“I am Father Keegan. How did you know of our arrival?”
“Scouts,” was all Captain Brent offered by way of explanation. “Keegan. Yes, we were told you’d come. You’re later than we expected.” He motioned for them to follow the obvious trail.
Keegan led them into the increasing silence of the vale of Ravenscroft.
Ashley couldn’t shake the queasy feeling. His dread mounted as they were led further along the trail. They passed gnarled low trees and twisted columns of stone that he had not noticed during the first visit. He manoeuvred himself closer to one of the escorting Swords.
“Where are the Shadowcasters?”
“Safely under the control of the victor,” the Sword replied tersely. The look he shot at Ashley convinced him that further chatter was unwelcome. The man looked haggard and angry.
Ashley noticed that a few of their escorters were positioned at the tail end of the Lightgifters’ procession. He thought it strange, but then so was the vale they were in.
Everything they passed was tainted a different shade of black. Black oaks arched over the trail, searching the sky with their wizened limbs. The grass grew in dark clutches, slightly greener than midnight. Coal black, peat black, soot black. It felt as if the landscape was feeding on the warmth of their bodies as they passed across it, leaching their will with its hunger for heat. Ashley could see some of the Gifters sneaking the power from their essence to warm themselves, though they had been strictly forbidden to do so by Father Keegan.
The Swords led them around tilled fields of jurrum. They passed over a high plain that was empty of any sign of life. Then they neared the giant Keep of Ravenscroft.
Even though Ashley had the advantage of experience, he felt no less dread than his companions. The Keep lurked, there was no better word for it. The sensation of walking toward the mouth of a vast watching beast was unshakeable, despite the company of the Sword and Captain Brent’s reassurances that Ravenscroft was conquered.
They halted on the cleared ground at the Keep’s entrance. Captain Brent addressed them when everyone had assembled.
“Thank you for answering our appeal. Your Light will do wonders here. But first, we have prepared a meal, so you may gather your strength before the heavy task. Come inside.” The Captain even made the effort to smile.
Ashley was surprised that they weren’t being taken to the men who needed healing, but Father Keegan didn’t challenge Brent’s announcement. They were the Swords, after all, the trusted King’s men. Their honesty not in question. Their very presence was reassuring.
They trooped after Captain Brent into the arching entrance of Ravenscroft. The lofted corridor filled with the tramp of many feet.
Flaming brands had been set in the walls along the way, revealing a well-worn, sloping passage. The black rock glistened in the torchlight. They came to a turn, and descended into a wide, round chamber with a concave floor. Here many torches were set in high braziers. The chill had been taken from the air.
A grand table had been set, with benches long enough to hold everyone. The table was loaded with fruit, meats, breads, and delicacies. Barrels of wine cluttered the walls. Some of them had been rolled and taps struck into them.
Nothing could have been more welcoming. Ashley realised that he had misjudged the sober expressions of the Swords—they were merely tired, not unhappy to receive the Lightgifters.
“The spoils of war!” Captain Brent announced. “Please, eat your fill, everyone. We shall join you for the meal. We all need to be strong, for what will come.”
The feasting began with concentrated fervour. Ashley soon found himself on his third portion of meat, and deep into a second mug of the warming wine. It was similar to what he remembered of the Dwarrow-wine, though not as cripplingly potent. Still, he wondered if the warmth it offered was real warmth, or just a numbing of the nerves which felt the cold. He set his mug aside. Very few of his companions followed his example.
The revelry gathered momentum as the last of the day expired outside the Keep. There was an atmosphere of congratulation within the chamber. They had all endured hardship, and deserved the comforts they were awarded. The barrels which had been breached were drunk dry and new ones were struck.
Light essence slipped from many of the Gifters’ auras, and pooled softly in the centre of the chamber. There was no danger in letting go, for the sprites could be collected easily, and would come to no harm resting in the pool together.
Ashley tried his drink again, hoping it would quell his increasing unease. But the wine didn’t help. Something was not right.
“Where are the Shadowcasters?” he asked of a Sword who stood nearby.
