Tales of the Vangen: The Dead King of Danic (Book 3)

Chapter 6: Names, Graves, and New Beginnings

Regis was crazy. He had to be, considering he'd been following a cat for the better part of an hour. He could see the little black creature now, perched on a log but a few strides away. It stared at him, tail swishing as if it were telling him to hurry up.

Nido's pearly, white tits but he was going mad. And yet he'd hauled one foot after the other, staring at the ground to watch his footing as he chased the damned cat through the forest. Better than sitting on his arse feeling sorry for himself, he reckoned. Better than staying and potentially getting caught by Libro, or his brother, or whatever else lurked in this abominable, frozen hellscape.

A soft bell chimed in the distance. He looked up, saw the cat scrambling up a hilltop, staring at him with clear annoyance. "You've got to be farking kidding me," he muttered in Northern. "I'm not climbing up that damned thing after you made me follow you through the farking woods."

The cat gave him a dismissive flick of its tail and sauntered off.

Damn it, but Regis was going mad. Arguing with an animal that was more than likely trying to escape then take him on some ridiculous revelation. And yet he grunted and groaned as he plodded up the hillside, surprised to see the cat waiting for him as he toddled to the top.

"What," he muttered, rubbing at a sore spot in his back. "Got something for me to..." His words burbled to a stop as he looked up. A graveyard lay stretched out before him, large and vast and yet eerily well maintained. It rippled with row upon row of polished stone, words and runes etched into their smooth, dark faces. Some gave names to the dead, others offered guidance for the living. Most said nothing, their words long since faded by time.

He stared at the mammoth monument for the dead in stunned silence. A year ago he'd have swam through the deceased without so much as batting an eye. Now, it made him pause. Perhaps, his perceptions had simply changed. Perhaps, he was simply growing soft. More than likely it was a little bit of both. Only time would tell.

The bell around the cat's neck gave another luring jingle as it bounded off into the graveyard, leaving Regis to his lonesome.

"Shit," he hissed, scrambling after the damned thing. No way in the seven hells he'd be caught alone in a place like this. Even if it was just a damned cat. Fear itched into the back of his mind as his thoughts raced over the possibilities, shadows rising like specters amidst the stones.

The cat led him down a winding track amidst the grave stones, well worn boots tramping over clear paths of shoveled snow. There were places where wild grass had been ripped out, ice scraped off the plaques, stone cairns carefully stacked upright. A flicker of light made him stop as he realized they were from lit candles, set ceremoniously over one particular grave. He read the name and his heart sank.

"Leyla Karth." Regis ran a finger over the etched runes of her name. "The Aulderman's daughter." He remembered her. She was such a tiny thing back then. The complete opposite to her bear of a father. She must have died recently, the candles around her headstone were still fresh. A bouquet of snow lilies lay beside it, bound together with linen and twine.

He stroked one of the cream colored petals, a stark contrast to his leathery hands. His time in the south had tanned him beyond all recognition. His people would surely never recognize him. Gone was the pale faced man with a mane of hair spun out of gold. Now there was only a blackened husk, with a mantle made of ash.

Something rubbed against his leg and he nearly shot out of his skin before realizing it was the cat. The damned thing coiled around his foot like a jealous lover, perched beside him and stared up, yellow eyes gleaming.

"Did you want me to see this?" Regis asked, pointing at the gravestone.

The cat gave no indication whether it did or didn't. It sat there, tail flicking ever so gently.