The Song of Andiene - By Elisa Blaisdell Page 0,44

have been a lord of the city. His accent was harsh, though he tried to speak sweetly; he spoke the common tongue as if it were foreign to him.

“Greetings, good friend. Though our hounds brought you to bay, they would do you no harm. They hunt smaller game than men. You have the look of one who has traveled far and hard, on scanty rations. Come down and greet us and tell us the news from your land.”

Of all possible things, Ilbran was least prepared for such fair words. “What manner of men are you?” he called down.

“Men such as you,” the leader replied. “We paint our faces with light so that our fellows will not shoot at us mistaking us for forest creatures as we go our separate ways on the hunt.” There was a ripple of agreeing laughter from the crowd of ghostly-faced men standing behind him.

Who would trust such fair words? Only the desperately weary, who almost longed for death.

Ilbran watched and waited. If these were human, the enchantments would not hold them back. They would climb up the steps to meet him; they would not stay and parley at the foot of the stairs. They were many, and he was one. Swords hung at their sides, and heavy hunting bows across their backs. If they were nobles of a city in the forest—and he had never heard stories of such—they would know how to use their weapons. They would not fear him.

Had that man in the clearing—they had not spared a glance for him, and that was strange enough—gone down to meet such a crowd of friends as these? He lay at the base of the steps, and though his sword had been out, it had not drawn blood, nor had there been any mark on him.

Their leader spoke again, less sweetness in his tone. “Are you some outlaw, a kinslayer that fears all men, that you will not come down and greet us honestly? We do not wish to make war on you, but if we are forced to, we will—to the death!”

“To which of the Nine Kingdoms do you owe allegiance?” asked Ilbran.

“None,” replied the leader of the ghostly crowd. “We are our own lords, in our own land, and no stranger has reason to fear us, if he is an honest man.”

For all the fair words, his speech seemed strange. His mouth moved like the mouth of a puppet worked by clumsy hands. It did not move in true step with his voice.

Or was that an illusion, a terror born of the night? Ilbran found the courage to speak to them boldly. “Go about your hunt. I would not delay you. When it comes daylight, I will join you.”

It was a promise he did not fear to make. In daylight, he thought, the paths are shielded from evil, and if they stay and speak to me then, they are true men, and not demons.

Harsh laughter echoed from the mouths of all that death-faced troop. “One of the wise ones, are you?” the leader said. “You will join us before daylight.” His men turned and walked into the forest, but the dark hounds remained and wove their circle of shadows, and the leader stayed, watching Ilbran and laughing.

One motion of his hand, and the circle of hounds divided and let him through to the foot of the steps, where the dead man lay. “A comrade of yours?” he asked.

“No kin, nor comrade,” Ilbran said.

The stranger’s laughter was louder and more hollow. “More kin and comrade than you think!”

He knelt beside the body, handling it roughly as he stripped off the mail coat, the iron cap and threw them aside. His laughter was louder than the death-song of the hounds. His nails were long and strong to tear off strips of flesh. His teeth were strong, stronger than man or beast, to break and grind the bones. His hands had giant’s strength, to crush the skull between his palms so he could lap out what it contained. Ilbran watched in sick horror, not able to look away.

The others returned, bowed under loads of green branches and dry ones. They threw their burdens down and came to join the feast.

These wore the likenesses of men, but they were no men. Ilbran remembered what the grizane had said. They became the evil in the world. We imprisoned them in the forest.

When the forest lords were done with their feast, they turned to their bonfire. It was the