“We locked ‘em in their own dungeons. It’s a foul, cold place down there. You’ll get to see ‘em soon enough, I’m sure.” The man winked, but his eyes seemed cold.
It’s the wine, Ashley told himself. Jumping at shadows again.
He turned his attention back to the feast, but his appetite had abandoned him. Ashley rose and pushed through the carousers to the exit. He summoned a handful of sprites to be used in a Flicker spell, should he need it.
“Where are you going?” The Sword had a strange manner, it was almost a confrontation, not a question.
“River for ablutions,” Ashley muttered, pushing past the sentry.
The Sword nodded, letting him go.
This place is driving me mad, Ashley thought. I’d swear that Sword just reached for his blade when I approached. The strange pressure of the Keep was making even the Swords jumpy, despite their victory.
He trotted down the passage to the main entrance chamber. Again he encountered Swords blocking the way, and they were even more reluctant to let him pass than the first sentry. They couldn’t offer a good reason to detain him, though, and they seemed uncertain of what to do. His persistence gained him the right to a quick trip to the river.
He passed out of sight of the sentries. The cold wind bit into his flesh, numbed only by the wine in his veins. The black shadows of building rain-clouds claimed the purpling sky. It was a bad time to be having second thoughts about staying in the Keep.
Better to be inside in the warmth of wine and song.
A flash of movement drew his attention to a white bird weaving madly through the sky. Two dark, swooping forms chased it with harsh croaking cries. Morrigán. Ashley hadn’t seen any during the approach to Ravenscroft, but hadn’t expected to—if the Shadowcasters were conquered, they should not be using their magic. Overhead, the two ravens dived and sniped at the smaller Courier. Their presence proved that there was still at least one Shadowcaster who was free, for every Morrigán would have a master. The Dark was not conquered, at least not in full.
Cold hands reached into his belly.
The little dove shot overhead, pushing hard against the wind to outpace the pursuit. The errant messenger was still following him, despite the harassment and the cold, unpleasant vale. Ashley had vowed to receive the message, but he had failed every time. In a desperate bid, he shouted his command to the air.
“Alight, messenger, and deliver your word!”
The dove swerved, and bore down on him at top speed. He knew the Courier would pull its flight up short to land on his outstretched hand, so he was slow to react when it didn’t. The impact flattened him. The sprites stung, as no sprites had before. A most novice spell indeed, but powerful. There was only one person he knew who could create such an intense spell with so little aptitude. Her voice was scattered, but it was unmistakably Tabitha Serannon he heard.
“Rector Shamgar is working with the Shadowcasters. You must stop the Lightgifters, they are walking into a trap.”
The sprites lay scattered amongst the rocks. Ashley didn’t move. He lay in the gully where he had fallen, his head spinning.
It is too late. We have already entered the trap. If a trap it is.
The Swords were the teeth who would keep them from escaping the jaws of Ravenscroft Keep.
But why would
the Swords be in league with the Dark?
If Captain Brent and his men were in league with the Dark, why offer the meals and drink, why not attack as soon as the Gifters had entered the Keep?
Why do they wait?
The cold which seeped into him from the ground provided an answer. When night fell, the Shadowcasters would be in the height of their power. The Lightgifters would have fallen beside their tankards, snoring the lethargy of their feast away. It would not be a battle. It would be an annihilation. And they with all the Light essence of the Dovecote.
He had to get word through to Father Keegan. If the Father had warning, maybe all would not be lost. He realised too that if he went back to warn the Gifters, he might never escape himself.
“Kid said ... river ... minutes ago.” Snatches of voice were threaded on the wind. Ashley backed into a hollow.
A closer voice startled Ashley to silence.
“Well, we’d better find him. Our Master will not be pleased to lose even one Gifter to chance.”
Ashley tried to sink deeper into the gully. He could hear footsteps crunching in the gravel.
“He’ll come to the fire. There’s a bad storm brewing.”
Ashley couldn’t make out the reply, but the footsteps ground away from him. Despite his pounding heart, he risked peeping over the edge of his cover. He had to know.
A steel helmet glistened faintly as the man marched away into the deep shadows.
