Bloodsongs (26 page)

Ashur's cry echoed up from the bowels of the tower, shaking her out of her reverie. He was down there alone against all of Kel's soldiers! She ran to the door, forgetting it was locked.

She backed up a few paces. The tiniest portion of her power surged forth, and the lock clicked. The door eased inward.

She glanced at the wet pile of her clothes near the door. There was no time to dress if Ashur was in danger. Her bare feet slapped on the floor stones as she ran along the narrow hall to the tower's only stair.

Halfway down she met a guard. His face was pale, his breathing labored as he ran up the steps. He stank of terror. Yet he dared to reach for the sword he wore. Clumsily, he drew and lunged at her.

The song at her soul's core crescendoed in response. She lifted her finger. A spark leaped from her to the tip of the soldier's weapon. The guard gave a short scream as blue fire raced up his blade and touched his hand. His hair stood on end, eyes and mouth snapped horribly wide. He collapsed then and tumbled back down the rough stairs, his sword clattering after him.

She didn't know what she had done to him. Was he dead or just unconscious? She had only wanted him out of her way. The music had done the rest.

But she had no more time to waste. She hurried down, leaping over the body where it had come to a crumpled stop. There was no sound from below, and she feared for her unicorn. Halfway down the winding stair she began to run.

Kel's tower was a simple, ancient structure. The single stair serviced all its many levels. The topmost level was her son's private quarters and study. Other levels housed his officers and their aides. Another level was the kitchen and dining hall. There were storage levels and levels whose rooms were empty. The very ground level was a huge open space. During attack or storms, men and horses were sheltered inside.

By the smell of dung she knew she had nearly reached there. Still there was no sound. Was it over? Had Kel killed her beautiful creature? She took the final steps three at a time.

Ashur greeted her with a nicker. Her heart nearly cracked when she saw him. His hide was slick with blood from what looked like sword cuts. There was a deep wound in his right shoulder that looked several days old. An ugly, oozing scab had tried to crust over it. An arrow jutted from his flank. Cursing the archer, she seized the shaft and jerked it free. The point had not embedded deeply, but fresh blood poured.

Despite his injuries, the fire had not dimmed in Ashur's eyes, nor apparently from his heart. She spied two more guards on the earthen floor. A huge hole gaped in the chest of one; the unicorn's hooves had crushed the other's skull.

She threw her arms about his neck. “I'll take care of you.” she whispered soothingly. “I'll get you clean, and you'll be well again.”

Moments passed, and she realized they were alone. Kel had gone, and all his men with him. A huge trapdoor in the rearmost area of the floor revealed a long, sloping tunnel large enough for mounted men to ride single file. No doubt it emerged far into the woods.

She had seen such a design once before in Rhianoth. A lord trapped in his castle and under siege sent half his men through a similar tunnel. His warriors also emerged in a wood, returned, and attacked the enemy from the rear. It had been a marvelous victory.

She rumpled Ashur's forelock and stroked his nose. “Did you think they'd taken me along? Is that where you ran off to?” Of course, he couldn't answer, but he must have followed the rebels until he'd realized she wasn't with them.

Kel must have left right after their argument. She almost pitied his men; they'd had no chance to rest. But then she remembered Soushane and Dakariar, and her pity faded.

This was an excellent chance to look for some clue to Kel's plans. He'd told her part of a fantastic tale, but he'd left other parts dangling. She wanted to know more of Oroladian and the Three Aspects, and she wanted to know where Kel had gone.

She returned to the stair. It descended to deeper levels below the earth. She would explore those, too, but first she wanted a look at Kel's private rooms. She'd grab her clothes on the way.

“I'll be back,” she told the unicorn, patting his cheek. “If anyone comes, you get away. You're hurt already. Understand?” She almost expected him to nod. Of course he didn't. He just regarded her quietly, and the flames of his eyes made a soft flicker.

She took the stairs two at a time. The guard still lay unmoving, awkwardly bent. She paused long enough to examine him. His breathing was shallow, irregular, but he lived. If bones were broken, she couldn't detect them.

