The Legend of Asahiel: Book 02 - The Obsidian Key (54 page)

The thought had no sooner entered his head than she looked back at him suddenly. Her eyes gleamed mischievously, and that dazzling smile broke upon her lips. His entire body flushed with an unexpected warmth, and he forced himself to turn away in chagrin. Could it be that she suspected how he felt? His emotions had become so strong, it seemed entirely possible that they had taken tangible form. Had she felt the heat of their brush? Surely she had noticed by now his stares of obsessed admiration. Had she recognized them as such? If so, what did she think of him? Would she ever reveal to him her private feelings?

His eyes settled on Saena, who offered him a reassuring smile. He might have looked away again, but forced himself to return that smile instead, determined to avoid Dyanne’s knowing gaze. Once again, he took comfort in she who kept nearest his side. Perhaps she did so because that had been the assignment given her by Lord Lorre. But Torin was no longer so sure. By all appearances, her friendship was genuine, and not merely that of a servant fulfilling her sworn duty.

Or perhaps that was what she wanted him to believe.

He dragged his eyes back to the road, tortured by his restless emotions and the doubts they fostered within him. His suspicions had become all-consuming. If only he could settle matters with Dyanne, he believed, then all the rest might lose their edge. But when and how was he to do so?

It wasn’t long thereafter that Warrlun signaled Traver to the head of their column. The trail had begun to break apart, branching into a sudden maze of draws and defiles. The wrong path might lead to a dead end or worse. The time had come for Traver to stow his tongue and take the lead.

For a moment, Torin feared that Dyanne meant to ride ahead with him. But she did not, declining his princely invitation in order to stay back with Holly. Traver’s bow could not mask his disappointment, causing Torin to sneer with satisfaction.

Now was his chance, Torin realized as they continued on. All he need do was sidle on ahead to where Traver had been. He doubted that anyone other than Holly would pay any attention to what he might have to say to Dyanne. And while it would in fact be nerve-wracking to have the smaller Nymph listening in, better that than waiting for a moment in which the two were apart.

But once again, he held his reins and himself in check. As frightened as he was of what the sardonic Holly’s response might be, he still feared Dyanne herself more. Confessing himself to her would be like stepping out over one of the blind ledges that surrounded them. He could readily imagine the lifesaving thrill he would experience should he find solid footing on the other side. But if there was nothing there, how severe would be his fall?

Brisk winds swirled and gusted around them, bearing light flurries of snow that dusted their cloaks and piled atop the ever-deepening drifts that covered the trails. But their icy murmurings were nothing compared to the tempest that continued to build in Torin’s heart. It was fast reaching the point where he would do anything to silence his own inner voice, even if it meant leaping—in fact—from the nearest mountain ridge.

The sun made a brief appearance, but failed to penetrate the leaden shield of the skies. Traver kept them moving at a steady pace, selecting from among the meandering pathways that snaked over and among various shelves and corridors of shattered stone. Dyanne and Holly followed behind Warrlun, just ahead of Torin and Saena. Brolin and Kifur remained at the rear, hauling the pack horses and keeping close watch on the many dangerous overhangs of ice and snow.

Come noon, they found themselves amid a rugged array of natural caves—openings that ranged from the narrowest fissure to a yawning breach through which their entire company could have ridden abreast. The terrain grew increasingly jagged, and the horses took turns slipping and stumbling upon a carpet of loose stone hidden beneath the snowy crust. Boulders lay everywhere, fallen from the ravaged slopes like crumbs from some giant table.

More than once, Torin detected flashes of movement among the rocks and deadwood and other mountain debris. Birds and other small animals, it seemed, venturing forth from their nests and dens to mark the passing of this strange company through these stark, windswept halls. Though it occurred to him that any number of larger, more dangerous creatures might have fashioned homes up here, he was too distracted to grant the matter more than a passing concern.

Up ahead, Warrlun mumbled something to Traver that Torin couldn’t hear, casting about as if wondering where they were. Traver responded with a confident gesture and some words of assurance, then kicked his heels, urging his steed onward into the mouth of a slender defile. Lorre’s chief commander glanced once more at the empty ridgelines, then followed the other in.

