The Flame Priest (The Silk & Steel Saga) Page 42

  She paced the length of the parapet, the soft rustle of pale green silk providing a civilized contrast to the harsh clang of swords. Soldiers trained in the courtyard below, the ring of swords against shields evoking another worry. The recruiting went well, but Lanverness needed time to rebuild an army decimated by the rebellion. She wondered how much time she had.

  Footsteps followed behind…heels ringing against stone, sure and bold. She knew he did it deliberately, so as not to startle. Liandra usually welcomed his company…but the footsteps heralded a possible nightmare. A fist of anxiety tightened in her stomach.

  She turned and met his dark stare. His face gave nothing away.

  The Master Archivist bowed low. “My queen.”

  “Is it done?”

  The master nodded.

  “And?”

  “He held the crystal but there was no change, no red glow. The monk says he is not a harlequin.”

  Relief washed through her. Closing her eyes, she leaned against the cool stone of the parapet, drawing on the castle’s strength. “Thank the gods.” Danly was a traitor but her throne was not compromised by the taint of evil. She’d birthed a monster but not a demon.

  “Majesty, Danly is still a threat. He must be dealt with.”

  The queen glared at her shadowmaster, weary of the topic. “We will not discuss this.”

  “But majesty, your line is thin, you have but one heir. As long as Danly lives, he is a threat to your throne.”

  She began to pace, the dark-robed master walking beside her like a persistent shadow. “Yes, Prince Stewart must wed, and the sooner the better. We have a bride in mind. We must open negotiations with Navarre.”

  “Yes, but majesty, sooner or later you must deal with Danly. Justice must be served and the threat to your throne eliminated.”

  She stopped and stared at him, anger warring with shock. Danly deserved death, but the thought of executing her own son was monstrous. “Would you turn us into a monster? Would you have us execute our own son?”

  His face paled beneath the onslaught of her royal anger. He bowed his head, his voice contrite. “Majesty, I am only thinking of the security of your throne…and of your own peace of mind.” His voice deepened. “Majesty, I know you too well. I see how the weight of Danly’s fate gnaws at your mind. I would ease this burden from you.”

  She knew he meant well, but his open acknowledgement of her weakness stoked her anger. “Then think past the headman’s block.” Her voice snapped like a lash. “Danly will remain in the dungeon, awaiting our royal justice.”

  “Majesty, there is another way.”

  That stopped her. She stared at her shadowmaster, trying to see past his words. “You mean exile.”

  “Exile in itself would not be sufficient.”

  “What then? What short of death or a lifetime spent rotting in the dungeons will serve?”

  “If Danly is allowed to live, then he must never be a threat to the Rose Throne.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Danly could be safely exiled if he were gelded.”

  “A eunuch! You would turn him into a eunuch?”

  His face was impassive. “Majesty, it is the only viable alternative to the headman’s axe. Gelded, he can never be king, nor can he ever sire a king.”

  She shuddered. “But what you suggest is torture. What man would live without his manhood?”

  “The darkness of the dungeons has broken him.”

  Images of the dungeon assaulted her mind, too many nightmares.

  “Majesty, put an end to the threat, an end to the agony of indecision. Absolve yourself of this judgment. Give Danly the choice. Let him decide between the knife and banishment or the executioner’s axe.”

  She was weary of thinking of Danly. Weary of wrestling with a decision that seemed to have no acceptable solution. Her shadowmaster offered her a way out. A way to see justice done without killing her own son…but the alternative was almost as monstrous as the headsman’s axe. How could any man live without his manhood? And how much more would her son hate her? She shook her head. “No!”

  He started to object but she cut him off. “Danly will stay in the dungeon. And you will speak no more of this.” She made her voice hard, a royal command. “Are we understood?”

  He nodded.

  “Then go. We grow weary of your presence.”

  His face hardened to stone…a flicker of hurt dancing behind his dark gaze. He bowed. “As you command.” He turned and walked away, his footsteps as silent as a shadow.

