The Flame Priest (The Silk & Steel Saga) (21 page)

Returning to the hidden chamber, she found the others seated at the table, the room brimming with light. She waited for the rest to assemble and then turned her gaze to the senior shadowman, a compact, swarthy man with salt-and-pepper hair. “Major Telcore, we would have your report.”

The major bowed, his voice gruff, “
Traitors.
” He made the word was a curse. “There must have been traitors among the guards at the tower’s main entrance. They opened the doors at midnight, allowing the rebels to swarm our defenses. Many were taken by surprise, murdered at their posts, but our forces rallied. We make the traitors pay for every step into the Queen’s Tower, but we’re outnumbered. The battle line has fallen back to the fourth floor.”

The queen blanched, the noose tightened faster than she thought.

“Without reinforcements, it is only a matter of time.” The major’s face turned grim, his voice earnest, “Majesty, I don’t know how you came to be in the tower, but however you managed it, you must leave.’ His voice dropped to a whispered plea, “Leave before our lines break.”

Tension threaded through the chamber like forked lightning.

She felt the weight of their stares, the weight of a kingdom. “We have come to fight.”

“But majesty…”

Silencing him with a wave of her hand, the queen turned her stare to Princess Jemma. “We must take this risk, but not you. Captain Durnheart shall escort you from the tower and see to your safety.”

Princess Jemma stood full of dignity. “I prefer to stay.”

“But it is not your fight. We would keep you safe from harm.”

“Majesty, my father is a king. He did not raise his children to run from a fight.” Her eyes sparked with mischievous pride. “Besides, I believe you will find a way to win…and I have come to learn from the best.”

The queen smiled, a mixture of gratitude and pride.
Steel beneath velvet,
surely this was the daughter she had lost.
“Then stay close to us and see how we vanquish those who reach for our throne.”

The queen surveyed the loyal few gathered round the table. Her plan had many risks; she would need each of them to rise to their best. Infusing her voice with the power of her throne, she assumed a regal stance. “We have come to fight…with our wits, and our determination, and our secrets. The enemy has underestimated us. The very walls of Castle Tandroth will give us the advantage we need.” Her voice flushed with righteous conviction. “We will not leave this tower unless it is in victory.” Her gaze circled the room, giving confidence to each. “Will you fight with us? Will you help us vanquish the rebels?”

Captain Durnheart was the first to reply, “
For the queen!”
 
The others echoed his response, a shout of courage defying the odds.

Their conviction was like an elixir to the queen. “With such loyalty we can not fail.” She flashed a smile of courage and determination. “Listen and we shall tell you how to weave a web to catch a viper.” She explained her plan, assigning tasks to each of them. Liandra did not believe in war but now that the battle was joined, she would not shirk from it. It was past time the traitors felt the Spider Queen’s venom.

Redwoods, cedar, and spruce gave way to the lighter greens of birch, alder, and aspen. As the companions rode north the trees thinned, slowly giving way to farmland. Sunlight streamed through the branches and birdsong rode the air. The forest seemed peaceful enough, but something itched at
Duncan
’s senses, a vague unease. He scanned the forest as he rode, but the threat remained elusive, a dread lurking just out of reach. He kept his short bow strung and his gaze alert but the peace of the forest remained unbroken. Riding in the lead, he took the risk of lifting his eye patch, using all of his senses to search for the danger, but he found no target for his arrows. Frustrated,
Duncan
thrummed his legs against the gelding, hoping to outrun the lurking dread.

A rider approached on his right.
Duncan
swiveled in the saddle and found Danya urging her cream-colored mare forward. The girl rode the pale mare with a fluid grace, almost as if she’d been born to the saddle. He wondered if it was part of her magic.

She drew even, her voice rising over the drumming hooves.
 
“
Blaine
’s charger has a loose shoe. We should find a blacksmith.”

He turned and studied the knight’s warhorse, unable to detect any flaw in the charger’s gait. “How do you know?”

“I just know.”

Magic.
He trusted his own senses more than any magic, but the knight’s battle-trained charger could not be risked.
Duncan
nodded, “Best if we find a village and get the warhorse properly shod.” He took a deep breath, tasting the air. The scent of wood smoke rode the wind but the horizon was empty of chimney smoke.

“Bryx says there’s a village to the east. If we keep to a steady trot we should get there by noon.”

“The wolf
told
you this?”

Danya’s face clouded. “Well not in so many words, just the stink of too many people in the direction of the rising sun.” Danya shrugged. “It’s more feelings and smells, than words.”

The mountain wolf chose that moment to lope out of the brush, a wide grin on his face.

“Sometimes I think that wolf is laughing at me.”

