“No, Brother,” the knight replied.
“Good. It is a standard tactic, but I am surprised that they waited this long to collapse it. Should you enter any other tunnels, be wary—they no doubt delayed in hopes of catching us.”
The Northmarchers talked softly among themselves, and slowly moving away from the platform, they scrutinized the floor. Moving past them, Nelerek walked to the edge of the room. Paxton gladly followed him, and he found his attention drawn to the bizarre wall carvings.
Nelerek also seemed interested in the bas-relief. He ran his hand along the wall. The Northmarchers had almost reached the spot where he stood when, suddenly, Nelerek pushed forcefully against the wall. Paxton jumped as the wall swung inward.
“A hidden door!” one of the Northmarchers exclaimed.
A muffled whimper came from beyond the door.
“Oh, gods,” Nelerek whispered.
“He’s found him!” someone shouted.
Pandemonium erupted. The Northmarchers rushed forward as the word passed back that Morticai had been found. Nelerek dropped to his knees in the closet and pulled Morticai toward the door. Morticai whimpered and tried to pull away. Nelerek began to cry—deep, racking sobs that shocked Paxton to the core. Paxton was, himself, unintentionally shoved into the closet by the anxious Northmarchers.
“Do not move him!” the Inquisitor shouted.
And then, Paxton got a clear view.
Somehow, the Inquisitor pushed his way in. “Careful!” he said. “Let me to him! We’ve found him alive, so now, let those of us who are trained take care of him.”
Nelerek slid out from behind Morticai, allowing Coryden to push forward, lift him up, and cradle him in his arms. Trembling, Paxton grabbed Nelerek’s arm and helped him to his feet. The Inquisitor and his assistant shouted orders to those around them as Paxton and Nelerek emerged from the press.
Nelerek leaned against him, and Paxton pulled him closer.
“Oh, gods,” Paxton whispered to him, “I’m sorry, Nelerek. Gods, I’m sorry.”
“His eyes,” Nelerek whispered. “His eyes.”
Another of the Arluthian Brethren approached them, one who Paxton suspected was of higher rank.
“Brother,” the newcomer said softly, “we all feel your loss. Your Ward’s accomplishments will not be forgotten. You obviously taught him the path well.”
“Don’t speak of him as though he were dead!” Nelerek replied sharply.
“I meant no harm,” the Arluthian replied, dipping his head politely, “but I ask your forgiveness. Dead or alive, we will not forget what has happened here. Nor will the Droken be allowed to so harm one of our own and not pay for it. Thy vengeance is our vengeance.”
“Forgive me, Brother,” Nelerek whispered. “And thank you.”
The Northmarchers moved away from the closet as the Inquisitor prepared Morticai to be transported to the Sanctorium. Nelerek approached Coryden, and for a moment they stood together, staring at each other without speaking.
“They’ll pay,” Nelerek said. “It has always been our mandate. This,” he gestured to the temple, “is not payment enough. They shall pay dearly.”
“Yes,” Coryden replied, “they’ll pay dearly, and then some. But his eyes … it would have been more merciful for him if they’d just killed him.”
Nelerek blinked in surprise. “Nay! It is easy to think such now, Coryden, but you will not think so later.”
Coryden sighed heavily. “Perhaps.”
They were interrupted by a group of Arluthians who entered the temple from the opposite side. Before them marched a group of Droken. The prisoners’ hoods were thrown back to reveal their faces, their once-fine robes hung in tatters, and their hands were tied behind them.
A low, wordless growl echoed through the large room.
The Inquisitor emerged from the closet, leaving his assistant to continue treating Morticai’s wounds.
“Brother Glaedwin—they have crossbows,” a knight addressed him, pointing to the illegal weapons the Arluthians carried.
“It is all right, Sir Vathan,” he said. “They carry them in the name of the Faith.” He winked at the lead Arluthian.
“These decided to try to leave, Father,” the Arluthian said. “We caught them in the sewers.”