She scratched her chin and stepped over him. She didn't even know what she had done to him. The magic had simply sprung from her and taken its course without any thought or effort. But he showed no sign of getting up soon, so she put him out of her mind.

Her garments were still soaking wet as she retrieved them from her room. They had arrived at the tower only a few short hours before her argument with Kel, and there had been no time for them to dry.

His men had been bone weary after the grueling, storm-driven ride from Dakariar, and Ashur had harried them all the way. Yet Kel had dragged them out again already, heedless of the rain and wind. She took that as a measure of how she had hurt and shamed him. Somehow, she found little joy in that now.

Perhaps it was, instead, a measure of madness.

She wrung as much water as she could from her garments and pulled them on. They were cold and clammy. She had to stamp into her boots. Her weapons had been taken from her; she had no idea where to find them. She rubbed her left hip where her sword should be. Without it, she still felt naked.

She went back to the stair and climbed to the next and highest level. One by one she opened the doors, finding rooms much like the one she'd been locked in, airy and sparsely furnished.

But one room was very different. Even as she reached for the hand ring, the lingering sensation of occult power prickled on the edge of her awareness. Carefully, she stepped inside. Even without the glyphs and symbols that decorated the walls and ceiling, she would have known it was here that Kel practiced his sorceries. She studied the markings as best she could in the faint lamplight that spilled in from the corridor. They were Esgarian, and she recognized some of them. She repressed a shudder, crossed to the window, and gazed out. The room had a western view. It looked directly across the Lythe River into her homeland.

She could no longer hold back the shudder, nor fool herself that it was the chill wind that caused it. Years ago in that land she had dared to touch the weapons of a man, to learn the use of sword and shield. It was the greatest crime for an Esgarian female. Worse, she had been forced to kill her brother when he'd discovered her at practice. The penalty for either crime was death. Instead, she'd run, choosing life and exile.

Weapons had been a game to her, little drills and dances to perform in the dark haunts of her family's manor. But fate or the gods had intervened, and the game had suddenly become a way of life. She had wandered homeless from land to land with only her sword between her and an early grave.

Then, she had met Kimon. He, too, had lived by his sword as an assassin, the hireling of a Rholarothan lord. He had loved her instantly, and with time she'd found she could not help but return that love. Together, they had put away their swords and sought a better way.

That was so many years ago. She had been what, nineteen? twenty?

But fortune's wheel had turned. Kimon was gone, and the Way of the Sword was her only way once more.

And somewhere across the Lythe another Esgarian woman had dared to break the law. Only women could study magic in that land, as only men could wear weapons. One taboo was as strong as the other. Yet that woman had taught her son.

The damp clothing chafed her flesh. Frost considered for a moment; then, with a small exertion of her own magic, she dried them. It was so easy. Why did it send a shiver up her spine?

She forced the question out of her thoughts and continued her exploration. In one wall was a connecting door to the next room. She found it double-locked, but it opened for her as effortlessly as all the others had. The power surged within her, eager to serve her needs. It had been dormant so long, suppressed and imprisoned; now it seemed she could barely contain it.

She stepped across the threshold. Instantly she jumped back, letting go a short scream of surprise. Was it some ward or guardian spell that set her skin to tingling? She reached out delicately with her own psychic senses. No, it was not a spell.

She returned to the corridor and took one of the lamps from its wall sconce. With light to guide her, she stepped over the threshold again. A terrible sensation gripped her, but she gathered her courage, refusing to be forced out. There were more lamps mounted on this chamber's walls. She went to each of them in turn, igniting the wicks. Behind each lamp hung a mirror of burnished copper. The room was quickly aglow.

Still, the vibrations were nearly overwhelming.

A case of books stood against the nearest wall. A portion of the disturbance emanated from those volumes. She scanned the titles, slipping each one carefully from its shelf and replacing it. They were grimoires and books of power. Some were written in Kel's familiar hand. Had he copied them from older works, she wondered, or had he authored them himself? They were not dusty; to judge from the worn pages, he had used them often.

