He woke with a start, chased by the scent of honeysuckle, pale hair, and the feel of a kiss on his ruined mouth. Alcor struggled to hold on to the dream, to remember it, but it slipped through his grasp and fled back into the dark recesses of his mind to await the next dream.
It was still dark, but he could see the faintest hints of gray on the horizon that meant dawn was imminent.
Dreams were annoying, but they were better than nightmares. For the past week, ever since that night when Meir had assured him the despair would pass, he'd had the dsmr dream. He sort of remembered a forest, and water—and the damned honeysuckle—but that was all. No, he could still feel the memory of a kiss. Strange, when he had seldom bothered to kiss anyone.
He lifted a hand to shove back straggly bits of coarse white hair and only then realized he still held the rose in one hand. Automatically, he brought it close enough to smell, inhaling the scents of honeysuckle, warm bread and butter, porridge with cream and dark, sweet tea.
Shaking his head, he tucked the rose away and gingerly stood up. Slowly he went through the series of stretches that had become a ritual; it was the only way to keep a portion of the constant pain away for most of the day—not that it lessened much, but it spoke loudly rather than screaming, and he would take what he could get.
Morning stretches completed, he went about making tea simply for lack of anything better to do. That, and the bitter tea Meir favored was the only thing Alcor could stand to put on his stomach—and he had only tried the tea to put an end to Meir's constant haranguing.
As the water heated, he gazed off into the distance at the vague, dark blurs that were Dragonback Mountain. Soon now. He did not know why he cared so much; it was not as though his life would improve once he reached the hunting lodge. After he was settled in there, he would go back to having nothing.
A soft woof broke into his thoughts and a heavy weight settled on one thigh as Mutt presented himself for petting. When Alcor obediently scratched the damned dog behind the ear, Mutt chuffed at him in approval and settled even more comfortably with his head in Alcor's lap.
Continuing to pet him absently, Alcor resumed staring at the mountains as they slowly grew more visible with the slow rising of the sun. Try as he might to distract himself, though, his thoughts only seemed to grow blacker. At some point, he prepared the tea, but the motions were already so familiar he scarcely noticed.
The scream came just as the sun was turning the sky orange and rose.
Alcor jerked up as Mutt jumped to his feet with a growl. Tea splashed all over his hands, making Alcor swear. Then another scream cut through the morning, and he forgot about the tea. It made his gut clench, that scream. It was like the screams everyone at the party had made as they burned to death. The last sound his father ever made had been a scream like that. His voice was in part ruined because he had screamed until he passed out.
Mutt was already taking off, and Alcor followed helplessly, torn between wanting to make the screams stop and wanting to run far away from whatever was causing them. He'd just crested the hill when Meir appeared at his side. "There," Meir said. He pointed with his sword, which Alcor had never seen him draw before.
He indicated the group they had seen in the distance the day before while searching for a place to make their own camp. It was a family of four with two teenage daughters and three other travelers, making a party of seven. Currently, they were under attack by what seemed to be robbers.
What in the name of the hells was wrong with the likes of faeries and robbers, hurting and beating and ruining lives for no reason other than their own vindictive amusement?
Meir moved first, and Alcor followed, even if he had no real clue what he was doing or even why, except he really hated the sound of screaming. He did not want to hear any more.
Clearly, Meir knew precisely what he was doing, as he threw himself into the fray with a battle cry that made Alcor want to run right back to camp. Instead, he carefully avoided the flashing swords as best he could and dove for the still-shrieking girls, pulling them up and away from the fighting and tossing them at their mother. Another man stumbled out of the mess, and Alcor tossed him out of harm's way as well.
Unfortunately, they didn't stop screaming.
Then the fight was abruptly over, finished almost as quickly as it had begun. After a moment, the screaming stopped as well. Alcor felt the dread in his stomach start to unknot and sought out Meir—but just as he started to speak, the screaming started again.
This time, he did not need to look to know the damned women were screaming at him this time. Ignoring them, thoroughly annoyed, he strode toward Meir. Giving him a nod, Meir cleaned his sword then went to deal with the travelers.
Left to his own devices, Alcor looked toward the corpses. He really did not want to look, but he could not seem to help himself. His stomach clenched up again, making him glad he had not had a chance to drink any of the tea he'd made. Memories flashed unwanted through his mind, of burning—melting—the stench.
