Creusus's Arc

Chapter 28 of 43

Creusus crossed the border on foot and led the horse by the rein. The road climbed into pine country. By dusk he smelled woodsmoke and heard axes. He came down a slope into a log-built town of clustered wooden homes, sawpits, and drying racks. A sign nailed to a post named the place in a northern tongue he could not read. He tied the horse at a trough and went to find a place to sit and listen. The tavern was a single long room with green benches. Men came in smelling of pitch and sap. Creusus took a bowl of stew and kept his hands under the table. Talk came in bits. A boy at the next bench was telling anyone who would hear. "Every one of them," the boy said. "All the mages at the spire. Throats opened. He left one alive to walk down and tell it." A logger spat. "South of here?" "Lorimar," the boy said. "The witch-hat tower. Runners came through this morning." Creusus set down his spoon. He asked the boy where the survivor was. The boy pointed at a back corner near the hearth. A young man sat there in a stained blue coat with gold thread at the cuffs. His hair fell over half his face. He held a cup he was not drinking. Creusus walked over and sat across from him. The mage did not look up. "You were at the spire," Creusus said. "I was." The voice was flat. "Tell me what he said." The mage lifted his eyes. They were red at the rims. "He said to carry a message. He said to say it to every road until someone heard it. I have said it forty times today." "Say it once more." The mage drew a breath. "He said: Tell the bare-fisted fighter from Embermere. Tell the man with black on his hands. I am waiting north of the pond bridge, past the marker, in the hills. Come and finish what he started. If you do not come, I will empty every tower between here and the sea." Creusus felt the black wrappings warm on his knuckles. The mage did not know the name of the man he was describing. He was staring at his cup again. "How many?" Creusus asked. "Forty-two of us in the spire. I am one." The mage's hand shook. "He came in smiling. He touched no one. They fell anyway. My masters. The children I taught fire tricks to." He wiped his face with the cuff. "I am Thane. I do gravity. I do time. I could do nothing." Creusus put a hand on the table between them, palms down, black cloth showing. "You have carried the message," he said. "You are done carrying it. Ride south to Embermere. Ask for the marshal Sir Syble. Tell him what you told me. Stay there." Thane looked at the black wrappings a long moment. "You are him." "I am." "He will kill you." "He will try." Creusus stood. He paid for the stew and walked out into the dark. The trail was no longer cold. Diablo had drawn him a map in blood and was waiting at the end of it.