A table and a modest chair occupied the center of the room. She approached it, ran her hand lightly over the smooth wood. A bowl of clear water had been placed there. She leaned over and gazed into it, seeing her reflection.

But the face was not quite hers. It was younger somehow, familiar, but different. She blinked, startled. When she looked again it was her own troubled expression. She bit her lip. Had it been an illusion? She doubted that. Kel's magic was real, not fakery. Then what had she seen in the bowl?

She peered into it again expectantly, but nothing happened. Yet she knew she hadn't imagined it. She stirred the water with her fingers. It was only water, nothing more, and finally she turned away.

There was a cabinet against the opposite wall. It was from there the strongest sensations came. She approached it, cringing with every step, yet forcing herself closer.

The cabinet doors opened invitingly.

Frost stopped. Her witch-powers had not done that. There had to be some magic in the cabinet itself. Unconsciously, she reached for a sword she didn't have.

The lamplight illumined the cabinet's recesses. She made herself creep closer, fighting the vibrations that beat at her like a wave. She looked inside.

There was the chalice and the athame Kel had used to conjure the Eye of Skraal at Dakariar. Each resonated with potent, evil influences. There was a blood-red crystal she had never seen. Some subtle power compelled her to reach out and touch it. At the last instant she jerked her hand away, warned by her own witchcraft. Two amulets lay on golden chains beside it, carved with figures she didn't recognize. Like the chalice and the dagger, they reeked of foulness.

She examined each of the cabinet's five shelves, touching nothing. There were many other objects, all infused with varieties of occult energies.

These were the treasures, then, that Kel had collected or stolen in his wanderings. Some were the tools of the necromant: the silver spade, a severed hand whose flesh had not decayed, a vial of powdered skin. But there were other things common to sorcery. The shelves were heavy with jewels, small idols of nameless gods, rings, strange talismans. She bent closer, hoping against hope that Demonfang was also there, but the cabinet did not contain her blade.

She backed away, and the cabinet doors closed without even a squeak of hinges. Never had she seen such a collection. She shivered again. Sweat had beaded on her brow; she wiped it with her sleeve. How had Kel amassed so much in five years' time? she wondered. What price must he have paid to obtain them?

She feared she knew the answer.

Taking her lamp, she went back out into the corridor. The only other room proved to be Kel's sleeping quarters. She took her time searching his trunks, rummaging through his desk, rifling his closets.

When there was nothing more to interest her on the top level, she searched the others. But she paid them only cursory attention. Her mind wrestled with greater problems. Kel had told her much about the Three Aspects, but not all. He intended them as gifts for the sorceress Oroladian. He had obtained the Lamp of Nugaril from a cornerstone in Soushane and the Eye of Skraal from the well in Dakariar.

She weighed that. Gemstones were thought to have special powers sometimes. According to legend, emeralds in particular possessed certain healing properties. Could the eye have been the source of the magic Lycho had attributed to his water?

No matter, that wasn't part of the larger puzzle.

Kel had two of the Aspects. He had gone to obtain the third. The Book of Shakari, he'd called it, and it was hidden three days away. But where? Knowing the time it would take, she could guess the distance, but in what direction had he ridden?

She worked her way back to the ground level. Ashur stood watch at the ruined gate. He snorted and twitched his ears at sight of her.

“Not yet,” she answered. “I want to get out of here, too, but we're not finished.”

There were the dark sublevels to explore. Her lamp, though, was nearly empty of oil. There were torches in sconces near the gate. She took one and extinguished the lamp. Holding her new light high, she descended.

The first sublevel was an armory. Steel glittered in the orange lambency of her torch. Racks of pikes, spears, and swords; row upon row of shields hung on the walls. Pieces of armor lay scattered about. There were greaves, vambraces, and breastguards, all of the finest lacquered leather, a few sewn with metal ringlets for extra protection. Frost thanked her gods and went straight to the rack of swords. She searched until she found one that suited her, a fine length of double-edged steel in a quality sheath and weapon belt. Its hilt was wrapped in rough leather as her old one had been. All it lacked was the time-worn print of her hand.