He reached out with his mind to caress the shattered soul. “Speak to me. Now that you know me, what do you choose?”
*I walk in the Light. I walk in the Light.*
Laughter bubbled from the Mordant. “Monk, you amuse me. Pray all you want to the Lords of Light, for it will do you no good. I assure you, the Lords of Light do exist, and the gods may even hear your pitiful prayers…but the plight of a mere individual is of no concern to them. They will never answer. If you want answers, if you want action, then you are praying to the wrong god. The Dark Lord knows the number of every soul in his keeping. Serve him well and you will bask in his favors.” His voice deepened. “Look at me, monk. The Dark Lord’s favors are real. His rewards are enjoyed in this lifetime, not some vague promise of a mythical heaven. My rebirth is proof of the Dark Lord’s bounty.” He studied the soul huddled within the prison of his mind. “Watch through my eyes, monk, and learn what it is to have the favor of the Dark Lord. In the end, you will willingly offer your soul up to Darkness. Pray all you want, but sooner or later you will see that only one god is worthy of your prayers.”
He withdrew from the monk, leaving the lost soul to scream his useless prayers.
The Mordant opened his eyes. Baleful red light flooded the small cell. From experience he knew the telltale light would soon fade, but until then he was vulnerable to detection. He must hide until it receded. He’d wait within the monk’s cell, using the time to master his new body. There was no reason not to continue with his own enjoyment. His hand moved down to his stiffening rod. May the Dark Lord’s pleasure reign over all the lands of Erdhe.
83
Cardemir
Sir Cardemir paced his sleeping cell, frustrated by his lack of progress. In many ways, the monastery remained a riddle but the queen was right to fear the Kiralynn Order. The passage through the Mist had more than alarmed him. Shaking like a virgin at the marriage bed, he’d stumbled from the cold Mist into the sunshine, grateful to be alive. He didn’t like what he’d seen in the Mist, he didn’t like it at all. The Mist was a fearsome magic and he shuddered to think what else might lay hidden behind their midnight blue doors. He shook his head, remembering the old adage, never trust a man in a robe. And then there was that tea ceremony, very devious. It seemed the monks had much to hide. Mindful of the queen’s charge, he’d probed his guide with questions, but he’d yet to loosen the young man’s lips. A pity he hadn’t stashed a bottle of Urian brandy in his saddlebags. Brandy might go a long way towards befriending the pasty-faced scholar, but then he had another thought. The monks didn’t say much but they scribbled all over their walls. Grabbing a lighted candle, he went in search of answers.
Night cloaked the monastery, the perfect time to explore. Holding his candle aloft, he prowled the halls. Every wall was crowded with calligraphy, proving the monks were obsessed with their own writing. Some walls spoke of legends from the distant past while others prattled on about some obscure prophecy. Most of it seemed like a fable, a tale of Light against Dark, nothing the queen would be interested in. Frustrated, Cardemir lengthened his stride. Ignoring the writing, he focused on the painted images instead, scanning the walls for castles and knights and swords entwined amongst the letters, looking for the teeth of meaning behind the flourish of words. And then he found it…the image of a knight in a winged helm holding aloft a dagger. Light streamed from the dagger, like a blade forged from legend. Magical weapons, just the sort of power the queen would be interest in. He stepped closer for a better look.
A voice came from behind. “So you seek the crystal dagger?”
Cardemir whirled, his hand on his sword, but it was only an acolyte, another pasty-faced scholar in golden robes. “So they let you out of bed at night?” Dropping his hand from his sword, Cardemir turned his gaze back to the illuminated blade. “I couldn’t sleep, so I decided to read your walls. This one looks interesting, the tale of an enchanted dagger. Is it real?”
“Oh yes.”
“What does it do?”
“A blade of great power, a slayer of souls. Would you know more?”
The hairs prickled at the back of his neck, but the words seduced him. “Power you say.” He turned towards the acolyte, keen for answers. “Tell me more.”
“I’ll do better. I’ll show you.” The acolyte stepped close, lowering his hooded cowl.
