Getting to her feet, she saluted the valiant mare, and then set off at a lope into the heart of the forest. Trees crowded close, thick trunks draped with moss, the scent of pine and cedar lingering in the morning mist. She threaded her way through the trees while her mind sought a way to elude her pursuers. The knight marshal always said the ‘greatest advantage in battle was to out think the enemy.’ Given the odds stacked against her, she’d need a brilliant idea in order to have any chance at all. Unfortunately, her only plan was to keep moving.
A crystal-clear stream splashed ahead. Kath dropped to the ground and drank her fill, lapping up the icy water. Her reflection stared back at her, dirty and disheveled, but then she saw herself in a different way. She was the quarry in the chase, the fox hunted by the Dark Lord’s hounds. If she was going to succeed then she had to think like the fox. How would the fox use the stream? If the goblin-man could truly track the scent of her magic, then perhaps, like a true hound, he could not track the scent across flowing water.
Kath plunged knee-deep into the crystal-cold water. Keeping to the heart of the icy flow, she jogged downstream looking for a place with lots of stones littering the far bank. Finding what she sought, she firmly planted her booted foot in the muddy bank leaving a clear print exiting the stream. Five paces took her to the limits of the scattered stones. Carefully stepping onto a large rock, she hopped from one stone to another until she re-entered the stream. Surveying her handiwork, she smiled. A clear set of footprints led away from the creek, vanishing into the grass beyond. Satisfied with the illusion, she jogged back upstream, listening for any hint of hoof beats. The peace of the forest remained unbroken but Kath did not trust it.
She walked against the current, making her way upstream, scanning the banks of the creek for any advantage. A rocky ridge rose to the left and at its summit an immense oak tree stood above the autumn forest like a sentinel. That gave her an idea. She left the streambed and climbed the ridge to the tree. Old and gnarled, the oak had plenty of footholds, making an easy climb to the lower branches. Kath wriggled her way out on a thick branch, lying flat and staring south, searching for any movement. The forest spread below, a patchwork of autumn leaves, bare branches and dark fir trees. She used the stream as a marker, her gaze following it south. Basking in the sunlight, she almost fell asleep but then she saw them, a glimpse of riders crossing the stream and heading west. Relief washed through her; her ruse had worked, but the more distance she gained the better.
Kath scrambled down from the tree and returned to the streambed. Following the watercourse south, she found a break in the trees ahead. Sunlight crowned an odd-shaped hill, snaring Kath’s attention.
Something caught her foot. She tripped and fell face-first toward the rushing water. Hands out, she caught herself, the tip of her nose lapped by the water.
A face stared back at her.
Pale as death, a woman’s face stared up from beneath the shallow stream.
Kath gasped, scrambling backwards. Her heart hammering, she peered into the streambed. The face remained, a woman wearing a knight’s helmet. Wondering if it was real or an illusion, Kath reached beneath the surface. Her hand met stone as cold as the water. She sighed in relief, nothing more than a broken statue. Glancing around the streambed, she saw other pieces of marble strewn amongst the tumbled rocks. An open hand gestured a welcome beneath the cold waters. A little farther upstream, another hand grasped a marble sword hilt, and near the bank, a moss covered shield lay half buried in the silt. The stream was a graveyard of broken statues. But what were statues doing in the heart of the forest? The mystery teased Kath.
Drawn into the riddle, she decided to investigate the glade. With luck, she might find a weapon, a sword or an axe. Leaving the stream, she climbed towards the sunlit hill. The irregular contours took shape, revealing a ruined keep, the tumbled blocks of a curtain wall and a broken tower covered with moss and vines. So overgrown, so green, the ruins looked like part of the forest. She ran her hand along the moss-encrusted wall, wondering at its history. Rounding the short curtain wall, she faced a gaping doorway to a broken tower.
The doorway beckoned.
Intrigued, Kath peered into the heart of the ruins. Sunlight streamed into the circular well of a broken drum tower. An ancient oak tree rose from the center, its roots delving deep into the jumbled stones of the tower floor. Autumn leaves shimmered gold overhead, crowning a gnarled trunk more than five hands wide. Majestic and strong, the great tree attested to the age of the ruins. A hushed stillness cloaked the broken tower, as if she’d entered a cathedral.
