The stranger’s lips curled derisively. “But I have no desire to serve you,” he said almost apologetically.
Gerard’s lips tightened. “Then why have you come?” he demanded.
“To kill you.”
A wave of goose flesh lifted along Rhiannon’s nape at the simple comment, chasing the shock of his words. Mutely, she simply stared at the man for several moments before it occurred to her to wonder what her uncle’s reaction to the challenge would be.
He looked as stunned as she. After a moment, he managed a cold chuckle. “Kill him.”
The archer he’d commanded simply gaped at him for a handful of seconds.
“Now!” Gerard roared.
Almost, the archer seemed to shrug. Turning, he notched an arrow, took aim and fired. Rhiannon gasped, her hand flying to her throat as the bolt flashed through the air--and then shattered and fell to earth before it had come closer than an arm’s length to the man.
Gerard stared at the stranger in disbelief. “Who are you?” he roared.
The man smiled. “I am the warlock, Daigon, son of the murdered King Rhainor and I have come to claim what it rightfully mine, the Castle Aradan and all the lands that lie between it and the sea of Midae.”
Chapter Two
Gerard turned so deathly pale and then fiery red with fury that Rhiannon wondered for several moments if he wouldn’t simply drop dead from his rage. He stuttered with it when he spoke again, spitting flecks of spittle in every direction like a mad dog. “Alone?” he raged, waving a hand in the direction of the small army that waited at some distance from the castle. “With no more than a handful men? You think you can challenge me so brazenly and I will simply hand over what is mine?”
“I think you will yield up what is mine,” the warlock Daigon responded coldly. Lifting the staff he held in one hand high, he recited an incantation. Mist rose from the fields at his back. As the wind rifled it into swirls, shredding it, Rhiannon saw the dim outline of riders. Slowly the mist cleared and where once there had been no more than a small army, a great army stood.
As if at some command that only they could hear, the army began to advance slowly across the field, gaining speed as they closed the distance, the hooves of the steeds they rode pounding out a rhythm against the ground like the distant rumble of thunder. And as they grew nearer and nearer horror began to shiver along Rhiannon’s spine. The hair at her nape prickled.
Around her she heard gasps of fear, curses, muttered prayers--but she was only dimly aware of the growing horror of those surrounding her. She could not seem to tear her gaze from the riders as the dark shapes took form and she saw the pale gleam of bones, rotting flesh, eyeless sockets. Dirt clung to their tattered chausses and here and there pale bones gleamed through great tears that bore the look of sword cuts. Dirt clung to their tunics and capes that whipped frenziedly about them. Skeletal hands gripped duly gleaming swords and bony arms held them aloft. Their faces bore lipless grins and clods of rotting flesh. Rhiannon imagined she could almost see the insects crawling over the decaying flesh.
She could almost imagine she could hear eerie battle cries issuing forth from fleshless throats.
“Who are you?” King Gerard roared again, though this time his voice was laced with the high notes of terror.
Drawn by her uncle’s cry, Rhiannon glanced at him before focusing her attention on the warlock once more.
“I have told you. I am Daigon--whose father and mother were murdered by your brother, Nordain while they slept.”
Rage, fed by her terror, erupted inside Rhiannon. “Liar!” she screamed. “Liar! My father murdered no one! He was a good man, a man of honor! He would never have committed such a cowardly act!”
For the first time, the warlock, Daigon, turned to look directly at her and Rhiannon felt a jagged shock run through her. Her breath caught in her throat, threatening to strangle her. His piercing eyes seemed to delve inside of her, to know her in a way that no one ever had.
“It is the truth. Either you are lying to yourself. Or you were lied to. My family was murdered by assassins sent by your father.”
Rhiannon’s knees went weak when at last he released her from his stare and pinned her uncle with that unnerving gaze once more. “I have reconsidered. You may keep your life if you will leave peacefully, now--I will take the child of my father’s murderer in exchange for their lives.”
