In spite of an early start, it took all afternoon just to reach the bottom of the steps. By the time they got to the relatively flat ground of the valley floor, Gyre’s knees ached abominably. If Kit was fatigued, though, she didn’t show it, hurrying ahead to find the loosely marked path that paralleled the narrow river. Gyre muttered to himself but kept walking.
At least the scenery was spectacular. The valley floor was low enough that it was clear of snow at this time of year, and a narrow belt of stunted trees and tough grass survived by the banks of the river. A few hundred meters to either side, the slopes of the neighboring mountains rose steep and unforgiving, shrouded in white. Streams flowed down to join the Brink at regular intervals, some emerging from the rocks, others tumbling down from on high in streamers of spray. Big brown birds wheeled and called out overhead, and now and then Gyre saw a few goats in the distance.
“See?” Kit said, her breath puffing into steam as she walked. “It’s not so bad. There’s not even any snow.”
“People really live out here?” Gyre had made the ascent to Deepfire safe in the confines of a caravan. Like the majority of the inhabitants, he’d never ventured outside the crater.
“A few,” Kit said.
“Why?”
She shrugged. “Scavengers pass through. They’ve got money, and they need food, booze, and bed warmers. There are worse ways to make a living.”
“It’s hard to think of many.”
“There’s this little … not a town, really, but a couple of buildings next to each other. It’s not far from Snowspear; we could pass by. They might even remember me.”
“Just as long as you didn’t kill anyone the last time you came through.”
“I don’t … think so?” Kit looked at the sky. “Maybe—no, that was farther east. It’ll be fine.”
Gyre snorted a laugh, and they walked on.
The sun vanished early, hidden behind the mountains to the west, and they walked for a while in the long twilight. Eventually, though, the light drained from the sky, and Kit found them a spot to camp in the lee of a rock outcropping, which would provide defense on two sides and keep them out of the wind.
“Risk a fire?” she said inquiringly.
“What’s the risk?”
“They say it attracts plaguespawn,” Kit said. “Though I don’t think anyone really knows for sure.”
“We’ll be all right,” Gyre said. “Go ahead.”
He dug in his pack for the roll of alchemical camp-guards while Kit went to work on the fire. The little things were the standard clay balls of most alchemicals, connected to a fine wire mesh. He unrolled them around their little nook at the distance of a couple of meters. The clay balls were full of explosive powder, enough to make a flash and a loud bang, connected to the wire with a clever mechanism. Once it was set, any pressure would set them off and sound the alarm. As a general security measure, it wasn’t ideal, since it was easy enough to step over the wire mesh if you saw it, but plaguespawn weren’t smart enough for that.
“You are well prepared,” Kit said, tending her small pile of twigs as the fire grew. “More of Lynnia’s work?”
Gyre nodded. “She’s got a temper, but she’s the best alchemist in Deepfire.” He sighed. “Not that she’ll ever work with me again, most likely.”
“Ah.” Kit shook her head. “It’s too bad about Yora. I’d hoped you were right about her calling off the job—”
“I’d rather not talk about it.”
Gyre settled down next to the fire, drawing his legs to his chest. He still wondered if there was something he could have done, some way out of the trap. Warn her, and risk losing everything. Except we lost everything anyway.
“Fair enough.” Kit pushed a larger piece of wood into the flames and sighed pleasantly as the fire rose. “Can I ask you something else, then?”
“Maybe,” Gyre said cautiously.
“That centarch,” Kit said. “She let us go. And I thought I heard you talking to her.”
“You were unconscious.”
“I was in and out.” Kit cocked her head. “So what happened? Do you know her?”
“In a manner of speaking.” Gyre sighed. “It was Maya. My sister.”
“You’re joking.”
“I wish I was.” He shook his head. “Or maybe I don’t. If it was anyone else, I doubt we’d have gotten out of there alive.”
“What did she say? Was she glad to see you?”
“She said …” Gyre paused. “About what you’d expect. What the Twilight Order taught her to believe.”
“Was she surprised to find out her brother is a notorious rebel?”
“I think so. She said she doesn’t remember what happened the day they took her.” Gyre sighed. “I wouldn’t blame her for not wanting to remember.”
“Family,” Kit said in a long-suffering tone.
“Do you have any?” Gyre said, genuinely curious.
“Just my mother. She ditched my dad before I was born, and I only saw him a couple of times before he drank himself to death.”
“And what does she think of …” Gyre waved vaguely, as though to encompass Kit’s entire life.
Kit held up a hand and waggled it so-so. “I ran off when I was ten. Spent the next five years fighting with her by letter. I thought we were through it, and I was planning to visit her, when I found out about …” She tapped her chest. “Since then I haven’t been able to figure out what to say.”
There was a pause that stretched into an awkward silence. Kit yawned.
“Well,” she said. “I’m for bed. Long way to walk tomorrow.”
“Yeah,” Gyre muttered. But he stared into the campfire for a long time after she’d crawled away, seeing the blinding light of a flaming sword.
*
They saw their first plaguespawn the following day.
When you lived within the well-guarded borders of the Republic, Gyre reflected, or in a protected city like Deepfire, you thought of plaguespawn as occasional disasters. Like storms or earthquakes, they could never be banished entirely, but for most people they weren’t a pressing risk. And when they did turn up, everyone knew what to do. Gyre had participated in a few plaguespawn hunts as a boy, sticking close to his father and a crowd of other farmers as they cornered some dog-sized monstrosity and beat it to death with clubs and farm tools. And once they’d found it, the threat was over, and everyone went home and congratulated themselves on a job well done.
It was easy to forget that most of the world wasn’t like that. The Splinter Kingdoms didn’t have the manpower of the Republic, or the weapons the Order maintained for the Legions, blaster rifles and unmetal armor. Every city and town had its wall and its watchtowers. Villagers fortified their houses and went armed in the fields. Travelers and traders moved in well-armed groups. And that was in the lowlands—no nation claimed the mazy valleys and narrow passes of the Shattered Peaks, and no army swept the wilds.
The Twilight Order liked to take credit, but Gyre thought the only thing that had saved humanity, after the fall of the Chosen, was the sheer mindless stupidity of the abominations. Plaguespawn wanted only one thing—to find living animals, humans above all, and incorporate their freshly slaughtered flesh into their own twisted bodies. They had no strategy, no sense of caution, not even the simple instincts of an animal. They didn’t set ambushes, or try to hide when they were overmatched.