Darkfire: A Book of Underrealm (18 page)

His words troubled her long after she had retreated to the other side of the fire to stare into the darkness, long after Jordel and Albern returned and assigned the night’s watches. As the rest readied themselves for sleep, Loren decided to speak with the Mystic. When she told him what had happened, his mouth set in a grim line, and he nodded.

“He said as much to me, last night. In truth, that is why I wanted you to feed him. For one thing, I wished to see if he would say the same to another as he did to me.”

“And do you believe him? Do you think the sickness could have passed?”

Jordel shrugged. “We cannot know for certain — not yet. For some the process is longer, and for others much shorter. But none ever truly shed their desire. Always it will lurk in the back of his mind, goading him, prodding him. If ever magestones return to his grasp, he will have to wage a great war against himself to resist them. If he even wants to. Tis like ale and wine — some people take to them ill, and know it, and so avoid drink altogether. But some lose their wits and enjoy it, and drink and drink until they have cast their lives down around them one stone at a time. Then drink is the only way to dull the pain. Alas, the call of magestones is even sweeter.”

“So you think it is a trick,” Loren pressed.

“It could be,” he nodded. “Or mayhap not. Either way, we cannot risk trusting him yet. Not while we are pursued on land and in the air by dark creatures hungry for our blood.”

Loren nodded and retired to her bedroll. But she thought much about the wizard’s words. And more importantly, the deep well of sadness she had seen in his light, grey-brown eyes.

twenty-one

“WE SHALL REACH THE FORTRESS today, I think,” said Albern.

It was morning, two days after the harpies had attacked them on the valley floor. Though Albern spoke with all the severity of someone commenting upon the rain, his words still sent a wave of unease rippling through the party.

“And what will happen then?” Gem wondered.

“Then?” said Jordel. “Then we will see what we find, and answer however we can. What is it you once told me? Our road is set, and what use in worrying? We can do little about it either way.”

“It sounded cheerier when I said it,” grumbled Gem.

Though Jordel had grown curiously calm, now that their destination seemed inevitable, Gem and Annis did not catch his mood. Loren found them both looking about anxiously, as though they expected to find themselves beset by ghouls at any moment. Even Annis seemed to have forgotten some of her anger in the face of their uncertain future.

They were not much longer upon the road when it began to widen, turning from loose mud to packed dirt that hardly soaked up the rain. Then, abruptly, it turned into well-paved stone, great square blocks of granite laid out with mortar in a perfect path leading due north.

Albern stopped them at once, and from the look on his face Loren could tell he had not expected this. Jordel, too, looked solemn, for all his talk of being unworried.

“You cannot tell me this road was not here last time you came this way,” said Loren.

“I can, for it is true,” said Albern. “See for yourself — the stones are almost newly cut and laid. They cannot be more than a few years old. And certainly they are not older than ten years, and that is the last time I was here.”

“Who would do that?” said Jordel. “Surely not the King of Selvan, for then I would certainly have heard.”

“If I had to guess, I would lay blame at the feet of this ‘Lord’ the satyrs have mentioned,” said Albern grimly. “And that shows the truth of what I have suspected all along: he is not one of them. Satyrs never lay roads like this, nor build structures of stone, or even of wood. They live in caves and in the wild, and have no need to pave since they do not ride horses or pull carts, preferring always to climb mountainsides.”

“Mayhap this Lord will give us food and lodging for the night,” said Gem. “Perhaps he is a benevolent man who will give care to five weary travelers. Six, I mean — please do not take offense.” He gave a great, dramatic bow to where Xain lay on the back of Jordel’s horse.

“A benevolent man who musters armies of satyrs and harpies to do his bidding,” said Albern. “No, I do not think such a creature exists in the nine lands, little master.”

“I think I prefer the title of Lord Urchin, if it please you.”

“It does not,” said Albern with a dark look. “Just now there are too many Lords in the Greatrocks for my taste.”

The day was dark already, but with their horses upon the road their moods soured further. Far too much was unknown, and Loren no longer held any doubt that she did not wish to see what lay at the end of this road. Whatever might be waiting in the stronghold, she could not pretend, as Gem did, to believe it was not dangerous.

