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

by Phil Tucker

  Kethe shouldered her pack roughly and fought the urge to shiver. The wind off the lake seemed to pierce her hauberk and leathers with no difficulty. Still, she’d rather die before showing any sign of weakness before Ser Tiron.

  Ser. That title was a mockery. She watched him as he stood beside her mother, calm and sure of himself as if he belonged out here and not rotting in a hole. She’d spent the whole evening seething, waiting for a chance to corner her mother and demand an explanation, but then their world had imploded. Roddick. Kyferin Castle. Lord Laur. It was hard to believe. Her mind leaped from one thought to another, intense emotions washing through her without rhyme or reason: grief, panic, hatred, anger, fear. Exhaustion undercut it all; she’d expected a night of deep sleep after today’s combat. Instead they’d been cast into perdition—with Tiron, her very own personal demon.

  Flames appeared high up on the Hold’s walls, and Ser Wyland called down that all seemed clear. The group stirred, grabbing packs and gear, and Kethe stalked forward. A strange sensation stopped her and she turned to eye the lake. The dark waters were still. Nothing disturbed their surface but the passage of the wind, but a different kind of shiver ran down her spine. For a moment she’d felt watched, and her skin had crawled with the sensation. Clenching her jaw and swallowing, she resisted the urge to draw her sword. There was no way she was going to appear like a foolish girl. Instead, she turned and hurried through the gate into the central courtyard. There, her mother was giving commands with quiet assurance. They would all camp together in the ruined great hall, where she had set the grooms to building a fire and tasked the undercook Jekil to heating some wine for the group.

  Kethe stood to one side. As angry as she was, she had to admire her mother’s calm. Outside their group had been on the verge of falling apart, and now people were moving with purpose, gathering fallen wood for the fire, clearing away the plants and weeds that had grown up through the cracks in the stone, laying out blankets, piling up their belongings.

  Ser Wyland descended from above and smacked his hands together loudly as if anticipating a delicious meal. Striding forward, he beamed at everyone and stopped before the small fire. “Come on, boys, let’s build this one nice and high. I think we could all use a little light tonight. And how else are we going to roast that whole boar that Magister Audsley brought us?”

  Audsley, plump and diffident, gaped at Ser Wyland, and laughter broke out amongst the servants. Kethe couldn’t help but smile as well, but then she thought of Roddick and her smile disappeared. She dumped her pack against the wall and hugged herself. What were they going to do? Molder here until Roddick turned eighteen?

  Sparks flared up as several large planks were dumped across the fire, and the crackle and spit of the flames cheered her despite her resentment. Fire in the dark. Was there anything more primal?

  The Hold’s great hall was barely larger than the Lord’s Hall; while one corner was now lit by a warm glow, the rest was shifting shadows, with thin beams of moonlight sliding down through chinks in the wall and gaps in the ceiling above. The cold was brutal, and she was terribly aware of the dark waters only a dozen paces from the Hold’s wall outside.

  Her mother was moving amongst those who had chosen to follow her, touching a shoulder here, sparing a kind word there. Kethe would be last, she knew, so she moved over to where Audsley was sitting on a roll of blankets and staring into the fire, absent-mindedly scratching behind the ears of his firecat, lips pursed. He glanced up at her in surprise, and then smiled and patted the roll next to him.

  Pushing the hilt of her sword down so that its tip rose as she sat, she stared into the fire and watched as the flames licked up the desiccated boards hungrily. “Magister Audsley. Thank you for coming.”

  Audsley gave an awkward shrug. “Well, but of course. Where goes Lady Kyferin, there go I. Or something along those lines. And who else would see to it that you continued your lessons?” He smiled at her, then looked back at the flames.

  “Mythgræfen Hold.” She said the name softly, almost to herself. “To think we’re actually here. There was a time when I was little that I very much wanted to escape through the Raven’s Gate.” She pursed her lips. “I was unhappy, I suppose. Father yelled at me. It’s the one time I was truly scared of him.” She paused, considering. “Well, one of the few times. I never made it through, obviously. But I came close, once.”

  She thought of that night, Brocuff hauling her kicking and screaming down to her father, and the month-long confinement to her room that had followed, along with the selling of her pony and the giving away of her pet hound.