The last of their train had entered when the first missile struck, driving into the snow at the head of their column almost before its whistle had sounded. Traver’s horse reared, and the clutching rogue was nearly dumped from his saddle. Warrlun reached for the sword strapped across his back.

“Ambush!”

Torin’s own horse was rearing and stamping, startled by the sudden commotion. He, too, might have reached for his weapon, but it was all he could do to cling to his reins. While he wrestled with his mount, shadows emerged, springing forth from the crags and hollows all around. He saw now the pair perched on either side atop the cliffs that formed the defile into which Traver had guided them, and felt the rush of those who closed at each end to seal the members of his company within.

His thoughts raced. Brigands? Since starting through the passes that morning, they had encountered not another living soul. What fool of a brigand would attempt to earn his living up here in the dead of winter?

A moment later, the truth was revealed.

“Don’t be foolish, my friend. Put the blade away.”

Torin whirled toward the sound of Traver’s voice, as he finally brought his edgy mount under control. Their guide had done the same, flanked now by a pair of frontiersmen armed with loaded crossbows. The attention of these ruffians, Torin noticed, was aimed not at Traver, but at Warrlun, farther in.

“What is this, Traver?” the commander hissed, like a cornered viper.

“Come now, don’t ask as if surprised. You can’t expect a man to make any real coin hunting something that doesn’t exist.”

“His Lordship pays—”

“Food and supplies,” Traver responded dismissively, “little more.”

Torin’s arm itched, urging him to reach for his blade. But he dared not. Not with Brolin and Kifur glaring at him, their own swords already drawn. With them were two others, emerged from some cave or outcropping that he had overlooked on his way into this tight gulch. Up above, the two crossbowmen held aim squarely upon Warrlun, but from their elevated position, it would be a small matter to turn sight and bury a bolt or two in the outlander’s hide. Nine against five, by his tally—and that was counting Warrlun and Saena as allies. Either way, their enemy held every advantage.

“And your fur trade?” Warrlun pressed. “Why risk that over a few stolen riches?”

The commander was stalling, Torin realized, which meant that he, too, understood the severity of their position.

Traver laughed. “I’ll still be a furrier when this day is done—only a much wealthier one.”

A few of his men snickered, their breath clouding in the frigid air. In that moment, Torin felt certain that he and his company were not the first to fall victim to this band.

Warrlun grunted in response. “His Lordship will have you hanging from a gallows before week’s end. Mark my words.”

“My dear friend, how is His Lordship to know?”

Torin continued to search for an escape. No matter how he looked at it, he and his friends remained trapped within this corridor of rock, pinched from above and on either side. At the same time, he felt a growing fury building within—not just at his captors, but himself as well. For if he hadn’t been so self-absorbed, he might have sensed his enemies’ presence before now.

Now that it was too late.

“Ethric,” Warrlun declared, issuing the man’s name in low warning. “Ethric will send word, once he learns what became of us.”

Traver’s smug grin slipped somewhat, his expression become almost pitying. “Who do you think sent my companions on ahead?”

That
was why Traver had invited them to attend last night’s festivities, Torin realized. The ruffian hadn’t done so merely to ogle the women, but to give the rest of his band the chance to set the stage for this assault.

Warrlun was slow to respond. A crimson rage colored his cheeks, while his gloved fingers tightened about his sword hilt. Torin half expected him to simply explode.

“If that’s true,” the commander finally growled, “then why haven’t you killed us already?”

“Because I’d rather not kill all of you,” Traver admitted, glancing at the women. “Not at first, anyway. Nor do I wish to have to drag your carcass to where it won’t be found. So I’ll make you an offer: Surrender your arms and
come with us, and I’ll do what I can to make your death as painless as possible.”

Warrlun looked around, marking again the positions held by Traver’s men. “You leave a man little room to bargain,” he said, echoing the rogue’s earlier words from back at the Giant’s Tongue. “But I do have one condition.”

Traver’s brow arched with amusement before curling in suspicion. “Drop your sword, and I’ll consider your request.”

