David Farland - Beyond the Gate

“You want me to judge the Inhuman?” Gallen asked.

The Bock whispered, “Many people have been absorbed by the mind of the Inhuman. Few of the people who have become Inhuman did so of their own free will. For each Inhuman that you meet, you will have to decide whether to slay it or let it live.” The Bock sighed, and its mouth opened and its eyes half closed.

For a moment, it gave an expression of such profound sadness that Gallen feared it would break into tears. “And yet, Gallen, I suspect that you will have no chance to reason with or prevail against this … thing. The Inhuman is powerful, and if the rumors we hear are true, it controls hundreds of thousands of beings.…” The Bock glanced up, then whispered, “See, there is one of its scouts now! They come to the city every night!”

Gallen looked skyward, and from the clouds above a dark form swooped, a wriggling tatter of night that suddenly resolved into a creature flapping on batlike wings. As Gallen watched, he almost imagined it to be an enormous bat. And suddenly he knew why the streets here cleared at dusk. The servants of the Inhuman owned the night.

“Quickly now,” the Bock said. “We must get indoors.” Gallen had a sudden cold fear, and he wondered if Maggie and Orick were all right. He would need to get back to them soon. Gallen stopped, unwilling to go any farther with this strange creature. The Bock turned and looked at him expectantly, waiting for Gallen to follow. “Wait a minute,” Gallen said. “What of Maggie and Orick? Shouldn’t we go back for them?”

“Soon, soon,” the Bock promised. “All in time.”

And Gallen wondered. He was a stranger to this world, still unsure of its dangers. The Bock knew more than he did. Perhaps the fact that the Inhuman was sending scouts to the city at night did not mean that Maggie was in danger-but Gallen had seen the fear in the eyes of the locals as they hurried off the streets.

“I’ll go no farther with you,” Gallen said.

“Please, hurry,” the Bock said. “It is not much farther-a moment more.”

Gallen hesitated, greatly tom. But Maggie had Orick to guard her, and Gallen suspected that another moment would make little difference. Reluctantly, he followed the Bock.

The Bock led Gallen to the side entrance of a building, and they stepped under the portico and hurried down a maze of dark hallways until Gallen was completely turned around. Then the Bock stopped and whispered a name at a door that looked like all the others. “Ceravanne.”

Gallen heard a bolt sliding, then the door opened, and behind it stood a young woman wrapped in a dark cloak that hid most of her face. Yet Gallen could see the precisely sculpted cheekbones and brow that marked her kind. He found himself wishing that she would speak, so that he might hear her voice. Her dark eyes were haunted, and she looked at Gallen hopefully for a second, then turned and led the way into a dusty store room filled with barrels and crates, moving with a delicate grace that could only belong to a Tharrin.

Gallen entered the room behind the Bock, feeling extremely ill at ease. As he stepped through the doorway, the door closed a little and a large man moved in behind Gallen, placing a sword at the side of his neck. “Far enough,” the man said, putting just enough weight on the blade to force Gallen to step sideways and back. “Face the wall.”

Gallen stood against the wall, bridling at the thought. He’d come here unarmed, without so much as a knife or his mantle. His legs were shaking, and Gallen forced himself to breathe deeply, hold down his anger. The guard kept the sword to the back of his neck, then ran one hand through Gallen’s long hair, checking carefully around the base of his neck. “He’s clean, milady,” the guard said. “No weapons, and no scars near the neck.”

“The Lord Protector, Gallen O’Day, did not come alone,” the Bock told Ceravanne. “He brought a woman and a bear. I left them behind with the weapons, as ordered.”

The guard stepped back, and Gallen glanced at the Bock, realizing that this seemingly innocuous creature had a duplicitous streak to it. “You tricked me,” Gallen said.

“Ceravanne asked me to bring you to her alone, stripped of weapons,” the Bock answered. “But I asked you to come so for my own reasons.”

So the Bock and Lady Ceravanne worked at cross-purposes, and Gallen realized that he might be working at cross-purposes to them both. The Bock wanted the Inhuman left alone. Ceravanne perhaps sought only to stop its encroachments. And without knowing anything about the Inhuman, Gallen had halfway decided to kill it.

Ceravanne was about to speak, but she stopped, as if a sudden thought had occurred to her. “Bock, isn’t it getting dark out?”

“It is late,” the Bock agreed.

“But-Gallen’s friends, where did you leave them?”

“In the field, at the opening to the gate.”

Ceravanne frowned, plainly worried. “Bock, we can’t leave them for the night-the Inhumans…!”

“I will go get them,” the Bock said.

Ceravanne said, “Can you retrieve them before full nightfall?”

“If I hurry across the fields, over the hill!”

“Rougaire, you go with him,” Ceravanne said.

The guard, a giant with a bulbous red nose and weathered features, put one hand on his sword and said, “Yes, milady.”

“Should I go, too?” Gallen asked.

Ceravanne frowned. “No,” she said after a moment. “I think not. I still need a guard. And if your friends stayed put, the Bock and Rougaire should reach them soon enough. Four people traveling together in the early evening are not in great danger-especially not when Rougaire is among them.”

The giant Rougaire took a heavy robe from atop a nearby crate and put it on, then strapped his swords to his back. Gallen studied the man’s movements. He was all strength and no grace. When he was ready, the giant handed Gallen one of his swords, a weapon that seemed just a bit too long and heavy for convenient use.

“For you, sir,” Rougaire said, bowing deeply.

“I’d rather have one of your daggers,” Gallen said. The giant frowned a bit at Gallen’s choice, then took one of his daggers from its sheath at his knee and handed it to Gallen. It was large enough for Gallen to use as a short sword. Gallen just held it, for he’d left his belt with Maggie and had nowhere to put the weapon.

“Thank you, Rougaire,” the Lady Ceravanne said to the guard. “Go quickly!” The guard bowed to her, then hurried out in company with the Bock. Gallen bolted the door behind them.

Ceravanne studied Gallen, and the haunted look did not leave her eyes. She appeared to be a child of thirteen or fourteen, but she held herself with a dignity, a wisdom, far beyond her years. Her platinum hair cascaded in waves down over her shoulders, and she watched him from green eyes, paler than any eyes he’d ever seen or imagined. She wore a delicate white dress with white birds embroidered upon it, and she looked like something not quite human, like a fragile fairy bride in a dark glen. But there was the pain in her eyes, and Gallen wondered idly how many cloned bodies she had worn out.

“I’m sorry for asking the Bock to bring you stripped and alone ,” she said. “I asked him to bring you alone because curious children sometimes follow the Bock, and I didn’t want them tagging along. The Bock … is very wise in his way, but he does not think on our level. He often takes the things we say too literally, and he does not comprehend the import of our struggle. He meant no harm, and I hope that no harm will come of it.”

“My friend Orick is handy in a fight,” Gallen said, trying to put her at ease, still uneasy himself. “I suspect they’ll be all right.”