The Steel Queen (The Silk & Steel Saga Book 1)

by Karen Azinger

  Even stranger than the dwarf was the ogre, Tiny. Standing over seven feet tall, the ogre had a strange sloping forehead and protruding ridges for eyebrows that made his face look sinister. Barrel-chested and with arms that were too long for his body, the ogre was immensely strong, snapping small logs with his bare hands. If it came to a fight, the ogre would be a formidable foe, especially if he had any skill with weapons. Turning to the captain, Kath tried to put a quaver in her voice, “Please, sir, is Tiny an ogre?”

  The captain roared with laughter, “Hear that Tiny! The prize thinks you’re an ogre! She probably has nightmares about you.” Chuckling, the captain said, “Don’t worry, girlie, as long as you’re good, the captain won’t let Tiny eat you.” With a leer he added, “Just stay close to the captain, girlie, and you’ll be safe.”

  Kath dropped her gaze to the ground, hating the captain’s leer.

  The goblin-man shuffled around the campfire, passing out bowls of steaming stew. Kath balanced the bowl in her lap, using both hands to spoon down dinner. Between spoonfuls, she dared to ask her question again. “Please, sir, is Tiny an ogre?”

  This time the captain gave her an answer. “No girlie, ogres are a myth. Tiny is a Taal, a throwback. There are places in Erdhe where the land is fouled with magic from the War of Wizards. Lots of deformed babies are born in those places. Most of the grotesques die as soon as they’re birthed. Those that live are always twisted. A few never grow enough, like Bolo. Some grow too much, like the Taals. All of them are twisted in some way, but the Dark Lord doesn’t seem to mind the twisting.” Lowering his voice, the captain said, “Some say the Dark Lord caused the land to be fouled in the first place, seeking to make better servants.” With a wicked leer, the captain hissed, “Maybe when the master is done with you, he’ll use you to breed more Taals for the army.” His hand stole onto her thigh, giving her a squeeze. “Don’t worry, girlie, perhaps I’ll break you in first.”

  She stared at his hand as if it was a poisonous viper, fighting the urge to reach for her dagger. Time crawled. When she made no reaction, his hand withdrew. She kept her head bent, hiding the rage smoldering in her eyes.

  The rest of the meal passed in silence. When everyone finished, the goblin-man collected the bowls and then set to washing them in the stream. The captain held a flask of water to Kath’s mouth, giving her a chance to drink her fill. Removing the flask, the captain tugged on her leash and sneered, “Time for a walk in the forest, girlie.”

  Kath shuddered, dreading the walk. Pulled by the leash, she followed the captain into the shadows. Passing behind a screen of bushes, the captain stopped and commanded, “Do it here, girlie.”

  It was the only chance she’d have to relieve herself till morning. Gritting her teeth and looking away, she pulled down her leggings to squat.

  The captain loomed over her, his voice an oily whisper. “Tell me girlie, did you lay with any of those shiny knights? Did they slip their swords inside of you while you slept?” His fetid breath was hot on her neck. “Do you miss it, girlie?”

  Unsure which answer would serve her best, she kept her stare locked on the ground and remained silent.

  “What did those shiny knights do with you, girlie? Did they even know how to use a skinny little girl like you?” Lowering his voice, he added, “A man could teach you, girlie. A man could teach you lots of things. You might even grow to like it.”

  Hastily finishing, she stood and quickly pulled up her leggings while staring at the ground. Gritting her teeth, she fought the desire to draw the six inches of good Castlegard steel from her boot…but the time wasn’t right.

  The captain grunted, yanking hard on the leash.

  Stumbling behind, Kath struggled to regain her balance, clawing at the leash to gain a breath of air. Her frantic fingers loosened the stranglehold. Gasping, she followed him back to the campfire, like a dog on a leash. She always felt safer at the campfire, though she doubted the others would stand up to their leader.

  The captain yanked on the leash, impatience on his face. He led her to a thick pine tree and pushed her to the ground. She submitted while he lashed her to the tree, pulling the rope tight enough to cut into her arms. Wincing, Kath turned her head, refusing to acknowledge his crooked smile. He gave a low chuckle as he tightened the knots.