Danya chuckled, flashing a smile.

Duncan
gave up and said, “Tell the wolf we’ll follow him to the village, but once there, it would be best if he stayed out of sight. Most villagers don’t take kindly to wolves.”

“Don’t worry, he knows. Besides, Bryx doesn’t like the stink of towns. He’ll stick to the forest and fields.”

The wolf yipped and set off toward the east at a ground-eating lope. They followed at a steady trot, riding for the better part of the morning. The forest fringe faded away to farm fields and vineyards, a patchwork of gold and green, peaceful and content. Beyond the fields, tendrils of chimney smoke scored the summer sky, marking the location of the village. The wolf grinned back at them and melted into the fields, disappearing into the summer green.

The riders followed a sunken dirt lane toward the east. A pair of fortified towers rose in the distance, marking the seat of a minor lordling. A purple banner emblazoned with three golden spears streamed from the tower rampart.
Duncan
recognized the banner and scowled. Baron Brannock carried a reputation as a cruel and petty tyrant, a tight-fisted lord with a thirst for his neighbor’s lands. They’d do well to avoid the baron and his men.

The road split into a fork.
Duncan
turned the gelding toward the village, avoiding the twin towers. Deep cart ruts and clumps of manure marked a path leading straight to the village.
Duncan
slowed the gelding to a walk as a sign of courtesy.

Thatch-roofed cottages clustered close, the smell of wood smoke heavy in the air. They rode passed a group of women gathered at a well, a few knee-high children clutching at homespun skirts.
Duncan
nodded hello but the women avoided his stare, herding the children away. He caught a look of fear in one woman’s glance, something far more than the usual distrust of strangers. The fear puzzled him, but they needed to get the warhorse shod.

Duncan
followed the road into the heart of the village. A few stone buildings stood among the wooden cottages. A chicken fluttered across the road in a squawk of feathers. Faces turned to study the strangers, none of them welcoming. A sense of unease shivered down
Duncan
’s spine, as if the dread of the forest had followed them to the village. If they hadn’t needed a blacksmith, he would have kept riding, but the warhorse would be valuable in a fight, it shouldn’t take long to get the horse shod.

A column of sooty smoke marked the forge.
Duncan
dismounted and tied the gelding to a post. He followed the beat of a hammer to the forge. A sweat-soaked blacksmith worked a bar of hot metal against an anvil. A bellows boy kept the forge glowing cherry-red. The big man glanced at
Duncan
, his voice a deep rumble. “Somethin’ I can do you for?” The words were welcoming but the glance was not.

Duncan
kept his voice friendly. “I’ve got a horse outside that needs re-shod and seven more horses I’d like you to have a look at. We’ve a long road ahead and we’re anxious to be off.”

The hammer rang against the iron, never missing a beat. “Four shoes for a silver and I’ll see the color of your coin first. Course you’ll have to wait till I finish this piece.”

Duncan
reached for his coins, flashing gold to the blacksmith. “Two golds if you’ll do them all now.”

“Eight horses?”

“But only one that definitely needs shod.”

The hammer stopped. The blacksmith plunged the rod into the glowing coals, the smell of hot iron heavy in the air. “I’ll take your gold. Be back in a few hours and I should have them done.” The coins disappeared into the blacksmith’s fist. “Show me your horses.”

The big man followed
Duncan
out into the sunshine. They found Danya checking the rear hoof of
Blaine
’s warhorse, the lanky knight hovering at the girl’s side. Danya nodded toward the blacksmith, her voice soft but sure. “The shoe needs replaced and there’s a hairline crack starting at the side of the hoof. Just as well we stopped.”

The blacksmith shouldered the knight aside and examined the hoof. “The crack’s not too bad. Just needs filed. A bit of glue and a new shoe and the horse will be fine.”

Satisfied to leave the horses in the care of the blacksmith and the wolf-girl,
Duncan
said, “We’ve a few hours to spend while the blacksmith does his work. Who’ll join me for a meal and some gossip at the tavern?”

Blaine
was predictable. “I’ll stay and help Danya.”

Duncan
kept the smile from his face.

Sir Tyrone said, “I’ll visit the market and see if there’s anything good for the cook pot.”

Duncan
nodded. “Don’t take too long.” He turned to Kath and the monk. Kath looked at the monk and said, “We’re with you.”

They left the blacksmith shop and strolled down the lane toward the tavern. They passed a carpentry shop loud with hammers. A pair of men worked to repair a thatched roof but otherwise they met only women and small children.
Duncan
smiled but the women shied away, crossing to the far side of the lane and making the hand sign against evil.
Duncan
stretched his senses, trying to understand the villagers’ fear but he found no answers.