Rhiannon’s mind went perfectly blank with terror at that. Almost as if she was looking down upon someone else, she saw herself seize an arrow and wrest the bow from the lax fingers of the archer standing nearest her. Notching it, she drew the string back, sighted along the shaft of the arrow and let it fly. As if the commotion had drawn his attention, the warlock turned to fix her with an enigmatic stare as she launched her arrow at his heart. He lifted his hand, as if he would catch the deadly shaft. It swerved, to Rhiannon’s horror, piercing his palm.
She blinked in disbelief, fear douching her in a cold wash.
“You have your answer!” King Gerard screamed gleefully. “To arms, men!” he roared at the men along the walls.
Rhiannon had not been able to tear her gaze from the warlock. She watched as he studied the arrow in his hand almost with a look of surprise. Finally, he broke the shaft and pulled the broken piece from his hand. A slow grin curled his lips as he lifted his hand and as she watched the blood ceased to flow and the hole slowly sealed itself until his hand was whole and unblemished.
The deep rumble of his voice rolled over her and all who stood upon the wall. “Behold my army! Those you and your brother have unjustly slain!”
Rhiannon gasped, for even as he spoke the army that had been racing toward them only moments before appeared at his back, swarmed around him and urged their mounts to leap the moat.
“The princess Rhiannon, is mine!”
The command whipped Rhiannon’s head in the direction of the speaker as if some invisible ribbon had jerked her around. She saw that the warlock was staring directly at her. With an effort, she dragged her gaze from him to gauge the progress of the army of the dead. The mounted knights had vanished. Foot soldiers were swarming up the walls like spiders.
Around her, terror created absolute chaos. Men slammed into each other as half tried to flee and half raced to fire upon the advancing hoard. “Fight, damn you!” Captain Bryon roared, failing about him with the flat of his sword as he tried to rally his men. “Or I will cut you down myself!”
The men seemed deaf to his commands, mindless in their terror. There was no order and even many of those who had instinctively turned to fight, whirled to flee as the dead began to crawl over the crenulations.
The scrape of metal against stone caught her attention and Rhiannon glanced quickly toward the sound as a grinning skeleton scrambled over the wall almost on top of her. She leapt back from the nightmare creature even as one bony hand shot out to grasp her wrist. One of the men at arms fell upon it, hacking at the bones with his sword. “Run, princess! Save yourself!”
Freed from her stupor at last by a surge of adrenaline, Rhiannon fled, ducking and weaving her way through the surging mass of men and walking dead, searching for her uncle among them. When she spied him at last, she saw that he was surrounded by the palace guard and racing down the stairs toward the keep. Below, in the keep itself, she saw the mounted knights of Daigon’s army, who had passed through the massive stone walls of the castle as if they were no more substantial than mist.
They were all going to die!
* * * *
Rhiannon was gasping so hard with fright, with horror, with the exertion of struggling over the mass of bodies and around the writhing tangle of battling warriors, that she felt for several moments after she’d managed to close the massive door behind her that she would be sick. When she mastered the urge, she realized the great hall was as silent as the tomb. A hysterical sob escaped her.
How appropriate! For it would almost certainly be their tomb!
A chill crept
over her and she shivered, hugging her arms to herself as she stared uncomprehendingly around at the deserted hall. Her uncle was no where in sight, but she had seen him enter the main castle with his men.
Faintly, she heard sounds in the distance. Frowning, for it sounded more like the rattle of pots than battle, she debated whether to explore the origins or go the other way. Finally, certain that the metallic rattle and the low murmur of voices did not indicate a deadly engagement, she pushed away from the door and crossed the great hall, pausing now and again to try to discern the direction of the faint noises. When she reached the stair that wound upward toward the sleeping chambers, she realized the sounds were not drifting downward from above, but upward from below.
Frowning, she looked around. At the rear of the corridor, a door stood slightly ajar, as if it had been flung closed but not caught. It led to the guard rooms in the dungeon, she knew. She had never been down there. Few who passed through that door were ever seen again.
