He nodded, his face grim. “I’ll protect the others but what about you?”
She shrugged and gave him a half-smile. “The gods will have to help.” She turned before he could protest. Sheathing her sword, she slipped down the tunnel, trying to remember the dimensions of the tower. A quarter of the way to the south entrance, she gripped her gargoyle and pressed her hand to the eastern wall. Taking a deep breath, she reached for her magic. She fell into the wall, into stubborn stone, cold and hard. Granite embraced her, solid and sedentary, tempting her with permanence. She pushed forward, through the hardness, desperate for a breath of air, afraid of becoming trapped. The stone’s grip tightened, seeking to hold her in an eternal embrace. Every step seemed harder than the last, the stone impossibly thick, perhaps she’d chosen the wrong place to try. Aching for air, she pushed through…and stumbled into a room. Gasping for breath, Kath stood trembling against the wall, trying to get her bearings.
Torchlight seeped under a closed door, providing a dim light. Weapons lined the walls. Spears and swords, maces and battleaxes, the edged weapons offered no help…but in the corner, she found a crossbow and a sheath of quarrels. She’d never loosed a crossbow but she knew how they worked. Sure death at close range, she smiled, knowing it was just the weapon she needed. Standing on the stirrup, she struggled to cock the bowstring, needing both hands to latch the string. Loading an armor-piercing quarrel, she kept her finger well clear of the tickler. She didn’t bother taking more quarrels. One chance was all she’d get.
Kath listened at the door and then stepped into the hallway.
The outer door gaped open, moonlight shining in the courtyard. She crept to the doorway and peered out. An argument raged in the yard. Six knights stood clustered with weapons drawn, confronting Trask and four of his cronies.
One of the six, a tall knight with flaming red hair, pointed his spiked mace at Trask. “We’re not going in that tunnel. The pass-through is a cursed deathtrap.”
Trask’s voice was a low rumble. “You’ll do as you’re ordered.”
Kath held her breath, praying for bloodshed.
The red-haired knight hawked and spat. “We’re done dying for you, Trask.”
“Then stay for the golds. A thousand for every man who fights.”
“Golds are no use to the dead.”
A mounted knight burst from the stable, leading six saddled horses, a clatter of hooves on stone.
Trask growled. “Your hands are just as bloody as mine. Stay and fight or the Octagon will hunt you down like dogs.”
The red-haired knight swung into the saddle. “We’ll take our chances in the south.” He spurred his horse to a gallop and led the others down the mountain trail.
Trask raged, hurling curses into the night.
Kath grinned, seven less swords to deal with. It seemed the gods lent their help.
Trask rejoined his cronies, his back to the doorway, peering into the tunnel.
Kath stared at the traitors. The odds were better but still grim, but if she killed Trask, the others might run. Steeling her courage, she stepped out into the courtyard. Her heart thundering, she raised the crossbow, her finger on the tickler. Slow and silent, she crept towards the knights, knowing distance was her enemy. Aiming low to compensate for the crossbow’s kick, she focused on the small of Trask’s back. Her heart hammering, she took one more step.
One of the knights yelled, “Look out!”
Trask spun.
She squeezed the tickler.
The crossbow bucked against her cheek, pulling to the right.
The quarrel missed Trask, slamming into another knight. The knight grunted and staggered backwards, staring down at a fist-sized hole punched in his chest. He toppled forward, his face a mask of surprise.
Kath stood frozen; the moment of advantage lost.
Trask stepped towards her, a mountain blocking out the moon.
She threw the crossbow at him, but he battered it aside with a gauntleted fist.
He sneered and reached for his battleaxe. “So, the princess plays at war.”
Kath reached for her last throwing axe and hurled it at the traitor.
Trask’s battleaxe flashed in the moonlight, a bitter clang of steel. “That’s twice you’ve missed.” He stepped toward her, a looming menace.
Kath backed away, drawing her short sword. The blade wavered in the moonlight, a thin shield against the hulking brute. She tried to think of some advantage but there seemed to be none left. “Why, Trask?”
He barked a laugh. “I had a better offer.” The battleaxe rushed toward her, a keening whisper of death.