Kath stepped through the doorway. A woman’s voice whispered in her mind, “Welcome back, Warrior of the Light.”
Freezing in place, Kath listened, hearing only the faint rustling of leaves. “Who are you?”
A flock of small birds took flight from the oak tree, spiraling up into the sunshine. A shiver raced down Kath’s back; the startled birds proved the woman had spoken without breaking the silence of the tower. Perhaps the tower was haunted, yet Kath felt no fear. Closing her eyes, she spoke inside of her mind, “Who are you?”
There was no answer.
Yearning for a response, Kath kept her eyes closed, listening for a reply. It seemed as if a long-hidden door opened in her mind, releasing the beat of a thousand wings. Dizzy and disoriented, she leaned against the wall. The mad rush of wings stilled and an image crystallized in her mind. She saw the tower whole and unbroken, in the grandeur of another time. Overhead, a corbelled vault of dark blue held crystals inset as stars. The ceiling was a marvel, portraying all the constellations of the night sky. The floor of the tower was almost as wondrous, a mosaic of blue and gold depicting a map of Erdhe. On the far wall, two stone knights supported a great stone shield that served as a mantle over a massive fireplace. A staircase spiraled around the walls of the tower leading to the floors above, stone swords embedded in each step forming a railing.
And then Kath realized she was not alone. A knight descended the stairs, a well-shaped man with broad shoulders and raven black hair. Kath felt a stab of longing. His face was shrouded in mist, yet she somehow knew him. A certainty swept through her. This man would stand by her side even against all the foes of the world. Longing to know his face, his name, she took a step forward. A thousand wings beat against her, holding her back. She fought against the wings but the vision faded, like sand pouring through her clenched fists. A feeling of great loss descended on her.
Opening her eyes, Kath found herself alone in the broken tower…a ruined echo of ancient glory. A sob escaped her, yearning for all that was lost. Closing her eyes, Kath willed the knight to return, for the tower to resume its ancient glory…but that other time was once again a prisoner of the distant past.
Taking a deep breath, Kath set out to explore the ruins, hoping to find clues to the vision. Walking around the great oak tree, she discovered the remains of the massive fireplace, only now the stone knights were dismembered and defaced. The great staircase was there as well, a broken spiral climbing part way around the tower, leading to nothing but open sky. Less than half of the stone swords remained, and most of those were broken.
Setting her foot on the first step, Kath heard the woman’s voice again. “Seek under the seventh step.”
A shiver raced down her spine. Ascending to the sixth step, Kath knelt to examine the seventh. Solid and firm, she tried lifting the step, but it remained fixed. It seemed immovable till she pulled the step forward. Stone grated against stone, as the step swung forward, pivoting to reveal a rectangular hollow beneath. Gold winked at her from the shallow space. Reaching into the hollow, she withdrew an ornate gold box, one foot long and five inches wide.
Sunlight glinted on gold, revealing intricate engravings. A shield emblazoned with an eight-pointed star dominated the center. The device was unknown yet achingly familiar. Reverently running her fingers across the lost heraldry, Kath searched for memories of another time. Whispering a prayer to Valin, she op
ened the lid. The contents took her breath away. Nestled in blue velvet, sat a crystalline dagger.
Kath reached for the dagger, a small cross-hilt with a straight eight-inch blade honed to a keen edge. The crystal dagger felt like it belonged in her hand. Raising the dagger to the heavens in salute, the pale rose-white crystal caught and held the light, appearing luminous from within.
The dagger teased at Kath’s mind, opening doors to memories she didn’t even know she had. She recognized the dagger as a powerful weapon of the Light, a weapon meant for times of great need. The dagger was crafted to be the bane of a powerful servant of the Dark Lord, someone or something far more menacing than the captain and his men. Until she was free of her pursuers, the dagger should remain safely hidden in the ruins. With great reluctance, Kath nestled the dagger back into the velvet, replacing the box in its hiding place.
As the stone step slid back into place, the piercing call of a hawk split the sky.
A premonition of danger whispered through Kath. Reaching for the steel dagger hidden in her boot, she climbed the stairs, cautiously peering over the lip of the ruined tower. Despair struck as she spied the captain and his men.