  “I’m glad you failed,” said Audsley quietly. “To think.”

  Kethe nodded. “But coming through tonight, I realized that I know about the same that I did as a child. Children’s tales. It’s always just been here. But why? Why does the Raven’s Gate lead to this island, and why did we build a castle here?”

  Such basic questions. How had she settled for nursery tales and unquestioning acceptance for so long?

  “Well, those are wonderful questions,” said Audsley, interlacing his fingers over his stomach and leaning forward with a frown. His spectacles caught the firelight, and for a moment they flashed an opaque white. “Lunar Gates are rare and wondrous things. Their origin dates back centuries and centuries, to the Age of Wonders. Nobody knows why they were built, really. Why does one connect a cave to a stonecloud, and so forth? A fascinating if frustrating field of study.”

  Audsley subsided into thought. Kethe was used to his diversions, however, and waited patiently. Aedelbert scooted forward to the edge of the fire and inhaled a tongue of flame, hissing it in and then edging back, a puff of smoke emerging from its muzzle as it purred contentedly.

  “Now, you assume your ancestors built the Raven’s Gate to connect them to Mythgræfen Hold. A natural assumption, but is it a correct one? The records go back centuries, and I’ve read most of them, though the language grows stranger the further back you go. There was a time when the curtain wall was just logs with sharpened tips, and—well, never mind.” He gave her an apologetic smile. “Kyferin Keep is old. Terribly old. It predates the Unification, and as far as I can tell, your family has always held it. But Mythgræfen Hold is even older. I believe your family originated here, and eventually made its way to Kyferin Castle. Why? I don’t know. As for the original purpose of the Hold, well…” He shivered and hunched his shoulders. “It must have something to do with the destruction that was visited upon it each time your family tried to defend its walls. Whatever that purpose was, it’s not been observed in centuries.”

  Kethe stared into the crackling heart of the fire and fought the urge to shiver as well. “And nobody knows? What attacks the castle and kills everyone?”

  Audsley frowned and shook his head slowly. “There was a purging of your castle’s accounts ninety-nine years ago, during the reign of the Seventh Ascendant. Lamentable, though fortunately not complete. Your great-great-grandfather apparently was driven mad with grief after losing the Hold. It is said that his son wore the mantle of the Virtue Akinetos and led the forces that protected the Hold. That for three nights he fought against a mysterious force that assailed the castle’s walls, and despite his strength and ability to cleave the tops off mountains, he fell. His father cursed the Hold and ordered the records cleansed of all knowledge as to its history and purpose. He intended that nobody return, and nobody ever did.”

  This time Kethe did shiver and hugged herself tightly. “Great. Now we’re trapped here for a month, at least. And none of us can cleave the top off a hill, much less a mountain. Just wonderful.”

  Audsley gave her a lopsided smile. “With a little luck, whatever doom has been visited upon Mythgræfen Hold won’t notice we’re here. We’ll stay quiet, figure out a way to get back, and slip away before anybody comes knocking. Or tearing down portcullises. Right?”

  “Right,” said Kethe, but without conviction. “Though I doubt Lord Laur has any interest in letti
ng us return. And you know he’ll have the Raven’s Gate blockaded in case we try to force a return.”

  Audsley nodded morosely. “Yes, I think you’re right.” Suddenly he sat up again. “You know, I heard the strangest thing before we left. Actually, I should tell your mother. I’ve been meaning to. But, you understand, with all this change…” He stood. “Lady Kyferin?”

  Her mother was talking quietly with Brocuff and Ser Wyland, but she looked over, an eyebrow raised. “Yes?”

  “A word.” Audsley gave an apologetic smile. “It might be important.”

  Lady Kyferin nodded. “In fact, we should all talk. Why don’t you join me over here. Ser Wyland, Ser Asho? Brocuff, please ask Ser Tiron to join us.”

  “Mother.” Kethe strode to her side and took her arm, her voice a hiss. “Ser Tiron? What are you thinking?”

  Iskra looked pained and reluctant. “Oh, Kethe. I owe you an apology. I haven’t found time to talk to you as I’ve wanted to since he revealed himself.”

  “You’ve had time to talk to everybody from the grooms to the undercook.”