It was a Sword who had spoken, not a Shadowcaster.
The first few drops of rain, flung by the storm winds, spattered the ground. It was almost nightfall. Thunder boomed from deep within the Zunskar Mountains, heralding that worse was hastening on its way toward the vale. Ashley staggered to his feet, and leant against the foul weather. His head spun. He suspected it was the legacy of the wine; there had been other things besides matured grapes in the blend.
His legs were unsteady. He turned from the Keep and headed deeper into the vale. He was going to need shelter soon.
He strained his eyes against the failing light and gathering rain, but the walls of black rock beyond the Keep were smooth and unbroken. He trudged on, feeling cowardly and afraid. He should be saving the Gifters from the trap not hiding from peril. Rain stung his back through his robe. He used his last few sprites to warm his body, but the warmth leached away almost at once. His vision blurred. His heart beat like an unsteady drum in his ears.
He had almost resolved to return, regardless of the trap, when he spied the cave. It was cold inside, but dry and spared from the wind which howled past the mouth.
A crack of lightning split the sky. In its flash, he saw that the cave extended deeper than he’d thought. A smooth, worn passage led into the dark. The instant of brilliance was gone. His brain fizzed. The thunderclap that followed was hard and deafening, and it echoed from peak to peak through the vale outside. His ears continued to ring in the dark. The significance of the worn stone eluded his fading logic, and he sighed as he slumped to the floor in the dark.
The wicked wine claimed its victim.
* * *
He dreamt a vivid scene which began in a large dining chamber. Torches guttered above the slumped forms of the Lightgifters, who littered the benches and the floor equally. Swords stood by, guarding those who remained conscious. Ashley guessed there had been some intoxicant in the food as well as the drink, for so many Gifters to be downed. A grim Father Keegan gazed fixedly at an empty tankard. His brow was deeply creased. He slammed the tankard on the table, leaving the handle bent askew.
Ashley dreamed he saw a woman appear in one of the shadowed exits. She watched Keegan with a sultry smile. Ashley recognised her instantly. Gabrielle, the dancer in Fendwarrow, the woman who lingered in his dreams. Her low dress was of sheer, black silk. It clung to the alluring curves of her body, leaving only her pale neck and deep cleavage exposed to the dim flames. Her cloak was clasped at her throat by an orb of pure black.
Ashley tried to cry out a warning to Keegan in his dream, but he could create no sound against the deafening silence. He watched in horror as Father Keegan strode through the untended pool of sprites. Keegan drew enough essence to create a small Flicker spell in his hand. He slipped unnoticed from the chamber and followed the faint swish of departing silk.
Darkness finds a weakness, and there it will swell.
The thought was a whispered voice, and he couldn’t be sure it was his own. Ashley wanted to make the dream follow Keegan, and his mind seemed to latch on to the Father’s presence. It had been a while since he had snooped. It was just a dream, he told himself. It couldn’t hurt to follow.
He saw through Keegan’s eyes. Lust for Gabrielle ached through every fibre of his body, and he knew that he must have the woman he followed. He had never felt such a roaring need before. Duty to the Lightgifters was a pale and distant thing, when placed beside the urgent demand of consummation. To touch the pale curves which remained just beyond reach, to gain possession of the seductress whom he had refused for so long was all that mattered. Many nights in Fendwarrow had been wasted in denial of her offers, nights wasted in service to the Light. For too long had that aching desire been spurned.
It all rested on a choice.
Tonight, she was his reward.
Her promise was full of conviction. She would satisfy his passion if he could just catch her. His life had been one long road of longing, leading him to this moment he deserved. How many months had he refused her, though he’d wanted her so badly? How many nights had she visited his dreams, until he could think of nothing else but returning to Fendwarrow, returning to her room, taking what she had offered.
She was the drop of dew on the rose petal waiting to be kissed. She was dark, and perfect. Keegan broke into a run, down and down on the winding stair, as his mind was teased and touched by deepening desire. And always, she managed to stay just out of reach, laughing with a throaty breathlessness, so close he could smell her scent.