The Inquisitor walked up to a Droken who wore red robes that were embroidered in black and gold.
“Ellenwood,” Nelerek said in a soft voice that was almost a hiss.
“Well, Sir Ellenwood,” Rylan addressed the silent, glaring Droken, “I see that this foray is not a total loss. It appears that Morticai’s suspicions of you fell short of even his imaginings. It shall be a pleasure to report to the Grand Patriarch that we have apprehended Droka’s High Priest in Watchaven.”
Ellenwood spat on the floor. “May Droka take you all!”
“I doubt it,” the Inquisitor dryly replied.
“Rylan!” Geradon’s said. “I shall be needing your assistance.”
As Rylan turned to answer, Coryden began to move slowly toward the captured Droken. Nelerek noticed and touched Paxton lightly on the sleeve. “He shall most certainly kill them,” he whispered to the innkeeper.
“Should we stop him?” Paxton whispered in reply.
Nelerek shook his head. “No, he has the right.”
It was not until Coryden stood before Ellenwood that anyone else realized what he was about—or those who did, like Nelerek and Paxton, did not feel inclined to interfere.
“You son of a demon!” Coryden grabbed the priest by the throat and shook him as a terrier does a rat. His dagger seemed to leap into his hand. “Droka can have you now!” As the knights rushed to grab him, Coryden struck upward, under Ellenwood’s ribs, and plunged the dagger into his heart. Ellenwood screamed and fell back, and Coryden followed him to the floor, still stabbing. It took six strong knights to pull the Northmarcher captain away from the corpse.
Chapter Eighteen
The first sensation he felt was that of a woman’s hand, gently stroking his brow. It was soothing, and Morticai sought to open his eyes to see whom it was.
Morticai gasped. Suddenly, heavier hands fell upon him, holding him down. He struggled. He heard shouting, and then a woman’s voice—it was a voice he knew—spoke in firm, calming tones.
“Peace, child! We will not harm you. Moranekor!”
Stunned, Morticai stopped struggling.
“Calm thyself, child. Lie still. You are safe. No harm will come to you. You are safe!”
Someone stroked his brow again, but the hand was different. He tried to put a name to the woman’s voice. He knew he’d heard it before.
“Mother?” another, familiar voice whispered.
Mother Edana! And Heather! Morticai began to tremble and whimper.
“Shhh,” Mother Edana’s voice soothed. “It is all right, child. You are safe.”
“M-mother Edana?” he whispered.
“Yes, child,” she replied.
He trembled all the more.
“Fear not, child,” she said, and he felt her take him into her arms. “Your friends rescued you. You are in Grandhaven Sanctorium.”
“Truly?” he whispered.
“Truly,” she said.
A moment later, the other’s hand lifted his. He felt skin, and realized that she had taken his hand up to her face.
“Can you feel me, Dyluth?” she asked.
“Heather?” he called.
“Yes!”
It had to be Heather. It had to be. He felt another’s touch now, and a sob escaped him as he moved into Heather’s arms. She started to cry.
“Now, children,” Mother Edana said softly, yet firmly, “you must both stop this mourning. Hold each other and find peace. You are together, and you are safe. Be thankful for that.”
M
orticai suddenly realized that his wrists felt odd. He felt them and discovered the thick bandages that swathed them. He brought his hand up and found that his head had also been wrapped in cloth.
“You must leave the bandages alone, Morticai,” Mother Edana said. “I will be changing them shortly.”
He let his hand drop and felt something else—something hard that hung around his neck. His hand closed around it as he tried to discover what it was.
“That is a very sacred relic, Morticai,” Mother Edana informed him. “You are wearing the holy sign of Glawres that was worn by Levani Menahen. Patriarch Phelim had a dream that told him to bring it to Inquisitor Glaedwin. You must leave it on at all times, until you are completely healed. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” he replied. He lay back against Heather, allowing the scent of her perfume and the sensation of her touch to encompass him.
