Down Among the Dead Men (Forest Kingdom Novels) (12 page)

“It beats the hell out of a room-by-room search, doesn’t it?”

“Good point,” said the Dancer.

There was a pause, and then Flint looked directly at MacNeil. “Why are you telling us all this? You lead this team; you make the decisions, and we back you up. That’s the way it’s always been.”

“This is different,” said MacNeil evenly. “This isn’t the usual kind of case that Rangers have to face. There are dangers here that are way outside our usual scope. I don’t think I have the right to just order you to just follow me into danger. So I’m giving you all the chance to say no if you want to.”

Flint shook her head slowly. “I thought you’d got over Salamander’s death by now. It wasn’t your fault; you had no way of knowing that ambush was there. All right, Salamander had Seen a danger in that town, but she couldn’t See what it was. She died there because
she
made a mistake, when she decided to trust her sword instead of her magic. Giles and I trust your decisions. We always have. Are you going down into the cellar again?”

“Yes,” said MacNeil. “I am.”

“Then the Dancer and I are coming with you. We’ve been part of your team for eight years now, and we’ve no mind to join another. Wherever you go, we go. Right, Giles?”

“Right,” said the Dancer.

MacNeil looked at Constance, who smiled back at him. “Same here,” she said calmly. “After all, where would you be without me to look after you? I’m a part of this team too.”

“Let’s go,” said MacNeil. “We don’t want the outlaws to get there first.”

He turned and led the way back down the corridor, so they wouldn’t see how moved he was by their loyalty. Flint and the Dancer exchanged grins and moved off after him. Constance brought up the rear, humming tunelessly to herself.

“More monsters, do you think?” said Flint to the Dancer.

“Seems likely,” said the Dancer.

“Good,” said Flint. “You can use the exercise. You’ve been getting slow and sloppy lately.”

“Right,” said the Dancer. “Over the hill and past it, that’s me.”

They chuckled quietly together. Behind them, Constance was smiling too, but her eyes were faraway. More than once she’d sensed a presence in the fort, and it was at its strongest in the cellar. And now they were going back there. Constance’s smile widened slightly. She’d never faced a real challenge to her powers before. She’d make MacNeil proud of her yet.

CHAPTER FIVE

Dangers Seen and Unseen

Hammer and Wilde were already sound asleep. The noise of the storm was a long way off, and the small annex was warm and dry and peaceful. Jack leaned back against the rough stone wall and fought back a yawn. He knew it was asking for trouble for all three of them to fall asleep, but it had been a long, hard day, and his eyes were closing in spite of himself. Sleep settled slowly about him like an old familiar blanket. The torch crackled quietly in its wall holder, and the gold and amber light was pleasantly peaceful. Jack stretched slowly, easing his tired muscles. For the first time since he’d entered the border fort he felt comfortable and at peace. If he’d been a little less sleepy he would have found that worrying, but as it was the thought passed briefly through his mind without disturbing him. Hammer murmured something and shifted in his chair, but didn’t waken. Wilde breathed noisily through his mouth. Jack’s eyes closed, and his chin sank forward onto his chest. The three outlaws sank slowly deeper into sleep.

And dreamed.

Jonathon Hammer ran through the Forest, sword in hand. His boots thudded loudly on the packed earth of the beaten trail as he forced himself on despite his heaving chest and aching legs. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been running, but he knew he couldn’t keep going much longer. He looked quickly about him, blinking furiously as sweat ran down his forehead and into his eyes. The tall trees stretched away in every direction, blending into a featureless mass of shadow and greenery and dappled light. He stumbled to a halt, gasping for breath, and leaned against a wide tree trunk for support. Being chased by half a dozen guards was bad enough, but having to run in full chain mail was adding insult to injury.

He considered taking it off and dumping it, but reluctantly decided he didn’t have the time. The guards couldn’t be more than a few minutes behind him, rot their souls. He’d been careful to stick to the narrow and more obscure Forest trails so that they couldn’t come after him on horseback, but even so he hadn’t been able to lose his pursuers. Someone among them must know this part of the Forest as well as he did.

Hammer shook his head disgustedly and waited impatiently for his breathing to settle. He wiped the sweat from his face with his sleeve, and flexed his aching muscles. He couldn’t afford to stiffen up; a cramp or a stitch at the wrong moment could get him killed. Hammer held his breath and listened carefully. He couldn’t hold it for long in his exhausted state, but as far as he could tell he was safe for the moment. The only sounds he could hear were the normal Forest sounds of wind and bird and animal. Hammer glared about him, and wondered what to do next.

