The Flame Priest (The Silk & Steel Saga) (40 page)

The clan leaders began to hum, a deep, sticky tone that clung to the clearing like sap to the tree. The Treespeaker added her voice, a song without words, a melody rich and complex, evoking images of the forest. Overhead, the grandfather trees began to sway, adding the rustle of leaves and the creak of branches. Together they wove a tapestry of tones, something familiar yet otherworldly.

Kath sat in the center of the grove, at the heart of the gathering power. A feeling of warmth thrummed through her. Power prickled along her skin. Her vision shifted and the forest seemed to brighten though there was no change to the light. Every detail of leaf and bark became crystal clear, etched in her mind. She stared at the rough trunks of the redwoods, entranced by the pattern of the bark. She studied the needles of the trees, sharp and distinct, each one unique. She sat mesmerized by play of moonlight on the treetops, the silver light evoking a thousand shades of green. Even the scent of the forest seemed richer, more complex, the subtle scents of spruce and redwood mingled with boldness of pine and cedar. Kath marveled at the beauty. The forest glowed with magic and wonder and life.

*Now!*
The Treespeaker’s command intruded, drawing Kath back to her purpose. *
Reach for your magic and leap to the veil.*

Confused, Kath tightened her grip on her gargoyle and reached for the magic within. Golden eyes of the
Forest
stared back at her, waiting, watching, full of mystery and ageless wisdom. This time Kath did not turn away. She welcomed the wisdom of the green, falling into the golden gaze, succumbing to the spell of the forest.

A wave of dizziness swept over her. She closed her eyes and clutched her gargoyle, needing an anchor. A roaring sound, like the beat of a thousand wings surrounded her. A chime sounded…and then a sudden silence.

Kath opened her eyes and stifled a gasp. The forest was gone, replaced by the walls of a cave. She stood alone in a tunnel of rock, a vaulted cavern of gray stone stretching into the murky dimness. There was no source of light yet she could see well enough, as if she walked in twilight. Her fingers scraped against the stone walls, rough and hard. The cave seemed real enough. Taking a deep breath, she tested the air, and was overwhelmed by the rush of scents. A tangled web of information hid beneath the scents. Surprised, Kath shook her head, amazed by the scents and her ability to discern each one. Perhaps it was part of the wolf’s dream, or a gift from the
Forest
, either way she’d find a way to use her enhanced senses.

Breathing deep, she studied the tangled scents. The air held the damp mustiness of dark places, the loam of earth and the salty, stony smell of rock, but she also caught the sharp tang of wolf. Her nostrils flared, reading emotions in the wolf’s scent, feelings of anger, and confusion…and fear. Startled, Kath surveyed the cavern, wondering what could cause so much fear in a wolf. Taking a deeper breath, she strained to understand…and found a horrid wrongness, something that smelled like wolf but wasn’t, something twisted, something vicious…a hungry, malevolent predator reeking of Darkness.

Kath reached for her sword…but the scabbard was empty. She grabbed for an axe…but they were missing. She wore the same clothes as before, a leather jerkin and dark green breeches tucked into knee-high boots, but her weapons were gone. A shiver of fear rushed through her; she couldn’t fight a demon without a weapon. She reached to her belt, relieved to find the crystal dagger in its sheath. Steel was denied her, but at least she had the crystal blade. She drew the dagger, needing to hold a weapon in her hand.

Kath gasped in surprise. The crystal blade glowed like a shard of frozen moonlight, a weapon of the Light against the Dark. The gods hadn’t abandoned her.

Drawing strength from the glowing blade, she set her mind to the task. She searched for footprints but found none, leaving scent as her only guide. Pacing the cavern, she drank in the scents. Deciding the wolf-smell was strongest to the right, she turned and followed.

The cavern proved to be a complex maze of twisted shunts and side passageways, an easy place to get lost. Feeling time was against her, Kath considered calling to Danya, but a sixth sense cautioned against it. Something evil lurked in the cavern, an unknown enemy. Kath kept her silence, weaving her way into the rock labyrinth.

Time had no measure in the cavern but she felt the need to hurry. The scent of the wolf grew stronger, but it also changed. The fear deepened to a suffocating scent, threatening to infect her. Kath fought the feeling, tightening her grip on the dagger.
 

A noise came from the right, a low growl full of menace. Kath followed the sound into a narrow passageway. Shoulder-tight, the passage felt like a trap. Scents of fear and wrongness clawed at her mind, but Kath refused to flee. Clutching the dagger, she pressed forward, praying her friends still lived.

