"Note that," she said, pointing as the thing reared up at them, hissing. "The shadow stalker is trapped. Why? They've seemed to be able to come and go at will before."
"Perhaps it is the condition of the corpse. The creature entered it and, unable to mobilize it, could not exit either."
"I think there is more to it than that. But for now, simply make note."
Gavril had fallen behind to examine the thing. Now he caught up. "As I was saying, what are the chances that our wagon just happened to pass near where my father is keeping his army?"
"Is it not also near where he was keeping--?" She broke off.
"My mother."
"I did not mean to remind you."
Silence for the next fifty paces. Then he said, "I take your point. However--"
"Halt."
A growl of frustration. "I want to discuss this--"
"And I said halt. Not stop talking."
She stopped several paces behind and was looking about when a shadow stalker shot from behind a stand of bushes. It ran toward them. Or attempted to. Its gait was oddly uneven, and it moved in a staggering, stumbling run they could easily outpace.
"Save your sword, Kitsune," Moria said. "Let me practice on this one."
She worked on banishing it while staying out of its way. She tried various methods. Speaking the words aloud. Saying them in her head. Shouting. Whispering. Invoking the ancestors. Invoking the goddess. She saved one method for last, and when it worked, she turned to Gavril.
"You are correct. The wording and the invocation do not matter as much as the force of my delivery. And you can stop clutching your sword like that. You don't need to cleave anything in two. Not yet."
As she walked to the fallen body, she saw why the thing had moved so awkwardly. It was barefoot, and its soles were worn to bone. She flipped the corpse onto its back. The dawn light hit it, and she reeled.
"Jonas?" she breathed.
"What?" Gavril sheathed his blade and stepped closer.
The creature's face had contorted beyond recognition, but scar tissue marred one forearm. He had dark skin, only a few shades lighter than Gavril's, and close-cropped curly hair. Her gaze slid back down to his feet and she imagined shabby boots, already on their way to the dust heap. She would not forget those boots. They were the last thing she'd seen of Jonas, as he'd been dragged into the undergrowth in the Forest of the Dead. She'd lunged, trying to catch them as he disappeared.
Now her gaze rose again to his arm and she touched the scars. "He told me he'd burned it saving a child from a fire."
Gavril snorted. "No, he . . ." He shifted his weight. "Yes, I'm certain
that's how it happened."
"I'm certain it is not. He was a warrior trying to impress a girl, in a village with too many warriors and not enough girls. I heard many stories. Jonas was kind, though. Too old to be eyeing girls barely past their sixteenth summer, but he was kind." She laid his hands on his chest and then stood. "We have seen one man likely from Fairview and another we can both attest was from Edgewood. Do you still doubt your father's army is housed nearby?"
"While I do not like the sheer magnitude of the coincidence, I would accept it if it were not for a bigger question, Keeper. Why are we encountering them here?"
"Is it possible your father has indeed found us, and he thinks you've betrayed him, and this is his punishment? Perhaps not to harm you but to frighten you with the possibility?"
Gavril said nothing, and when Moria glanced over, his gaze had gone blank. Deeply immersed in his thoughts. A look flickered over his face, but he blinked hard and it vanished. He motioned for them to resume walking, and they did.
"It is certainly not impossible that my father would attempt to frighten me," he said. "He did so many times in my youth. But he takes too great a risk here. I am his only heir. There is little point in winning an empire if one cannot launch a dynasty. With both his age and his past . . . performance, he is not foolish enough to believe he can father more sons. That is why I can get away with some degree of disrespect. Yet there is a limit, as I've learned. My sons could be his heirs as well as I could. He has threatened me with that when I am overtly impudent."
"Threatened you with what? Forcing you to father children? I'm hardly an expert in the matter, but my rudimentary knowledge of the process suggests that would be difficult."
She swore Gavril flushed. Impossible to tell with his skin tone, of course, but his expression said if he was a Northerner, he'd be as red as a summer plum.
"My father would not threaten it if there was not a way," he said. "A potion or a spell." When she stared at him, he said, "My father knows more magics than simply raising the dead."