She jumped backwards, avoiding the blow, cold sweat trickling down her back. “What offer?” She scuttled sideways, trying to lure him toward the gaping mouth of the passageway, praying for Duncan’s arrows, but the other traitors moved to block the passage. Kath angled away. Perhaps she could distract him with talk. “What offer?”
The battleaxe whirled, a circle of death. “I’ve felt the power of Darkness. The Octagon is doomed.”
A shiver of certainty raced down her back. “The Mordant!”
He laughed, a sound straight from hell. “So you know him!” The axe slashed towards her neck, an executioner’s cut. “I’ll gift him with your head!”
Kath ducked low. The half-moon blade whooshed overhead, a narrow miss. She lunged, thrusting low with her sword but found only chainmail. She danced away before the axe could find her.
He roared in anger. “Stand and fight!”
Hoofbeats thundered up the switchback. Kath prayed the traitors did not return.
The battleaxe blurred, a mighty overhand strike.
Kath slipped on the bloody cobbles. Desperate, she raised her sword to parry the stroke. Steel clanged against steel. Her sword twisted from her hands, clattering across the cobblestones. She fell backwards, naked without a sword, staring up at Trask’s leering face.
“And now it ends.”
The axe rose for the killing stroke, a silver crescent in the moonlight.
Kath reached for the dagger in her boot, a thin chance.
The axe descended in a rush of silver.
Kath rolled to the right, narrowly escaping death.
The axe struck stone, shattered chips flying in all directions.
Hoofbeats thundered into the courtyard. A blonde-haired knight galloped toward Trask, moonlight shining on his face.
“Blaine!”
He did not hesitate. His great blue sword struck like vengeance.
Trask whirled to face the threat, his axe blocking the blow.
Kath swore she saw sparks where the two blades met.
Trask disengaged and stepped backwards, his face twisted in an ugly sneer. “Farmer boy!” The battleaxe cut a vicious arc. “Come and meet your death!”
Blaine leaped from the saddle, the blue sword poised to strike. “Trask!”
The false knight charged, a mountain in motion.
Blaine sidestepped, but the half-moon blade followed, a wicked slash of silver. The blue sword met the attack with a fearsome clang. The two knights clashed. Trask loomed over Blaine, forcing him back. His mailed fist lashed out, smashing into Blaine’s face.
Blaine staggered backwards, blood streaming from his nose.
Kath scrambled for her sword, fearing for Blaine.
Trask rushed in, a head-high swing of the axe.
Blaine dropped to his knee, a risky move. The axe whispered overhead. The blue sword lunged upwards, striking for the heart. Metal screeched as if in pain. The blue blade plunged through steel, through plate, through chainmail, through flesh and bone, the tip erupting from the traitor’s broad back.
Trask grunted, disbelief on his face.
Blaine twisted the blade.
The axe clattered from Trask’s hand. The monster toppled to the side, a clatter armor smashing to the cobbles.
Kath stared at the slain knight, awed by the strength of blue steel.
Blaine put his
boot on the Trask’s chest, tugging on his sword.
Footsteps rushed across the courtyard.
Kath yelled, “Behind you!”
Blaine wrenched his sword lose and whirled, a backhanded stroke. The false knight parried the blow, steel against steel, but Kath did not have time to watch. A second knight rushed at her, his great sword raised for a killing stroke. Too weary to dance away, Kath raised her short sword, bracing for the blow. She watched the sword flash in the moonlight, everything slowing to a frozen heartbeat. The blade descended for the kill…but then the false knight staggered, an arrow protruding from his chest. Issuing a strangled cry, he toppled sideways, lying dead at her feet.
She stared across the courtyard and met Duncan’s mismatched gaze. For a moment, there was just the two of them.
“You took too long.” His words were a whisper yet she heard them.
He saluted with his bow, standing guard at the tunneled passageway. It was only then she realized the clash of swords had fallen silent. Bodies lay strewn across the courtyard. She turned to Blaine.
He crossed the yard to kneel in front of her, extending the hilt of his great blue blade. “My sword is yours.”