  She watched him go, tall and lean, his squared shoulders screaming of pride and determination, the one man she could count on, yet she parried his words with nothing but anger. If truth be told, he only tried to ease the burden she carried. Liandra let him get as far as the doorway before she called him back. “Lord Highgate!”

  He spun, as if he’d been listening for her voice.

  “Walk with us.”

  His long stride closed the distance between them.

  Strong and silent, he walked beside her. Close but never touching, he gave her just what she needed. The queen gazed beyond the battlement, past the city, to the green fields in the distance. “The summer is waning. I fear a great darkness is coming.”

  “Yes, but as long as Liandra is queen, Lanverness will have a light to beat back the darkness.”

  For a moment, she let herself believe, she let herself hope…but she couldn’t shake the shadows from her mind.

  47

  Katherine

  Stroke and parry, Kath dodged the massive trees, fighting imaginary foes. She’d slipped away from the others, seeking a solitary glade, needing a chance to test her own mettle. Hidden from prying eyes, she danced the sword amongst the redwoods, executing all the classical forms. Slash of the Falcon, Thrust of the Dragon, she whirled and parried, her short sword issuing a deadly whisper. Leaping over a fallen log, she raised her shield against an imaginary blow. Pain lanced her left arm. She battled through the move but the ache persisted. Slowing to a stop, she sheathed her sword and shucked her shield, sweat dripping from her face. Her sword strokes were sure, but her shield arm ached. Rolling up her sleeve, she stared at the crisscrossing scars. A shudder passed through her remembering the demon-wolf’s red eyes and the sharp bite of its teeth. The battle with the demon-wolf was supposed to be fought in the world of dreams but her scars were very real. Kath flexed her arm, grateful to be whole, but somehow the pain still lingered. And if truth be told, her arm was not the only problem. Slick with sweat, she tired too easily. The fight with the demon had taken its toll.

  “Are you well?” Duncan glided from the trees.

  Her startled surprise turned to pleasure. “How did you find me?”

  “I’ll always find you.”

  Kath felt her face flame red.

  His stare dropped to her shield arm. She started to roll down the sleeve but he stopped her. “No, scars of honor should not be hidden.” He laid a kiss on her forearm, amongst the angry welts. “It pains you.”

  “Yes, but not like a real wound…more like a shadowy pain.”

  “Let me help.” He led her to a mossy patch beneath a grandfather tree. She sat upon the velvety green, her back to the great tree as his fingers kneaded the muscles of her shield arm. Strong and sure, his hands worked the pain from her arm with steady strokes. Kath groaned in pleasure. “You’re hands are magic.”

  Duncan gave a throaty chuckle that held a promise of so much more.

  The rumble of his voice sent a shiver down her spine. Kath stared into his mismatched eyes, the one cat-eye golden and the other sapphire-blue.

  “Are you bothered by my eyes?”

  “No! Not at all.” She felt her face blush but refused to drop her gaze. “I like your eyes…they make you even more interesting…more alluring.” Her voice deepened. “I’m glad I finally found you. You were hiding behind that black patch.”

  He released a long-held breath. “Just so.” Duncan pulled her into his arms, settling her a
gainst his chest, his back to the great redwood. His hands continued to knead her sore arm. She leaned against him, safe and secure.

  “As a child I wanted to flee the forest…but now I find myself wanting to stay.”

  “The forest feels like a sanctuary…a place for us.”

  He tightened his arms around her. “Just so.”

  The crystal dagger pressed against her side. “But duty calls us forward.” She had to ask. “When we leave the forest, will you wear the black patch?”

  “It’s for the best.”

  She heard the regret in his voice and shared his sadness.

  He parried her question with one of his own. “When we leave, we’ll ride for Castlegard?”

  “Yes, to warn the Octagon, to warn the king.”

  “Your father.”

  She heard the question beneath his statement. It was her turn for regret. “My father will not understand.”

  “Nor should you tell him. The truth will not aid our cause.”

  “But?”

  His calm assurance surprised her. “Beyond the forest, duty must come first. Once we defeat the Dark, then we’ll carve a place for ourselves.” He held her close, his arms encircling her. “The knights will not welcome the wolf and Danya will not leave Bryx. When we reach Castlegard, I’ll remain in the forest to guard them both.”