The passage widened, opening into a small cave. Stalactites hung from the vaulted ceiling, frozen teardrops of gray stone. Kath edged towards the opening, keeping to the shadows. Growls rumbled through the cave, an angry threat of fang and claw. A great black wolf, the size of a horse, snapped and snarled at the base of a small boulder. Monstrously large, the wolf reeked of wrongness, something dark and evil. The beast leaped, teeth snapping at prey trapped atop the boulder.

Her friends were the prey!

Danya sat hunched atop the boulder, her face ashen, her brown hair a wild tangle, Bryx crouched by her side.

The dark wolf leaped and snapped, slavering for the kill.

Danya threw rocks at the wolf, but the rumbling snarls only intensified.

Kath studied the wolf. Freakishly large and blindingly quick, the beast was a monster. She might have stood a chance with her axes, but a dagger was an invitation to death. Kath shuddered, making the hand sign against evil. Desperate for another weapon, she scanned the cavern looking for an exit or an advantage, but found neither. A steep slope of rubble filled the far end, blocking the way. The cave was a trap, the wolf the stopper in the bottle.

Faint words sounded Kath’s mind.
*Hurry! The gateway threatens to close!*

The Treespeaker’s warning spurred Kath to action. She studied the scree slope, noting the large boulder halfway up the side, a slim chance but better than nothing. Sheathing the crystal dagger, Kath stepped out of the shadows, willing Danya to see her.

The wolf-girl lifted a hand in greeting, surprise and hope flickering across her pale face.

Kath gestured to the scree slope, trying to signal her intent, hoping Danya understood. Ducking behind a fallen stalactite, Kath crept towards the slope, using the rubble to hide from the wolf.

Danya must have understood. Standing atop the boulder, she yelled insults and hurled stones at the wolf.

The beast leaped and growled, a snarl of savage anger echoing through the chamber.

Kath quickened her pace, her heartbeat loud in her ears. She gained the base of the slope and began to climb. Rubble shifted beneath her. Using her hands for purchase, she scrambled up the steep slope. If she could reach the large boulder, she might be able to start a landslide and crush the wolf. Kath stretched for a handhold, but it gave way. Stones clattered down the slope, releasing a shower of rocks.

The beast whirled. Quick as dark lightning, it raced up the slope, a fury of snarling teeth.

Kath scrambled to climb out of reach, but the wolf was too quick. Teeth ripped at her boots. She glanced down and froze. The wolf’s eyes glowed red, the eyes of a demon, the red light of hell. Something intelligent stared back at her, the red eyes glowing with purpose…and hate.

Kath kicked at the beast.

The wolf lunged, a slavering mouthful of teeth. Kath scrabbled backwards but the scree gave way. She clung at the rubble but everything began to slide. A landslide roared down the slope. Swept downhill with the wolf, Kath tumbled against the stones. Battered from all sides, she landed on her back, the breath knocked out of her. Bruised and hurting, she clawed her way out of the rubble. Dust clouded the air. Kath fought to swallow a cough. Blinded by the dust, fear shivered through her, she couldn’t see the wolf. She forced herself to a crouch, straining to see.

A black shape charged, knocking her onto her back. Teeth snapped at her face; a fury of drooling fangs and glowing red eyes.

Kath got her left arm up, driving it deep into the gaping jaws. Teeth clamped on her forearm, piercing to the bone. White-hot pain seared her arm. She screamed against the agony. The wolf shook her like a rag doll, pain ripping up her arm. She fumbled for the hilt of the crystal dagger. The wolf’s jaws snapped open but she sacrificed her left arm, forcing it deeper into the wolf’s maw, keeping the jaws occupied. Teeth clamped down, ripping through skin and sinew, sending ragged waves of pain up to her shoulder. Kath bit her lip, fighting against the shock. Her right hand found the dagger’s hilt. The wolf’s breath fouled her face, blood and slaver drooling from the jaws. She thrust the dagger upward, praying to find the heart. Light flared. The crystal blade sliced into the beast like hot iron into butter. The wolf shuddered. Its red eyes blazed bright, the wicked teeth clamping on her shattered arm, locked in a death spasm. Pain nearly claimed her. With the last of her strength, Kath drove the blade deeper. A roaring sound filled the cavern. The wolf convulsed, the red eyes going dark, snuffed like the flame of a candle. Dead, the wolf slumped on top of her, a suffocating weight.

Pain blazed through Kath, proving she still lived. She yelled for help, a weak sound, but no one answered. Pushing against the wolf’s carcass, she struggled to get free. Agony raced up her ravaged arm. She screamed as she pried her arm from the wolf’s death-bite.