Kath shook with fatigue, her voice a whisper. “You came.”
“I made a mistake.”
“You had to decide.”
He held the hilt of his sword toward her, insistent. “Will you take me back?”
She smiled through tears. “I never let you go.”
He smiled then, and rose. “Are there others?”
“There must be more in the tower, perhaps a handful. They’re traitors, every one.” She gestured to the tunneled passageway. “We fought in the pass-through. Sir Tyrone held them off.”
Blaine nodded, his face grim. “I’ll check the tower while you get the others.” He stalked toward the door of the keep, moonlight flashing on his blue steel sword.
Kath trembled with strain, weary beyond the telling, but she made her way across the courtyard to the tunnel.
Duncan yelled, “Hurry!”
She knew from his voice. Fear shivered down her spine. She sheathed her sword and stumbled up the passageway, nearly tripping over a body. Danya held a torch, a bright circle of light. Sir Tyrone lay still, his head cradled in Zith’s lap, too many wounds to count.
Kath stifled a sob. She knelt by his side and took his hand. He felt cold, too cold. “Don’t leave me.”
He stared at her, a weak smile, blood leaking from his mouth. “You…shouldn’t have…come back.”
She shook her head. “I had too.”
A wave of pain crossed his face.
She held his hand tight, as if she could anchor him to life.
The pain passed and he gave her a half-smile. “When the bards sing of your victory…tell them…my skin’s black…not my armor.”
Tears streamed down her face. “I know a good bard.” She squeezed his hand, trying to hold on to him, knowing he was slipping away. “He’ll sing it true. I promise.”
He smiled…and shuddered…and then was gone.
A sob escaped her. Kath shook her head, numb with grief, weary from fighting.
They stayed with the dead knight, keeping vigil in the grim passageway.
Blaine came much later, wiping the blood from his great sword. “The others are dead.” He stared at them. “Sir Tyrone?”
Kath shook her head, too numb to speak. Blaine sheathed his blue sword and helped them carry the black knight from the depths of the passageway. The moon was setting, but the stars were glorious, jewels against the velvet darkness, a night for heroes.
Blaine’s voice was a hushed whisper. “There’s nothing here but rock and stone. We can’t bury him, but we can build a cairn.”
Kath shook her head. “He’ll have better than that.”
They carried him into the tower, round the spirals and up to the great hall. They laid him on a trestle table, too weary to do more. Spreading bedrolls on the stone floor, they slept passed sunrise, straight through to sunset. Sore and aching, they woke and had a quiet meal of cold venison, hard biscuits, and a brew of hot tea.
Kath sat in a haze of aches, weary despite the sleep, straining to hold the mug of tea steady. She looked at each of her companions, fatigue on every face. They’d fought well and endured much, but they needed to hear the truth, to understand the evil set against them. “It was the Mordant. He corrupted Trask, turning him to evil.”
Her words sounded like a cold doom, casting a pall on the great room.
Blaine broke the spell. “Trask was always evil.”
“But the Mordant woke the worst in him, unleashing the evil.”
Zith stared at her, his face lined with grief. “So much death…and we haven’t even crossed the Dragon Spines.”
The monk had the truth of it. The trap at Cragnoth Keep had almost caught them…yet the Mordant wasn’t even present, fighting with nothing more than a legacy of words. Kath wondered how they could hope to win against such evil…but she refused to give up. She drew the crystal dagger and looked at her friends. “Will you come with me into the north?”
Blaine was the first to answer, his voice full of conviction. “To hell and back.”
Danya hugged the wolf. “Bryx and I are with you.”
The monk whispered, “For my son.”
Duncan just stared…bringing a flush to her face.
Kath nodded, struggling to keep her voice even. “Then tomorrow we hunt the Mordant,” she sheathed the dagger, “but tonight we honor a fallen hero…we honor a friend.”
The sun set in a blaze of glory, streaks of maroon and red fanning across the sky, as if the gods paid tribute. They carried Sir Tyrone to the tower top and laid him on the bed of dried wood reserved for the signal fire. Kath placed his great sword on his breast, his hands on the hilt. Blaine set a shield at his feet, silver emblazoned with a maroon octagon. Duncan spread the oil and Kath held the torch. Danya and Zith watched, keeping solemn vigil.