“Perlagus?” Heather asked.
“Yes,” Mother Edana replied. “I will bring him, and Captain Coryden, but not yet. First, the two of you need some time together.”
Coryden. There was something about Coryden that tried to edge its way into his mind. He tried to push it away, but it kept returning to trouble him. He wanted very badly to hear Coryden’s voice. He needed to, to tell him something?
“Dyluth,” Heather whispered. “It will be all right.” She hugged him closer in response to his tenseness.
“Coryden,” he said. “There is something. Heather, I must see Coryden.” He realized what he had just said, and a sound—part sob, part crazed laughter—escaped him.
Heather followed with a sob of her own. “Don’t think about it,” she cried. “Oh, my Dyluth!” She began to rock with him in her arms. “There will be plenty of time for you to talk with Coryden about …”
“No!” Morticai exclaimed, as memories returned. “No! Heather, I must talk to him now! Oh, Glawres, I’ve got to warn him.”
“I shall fetch him,” said Mother Edana. Morticai could hear her robes rustling as she rushed from the room.
* * *
“Are you certain about this?” Nelerek asked Coryden.
Coryden paced to the end of the small room.
“I don’t see that we have a choice,” Berret interjected. The squad sergeant sat on the edge of a bunk in the small room Coryden’s squad had been quartered in.
“Good heavens, man,” Nelerek replied, “what if they don’t believe you? You may be taking your entire squad to the executioner!”
“I’m afraid I agree with Berret,” Coryden said. “I don’t see that we have any choice. We cannot convince King Almgren that a Droken army lies to the north—but the Northmarch …”
“Why should they believe you any more than King Almgren, Coryden? You deserted! You have no proof other than Dyluth’s word of what he saw on the maps. Of course, you and I trust his word, but will they? If you had the maps to show them, you’d have a chance—but Ellenwood obviously destroyed them, or else Luthekar took them.”
The door opened, and Sir Dualas entered.
“Good news!” he exclaimed.
He handed Coryden an envelope that was marked with the elaborate seal of the Faith.
“What’s this?” Coryden asked, and started to open it.
“No!” Dualas caught his hand. “Do not open it. That is a letter from the Grand Patriarch.”
Coryden looked at him uncomprehendingly.
Dualas smiled. “It is for the Northmarch high command. It informs them that the Faith has proof that a Droken army lies to the north, and that you and Berret’s squad were ordered into service with the Inquisition.”
Coryden laughed. “Does this answer your fears, Nelerek?”
Nelerek shook his head, then nodded “I suppose so.”
Evadrel entered. “We’re ready,” he announced.
Coryden rose. “Well, this is it, then.” He grasped Dualas’s forearm in a soldier’s farewell gesture. “Thank you, friend, for this,” he said, raising the sealed letter. “I wish you were coming with me.”
A smile crossed Dualas’ face. “But I am.” His smile broadened. “You didn’t give me the chance to tell you—the Inquisitor has released me to go with you. This will add further weight to the letter, for I am the witness who saw the Grand Patriarch sign and seal it. Will they doubt my word that it is authentic?”
* * *
Coryden hesitated outside the door that led to Morticai’s room. After a moment’s pause, he rapped softly.
“Who is it?” came Morticai’s voice.
“Coryden,” he replied.
He was about to open the door when Morticai himself opened it.
“Hi,” Morticai said. He clung to the edge of the door. “I didn’t think I’d get to see … ah, that you’d get to come by before you left.”
“Morticai,” Coryden said, “what are you doing out of bed?” He stepped into the room, closed the door, wrapped an arm around Morticai, and started to escort him back to the bed.
Morticai sighed. “Oh, Coryden,” he said. “Captain … Coryden, I’m sorry. I’ve failed you. I’ve failed the squad.”
“You’re sorry? Coryden said, confused. “Failed me? What the Darkness are you talking about?”
“I was so stupid,” Morticai said, shaking his bandaged head. “I mean, I deserved what I got, y’know—I should have, I should have known better.”
