The Path of Flames (Chronicles of the Black Gate Book 1) (42 page)

It was huge. Easily three times the height of a man, it towered over them, its skin black and satiny in the moonlight. Massive horns like those of some monstrous ox swept back from its head, then down and around, each longer than her arm and as thick as her thigh. But its face… Its face was utterly smooth, without features, a hard slope of bone with no eyes or nostrils. A jagged maw opened from horn to horn, filled with rows of fangs bigger than her thumb. Men were reeling all around it, trying to gather their wits, fighting to gain their feet and yelling hoarsely. It reached out with a muscled arm and snatched up one of Kolgrímr’s men, raised him into the night sky and bit off his head. Kethe flinched as the sound of crunching bone hit her like a blow.

Stand!
she heard her father bellow at her.
Stand and fight!

She had no time to unsling her shield. Gripping her sword with both hands, she rose. Her guts were ice. She was going to die.

It spread both of its arms wide, bowed down and let out a hideous, soul-wrenching scream. The volume was overwhelming, the sound unnatural, like metal tearing. Men staggered back and a couple dropped their weapons and ran. Asho was one of the few men who were standing firm. She saw him unsling his shield, eyes wide with fear, but he refused to run. Kethe took a step back to steady herself and felt her heart seize in her chest. This wasn’t possible. This wasn’t real. She should run. What was she doing here?

Denial and fury arose within her chest. She could sense it now on some primal level, feel the wrongness of it burning off its skin like heat from a fire. Her mouth felt coated with rancid oil and her eyes were watering. She felt her father beside her, heard his roar echo within her skull, but when she opened her mouth it was her own scream of defiance that tore free.

The demon turned to stare at her. She raised her sword high with both hands and charged it.

A taloned hand swept down to tear off her head. She threw herself into a forward roll, came up right beside it and used her momentum to bury her sword into its side. Her sword slid in and stuck as if deeply wedged between rocks. For a brief moment it flared as if white fire had run down its length, but before she could look down at her blade, she heard the creature bellow and then it backhanded her.

The world spun. A white light eclipsed everything. She crashed down and tumbled, rolled, and fetched up against something hard. A tree? She blinked, tears filling her vision. She could hear dim screams amidst the ringing in her head, Ser Wyland bellowing orders, the thudding crash of feet coming her away. Wiping away the tears, ignoring the pain, she looked up and saw the monstrosity coming after her, her sword still sticking from its side.

She saw Asho hesitate—saw him glance at her, clearly wondering if he should come to her aid—then his expression darkened and he instead charged the demon, sword held high. He swung, but his blade bounced off its hide as if he had struck stone.

Undeterred, the demon came right at her. Instinct kicked in, and she scrambled to all fours and ducked around the tree just before the demon’s claws slammed into the trunk. The pine shivered, and a rain of needles fell down upon her. She fell back on her ass and skittered away as the monster came after her, one hand closing completely around the trunk, its head coming round the other side, reaching for her with its free arm.

Talons sank into the dirt an inch from her foot, nails screeching on the rock beneath the topsoil. Kethe gasped, turned over once more and pushed herself up to her feet. She had to run, had to lose this abomination.

She could barely make out the trees in the dim light that filtered down from the moon. The ground was mercifully bare, completely without undergrowth and matted in a thick carpet of pine needles. She ran, dodging and racing around countless trees. It came behind her, faster than she would have thought possible. It roared as it slammed a shoulder into a tree, cracking the trunk, then another, then a third. Kethe’s breath was scalding her throat, but terror gave her wings. She put on a burst of speed and ran as fleet as a deer. Branches sliced at her arms as she defended her face. It was easier to follow the slope downhill, and she leaped over a log, found a dry gulley and slid down to its bottom. It was an open road beneath the moon. Not daring to hesitate, she took off along it. The rocks that lined the gulley bed were smooth and firm beneath her feet. The sky was open overhead, and she could make out the obstacles as they came. Large rocks. Branches. She vaulted over them, nearly tripped, found her balance and ran on.