They waited till the first star appeared in the sky. Kath lifted the torch to the heavens, her voice a mixture of pride and sorrow. “We send Sir Tyrone back to the Light. A friend, a true sword, a knight of the Octagon…a hero whose skin was black. He proved the legend, restoring the honor of Cragnoth Keep.” Her voice broke. “He will be sorely missed.” She struggled to finish. “May the Lords of Light welcome him home.”
She touched the torch to the pyre.
The wood blazed to life. The flames embraced the fallen knight, a wreath of golden light, a beacon against the night, the second star of the evening.
The wolf loosed a mournful howl.
Kath watched the flames grow, a light to beat back the dark. The signal tower was lit, fueled by a hero’s bravery. The beacon blazed bright. The kingdoms of Erdhe were called to war.
APPENDIX
CASTLEGARD
Three hundred years after the War of Wizards decimated the kingdoms of Erdhe, a group of knights banded together to protect the southern kingdoms from the ravages of the north. They claimed Castlegard, the great mage-stone castle left empty after the War of Wizards, as the seat of their power. Adopting the shape of the great castle as their symbol, they became known as the Octagon Knights.
To bolster their cause, the knights were ceded land running along the length of the Dragon Spine Mountains. Stretching from Castlegard all the way to the Western Ocean, this land became known as the Domain. A series of castles, keeps, and walls were built along the Dragon Spines, allowing the knights to control the mountain passes and deny access to the southern kingdoms. The Domain also includes the only iron ore mine in all of Erdhe to yield blue ore, the rare ore required to forge the knights’ fabled blue steel swords.
As a sworn brotherhood of elite knights, the candidates forsake their lineage and their past when they win their maroon cloaks. Their symbol is a maroon octagon emblazoned on a silver shield.
KING URSUS ANVRIL, King of Castlegard and the Knights of the Octagon, Lord of the Domain
, hero of the Battle of Raven Pass, bearer of a great blue sword named Honor’s Edge.
-his wife, QUEEN PHYLA, died giving birth to their only daughter
-their children:
PRINCE ULRICH, First-born son of the king, a sworn knight of the maroon, commander of the wall at Raven Pass, bearer of a great blue sword named Mordbane
PRINCE GRIFFIN, Second-born son of the king, a sworn knight of the maroon, commander of Dymtower
PRINCE GODFREY, Third-born son of the king, a sworn knight of the maroon, commander of Shieldhold
PRINCE TRISTAN, Fourth-born son of the king, a sworn knight of the maroon, slain while leading a patrol into the steppes
PRINCE LIONEL, Fifth-born son of the king, a sworn knight of the maroon, commander of Cragnoth Keep
PRINCESS KATHERINE, Sixth child of the king, a girl of fifteen, also known as the Imp or Little Sister or Kath. As a female, the Octagon symbol of Castlegard is forbidden to her. Instead she uses the Anvril’s ancient heraldic symbol of a red hawk attacking with talons outstretched on a field of white.
-his sworn knights and retainers:
SIR OSBOURNE, The Knight Marshal of the Octagon, right hand of the King, a hero of Raven Pass, a one-eyed man, he wields a saber as his weapon of first choice.
SIR ABRAX, knight of the maroon, champion of the sword, he wields a blue steel sword named Protector
SIR MALVOY, a fresh-sworn knight of the maroon
SIR MARIN, a knight of the maroon
BALDWIN, senior squire of the maroon, assigned to the King
OTTO, the Master Swordsmith of Castlegard’s forge, responsible for the forging of all blue steel weapons
QUINTUS, the Master Healer of Castlegard
VAL, a stable lad of Castlegard
SIR RAYMOND, branded as an unmade-knight of the Octagon, exiled from the Domain of Castlegard on penalty of death
-the contingent of knights and retainers sent to Lanverness
SIR BLAINE, sworn knight of the maroon charged with protecting Princess Kath, he bears an unnamed blue steel sword
The Flame Priest (The Silk & Steel Saga) Page 55
