was patrolled by only five men.

Katerin's stomach twisted. Five men alone, guarding an entire castle entrance. Kryrial had been expecting them, and he surely had a plan. Before Katerin could consider what it might be, a sick feeling nearly dropped her to her knees. On the wall above the iron gates, two bodies hung with thick wooden spikes through their shoulders. Katerin stumbled, her knees hit paving stones, but she never tore her eyes away from the bodies.

Both were Mordai, both were naked. It felt as if the iron spikes that pierced him, had sunk into her. One had a dark hole where an eye should have been, his tongue starkly missing from his mouth. The other version of Mordai had a broken neck, the bruising having turned odd colors and swollen to a grotesque degree.

Both corpses had been decaying for some time upon the wall, and a stench accompanied them despite the cold. Katerin's gasped in a breath, hating the taste of the air. Reeling and horrified, she passed a hand over her eyes, ignoring the guards, and Fykes and Brazen. They could either stop or go on without her. She clutched the book of Ralore, not daring to fight the pull it offered. With an enhancement over her vision, her mouth dried. Both were real. The one who died the night she fought Kryrial in the cabin was Mordai, the book of Ralore told her. The other was no less real, but nothing more than a copy of its original self. A spell she herself had seen in Ralore's book. In a sense, Mordai had lived after the night those months ago. But he had not made it free of Kryrial.