《In Memory of the Dead》


 Stranger at the Gate

    It was late on a cold autumn afternoon, and the air smelled of an impending storm. The gates to the fortified inn were locked when a stranger rounded the last bend in the King¡¯s Road .


    High on the keep''s tower, the oldest of the innkeeper¡¯s daughters watched the stranger with wary curiosity. It was rare for the living to travel alone through the haunted plains, rarer still to do it at night.


    Though Ruth often visited this spot, drawn by the sharp wind and breathtaking vista that connected her to a world beyond her stifling home, she rarely saw signs of human activity. If she was lucky, she¡¯d catch the glimpse of a campfire in the distant foothills, or a smuggler caravan camped by a creek, but most nights, those were too much to hope for. Only the brave, or the foolish ventured this close to the border, and she had to settle on watching a pack of hungry jackals hunt a hare, wights gather over the old battlefield, or a wyvern circle over the forested peaks of the distant mountains.


    The late, living visitor was like a fresh breath from a larger world: chilling, but full of promise and excitement. His long, chestnut curls and frayed greatcoat, danced in the wind. He was close now.


    Ruth waited just long enough to see if he would turn toward the inn, then ran to warn Mother. She found her in the nursery, helping Lilith, the second eldest, with her numbers. On the floor, the tweens squabbled over a rattle.


    ¡°A guest is coming,¡± Ruth announced over the noise.


    Mother took a moment to settle the toddlers. A single stern glance was enough to end their antics. ¡°Just the one?¡±


    ¡°I saw no one else from the tower.¡±


    ¡°Then, if he passes the wards, you may greet him and serve him dinner. It¡¯s high time you practiced unsupervised. Call for help if he causes any trouble, and keep a guard with you at all times. Lilith, if your sister agrees, you may observe, but remember to listen to her every word, and never get too close to our guest.¡±


    Lilith looked up at her sister, the family¡¯s gray-violet eyes sparkling with excitement. ¡°Can I come? I¡¯ll behave, I promise!¡±


    Ruth was torn. At eleven¡ªfour years her junior¡ªLilith was a charming whirlwind of mischief. Keeping an eye on her would be a chore. Yet, Lilith¡¯s infectious grin had a way of lightening Ruth¡¯s burdens and putting visitors in a better mood.


    Long lashes fluttered at her.


    The bell in the guardhouse rang. The visitor had arrived at the gate.


    ¡°Oh, very well,¡± Ruth relented. ¡°But you¡¯d better do as I say!¡±


    ***


    When the sisters arrived at the wall, two guards met them, crossbows the ready. Ruth did not know them; they had to be new.


    The stranger waited at a healthy distance, where a shot could not reach him easily .


    The older guard, a dangerous-looking man in well-used armor, bowed respectfully to Ruth. ¡°Fella asked for succor. Should we let him in, Miss?¡±


    ¡°Wait for my signal,¡± Ruth said, giving herself and her sister a final once-over. Their dark velvet dresses were tidy enough, their protective talismans in place. Ruth¡¯s brown locks frizzed where Lilith¡¯s were smooth and glossy, but there was no helping that. They were as ready as they could be. Taking a bracing breath, she called out to the stranger, ¡°You may approach.¡±


    To reach the heavy, red-brass door, a traveler had to step over a line of intricate runes inlaid into the pavement, their metalwork gleaming faintly in the dimming light. No fiend of the night, no undead, nor a victim of possession could cross the ward.


    The stranger drew closer, and Ruth finally got a closer look at him. His greatcoat, though frayed, must have once been expensive. He couldn¡¯t be past his twenties, his features sharp and elegant, his form slim and wiry . Not a knight or soldier. Perhaps a gentleman, adventurer, or sorcerer. What delicious knowledge would a man like that hide in his head¡­ What stories could he tell them by the fire¡­


    As he neared the runic ward, she found herself clenching her fist, hoping the magic didn¡¯t reject him. What a shame it would be to have to kill her very first guest.


    The glint of the runes intensified. He hesitated¡­ Studied them closely¡­ Then with a single decisive step, he crossed the line and arrived, hale and unharmed, before the closed doors to the fortress, proving he was a human.


    Ruth sighed in relief. ¡°Open the gate!¡± she ordered the guards.


    They entered just as the first heavy raindrops drummed against wooden roof shingles and the cobblestones.


    By the time the small doors set in the larger metal portal creaked open, she was down in the yard, ready to greet him properly.


    ¡°Welcome to The Deadland¡¯s Rest. I am Ruth, daughter of the Keeper, and this is my sister Lilith.¡± Despite her excitement, she made sure not to come too close and to keep her sister behind her, well out of the stranger¡¯s reach.


    He smiled warmly. ¡°Thank you for rescuing me from the rain.¡±


    It didn¡¯t escape Ruth¡¯s notice that he failed to offer his name. She wished she could demand it, but that would be a breach of trust almost as egregious as asking him to leave his weapons with the guards. He had just as much right to be wary of them as they did of him.


