by Chogan Swan
“Come on, Seth, show me the door,” coaxed Skorl.
Still in character, Seth struggled a bit and squeaked. This was what he’d been trying to put off with his acting for five years.
How ironic; I'm leaving, and they try to get rid of me.
Seth laughed, not the laugh he did for other people, but his own, quick and gusty. It felt good.
Skorl, stopping at the door to Seth's room, looked at him startled.
Seth pulled easily from his grasp and whirled away, pulling Gidrun from its scabbard. “You should have found your trough by yourself, Skorl.”
“Ha! The kitten shows teeth,” Skorl sneered. “Well, your wizard isn't here to protect you now. Why don't you put that down before you hurt yourself?”
Seth grinned.
Skorl produced a sword from beneath his cloak and moved toward Seth with a workmanlike rush to finish the matter.
Seth set his foot against the wall behind him and met the bigger man with a square block that drove him back. Skorl paused with a hiss, cut deep on the wrist from Seth's counterattack.
“How much did they promise you, Skorl?” gritted Seth. “Do you think Brynd will pay you?”
“He'll pay,” Skorl said with a snarl, slashing low at Seth's legs.
“By slitting your throat,” replied Seth, dodging. “Whatever he offered, that’s all you’ll get for regicide.”
But Skorl had stopped listening. Stung, Skorl was guarding well now, and he wasn’t a shabby bladesman. Seth soon despaired of disarming him soon in the constricted hall. With disgust, he realized he’d have to kill him, or risk delay. If Skorl didn't return soon, Brynd and Luca would send someone else to investigate.
With a mental sigh, Seth determined to put an end to it, and launched an attack to kill. Skorl parried with frantic speed, giving ground back to an intersection of hallways. As Skorl crossed the intersection, A musical clink sounded, and he sprawled to the floor, senseless. A tall figure stepped from behind the corner.
The bard?
With a smile the musician tossed a coin purse in the air and caught it. “A much neglected weapon, the coin purse,” he said, making an elegant bow. “The bard Kane, at your service.”
Seth kept his sword at ready; he examined the man. It might be a trick. Would the Hand be able to send another attack so soon? But, he could have helped Skorl instead and accomplished that. Seth looked at the troubadour's face.
The bard stared at Gidrun with an odd expression then looked up and met Seth’s eyes. His face changed to a look of understanding as he observed the signs of Seth's inner debate.
“You're cautious,” Kane said. “You must have a good number of enemies.”
Seth smiled at the man’s sly grin.
“I left another of your friends down below,” Kane said. “He objected to my coming up here.”
“Well, I'm glad you did,” Seth said. “You saved me trouble.”
“Yes...” Kane said. “Well, it seemed strange for your brothers to use bandit hand signals and I didn't think they’d send him to hold your hand while you relieved yourself.”
Seth bent and grabbed Skorl's collar. With a yank he turned the big man around and dragged him back to his room.
Kane nodded. “I'll get the other.” He darted back the way he’d come.
With considerable effort, Seth hauled Skorl to his door, unlocked it, and dragged him into the room. Skorl was even heavier than he looked. Seth tied him, stuffed a rag into his mouth, and secured it with a strip of cloth. Skorl still showed no signs of reviving.
A coin purse?
Seth smiled and returned to the door. He glanced up the passageway. Kane ran toward him, but the bard wasn't dragging the other assassin.
He pulled to a halt. “The man's skull must be solid bone. No doubt he's reporting to your brothers now.”
Seth laughed—though he felt sorry for the bard. “You've collected some of my enemies for your own, my friend.” He crossed the room to his wardrobe and pulled out a thick tunic and a wool overcloak. “Perhaps we should go on an excursion; it might be good for the health.”
“Wonderful weather for it,” said the bard— voice muffled by the tunic as he pulled it over his head. He glanced at the short fit and twisted his mouth.
The corridor was still empty; Seth locked the door behind them. Then they trotted, Seth leading, through the least-used sections of the castle, till they arrived at the interior door to the stables. Seth opened the door, and they slipped through the stalls.
