The Flame Priest (The Silk & Steel Saga) (24 page)

The battle line roiled in confusion.

Major Telcore rushed to the queen’s side. “You must be away!”

She stood her ground, needing to see the outcome.

The wave of rebel soldiers slammed into the battle line, pushing their way to the front, their faces contorted in hate. They struck the loyalists with a ferocious clash of steel. The fighting resumed but all was not lost. Some of the rebels kept their word and switched sides, fighting for the queen. From her perch on the stool, she saw the drill sergeant cut down the rebel lordling. Other rebels swarmed the sergeant, seeking revenge; she hoped the man survived.

The major hissed, “
You must leave!”

A bowstring thrummed. Princess Jemma loosed an arrow into the rebels.

The queen stepped down from the stool. “Yes, it is time for us to leave.” She met the major’s stare. “We will retreat to the hidden floor. Hold for as long as you can and then join us there. We will keep the door open, waiting for you and your men.”

Anger rode in the major’s steel-gray eyes. “Majesty, you should flee the tower. If the queen falls then all is lost.”

A second arrow thrummed into the rebels.

The queen’s voice was full of steel. “We will not flee.” She turned before he could argue and glided down the hallway. Captain Durnheart hovered at one side, Princess Jemma at the other.

She reached the stairway and found it empty of wounded soldiers but the bloodstains remained. Liandra stared at the stains, wondering if the marble would ever come clean, forever stained with treachery and heroism, a dark day for Lanverness. She would show clemency to the soldiers but never the traitorous lords.

The walk back seemed to take forever, the sounds of battle raging below. Reaching her solar, she found the chaos of a makeshift healery. Her women tore bed linens and undergarments into strips creating bandages for the wounded. Lady Sarah made the rounds, offering wine to the soldiers, bloodstains on her silk gown. The soldiers were stoic, eyes glazed with pain, lying silent on thick wool rugs.

The queen held her head high and glided into the small chamber as if she entered the throne room, seeking to give her people courage by her own bearing. More than one soldier stared in awe.

She made her voice warm and full of confidence. “You have all served well, but we must retreat to the floor above. We have prepared a secret redoubt, a stronghold from the rebels. Come with us to the floor above.” She unlocked the secret door and gave orders for the strong to help the weak.

They settled the wounded in the central chamber of the eighth floor, taking bandages and flasks of wine with them. When the last of the soldiers was moved, the queen commanded Lady Sarah and Captain Durnheart to return with her to the solar.

The sounds of battle seemed closer but the queen held firm to her intent. She removed her crown and placed it in an ironbound chest along with the scepter and the other royal regalia, retaining only her two rings of office. “Captain Durnheart, we charge you with protecting the crown jewels. Take this chest to the eighth floor. If the stronghold should fall, we order you to get the jewels out of the tower and into the hands of Crown Prince Stewart.” Her voice hardened. “The crown jewels must not fall to the rebels.”

The captain saluted. “As my queen commands.” He gathered up the chest and retreated to the secret floor.

“Lady Sarah,” the queen turned to her most trusted lady-in-waiting, “gather up the rest of our jewels. We will not leave them as plunder for the rebels.”

Pale-faced, the lady curtseyed and went to work, gathering the queen’s jewels into an embroidered pillowcase.

The queen turned to her desk. Unlocking the top drawer, she removed the scrolls from the Kiralynn monks and placed them on the cold grate of the fireplace. She used a candle to set the monks’ words ablaze. Opening her scroll cabinet, she removed more messages from other monarchs and ledger scrolls detailing the financial holdings of the Rose Crown. The ledgers would go with her into the secret chamber, but the rest she heaped on the fire, throwing a goblet of wine onto the scrolls just to be sure. The stack of parchments crackled with flames, her secrets becoming smoke.

Lady Sarah peered into the outer hallway. Clutching the bulging pillowcase, she hissed a warning. “
The fighting has reached the seventh floor!
”

Liandra let her gaze roam her solar. There was more she would do, but time had almost caught her. “We have done all we can.” She nodded toward Lady Sarah. “Time to retreat to the stronghold of our ancestors.”