Almost from the moment they reached the paved stones, the harpies swooped off and away — not out of sight, but farther back, flying in loops on either side of the road. The satyrs vanished from view. The party was headed upon the intended course; their stalkers no longer needed to watch them so closely.

The ground began to rise again, and the path along with it. Wherever a hillock or mound stood in their way, a great wedge had been cut right out of the earth, as though the road had burrowed straight through it. The grey stone stretched endlessly ahead, straight as an arrow’s shaft.

When the road finally turned, they saw at last where it led.

They had been headed west of a spar in the mountains, a ridge emerging from the eastern peaks and descending to the valley floor. Once they reached it, the road turned east, rising sharply up the ridge to the stronghold.

There it sat, perched among the Greatrocks like some ancient and terrible spider. Tall walls surrounded a large, almost bulbous stone keep, and tall towers jutted up at each of the wall’s four corners, like the joints of spindly legs. It sat on a great stone platform like a plinth, hacked from the ridge’s side as if by a giant’s axe. No fires burned in any windows. No faces could be seen above the parapets, though they were still too far off to be certain.

“I see no signs of life.” Jordel’s voice remained calm, despite the fear gripping Loren’s heart.
 

“Nor I,” said Albern, sounding hopeful. “And I take that for a good sign.”

“I do not like the look of the place,” said Gem. “It seems
 
as though a great evil rests within it.”

“That may be, but it was not always thus,” said Jordel. “For this fortress was built by my order.”

“The Mystics?” Loren looked at Jordel in surprise. “I thought you said you knew nothing of a mountain stronghold.”

“I do not. And that is all the more strange — for I can see by the stonework and the shape of its keep that this place was built by my kind, and for their use, though many an age passed. We must have abandoned it, and I wonder why.”

“Well by all means, let us find out,” said Gem. “Nothing would please me more.”

“Is there no other way to go?” said Annis, rancor forgotten in the face of her fear. “I am not as frightened as Gem, but nonetheless I do not enjoy the thought of drawing nearer to this place.”

“You see the road,” said Albern, “though it was only a small dirt path last I came here. It leads one way: forward. And I suspect that if we try to leave it, our escorts will guide us back to the path. But it is as I said — no fires burn within. That, at least, is a hopeful sign.”

Loren felt anything but hope.
 

Jordel led them on, for they no longer needed Albern’s guidance. The bowyer rode in the rear, just behind Loren, and his right hand remained close to his quiver.

“Look,” said Gem, his eyes turned behind them.

Loren looked. Far below, where the road curved around the ridge, the satyrs had reappeared. But they no longer followed the party. They had drawn up in rank and file, spears held at their sides like soldiers on parade.
 

Or at a funeral procession
.
 

It was a chilling thought, and she turned her eyes. The only consolation was that the harpies had vanished.

They could make no attempt at stealth. The road was wide and open, with nothing for cover. Yet secrecy seemed unwarranted; no matter how close they drew, they saw no signs of life. Soon Loren could even make out the designs worked into the ramparts, yet saw no men moving atop the stone.

“What do you think they—”

“Hist!” said Jordel, speaking in a low murmur. “Be silent. The place may yet be inhabited, and we would do well not to disturb anyone dwelling within.”

At last they reached the walls. Still no one appeared. The eerie silence was almost worse than if they had been challenged. Loren thought she would rather be back in the battle of Wellmont, for then at least the danger had been clear and certain — she needed only keep herself alive by fleeing it. That was better than this unspoken, uncertain dread.

“Here we are at last,” said Albern in a whisper. “And it looks little different from how I remember. What do you make of it, Jordel?”

“Were the gates closed when you came here last?”
 

“Aye,” said Albern. “We scaled the walls to have a look inside, but found nothing of worth, and saw little purpose in lowering the gates, for you can see how the road curves around the walls and leads travelers to the other side.”

“You were robbing the place, then?” Jordel looked at Albern with a raised eyebrow.

