The Skeleton King (The Silk & Steel Saga)

by Karen Azinger

  Trapped in a cocoon of nets, Duncan thrashed against his bonds, desperate to fight by the big man’s side.

  Krell staggered along the shield wall, bellowing his challenge…but no champion ever emerged. Instead, the soldiers trust their spears at the big man, aiming to wound not to kill. Like a pack of jackals, they harassed the last lion.

  “No!” Duncan struggled to his knees, clawing at the nets.

  As if Krell wearied of the game, he beat the spears away and rushed the shields. A single spear took him in the chest. Even then, Krell did not stop. Impaled on the shaft, he lunged forward, reaching for the soldier who’d killed him. Halfway up the shaft, the big man staggered to a stop. The swords fell from his hands, clattering to the stone floor. Groaning, Krell slowly toppled sideways, felled like a mighty oak.

  “No!” Duncan’s scream split the cavern. He struggled to stand, his arms bound by sticky webs.

  The shield wall opened, disgorging a score of leather-clad handlers. Wielding heavy clubs, the burly handlers moved among the cocooned men, beating them into submission, forcing shackles onto their hands and legs, making them prisoners once more.

  Wild with anger, Duncan bucked against his bonds. His arms remained pinned to his sides, but his right hand reached his dagger. Pulling it free, he struggled to a crouch.

  Mocking laughter beat against him. “Where do you think your going?” A big brute of a handler sneered at Duncan, thumping a club in his left hand.

  Gripping the dagger, Duncan struggled to stand. “Fight me!”

  “Why bother?”

  Snarling, Duncan lunged at the handler, seeking a warrior’s death…but the smothering web tangled his legs, making a mockery of his charge. He tripped and fell hard, the dagger skittering across the floor.

  The handler barked a crude laugh, aiming a kick at Duncan’s groin.

  Twisting away, Duncan glared up at the brute, hawking a wad of spit at his face. “Kill me and be done with it!”

  Wiping the spit from his cheek, the handler snarled. “Your life is not your own.” He brought the club down with expert blows, hitting flesh instead of bone. “Even maggots live to serve.”

  Duncan writhed in pain, longing for death. The club thumped against the side of his head, the taste of blood flooding his mouth. The world began to fade…cruel laughter chasing him into the darkness.

  35

  Katherine

  Kath dreamt of Duncan, of their wedding night in the Shield Forest. Moonlight filtered through the branches, silvering their bower like a blessing from the gods. Naked, they lay entwined beneath the great oak tree. She kissed him, reveling in his touch, in his taste, in his warmth. Tenderness burned to a deep-seated need. She ached for him. He rolled on top, his mismatched gaze full of love…but something changed. Bruises appeared on his face, his gaze full of pain. No! Kath fought the nightmare, struggling to scream.

  “Shhhhh!”

  Kath woke, reaching for a sword that was not there.

  “Shhhhh!” A raven-faced woman hovered overhead, ebony eyes demanding silence.

  Recognizing the healer, Kath shucked the nightmare, struggling to wake.

  “Come,” a whispered command. Thera handed Kath her boots, gesturing for her to follow.

  Her companions slept, wrapped in their bedrolls, the glow crystal dimmed to a pale light. Even the wolf slept, huddled close to Danya…so perhaps there was no cause for alarm. Rubbing her eyes, Kath crept from her warm blankets, wondering at the late night summons.

  The healer moved toward the chamber opening, her footfalls soft on the earthen floor. It was only then that Kath noticed she carried a candle, the first she’d seen in the caves. Why a candle instead of a glow crystal? Another riddle of the night, yet she followed without comment.

  A pair of grim-faced guards waited outside the sleeping chamber, but these were strangers, not Bear and Boar. The smaller of the two men wore the tattoo of a badger…but the larger guard bore the snarling tattoo of a mountain lion. Kath stifled a gasp. “What’s this about?” She turned to confront the healer.

  “You seek to learn our ways?” Sharp eyes stared back at her, full of judgment.

  “Yes.”

  “Then come.”

  “But the others?”

  “Just you.”

  Kath sensed Thera’s words were chiseled in stone, leaving no room for debate. She looked at the lion-faced guard and then back to the healer, but their faces held no answers. Swallowing her questions, she gave a terse nod.