“Oh, gods, Morticai,” Coryden said, rolling his eyes. He realized that Morticai would miss such visual cues. He wanted …with a shock, he realized that he wanted eye contact with him so he could see how frustrating this was. Instead, he grabbed Morticai’s hands and moved closer. “Listen, I …” He didn’t know what it was he wanted to say, and he could feel his emotions slipping out of control again. “Morticai,” he began again, “it wasn’t your fault, damn it! You didn’t know what you were going into, that’s all. I’m just glad you’re alive.”
“Coryden … I …” Now it seemed Morticai was the one lacking for words.
“Oh, bloody hell!” Coryden decided to let control slip away—just this once, and to Morticai’s surprise, embraced him. Morticai relaxed and returned the embrace, and for a short while they sat in silence. Coryden tried to think of something to say, but nothing seemed appropriate. After a moment, he released Morticai and fought to regain his composure.
“I’ve got to be going,” Coryden said slowly.
A slight smile briefly lit Morticai’s face. “I know,” he replied. “I’m going to worry about all of you, trying to sneak past Watchaven’s scouts.”
“Oh, we’ll be all right. Will you promise me you’ll do everything they tell you to? To take care of yourself? To stay … uh …” Coryden trailed off as he realized what he was about to say.
Morticai’s smile returned. “Yeah, Captain—I’ll stay outta’ trouble.”
* * *
The itching was driving him mad!
“No!” Heather cried. “Don’t scratch!”
Morticai stopped his hand before it reached the bandages that covered his eyes.
“I’m sorry, Heather,” he said. “But it’s driving me crazy!”
She took his hands in hers. “I shall sit here and hold your hands all night, if it is what I must do.”
Morticai smiled. “I can think of better things to …”
“Dyluth!” she scolded him.
Morticai sighed. “I know. But having you so close – so often. It’s almost as bad as the itching!”
“Perhaps I should stay away?”
“No! Oh, Heather,” he said, “don’t go.”
She took him in her arms. “I was teasing,” she said, “and you knew that very well.”
Morticai smiled. “But it got you even closer.”
She giggled. “What am I to do with you!”
“Well,” Morticai said, “s
ince you won’t do what I’d really like, why don’t you tell me what you found out today at the palace. Have the armies met?”
“No, not yet. They said that it would take five days for both armies to reach Mid-Keep.”
“And they’ve been gone how long?”
“They only left yesterday morning, silly.”
“I’m worried about Coryden and our squad,” Morticai admitted. “I fear they’ll be caught by Watchaven’s scouts.”
“You yourself said that if anyone could sneak past the scouts, it was Coryden,” she replied.
“I know. But Coryden left after the army was already on the march. If he was able to get past them yesterday, he should be all right. There wasn’t any word about spies being captured, was there?”
“No, not a bit.”
Morticai sighed in relief. “Well, I can hope they made it through, then. Did Lord Jendall go with the army?”
“Of course,” she replied. “You need not worry, if that is what is in your head, lover. You have nothing to fear from Jendall.”
“Sure, as long as he’s out of town,” Morticai retorted.
Heather laughed. “No, that’s not what I meant. I have already spoken to him. He knows that you are injured and that I am staying with you as much as they will allow.”
“Heather!”
“There’s nothing to worry about,” she repeated. “You must trust me. He is very different from Lord Ullock, my dear. He would never harm you, just because we are close. However, I did find out something else that you might be interested to hear.”
“Oh?”
“Well, my sweet, now that the king and most of his nobles have left with the army, I found people a little more willing to talk with me.”
“You mean, about that order?”
“None other. You’ll be shocked when you hear who issued it.”
“Heather, don’t tease! Who?”
“Prince Edris.”
“Edris? Which one is he?” Morticai knew that Edris was one of King Almgren’s many sons, but had long ago quit trying to remember who was where in the line of succession.
Morticai's Luck Page 25