He leaned toward Kath and whispered, “Stay sharp. I’ve a bad feeling about this place.”

She nodded, her hand resting on her sword hilt, her eyes scanning the village.

He liked that she heeded his warning without questions.

A timber-framed longhouse served as the tavern, a weathered sign over the double doors. They climbed the stairs and entered the great room, eyes adjusting to the smoke-filled gloom. The tavern was stuffy with the smell of spilled ale and spitted meat.

The low rumble of conversation came to a sudden stop. The tavern was crowded with men. Soldiers in the purple livery of the local lord and sellswords in patched leathers and chainmail turned to stare at the strangers. A few of the stares were curious but most were hostile…a much rougher crowd than he’d expected.

Duncan
lifted his hands in a gesture of peace and nodded to the barkeeper. He chose an empty table near the door and sat with his back to the wall. Kath sat on his right, the monk on his left. Flashing a gold coin,
Duncan
caught the attention of the portly barkeeper.

Wiping his hands on a grease-stained apron, the barkeeper ambled to their table. “Whad d’ya want?”

“A meal and information.”

Eyeing the gold coin, the barkeeper said, “The gold will buy ya a loaf of white bread, three mutton pies and a pitcher of ale, the best fare in town. Any answers will depend on yer questions.”

“Then I’ll ask the questions first.”

The barkeeper shook his head, a stubborn look on his face. “In this town, strangers pay first.”

Duncan
didn’t like flashing gold in room crowded with sellswords but he wanted answers. He slid the coin across the table.

A meaty palm slammed down, trapping the coin. “Whad d’ya want ta know?”

“Why so many sellswords?”

The barkeeper shrugged, “The Baron’s anxious. Anxious lords attract sellswords.”

“What’s there to be anxious about?”

The barkeeper squinted, a suspicious look on his face. “Where d’ya come from that ya haven’t heard?”

Duncan
felt it best not to mention the monastery. “From Lanverness, we’re just passing through. Stopped to get a horse shod.”

The barkeeper stared at the leather-clad archer, disbelief on his face.

Kath leaned forward, her voice surprisingly soft. “Please, sir, we’d really like to know.”

The barkeeper looked at the girl, his face softening. “Ya best keep ridin. Somethin evil’s been stalkin the farms and woods around these parts. Cottages drip with blood and whole families are found dead, their flayed skins nailed to the walls. There’s talk that one of them cursed wizards of old has returned to haunt the land.” The man’s fear-filled eyes slid toward the monk. “The baron’s offered a bounty for the wizard’s head. The bounty’s lured sellswords to town like flies to carrion. Best if ya finish yer business and move on.”

Duncan
kept his face neutral and passed a second coin across the table. “We’ll have the standard fare and a flagon of ale.”

The barkeeper backed away. “I’ll send the girl with yer ale.”

Duncan
glanced at Kath.

Her face was grim. “Perhaps the Mordant has left a trail after all.”

“Or set a trap.” The menace he’d felt in the forest made more sense. Turning to the monk,
Duncan
whispered, “If the peasants fear a wizard then I’m guessing the Mordant is still garbed in a robe from the monastery. Perhaps you should find something else to wear.”

The monk stared, anger etched across his face.

A serving girl approached with a pitcher of ale and three tankards. Blonde and buxom, her hands shook as she served the tankards. She scuttled back to the bar without making eye contact.

The low rumble of conversation resumed, but too many stares were still turned their way. Too many hands rested on sword hilts,
Duncan
didn’t like the odds. “We’ll have our meal and leave. I’d rather sleep under the stars than spend a single night in this town.
 
This place reeks of fear. And the sellswords might decide to collect our heads without bothering to check who they belong to.”

Zith leaned toward
Duncan
. “The local lord might have information about the wizard. The sooner we catch the Mordant the better.”

“Better to avoid Baron Brannock. We ride as soon as the horses are shod.”

Zith gave
Duncan
a searching look. “Then how will we find the Mordant?”

“We’ll try another village, one with less sellswords.” He shook his head with the irony of it. “We were looking for tracks on the ground when we should have been searching for fear.”
Duncan
tightened his hands into fists. “Follow the fear and we’ll find the Mordant.”

The serving girl returned balancing a tray laden with bread and steaming meat pies. The girl edged the tray onto the table and served each of them a small pie in a deep dish. Zith reached to help, but the girl flinched away, her gaze dropping to the monk’s outstretched hands.

A scream split the tavern. The tray clattered to the floor, the plates shattering.

Pale faced and wide-eyed the girl backed away. Pointing at the monk, she screeched, “The Evil Eye! He bears the mark of Evil on his hand!”