They followed the course of the stream, the goblin-man leading the troop, his head swaying from side to side as if casting about for her scent. Lathered and sweat-stained, their horses followed with their heads hung low; the captain must have ridden them hard to find a way around the gorge. Watching from her perch, Kath felt a deep revulsion, the Dark Lord’s servants should never befoul this place of Light. Sighing, she realized the tower must have fallen to the Dark long ago else it would not be broken. But a hidden power still lingered, something that should not be sullied by the Dark. Staring at the captain, her resolve hardened. If they left the stream for the ruins, she’d show herself and lead them into the forest.
As if sensing her vow, the goblin-man paused in mid-stream, casting his head back and forth like a hound nosing for the scent. A shiver ran down Kath's spine, there was something obscene about being tracked by one’s smell.
The goblin-man gave a shout, pointing up towards the ruins. The captain and his crew left the stream. Kath muttered a curse but held to her resolve. Touching her gargoyle for good luck, she sped down the tower steps and out the door. Rounding the remains of the curtain wall, she sped into plain sight. The captain shouted, “Get her!” and the last leg of the hunt was on.
Kath raced around the side of the tower, running down the hill into the depths of the forest. The slope was so steep she had to work to keep her footing. Dodging trees and leaping over small boulders, she chose a path most difficult for the horses. Brambles clawed at her skin and hair but she bulled her way through. Ignoring the curses from behind, Kath concentrated on the ground ahead. At the bottom of the hill, the forest opened up into a sun-kissed meadow. She ran hard for the golden grass, planning to make her last stand in the sunlight.
Hoof beats thundered behind. Her shoulder blades itched, half expecting an arrow, but she kept running. She wished for her throwing axes, but all she had was her Castlegard dagger. Leaping over a log, she scrambled down the steep slope, praying the dagger would be enough to take one of them into the afterlife.
Sprinting into the meadow, Kath raced toward a large boulder.
A hard stare followed her…but not from behind.
Skidding to a stop, she pivoted to look down the length of an arrow. A lone huntsman held her in the aim of his longbow.
Kath lifted her hands in entreaty. “Please help! I am being chased by servants of the Dark Lord!”
Behind her, the captain thundered into the meadow, brandishing a sword. “You’ll pay for this, girlie! You’ll pay with pain!”
Not knowing if the archer would help, Kath turned and ran for the boulder, needing to put an obstacle between herself and the mounted men. Just as she reached the boulder, she heard the twang of a bowstring. Her shoulder blade’s twitched but no arrow came. Glancing back, she saw the captain tumble from the saddle, an arrow protruding from his chest. Hope flashed through her. Reversing course, she ran to the captain, needing to be sure.
More horses galloped into the knee-high grass.
Kath reached the captain. The arrow had struck close to his heart, his life’s blood pumping bright red from of the wound. Dying but not dead, he sneered up at her, spitting in her face. “You’ll pay, girlie.” Kath did not hesitate. Her dagger slit his throat, taking the sword from his limp hand.
More arrows thrummed into the captain’s men.
Gripping the sword in one hand and the dagger in the other, Kath raced to join the battle.
Thrown from his horse, the huge Taal advanced on the archer. Three arrows protruded from his chest but still he came, like a monster loosed from the depths of hell. Kath ran forward, putting her steel between the archer and the seven-foot Taal. She crouched in a fighting stance, the Taal looming above her, the sword a toy in his huge fist.
Howling in rage, the Taal attacked. His sword was a whistle of death. Kath dodged sideways, keeping just out of reach. The Taal’s sword rent the earth, planting a deep furrow, proof of his enormous strength. Kath danced away, knowing she dare not meet his blade. He yanked the sword from the earth and slashed at her head. Kath kept moving, dodging and weaving, looking for an opening. The ogre fought like a raging bull, wild and undisciplined, but one sword swipe would cleave her in two. Feinting a strike to the giant’s chest, she dodged beneath a mighty swing of his sword. Rolling to the right, she tumbled under his reach and came up behind him. Quick as summer lightning, she lashed out with her sword, slicing the tendons of his leg. The leg crumpled and the ogre crashed face-first onto the ground. Leaping on his back, she plunged her sword deep, searching for the heart. The ogre let out one last roar and then lay still.
