Demon of the Black Gate

The road from the Amberland Gap was little more than a cart path, well grazed on both sides from the herds of sheep that passed along on the way to different forages. The dragon’s teeth were spurs separated from the mother mountains by ages of erosion. Yet stubbornly they remained, jagged horns rising from the valleys that lay tucked against their edges. The vales were rich and verdant. Small lakes and crofts nestled in the shadows of the great spires.

Sinjin followed the directions given to him by the Innswoman. Making the last turn, he heard the light and clear ring of chimes coming from the trees above. He drew up his horse, looking around. He studied the surroundings carefully, watching for ambush. Sinjin continued on, the trail barely suited for a cart. The skant road led between two of the great horns, clumps of trees and grass clinging to their craggy hides. He passed a small oxbow of a lake, girded by rock and elm, emerald green waters that were rich with minerals washed down from the nearby mountains. A lone fishermans sat in his punt, a net over the side.

It was late in the day when Sinjin arrived at the cabin in a large meadow nestled between two small lakes. The smaller lake was heavily reeded. A copse of trees had settled in the short rise between the two lakes, and a cabin sat against them facing the larger lake. Grassy slopes surrounded the small bungalow as well as the lakes nestled in the rock and boulders spent from the cliffs beyond. He pulled up at the fringe of the meadow and watched. No movement was evident. Sinjin tied his horse to a branch and made his way carefully to the cabin. A small barn and paddock was beyond the cabin. There was sign of recent dung, but no horse was in the stable.

He edged up the porch and hazarded a quick look inside. The cabin was quiet. It had been there for a long time judging by the growth of sod on its roof and colorful lichens that clung to its cob walls. There was no one around. He hadn’t passed her on the trail. He looked around at the mountains that rose swiftly beyond the lake and south among the gaps of the Dragon’s teeth. She could have ridden anywhere. He turned his attention again to the cabin. He slipped inside, a small squeak came from the hinges as the door swung open. He stepped carefully, eyeing the contents of the little cottage.

Everything was in easy reach, and very orderly.

“The woman is methodical.” Sinjin thought. “Would the men of my command have such habits.”

While neatness was obsessively evident, so too was every nook and cranny utilized. The kitchen revealed the same order, as well as a room filled with glass jars and vials, clay pots, and small sheafs of dried foliage. He picked up a sprig of something once green. It was shriveled and dry, tied with a ribbon and sewn with decorative knots.

“Women pick such odd ways to spend their time.” he concluded with a slight sneer.

All of the jars and vials were ribboned in a similar fashion. As he realized that the contents were not otherwise labeled, he concluded they must be secret tags and codes. In Sinjin’s world, subterfuge was commonplace and to be expected. He pocketed one of the unused ribbons.

He stepped down the short hall and into her bedroom. A comfortable down mattress and bedding, and a closet of clothes. He shifted some of the hanging skirts. There were no men’s clothes. All of the evidence pointed to her living alone. A few stone necklaces, some earrings and odd bangles. They were artfully done and of good quality, but nothing of value. He checked the wet room and back porch. No choked aisles or stacks of forgotten or unwanted items. The floors were swept clean. The counters were open and uncluttered. All was stowed neatly. It did not occur to him right away, but just as he was to leave, the thought came that he had not seen any mirrors. He did a quick reappraisal of the house and saw that indeed there were none. Not even in the bedroom or jakes. What kind of woman has no mirrors?

Sinjin was analytical, and callous, but he had been raised on notions passed on by the tale-tellers of his youth. Those that fear mirrors were of the supernatural, and not to be trusted. There were witches in the world. There were most certainly men of magic. Sinjin worked for one. It stood to reason, though Rovinkar had not said so, that his prey was a witch. The bundles of dried things and vials and pots and secret signs now made sense to him. He shuddered to think what vile concoctions might be in them. It was getting dark, too dark to pick up her trail until morning allowed. He searched the house again and found just one oil lamp that didn’t appear to have been used for a very long time.

“She must be able to see in the dark.” came to mind and Sinjin knew that he would have to be extra careful. So much easier to just bring in her head instead of the whole, living, troublesome body. He left the house and meadow and sat against the tree where he had tied his horse. He would watch and sleep until morning. A witch. He wondered if he was being paid enough.

It didn’t take long for Sinjin to break his camp at sunrise. He began by circulating the premises of the witch’s cabin, for by now he had come to think of her so. Sinjin found the freshest set of tracks leading from the cabin to the lake. He had not thought of waiting until she returned. She may have gone on south in the vales between the teeth to the towns beyond. Sinjin was not like a spider, waiting for its prey to be caught in a web. He was a tiger, meant to stalk.

The tracks were faint for the ground was dry. No rains had fallen for awhile, though there was some evidence of a recent windstorm. He followed the trail to where it circled the lake. Sinjin was so sure that she was continuing on the cart path that would conclude in the hamlet called Scotts Mill, that he missed the smaller trail that broke off to work its way up a ridge. It was only when he reached a stretch of soft clay that he realized no spoor awaited him and he cursed himself for having to backtrack.

It was not far from the lake that he located the fork and eyed it carefully for recent passage. The trail split on a rocky shelf, and the continuation was hard to spot. The trail had been used recently enough. The path led with quick ascent into the mountains, following the arm of a stout ridge. Sinjin followed his hunch. The woman would have gone this way.

Sinjin did not like kidnapping. And the woman was making it harder than it need to be. He urged his mount up the narrow path.