Albern gave an easy smile. “If no one owns a thing, is it a crime to take it for yourself? You said this place must have been abandoned. Who is to care if we found a few spare pieces of—”

His words were cut short at the deafening toll of a bell. They all nearly fell from their saddles. The bong was followed by a great blast of trumpets, many by the sound, both horn and brass.
 

“We are found!” cried Gem.

“Silence!” Jordel clapped his hand over the boy’s mouth. “Be still, you fool. There is no one there to see us.”

“Still, that might change,” said Albern. “Come with me! Quickly!”

He turned them right, dashing headlong for the ridge from which the fortress emerged. Loren had thought the walls pressed against the stone wall, but as they drew near she saw that was not so. A small lane ran between walls and sheer rock, the space scarcely wider than two horses side by side.
 

“Inside!” said Albern, when they reached a cave at the end of the passage. They scrambled in and out of sight, then turned to listen as the horns continued to blare.

“How did you know of this place?” said Gem.

“This is where we slept the last time I came. The cave runs far back and connects with others. Some emerge again on this side of the ridge, some on the other — you don’t want to leave through those, though, for they open into empty sky.”

“But what about the castle?” said Loren. “What is all the fuss about?”

“They have not seen us, or we should have heard shouts of alarm,” said Jordel. “That must mean there is something else — on the other side of the fort, by the east gate.”

Albern looked at the Mystic with interest. “How do you know of the east gate?”

“As I have said, this place was built by Mystics. I could tell you how many bricks are set in the scullery floor.”

“We must go and see,” said Loren.

“We will be killed!” hissed Annis, who still looked out of the cave in fear, as though she expected invaders to come pouring in at any moment.

“We won’t let them see us,” said Loren. “I shall go alone, if no one cares to follow.”

“No, you certainly will not,” said Jordel. “Albern, take her. Neither of you are to reveal yourselves. Only try to find out, if you can, how many are within the fortress, and what spurred them to ring the bell.”

“As you say,” said Albern.
 

Loren ran to Midnight and pulled her bow from the saddle. But Albern laid a hand on her shoulder and bade her to stop. “This is not the time for fighting. We go only to spy that we might. Come quickly girl, for we might miss the show.”

Loren nodded in reluctant agreement, and together they slipped from the cave. She sidled up to the wall behind Albern, walking toe-first to muffle her footsteps as they moved east toward the gate. They had not gone far before Loren heard a voice, then another calling back in answer, ringing out from the wall above.

“Tis the occupants,” Albern whispered. “They must all be at the eastern wall to greet new arrivals. That is why none were there to see our western approach. A marvelous stroke of luck, that.”

“Indeed,” whispered Loren, forcing herself not to wince. She did not like to rely overmuch on fortune. Every time someone praised their luck, misfortune waited around the bend.

They reached the southeast corner at last. Albern stopped abruptly, raising a hand to halt her as well, then poked his head out. He stood there long enough for Loren to grow impatient. She fell to a crouch and stepped carefully up beside him, her head a few inches below his. If Albern minded, he did not say, whispering only, “First sign of trouble, turn and run.”

Loren nodded, then studied the road running east from the fort. It looked like the one they had climbed to get here, identical light grey stone set in the ground the same way. Yet this road was not empty. Ten wagons traveled upon it, pulled by fine horses tall and strong. It seemed to Loren that the wagons had a familiar look.

Then the caravan drew closer, and Loren felt the blood drain from her face. She shivered, then shook hard and nearly cried out.

Loren wanted to turn and run, yet could not will her limbs to move. For leading the caravan was a carriage, much smaller than the wagons that followed. Staring through the window of that carriage, Loren saw a face she had hoped never to see again. Grey eyes, sharp and cruel. Lips often turned in a smile, but never kind. And skin dark as night, like the daughter waiting in the cave behind them.
 

Damaris, scion of the merchant family Yerrin.

twenty-two

LOREN COULD NOT TELL ALBERN — she feared to so much as whisper, especially now — so they stared in silence as the caravan proceeded. The front gate opened with a crash, letting the carriage and wagons pass beyond the great stone walls. Then Albern tapped Loren’s shoulder and drew her back.