The wolf disappeared in a swirl of gray.

Astonished, Kath sat up. Agony claimed her. The wolf was gone but her arm was still savaged. Bloody and mangled, the flesh was torn to the very bone. Pain ripped through her, lancing her very soul; a one-armed warrior was of no use. Kath cradled her torn arm and stared at the swirling fog, shivering with cold. “Danya?” Her voice sounded feeble. Kath didn’t want to give up, but she didn’t see the point in trying to crawl. Every direction looked the same, a cold gray void. Consumed by pain, Kath lay sprawled on the ground.

*Hurry! The gate is closing!*

Kath struggled to remain awake.

*
Hurry!*

The voice refused to let her rest. Kath tried to remember, but her mind was fogged by pain. She reached for her gargoyle but it was gone, perhaps lost in the landslide. Despair threatened to crush her.

*Come now!*

A one-armed warrior was of no use, yet Kath fumbled across the ground, seeking the crystal dagger. Her hand found the hilt. A moon-bright glow beat back the darkness. The light of the blade cut through the pain fogging her mind. The crystal blade was needed in the mortal world. If nothing else, she had to return the dagger to the living. She struggled to think. A memory of Master Rizel in the
Garden
of
Contemplation
prodded her mind. Hope flared through her. Sheathing the dagger, she reached for the pouch tied to her belt. Using her teeth, she opened the leather ties. The amber pyramid tumbled into her palm. Kath closed her fist around the pyramid and reached for the magic within.

Golden eyes stared back at her, the eyes of the forest.

*We see you warrior of the Light.*

A rush of beating wings surrounded her. Kath closed her eyes against the dizziness, her fist tightening on the amber pyramid. A roaring sound filled her ears. A brilliant white light beat against her closed eyelids, warmth chasing away the bone-numbing chill. A chime sounded…and then she heard the morning song of a bird. She opened her eyes and the forest was back, the Treespeaker hovering over her.

“You have done well, warrior of the Light. The Darkness lurking in the gray veil has been vanquished, releasing your friends.”

Questions flooded her mind but Kath didn’t have the strength to speak. Weary with pain, she fell into sleep’s oblivion.

Red eyes haunted the queen, the red eyes of a demon, the glowing eyes of the undead.

“What was that thing?”
Liandra paced her solar, images of the animated corpse plaguing her mind. “The public executions were meant to finish the rebellion, but instead they raised the specter of a darker threat. Perhaps we should have ordered a beheading instead of the cauldron.”

Prince Stewart sprawled in an arm chair, his uniform rumbled, his dark eyes shadowed with lack of sleep. “Nothing should have survived the boiling cauldron. Yet the dead traitor capered in the water, as if he mocked death.” He made the hand sign against evil. “The Lord Turner must have been some kind of demon, a servant of the Dark Lord.”

The queen shivered. “That
thing
was a member of our royal council, a lord of Lanverness, yet we suspected nothing.”

“And all of Pellanor witnessed those glowing red eyes, a parboiled corpse defying death.”

The queen stared at her royal son, disappointed that he only saw one move ahead. “Witnessing the demon is not the problem.” She shook her head. “In fact, it may work to our advantage.”

The prince looked skeptical. “Rumors run rampant in the city. They’re saying the red comet marks the end of days. That the gates of hell will open, disgorging an army of undead to conquer the lands of Erdhe for the Dark Lord.”

She fingered her necklace of black pearls. “We need answers not rumors. Where is Lord Highgate? We ordered him to attend us?”

“He was called away on an urgent summons.”

Her patience snapped. “More urgent than
our
summons? He should be here when we need him.”

The prince stared, his eyes wide in astonishment.

His surprise stopped her like a slap in the face. She ceased pacing and reached for a facade of calm. The undead traitor had unnerved her more than she cared to admit…but the queen could never lose control, always a rock of confidence for her kingdom. She settled herself in the ornate chair, arranging the folds of her crimson gown, her face returning to chiseled stone. “We need answers not speculation. We must know what we fight.”

The prince rose from his chair, pacing in front of the cold fireplace. “But aren’t you worried about panic? About the rumors raging through the city like wildfire?”

She studied the angry red scar that ran the length of his handsome face. Her royal son had proven valiant with a sword, but he had much to learn about ruling. “The people saw a demon defy the cauldron’s boiling death…but they also saw a prince kill that same demon, taking its head with a single stroke of blue steel.” She gave him a chance to consider her words. When he said nothing, she prompted him with a question. “How goes the recruiting for the army?”

Puzzlement scrawled across his face. “The numbers are up, more than double from a fortnight ago. Why?”