  The healer whirled, setting a brisk pace, a single candle clutched in her fist.

  Kath rushed to keep up. The corridors were empty, the light dimmed for sleep. Shadows hovered close, obscuring the drawings. Kath peered through the gloom, searching for landmarks. Horses galloped across a vaulted ceiling, marking a familiar cavern. Three passageways later, the horses gave way to a pack of wolves baying at an ocher moon, but the healer did not tarry. More twists and turns followed, as if Thera deliberately sought to confuse her in a tangle of stone.

  Kath kept pace, struggling to memorize the progression of paintings. Horses, wolves, badgers, snow geese, the narrow passage opened to a long gallery, a place she’d never been before. Charcoal ravens took flight across a rocky sky. The long cavern tightened to a narrow chokehold, the low ceiling almost touching her head. Ducking low, Kath shuddered at the suffocating closeness. The den seemed an endless warren of rock. No sky, no stars, no moon, a place forgotten by time. Kath wondered how the painted people could go so long without feeling the sun’s kiss or the wind’s breath.

  Left and then right, the passage widened and then narrowed. Strange glyphs appeared on the walls. The crude drawings seemed older, more simplistic. Kath felt as if they walked backwards in time. Handprints filled an entire wall, a primitive accounting. Done in a dark reddish stain, Kath wondered if they were marked in blood. One of the hands held a sword, the first weapon she’d seen in the drawings. She wanted a closer look, but the healer forged ahead, walking deeper into the caves. Kath hurried to keep up, not wanting to be lost in the stone labyrinth.

  Light from the glow crystals disappeared, leaving only Thera’s candle.

  The smothering darkness drew near. Kath rushed to stay close to Thera, nearly treading on her heels.

  Thera’s footsteps slowed, the candlelight flickering against rough rock walls. The passage opened to a chamber that seemed a dead end…till Kath glimpsed the jagged crack running the height of the far wall. Like a bolt of darkness, a lightning-shaped crack split the rock, creating a narrow passage. A great stag protected the opening, magnificent antlers spread wide above a noble neck. Drawn in bold lines of charcoal and umber, the stag’s dark eyes seemed to bore into her soul, full of primal power.

  Kath approached the jagged opening, acknowledging the stag with a nod. “Lightning in the depths of the earth.” Awe prickled the back of her neck, feeling the breath of the gods. “What is this place?”

  “A sacred trust.” The healer stared at her, the tattooed raven supplanting the woman. “A bolt of knowledge split the earth. Do you have the courage to follow it into the depths?”

  “A test?”

  Thera nodded; the barest hint of approval in her smile. “One rarely given to outsiders.” The raven peered from the healer’s face, dark eyes surrounded by tattooed feathers. “What god do you pray to?”

  “Valin, the god of warriors.”

  “Can your god see into the earth?”

  Kath had never considered the question yet she staunchly defended Valin. “He sees into the heart of every warrior.”

  “Then pray to him now.” Reaching into her pocket, Thera removed a fresh candle. “To each soul the gods give a single Light against the Dark.” Her face solemn with ritual, she slowly waved the two candles in an intricate pattern, as if scribing a great rune in the air. “Light conquers the Dark.” She touched the two wicks together. The second candle flared bright. She offered the slender taper to Kath. “Guard it well.”

&nbs
p; Accepting the candle, Kath stared at the lightning bolt cracking the wall. “Alone?”

  “Yes.” Thera’s voice held a solemn tone. “To the very Womb of the World.”

  A feather of foreboding shivered down Kath’s back. “What will I find there?”

  “That depends on what you take.” The healer’s gaze narrowed. “Your candle is lit, don’t squander the Light.”

  The words held a note of finality. Shielding the candle, Kath stepped toward the lightning bolt. Cold air seeped out. Nodding to the great stag, she slipped through the crack.

  Darkness rushed to surround her. Her single candle cast a feeble glow. The rock walls pressed close. Musty and cold, they crowded her shoulders, a smother of rock too close for comfort. Shielding the candle, she walked forward, studying the walls, searching for animal guides but the rock proved barren.

  The earthen floor dipped away.

