The Dark Remains Read Free Page A

Durge, but they only shrugged. It seemed there was nothing else to do save follow.

3.
    The Mournish man walked swiftly—although there was a peculiar cadence to his gait—and in moments they reached the wagon. Smoke and the scent of lemons rose on the purple air. Bits of copper hung from the eaves of the wagon, filling the grove with chiming music.
    The man turned toward them.
    “What did you mean?” Lirith said before he could speak. “Back there, when you said, ‘there goes the sun and the moon’?”
    The man smiled, his teeth white in the premature gloom beneath the trees. “It is simple enough,
beshala
. You are as brilliant as the sun and your sister as luminous as the moon.”
    Durge cleared his throat. “And what was this speech about clouds?”
    The man clapped the knight’s shoulder. “It is no insult I meant you, good brother. For the cloud grants the sun and moon a chance to rest when he lies over them.”
    Even in the dimness, Durge’s blush was plain to see. “I have not … that is, I do not lie over … I mean to say …”
    The man laughed—a sound as joyous as the chimes, but octaves lower, thrumming in Lirith’s chest. Curious for a reason she could not name, she studied him.
    The Mournish man’s skin was the color of burnt sugar, and his eyes were as dark as old copper coins. Short as itwas, his black hair was thick and curling, and his pointed beard was glossy with oil. He wore only a pair of blue, billowing pants in the style of the Mournish, and a red vest open to expose a flat chest. A dozen short, thin scars marked each of his forearms. The scars were precisely lined in parallel, which made Lirith suppose they had some ritual meaning. He smelled of sweat and strong spices. It was not an unpleasant scent.
    The man’s laughter faded, and his eyes narrowed, as if he noticed Lirith’s attention. She quickly looked away.
    “Where are they, Sareth?” came the cracked voice from inside the wagon. “It is almost time for my tea.”
    Sareth grinned again. “My al-Mama will see you now.”
    He pulled a handle near the dragon’s tail, and a door swung open. Beyond was smoke and dim, golden light. Sareth unfolded a set of wooden steps, then climbed into the wagon. It was only as he did this that Lirith finally noticed his leg.
    Sareth’s loose pants ended just below his knees. On the right, his bare calf and foot were well shaped. However, on the left, there was no leg beneath the knee, but instead an ornately carved shaft of wood ending in a bronze cap. The peg leg drummed against the wooden steps as Sareth climbed inside.
    “Come,” he said to the three below.
    Lifting the hem of her gown, Lirith started up the steps, followed by Aryn and Durge. She couldn’t imagine there would be room for them all inside the wagon. But there was—barely. Light emanated from a single oil lamp, but Lirith couldn’t see the walls or ceiling, for everywhere hung jars, pots, bundles, and bunches of dried herbs. Sareth gestured for them to sit on three small stools while he stood near the door, blocking the waning daylight.
    “A silver coin each it will cost you,” came the same cracked voice they had heard before, louder now.
    Only then did Lirith realize that what she had takenfor a bundle of rags against the far wall was in fact a woman.
    She was ancient. Her body was lost in the tangled mass of rugs and blankets that covered the bench, but the arm she stretched forth was as thin and withered as a stick. Her head bobbed on a long, crooked neck, and her scalp bore only wisps of gray hair. However, amid the countless wrinkles of her face, her eyes were bright and warm as harvest moons. Bracelets clattered around her bony wrist, and large rings hung from her ears.
    Before Lirith could respond, Durge held out three silver coins. The old woman snatched them from his hand and bit each coin with what appeared to be her only tooth. Then she grunted, spirited the coins to someplace deep within the mass