Ignoring the creeping of her flesh, she moved as quickly and quietly as possible toward the door and listened.
She’d been right! She could hear the sounds more distinctly. She might have turned away even so, but as she hesitated, she heard her uncle’s voice, low but unmistakable. “Leave that!” he hissed. “We must move quickly!”
More curious now than afraid, Rhiannon pushed the door open a little wider and peered down the stairs into the bowels of the earth. A single torch had been set into a sconce at the foot of the steep stone stairway, casting a globe of light over the damp stones of the walls, the hard packed earthen floor and the lower quarter of the stairs.
“Hsst! What was that?”
Rhiannon paused, her heart hammering in her chest.
“The wind!” her uncle snarled. “Hurry!”
Apparently they decided to take her uncle’s word for it, for she heard the clanking begin again, as if metal objects were being banged together. Moving as quickly as she dared down the stairs, Rhiannon paused again at the foot and glanced up and down the darkened corridor. Dimly, at one distant end, she saw the glow of a torch from beneath a door. She had only traversed half the distance when the door abruptly opened, spilling light and men into the corridor in front of her. Everyone, Rhiannon included, froze for a handful of heartbeats, staring, and Rhiannon realized with belated fear that she would likely have been skewered on one of the guard’s swords if she had managed to get nearer before they erupted from her uncle’s treasury--for she saw that that was where they were.
“What are you doing?”
Gerard’s eyes narrowed. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to find you!” Rhiannon said almost accusingly. “They are dying up there! The warlock’s army is cutting them down like … helpless children. Our men can not hope to defend the keep from such creatures! What are we to do?”
“Flee and live to fight another day!” Gerard snarled.
Rhiannon felt her jaw go slack. “You would leave them? Abandon those who fight to protect you to die without their leader?”
Gerard strode toward her, grasped her shoulders and shook her until her head rocked on her shoulders and threatened to snap. “Fool! Do you think it will help them if I die with them?”
Rhiannon caught her uncle’s forearms, struggling to push him away. “Coward!” she screamed at him.
He released her then, but slapped her so hard her head snapped sideways on her neck and the side of her head collided with the stone wall. Stunned, she slid to the muddy floor. “Fool! It’s me he wants! If I leave there will be no reason to slay them!” he growled furiously.
With an effort, Rhiannon shook off the dizziness that swarmed around her and looked up at her uncle speechlessly, wondering if he actually believed what he was saying. She could not credit it. He was obliged to know the warlock would take the castle apart stone by stone until he found his prey. “Yield,” she managed to say, though her tongue and lips felt numb and swollen. “He offered you your life.”
“For you!” Gerard snarled. “Which is why, although it pains me, you must stay.”
Dully, Rhiannon watched as Gerard and his guard, carrying as much of the treasury as they could manage, passed her where she sat crumpled on the floor and raced toward the other end of the corridor. Confusion filled her when they passed the stair.
Dimly, she recalled that there had always been persistent rumors of hidden corridors within the castle, corridors which linked every part of any importance. When the men paused near the opposite end of the corridor, fumbled with something in the wall for several moments and then promptly vanished, she knew that the rumors were not tales at all, but truth.
Struggling to her feet, Rhiannon stumbled after them, one hand braced against the wall to steady herself against the waves of dizziness that made the walls and floor and ceiling seem to undulate before her. She found nothing when she reached the point where they had disappeared but a wall.
After staring at it in stupefaction for several moments, she began to run her hands over the stones, searching for a hidden latch, a depression in the stone. When she found nothing, she stepped back to look at the puzzle in the dimness. Her eyes had adjusted to the deep gloom of the dungeon, but she could see no lever--nothing that might be used to move the stones. Frowning, she closed her eyes, summoning the image from her memory.
Her uncle had reached for the sconce on the wall!