  Kath stumbled and nearly fell, almost dropping the candle. Clutching the taper, she regained her footing. Shaken, she leaned against the cold rock wall, her heart hammering. Without flint, the candle flame was her sole shield against the dark. She stared back toward the lightning bolt opening…but only darkness lurked behind. Taking a deep breath, she pressed on, caution in her steps.

  The steep descent continued, twisting and turning like a serpent delving into the earth. Rounding a corner, she stifled a scream. A skull stared back at her, yellowed with age. It sat in a niche, no bones, no coffin, just a hollow-eyed stare, perhaps a guardian of the cave…or a warning of things to come. Sending a prayer to Valin, she ducked past the watcher.

  Deeper…darker…colder…she followed the narrow passage into the depths…till she came to a choice. The passageway split in two, both branches equally narrow, both slanting down. Holding the candle to the rock walls, she searched for a clue, a hint about one path or the other…but she found no markings. Why give her a choice with no way to choose? Hot wax dripped like tears on her hand, goading her forward. On impulse, she took the right-hand passage.

  Kath searched the walls as she walked, hoping for a sign that she’d made the right choice…but nothing to mark the way. Down and around, the darkness grew more oppressive. Doubt gnawed at her mind, dragging her footsteps to a crawl. Her breathing sounded loud in her ears. What if she’d taken the wrong turn; forever lost in a labyrinth of stone? Icy fingers slid down her back. Feeling a cold stare, she whirled, holding the candle out…but it was just another skull, staring with vacant eyes, death keeping watch.

  Taking a deep breath, she struggled to bridle her fears.

  Candle wax dripped on her hand, more than a quarter gone.

  Kath turned a corner and the passage branched again. A sob threatened the back of her throat but she forced it down. Making a choice, she moved forward, wondering if she made a mistake.

  The passageway brought more branches, a maze of choices. Her doubts multiplied with every twist and turn. Molten wax dripped on her hand, a measure of the time lost. She stared at the candle, surprised to find it three-quarters melted. Panic threatened, crowding the darkness. Kath stifled the urge to turn and run. Darkness tightened around her, as if the weight of the world pressed down. She longed for a sword but her belt was empty. Feeling naked, she gripped Duncan’s warrior ring, a comfort in the dark. Fighting the urge to run, she forced herself to think. They’d come to the north to defeat the Mordant, but to do that, they needed allies. And that meant gaining the trust of the painted people. In order to gain their trust, she would have to trust in return. The insight stiffened her resolve. Facing the darkness, Kath clutched the slender taper of wax like a sword. “A warrior does not run.” Her whispered words formed a shield against the dark. Gripping Duncan’s warrior ring, she descended into the depths.

  A row of skulls sat on a rocky shelf at eye level, a long line of disembodied sentinels. Yellowed with age, some were half-crumbled to dust. She met their ancient stares, wondering if she walked to her own grave.

  Beyond the skulls, the passage twisted and turned; a torturous meander of stone. Her candle melted to a nub. Chased by darkness, Kath rushed through the passageway, desperate for an end. Just when she thought it was hopeless, she turned and saw the light.

  Light, warm and welcoming, a distant glow that beckoned.

  Tempted to run, Kath slowed to a crawl, wondering if it was trap. Breathing deep, she caught the musky aroma of peat; proof the light was no illusion. She crept forward, peering around the corner.

  The passage opened into a round chamber with a domed ceiling. The near half glowed golden with light, a thousand candles perched on rocky shelves…but the far half was pitch black, as dark and forbidding as a sealed tomb. A great crack, three feet wide, split the chamber asunder, like a bolt of divine lightning separating light from dark.

  Drawn towards the divide, Kath entered the chamber, stepping to the jagged edge. The great crack split the ceiling and the floor, creating a jagged gaping darkness, as if an angry god had sundered the world in two. Cold seeped up out of the depths, laden with mystery and a feeling of great age, like the first breath of the world. Kath stared into the depths, wondering what lurked below. Gripped by curiosity, she nudged a small rock over the edge. The stone disappeared, swallowed by darkness. She waited, poised on the edge, but there was never a sound, as if the great crack had no bottom.

  “Few are so brazen at the boundary of the gods.”

