The Flame Priest (The Silk & Steel Saga) (13 page)

The queen took no triumph in the revelation, only shock at the depth of betrayal.

Danly giggled, hanging like a fly caught in a metal web.

Liandra wondered if they were all nothing more than flies, caught in a cruel web of fate. She tightened her fists in anger, her rings of office biting deep into her palms. The pain reminded her of her duty; she had a kingdom to care for. Turning to her spymaster, she ordered, “See to it that he is freed of this device. Clean him up and put him in a better cell. His identity must remain hidden but there is no need for this barbarous cruelty. We would have him treated with dignity despite his crimes.”

Danly laughed, “
Dignity, dignity for the prince.”

The master said, “It will be as you command, but first I must see you to safety. And then I have a traitor to catch.”

Shaken by the confrontation and shocked by the identity of the traitor, Liandra could only nod. Wrapping the shawl around her head, she shrank back into the posture of a mere woman.

The Master Archivist knocked a rhythm on the ironbound door. It swung open, easing the pressure in the queen’s ears, something she hadn’t noticed before.

The master issued commands, “Keep the prisoner above ground. Give him food and water but wait for my orders.” Without waiting for a salute, he shepherded the queen back through the grim labyrinth. This time, she did not notice the stench or the catcalls, her mind preoccupied with strategies of vengeance.

The jailor opened the door to the last level, a long walk through darkness and stench. Prisoners rattled their chains, hurling jeers, but the queen paid them no mind. They passed out of the depths into the main guardroom, torchlight flickering along the walls. Whatever the master said to the jailer, the queen did not hear, wrapped in her own bleak thoughts.

Captain Durnheart took her arm and steered her toward the ramp. The stone ramp seemed steeper, the horrors of the dungeon nipping at her heels. Her clothes itched, as if lice-ridden. The stench of the underworld clawed at her soul. She felt soiled by the deeds of her son. Liandra gripped her skirts and hurried; feeling a sudden need for fresh, clean air, feeling the need to be queen.

They reached the outer doors. The guard fumbled with the keys. Liandra willed him to hurry. She bit back a harsh command, struggling to remember the charade.

The door swung open to admit the cool night air…and the sounds of battle. Lightning flashed over head as the storm unleashed a downpour. The courtyard rang with the chaos of swords. A rallying cry, “For the king!” echoed against the castle walls. The queen gaped at the chaos. Her shadowmaster appeared, pulling her back into the dungeon, shielding her with his body…but the bloodshed was imprinted on her mind. The traitor’s name came too late. The Red Horns had risen.

Stars crowded the night sky, a spray of jewels strewn across a dark vault. Perhaps it was a trick of the mountains, but it seemed to Kath that she could almost reach out and touch them. She sought the familiar patterns, the swan flying due south, the knight pointing the way north, and the dragon with his wings stretched half way across the heavens. It would have been perfect night sky, if not for the red comet ripping an ugly scar across the dragon’s wing. Kath dropped her gaze to the campfire, her hand seeking the crystal dagger. She needed no reminders of the Mordant.

A gust of wind howled down from the glacier, causing the fire to sputter. Shadows and light danced unevenly across her sleeping companions. After the perils of the crossing,
Duncan
had decided to camp on the trail just below
Drumheller
Pass.
It was a grim place for a campsite, but a night’s rest would give the monk a chance to recover. Luckily, his injuries weren’t serious. A warm meal and a night’s sleep should restore his strength for the long ride ahead.

Sir Blaine and Sir Tyrone had set up camp while Kath gathered firewood and
Duncan
took his bow to search for game. It was scarce, so they had to settle for a stew made from dried meat and vegetables from their travel rations. Subdued by the near tragedy of the pass, the companions ate a quiet meal and then sought the warmth of their bedrolls. There was little conversation.

Kath drew the first watch. She sat on her bedroll tending the fire, running a whetstone along the edge of her sword. Questions ran through her mind. The incident at the pass deepened the mystery of the two strangers. Kath had to admit that she was impressed with Danya. Quick to respond to the mare’s terror, the young woman had risked her own life on the narrow bridge of stone. Danya had proven her courage, but it was passing strange how she’d calmed the mare with just the touch of her hand.

The fire crackled, spitting a harmless spark.

Kath felt a stare crawl up her back.

Drawing her sword, she whirled to face the threat.

From the edge of the firelight, a pair of green eyes glowered.
Animal eyes…predator eyes.
Kath crouched in a fighting stance. Transferring the sword to her left hand, she reached back for a throwing axe.

A low growl rumbled from the dark.

Kath gripped the handle of the axe.

“No! Don’t!”
Danya’s voice cut like a knife.

The others woke, scrambling for weapons, bright steel glittering in the night.

Danya leaped from her bedroll. “
Bryx, to me!”

The wolf’s eyes glittered cold and keen…but it did not attack.

Kath stayed her hand.