    Ruth invited him to the main hall, a single guard trailing behind. ¡°I hope you don¡¯t mind supping with us. We¡¯re always hungry for news from beyond our walls.¡±


    ¡°It will be my pleasure.¡±


    Soon, they settled in the great hall at a table large enough to seat all her father¡¯s soldiers. Ruth made sure to sit herself and Lilith opposite their guest, protected by thick wood and distance. A welcoming fire burned in the large hearth, and Old Myrtle bustled around setting their dinner.


    ¡°We¡¯re sorry to be so stingy with the bread,¡± Ruth said. ¡°We¡¯re awaiting a shipment of flour, but the soldiers we sent are late.¡±


    His pale face flushed ever so slightly, or perhaps it was only a reflection of the fire. ¡°Stingy? I¡¯ve never had so much meat in my stew. And the flavor¡­ Is it from a local beast? Very delicate. It reminds me of¡ª¡±


    ¡°Oh, I doubt you¡¯ve ever had it before,¡± Lilith giggled.


    Ruth shut her up with a glare. Here in the wasteland, one had to make do with a somewhat unorthodox diet. There was no need to bother their guest with the details. ¡°A family specialty,¡± she said, then deftly steered the subject to what truly interested her: tales from the wider world.


    Their guest, who only ever referred to himself as ¡®a wanderer¡¯, enjoyed making them laugh with his anecdotes. His aristocratic features animated when he pantomimed escorting a merman on a pilgrimage through the desert or investigating the mysterious case of a lord who dropped dead every twelfth day. His dark eyes glinted with wry amusement when he told them of the winter he spent trying to heal a deaf stallion to redeem a drunken promise.


    At one point, Ruth spotted Mother watching from the gallery, but she never joined them.


    By the time Maude returned with a second helping, Lilith was completely smitten with The Wanderer. Ruth was impressed too, particularly by the deep sense of duty behind even his silliest stories. Yet something felt off. Lilith was right¡ªhe was pale and clammy. His long, elegant fingers, trembled as he gesticulated. And his stories¡­ they didn¡¯t belong to one man. A fighter, a healer, an investigator, a sailor¡ªhe couldn¡¯t be all of those. Despite his charm, Ruth reminded herself she knew nothing about him.


    Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.He was stingy with personal details. He admitted to passing through Dustmere, the nearest settlement on the King¡¯s Road, but avoided saying where he came from or where he was headed.


    ¡°Dad says,¡± Lilith probed, ¡°that Dustmere is where all the fighters and explorers gather before they set out for the Deadlands. Are you an adventurer? Did you come to hunt monsters?¡±


    ¡°Something like that.¡± He smiled a private smile. ¡°You¡¯re quoting your father. Have you never visited? It¡¯s only a few days away.¡±


    Lilith shook her head sadly. ¡°We¡¯re never allowed to go anywhere.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not true.¡± Ruth didn¡¯t want them to seem like prisoners. ¡°In the summer, Father takes us on short patrols, and in winter, we get to skate on the streams. We even went to the hills once.¡±


    ¡°But not to Dustmere?¡±


    ¡°That outpost attracts the roughest sorts. It wouldn¡¯t be safe for young women,¡± Ruth replied with practiced contempt. It was the answer they were trained to give visitors.


    The Wanderer nodded. ¡°Humans can be more dangerous than monsters. What about the mountains? I¡¯ve heard a fortress guards the pass to the deeper ranges.¡± A stronger tremor ran down his hand, jingling his rings. ¡°Its commander is said to be a great warrior.¡±


    ¡°Captain Draeven, the Iron Vulture. He¡¯s been there forever.¡± Lilith leaned forward, lowering her voice as if imparting a great secret. ¡°Dad says his men are no better than bandits. Nobody likes him.¡±


    ¡°So, I¡¯ve heard. Have you met him?¡± he asked, perhaps with more interest than he intended to show.


    ¡°No.¡±


    Seeing his poorly hidden disappointment, Ruth explained. ¡°Our mother¡¯s castellany reaches from halfway to Dustmere, to the foothills. We¡¯re responsible for the road and the safety of travelers. We have no business with the mountains, but we do know everything about the plains. Would you like some tips for your stay? If you leave the highway, remember to never¡ª¡±


    Just then, a cold draft interrupted their conversation. Shuffling footsteps echoed from a side passage. Their guest startled.


    ¡°It¡¯s only Old Crookleg bringing wood for the fires,¡± Ruth assured him, then returned to describing the dangers of the plains.