  “Kethe.” Her mother exhaled. “Do you understand how much danger we’re in? How much we owe these people for following us out here?”

  Kethe hated feeling like a sulking child, but she spoke anyway. “I can’t believe I have to explain myself. I’m your daughter. He tried to kill me. Why by the Black Gate didn’t you tell me?”

  Iskra’s eyes narrowed at the curse. “I vowed I wouldn’t tell a soul till he was ready.”

  “You vowed? To him? But why?” Kethe felt tears sting her eyes. This was so unfair. Why was her mother discounting his obvious monstrosity and evil? Why was she talking so rationally about this, as if he were the equal of Ser Wyland?

  “We need him,” said her mother. “Now, more than ever. I will use every tool at my disposal to regain what we have lost. Do you mark me, Kethe? Every tool, including Ser Tiron. You have to understand. We need him.”

  Kethe released her arm as if she’d been stung. “Need him? Him? To do what? Butcher us in our sleep?”

  Her mother gazed at her with such compassion and pity and regret that Kethe had to look away. “I will talk to you about this. There are parts of this story that you do not know, that your father and I hid from you. I do not deny your anger, but I must look to our survival. Please, Kethe. Trust me. Wait, and I will tell you as soon as I can why I have done this.”

  Kethe scowled and looked away. She had nothing to offer to her mother, nothing but her simmering fury.

  A few minutes later they were seated in a small circle to one side, a new, albeit smaller fire burning merrily between them. Kethe steadfastly ignored Ser Tiron and kept her gaze on her mother, who was the only one to remain standing. Lady Kyferin waited till they had all settled and then took a half-step forward, which drew everyone’s attention as effectively as if she’d clapped her hands.

  “We are a small force,” she began, voice soft. “But there can be no question of our loyalty.”

  Kethe wanted to scoff, but instead looked away. She felt her mother’s stare but ignored it, staring down at her hands.

  “None of you were compelled to follow me into exile. The fact that you did so means more to me than I can express. Know, then, that you have my deepest gratitude, and that your service and friendship will not be forgotten.” She paused, allowing her words to sink in, then sighed. “Mythgræfen Hold is bleaker than I’d feared. We cannot repair it without outside help. And while we may now have all the time in the world, given Lord Laur’s control of the Raven’s Gate, that may matter little if the forces that have devastated the Hold in the past take notice of us. Magister Audsley, you are well-versed in history and Kyferin lore. Why don’t you tell us what you know, so that we may all understand?”

  Audsley coughed and stood awkwardly. “My Lady, before I delve into the multifarious and riveting history of the Hold—no, I mean that quite sincerely—I would like to share something that I heard as I was departing the keep.” He blushed suddenly. “It was my satchel, you see. The strap had grown worn, and I had been meaning to fix it for some time now. But good intentions are worth a thousand fish in the sea, as they say in Nous, and none in the hand if they are not acted on.”

  Lady Kyferin raised an eyebrow, and Audsley coughed again. “Yes. To hew closely to the point, then. My satchel fell in the keep stairwell, so I hurried back to retrieve it. But, you see, while I was picking it up, and totally by accident, please let me assure you, because it’s not my nature to snoop—”

  “It’s all right, Master Audsley,” said Lady Kyferin. “What did you hear?”

  “Lord Laur and Father Elisio in argument. Elisio seemed to desire immediate and violent action against us. But Lord Laur said that ‘there were forms’, and quite steadfastly refused. I was on the verge of feeling gladdened until he instead admonished his priest that he would wait a month, and then proceed through the Talon, and that would be the end of it.” That last had all come out in a rush, and he paused as he let the gravity of his words sink in, nodding as he did so. “The Talon. That’s the name of the only other fort in this region, isn’t it? The one whose Lunar Gate connects to Lord Laur’s castle?”

  Lady Kyferin pinched the bridge of her nose, grimaced, and then visibly took control of herself and nodded. “Well, then. So much for all the time in the world. If the evils of this place don’t get us, Lord Laur means to kill us as soon as his private Gate opens. I fear there is little time now for his Grace to come to our rescue.”

  Kethe bolted to her feet. “But why? What harm can we do, banished all the way out here? And if he means to kill us, why wait?”