In the beginning, it had all seemed so simple. The guard Commanders had watched everyone like a hawk during the border patrol, but once that was finished they relaxed a little, and for any man with an eye to the main chance, it was the perfect time to organize a friendly little poker school. Everything had been going fine, until that fat fool Norris had accused him of cheating. Before he knew what he was doing, Hammer had drawn his sword and cut Norris down. After that, he’d had to break and run for it, cursing his own hot temper all the way. He should have waited till he and Norris next had guard duty together, and then stabbed the bastard in the back. Now he’d have to change his name again. Luckily he only called himself Hammer when he was fighting as a mercenary.

Hammer had always known he had a great destiny ahead of him. He’d always known he was special, set apart from other men. He’d tried pretty much everything in his time, searching for his true vocation, the one that would lead him to greatness, but his only real skill was as a soldier. He’d served as a mercenary, as a man at arms, and finally as a guard. He didn’t care whom he fought for or against, as long as the money was good. He honed his fighting skills in practice and in battle, and waited for his chance, the great chance to become what he had always been meant to be: a ruler of men. He had greatness in him. He could feel it. And with the right chance, he’d prove it.

Assuming, of course, that he survived long enough. He still didn’t know what had gone wrong, but the guards had been on his heels since first light. Maybe he hadn’t disguised his trail carefully enough. More than once his pursuers had drawn close enough for him to see them in the distance, and on each occasion it had taken every ounce of his cunning and woodcraft for him to draw ahead again. Six guards, armed with swords and axes. He supposed he should be grateful there weren’t any bowmen among them.

He stiffened suddenly as the first faint murmur of approaching footsteps reached him. He swore softly, and hefted his sword uncertainly. The guards were closer than he’d thought. He pushed himself away from the tree and stumbled on down the beaten trail. He tried to break into a run, and found he couldn’t. His legs were too tired, and he just didn’t have the breath for it. Like any professional fighting man, Hammer knew his body’s limits, and he knew how close he was to them. He glared quickly about him, and lurched off the trail and into the shadows between the trees. Leaving the trail was a calculated risk, but it was the only chance he had. His progress slowed to a crawl as he forced his way through dense patches of hedge and briar, but his chain mail protected him from the worst of the thorns. The sunlight gradually faded away as the overhead canopy grew thicker, cutting out the light. Hammer stumbled to a halt in the gloom, and listened for any sign that the guards had followed him off the trail, but all he could hear was his own harsh breathing and the pounding of his heart. He swallowed thickly, and wiped again at the sweat that ran down to sting his eyes. He had to keep moving, put more ground between him and the guards. Hammer forced himself through another patch of briar, and the earth suddenly shifted and fell away beneath his feet. He lurched to one side, flailing wildly about him for the balance, and then the ground gave way and he went screaming down into darkness.

After a heartstopping pause, he slammed into a hard unyielding surface, and slid helplessly down an uneven earth slope that seemed to go on forever. Jutting stones bruised him painfully as he shot past them, but his scrabbling hands couldn’t find anything to hang on to in the darkness. Finally the slope spilled him out onto a flat cavern floor, and Hammer rolled and skidded to a halt. He lay still awhile, getting his breath back, and then checked cautiously for broken bones. For once, luck seemed to be with him. His armor had saved him from anything worse than a few dozen bruises. He sat up slowly, wincing, and looked around him.

He was in a cavern, a hundred yards across and more, hewn countless centuries ago from the bare rock by who knew what human or inhuman hands. The walls of the vast cave were laced with hundreds of tiny glowing crystals. They shed a pale silver light across the scene, like strange, disembodied moonlight. Great twisted stalagmites rose up from the cavern floor, straining to reach the hanging stalactites far above. An underground stream ran through the cave, the still waters dark and uninviting. Hammer got to his feet, and was surprised and rather impressed to discover he was still hanging on to his sword. If nothing else, it proved his instincts were still sound. He stumbled over to the stream, and sank painfully down beside it. He was starting to really feel his bruises now that the shock was passing. He dipped his hand into the freezing water and splashed it across his face. The shock of the cold was refreshing, and helped to clear his head and settle his nerves. He did it again, just for the pleasure of it, and then shook his head briskly and rose to his feet. He looked around for a way out, and his heart sank.

The earth slope was hopeless. It was far too steep, and anyway the soil was too crumbly to bear his weight when climbing. The stream presumably had its entrance and exit points, but they appeared to be hidden somewhere under water. Hammer scowled about him into the gloom, and as his eyes grew used to the pale, diffused light, he spotted a tall crack in one of the walls, a good ten feet high and almost a yard wide. He started toward it, and then stopped as a bright, shining glimmer caught his eye. He hefted his sword thoughtfully and moved slowly forward. Somebody had made his cavern long ago, that was clear from the tool markings on the walls, and who was to say their descendants might not still be around, and armed… .