These were similar, even though they were completely different. At least they were dead and not dying. Blood was everywhere, pooling in the grass, soaked and smeared across their clothing. Here and there he could see innards spilling out. The awful, sightless eyes.
It would have made him retch if his memories were not more awful still—if his own reflection were not even worse than his memories and this horror combined. All the same, he did not think he would be able to manage even tea for quite some time.
He looked at the corpses a moment longer before turning away, but froze as something struck him. Turning back slowly to the bodies, he stared. He stared hard.
These—these were not robbers.
Hells, he thought he might even recognize one of them, though a name would not come to mind. Nobles. All three of the dead men were nobles, sons of titled lords, rather than properly titled themselves, to judge by their age and the style of dress and the little accessories they wore, the gold and silver flashing in sunlight.
Feeling a strange numbness, as though watching from afar, he moved toward the corpses, kneeling alongside the familiar looking one. Red hair, relatively handsome and a mouth he sort of remembered as always being curved in a smirk.
Reaching out, Alcor lifted up a watch chain, pulling the pocket watch from its place in the dead man's waistcoat and closely examining the three watch fobs attached to it. His attention immediately fixed upon one of them, and from long familiarity, he found the hidden catch and flipped the secret case open.
The smell of dragonweed immediately struck him, sharp and bitter, making him want to retch in a way even the corpses had not. Once so dear—
He shut the case with a rough sound and dropped it, lifting up the dead man's hand to examine the half-dozen rings upon it. Four were mere decoration, sporting fat diamonds and a moderately impressive emerald. But two, two were simple signets, but important and precious than all the other jewelry combined.
The first was in bright gold, boasting the Seal of Mages. A second class ring, to be in yellow gold. A mere apprentice mage, the dead man, but that was still a serious matter. The second ring was much worse, however, for it was a family crest. The house of Tollanna—and now a name came to him, sharp and bright in his mind.
Jalla Koor, first son and heir to the Duke of Tollanna, one of the most respected mage families in the country. And his heir was dead. Alcor felt cold all the way to his bones.
He stood up slowly, taking the damning rings with him. Moving to Meir, ignoring the way the people they had rescued made warding signs against him, he displayed the rings. "We have problems." Meir look surprised.
Alcor scowled, annoyed that anyone could be so ignorant. "That one," he pointed to the mage, "is from a high ranking family and is a mage. His blood—" He started coughing, voice not quite up to long sentences, but he had forgotten in his haste to relay what he had discovered.
"They're all from high-ranking families," Meir replied. "The houses of Tollanna, Kyla, and Moorna. Spoiled brats the lot of them; they always were. This group, easy to see they were high on dragonweed and eager to assault anything breathing."
He gave Alcor a reproving look, and it hit him with all the force of the monks striking him until he calmed down. Those names. He knew all those names. He turned to look again at the bodies, but knew none of them save Jalla, whose sister he now recalled had been on the list of potential brides for him. Still, he knew all the names. If not these men, he had known others, and likely shared dragonweed and whores with them. Once upon a time he had called all of them peers, equals.
Why? Why were they here, in the middle of nowhere, assaulting simple peasants? Meir had said they were high on dragonweed, but Alcord never been inclined to commit violence himself while enjoying dragonweed. He had much preferred to share the smoke with someone warm, someone eager to share a great deal more.
He recalled, however, that some did let loose in a violent manner. They had even seemed to enjoy it, or thought they did while caught up in the smoke, the heat and the rush that only dragonweed could bring. Abusing the whores hired for the evening, treating the servants roughly.
Alcor had always laughed and jeered, not interested in doing such things, but believing he should mind his own business. Intoxicated by the dragonweed, it had always seemed far away and dreamlike. Not real.
The stench of blood was real. The innards spilling out of gaping wounds were real. The glassy eyes were real. The screams and the sobbing were real. It was all horribly, terribly real.
If things had gone differently the night of his twentieth birthday, would he now be a corpse upon the ground? Alcor felt as though he really were going to be sick. He turned away from the corpses with a rough sound. "Trouble if people come looking."
Meir nodded. "Aye." He turned to the people huddled by their horses and cart. "If ever you should be asked about this matter, plead ignorance. We'll strip the bodies of anything that might mark them. Leave them in the woods; the animals will take care of them. Understand?"