  Ser Tiron shrugged and leaned back on one elbow, completely at ease. “Like he said, girl, there are forms. Appearances to keep. He means to murder us, but quietly, out of sight. A cunning stratagem, really.”

  Kethe drew her blade and pointed it at him over the flames. “Go on. Call me ‘girl’ again. I’ll have your tongue out before you can blink.”

  Ser Wyland leaped to his feet and Asho called out her name in alarm, but Ser Tiron only grinned, a vulpine drawing of his lips that didn’t touch his flat, dead eyes. “Go on then, girl. Cut away.”

  Kethe’s blade trembled over the leaping flames. Damn him. He was so relaxed, reclining there as if he couldn’t care less. One side of his face was purpled and swollen, but his eyes… His eyes gleamed coldly, as if he welcomed this. As if he was daring her to proceed.

  “Kethe.” Her mother’s voice was a whipcrack. “Stop this. Now.”

  So close. All she had to do was lunge over the flames and stab with her blade. He wouldn’t move. On some level that she couldn’t understand, she realized that he would take the cut.

  Everybody was staring at her, even the servants from the other fire. She put up her blade. “Just because you came through the Raven’s Gate doesn’t make you an honorable man. You’re a coward and a monster, and very soon I’m going to pay you back for what you did to me.”

  Ser Tiron nodded, eyes still gleaming darkly in the firelight. “You’ll find me ready and waiting, girl. Don’t you worry about that.”

  “Kethe! Enough!” Her mother was glaring at her with a fury so incandescent her eyes nearly blazed. “Sit down or leave this fire. Now.”

  Kethe sheathed her blade and almost walked away. Her whole body was shaking. She hadn’t felt this worked up even at the tournament. She wanted nothing better than to spurn them all, but instead she took a shuddering breath and sat. Ser Wyland lowered himself as well, and Audsley patted her timidly on the arm.

  “I freed Ser Tiron from the dungeon,” said her mother, still staring at her, “knowing full well what he did. As I said, there is more to this tale than you know. But I have decided to enlist Ser Tiron to our cause, and while he is under my roof you will treat him with respect. If you cannot control your sword, I will have it taken from you. Am I clear?”

  Kethe felt her face flush. Hadn’t she won the tourney and saved their hon
or? Hadn’t she proved herself a warrior? How dare her mother treat her like this!

  She opened her mouth to retort, and then saw Ser Wyland’s level gaze. Brocuff’s face was craggy and hard as if carved from rock. Even Asho’s pale eyes were flat and gauging her. She swallowed and raised her chin. She would have her revenge. But regardless of how unfair this was, she wouldn’t act the child. “Fine,” she said. “Continue.”

  Her mother held her gaze for a moment longer, then nodded. “All right. Magister Audsley, how long till the Talon’s Gate opens?”

  Audsley beamed. “Ask that of any other soul and you would receive a blank stare. But I am a resourceful man, and came prepared.” He fairly bounced to his feet and hustled to his packs, where he rummaged amongst a collection of books before drawing forth a battered tome. “This,” he said, turning around with a look of shy pride, “is Alistair’s Lunar Almanac.” He hurried back to the fire. “Many Gates are recorded here, including which moon phase they are tied to. A true treasure. So, let us see. The Talon.” He rifled through the pages, frowning, then nodded. “Here it is. Preamble, unnecessary prolegomena, et cetera et cetera, a rather nicely executed illustration, and finally we have it. The half moon.” He looked up with a proud smile, then he blinked. “Oh.”

  Kethe’s mother sighed. “So, we have two weeks before Lord Laur sends men against us from the Talon.” She took a deep breath, and uncertainty flickered across her face. “I am open to hearing your thoughts. How should we proceed?”

  Ser Wyland rose slowly, almost with a sense of inevitability. “We’ve fifteen swords amongst us. Not enough to resist Lord Laur’s men when they come calling, especially not with the Hold in the condition it’s in. Come morning, we’re going to have a lot of work to do. I suggest we do a full reconnaissance of the island, and then turn our attention outward. We know the Talon is downriver of us by what—a few days?”

  “About a week’s ride,” said Audsley.

  Ser Wyland nodded. “So, we look for help. Forge alliances. Are there others in this land?”