As Hammer drew nearer, the bright glimmer gradually resolved itself into a long silver scabbard, resting on the ground beside the crack in the wall. Hammer looked carefully around him, ears pricked for the slightest sound, but there was no sign of the sword’s owner anywhere in the cave. Hammer lowered himself on one knee, and looked the sheathed sword over without making any attempt to touch it. Sword and sheath were a good seven feet long, and from the width of the scabbard the blade had to be impressively broad. The scabbard itself appeared to be solid silver and was covered with ancient runes, etched deeply into the metal. Hammer didn’t recognize any of them, but they looked to be very old … and disturbing. If he didn’t look right at them, the runes seemed almost to be moving, writhing… . Hammer swallowed sickly and turned his head away for a moment. For the first time he realized what he’d stumbled upon.

Long, long ago—well past the point where history fades into legend—there were six swords of power: the Infernal Devices. No one knew who made them, or why. All anyone knew for sure was that they proved to be inherently evil, and their use nearly destroyed the world and all who lived in it. Three of the swords disappeared. Three remained; Rockbreaker, Flarebright, and Wolfsbane. The Forest Kings locked them away in the castle armory, and swore they would never be used again. And there the Damned swords remained for hundreds of years, until in the deepest despair of the Demon War, King John called them forth one last time. One sword, Rockbreaker, was destroyed. The other two were lost in battle, disappearing into a great crack in the earth.

And now Jonathon Hammer had found one of the Infernal Devices.

He stared unblinkingly at the greath length of the scabbard. Ancient sigils had been graven into the crosspiece of the sword, forming a single word:
Wolfsbane
. There was power here, just waiting for him to pick it up and use it. It was a dangerous power; the Infernal Devices were believed by some to be alive, and able to possess the minds and souls of their owners. But Hammer had never believed such stories. He reached out a hand to the long, leather-wrapped hilt. And then it came to him that this was his destiny, the marvelous future for which he had been searching all his life. This was what all his days had been leading toward, the greatness that would inevitably be his once he wielded an Infernal Device. At last he would become what he had always been meant to be: a ruler of men. Hammer picked up the scabbard with his left hand. Despite its great size it seemed to weigh almost nothing. Hammer slung the scabbard over his left shoulder and buckled it securely into place. It felt comfortable on his back, as though it had always belonged there.

There was a clattering of falling stones as six guards came stumbling and sliding down the steep earth slope into the cavern. Hammer spun around, his hand falling automatically to the sword at his hip. For a moment all he could think was
They’ve found me
, and then his mind calmed and his hand fell away from the sword at his side. He didn’t need that anymore. He had something better.

The six guards assembled at the base of the earth slope and looked quickly about them before fixing on Hammer. They grinned coldly and fanned out to form a semicircle before him. The pale light from the cavern walls gleamed dully on their swords. The guards didn’t waste time speaking to Hammer, and he had nothing to say to them. There was nothing to say. He had murdered a fellow guard. He had put himself outside the law, and every man’s hand would be turned against him. That was why the guards had followed him so determinedly; they shared some of his shame. When one guard went bad, it reflected on the honor of every other guard. Of course, if he was to die before news of his actions got out … Hammer smiled slowly. The guards wouldn’t rest until he was dead, he knew that, but he no longer feared their anger. Nothing could harm him now. The guards moved purposefully forward, and Hammer went to meet them, still smiling. He waited until the last moment and then raised his right hand and drew Wolfsbane from its scabbard.

The sword came free in a rush, the great length of blade glowing a bitter yellow in the gloom. The guards stopped their advance and stirred uneasily. Even without knowing what the sword was, they could feel a presence in the cavern that hadn’t been there before. Something had awakened that should have been left to sleep forever, and it was hungry. Hammer chuckled softly, and the hunger was reflected in his laughter. He stepped forward, sword at the ready, and the guards dropped automatically into their fighting positions. They were six to one, six fully armed guards against a proven traitor and coward. They raised their swords, and the slaughter began.

Hammer gutted the first guard with a sideways sweep of the longsword, and spun to decapitate a second guard before the first hit the ground. The headless body managed another couple of steps before it realized it was dead and fell limply to the ground. Blood gushed across the cavern floor. Two guards leapt at Hammer together, their swords seeking his heart. Wolfsbane twisted in Hammer’s hands, and he blocked both blows with almost contemptuous ease. He swung the sword up and down again in a movement almost too fast to follow. The nearest guard lifted his blade to parry the blow. Wolfsbane sheared clean through the steel blade and buried itself in the guard’s head, cleaving his skull to the jawbone. Hammer jerked the longsword clear of the falling body and spun around to face the three remaining guards. For a moment they stood very still, shocked at the sudden easy deaths of their companions, and then, as one, they threw themselves at Hammer. Wolfsbane’s sickly light glowed brightly as it cut through flesh and bone and steel alike, and as quickly as that the last three guards were dead.