The old soldier obeyed, letting his heavy blade fall to the earth, where it landed with a muffled crunch in the crusty snow. Torin shrieked a silent oath as the commander reached slowly to place his hands behind his head. What was the fool thinking?

“Well then, what shall it be, my friend?” Traver asked, dark eyes gleaming with triumph. “An amusement with one of the ladies, perhaps?”

A dreadful smile came to Warrlun’s lips, the first that Torin had seen the man give. “Only that you and your vermin die first.”

Even as the words registered, the soldier’s hands whipped out from behind his head with a pair of concealed daggers. The blades went flying, hurtling end over end toward the crossbowmen perched atop the ridge. Neither hit its mark, but came near enough that both enemies missed theirs. One hastily fired bolt clattered against stone while the other struck the commander’s saddle—empty now as Warrlun rolled to the ground to retrieve his sword.

That was all Torin saw before he, too, threw himself aside, using his horse as a shield. The Sword was in hand by the time his feet struck, and its power engulfed him as his passion was unleashed.

His first thrust took Kifur through the chest, spilling a wash of blood that set the horses to screaming. Brolin fell next, followed by one of the nameless brigands at his back. Torin spun then to guard against the chaos behind him. One of those above was using heavy coat and shield to fend off Holly’s throwing knives, while his partner reloaded. Dyanne couldn’t reach either, and so was dashing toward the front on Warrlun’s heels. She, too, had forsaken her steed, which bucked feverishly but couldn’t find the room to turn around.

The forward crossbowmen flanking Traver held their ground and took level aim. Warrlun barreled toward them with a growl. By that time, Torin was reengaged with the lone ruffian still in place at the rear of the passageway. He would have already brought the man down, but the horses continued to panic and scream, and his every instinct was required to dodge their flailing hooves.

He dipped a shoulder without knowing why—until a crossbow quarrel tore across his cloak and splintered against the mountain face. He spun and ducked, then fell in a loose tangle as Saena was thrown from her mount. After bracing her fall, he found himself charging toward the front, hurdling the tumbled body of one of the perched bowmen. Warrlun, he now realized, had killed one of the forward marauders and taken up the man’s crossbow. It was his bolt that had felled the one from above.

Dyanne was even now finishing off the other that had stood beside Traver. Torin fought through another scramble of unknown limbs, turning himself around once more. He did so just in time to slice through the descending blade
of the last remaining rear guardsman. There was a clutch and a scuffle, then a shriek from overhead. A crossbow landed at his feet, followed by a body with the handle of a throwing knife sticking from its eye.

His own horse shoved past, charging after those that had managed to clear out—either forward or to the rear. He tucked back against the rock to avoid its charge, only to be pinned there by the crushing bulk of his remaining adversary. The man took hold of his wrists, fighting to keep him from bringing the Sword to bear.

Up high the two went, with the larger man smashing Torin’s hands against the stone, struggling to break his grip. Eyeing a dagger in the other’s belt, Torin wrested his left hand free, leaving only his right to maintain hold of the Sword. While his opponent sneered in anticipation of taking the fiery blade for himself, Torin tore the man’s dagger from its sheath and shoved it deep into the other’s gut. The ruffian stiffened, thrashed in defiance, then fell back with a shove from Torin, staggering on unsteady feet.

Sensing no other immediate threat, Torin pushed himself away from the wall and tightened his grip upon the Sword. The stubborn marauder actually plucked the dagger from his own belly and snarled. But before Torin could finish the job, a crossbow bolt lanced through the rogue’s neck, dropping him to his knees and then flat to the earth.

Torin knew without taking stock that all had been accounted for.

All but one.

“As you were, Your Highness.”

He turned slowly toward the mouth of the defile as the last of the horses bolted through. Somehow in the confusion, Traver had managed to worm his way from one end to the other, past the knot of thrashing limbs and heaving bodies, dodging blades and quarrels, to reach the opening. There he stood with bloodied mouth and crazed eyes, clutching tight a human shield.

Saena.

“It’s over, Traver,” Warrlun spat, fitting another bolt to his stolen crossbow. He seemed not to notice that he had a pair of the shafts sticking from his shoulder, with another buried in his side. “I’ll gladly kill her to get to you.”