Liandra nodded. “If anyone doubted the presence of evil, that doubt died in the courtyard. The people of Pellanor saw tangible proof that Darkness stalks our world, a force to be reckoned with. But by beheading the demon you proved that Darkness can be defeated. Men flock to join the army because they recognize the need to fight…and they trust in their warrior-prince and their queen to lead them to victory.” She shook her head. “The people of Pellanor are not the problem.”

“Then what has you so worried?”

She took a deep breath, deciding to give him the bitter truth. “Our problems are legion.” She gestured toward the chessboard in mid-play, white beleaguered by red. “Our army is decimated by the rebellion, making Lanverness a rich prize for our neighbors. We scramble to rebuild our forces but we may not have enough time. And now we have more than just swords to defeat.” She stared at the empty seat on the far side of the chess board. “The Dark Lord plays against us…by rules we do not understand. The game has changed. How can a demon defy death? What powers do they have? How do we defeat them? How can we fight what we do not understand?” She reached for a defeated castle, the carved ivory cool against her skin. “And one question, above all others, plagues us at night.”

He stared at her, waiting.

Her voice carried the weight of a kingdom. “Whom do we trust?”

His eyes widened. “More of those things?”

“Where there is one, why not two? That thing sat at our council table, at our right hand, yet we never suspected.” She set the chess piece on the table, deliberately knocking the ivory castle on its side. “One demon nearly toppled our throne. How much more damage might two cause?”

His gaze narrowed. “Who do you suspect?”

“Easier to list those we trust.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “And there is one traitor who has yet to face justice.”

“
Danly!
” The prince made the name a curse.

“Just so.” Liandra shuddered to think that she might have birthed a demon. She locked that thought in her private vault of nightmares and stared at the chessboard, forcing her mind to the problems at hand. “But if Danly is a demon, then the Dark Lord missed a great opportunity.”

Prince Stewart’s voice held a shred of hope. “How so?”

“Had we executed Danly in the courtyard, in full view of the people, and had he proved to be a demon, then the royal family would be tainted by evil, proof that we carry the spawn of Darkness.” Her voice deepened. “Never forget, we need the trust of the people to rule. The Dark Lord missed a second opportunity to topple our throne.”

The prince nodded, his face thoughtful. “Then the Dark Lord is not infallible.” He gave her a smile brimming with admiration. “You will find a way to win, Mother, you always do.”

She did not shatter his illusion. Liandra kept her face confident, but inside she wondered how a mere mortal could thwart the God of Darkness.

A knock sounded.

Liandra startled, her nerves taunt. She hid her lapse by gesturing toward the door. “See to that.”

The prince answered the door.

The Master Archivist swept into the chamber, his dark eyes blazing. He bowed to the queen and extended a scroll. “Majesty, you have a visitor.”

Puzzled, she accepted the scroll. Her eye’s widened when she saw the dark blue seal. She broke the seal and read the message. Her stare slid to her shadowmaster. “There is nothing here but an introduction.”

He nodded. “A Kiralynn monk seeks an audience with the queen of Lanverness.”

She sat back in the chair. “At long last the mysterious monks come down from their mountain monastery. Perhaps Sir Cardemir met with success.” She stared at her counselor. “He came alone, no entourage?”

“Alone and on foot, seeking an audience with the queen. The gate guard alerted one of my shadowmen. I thought it best to see the monk for myself.”

The queen tapped the scroll against her palm. “Perhaps this monk can solve the riddle of the demon.”

The master nodded, a shrewd gleam in his dark gaze. “Where will you meet him?”

She considered the options. “Make him welcome. Offer him meat and mead, the best of both. We shall meet with him in two turns of the hourglass in the throne room.”

“A formal audience?”

“We shall treat with him as one power to another, formal but private. The Kiralynn Order may be the ally we need in the fight against the Dark Lord…but we must not be seen as a supplicant.”

“Who will you have in attendance?”

“Our heir and our master of shadows.” She gestured to the two men. “And Sir Durnheart with his great blue sword for a show of strength. We want this meeting to be both private and discrete. See that it is arranged and then return to escort us to the throne room.”

The master saluted. “As you command.”

The prince and the shadowmaster took their leave. The queen rang a hand bell. Lady Sarah was the first to respond, dropping into a deep curtsey. “Yes, your majesty?”

“Attend us. We must prepare for an audience.” Liandra considered her wardrobe. “We will have the deep purple gown with the dagged sleeves and the deep v-neck of gold. We must look our most regal.”

