The Webbing Blade

A CLOAKED FIGURE

ON THE OTHER SIDE of the tents, things got pretty lonely. After several hours that owl hooting in the distance seemed like a ghoul to Lou, and every time the owl hooted he felt a slight tingle scuttle up his spine.

The Moon shone down on him, sending that cool, gleaming light all around, over the plains, setting them in a light that was impossible to trust. He knew that he could only trust the light coming from the torches.

He gripped his crossbow tight, feeling the narrow weave of its grip slip into the callouses on his hands. He breathed in the oily scent of it, the greased up mechanism, and, realising that he hadn’t drunk anything all day, he reached for his canister and wet his mouth with ash-flavoured water.

As he replaced the canister, he knew something was wrong. Whether it was the crunch of a branch being trodden under foot, or the stirring of a leaf in the trees, he couldn’t be sure. But when he looked up around him, twirled around with his finger rigid on the trigger of the crossbow, feeling the steady weight of the spring, he noticed, off in the distance a figure.

A cloaked figure.

A chill passed through him. At first he thought it was an illusion, a trick of the light, that it was most likely a bush that had fired up his imagination. But, as he squinted harder into the gloom, he saw that it was, certainly, a cloaked figure.

A person.

A man.

And they stood there staring right at him.

Lou sniffed, glanced back over his shoulder to check out Sully’s position. He wasn’t anywhere in sight. And the campsite was quiet. The fire still crackled away but it was low now. And the torches would need replacing in a matter of minutes. He guessed it was close to midnight, almost time for him and Sully to raise Murch and Rut for their watch.

He caught a whiff of smoke from the fire, back at the camp, and then, somewhat out of place, the hint of cinnamon. He turned back to where the cloaked figure stood, and he felt a massive, great welt form in his throat.

Not going to be afraid now. Not this time.

He swallowed the welt in his throat back and took a step forward, listening to his trouser leg swish against the slightly damp long grass. He kept his crossbow straight before himself, pointed at the chest of the cloaked figure.

The figure reminded him of what they called the hobblesmen, the men about sixty or more that’d hobble between towns begging for money. They often wore those cloaks, usually gifted to them by some well-meaning monks—a monk’s robe, that was what the cloak was.

Lou wondered if this man was confused, if he’d got himself lost out here on the plains tonight. He guessed that hobblesmen were pretty much easy game for any cursed animals that might be lurking about the plains.

Lou still kept his crossbow raised, though, he had to take care. There was no telling what or who he might run into on the plains.

A lot of the hobblesmen were drunk up to their eyelids, and some of them carried knifes, others of them—it was rumoured—were frazzled by magic.

And then he reminded himself that he was a skuller. That he had a crossbow and a sword. He could quite easily defend himself if it came down to a physical fight.

Lou was a little surprised to discover that he could speak without much effort. “You,” he said. “You lost?”

The cloaked figure stood his ground, looking out from beneath that hood of the cloak, unmoved by his words.

“You hear me?” Lou said, thinking now that the man was drunk—that was most likely it.

Again, the cloaked figure remained silent.

Lou drew closer, then he glanced off to the remains of the village of Gwindermere, only then the thought occurring to him. “You . . . you weren’t from here, were you?” he said. “It’s terrible what’s happened. Other villages too. Quagsmile, a little further back, and my village”—again that lump formed in his throat—“Endmere.”

The figure made no motion or response.

Lou got closer still, so that he was only about ten or so paces away from the hobblesman. Still he couldn’t see the face nestled beneath the hood of the cloak. The face was still steeped in complete shadow.

For a horrible second Lou convinced himself that the figure had no face at all. And his spine tingled. He felt his finger grow tighter on the trigger, and then he got a grip on himself. He lowered the crossbow slightly, but not all the way.

“You survived?” the figure said.

Lou was a little taken aback that the figure spoke at all. He studied the voice, a little low, a little gravelly, and there was a frailty there too. Now he was sure this was a hobblesman. He was more than likely confused about what had happened. He had probably slept in the streets of Gwindermere before venturing out onto the plains during the day.

“Yes,” Lou said. “We’ve all survived. All of us back there at the campsite.” He tilted his head back towards the others, to the fires burning themselves into cinders, then said, “You’re welcome to join us, you know. I think we’re heading to Ilsnare tomorrow. It seems like the whole countryside has been cursed with these fires.” He dropped his voice a tone. “Some are saying that there’s magic at play here.”

The cloaked figure grumbled something under his breath.

“I’m sorry?” Lou said, now letting his crossbow drop in his hands, fall down to his thigh. He was probably scaring this old man stiff, what with his being dressed in skuller’s uniform and pointing a weapon at him.

“You’re going to Ilsnare?” the hobblesman said.

“Yes.”

The cloaked figure seemed to consider this, but he made no reply.

Lou felt a slight quiver pass over his skin, his heart jiggled a little in his chest, and then he glanced back to the campsite again. His watch would be up soon, and not before time. There wasn’t anything creepier than being out on the plains alone at night. Especially when you ran into hobblesmen lurking in the shadows.

“You’d better run, skuller.”

The tone was harsh. Frosty. And it made Lou’s toes curl.

Slowly Lou turned back to the cloaked figure but he was gone. “Huh?” was just about all he had time to say, as he saw a group of large beasts bounding their way through the sparse trees behind where the cloaked figure had been.

The cloaked figure had disappeared.