Seth's eyes adjusted to the darkness, and he moved to where he’d hidden his saddlebags under a mound of straw. Kane saddled his own mount—a tall, black stallion. Seth chose one of Brynd's horses, Chanra, a cream-colored mare with stamina and spirit.
Seth loved the mare and had long thought she deserved better than Brynd. His brother seldom rode her because she bucked him off at unpredictable moments. This had raised her even higher in Seth's affections.
He took her for rides at night and gave her sugar whenever he came to the stables. Chanra whickered and nudged him with her forehead. Finished, he went to help Kane.
As he moved closer, he noticed the stallion studying him for a kick. Seth made the low reassuring noises he used to calm nervous horses. The stallion moved his ears forward out of their threatening, laid-back position, and allowed Seth to approach. Seth ran his hand over his withers.
From the other side of his horse, Kane called to Seth. “By the way, don't get near Droga, your majesty. He kicks everyone except—”
Kane appeared from the other side of his horse as Droga took a sugar lump from Seth's hand with gentle lips. “You and me,” he finished with a shake of his head.
Kane shrugged and tightened the girth. “I suspected, when I saw you at the feast, you were not what you seemed... something…. The cooks in the kitchen thought you somewhat less harmless than a cony, and your brother's thugs had nothing but scorn for you and your flute. Yet, the King names you his heir. And, you would have dispatched the pig-faced lout had I not intervened—though I doubt he will bless me for saving his life. Now you touch this black devil and he acts like an old carthorse. There's a story here.”
Kane checked over the gear and luggage he’d left in the stall with his horse. “You know, it’s not the first time being ready to leave has saved me some trouble. I've found it handy to leave gear with my horse, he takes good care of it, and—”
Kane's flow of words ceased as Seth put his ear to the stable door, listening for any activity. Satisfied, he opened the door.
The wind blew the rain in, an icy slap on the face. With a grimace, Seth led Chanra from the stable. Kane pulled his cloak tighter and followed—his horse a giant shadow behind him. Seth trudged through puddles of mud mixed with sleet. The inner wall that surrounded the castle proper loomed on the right. They followed it, slipping on the layer of hailstones. The chill from the icy water seeped into Seth’s oiled leather boots and wool stockings. Seth moved closer to the wall, trying to let it shelter them from the wind. From a corner of the wall, he paced off twelve measured steps then searched the wall with numbing fingers. Kane looked on brow wrinkling.
A small stone turned. With a grunt, Seth shoved at the wall but slipped to his knees in the mud. He climbed up again and motioned for Kane to help. It had been three years since he and Wyatt had discovered the bolthole concealed here. They pushed the facade inward—straining and slipping—to reveal a narrow opening. Seth murmured reassurances in Chanra's ear, and she allowed him to lead her through the door. Not to be outdone by a mare, Kane's stallion followed.
With less effort, they pushed the door shut. Its lock clicked—loud in the sudden quiet—as the stones muffled the sound of the wind. Sleet still rattled on the stone—far off now. Seth said one of the covenant prayers Jyrmak had taught him, and a dim light appeared, revealing a corridor.
Someone had burrowed the first few yards; after that, it continued as a natural tunnel of limestone. Kane and Seth faced the opening, the
air from the cave cold on their faces. Seth shrugged; it was dryer than outside at any rate. He grasped the reins and took a cautious step.
“Is it safe?” Kane asked from behind him.
“I don't know,” admitted Seth. “The first mile is fine. I haven't been farther. My brother told me it comes out again.”
Kane followed, berating himself in a mutter for meddling in affairs that were none of his business—again.
Chapter 4 (Caverns of Ice)
Below the earth, there is no time except forever. For Seth and Kane, eternity was the cold, dampness, the breath of the horses and the sound their hooves made on wet stone. The tunnel stretched into the darkness. Their path was marked with irregular blotches of white at intersections, but there were few side tunnels.
Seth hoped the passage would allow the horses to pass. He’d gambled; if the door was large enough, the tunnel should be too. So far, he’d been proven right.
