The Flame Priest (The Silk & Steel Saga) (44 page)

Trask raised his axe in a two-handed grip. With one fell stroke, he took the prince’s head. Blood gushed across the floor, a stain upon the stones. Trask kicked the severed head across the great hall and raised his axe in triumph. “We’re blood brothers!”

The men raised their weapons and echoed the shout, “The Bloody Brothers!” Even the kneelers joined in the shouting. They capered about the great hall, drunk on violence, tasting their freedom, reveling in their Darkness.

Trask pointed toward the only remaining steward, an old man cringing on the far side of the hall. “You there, Simon. Break out the wine and cook us a feast! Use the prince’s own stores, we celebrate tonight!”

The men cheered as the steward scuttled to obey.

Trask crossed the room to the Mordant. “You, come with me.”

The Mordant followed Trask to the sixth floor. The door to the prince’s chambers gaped open. Blood spattered the feather bed, blankets strewn across the floor in disarray.

Trask retrieved a goblet, and filled it with red wine from a skin on a side table. He lifted the goblet in salute. “To freedom! To plunder! To the Bloody Brothers!” He took a long swallow, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

The Mordant watched, letting the Darkness rise behind his eyes. “Cragnoth Keep is yours. What will you do now?”

Trask refilled his goblet. “Tomorrow morning we’ll head down the switchbacks to the tree line and sack the stables. Once we’re mounted, we’ll ride for
Navarre
, raping and pillaging as we go.”

The Mordant kept his voice low. “What if I make you a better offer?”

Trask swilled the wine and reached for more. “You? A better offer?”

The Mordant stepped close. “They say the eyes are the windows of the soul.” He dropped his inner shields, letting the Darkness pour into his gaze. “Look into my eyes. Darkness knows Darkness.” A thousand years of evil hammered into Trask’s soul, an avalanche of dark deeds and dark thoughts. The knight fought back, struggling to reach for his axe, but the Mordant’s will slammed into him. He made it rape, flaming pain through the knight’s body, a brutal assault for a brutal tool. Claiming the knight, he branded his will into the mortal’s soul.

Trask groaned in pain, sweat beading his face. Released, he staggered backwards and fell to his knees, fear etched deep into his eyes. “Who are you? What are you?”

The Mordant’s voice rang with the strength of ages. “I am the Mordant Reborn! Kneel before me and serve.”

“The Mordant!” The big knight cringed in prostration.

“Feel the strength of my Darkness and know your liege lord!”

Trask quaked, his face ghost-pale. “W-what would you have of me, lord?”

“Darkness rewards those who serve well. Hold Cragnoth Keep till the turn of the next full moon. Maintain the illusion that you are still knights of the Octagon. I will send reinforcements to claim the keep. My men will bring a thousand golds for each of your knights.”

“A thousand golds!” Avarice gleamed from the knight’s dark eyes.

“And double that for their leader.” The Mordant nodded. “Once my troops arrive, you and your men will be free to pillage the southern kingdoms. I ask only that you continue to wear the maroon cloaks and silver surcoats of the Octagon.” He lowered his voice and smiled. “Let your deeds be attributed to the Octagon. Let Castlegard be blamed for rape and pillage and slaughter among the southern kingdoms.” He gave the big knight a conspirator’s smile. “Gain your revenge on Castlegard by grinding their precious honor into the mud.”

Trask rumbled with laughter, a wicked grin on his face. “They will hate that.”

“Kill their honor and you crush the very heart of Castlegard.”

Trask grinned. “A pleasure to serve, my lord!”

“Now rise.” The Mordant’s voice was a command. “You have men to lead and I must be away. I have an army to claim in the north.”

Trask stood. “What orders, my lord?”

“Dispatch a rider to the base of the switchbacks. A sworn man waits in a small cave near the base of the first turn. He is ordered to attend me.”

Trask nodded. “It will be done. Anything else?”

“I’ll need your swiftest horses and supplies for the journey north. The rest I leave in your hands.” The Mordant stared into the knight’s soul. “I leave the keep to your command. Recruit, trick, or kill any who come to Cragnoth. Do your best to maintain the illusion that the Octagon still holds the crag…and then work your will on the southern kingdoms.” He smiled. “May the Dark Lord’s pleasure reign…over all the lands of Erdhe.”
 

Liandra felt the need for light, for the cleansing warmth of sunshine on her face. She walked alone along the parapet, staring down at the surrounding sprawl of her capital city, staring but not seeing. Her mind was elsewhere…wondering what transpired in the dungeon depths, wondering what answer the Master Archivist would bring. The queen shivered despite the warmth.

Summer was waning. All too soon the nights would grow long and cold, crowded with too many worries, too many nightmares. And always the queen remained alone, a tower of strength for her people, a pillar of virtue for her kingdom…but sometimes she longed for the shelter of strong-arms. To take off the crown for even a single night would be bliss. Liandra shook her head, angry at her weakness, angry for even considering such a folly.

