Kingmaker's Sword (Rune Blades of Celi) (20 page)

“Aye, you’re right,” I said. The sword showed no sign of wanting me to turn from the road.

We crept up the hill cautiously. The walls of the fortress soared three man-heights above us, topped by sharp, jagged stones. Turrets protected the corners and I saw the gleam of a guard’s steel helmet in one of them. The massive wooden gates stood open outward, flat against the outer wall, but a shorter gate fashioned of iron bars closed off any entry to the courtyard. Two small sentry boxes flanked the gate inside the walls, built right into the stone of the wall itself. Cullin and I crouched in the soaked grass by some bushes and studied it carefully. It would be no easy task to get through that gate, even without the guards.

Some of the courtyard was clearly visible through the gates. As I watched, a man led a horse toward the stable. The sword on my back trembled violently as I recognized Kerri’s mare.

Daylight faded
quickly from the cheerless black of the sky. Not the slightest gleam of colour glowed in the west to mark the sunset. The rain let up a little, but lightning still flashed to the northwest, a little nearer now, judging by how close the crack of thunder followed the blaze of lightning.

The fortress manse was huge, so big it was impossible to estimate how many rooms it contained. Like Mendor’s Landholding in Falinor, it probably had a series of cells deep under it, where prisoners could be kept who might never expect to see the light of day again. Kerri might be anywhere in that labyrinth, and Cullin and I could spend days looking for her.

But we did not have days. Unless we found some way through the gates or over the walls, we had nothing. We certainly could not expect Lord Balkan to invite us conveniently in, or obligingly deliver Kerri to us on demand.

“I’m open to suggestion,” Cullin said softly. “Any ideas on how to get in there?” He paused thoughtfully. “And out again, of course. Preferably in one piece each.”

“Aye, well, that’s important,” I agreed.

“It is. If the wee lassie is going to be annoyed wi’ us, ye ken, far better it be because we rescued her rather than because we tried and failed.”

I grinned. “Far better indeed. There may be another gate.”

“Aye, there may. But locked just as securely as this.” He let his gaze move along the high wall. “We might scale that. There’s no place along it not in view of the turrets, but this rain might obscure a guard’s vision enough. Those stones atop it look razor sharp, though. It would be tricky.”

We heard the sound of a troop of horses approaching and ducked back deeper into the dripping shadows. The clatter of iron-shod hooves on the cobblestones was muffled by the steady downpour of rain, and we were barely able to flatten ourselves into the soaked shrubbery before the riders rounded the last bend before the straight stretch of road leading to the gates.

It was a troop of Maeduni, their dark cloaks blending in with the swiftly approaching night. At the head of the troop rode the man we had last seen on the street in front of the walled houses of the merchants. Beside him rode a man cloaked in the grey of a warlock. I swore under my breath and tried to press myself right down into the spongy ground. The sword trembled with urgency on my back, and I cursed it silently, terrified the warlock would sense its magic. It subsided sullenly, and I dared to hope neither the warlock nor the man masquerading as a merchant had noticed it.

They rode right past us. None of them so much as glanced our way. We climbed to our feet and peered through the screen of low bushes as the men and horses approached the gate. Two guards appeared out of the sentry boxes behind the grille of the gate.

“Tell the Lord Balkan the General has arrived,” said the man in warlock’s grey.

We could not hear the guards’ reply, but the gates creaked open and the troop of Maeduni filed through. As the last horse and rider went past, the gates clanged shut and one of the guards locked it. The riders wound their way toward the stables, and the guards retired to the dry comfort and warmth of the sentry boxes.

The idea bloomed nearly full grown into my head as I studied the guards. “No exactly small men, those guards,” I commented softly.

Cullin glanced at me, then grinned suddenly, his teeth flashing white in the gloom. “Aye,” he agreed. “About our size, would ye say?”

“Near abouts,” I said. I twisted around under my sodden cloak and detached my sword and scabbard from its harness. “Why, will ye look at this. My master the General has gone and forgotten his sword.”

