James West - Lady Of Regret

Rathe wanted nothing to do with shadowkin, but, despite himself, the smell of Tulfa’s cooking had roused his hunger. He could not recall the last decent meal he’d had…. Except that he did remember, and who he had shared it with. Outside the wooden walls of Valdar, Nesaea had served him a dinner of roast pheasant within her wagon, an elaborate and fanciful conveyance fashioned after a wheeled galley. She had shed no tears, nor countered his judgment, as he explained his decision to be away. Her disappointment, though, had shone in eyes so blue as to be violet. Not for the first time, he wished he had decided on another course, one that included Nesaea, his goddess of snow and silver.

Rathe pushed Nesaea away, much as he had before. As he had told her then, she and her troupe were safer far from him.

While he and Loro unsaddled the horses, Tulfa kept up a constant chatter. “You’ll want to tie your beasts here,” he said, standing near a row of barrel-size vases. “Tulfa has no grain, but there’s plenty of grass, you see, you see?” He ripped up a handful to show them. Only after Rathe and Loro nodded, did he let the tuft fall to his bare feet as grimy as the rest of him.

“How long have you been here?” Loro asked, stacking his gear just inside the doorway.

Tulfa fingered the point of his chin. After a moment of deep contemplation, he said, “Forever! Why, yes! Forever and ever!”

“Surely you are not so old as that?” Rathe said, adding his gear to Loro’s. He tried to keep his distance from the old man without appearing to do so, but Tulfa bounced nearer, bringing his stench with him.

“I was a boy when I came to Deepreach,” Tulfa said. Up close, his eyes proved to be a shade of blue Rathe had never seen. Almost white. “So, yes, forever and ever!”

“I’m famished,” Loro interrupted, rubbing his belly. It did look a touch smaller than Rathe remembered. “If it’s no trouble, lead us to your hall.”

“To feast! To feast!” Tulfa cried merrily. “Yes, follow Tulfa, and Tulfa will feast you! Meat on the bone! Yes, meat on the bone for all!”

With a queer shuffling, skipping gait, Tulfa led them deep into the mountain, through a twisty warren of vaulted corridors. Scant few torches lit the way. With the memory of barely escaping Lord Sanouk’s catacombs not so long ago, Rathe began building a map in his mind.

In some bygone age, workers of stone had chiseled arabesques into the walls. Where those ended, friezes of gods and rival demons took their place. Small niches sunk into the dressed stone held assorted bits of armor, or busts of past kings and storied warriors. Where Rathe would have expected cobwebs and dust, he was surprised to find burnished helms and breastplates, and sculptures crowned with fresh garlands of tiny flowers. Tulfa might not have been one for personal cleanliness, but he kept a tidy house.

When they rounded a corner and found the torches had burned out and left behind a sea of chilly darkness, Tulfa rapidly tapped the butt of his staff against the floor. “Tulfa will lead you! Yes! Yes! Listen to the staff, and follow Tulfa!”

And off they went, bustling deeper into the earth, until coming to a well-lit corridor. Loro whistled between his teeth when they neared a headless statue of a naked woman. Rathe swatted his hand away before he could caress her breasts.

“A man should appreciate fine art where he finds it,” Loro protested, looking abused. Tulfa favored him with a mystified expression, and Rathe glared. “Never mind,” Loro snarled, waving them ahead.

The farther they went, the smell of savory spices and roasting meat grew stronger, making Rathe painfully aware of his hunger. “I don’t care if Tulfa’s cooking rats,” he whispered to Loro, “I’ll eat them.”

“No! No rats for friends of Tulfa!” Tulfa said over his shoulder. He paused near a torch, pale eyes gleaming under thick folds of skin. “Oh, no. No rats! Never rats! Not for Tulfa and the shadowkin. Not for Tulfa’s friends. Come friends! Come along!”

“He’s spry enough, I’ll grant you,” Loro murmured. “But can you see him putting an arrow into a stag and dragging it here?”

“Never,” Rathe admitted. “But I expect there are hares and the like in these mountains.”

“We have guests!” Tulfa called, wheeling through an archway aglow with warm light. “Guests for dinner! Yes! Yes! We have guests!”

Before they reached the chamber, Loro halted Rathe. “We can still turn back.”

As Loro had seemed so eager before, that suggestion surprised Rathe. “Why should we?”

“If you’ve missed it, brother, this codger is off his head. I don’t trust him, even if my belly does.”

“My trust has grown thin of late, as well,” Rathe agreed. “But he’s an old man, and a short way from being a cripple. He’ll not trouble us.”

“I’ll eat his food quick enough,” Loro relented, “and give thanks for whatever Tulfa provides. Afterward, we’ll have to keep a watch, lest he decides to drub us in our sleep and rob us.”

Tulfa poked his head round the corner, his face lost in shadow. “Come along, friends! Come along!”

“I’ll take first watch,” Rathe volunteered, and strode into the chamber.

He had scarcely crossed the threshold when he halted. With a murmur of awe, Loro joined him. Rathe had expected an empty chamber, but found a colonnaded great hall fit for a wealthy lord. Gleaming bronze lampstands drove back all shadows. Tapestries, moth-eaten though they were, adorned soaring walls with scenes of the hunt and forgotten battles. Assorted banners emblazoned with unfamiliar coats of arms hung from stone balusters that girded high galleries. Some showed extreme age, their colors faded, looking as if they would crumble at the gentlest touch. Others were fresher, smeared with dark maroon smudges that brought to mind bloodstains.

Rathe looked to the long table running between two rows of pillars. The high-backed chairs guarding its flanks stood empty. Table and chairs had been polished to a low gleam. Farther on, a smaller table sat atop a broad dais spanning the breadth of the hall. The table’s gilded legs glowed with a dreamlike quality, but those who clambered over the top of it were creatures of nightmare.

“Gods and demons,” Loro gasped, as Tulfa joined what could only be his relations at the high table.

Tulfa looked around. “Come, friends! Come and feast!”

Rathe did not move. The folk gathered about Tulfa, a dozen at least, wore filthy rags, or nothing at all. Forgoing chairs, they squatted on the tabletop. Hunched over, growling amongst themselves, they made busy rending strips of meat snatched from heaped platters. One of the shadowkin looked up-a woman, Rathe thought, but would not have wagered on it. Her twisted fingers paused halfway to her mouth. Grease mingled with dirt on her cheeks and chin, giving her a gruesome aspect. She made a series of throaty noises, and Tulfa hooted laughter, as if hearing a fine jest.

About to decline Tulfa’s offer, Rathe’s teeth clicked together when two bent figures moved through a doorway, carrying between them a tarnished bronze serving tray near as large as a palanquin. Tulfa danced amongst the shadowkin, waving his staff overhead. “Another course! Yes! Yes! Meat on the bone!”

“Is that a….” Loro trailed off before he could finish putting a name to the roasted horror laid out on the tray.

“It is,” Rathe answered, throat burning with bile. His sword flashed from the scabbard.

Tulfa noted the bared steel, and his kindly nature vanished. He scuttled to the end of the table, perched there, a humpbacked fiend with white-blue eyes and too many teeth, all streaked black and sharp. His tongue, grossly long and pointed, licked over his bottom lip. “Come, friends, and feast with Tulfa!” This time his was no reedy invitation, but a growled command.