The queen gave herself over to the comforting ritual of image. She sat before the mirror, her women busy like bees attending the hive queen. Liandra studied the mirror as her women combed and coiffed her raven-black hair, the soft lustrous curls falling to her shoulder in a sensual temptation. Feather-light strokes added accents of paint beneath her eyes and a faint flush to her cheeks, signs of youth and beauty covering her true age. For jewels, Liandra selected a long strand of emeralds set in gold, a show of wealth combined with elegance. When all else was done, the crown of state was settled on her brow, a heavy circlet of golden roses adorned with emeralds, the symbol of her sovereign power.

The queen stepped back from the mirror to study her reflection. A vision of beauty, elegance, and power stared back at her, the perfect image for a sovereign queen. “We are pleased.” She gestured to the door. “You may admit our escort.”

Lady Sarah curtsied and opened the outer door.

The crown prince wore a dashing surcoat of emerald green, his blue sword belted to his side. The master wore his usual robes of dour black, always the shadow no matter the occasion. The two men bowed low.

The queen studied their reaction, the best test of any woman’s image. The prince’s face reflected admiration and pride…but the master’s stare smoldered. Heat washed through her, this forbidden passion would be her undoing. Liandra made her voice abrupt. “Come, we have a monk to greet.” She swept from her solar, the two men following behind.

The throne room was empty, sunlight glinting off of polished marble and gleaming gold. She crossed the checkerboard floor, climbing the stairs to the Rose Throne. The prince took a position on her right, one step below the throne, while her shadowmaster stood at the foot of the dais. Liandra took the time to arrange the silk train of her gown and then signaled the herald.

The double doors opened and a small procession entered. Sir Durnheart led the honor guard, his great blue sword held erect as a precaution and a show of strength. A guard of ten soldiers followed, a proud flourish of burnished steel and emerald tabards. The queen’s gaze locked on the monk. Tall and lean, in a robe of midnight blue, his shoulder length hair carried more gray than black, his face as fair like a noble’s. If there was anything magical about the man, the queen could not see it.

Sir Durnheart reached the base of the throne and bowed. He took a position on the side of the dais, a protector of the throne, and then dismissed the honor guard.

The monk approached and bowed low.

The queen studied his face as he straightened. The monk’s eyes widened, his gaze darting across her bejeweled cleavage before rising to meet her stare. The queen hid her smile; it was only a small lapse but it proved the monk was not immune to a woman’s charms.

The monk extended his right arm, revealing a dark blue Seeing Eye tattooed on his open palm. “Seek knowledge, Protect knowledge, Share knowledge. My name is Aeroth and I bring you greetings from the Grand Master of the Kiralynn Order.”

The queen gave him a gracious smile. “Welcome to our court, Master Aeroth. We have long desired to meet one of your Order, to meet a face behind the mysterious scrolls.”

He nodded, his face grave. “Seclusion once served our purposed but no longer. We have stayed hidden for too long. The war is more advanced than we thought.”

“War?”

“The Grand Master sends a warning of war to the rulers of the southern kingdoms. Portents predict that the Dark Lord is rising, marshalling his forces for an assault against the kingdoms of Erdhe.”

The queen considered his words. “The red comet that tears a scar across the night sky?”

“That and others.” His face turned grim. “The Mordant has been reborn into the body of one of our own monk-initiates. He escaped the monastery and makes his way across the southern kingdoms seeking to reclaim his seat of power in the Dark Citadel.”

The monk spoke in riddles. “Reborn? What do you mean by reborn?”

“It would seem that you have already met one of the reborn.”

Hope quickened in the queen, perhaps the monk held the answers she needed. “The Lord Turner was a traitor. He raised a bloody rebellion against us. We condemned him to death but it took two executions before the body lay still. We assumed he was some sort of demon or devil, a servant of the Dark Lord.”

The monk nodded. “I’ve heard the rumors in the city, a par-boiled corpse with glowing red eyes. The traitor was a harlequin, a powerful servant of the Dark God.”

“Prince Stewart severed the demon’s head. The second death was final.” The queen watched the monk’s face, finding no hint of surprise at the grim tale; perhaps she was right to worry about more than one demon.

The monk questioned the prince. “When the corpse rose from the waters, did it seem triumphant or anguished?”

The prince looked puzzled. “It reached upwards, as if grasping for something. It screamed but I don’t remember the words.”

Her shadowmaster answered, his voice certain. “It said, ‘Don’t do this to me’, and then succumbed to the prince’s sword.”

The monk’s eyes widened. “Then I have my answer.” The monk bowed low to the queen. “Your majesty, I offer apologies from the Grand Master for coming late to your court. It seems you play a larger role in this war than anyone thought.”