Yet still it came after her. She cast a desperate look over her shoulder and saw it charging along the bank of the dry stream bed. Kethe heard the sound of rushing water, and suddenly, her dry steam bed converged with a rapidly flowing river. Crying out, she scrambled up onto the bank and ran alongside the new river as it threshed its way between smooth boulders, gleaming like steel under the moonlight.

The demon was gaining on her, but she didn’t dare cast a second glance behind her. One trip and she was dead. The river was four, maybe five yards across, fast-flowing, frothing and raging as it poured on. Ahead she heard a strange sound, a crashing roar. She leaped over a boulder, landed awkwardly and nearly fell. Pain lanced through her ankle as a rock exploded just to her left. The demon was hurling boulders at her. Moaning in terror, her lungs on fire, her head still ringing, she fought on, knowing she couldn’t go much farther.

The river terminated suddenly in a sunken pool. Kethe caught herself at the bank’s rim, arms windmilling. The roar was coming from the pool’s center. It was pouring into a cavern underground.

She looked behind her. The nightmare was almost upon her. It palmed a rock larger than her head and raised it high. Kethe didn’t think; she screamed and leaped forward, falling feet-first into the center of the pool.

The cold was stunning. The currents whipped her into a tight circle, battered her brutally against a rock and then sucked her down.

Her screams echoed as she plunged free-falling into a black and freezing void. She inhaled a mouthful of liquid ice, thrashed, was spun about and pulled underwater. Unable to see, she slid along the bottom, pulled over undulating swells of smooth rock. There was nothing to grasp, no ridges, no crevices. Her hands found only slick surface. Then she was sucked back up and her head broke the surface. She cried out, spat up water, choked. It was pitch dark. She was so cold she could barely feel her limbs. Shuddering, she fetched up against some rocks. She struggled out of the water, leather and chain pulling her down, and crawled over muddy ground to collapse onto her side.

The roar of the water was perpetual. She lay there shivering, teeth chattering, hair plastered over her face. She had to move. She’d die if she just lay here, but it was so hard to summon the will to stir. Her limbs wouldn’t respond. Every reflex wanted her to curl ever tighter into a ball.

Slowly, painfully, she put a palm on the wet rock and pushed herself upright. Blinking, her entire body trembling, she looked up and saw a faint source of light: a waterfall cascading perhaps a dozen yards from the ceiling, where moonlight glowed softly, caught in the froth. Was that a frustrated bellow of rage? It was impossible to tell for sure over the crash of falling water. The echoes were confusing, but she felt space around her, a small cavern.

She couldn’t go back up there. She couldn’t sit here. She had to keep moving.

“Get up,” she gasped to herself. But still, she couldn’t move. “Get up,” she said again, and thought once more of her father. How he would refuse to lie down, would refuse to give up. Summoning his strength, she forced herself up to her feet, reaching out blindly into the darkness as she did so.

The ground was treacherous. She shuffled forward, wanting to cry from the scrapes and bruises and the cold that was freezing her marrow. Her hands touched a wall, found it slick and wet. There was no indication as to where she should go.

Despair battered at her mind. What hope was there? She was lost. Nobody knew where she was. Alone in the dark, soaking wet and freezing to death. No sword, no food, her cloak torn from her neck. Should she strip off her soaked leather and chain? No; her woolens were soaked too. She needed a fire. She had flint and steel in her pouch, but that only made her want to laugh. What would she set on fire? Herself?

She stumbled alongside the wall, fingers too numb to feel the surface, only the resistance telling her the wall was there. Finally, the roar began to recede. She thought of her feeling of euphoria only minutes ago. She wanted to laugh at herself for feeling so tough, so ready to prove herself. She walked on, one arm pressed to her chest, the other outstretched. The wall guided her back to the river’s edge, and she nearly fell back in.

She stood still, shaking, unable to think. The ledge had ended. The water was flowing furiously past her feet. She could turn around and go back, try to circumvent the waterfall, maybe climb back up and hope the monster was gone. In her heart, though, she knew she couldn’t. A dozen yards of slick boulders in her condition? Impossible.