She paced the length of the parapet, the soft rustle of pale green silk providing a civilized contrast to the harsh clang of swords. Soldiers trained in the courtyard below, the ring of swords against shields evoking another worry. The recruiting went well, but Lanverness needed time to rebuild an army decimated by the rebellion. She wondered how much time she had.

Footsteps followed behind…heels ringing against stone, sure and bold. She knew he did it deliberately, so as not to startle. Liandra usually welcomed his company…but the footsteps heralded a possible nightmare. A fist of anxiety tightened in her stomach.

She turned and met his dark stare. His face gave nothing away.

The Master Archivist bowed low. “My queen.”

“Is it done?”

The master nodded.

“And?”

“He held the crystal but there was no change, no red glow. The monk says he is not a harlequin.”

Relief washed through her. Closing her eyes, she leaned against the cool stone of the parapet, drawing on the castle’s strength. “Thank the gods.” Danly was a traitor but her throne was not compromised by the taint of evil. She’d birthed a monster but not a demon.

“Majesty, Danly is still a threat. He must be dealt with.”

The queen glared at her shadowmaster, weary of the topic. “We will not discuss this.”

“But majesty, your line is thin, you have but one heir. As long as Danly lives, he is a threat to your throne.”

She began to pace, the dark-robed master walking beside her like a persistent shadow. “Yes, Prince Stewart must wed, and the sooner the better. We have a bride in mind. We must open negotiations with
Navarre
.”

“Yes, but majesty, sooner or later you must deal with Danly. Justice must be served and the threat to your throne eliminated.”

She stopped and stared at him, anger warring with shock. Danly deserved death, but the thought of executing her own son was monstrous. “Would you turn us into a monster? Would you have us execute our own son?”

His face paled beneath the onslaught of her royal anger. He bowed his head, his voice contrite. “Majesty, I am only thinking of the security of your throne…and of your own peace of mind.” His voice deepened. “Majesty, I know you too well. I see how the weight of Danly’s fate gnaws at your mind. I would ease this burden from you.”

She knew he meant well, but his open acknowledgement of her weakness stoked her anger. “Then think past the headman’s block.” Her voice snapped like a lash. “Danly will remain in the dungeon, awaiting our royal justice.”

“Majesty, there is another way.”

That stopped her. She stared at her shadowmaster, trying to see past his words. “You mean exile.”

“Exile in itself would not be sufficient.”

“What then? What short of death or a lifetime spent rotting in the dungeons will serve?”

“If Danly is allowed to live, then he must never be a threat to the Rose Throne.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Danly could be safely exiled if he were gelded.”

“A eunuch! You would turn him into a eunuch?”

His face was impassive. “Majesty, it is the only viable alternative to the headman’s axe. Gelded, he can never be king, nor can he ever sire a king.”

She shuddered. “But what you suggest is torture. What man would live without his manhood?”

“The darkness of the dungeons has broken him.”

Images of the dungeon assaulted her mind, too many nightmares.

“Majesty, put an end to the threat, an end to the agony of indecision. Absolve yourself of this judgment. Give Danly the choice. Let him decide between the knife and banishment or the executioner’s axe.”

She was weary of thinking of Danly. Weary of wrestling with a decision that seemed to have no acceptable solution. Her shadowmaster offered her a way out. A way to see justice done without killing her own son…but the alternative was almost as monstrous as the headsman’s axe. How could any man live without his manhood? And how much more would her son hate her? She shook her head. “No!”

He started to object but she cut him off. “Danly will stay in the dungeon. And you will speak no more of this.” She made her voice hard, a royal command. “Are we understood?”

He nodded.

“Then go. We grow weary of your presence.”

His face hardened to stone…a flicker of hurt dancing behind his dark gaze. He bowed. “As you command.” He turned and walked away, his footsteps as silent as a shadow.

She watched him go, tall and lean, his squared shoulders screaming of pride and determination, the one man she could count on, yet she parried his words with nothing but anger. If truth be told, he only tried to ease the burden she carried. Liandra let him get as far as the doorway before she called him back. “Lord Highgate!”

He spun, as if he’d been listening for her voice.

“Walk with us.”

His long stride closed the distance between them.

Strong and silent, he walked beside her. Close but never touching, he gave her just what she needed. The queen gazed beyond the battlement, past the city, to the green fields in the distance. “The summer is waning. I fear a great darkness is coming.”

“Yes, but as long as Liandra is queen, Lanverness will have a light to beat back the darkness.”

For a moment, she let herself believe, she let herself hope…but she couldn’t shake the shadows from her mind.