“Such a silly wee general,” Cullin said. “And you being such a faithful servant and mindful of propriety, I ken ye’re meaning to see he gets it.”

“Oh, aye. I’d be remiss in my duty if I didna.”

He unsheathed one of the daggers from his belt. “I’ll give you a moment to distract the guards, then join you.” He climbed to his feet and looked around. “I’ll come up to the wall over there,” he said, pointing to the shadows halfway between the gates and the corner turret. “There willna be enough torch light to see further than an arm’s-length in this rain. We’ll no be worrit overly much about the guards in the turrets if we go about this quietly and circumspectly.”

I walked up to the gate as if I had a perfect right to be there, and banged on the gate with the scabbard. “Oy!” I called. “Be anyone in there?”

The two startled guards came tumbling out of the small shelters. “What be you wanting?” one of them demanded.

I held up the scabbard hopefully. “My master the General forgot his sword,” I said. “He be in such a hurry to see the great Lord Balkan, he rushed off without it. I be bringing it to him.”

The second guard thrust his hand through the bars. “Give it here,” he commanded. “I be seeing he gets it.”

I drew back, horrified. “By the gods, no,” I cried. “He be a man of quick temper, the General. If I can get it to him without the great Lord Balkan noticing, I mayhap be avoiding a flogging. You give it to him, and I be losing hide from my back for sure.” I cowered down into my cloak, trying to look convincing as a frightened servant.

Apparently my description of the General’s character was near enough the mark. One of the guards laughed and stepped up to unlock the gate. “You nip in and out right lively,” he said. “Don’t be getting us in trouble for letting you in.”

“Oh, no, sir,” I replied, slipping through the gate. Both guards had all their attention on me. Neither saw Cullin creep along the wall toward the open gate. “I be right quick.” I smiled ingratiatingly at the first guard. “Right quick,” I repeated and applied the hilt of my sword hard to the side of his head just as Cullin took the other from behind with a good sized rock. They went down without a sound.

I caught mine under the arms and dragged him into the sentry box, then darted out to close the gate, but didn’t throw the lock. Cullin had already begun to strip the second guard in the other sentry box when I ducked back into the first. There was hardly room to turn around inside, but I managed to strip off the guard’s uniform quickly enough while he snored peaceably, then peeled out of my wet leathers. The guard was almost as tall as I, but thicker through the middle. The breeks were baggy, but I cinched the belt tight enough to keep them up. The helmet was a bit loose, but stuffing my hair up under it prevented it from slipping down over my eyes. Clipping the scabbard back onto its harness on my back, I went out to meet Cullin. His uniform fit a little better than mine.

“They should be out long enough to give us time,” Cullin said.

I put my hand to the hilt of my sword. “Lead,” I whispered fiercely to it. It quivered gently beneath my hand, then nudged me forward. Cullin fell into step with me, and we marched across the courtyard to the shelter of one of the outbuildings. If luck and the goddess were with us, we had a little over three hours until midnight when the unconscious guards should be relieved before anyone discovered we were in the manse. It might be enough time.

“Not through the main door, I’m thinking,” Cullin said softly. “It’s hardly for the likes of a pair of guards.”

“A wee bit public,” I agreed. “There’s probably a kitchen door near the bake-house around the side.”

We met another pair of guards, arguing vociferously about something, as we rounded the corner of the house. I saw Cullin’s hand go to his dagger, and mine was near the haft of my sword, but they did not so much as glance at us as we passed and went through the kitchen door, and didn’t miss a beat in their argument. The cooks and kitchen staff looked up as we entered. One of the cooks waved us through a door to our left.

“Food in there for you,” she called. “If there be any left. You be late.”

“Cursed rain,” Cullin called back cheerfully as I pulled open the door. It led to an empty mess hall. An archway at the opposite end opened onto a dimly lit corridor. We were obviously in the servants’ wing. It was unlikely Lord Balkan had Kerri hidden here. We had to find our way to the family quarters. Or to the dungeons.

“Lead,” I told the sword.