  She could not fault his logic, but it seemed like a deception…or a betrayal. He deserved better. “It does not seem right.”

  “Sometimes I wear the black patch for myself, but most oft I wear it for others. As long as the truth stays between us, it’s for the best.”

  Kath sighed, realizing he’d lifted an invisible weight from her shoulders. “Thank you.”

  His voice held a gentle smile. “There is no need to hurry. We have all the time between.”

  She smiled, reassured by his words.

  “You need to rest.”

  Kath nestled against him, savoring his solid warmth and his smell of leather. Content in his arms, she must have dozed. Sleep claimed her, but instead of a restful peace, she found golden eyes staring back at her, eyes of the forest, eyes full of sad wisdom.

  *Warrior of the Light! We bring you warning! The Ancient Darkness has passed beyond the sight of trees, beyond leaf and bark and root, climbing into the realm of rock and snow. Beware, for the Ancient Foe nears his domain! Wake and heed our warning!*

  Kath woke with a start. “No!”

  Duncan sat up, his hand reaching for the dagger at his belt. “What is it?”

  The vividness of the dream beat against her. “I had a dream, a nightmare.” Understanding struck like a knife in the dark. “No, a warning.” Kath gripped the crystal dagger and turned to stare at Duncan. “The Forest sent me a warning.” She struggled to recall the exact words. “The Mordant has climbed beyond the sight of the trees…into a realm of rock and snow.”

  Duncan followed her words. “He’s climbed beyond the treeline.”

  Kath gasped, “The Dragon Spine Mountains!”

  “Unless the knights stop him, he’s nearly reached the north.”

  Fear and sadness gripped her in equal measure. “We’ve lingered too long.”

  Duncan stood and offered her his hand. “Come, we must warn the others. It’s time to leave.”

  Kath reclaimed her shield. Together, they ran through the dappled sunlight. A single autumn leaf fell from the heights. Kath did not want to leave, but at least she’d have Duncan by her side.

  48

  Blaine

  Green cloaked the forest, but the dawn carried a chilly bite, the first hint of autumn. Blaine shivered against the chill, more proof they’d lingered too long in the bloody forest. Unlike the others, he’d seen the truth of the Deep Green, nothing more than a tangled trap, a way to dull their swords and slow their passage. At least Kath had finally caught his urgency, even if her explanation made little sense. Blaine finished tying his bedroll and settled his great sword over his shoulder, eager to be rid of the forest, eager for a foe worthy of his blue blade.

  His companions finished breaking camp. Duncan had his longbow strung, hovering close to the two women. Blaine was pleased to see that Danya carried her own bedroll. The girl seemed well enough, yet she never strayed from the wolf. Always keeping one hand buried in the wolf’s thick fur, she kept her gaze averted, as if suddenly shy. Her reticence stung him, especially after the way he’d cared for her. At least Kath flashed him a warm smile. She looked fit for battle, her twin throwing axes strapped to her back, her hand on her sword hilt, but shadows darkened her eyes and fresh scars marred her shield arm. The forest had taken its toll and Blaine was glad to be rid of it. “Where’s the monk?”

  Sir Tyrone shrugged, “He said he’d be back.”

  Zith emerged from the depths of the grove, walking with the Treespeaker. The two had grown thick as thieves. Blaine scowled at the tree-witch, unable to trust her pupil-less eyes, eyes that looked blind but weren’t.

  The Treespeaker nodded toward them, a benevolent smile on her ageless face. “I have come to bid you farewell.” Sunlight shimmered on her white-feathered cloak, casting a silvery glint. “May the blessings of the Forest be upon you.” She stared at Kath as if words passed between them, yet nothing was said, more proof of the woman’s witchery.

  Kath offered her a reverent bow. “We thank you for your hospitality, for your words of wisdom, and your help in healing our companions.”

  The wolf yipped as if in agreement. Danya bowed low, her face solemn.