Captain Durnheart and another soldier waited with swords drawn inside the secret door. She gave the men their orders. “Hold the door open for as long as possible. Give every loyal soldier a chance to escape but then make sure the door is closed and the locking mechanism triggered. This door is our last defense.”

The captain saluted, his face grim.

The queen climbed the stairs to the main chamber. The wounded lay along the walls, her women working among them.

Soldiers began to stream into the chamber, all of them bearing wounds. The clash of swords echoed up the stairs, the fighting had reached her solar.

The queen tensed, listening.

More soldiers stumbled up the stairs, most of them wounded. Major Telcore was not among them.

A shout rang out and then an eerie quiet descended.

Captain Durnheart appeared at the top of the stairs. He nodded toward the queen and then went to stand by the ironbound chest containing the crown jewels. His ghost-pale face told her that soldiers had stayed behind on the other side of the hidden door…a brave few who would never get the reward they deserved. Liandra vowed to learn their names and find a way to repay their families.

The queen stood in the middle of the chamber, dressed in cloth of gold, peerless elegance hiding among the cobwebs. Her kingdom was reduced to few score soldiers and a hidden chamber. The Spider Queen had spun her webs and laid her traps…now all she could do was wait.
 

Kath clung to her stallion, urging the horse to speed. The shouts of the sellswords receded with each stride. Kath’s world blurred. She blamed it on the wind, on the chestnut mane whipping against her face, on anything but the tears crowding her eyes. Crouching low in the saddle, she let the horse choose the path, asking only for speed, desperate to get away. The stallion answered her need, leaping to a blistering gallop. They passed the others, racing down the north side of the ridge.

Kath felt torn. For one brief moment, she’d breached
Duncan
’s walls, but then he’d pushed her away, forcing her to leave because of duty.
Duty
, the word curdled like a curse in her mind. She knew
Duncan
was right, the crystal dagger couldn’t be lost on some nameless ridge in the backlands of Tubor…but it hurt to leave.
It hurt.
Kath had never imagined that duty would require her to run, to stand and fight, yes, but never to run. And worse yet, to leave
him
. Thirty against one, the stubborn, noble, fool-of-a-man bought them time to escape, a chance to fight another day…but the price was too dear. A sob escaped her; duty had never seemed so hard. Kath crouched in the saddle, burying her emotions beneath speed.

She rode in a blind fury, letting the stallion have its head. Perhaps she’d made a fool of herself on the ridge, but it wouldn’t matter if
Duncan
didn’t survive. Kath drummed her heels into the horse. The stallion lengthened his stride. Kath plunged into the rhythm of speed, ignoring everything but the need to ride, the need to fly. The countryside became a blur.

Leagues later, the acid tang of smoke slapped her face. Kath pulled on the reins and wiped her eyes dry, not believing the sight.

She’d ridden straight into hell.

A scorched land stretched in every direction, still smoldering from a wildfire. Charred trees towered overhead, reduced to dark skeletons, accusing fingers pointing toward an indifferent heaven. Smoke smoldered from fallen logs, adding a grim pall to the devastation. Kath rode through a forest of ash. A legion of crows worried the blackened ground, searching for roasted carrion. Squawking, they swarmed the burnt carcass of a deer. Kath looked away, making the hand sign against evil. The crows were the only sign of life in the charred nightmare.

Muffled hoof beats followed behind.

Kath drew her sword and waited, almost hoping the sellswords followed.

Sir Tyrone galloped through the pall, his face grim, his horse lathered. The others rode behind, strung out in a tattered line.

Kath looked for
Duncan
but the archer wasn’t among them. Her heart tightened into a fist.

Sir Tyrone rode straight toward her, pulling on the reins of his charger as he drew even. His dark eyes flashed like daggers, his voice gruff with anger. “What were you thinking to race ahead like that?
Duncan
’s sacrifice would be wasted if you fell into a trap!”

His words cut like a knife.

Sir Tyrone shook his head, his voice a low growl. “You want to be a knight. Knights don’t run.”

Shame flooded through her.

“I don’t know what demon gripped you back on the ridge, but we must all keep our wits if we’re to have a chance against the Mordant.”

Kath felt her face pale with shame. In her haste to get away she’d let the others down. She tightened her grip on her sword, furious at her own weakness. “I’m sorry.”

“Do you even know where you’ve led us?”