  Startled, Kath spun. Putting her back to the dark half, she searched for the speaker. Glowing candles filled every niche and cranny of the domed wall, tears of wax dripping down. A peat fire burned in a circle of stones, providing warmth and the loamy smells of grass and roots. A mound of blankets and sheepskins sat on the far side of the blaze. A face peered out of the mound, so wrinkled and worn that the blue tattoos were muddled to a blur.

  “Come and sit by my fire.”

  A woman’s voice, frail with age. Kath stepped away from the crack, taking a seat near the blaze.

  “Blow the candle out, dear, before it burns you.”

  She’d forgotten the candle clutched in her hand, a mere nubbin of wax. She blew it out, sending a curl of smoke to the ceiling, and then stared across the flames at the woman. So old, her face was a mass of wrinkles, only a few wisps of long white hair on her head. She sat huddled under the sheepskins as if a breath of wind would blow her away…but then Kath looked in her eyes. Dark brown eyes stared back at her, impossibly deep, wells of memory, full of power, as if they held the wisdom of the ages. “Who are you?”

  A soft cackle of laughter, “Always the first question.” The old woman smiled; a toothless grin yet full of mirth. “The oldest one, the guardian of truth, the keeper of memories, the Ancestor.”

  “Keeper of memories?”

  “The mind is full of doorways. Memories leak past the doors, around them, beneath them, images of other places, other lifetimes. And sometimes those doors open wide, revealing much that was lost.”

  Kath held her breath, thinking of her visions in the broken tower. “Why am I here?”

  “To confront the Dark, a test all leaders must take.” The woman reached into a pouch, throwing a scattering of herbs into the fire. The herbs sparkled and cracked, releasing a blue smoke, a faint scent of sage…and something else, something Kath could not name.

  The old woman gestured to the domed ceiling and the great dark divide. “Light balanced against the Dark, we are all drawn into the Battle Immortal…but some bear more of the burden than others.”

  Kath shuddered, having heard those words before, the battle immortal.

  The old woman’s voice dropped to a hushed whisper. “Deep in the bowels of Mother Earth, a warrior can feel the weight of the world.” Dark eyes bored into Kath. “You felt it, didn’t you, child, the weight of the world on your shoulders?”

  Shivering, Kath nodded, caught by the old woman’s stare.

  “You wished for something when the earth settled on your shoulders…what was it?”

  The words whisper
ed out of her. “A sword.”

  “And something else?”

  “Duncan.”

  “War and love, an unlikely pairing.” The old woman rocked back and forth, eyes closed, humming a wordless tune.

  Lulled by the scents of sage and burning sod, Kath leaned toward the fire’s warmth, listening to the old woman’s wordless song, thoughts of Duncan tumbling through her mind.

  Dark eyes snapped open, a piercing gaze. “Why did you come north?”

  “To fight the Mordant.”

  The old woman reached beneath her blankets…unsheathing a dagger. “With this?”

  Kath gasped; the crystal dagger.

  A hand as frail as a bird’s claw held the dagger aloft, firelight dancing along the milk-white crystal. “An ancient weapon, a dagger of Light, formed by the powers of earth and magic…a weapon that evokes the oldest of memories.” The old one blinked, slow like an owl, her eyes pools of mystery. “The tall knight carried it…but it is not his to wield.”

  “No.”

  “How did it come to your hand?”

  Kath yearned to hold the dagger, a burning need that welled inside of her. “I found it in a ruined tower, deep in the heart of Wyeth.”

  “And it’s purpose?”

  “To slay the Mordant, so he can never be re-born.”

  The old woman nodded. “A soul-slayer, a powerful weapon of the Light…borne by an unexpected champion.” More herbs were thrown on the fire, creating a blaze of sparks. “Only an old soul can wield such a blade.” The old woman pointed the dagger at Kath. “Tell me, youngling, what memories do you harbor in your soul?”

  Kath shivered, remembering the Star Tower. “A broken tower, deep in the forests of Wyeth…I saw it whole and at the peak of its glory. I wore armor, a great sword belted to my side…and there was a man, another knight, his face more familiar than my own…” Kath shook her head. “A fragment of a dream…I don’t understand.”

  “I think you do. Some destinies are stamped on our very souls.”