Danya stepped toward the beast. “He won’t hurt you.”

A low growl turned into a chuff. A massive mountain wolf stepped into the light, a monster of fur and teeth. Six feet from nose to tail, a thick ruff of bluish-black fur around his neck, the wolf barred its teeth at Kath and then sauntered toward Danya. Sniffing the young woman’s outstretched hand, the beast settled at Danya’s feet, tongue lolling from the side of its mouth like a tame dog. Kath had the strangest impression that the wolf was laughing at her. “A wolf that acts like a dog?”

Flashing a shy smile, Danya said, “I told you I had a way with animals.” Dropping her glance to Kath’s sword, she added, “You can put that away, Bryx won’t hurt anyone.”

Kath stared at the wolf but the wildness of a moment ago was gone. Her gaze sought
Duncan
. The archer shrugged, “He looks tame enough.”

“Please, all of you,” Danya hugged the wolf, her gaze circling the companions. “Bryx won’t hurt you.”

The monk stirred in his bedroll, his eyes bird-bright in the firelight. “The wolf is her companion. He won’t harm you unless you harm Danya.”

Strange and stranger, but she’d come to trust the monks. Kath sheathed her sword but kept her hand on the hilt.

Blaine
said, “That’s the biggest damn wolf I’ve ever seen,” but he lowered his sword as well. The others sheathed their weapons and crawled back into their bedrolls. Kath suspected they kept watch, their swords near at hand.

Keeping a wary eye on the wolf, Kath resumed her seat by the fire. Glancing at Danya, she said, “How did you come to tame a wolf?”

“It’s a long story.”

“I’ve time to listen.”

An awkward silence settled between them.

Kath added more branches to the fire. “I’ve kept the kettle warm. Join me in a cup of tea and we can trade stories.” Without waiting for a reply, she sprinkled herbs and ground tea into two metal mugs. Reaching for the kettle, she poured the water. The rising steam carried a welcoming hint of lemongrass. Kath passed one mug across to Danya, careful not to bring her hand too near the wolf.

Cradling the mug with both hands, Danya sat cross-legged on her bedroll, the wolf lolling by her side. She gazed at Kath, her face thoughtful. “The monastery was full of rumors about the princess of Castlegard and the fabled Knights of the Octagon. I watched while you practiced with your throwing axes and sword, but I never thought I’d be joining you. I never wanted to leave the monastery.”

“So why did you come?”

Danya shrugged, “When the Grand Master asks you don’t say no.”

It was an answer Kath could understand. She picked up a branch and poked at the fire, a mystery of unanswered questions hanging between them. The wolf yawned and the fire crackled. Kath took a sip of tea, giving Danya time to spin her story. When nothing more was said, she tried another tack. “So how did you come by the wolf?”

Danya lowered her eyes, a flush spreading across her face. “The wolf’s part of the long story.”

Kath sipped her tea, waiting.

Danya let out a long sigh. “I might as well tell you. You’ll probably understand better than the others.” She reached down to ruffle the wolf, her hand sinking deep into the blue-black fur. “My Da was just a hedge knight who sold his sword for services. We never had much but Da wanted more for my brother, Robert. Word came that a local lord was looking to add retainers. Robert had the chance to swear his sword to the baron, to win a name and a shield for himself, but it turned out the high and mighty lord only accepted the fealty of knights who came equipped with full armor and a trained warhorse. Da needed coin to equip my brother. Problem was, the only thing Da had left to sell was me, his only daughter.”

Kath stared in horror. “What happened?”

The brown-haired girl hugged the wolf, her eyes dark with memories. In a toneless voice that spoke of deep hurt, she said, “Da knew a tavern keeper who’d buried three wives and was looking for a fourth. He was older than Da and there was a sour smell about him but he had the coin Da needed. The man agreed to Da’s bride price.” Danya shrugged and said, “There wasn’t even a blessing. It was just a peasant wedding, a cup of ale, a song or two…and then the bedding.” Danya’s brown eyes flashed in the firelight. For a moment, the girl’s eyes looked more feral than the wolf’s.

Kath whispered, “How old were you?

“I’d seen ten winters. Hadn’t even had my first blood yet. S’pect Da got more coin cause I was so young.”

Kath shivered and looked away. She’d always feared her father would marry her off to some faceless lord…but this was far worse than any marriage Kath had ever imagined. “So you ran away.” It was a statement, not a question.

Danya nodded. “Ran the first chance I got. Had no where to go and didn’t really know how to fend for myself…but I learned.” A touch of pride crept into the woman’s voice. “I fled to the forest and lived off of nuts and berries. I was always hungry, always wet, always cold, but I refused to go back. I worked my way deep into the forest, becoming well and truly lost. Probably would have died, ‘cept it was summer and a hermit found me and took me in. Master Martin was ancient, the oldest man I’ve ever seen, but he was kindly and shared what he had with me. We lived in a snug cave, deep in the woods. He taught me my letters and how to live in the forest. I was happy for more than two years…but then Master Martin took sick with the black wasting. He had no family, no one to care for him. I did the best I could but it wasn’t enough.”