Not trusting her voice, Kath shook her head. Another failing.

The others crowded around. Their horses quivered with strain, their heads hung low, their hides drenched in sweat. Kath realized her own stallion was just as spent as the others; she shouldn’t have ridden him so hard.

Blaine
glared. “Where the hell are we?”

Sir Tyrone answered. “I got a view from the ridge top. Burnt farmland stretches to the west, but it seemed only the outer fringe of forest is destroyed.”

“Well, we can’t stay here. If the sellswords follow we’ll be too exposed.”

Kath gripped her sword hilt. “
Duncan
will hold them.”

Sir Tyrone said, “Perhaps. But
Blaine
is right, we need to keep moving.”

Blaine
nodded. “Which way?”

“
Duncan
said to head into the depths of the forest, so we’ll ride east, looking for living trees.”

Kath struggled to keep her voice even. “Shouldn’t we wait for
Duncan
?”

Sir Tyrone gave her a piercing stare. “If the archer lives, he’ll find us. That man can track like a wolf.” He dismounted. “We’ll need to walk the horses or we’ll lose them. We head east, to the cover of the forest.” The black knight turned his gaze towards Zith and Danya. “Can you two keep up?”

Zith nodded, his face pale but determined. “I’ll walk to the seven hells and back if needs be.”

But Danya swayed in the saddle, her eyes glazed.

Blaine
forced his horse next to hers. “Are you well?”

Danya stared at the knight, her eyes wide and wild. “
I can’t feel him!”

Sir Tyrone said, “Feel who?”

“
Bryx!
” A sob escaped her lips. “I called the wolf to help, but now I can’t feel him! There’s only emptiness, only darkness…” Danya swooned in the saddle.

Blaine
caught the wolf-girl, pulling her across to his horse. He settled her in his lap, his arms around her, her head nestled under his chin.
Blaine
gave the black knight a grim stare. “I’ll take care of Danya, but if the wolf’s lost, we need to gain more distance.”

No one mentioned the archer.

Kath and Zith dismounted, leading their sweat-streaked horses. The black knight took the lead.
Blaine
rode behind him with Danya cradled against his chest. Zith took the reins for the lone packhorse. Kath walked last, her hand on her sword hilt. Determined to make-up for her lapse of judgment, she strained to listen for sounds of pursuit but heard nothing.

The charred forest was deathly still. Blackened trees towered around them, mute sentinels to the devastation. Embers glowed among the smoldering trunks, gleaming like red-eyed demons. Death surrounded them, a scorched landscape. A flock of crows took wing. Flapping feathers and harsh caws filled the gray spaces between the dead trees. Kath shuddered, wondering if the ruined forest truly was a glimpse of hell.

Soot and ash dampened the sounds of their passage. Everything was black and burnt and dead…and then suddenly green. Almost like magic, they crossed a line, passing from death’s dominion into an explosion of living green. Vibrant with colors and sounds, the forest hummed with winged insects and songbirds. Trees towered overhead, branches thick with leaves, blocking out the sky. Underbrush and vines pressed close, enveloping them in a swath of wilderness. The companions quickened their pace, heartened by the vibrant forest, but their passage soon slowed to a crawl, impeded by the dense tangle.

Sir Tyrone unsheathed his great sword and began hacking at the underbrush. Kath joined him, venting her anger on the dense green.

The forest resisted. Armored in wicked thorns, the tangled green snagged at exposed skin and soft cloth, drawing blood. Splinters and spikes jabbed at hands and eyes. Only chainmail proved impervious to the green bite. Kath slashed at the dense tangle, hacking her way forward. She sliced a vine and it recoiled like a whip, lashing nasty thorns till it finally fell still. Kath whispered, “What is this place?”

A squeal came from behind.

The packhorse reared, its eyes white with fright. Zith pulled on the reins, barely avoiding a lashing hoof.

Kath saw the problem. “There’s a vine wrapped around its rear leg!” She leaped to sever the vine. Her sword sliced clean through. One half whipped backwards, flailing thorns, but the other half remained entwined around the horse.

The packhorse reared, blood staining its leg, its eyes mad with fright.

“The vines are stranglers! How do I get it off?”

Sir Tyrone tossed her an armored gauntlet. “Try this!” He grabbed the reins from the monk, trying to still the plunging horse.