It led. It pulled us through twisting corridors, up and down curving staircases. In only a few minutes, I had lost all sense of direction. I couldn’t tell whether we were heading deeper into the manse, or skirting the walls. We rounded a corner and suddenly found ourselves in the main wing. The floor beneath our boots changed from stone to warm, polished tile, and the walls of the corridors were paneled in rich, glowing wood. Carpet imported from Chernamo in the far east covered the floors of the rooms we passed, and I caught glimpses of tapestried wall hangings that would bring a fortune in Honandun.

Cullin heard the murmur of voices before I did. He held up his hand to stop me, his head cocked to one side, listening intently for a moment, then made a beckoning gesture as he turned down a fork in the corridor.

We stepped into a shadowed open space. Beyond us lay a large room, brightly lit by lamps and candles, a fire in the huge hearth taking the damp chill of the rain from the air. We stood in a serving alcove in the shadow of several huge pillars, each of them too big for two men to circle with their arms. Around us were tables holding spare candles, flasks of oil for lamps, trays of crystal and silver goblets, and decanters of spirits. Three large amphorae stood against the wall, giving off the rich, fruity scent of good wine.

I peered cautiously around one of the pillars. The room beyond was lavishly furnished in opulently patterned, deep carpets, beautifully worked wall hangings and thickly upholstered chairs and couches. Near the hearth stood a massive oaken chair, cushioned in red velvet, the coat of arms of the Royal House of Isgard, lacking only the Ephir’s own triple plumes, engraved into the polished wood above the cushions on the back. Light gleamed on silver and crystal goblets and the ruby sparkle of wine on a low table next to a smaller chair. The man in the chair sat with one leg thrown casually over the arm of the chair as he toyed with a sword. My own sword thrummed on my back like a swarm of angry hornets as I recognized Kerri’s Rune Blade.

“That is not for you,” a voice said. A tall man dressed in ornate leathers and embroidered velvet entered the room and walked over to pour himself a glass of wine.

The man in the chair dropped the sword to the carpet. “Of course not, Lord Balkan,” he murmured. “I was simply looking at it. I see no runes on the blade.”

“You won’t,” Lord Balkan replied shortly. “But they are there, I assure you.”

The man in the chair rose to his feet, reaching lazily for his wine on the table. With a startled shock, I recognized Drakon. I got another shock as the General entered, accompanied by the warlock, and closely followed by Mendor and Dergus Keepmaster.

“Ah, there you are, General Hakkar,” Balkan said pleasantly. “I trust you approve of the offerings I have prepared for you. Fine gifts, both of them, I can assure you.”

The General poured a glass of wine and critically studied its colour and clarity against the light of the massed candles. Deciding it was worthy, he took a sip before speaking. “They both have a little magic,” he said. “The woman more so than the man, but they will serve the purpose for now.”

“You will gain more power from them, Lord Hakkar,” rumbled the warlock.

Balkan raised his glass in salute to the General and smiled. “And when you are powerful enough, my friend, soon now, we will rid ourselves of my doddering old uncle.”

The General returned the salute, his smile as cold as mountain glaciers. “And you will have the throne, Balkan,” he replied. “And I shall have to call you My Lord Ephir.”

Balkan laughed. “Of course not,” he said. “We are friends, are we not? There is no need of such formality between friends.”

The General lifted his glass again. “As you say,” he said graciously. He turned to Drakon who stood leaning negligently against the fireplace wall, one elbow propped on the marble mantelpiece. “What success have you in tracking down that young Tyr?” he asked.

Drakon shrugged. “We tracked them to an inn two days ride from here. They’ll be found shortly. They can’t escape detection for long. Two men with red hair travelling with a Celae woman...” He smiled. “And we do, after all, have the woman, for all she says she left them at the inn.”

“We will have the truth from her,” Dergus said. “If the lord general would let me have a few moments alone with her...”

The General turned a mild gaze to him. “You will keep your hands off her, Dergus,” he said softly. “Or you might find yourself giving up what little magic you have to me.”