Cardemir gasped, the acolyte’s eyes glowed red! He lurched backward, reaching for his sword, but something slammed into him. Darkness reached through his eyes, invading his mind, probing his very soul. Pain spiked through him yet he was held motionless. *Why do you seek the crystal dagger?* The unspoken words boomed through his mind. *No need to speak. Think the thought and I will hear it.*
Cardemir struggled to reply, but his mouth did not respond. His will had been severed from his body. Trapped within his own mind, the knight screamed in panic. *What are you?*
*Tell me what you know of the dagger? Are you the champion summoned to wield the crystal blade?*
The knight howled, fighting the bonds of magic. *I’ll tell you nothing!*
*Then I’ll take it from you. Ambition is the pathway to your soul.*
Pain exploded in the knight, as if a thousand daggers hacked at his mind, yet he could do nothing to stop it. Held by a Dark power, he stood mute as a statue, enduring the torture, not even a whimper escaping his lips.
*You know nothing, just an emissary of a petty queen, but why serve a mere woman when a greater power beckons?*
*What power? Who are you?*
*I could use a knight of your prowess. Ambition sheaths your soul, the endless hunger of a fifth son. Serve me and you’ll have power undreamt. The power of gold, the power of a legendary sword in your hands, the power of legions at your back.”
Visions flooded his mind, so real they seemed like a certainty. Armored in gold, he led an army south, a jeweled crown upon his helm. The wind stirred and his personal banner snapped overhead, while a bevy of lords rode close, vying for his favor. Pride and power swelled through him, all the things he’d dreamt of, all the things denied him, finally his for the taking. Entranced by the visions, a virulent hunger rushed through him. *I want it! I want it all!*
Footsteps whispered down the corridor. “Who’s there?”
*Swear it!*
He did not have time to think. *I so swear!*
“Who’s there?”
The demon-acolyte retreated to the shadows, releasing the knight just enough to turn his head, but Cardemir already knew the voice, willing the princess to turn away.
Jordan came closer, her blonde hair tousled, her face open and trusting. “Sir Cardemir? So you couldn’t sleep either. I swear I spend half my nights wandering the corridors, admiring the scripts.”
*Kill her.* The command spiked his mind.
*No, there’s no need! She’s only a girl, a friend, she’ll listen to me.* Outrage thundered through him, he’d saved the girl’s life and now this demon demanded her murder. *Let me talk to her, I’ll send her away.* A vast gaping silence was the only reply. He found himself turning, his hand reaching for his dagger. She came to him, all open and trusting. He struggled to warn her, but all he managed was a weak groan.
“Are you ill?” She closed the distance. “Your face is ashen.” She took his arm, her voice full of worry. “What’s wrong?”
The concern on her face tugged at his heart.
*Do it now*
His hand closed on the dagger. Controlled by the demon, he watched in horror as he lunged towards her. The girl didn’t have a chance. A quick thrust and the dagger slid deep into her abdomen. *Twist the blade* His hand obeyed, ensuring a mortal wound. A scream burbled out of her, a look of shocked disbelief on her face. “Why?” Jordan slumped to the floor, clutching her stomach, a pool of blood forming around her.
Furious, he turned on the demon, but Darkness still gripped him.
*Take her sword.*
*Why?*
*Take her sword.*
H
e found himself bending to draw the sword from her scabbard, avoiding the shattered look in her dying eyes. The naked blade gleamed cold in the moonlight, a blade of good Castlegard steel. Gripping the sword, he stared at the acolyte, desperate for answers. A memory scratched at the back of his mind. *I know you, you’re the acolyte-guide to the other princess. But you’re supposed to be a healer. How does a healer deal such death?*
The acolyte gave him a lazy grin. And then Cardemir heard another voice in his head, *Run!* Muffled and distant, the voice carried a slight echo, as if from the bottom of a well, or a deep dungeon. *Run! Or if you can’t run, kill it! KILL ME!* Terror clawed at Cardemir’s mind, the terror of a prisoner buried alive. And then a door slammed shut, silencing the scream. Staggered by the other voice, Cardemir stared at the fiend, a beast with glowing red eyes, a demon that walked in the guise of a man, and then he remembered the sword in his hands.
*Yes, the sword,* the fiend grinned. *Use it to kill yourself.*
Rage erupted in the knight. He fought against his bonds, fought to slay the beast, but his body would not obey. Desperate, he tried another ploy. *You promised me power! I could still serve you.*
The demon sneered. *You’d trade lies with the King of Deceivers?*
Pain roared through him. Cardemir struggled to control his own body, but the blade turned in his hands, the point positioned beneath his breast, poised for a killing stroke.