  The Treespeaker smiled, her arms spread wide in acceptance. “By fighting the ancient Darkness, you have proven yourselves friends of the Forest. The blessings of leaf and bark go with you.” She turned to Duncan. “Remember, Duncan Treloch, you are, and always will be, a son of the Forest.” A green-robed attendant offered Duncan a quiver of arrows fletched with clipped peacock feathers, each arrow tailed by a single feathered eye. “Accept this token from your people. May your arrows always fly straight and true. Keep safe and return to us, son of the Forest.”

  Duncan accepted the quiver and bowed low, a faint flush on his normally stoic face.

  The tree-witch turned toward the monk. “I have enjoyed our conversations. May your wisdom always be heard.”

  The monk offered a deep bow. “May the trees ever drink deep.”

  Blaine looked away, shunning the Treespeaker’s strange pupil-less gaze.

  “You do not want my blessing, knight of blue steel, yet it is freely given.”

  Blaine felt a prickle down his back. He scowled, refusing to meet her gaze.

  “Our farewells have been said and you have tarried longer than you should.” A troop of green clad archers melted out of the forest. “These rangers will see you to the Forest’s edge. The blessings of leaf and bark go with you. May the Light always vanquish the Dark and may your journeys bring you back to the Mother Forest.”

  The leave-taking was finally done. Unlike the others, Blaine did not look back. The cat-eyed rangers set a swift pace, leading the companions through the maze of trails. Beneath the birdsong and the rustling leaves, they jogged in silence, keeping their thoughts to themselves. Blaine carried two saddlebags over his left shoulder and a bedroll under his right arm, feeling more like a packhorse than a knight, but at least they were leaving the forest. Deliberately slowing his pace, he fell back among the others. His gaze strayed to Danya, to the sway of her long chestnut hair and her slender waist, the wolf pressed close to her side. The wolf-girl seemed healed, but something had changed. Her friendly smile was gone, replaced by a closed guardedness, a feral wildness shining from her brown eyes. Blaine tried to draw her out, but she seemed oblivious to his advances. Maybe if he grew fur and howled at the moon she’d notice him. Blaine barked a laugh, realizing he was jealous of a wolf. He reached for the hilt of his great blue sword, touching it like a talisman. Pride swelled through him, he was a knight of the Octagon, a sworn sword, but somehow his gaze always returned to the dark-haired girl.


  They traveled for the better part of the day, taking meals while they walked, chewing strips of dried venison and handfuls of nuts. As the sun neared the horizon, they reached a small glade and found their horses cropping the grass. Saddled and tethered, they were tended by a handful of cat-eyed rangers.

  One of the rangers approached Kath. “Your saddlebags are stocked with food, a gift from the Treespeaker.” Without another word, the archers melted back into the forest.

  Blaine snorted. “A frosty farewell.”

  Duncan said, “They’re still wary of white-eyes.” He settled his black patch across his golden eye, hiding his mixed heritage.

  Blaine shrugged. “It matters not to me. I’m just relieved to see our horses.” He found his stallion and gave the big chestnut a welcoming pat. The horses proved to be well fed and well rested, the spare saddlebags stocked with supplies. He tightened the girth and swung into the saddle, eager to be away. Kath took the lead, riding beside Duncan, setting a course toward the northwest.

  He smelled the burned land before they reached it. With a single stride their mounts took them from the living forest into a land of burnt trees, like crossing into the realm of death. They rode close, their hoof beats raising small clouds of ash. Eerily quiet, the only sound in the charred landscape was the harsh staccato of a woodpecker. Naked and blackened, the trees stood like skeletons pointing toward an indifferent sky, a grim reminder of the Mordant. After the verdant forest, the charred ruin was a bitter blow, as if a deep doom had fallen on the land. Blaine urged his charger to a canter, eager to be free of the hellish ruin.

  Charred trees gave way to charred fields, proving the cat-eyed archers had spoken the truth. The fire set to ambush the forest had turned back against the villagers, ravaging the farmland. Soot and ash dampened the drum of hoof beats as they rode through fields and vineyards blackened by the fire’s embrace, so much destruction, so much waste.