"Tell them a beast did it, aye," the eldest woman said, laughing a little hysterically, eyes going to Alcor before they jerked away and she warded herself again.
"That beast helped save your lives," Meir snapped. "The real beasts are the men who just tried to rape and kill you, all for their own amusement. Real beasts are those who do not show gratitude when their lives are saved."
Everyone was silent.
Alcor ignored them in favor of setting to the gruesome task of stripping the corpses of anything which might give away their identities. Jewelry, handkerchiefs, the buttons of their coats and even much of the clothing.
It would, some small part of him whispered, make far more sense to burn the lot and have done with it, but the rest of him recoiled and attempted to wretch up his empty stomach. No burning, gods above no more burning flesh.
He hesitated when he finished with the bodies and turned his attention to their horses. Beautiful beasts, all of them, and they would make the going so much easier.
"Best leave 'em, lad," Meir called, though by his tone he was just as reluctant as Alcor to leave behind such fine horseflesh.
Alcor made a face, but obeyed. Gathering up the reins, he led the horses to where the people still stood with Meir. They warded themselves again, but Alcor could not muster the energy to do more than roll his eye. "Keep them until we are gone," he said slowly so he would not start coughing. "Then let them loose." He dropped the reins when he saw no one would take them, leaving the nitwits to scramble for them. Turning back to Meir, he said, "Go?"
"Aye, Meir replied and without further word, led the way back to their own little camp, Mutt close at their heels.
When they reached the fire they had stupidly left burning unattended, Alcor sat down and made fresh tea. "Pointless," he said after a moment.
Meir shrugged. "Saving lives is never pointless, even if the rescued fail to express their appreciation—or realize they should be appreciative. It's mostly fear; if we had stayed longer, eventually they would have come around."
Alcor said nothing. He wondered if perhaps the nitwits would have been more immediately grateful if they had been rescued by a beauty instead of a beast. He sneered and stabbed at the fire, angry for no one reason he could articulate. He was mad at the stupid travelers. He was mad at the stupid nobles. He was mad—
He was mad at himself and that was the hardest thing to face.
If his life had not turned into a living nightmare a year and a half ago, then he would have finally gone off to the city to begin to live his own life, largely independent of his family. Alcor was no mage, but he had his talents. He would have done well on his own feet. The freedom…
Given all that freedom, even greater than what he'd already had, would he have acted the same as the dead men? He did not think so, for he had never favored violence. It was too messy, and he'd hated his father's beatings, but, well, half the fun of dragonweed was the freedom of mind it brought. The way it made a man not care about anything at all.
The more he thought about it—and he could not seem to stop thinking about it—the more he had to wonder what he would be doing now, if he had not been cursed that night.
"You all right there, lad?"
Alcor jumped and saw that the water was sufficiently heated and that Meir was speaking to him. "What?" he growled.
"You look a bit unsteady."
Shrugging irritably, Alcor made the tea, but as he had known, a single sip had barely touched his lips before his stomach rebelled against the idea. He set the tea down again, silently ordering his stomach to stop trying to heave itself up for lack of contents to toss.
Meir said something, but Alcor ignored him. Instead, he pulled out the rose and buried his nose in it. Always the honeysuckle, and that day it was stronger than ever. Warm and sweet, and he realized abruptly that somewhere along the way he had grown to like the scent.
"Alcor!"
He jerked his head up, startled to hear Meir actually use his name. "What?"
"I know it pains you to move quickly, but we're going to have to travel hard and fast over the next several days to make certain we are not where authorities might find us. If scared enough, those travelers will not hesitate to inform whoever asks that we did the killing."
And Alcor he was all too easy to describe and identify. "Why?"
"Did we bother saving them?" Meir smiled, but it looked as tired as Alcor felt. "Most of the time, people are better than that. As I said before, fear made them less grateful than I think they would have otherwise been. Good or bad, they did not deserve what those men would have done. Anyway, if there is one thing I have learned, it's that people always get what they deserve."
To that, Alcor could say nothing.
"We should break camp and start moving," Meir said after a moment. Nodding, Alcor fell to helping him, and in less than half an hour, they were on their way. "I do wish we could have kept the horses," Meir said wistfully.
Alcor grunted in agreement and kept his eye on Dragonback Mountain, refusing to think about anything other than the hunting lodge.