  Kath longed to wipe the smug smile from his face. In the presence of monsters like the ogre and the goblin-man, the one she most wanted to knife was the man. Obviously the Dark Lord twisted more than just the bodies of his servants.

  As if he could tell what she was thinking, the captain gave the rope a final jerk but Kath refused to cry out despite the pain. He checked the bindings and then removed the collar from around her neck. Tilting her head up, he looked into her eyes. “The prize will meekly take the gag. Open wide or it will be forced into your mouth.”

  Closing her eyes to hide her hatred, she opened her mouth to receive the leather gag. With the gag secure, the captain groped inside her tunic to make sure the gargoyle was in place. After fondling the gargoyle, he returned to his place by the fire.

  Kath sighed. She’d survived another day of threats and humiliation, but the nightmare would start all over again in the morning. Lashed tight to the tree, she thought about her gargoyle. She wondered if the little figurine was truly worth the price. Sometimes she wished her captors would just take the gargoyle and leave her behind, but then she remembered the message from the Lords of Light. If the gargoyle was so important, why had the gods given it to her? And why hadn’t they told her how to use it? She shook her head; the gods were so cryptic they were almost useless.

  Caught up in her own thoughts, Kath almost missed the signal. Instead of drawing lots for guard duty, the captain gave his crew permission to sleep through the night.

  Her heart hammered in her chest.

  Holding her breath, Kath watched as the four crawled into their sleeping rolls. The gods, or fate, had given her a chance. She closed her eyes, letting her head lull forward, feigning sleep. Plans formed in her mind. She’d have to be patient and bide her time. Keeping her eyes closed, she listened to the soothing sounds of cicadas, hoping the night-song would lull the captain and his men to sleep.

  31

  Duncan

  The arrow struck true. Without thinking, Duncan reached for another, aiming and releasing all in one smooth motion. Lost in the art of the bow, he was surprised to find the quiver empty. He unstrung the longbow, wiped the yew wood with a soft cloth, and then went to collect his arrows. The heart of the target bristled with arrows fletched with black swan feathers. Duncan smiled; at least the luxuries of Lanverness had not dulled his skill.

  A page in the green and white livery of Lanverness tracked him across the practice yard. “The queen requests you join her for a walk along the castle walls.”

  Duncan spied the queen watching from the battlements, a banner of silken beauty in the afternoon light. “I would be delighted to join her majesty. Please lead the way.”

  He followed the page up a narrow stairwell. Castle Tandroth was a maze of passageways, impossible to navigate without a guide. Duncan wondered if the confusion was deliberate, planned as an advantage for castle defenders…but military defenses did not seem to play a role in the luxuries of Castle Tandroth…there had to be another explanation.

  The queen waited on a parapet, a vision of regal splendor bedecked in pearls and purple silk. Duncan bowed low. “Thank you for the invitation. I am honored to join you.”

  With a wave of her hand the queen dismissed the page, leaving Duncan alone with the ruler of Lanverness. She gave him a gracious smile and then turned to stroll along the crenellated battlement. “Walk with us, Lord Duncan. Leaves fall from the trees and the sunlight fades. Afternoons like this will soon be rare.”

  Nodding, he fell into step beside her. Assuming she had more on her mind than the weather, he waited to see where the conversation would lead. Daring a sideways glance, he noted how the deep purple of her gown showed off
her creamy skin and slender waist. Her beauty and bearing combined to create an unmistakable aura of power. Even walking on the battlements she looked every inch the sovereign. Duncan wondered if there was ever a moment when the queen took off her crown.

  She gestured toward his longbow. “We watched you skewer the heart of the target. Is archery a prerequisite for ambassadors from Navarre?”

  Duncan laughed. “The people of Navarre are keen almost to the point of madness for archery, but it’s certainly not a requirement. No, the longbow is my weapon of choice. I practice to maintain the skill and strength needed for accuracy.” Pausing, he added, “Practicing the bow is a great way to clear the mind when there are too many problems to ponder.”

  The queen gave him a small smile. “And what thoughts drive you to the archery yard on this sunny afternoon?”