Minutes passed. She clutched at herself, wishing for heat. Once more she thought of her father, the most dangerous and powerful knight she had ever known, a monster like the one that had just tried to kill her. What would he have done if he’d stood here in her stead, soaked and alone and weaponless in the dark?

She heard his scornful laugh echo over the roar and saw him leap out to fall into the center of the river and ride its current down into the darkness, wherever it might take him. She hesitated. The river had to go somewhere. Come out somewhere.

Kethe closed her eyes, took a shuddering breath, and fell forward, back into the water.

It snatched her up greedily and bore her away. She flipped and tumbled, and then her head broke the surface and she gasped for air.

The sounds had changed. The cavern was gone. She was being pulled along in pitch darkness with a ceiling of rock barely a foot above her face. Her cries and gasps were loud in her ears. Then the ceiling smacked her scalp and she was shoved under. Tumbling, she flowed on. There was no air; she didn’t know which way was up. Down and on she went, banging and bouncing against the rocks. She closed her eyes tightly. Her lungs ached; her head was pounding, her ears ringing.

Then, suddenly, the flow slowed and her head broke the surface again, and once more she gasped, spluttering and hacking for breath.

Her feet trailed over the riverbed. The river seemed to have broadened and grown slower. She fought for footing, lost it, fought again—then the water washed her up onto a shore. She collapsed onto her side on a bed of pea-sized rocks that crunched beneath her.

The echoes were liquid and confusing all around her. She lay still, heaving for breath. It would be so easy to just go to sleep. The water had become, if not warm, at least strangely soothing. The ground felt soft. She could relax. Let go.

A small kernel of light blossomed within her. She could visualize it perfectly: a tiny bud, beautifully formed, its petals wrapped tight. It hung in a void. Slowly the petals opened and a white luminescence spilled into her soul, filling her with true warmth. She heard a soft ringing sound like a bell being gently tapped, and the numbness began to recede.

Kethe’s eyes fluttered. The inner light did not flood her with strength, but it felt as if she had gained a second wind. With a raw gasp she pushed herself up, sat, and then raked her hair from her face. Was that an opening up ahead? She could barely make out shapes and silhouettes in the darkness, the roundness of more boulders, gradations to the darkness. Crying out in pain, she stood, wavered, and then began to stagger forward. She kept her attention focused on the small flower of light that hung suspended within her soul. She stumbled and tripped but kept going until the ceiling pulled away and she felt fresh air on her face.

She stepped outside, and the river glittered anew beneath the light of the moon.

Knowing only that she couldn’t stop, Kethe staggered on, following the water’s course down and along the bank until it curled away to the left as the stream entered a narrow lake hidden in a cleft of rock.

A light was bobbing along the shoreline just ahead, pale blue and hovering over its own reflection in the water. Kethe swayed and sat. She could go no further.

The light came closer, and she saw that it was a lantern being held aloft by a young woman. There was no surprise on the woman’s face. She stepped up and spoke, but Kethe couldn’t make out her words. The blue light was emanating from a handful of insects that circled endlessly within the lantern, their abdomens glowing brightly. Kethe blinked. It was beautiful. Slowly, with a sigh, she toppled forward, and everything went dark.

Warmth seeped into her, brought her back to life. Kethe stirred and stretched. She felt soft furs beneath her, a heavy blanket above. A fire was crackling close by. She raised her hand to her temple and fluttered open her eyes. The slope of a roof was but a few feet above her, the beams carved with strange runes that beguiled the eyes.

Turning, she rose on one elbow and saw that she was inside a small cottage. A tidy fire was burning brightly in a stone fireplace, casting dancing light about the room. A brindled firecat lay before the fire asleep. The young woman was seated at a trestle table wrapping red twine around bundles of herbs. She was young but self-possessed, with a calm certainty to her movements and a maturity to her expression that made her seem as old as Kethe’s mother. Her black hair was pulled back into a thick braid, and her high cheekbones and dark liquid eyes made her beautiful. Asho, thought Kethe, would be tongue-tied around her.