The Shadow of Elysium (Shadow Campaigns) Read Free Page A

ground with long sticks, steering the vehicles around the worst obstacles. Even so, hardly a day goes by without an hour or two spent dragging a stuck wagon wheel out of a rut.
    There are towns along the road, usually where it crosses one of the small west-flowing rivers at a ford or a wooden bridge. The guards stop to buy food, now that the hunting is scarcer, but the wagons never halt until we’re well beyond the crossing. I don’t know if the priest doesn’t trust the townsfolk, or if he is worried a view of some kind of civilization might tempt his prisoners into rashness.
    Every day, as the sun sets, the girl opens her eyes and raises her head. She still seems dazed, but she is awake enough to stumble along with the guards when they unchain her legs and take her off the cart to attend to her call of nature. When she returns, they feed her, spooning a thick, creamy broth directly into her mouth. Afterward, she falls asleep again.
    I get bread and dried meat, the latter tooth-breakingly tough unless I soak it in my tin cup of water. I watch for a chance to escape, but my hope burns lower now. There are more guards, more miles between us, and iron and steel securing me instead of hemp.
    ***
    Tullo still comes to me, though less frequently. He glances briefly at the sleeping girl, and I wonder if he would rather have her servicing him instead, but he raises no complaint when I bend to my task. The shot of spirit he offers me afterward sets fire to my stomach, but the extra bread is welcome.
    ***
    One night, a fortnight after I was put in irons, something is different. The guards unchain the girl as usual and lead her stumbling into the twilight, laughing at some crude joke. But when they return her, no food is forthcoming for either of us, and she does not return to her sleep. She sits, blinking, against the wall of the wagon, and at last her eyes seem to focus on me.
    “Hello?” I say. “Can you understand me?”
    She blinks again, swallows, and shakes her head. She has a southerner’s complexion, so I switch from my native Murnskai to Hamveltai. I speak Vordanai as well, though my accent and pronunciation for all the southern languages is atrocious; I learned them from books and snatches of conversations with my father.
    “Hello?”
    Her eyes widen. When she speaks, her voice is a croak, as though it had not been used for a long time.
    “Hello,” she says. “You . . . you can understand me?”
    “If you speak slowly,” I say.
    “Who are you?” She looks around, still shaking her head as though in a fog. “Where am I?”
    “My name is Abraham. I don’t know where we are, exactly. Somewhere on the north road.”
    “The north road?”
    I wonder how far they have carried her, in her dazed state. “North of the Worldshearts. On the way to Elysium.”
    “Murnsk,” she says. There is fear on her face. “I’m in Murnsk?”
    I nod. “What’s your name?”
    “Alex. Or—” She hesitates, then shakes her head. “Just Alex.”
    “Do you know what you’re doing here?”
    “I—”
    There’s a
clack
as someone unlocks the rear gate of the wagon. Alex stops. A moment later, a robed figure climbs up onto the wagon bed with us. At first I think it is the priest, but his robes are not red but utterly black. He face is obscured by a mask, a layer of thin cloth set all over with faceted chips of black glass. They glitter in the light of the outriders’ torches, shifting liquidly as he moves.
    “Good evening,” he says, in Hamveltai. “I see you’re awake, Alex.”
    She has pulled herself away from him, as far as her chains will allow. Her eyes are full of hate. The masked man smiles, black glass shifting and gleaming. He turns to me.
    “And you. I am told you can understand this tongue?”
    I nod, stiffly.
    “Good,” he says. “That will save me the trouble of explaining everything twice. My job is to prepare you as best I can for your new lives. Both of you bear demons.” He catches my expression