  “The Flame religion of Coronth.”

  Her smile turned somber. “We confess the problem weighs on our mind as well…and so far a solution has not presented itself. Religions are difficult to defeat. Fighting with swords will not work. History has proven that religions propagate when their adherents are persecuted. Fighting with logic will also fail since religions are based on beliefs not facts. Since neither swords nor words will succeed, we are at a loss to think of a potent weapon.” In a thoughtful voice, the queen added, “Lanverness has a long history of tolerance towards all religions. It is a policy that has served the kingdom well, even contributing to our success at commerce. We would not change our way of life for this Flame God.”

  Duncan nodded. “King Ivor shares your views.”

  The queen paused at the rampart, gazing out across the city. “But such tolerance can also be our undoing. Religious fanatics are difficult to stop and almost as difficult to contain. A single fanatic at your archery tournament nearly claimed the life of Navarre’s king. The Lords of Light be praised that King Ivor will recover.” Turning aside from the view, the queen resumed walking. “A steady flow of refugees creeps across the border from Coronth. Our constables report that the refugees are terrified of the Flame priests, fleeing Coronth in fear for their very lives. Those who wish to make a new life in Lanverness are welcome, but the refugees must leave their religion at the border. With nothing but open countryside between the two kingdoms, we fear the contagion of the Flame will spread.”

  Duncan considered her words, remembering how King Ivor had spared the life of the rogue archer. The thought teased his mind. “Perhaps the refugees hold the key.”

  “How so, Lord Duncan?”

  Working with half-formed thoughts, he tried to explain, “The refugees have seen a side to the Flame God that has caused them to flee their homes…fleeing in fear for their very lives. If the people of Lanverness could see the Flame religion in the same way as the refugees, then your people might be immune to conversion.”

  The queen stopped walking and turned her sword-keen stare towards him. “An interesting idea, Lord Duncan, but how would you get the common people to see this religion from the same perspective as the refugees?”

  “Use the bards.” His thoughts raced with possibilities. “King Ivor’s son, Justin, is using his Wayfaring to train as a bard. There has never been a bard in the history of the Navarren royal family. Many on the king’s council voted against Justin’s proposal but the king overruled them, arguing that music can greatly influence the thinking of the common people. King Ivor believes that most monarchs fail to appreciate the persuasive power of a good bard.”

  “You’re saying that music can be used as another form of image? A way to reveal the true nature of the Flame God?”

  “Just so, your majesty”

  “The idea appeals to us. As a woman, we understand image better than most rulers.” In a calculating voice the queen added, “We begin to see where your idea might lead. The Rose crown could sponsor the local bards to interview the refugees, giving the bards the task of weaving their experiences into song. Music can bring the truth of the Flame God to every tavern and pub in the land.” She gave him a shrewd smile. “Truth is a thorny ground for planting twisted beliefs. In a sense, truth will be our shield against this religion of the Flame.”

  Duncan gave the queen a sideways glance; the woman was shrewd as well as beautiful. “Navarre also shares a border with Coronth...the truth should be spread to more than one kingdom. With your permission, I will write to King Ivor suggesting a Navarren bard be dispatched to Pellanor to assist with the crafting of these new songs. Once the work is done, the bard can share the songs with the seaside kingdom.” Pausing, Duncan added, “Prince Justin may also be of help, even though he is only a bard in training.”

  “We welcome the assistance of Navarre in this matter. It is in the best interests of both of our kingdoms to thwart the Flame God.” She gave him a gracious smile. “We hope your suggestion will give us a peaceful means to combat this new threat.”

  They walked in companionable silence, surveying the city from the battlement. Duncan watched as the autumn sun began to set but his mind was fixed on the queen. He’d heard so many outrageous rumors about the ‘Spider Queen’ that he’d not known what to expect. In truth, she was even more formidable than the rumors implied. The woman’s mind was extremely quick and she obviously cared deeply for her people, but perhaps her most impressive trait was the way she welcomed new ideas. Having met the queen, he understood why Lanverness was so prosperous.