The demon turned and began to walk away, not even bothering to watch.
Horror-struck, Cardemir stared at the sword, sweat trickling down the side of his face. *You can’t do this to me!*
*Do it now.* Both hands jerked the sword upwards, striking for the heart. Pain ripped through him, his heart spitted on the blade. With a last gasp his eyes flew wide, struck by the bitter truth: he’d betrayed himself, his queen, and the princess. *Forgive me!* The agony seemed to last forever and then he fell forward, into eternal night.
84
Steffan
A mighty fist of molten metal gripped Steffan’s heart. He clutched his chest, waves of agony pouring through him. The great hand slowly squeezed, branding him with searing pain. Steffan arched his back, his mouth stretched in a wordless scream. Pain consumed him, pushing him to the edge of madness.
Just when he thought he could no longer bear it, the Hand of Darkness withdrew bringing the agony to a sudden halt. His heart beat wildly; thankful the pain was only a memory. Drenched in sweat, he lay naked on silken sheets, trying to still his racing heart. It took time to recover from his first taste of hell.
His mind raced faster than his heart. In the midst of the searing agony of the Dark Lord’s touch, the message had been clear…a rival for the favor of the Dark Lord was reborn. Somewhere in Erdhe, in the dark of the night, a harlequin had Awakened. Tonight’s visit was a warning, or perhaps a challenge, to let Steffan know he had serious competition for the Dark Lord’s favor. His service to the Dark Lord brought many benefits and privileges, but the greatest reward was longer life…more life. Only a few attained the ultimate prize of being reborn as a harlequin. Those who failed were consigned to the tortures of hell for all eternity. Having experienced his first searing taste, Steffan did not plan on failing. Whatever this unknown rival could do, he would do better.
Since coming to Coronth, he’d felt the Dark Lord’s pleasure grow, reveling in the false religion of the Flame. Given his accomplishments, Steffan had no doubt that he was a harlequin-candidate, yet nothing was promised. He needed to be relentless in pursuing the Dark Lord’s plans if he hoped to win the ultimate prize.
Thinking of the Dark Lord’s plans, a thread of fear ran through Steffan. What if the Dark Lord deserted him? Rising from the bed, he pulled on a cloak and rushed to the balcony door. Stepping out into the cool spring night, he scanned the sky. It was there, just as the Dark Lord promised, a blood-red comet blazing a scar across the night sky. Steffan sank to his knees, weak with relief. The comet was proof he still stood high in the Dark Lord’s favor.
Steffan smiled. The appearance of the comet fulfilled the prophecy he’d given to the Pontifax, a sign to rouse the faithful of Coronth and unleash the holy war. In the name of religion, tidal waves of fanatics would roll across Erdhe. Death and destruction would be Steffan’s gift to the Dark Lord, his way to earn another lifetime.
Staring up at the comet, Steffan began to laugh. Perhaps the newly reborn harlequin was the one who should fear a rival. After all, one lifetime was not enough.
85
Katherine
Kath woke with a shudder, her bedding damp with sweat. Reaching for her sword, she sat up and listened, searching for the cause of her unease, but she heard nothing. Night darkened the window panes of her sleeping cell, and the monastery seemed at peace, yet a grim feeling hounded her dreams. Something was wrong. Giving up on sleep, she hastily dressed, strapping on her sword and her twin throwing axes. Opening the door, Kath stepped into the golden hallway. Tranquility sat like a blanket on the monastery, not a sound to be heard. Her fears seemed unfounded yet a sixth sense told her to explore. Heeding the warning, she unsheathed her sword and slipped down the hallway.
The monastery was a maze. She let intuition guide her. All the hallways were empty, striped by shadow and moonlight. Sleep claimed the monastery, yet she could not shake the feeling of doom. A night breeze stirred carrying a faint metallic tang, the coppery smell of blood. Her heart racing, she followed the scent of battle.
Something dark lay crumpled at the far end of the corridor.
Moonlight spilled through the hallway. Kath gasped, recognizing the checkered cape. Fear sliced through her. “Jordan!”