Kath pulled on the gauntlet. Dodging hooves, she gained the horse’s side and grabbed the vine. Wicked thorns pierced the horse’s hide. Embedded deep, they drew blood. She yanked at the vine, but blood and flesh came with it.

The horse went wild.

Stripping the reins from the black knight’s hands, the horse charged headfirst into the tangled green. It did not get far. Squealing in pain, it sagged forward and lay still.

Kath looked at Sir Tyrone. The black knight shrugged. Together they hacked at the green, trying to reach the horse. They found the horse impaled on a spiked branch, speared through the heart. The branch belonged to a dark gray tree, its trunk and branches bristling with five inch long dagger-like spikes. “What is this place?”

“Deadly.”

Blaine
said, “Look behind us.”

The way back was sealed with green. The forest had surrounded them.

Blaine
said, “The forest is alive!”

Kath said, “It’s more than that.” Reaching beneath her leather jerkin, she grasped her stone gargoyle. Holding the focus tight, she closed her eyes and quested with her inner senses. Using lessons learned in the monastery, she probed outward, searching for magic. What she found nearly dropped her to her knees. A vast sea of green swamped her tendril of thought, surrounding her with a pulsing power. The forest thrummed with wild magic, something old and potent, something fierce yet sentient…something that stared back at her with golden cat-slit eyes. Kath’s eyes shot open. She staggered backwards, releasing her gargoyle, breaking the contact. Shivering, she stared at the forest. Leaves and bark hid a potent power. Staring up at the impossibly tall trees, she put a name to the forest. “
The Deep Green
.”

Sir Tyrone hissed, “You know this place?”

“I’ve heard of it.” Knowledge of the name brought with it the feeling of hostile eyes. The words of the cat-eyed archer came back to her. “
Sheath your sword!
” Kath sheathed her own blade but the black knight just stared at her in puzzlement. “Sheath your weapon
now!
”

The black knight obeyed.

Kath raised her hands and pitched her voice to carry. “We come in peace! We seek a ranger to guide us. We wish you and the forest no harm.”

She felt the forest watching, judging.

Kath and her companions waited, peering into the trees, hands well away from weapons. The dense brush seemed to tighten around them, a threatening strangle of green. Kath pivoted, feeling stares from every direction. Her shoulder blades itched with warning. She longed to reach for a weapon but she kept her hands raised and her face calm.

Green-clad archers melted out of the forest.

And all of them had golden cat-slit eyes.

Eyes of the forest,
Kath counted twenty archers staring from behind nocked arrows. The hatred in their gaze was palpable.

Kath searched their faces looking for a leader, surprised to find several women among them. She raised her hands higher in a gesture of peace. “We come in peace, invited to visit the Deep Green by the archer, Jorah Silvenwood.”

A bearded man stepped forward and snarled, “White-eyes aren’t welcome here.”

Kath ignored the anger in his voice. “I’ve a token given to me by Jorah. He said the token would grant me safe passage into the forest.”

“Tokens are easily stolen from the hands of the dead.”

“Kill them now, Jenks, and be done with it.”

Another voice growled, “Aye, blood for blood!”

Bowstrings tightened.

Seeing death in the arrows, Kath inched her hands toward her axe handles. The odds were bad, but she’d rather die fighting. Beside her, the black knight tensed for battle.

“
Stop!
” The command rang through the forest, causing warriors on both sides to pause. All eyes turned toward the blue robed monk. Zith held his right hand out, palm forward, revealing the blue tattoo of the Seeing Eye. “A master of the Kiralynn Order seeks an audience with the Treespeaker.”

Murmurs that were equal parts anger and amazement rippled through the archers.

The bearded leader stared at the monk, easing back on his bowstring. “You’ve come at an evil time, white-eyes, but by invoking the name of the Treespeaker you’ve delayed your fate. Submit to being bound and we’ll provide safe passage through the forest.”

The monk nodded, “We submit.”

Sir Tyrone glanced her way and nodded. Kath understood. It was better to live and fight another day.

One of the archers hissed, “Jenks, you can’t trust the white-eyes!”

The bearded man snapped, “I don’t trust them. Now put up your bow and see that their hands are bound tight.”