Gabrielle’s presence drew him on, her overwhelming power held him firm, pulling him closer, ever closer. Her laughter called to him, he thought of her body moving inside the shifting fabric of her dress, a dress that was slowing, turning. His fingers brushed the curve of a breast, sending a wild craving through his arms. A gentle hand on his chest sent fire to his loins. Full lips whispered in his ear.
“You will not believe the pleasure I can give you when you are filled with your Light essence. That small Flicker spell you have is not enough. Go back, summon all you can bear, and bring it to me. No one shall be able to distract you from your task. Hurry. Your reward awaits.”
His lips were whetted by a warm, delicate tongue, and his lower lip was sucked outwards. Desire exploded through his veins. Then she was gone, and he was left quivering with unreleased tension. He turned, as he knew he must, and strode with Keegan’s large stride. The passage was clear before Keegan, yet Ashley struck a rock.
The dream link was severed, his vision of the passage dissolved with sudden pain. Ashley was brought rudely back to his senses. He was standing, with an aching leg, in complete darkness. It took him some time to recall where he was.
When I slept, it was in the mouth of cave. Or was it a passage? How far have I walked into the labyrinth beyond?
He spun around in panic. It was pitch black.
What was real, and what the dream?
He found a wall, and trailed his hand on it to guide his steps in the dark. A faint light outlined the mouth of a passage some distance from him. The source of light bobbed along, as if being borne by someone walking with a torch. Ashley backed away until his legs struck a boulder. The light approached swiftly.
Ashley slid around to the shadowed side of the boulder, and crouched in waiting. He didn’t know who to expect, but in the bowels of Ravenscroft, he didn’t want to be discovered by anyone.
He drew a quick breath when the figure entered his passage. The halo of light revealed a familiar face. Father Keegan’s white robe billowed out behind h
is legs. The small Flicker spell waved and guttered in his hand, pulled by the wind of his passage. Sprites were lost from the tattered column of flame, and they were blown onto his chest and over his broad shoulders, streaking up his robe with illusionary fire which curled and vanished into the darkness behind his head.
The stuttering light played across the Father’s face, catching his jutting beard and thick frowning eyebrows with radiance, and leaving the hollows of his cheeks dark. He rushed through the cavern like a charging bear.
Ashley was about to rise from his seclusion and announce himself, when he caught a glimpse of Keegan’s eyes—a wild, faraway gaze, like that of a hound about to howl at the moon. Fear gripped Ashley’s limbs. He couldn’t be sure what the Father would do. He couldn’t be sure the Father wouldn’t hand him over to the Shadowcasters. If any of the dream was true, Keegan was seduced by Gabrielle. There was no other reason for Keegan to be down in the dark catacombs of Ravenscroft.
Father Keegan strode past close enough to whisper to. Ashley remained motionless against the boulder. Keegan showed no sign of having noticed anything—he paced away. Ashley crept out from his hiding place and tried to follow Keegan, but the passage turned, and the weak glow of the Flicker spell passed up a flight of stairs, then faded. The darkness was complete again.
Ashley was sure that something terrible was about to happen. He sent his mind reaching out for Keegan again, hoping to find something to distract him from his doomed course. Instead, he fell into a whirlpool of lust wound so tight it took his breath away. The link with Father Keegan was even more vivid than before. He tried to pull his thoughts away, but lost control to the same power that governed the mind he was touching. A dark vortex wrapped around his thoughts like an intimate hand. There was no way Keegan could escape. He had accepted the promise. He was under the spell of Gabrielle’s seduction.
Keegan was clear of the stairs, and was waiting in the shadows at the edge of the dining chamber. Lightgifters slumbered all around. Keegan summoned the sprites from the chamber, building a mass of swirling Light around his body. One of the Lightgifters raised a questioning head from the table, but was smote from behind by a Sword. The Gifter fell back to the table and did not rise. The Sword returned to stony vigilance, disinterested in Keegan’s actions, or under instructions not to interfere. No one else made any move. They were all asleep.
The Riddler's Gift: First Tale of the Lifesong (The Tale of the Lifesong) Page 55