She raced to her sword sister, shocked at the horror of finding two friends instead of one. “Sir Cardemir!” Spitted upon a sword, the knight lay felled by Jordan’s side. “No!” Desperate to save him, Kath grabbed the sword and yanked it from his body. The sword slid loose with a gush of dark blood but the knight made no sound, his body as still as death. A sob escaped her realizing he was gone. She closed his eyes and then turned to attend her sword sister. Jordan lay crumpled in a pool of blood, too much blood. Fear stabbed Kath, “Not you too!” Whispering a prayer to Valin, she gently turned her sword sister, searching for a wound. Her breath hissed at the sight. A deep gash cut Jordan’s abdomen, a mortal wound, a soldier’s worst fear. Tears crowded Kath’s eyes. “Don’t die on me!” She held her friend close, desperate to rouse her but she got no response. And then she spied the bloody dagger on the floor. A dagger and a sword, making it look as if the two friends had fought. The wrongness of it thundered through Kath, “A lie! A foul lie!” The monastery was supposed to be a safe haven, yet treachery stalked the hallways. Grief warred with anger. And then she realized that Jordan was still warm. A thread of hope shivered through her. Laying her friend on the golden floor, Kath whispered a fervent prayer, “By Valin, let her live.” And then another thought pierced her like an arrow, a warm body means the enemy is still near.
Kath leaped to her feet, her sword in her hand. She scanned the hall but found no movement. “Help!” Her cry echoed through the empty corridor, but no one came. An icy fear gripped her heart. Jordan needed a healer but Kath needed to find the enemy. She raced to the far end of the corridor. Moonlight glimmered on a bronze bell. She yanked the rope, frantic for help, sending an urgent peal through the monastery.
Doors opened. Pounding footsteps raced toward the tolling bell. A pair of blue-robed monks reached her first.
“My friends have been attacked, you have to help!” She pointed toward the crumpled bodies. “Which way to the outer gates?”
The first monk ran to attend the fallen but the second answered. The words were barely spoken and Kath was speeding through the corridors, racing an unseen enemy to the outer gates. The hallways seemed to stretch to forever, but then she burst through a golden door and into the outer courtyard. The gates gaped open. The enemy had fled. Kath refused to give up. She ran through the gates and spied a golden-r
obed initiate descending the hill.
“Stop and fight me!” Her words rang against the mountains. “Stand and fight!”
He turned and she knew his face.
“Bryce!” Shock brought her to a gaping standstill, her mind rebelling at the revelation. She’d liked him, yet he’d attacked her friends.
He gave her a scathing glance, contempt twisting his face, and then he laughed, a cruel mocking sound that ate at her soul.
She’d been mocked before, ever since she’d first picked up a sword, but somehow this was worse, like a sword flaying the very core of her being. Rage thundered through her. “No!” Kath refused to be diminished. And she refused to let her friends go unavenged. Gripping her sword, she hurled a challenge at the murderer, “By Valin, I’ll slay you for this!” But Bryce paid her no heed. With a cruel mocking smile, he settled the golden chain of an amulet around his neck and stepped into the Mist.
Without thinking, Kath followed. She raced down the hill, intent on closing the distance. From the monastery gates, someone yelled, “You dare not enter!” but Kath paid no heed. Steel first, she entered the Mist.
86
Katherine
White surrounded her, nothing but white. Kath kept to a run, her sword in her hand, refusing to let him escape. With every stride the fog thickened, pressing close like a smothering fist. So thick, so unnaturally thick, she slashed at the fog with her sword, but it made no difference. Cold and clammy, the mist seeped close, deadening her senses. Needing to hear her own voice, she shouted a challenge, “Stand and fight!” but her words were swallowed by the white. Frustrated, Kath pressed ahead, desperate for a glimpse of the enemy.
The mist hid everything, even the ground, but Kath refused to be daunted. Her first time through she’d expected illusions or conjurings of some sort, but none came her way. Despite the monk’s warnings, the mist was boring, nothing but cold, damp white…yet she’d felt something then and she felt it again now. She felt watched. Like ants crawling down her spine, the eerie feeling returned with a vengeance. The mist taunted her, nothing but silence and white. But then she heard something, faint at first, a whisper at the edge of hearing, but then it grew stronger.
The Steel Queen (The Silk & Steel Saga Book 1) Page 53
