Michael Stackpole - Of Limited Loyalty

They took as much food as they could from Happy Valley and left notes in several houses for anyone traveling there from the Green River settlement. While Ezekiel Fire wanted to visit Green River, he agreed that they couldn’t afford the time and that even a warning might not save the settlement. They all hoped the people of Green River would escape destruction, but there wasn’t a one of them that didn’t believe that it had already suffered the fate of Piety.

It took them a week to reach Dire Wolf Draw. They didn’t see any recent signs of wolf activity in the area, but that surprised no one. The wolves would follow herds during their migration. The few tracks they did find indicated the beasts had headed southwest along the spine of the mountains, which would bring them to the point where the great northern migration started. Nathaniel had never seen it, and had only heard of it in tales told by Msitazi of the Altashee.

“That is something I want to see before I die.” Nathaniel tossed a stick of wood on their campsite’s fire. “To hear your father tell it, Kamiskwa, just an ocean of brown beasts heading north. Mastodons, wooly rhinoceri, bison. Ain’t nothing like it in this here whole world.”

Kamiskwa unrolled one of the bundles of wolf furs and spread them out for airing. “I think then, my friend, it will need to be next spring. It will be our last chance.”

Makepeace laughed. “Ain’t nothing gonna be making the migration go away, Kamiskwa.”

Nathaniel grunted. “I reckon he’s saying we ain’t going to be around come summer a year hence.”

Makepeace thought for a moment, then nodded. “I reckon that’s something worth considering.”

Owen sighed heavily. “You know, three years ago I wasn’t thinking we’d see the end of summer, and then we were just fighting a Ryngian Laureate and a legion of the undead.”

“Hearing you put it that way, Owen, does make it sound kind of ordinary.” Nathaniel scratched at the back of his neck. “This is a little bit different, I reckon.”

Ezekiel Fire poked a stick deep into the coals. “It’s the End of Days. It’s the Judgment time.”

Owen looked up from his journal. “It’s a bit premature to believe that, isn’t it?”

Kamiskwa shook his head. “The Shedashee would agree. We have stories, stories that have been forgotten, stories of which I have only heard a phrase or two. They talk of these things coming. I don’t know more, but what I do know frightens me. Just as the herds migrate north, imagine a grey mold working east, spreading over the mountains, down to the sea. Imagine Temperance being reduced like Piety.”

“Do these things have names among your people?”

“They do, but I do not know them. I do not know if anyone does.” Kamiskwa’s amber eyes narrowed, reflecting a tiny sliver of firelight. “In magick, to know a name is to have power. As you address a letter to Prince Vlad, so a sorcerer can make a target of your name. Not the name that everyone knows, but your true name.”

“My true name?” Owen raised an eyebrow. “I don’t believe I have one.”

“You do, but you do not know it. This can be good because it means others cannot know you.” Kamiskwa shrugged. “It is bad because you cannot use it to make magick, strong magick. And, friend Makepeace, you shake your head, but among your people, do you not get a special name when you are confirmed in your faith?”

“I reckon that’s different.”

“No, it just means there is a second way to find you.”

Nathaniel shivered, seeing a grey mold spreading over Temperance, catching up those he loved. “Well, now, I reckon I’ll not be sleeping much after this discussion, so I’ll take the first watch. After two hours, I’ll wake the next man.”

Ezekiel raised a hand. “I will take a watch.”

“No need for that, Steward.” Nathaniel half-smiled. “But if you find yourself awake and want to send a prayer or two off for our benefit, I’d be much obliged.”

“God would be pleased to hear from you directly, Mr. Woods.”

“Might could be, Steward, but I think we’re much better off with you speaking for us.”

In the morning they repacked the wolfskins and continued their climb into the mountains. In two more days they reached the Antediluvian ruins. Not much had changed, save that a family of beavers had begun to dam up the outflow, so water had begun to fill the lowest spots. It didn’t appear as if anything had changed. The Temple doors still stood open and water lapped at the Temple steps, indicating that the dome which had kept the Temple dry had not reappeared.

“I don’t like the idea of going in there but…” Nathaniel shrugged. “We have to know, I reckon.”

Ezekiel Fire cocked his head. “Know what?”

“Steward, we entered the Temple after you and Rufus removed the tablets. We found evidence, near the Altar, that part of the floor might provide entry to subterranean chambers.” Owen started up the steps. “With Rufus having magicked his way under the ground to get away…”

“I understand. But given what we know, don’t you think this place could be a trap?”

Nathaniel, who had reached the top of the steps before the others, held up a hand to stop them. “I do believe that is a distinct possibility, Steward.”

There, in the distance, a bent golden tablet glittered from within the tabernacle.

“’Pears Rufus done got here before us, and don’t seem to mind our knowing it.”

26 May 1767 Antediluvian Ruins Westridge Mountains, Mystria

Owen took a quick look inside the Temple, then ducked back. “No doubt we’re being taunted.”

Nathaniel took a couple steps back and down. “I don’t know that I think that is true. Seems fair certain that the intention of getting the tablets took was to create havoc. Onliest reason to leave that one there would be to do more of the same. Rufus couldn’t be certain we’d come back this way. Heck, we’d not be but Prince Vlad said he’d backtrack us on this trail iffen we was not home quick enough.”

Kamiskwa let his pack slip from his shoulders. “You think the tablet is there so someone else will find it and fall prey to it as did Rufus?”

“Like as not. Could figure that we have one, the other would find it, and get us.” Nathaniel smiled. “Last Rufus knowed I couldn’t read. He prolly thinks this here trap could snare the Prince, which he wouldn’t mind at all.”

Owen nodded. “That being the case, to leave the tablet here would be more dangerous than getting trapped in there.”

Makepeace sighted down his rifle barrel, then thumbed a spec of dust off by the muzzle. “All your thinking don’t mean this ain’t a trap. More of them demons could spring up out the ground and you’re done.”

Nathaniel shucked off his pack and dug around, bringing out the urn full of demon broth. “Well, I gots me a plan. Being as how I is faster than any of the rest of you, I’ll just run in there, smash this over that slab goes into the ground, and be back with the tablet in no time.”

“If it doesn’t work, ‘I gots me a plan’ will make for one hell of an epitaph.”

“You have that wrong, Captain.” Kamiskwa came up with his urn. “If it doesn’t work, there won’t be enough to bury.”

“What are you proposing, brother?”

“I may not be faster than you, but I feel magick better. I make the run. You three stay here, ready to shoot anything that bothers me.”

“Cain’t argue as much as I’d like with your logic.” Nathaniel levered his rifle’s breech opened and pulled out the bullet. Using his knife, he cut a cross on the nose, then extended it toward the Steward. “I know you ain’t much on shooting and all, but I reckon a blessing might be of some comfort here.”