Drenched with sweat, she wrenched the sword free and surveyed the field. The goblin-man and his compatriot lay dead, dispatched by the archer. One of the horses lay felled by an arrow, the others milled at the far edge of the meadow.
The battle was over.
She’d live to see another day.
Overcome, Kath sank to her knees in the tall grass. She clutched the hilt of the sword, offering a prayer to Valin. Staring up at the sky, she was surprised to be alive. Golden sunshine warmed her face, the drone of insects loud in her ears. The meadow was flush with a vibrancy she’d never noticed. Kath knelt in the grass, glorying in the richness of life.
The archer stood beside her.
She felt his hard stare.
Kath shook her head, trying to clear her mind. Meeting the gaze of her unexpected ally, she gasped.
The man had the eyes of a cat!
He stared at her from behind a nocked arrow…his eyes golden-yellow with black slits for pupils. Golden cat-eyes set in a human face, just like the man chased from the inn at Ferrytown. She shuddered, wondering if she’d escaped one evil only to fall into the hands of another. Trying to suppress her fear, she reminded herself that the archer had chosen to help. “Thank you for saving me. I owe you a debt of my life.”
Cocking his head as if listening to more than her words, the archer replied, “And why is a white-eyed girl being chased by giants and dwarves? And where does a girl learn to wield a sword like that?”
The cat-eyed huntsman was tall with broad shoulders, long brown hair framing a sun-weathered face. Kath stared boldly back into his strange yellow eyes, deciding to trust her ally with her name. “My name is Kath and I am a princess of Castlegard.” Gesturing toward the dead captain, she said, “Servants of the Dark Lord abducted me. I was trying to escape when you came to my aid. I owe you my life, sir. Might I hear your name, so I know who holds me in their debt?”
The archer lowered his bow. “As strange as it sounds, it seems you speak the truth…though you are a long way from Castlegard.” Pausing, he added, “As to your debt, you saved my life when you stopped the ogre. The beast took three of my arrows yet refused to die.” The archer shook his head as if banishing a nigh
tmare. “If you feel you owe a debt, then pay it to those with eyes like mine who cross your path and are in need of help. My people are rarely welcome in the lands of Erdhe. The help of a white-eye could mean the difference between life and death.”
Kath remembered the first time she’d seen yellow cat-eyes in the face of a man. She also remembered the way the innkeeper had threatened the man with a club. Suddenly ashamed, she nodded. “I gladly accept the debt, but I would still like to know your name…and the name of your people?”
Leaning on his bow, the man gave her a piercing stare. “My name is Jorah Silvenwood and my people are the Children of the Green.” He gestured toward a dead deer on the far side of the meadow. “It’s past time I returned to the depths of the forest. Baron Roanoff does not take kindly to poachers.” Staring at her, he added, “Now that you’re free, what will you do?”
“I was traveling with an escort of Octagon knights. I hope they’re following behind. I’ll take one of the horses and try to backtrack to meet up with them.”
“Wyeth is a wild and dangerous place. Despite your skill with the sword, it’s not the sort of place a young woman should travel alone. It’s out of my way, but I’ll see you at least part way back to your people.”
Smiling, Kath bowed to the archer. In the depths of the forest, she’d found an unexpected ally…perhaps the gods listen to prayers after all.
37
Jordan
Jordan reviewed the maneuver in her mind as she stripped off her armor. Stewart had shown her a new technique for disarming an opponent, a series of tight spirals around the opponent’s sword followed by a clever binding move. The first time he did it, Jordan’s sword flew a good ten feet across the sparring ring. Of course the technique only worked with straight infantry swords but Jordan believed you could never have too many tricks when it came to warfare. She’d spent the afternoon practicing until she could execute the move flawlessly. She smiled, remembering the look of surprise on Stewart’s face when she’d stripped him of his sword. Of course, she’d need to practice till it became an instinctual move, she was sure Stewart wouldn’t mind helping her. Perhaps together they could develop a good defense to counter the new technique. Lost in thought, Jordan did not hear her sister enter the room.
The Steel Queen (The Silk & Steel Saga Book 1) Page 23