The wolf chuffed and licked Danya’s face…almost as if the beast offered sympathy. Kath looked away, focusing on the fire, poking at the glowing embers. “So how did you find the wolf?”

Danya’s voice softened, “Master Martin had two treasures and no one but me to leave them to. The first treasure was his life’s work, a set of scrolls he’d labored over for scores of years. Before he died he begged me to take them to an apothecary who lived in a village on the edge of the forest. It’s strange, but I think he feared losing the scroll’s knowledge more than he feared dying.” Danya shrugged, pausing to sip her tea and then said, “His second treasure was his gift to me.” Danya set the mug on the ground and slowly rolled up her left sleeve.

Silver glittered in the firelight. An ornate cuff of worked silver covered her arm from wrist to elbow. The workmanship was amazing, silhouettes of animals incised in the silver. Scores of animals, wolves, horses, eagles and bears, capered from her wrist to her elbow.

Kath touched the small gargoyle hidden at her throat. Reassured, she said, “It’s a focus isn’t it?”

Danya nodded. “I thought you might understand.”

The two women locked eyes.

Kath knew it was a test of trust, a trade of a secret for a secret. She hesitated but then reminded herself that Danya had been chosen by the Grand Master. Suddenly wanting the young woman’s friendship, Kath tugged the leather thong at her neck, revealing her stone gargoyle. “I found it in Castlegard, but I didn’t understand the magic till I came to the monastery.”

Danya nodded, a warm smile of friendship spreading across her face. “The monks taught me as well.”

Kath returned the smile, wondering if she’d found a different sort of sword sister.

Danya’s gaze dropped to the silver cuff. She traced her fingers across the animals, pausing at a howling wolf. “I felt the magic as soon as I put it on, though I didn’t really understand it at the time. Of course, the monks recognized it instantly. Turns out it’s a special kind of focus, a type of magic the monks thought was long lost, destroyed during the War of Wizards.” Danya looked up from the cuff and stared into Kath’s eyes, “When the monks saw the cuff they gave me a new name.”

“What name?”

Her voice dropped to a whisper.
“Beastmaster
.”

Kath rocked back in her seat, making the hand sign against evil. The single word conjured a primal fear, images of slavering werewolves and fearsome dire beasts stealing children in the dead of night. In many parts of Erdhe, the mere rumor of a shape shifter earned a burning at the stake. Kath forced the images away, refusing to give in to superstition. She studied the small woman sharing her fire. She seemed human enough. Kath tried not to judge but her hand crept to the hilt of her sword.

“I know what you’re thinking. I’ve heard the tales too, but it’s not that way.”

Kath stared at the woman and wolf, not trusting her tongue.

“Look, there’s nothing to fear, I can’t turn into anything. It’s not like that.” In a strained voice, Danya said, “I’m human, I’m not a beast.” Her voice dropped to a hush. “Sometimes I understand what animals are feeling, what they fear, or need. Like the mare at the pass.”

“So you talk to animals?”

Danya shook her head, “Not really, not like you and I are talking. It’s more a jumble of feelings or needs, a rush of scents and images. The only animal I can truly talk to is Bryx. I raised him from a pup, rescued from a hunter’s snare.” Shrugging Danya said, “Bryx and I are family, a pack of two.”

Kath stared in confusion.

Danya rushed to explain. “The monks thought the magic was lost. There hasn’t been a Beastmaster since before the War of Wizards. Some of the monks took it as another sign of the Prophecy…a sign of hope from the Lords of Light.”

Kath’s head was spinning, there was more here than just a woman and a wolf. Leaning forward, she said, “So you’re here because of the Prophecy?”

“I’m here because of the Grand Master.” Danya sighed and dug her hands into the wolf’s thick fur. A low rumble of pleasure came from the beast. “The monks couldn’t agree. They argued for more than a fortnight. Some wanted me to stay, to help protect the monastery, but others argued that I should be sent with you, to help fight the battle in the far north.” Dropping her voice to a whisper, she added, “And a few wanted to take the silver away from me.” Danya shuddered, searching Kath’s eyes for understanding.

Kath’s hand closed protectively around her gargoyle. Now that she was linked to the magic, she couldn’t imagine giving it up. “Why did they want to take it? It doesn’t seem like something the monks would do.”

Danya’s voice dropped to a hesitant whisper. “Because I can’t really use it.” Her face flamed red. “The monks say I’m only using a fraction of the powers locked within the silver. They argued that a gift so powerful shouldn’t be squandered on someone with so little talent…especially now that the comet has come.” She stared at Kath, her voice bleak. “The monks argued for weeks, but in the end, the Grand Master decided.”