Moving toward it, she stretched as far as she could, coming up on her tiptoes. Finally, she managed to grasp the sconce. She pulled. Nothing happened. Frustrated, she was on the point of releasing it when she thought to try to twist it. Almost immediately, the whispering scrape of stone against stone tickled at her ears. A chilling breeze, like the breath of the dead, wafted across her. When she released the sconce, the door immediately began to close. Without time to consider whether she actually wished to follow or not, Rhiannon leapt inside.
Almost instantly, she found herself in a blackness so deep it felt solid. Terror swarmed up through her like stinging insects. Hysteria bubbled in her throat. She’d entombed herself! Blind with panic, she felt around for the wall. Marginally relieved when she found it, she ran her hands over the wet stones, searching for the lever that would open the door once more.
She found nothing. Despite the chill, she was sweating with fear.
A fresh, painful blast of terror burst in her heart when a distant sound echoed eerily through the gloom. Clasping a hand over the pain in her chest, Rhiannon whirled to face the horrible creature she knew must be stalking her.
The sound came again. This time, despite her fear, she recognized it.
Horses!
Her uncle had horses waiting!
Fighting sobs of fright, Rhiannon ran her hands over the stones again until she found the corner she was seeking. Turning, she stumbled blindly through the darkness, one hand on the wall to guide her. It seemed she walked blindly for hours, fearing any moment that she would take a step and find nothing beneath her feet but air, although she knew it could not possibly have been more than a few minutes. Abruptly the wall ended.
Too frightened to move in any direction for several moments, Rhiannon strained to pierce the darkness as she turned in a slow circle. In the distance, she saw a faint glow of light. As faint as it was, it sliced through the gloom, illuminating the water that ran down the walls in rivulets and transforming the water into sparkling jewels. Fisting her hand around her long, heavy skirt, she lifted it and began to hurry toward the light. It grew brighter and brighter as she ran and she realized finally that she was in a long, curving tunnel. It was climbing. She didn’t notice the pull against her muscles at first. She thought it was the pounding of her heart and her running that caused her breathlessness. As her body labored harder and harder, however, and she found herself holding a stitch in her side, she realized the air was growing warmer, as well, and salt was carried upon it.
They heard her this time before she reached them. As she stumbled to a halt at the mouth
of the tunnel, she discovered she was facing six drawn swords.
“What are you doing here?” her uncle demanded furiously.
“Don’t leave us!” Rhiannon begged him. “Your people need you!”
An expression marred his features as if he smelled something that stank. He spat at her feet. “Do you think I mean to die for commoners? Slaves?”
Rhiannon stared at him, realizing that she didn’t really know him at all. He had always been cruel, but she would never have believed he was a complete coward. The thought abruptly recalled another and an unpleasant sensation washed through her. “You really are running! I would never have believed that you were such a coward! Is it true--what he said? Tell me!”
For several moments, she thought he would strike her down. Apparently deciding against it, he turned away from her and hurried toward the horse that awaited him. His men rushed to follow, swiftly securing the last of the bundles they carried in the packs behind their saddles.
“What he said about my father? Tell me the truth! Did my father send assassins to slay his parents while they slept?”
Ignoring her, he steadied his horse and launched himself into the saddle. Without stopping to consider the possible consequences of her actions, Rhiannon grabbed his leg. He tried to shake her loose. Failing that, he swung at her. This time she expected it, however, and dodged the blow, clinging determinedly though she knew her weight was hardly enough to prevent him from fleeing.
“Yes!” he roared furiously, his patience at an end. “My brother sent assassins to kill his king and queen! But he was not your father! Only the gods know with whom your whore of a mother slept, but it was not her husband’s child she bore--And it was not the warlock’s parents Nordain slew!”
Rhiannon was so stunned, her fingers went lax, allowing him at last to shake free of her. She shook her head, trying to make sense of what he’d said, too stunned to assimilate his words and comprehend the enormity of what he’d flung at her. “I don’t understand,” she murmured, taking a step back as he swung at her again with his fist.
The Warlock Page 2