Stroke and parry, Kath dodged the massive trees, fighting imaginary foes. She’d slipped away from the others, seeking a solitary glade, needing a chance to test her own mettle. Hidden from prying eyes, she danced the sword amongst the redwoods, executing all the classical forms. Slash of the Falcon, Thrust of the Dragon, she whirled and parried, her short sword issuing a deadly whisper. Leaping over a fallen log, she raised her shield against an imaginary blow. Pain lanced her left arm. She battled through the move but the ache persisted. Slowing to a stop, she sheathed her sword and shucked her shield, sweat dripping from her face. Her sword strokes were sure, but her shield arm ached. Rolling up her sleeve, she stared at the crisscrossing scars. A shudder passed through her remembering the demon-wolf’s red eyes and the sharp bite of its teeth. The battle with the demon-wolf was supposed to be fought in the world of dreams but her scars were very real. Kath flexed her arm, grateful to be whole, but somehow the pain still lingered. And if truth be told, her arm was not the only problem. Slick with sweat, she tired too easily. The fight with the demon had taken its toll.

“Are you well?”
Duncan
glided from the trees.

Her startled surprise turned to pleasure. “How did you find me?”

“I’ll always find you.”

Kath felt her face flame red.

His stare dropped to her shield arm. She started to roll down the sleeve but he stopped her. “No, scars of honor should not be hidden.” He laid a kiss on her forearm, amongst the angry welts. “It pains you.”

“Yes, but not like a real wound…more like a shadowy pain.”

“Let me help.” He led her to a mossy patch beneath a grandfather tree. She sat upon the velvety green, her back to the great tree as his fingers kneaded the muscles of her shield arm. Strong and sure, his hands worked the pain from her arm with steady strokes. Kath groaned in pleasure. “You’re hands are magic.”

Duncan
gave a throaty chuckle that held a promise of so much more.

The rumble of his voice sent a shiver down her spine. Kath stared into his mismatched eyes, the one cat-eye golden and the other sapphire-blue.

“Are you bothered by my eyes?”

“No! Not at all.” She felt her face blush but refused to drop her gaze. “I like your eyes…they make you even more interesting…more alluring.” Her voice deepened. “I’m glad I finally found you. You were hiding behind that black patch.”

He released a long-held breath. “Just so.”
Duncan
pulled her into his arms, settling her against his chest, his back to the great redwood. His hands continued to knead her sore arm. She leaned against him, safe and secure.

“As a child I wanted to flee the forest…but now I find myself wanting to stay.”

“The forest feels like a sanctuary…a place for us.”

He tightened his arms around her. “Just so.”

The crystal dagger pressed against her side. “But duty calls us forward.” She had to ask. “When we leave the forest, will you wear the black patch?”

“It’s for the best.”

She heard the regret in his voice and shared his sadness.

He parried her question with one of his own. “When we leave, we’ll ride for Castlegard?”

“Yes, to warn the Octagon, to warn the king.”

“Your father.”

She heard the question beneath his statement. It was her turn for regret. “My father will not understand.”

“Nor should you tell him. The truth will not aid our cause.”

“But?”

His calm assurance surprised her. “Beyond the forest, duty must come first. Once we defeat the Dark, then we’ll carve a place for ourselves.” He held her close, his arms encircling her. “The knights will not welcome the wolf and Danya will not leave Bryx. When we reach Castlegard, I’ll remain in the forest to guard them both.”

She could not fault his logic, but it seemed like a deception…or a betrayal. He deserved better. “It does not seem right.”

“Sometimes I wear the black patch for myself, but most oft I wear it for others. As long as the truth stays between us, it’s for the best.”

Kath sighed, realizing he’d lifted an invisible weight from her shoulders. “Thank you.”

His voice held a gentle smile. “There is no need to hurry. We have all the time between.”

She smiled, reassured by his words.

“You need to rest.”

Kath nestled against him, savoring his solid warmth and his smell of leather. Content in his arms, she must have dozed. Sleep claimed her, but instead of a restful peace, she found golden eyes staring back at her, eyes of the forest, eyes full of sad wisdom.

*Warrior of the Light! We bring you warning! The Ancient Darkness has passed beyond the sight of trees, beyond leaf and bark and root, climbing into the realm of rock and snow. Beware, for the Ancient Foe nears his domain! Wake and heed our warning!*

Kath woke with a start. “
No!”

Duncan
sat up, his hand reaching for the dagger at his belt. “What is it?”

The vividness of the dream beat against her. “I had a dream, a nightmare.” Understanding struck like a knife in the dark. “No, a warning.” Kath gripped the crystal dagger and turned to stare at
Duncan
. “The
Forest
sent me a warning.” She struggled to recall the exact words. “The Mordant has climbed beyond the sight of the trees…into a realm of rock and snow.”

Duncan
followed her words. “He’s climbed beyond the treeline.”

Kath gasped, “The Dragon Spine Mountains!”

“Unless the knights stop him, he’s nearly reached the north.”

Fear and sadness gripped her in equal measure. “We’ve lingered too long.”

Duncan
stood and offered her his hand. “Come, we must warn the others. It’s time to leave.”

Kath reclaimed her shield. Together, they ran through the dappled sunlight. A single autumn leaf fell from the heights. Kath did not want to leave, but at least she’d have
Duncan
by her side.