  The setting sun filled the sky with a brilliant display of purples and golds, the royal colors flung like a cloak over the grand city. The queen turned to Duncan and said, “We like the way you think, Lord Duncan. We hope to have more walks with you along the parapets.”

  “I welcome the opportunity, your majesty.”

  The queen started to walk away and then turned back. “Lord Duncan, we do not usually succumb to idle curiosity, but would you mind if we asked you a personal question?”

  “As you wish, your majesty.”

  “How did you come to wear a patch over your left eye?”

  It was the one question Duncan preferred to avoid. He hated to lie but this was one secret he needed to protect. Feeling a blush creep up his face, Duncan reached for a joking tone as he gave his standard answer. “I’m embarrassed to admit that I wear the patch as a result of a fight over a woman. I won the fight but lost the eye in the process.”

  Arching her eyebrows the queen asked, “And the woman?”

  Shrugging, he replied, “The woman wasn’t worth the eye.”

  “We think it was the woman who lost.” She gave him a penetrating stare. “Have a good evening, Lord Duncan.”

  Bowing, he watched as the queen joined her guards, returning to the heart of the palace. Reluctant to leave the fresh air, Duncan lingered on the battlement, watching as the last light faded from the twilight sky. The city surrounded the castle, like a giant puzzle with pieces of every description. It was said that anything could be bought in the streets of Pellanor and Duncan did not doubt it.

  As the night descended, thousands of lanterns gave the city a faint glow, beating back the darkness. Duncan shook his head. Only the capital city of Lanverness would dare to compete with the very stars. Recalling his conversation with the queen, he wondered if the light of truth could hold back the darkness of the Flame religion. For the sake of both kingdoms, he hoped the truth would prevail.

  32

  Steffan

  Five gold bars bought Steffan five nights to win the confidence of the Pontifax. If he failed, the sixth day would find him consigned to the Test of Faith…but Steffan did not fear the flames. The agony of mortal fire would be nothing compared to the Dark Lord’s wrath. He had no intentions of failing.

  On each of the five nights, Steffan took the time to prepare, dressing in the finery of a wealthy nobleman. The plumage of wealth added weight to his words, deepening his influence with the Pontifax.

  At the appointed hour, Steffan presented himself at the Residence bearing a bar of solid gold. Servants escorted him th
rough the marble halls to a small chamber where the Pontifax and the Keeper of the Flame waited. The two high priests sat in stuffed armchairs before a roaring fireplace. A large gilded hourglass rested on a table between them. Both men wore sumptuous robes befitting their stations, the Pontifax in spun gold and the Keeper in red velvet. The room and the men both reeked of wealth and power, the perfect setting for his performance. Stifling a smile, Steffan bowed low, presenting his bar of gold.

  The Pontifax accepted the gleaming ingot, settling the heavy bar in his lap. He caressed the gold with his left hand while sipping a large glass of brandy. “Your gold has bought an hourglass of our time. Use it well.”

  Flashing a sinister smile, the red-robed Keeper turned the hourglass. Dark sands spilled from one glass to another.

  Steffan rose to the challenge. On the first night, he played to their fears. He told them of his travels to the capital city, warning of the vast numbers of heretics fleeing toward Lanverness. “If Coronth’s neighbors are flooded with refugees then the other kingdoms will have a reason to interfere in your affairs.” Steffan detected a flash of fear in the dark eyes of the Pontifax; self-preservation was always a powerful motivator. “But there is a solution.” Taking the role of the faithful counselor, Steffan offered his advice. “Keep the heretics within Coronth and leave the neighboring kingdoms undisturbed. Order the guards to capture those who try to flee. Once caught, the heretics can be fed to the Flames or put to work in the service of the faithful. In either case, a new general with a firm resolve to stop the exodus is required.” Finished, he bowed his head and waited. A flurry of questions followed, proving Steffan had touched a nerve. The Pontifax feared interference from the surrounding kingdoms, the one threat to his theocracy. Before the sands of the hourglass ran out, the Pontifax agreed to have his general take the ‘Test of Faith’, replacing him with a more zealous commander. Steffan kept his smile to himself. In just one night he’d set in motion the restructuring of the army of Coronth…and he was only getting started.