The path was difficult though. For long stretches, a gooey mud made the footing dangerous. Going up inclines was tedious and frightening at once. Seth's calming power on the horses was all that kept them from spooking into a fall.
They followed the blotches. The way twisted through small chambers and then ran along a winding stream. Soon the stream became broader then it became the path. The water was icy; the cold more intense as they traveled lower.
In the pale flicker of the prayerlight, Seth saw the stream deepened, but he pushed on, hoping it would rise or end. They struggled downstream until neither could tell if their feet hit the stones. They began to stumble and had to lean on the horses for support.
At last, the stream spilled down a short falls and led them into a cavern. “So dark,” Kane said. “This cavern swallows light like a bear inhales a gnat.
Seth called for greater brightness. Cold and weary, they stared in awe. The cavern soared. Great columns rose into the dark. Pockets of crystal and ice flashed colors back to them from across the cavern. Seth's mind moved like his numbed feet and fingers. If not for the speed of the current, the water would be a solid sheet of ice. The stream fell into a small lake, and ice formed fantastic shapes about the banks where the water splashed, but no way out revealed itself. The only sign was an irregular, white blotch on a stone by the lake—a mocking blaze to nowhere.
Kane growled, a deep sound like a caged wolf. Seth hissed between shivering lips. Maybe there was a tunnel in this cavern, but the search could take a week. They’d be dead from exposure long before then—even in dry clothes. The cavern’s cold was hellish. It burned to breathe, and Seth felt the water in his clothes turning to ice—crackling as he moved his legs.
“Douse the light,” Kane whispered. “We may attract something best undisturbed. I've been in caves before, and this cold isn't natural.”
Seth spoke to the light, and it winked out. He blinked, trying to adjust his eyes to the dark, though he didn't expect to see anything in the total blackness of the cave. They both listened, but, except for the stream, all was quiet. Still, it was impossible to shake the impression of something; not watching—nor awake—but close. The horses too shifted, nervous.
As sometimes happens when one sense fails, another will sharpen, and Seth noticed an odor out of place under a mountain—salt—a tang of the sea.
As his eyes reached a deeper sensitivity, he noticed a faint glimmer, sometimes green then dark blue. It came from the lake below a cluster of icicles. Just perceptible, it seemed to dance, wavering above the water.
Seth moved closer, pulling Kane by the sleeve; the scent grew stronger—salty, invigorating.
“The sea, Seth, I smell the sea,” whispered Kane.
“Yes! Why didn't I notice? The lake moves more than the stream accounts for and it isn't frozen—even in this cold. Kane, it must be the way. See—the lake—it's smaller now than it was. The tide is going out.”
“You can see?” Kane said in a hushed voice. “It's pitch down here.”
Seth stepped forward, using the light from the glimmer beneath the lake. The stream poured into it, washing away the thin layer of sand that had come in with the tide, and still the water subsided.
“Just hang on,” Seth said, guiding Kane's hand to his shoulder.
Seth moved into the lake, following the direction of the crude arrow on the shore. The water seemed like a bath compared to the stream.
The ground was stony and broken, making movement treacherous, but soon they came out of the rough and walked on a bed of pebbles.
“I see light now too,” Kane whispered.
The lake emptied fast. Sea level must have dropped below the outlet. Soon a tunnel appeared—a long sloping shaft that widened as the water fell. It changed color and became lighter as they waded. Soon the water was a pastel mix of blue and green surging back and forth. A slit between rock and water flashed daylight and blue sky as breakers rolled out, and the sound of waves rushed in like a song.
Eager to leave the cave, the horses swam the last few yards of the tunnel. Seth let Chanra pull him through the water. Kane followed, hanging on the tail of his charger.
The sky soared above, and the world revealed its glory. They shouted, taking in deep breaths of sun-warmed air as gulls wheeled and screeched their opinions of people who pop out of nowhere.