    Much later, when the dishes got cleared away and the wood turned to embers, their guest returned to the matter of safety. ¡°I know you run an inn, but are you sure you feel comfortable letting a stranger stay in your house? You seem¡ª¡± He looked at the single guard and few servants in the huge room¡ª ¡°quite abandoned. Is your father out on patrol?¡±


    Ruth didn¡¯t like the direction of his inquiries. ¡°We have a separate guesthouse in the yard that awaits you. Old Myrtle has stoked a fire,¡± she answered, more curtly than before. And the evening had been going so well.


    Lilith, the goose, ignored the tension. ¡°Dad took all the best guards! We¡¯ve seen campfires in the old bandit hideout, so they¡¯ll scout it and maybe fight, but they¡¯ll be all right because they¡¯re the best fighters, and then they¡¯ll camp, and they¡¯ll bring us fresh¡ª¡±


    A glare from Ruth finally shut her up.


    ¡°What my sister meant to say is that we are perfectly safe in our house, and so will you be, sir, in our guesthouse. It¡¯s getting late. Why don¡¯t I ask our Branny¡±¡ªshe gestured at the only male servant, a lanky boy of perhaps seventeen¡ª ¡°to help you settle in?¡±


    When their guest left¡ªwith warm goodnights, but trailed by a guard ¡ªRuth and Lilith rushed to lock the main door.


    ¡°Am I in trouble?¡± Lilith whispered, her large, innocent eyes raised to her sister¡¯s.


    Ruth refused to fall under her spell. ¡°You know better than to tell a stranger we¡¯re all alone. Did you notice the rings on his fingers? Runic. I bet he¡¯s a sorcerer. And that sword of his looked well-used.¡±


    ¡°I liked him. He won¡¯t harm us.¡±


    Ruth could only sigh. ¡°Let¡¯s hope you¡¯re right.¡±


    Despite what she said to her sister, hoping was not enough for Ruth. The Wanderer was her responsibility, and his questions had been suspicious, no matter how nicely he asked them. It was her duty to make sure he didn¡¯t make trouble. And so, after taking Lilith upstairs and reporting to Mother, she once more climbed to the top of the roofed tower. The rain had stopped, but strong wind snatched at her hair when she leaned out of the window to spy on the guesthouse. It was deathly cold, and she shivered, even under a coarse horse blanket. No matter, she knew her duty. Mother might trust the guards, but they were too new and lazy. Even now, the one on watch hid in the cozy guardhouse.


    The stark light of the Violet Moon painted the courtyard in shadows. A very empty courtyard. Time passed. A coyote howled and another answered, the sound too long and too like the wail of a mourner. Probably possessed. Ruth did not look their way; she had her duty.


    Despite her best intentions, she¡¯d almost dozed off when a soft creak alerted her. The door to the guesthouse opened.


    The familiar, elegant figure slipped outside and silently padded over the wet pavestones, his travel bag thrown over a shoulder. He kept to the shadows, out of sight of the guardhouse.


    Ruth considered raising an alarm, but it was too soon. Perhaps Branny forgot to leave him a chamber pot, and he was only looking for a place to relieve himself.


    His steps were gentle but firm as if he knew where he was going, and the destination was¡­ the old well tucked into the corner of the courtyard.


    Not good. He had no reason to go there.


    Before she could decide what to do, the Wanderer shifted the wooden cover just enough to slip inside. No one jumped into a well unless they knew about the hidden steps.


    Ruth swore the vilest curses and hexes she had learned from Mother. The well was a family secret, shared only with the most trusted servants. It led both to the main house and their secret storage. The new guards didn¡¯t know about it¡ªshe couldn¡¯t ask them for help. No, this was her problem to solve. She wouldn¡¯t tell anyone until she knew what he sought there.


    She hurried down the spiraling stairs. It would be too dangerous to trail him directly, but there were other entrances. She raced past the empty great hall and into an alcove, where another staircase hid behind an altar. Down she ran, past the level with the cellars and pantries, and into the deepest level connected to the dry well. Here, damp corridors burrowed through bare rock. It was very dark, but Ruth knew every passage. She pressed the protective necklaces to her chest with one hand and clutched the wrist talismans with the other, lest their jingling betray her. With every step, she tested the ground while looking for the glow of a torch or lantern. Once, she heard a thump and a sloshing footstep. She headed that way.


    It was slow going, but finally, finally, she saw a soft light. It seeped out from the cold room.


    She cursed again, silently. He had found her family¡¯s most closely guarded secret.


    It was time to go, but a morbid mixture of curiosity and sympathy urged her to peek past the doorway. If she told Mother, nothing would save him from her anger.


    He squatted with his back to her, an obsidian chisel in one hand, the fingers of the other gripping the bloody hair of a short, prone figure. In the flickering light of a lantern, he looked like a gentleman scholar conducting an experiment.


    The figure didn¡¯t move. Other bodies rested in iced storage.


    He and gone too far. Ruth let go of her talismans and, throwing caution to the wind, stepped inside.


    Her heart beat fast from fear and anger, but her voice betrayed none of her feelings when she asked, ¡°How did you know about our corpse larder?¡±