Seth glanced around to orient himself; the horses pulled them toward a narrow beach east of the cave. To the west the sea broke on a sheer and craggy cliff. A warm wind was blowing. The waves still rose high from last night’s storm. Chanra swam to shore pushed by a huge breaker, neighing and tossing her head above the foam to land with legs braced. Seth snagged his cloak on the baggage and had to cling to the pommel. The ride knocked the breath from him, but he held on as Chanra scrambled up higher onto the beach.
Kane—seeing Seth's struggle—came in a few breakers later astride his stallion.
~~~~~~~~~~{}~~~~~~~~~~
They stretched in the warmth of the spring morning. The sun and breeze like old friends.
Seth tugged off his cloak and wrung water from it; he stretched and yawned. He’d been a long time without sleep. The trip under the mountain had taken all night and most of the morning, and the sun made him drowsy. He draped his cloak over a rock. Kane faced east down the coastline. Seth walked over to Kane. A narrow strip of pebbled beach bordered by crashing surf on the right and sheer cliff on the left stretched into the distance. That bothered him, but fatigue dragged at his mind.
His eyes traveled from sea, to the beach to the cliff where seaweed and moss grew high on the rocks, about twice a man's height. In his mind's eye he envisioned it at high tide with the surf pounding against the cliff. With a start, he realized why it bothered him. Only three days ago he and Jyrmak had been above where they stood now. These cliffs stretched four leagues before the end. The horses couldn’t get inland until then. Before long, the tide would sweep in again, dashing them against the rocks.
Kane turned to Seth and cocked an eyebrow.
“Four leagues,” Seth said.
Kane grunted, glancing darkly at the sea, but it was not daunted. He must be weary to be so silent. He had even stopped calling Seth, your majesty.
Seth gathered up his cloak and mounted Chanra. He led the way at a walk. They needed to go far and fast, but they’d make better time if the horses warmed up first. Kane and his stallion paced behind them.
They moved to a trot then a gallop. The wind and motion—with the salty air—was invigorating, and their fatigue surrendered.
The sea ebbed higher.
They moved swifter now. Larger waves now sent water all the way under them to the cliff. But, they flew on, splashing through inlets and threading through huge stones until at last they sighted the end of the cliffs several hundred yards ahead. Seth slowed to a trot; the waves surged to Chanra’s knees now, and she might stumble at a gallop. Kane reigned in next to him.
“Did you expect a welcoming party?” he said, pointing up the strand. Four men on foot waited for them at the narrow ope
ning between the cliff face and the sea. Two had swords; the others held pikes backed with reversed hooks for dismounting riders.
Seth slowed Chanra to a walk. “I don't recognize them,” he said. “They can't be from the keep. That's twelve leagues over land.”
“How do you think we should take them?” asked Kane.
Seth glanced at his bow wrapped in oiled leather and tied by the saddlebags it might as well be back in his room now; all the gut bowstrings were soaked.
Kane watched him. “How would this youngster handle himself here?” his face said.
Seth shifted in his saddle. He’d been wondering the same about his companion, but he suspected the bard was no stranger to a scrap; he was adept with a coin purse anyway.
“Yes, we should use the sea to our advantage.” Seth said. “On horseback it should help us, but not yet. Try to distract them: buy time, they may not be shrewd.” He pulled to a halt.
The four rogues in ragged clothes laughed. One called out in mocking tones, “Come, come laddies, we won't harm ye. Fear not, we're nicer than we seem.” His companions guffawed at this wit.
Kane made his voice querulous and high. “Let us pass; we've naught you want, unless it's hard knocks and steel.”
Inside, Seth allowed a grim smile and waited while Kane bargained with the outlaws. The position of power was irresistible to some.
The waves rolled in higher onto the beach. Seth squinted against the glare on the water and then spied what he wanted.
“Concede,” he said.
“Well then, we'll let you have the clothes if…”
Seth estimated the time it would take for the big wave off shore to arrive. Already the water was at the outlaws’ ankles. And, Kane had given away everything except their boots and the ring on his finger—he couldn't get it off and wouldn't part with his finger.
