The Name Of The Sword (Book 4) (29 page)

When they parted Morgin asked, “Where is everyone? What’s happening?”

From the three of them he heard a story of steadily escalating tensions on the border with Penda, then skirmishes, a massacre of some of Alcoa’s men, and now open war.

Roland said, “Olivia and BlakeDown are gathering armies on the border, preparing for battle. We’ve been forbidden to attend because we’ve openly opposed her.”

Morgin asked, “What about Wylow and PaulStaff?”

“They don’t want war any more than we do,” Roland said. “But with Tosk sworn to Penda and Inetka sworn to Elhiyne, when Olivia and BlakeDown go to war, the others must back them.”

Nicki said, “This will destroy all of the Lesser Clans.”

AnnaRail added, “We’re leaving at dawn to try to stop this madness.”

Nicki said, “But I fear we’ll not succeed, not even in our wildest dreams.”

Her words stung Morgin, and he said, “Perhaps it is only in a dream where we may succeed.”

29
A Soul Freed

Morgin and Roland scrounged up a quick meal from a frightened cooking staff, and the four of them ate in the kitchen. Then they retired, hoping to get some sleep, planning to leave at first light. Morgin lay down in JohnEngine’s bed, though he knew his sleep would not be restful.

Sabian awaited him in the Kingdom of Dreams. “Sabian, help me find PaulStaff,” he begged.

Morgin found himself standing over the Tosk clan leader, who lay on a cot in a tent near the border, his small contribution to the army camped around him. It felt strange to walk in another man’s dreams, stranger still to twist them and knot them, to distort them into fear and terror.

Next he visited PaulStaff’s lieutenants, then BlakeDown and his lieutenants. He followed that with Olivia and Wylow and their lieutenants, felt bad about delivering such terror to JohnEngine and Brandon, who deserved better.

It was a long night’s work. He finished by going to Sabian at dawn. The message he’d scratched in the castle yard remained unchanged, but he stood there alone, no Rhianne to be found.

Roland woke him at dawn, saying, “Come, you need to see this.”

Roland led him up to the top of the parapets, and with the sun just rising over the mountains in the east he saw a lone rider seated on a horse at the edge of the no-man’s-land. Rider and mount stood absolutely still, well out of bow-shot. The rider threw his head back and laughed, a harsh, guttural roar that echoed off the surrounding hills.

NickoLot and AnnaRail stepped up beside Morgin. AnnaRail said, “There is something nether about this.”

“Yes,” Morgin said. “Salula. And the little snake won’t be far away.”

Roland put a hand on Morgin’s shoulder. “We still have enough armsmen to take down one Kull.”

Morgin shook his head. “Not this Kull. This is my responsibility, and I’ve avoided it too long.”

Nicki asked, “What of the snake, and its venom?”

Morgin couldn’t see the little monster at that distance, but heard it hovering near Salula. “I’ve tasted its venom and lived, so it cannot kill me. But no one knows what it can do to someone who’s survived its venom, so I think that uncertainty will make it hesitate. It might strike at me in desperation, or to save its master, but not to save Salula. I think it will only observe and report back to Valso. So let’s give it something to report.”

AnnaRail asked, “Why do I sense that France is involved in this?”

Morgin hadn’t considered it, but now realized that none of them would have any reason to know. “France is now Salula’s host. I can only guess, but I suspect Valso forced it upon him.”

“Oh dear,” AnnaRail said. “Can you kill the demon without killing the host?”

Morgin had lain awake at night pondering just that. “The last time I killed the host without killing the demon, and I think it was because I killed him on the Mortal Plane. Perhaps if I drag him into the netherworld, I can kill the demon there.”

“How will you do that?”

Morgin had considered that carefully. “I have a particular shadow in mind.”

••••

As the carriage pulled to a stop, sitting in its dark interior Theandrin heard the shouts of armsmen and the thud of horses hooves. Across from her Chrisainne sat obediently silent.

One of BlakeDown’s lieutenants opened the carriage door and held out a hand to assist Theandrin. She took it and climbed down onto the muddy grass that had been chewed up by horses’ hooves and the boots of marching men. The tents of her husband’s army dotted the fields about her, groups of armsmen riding horses back and forth on some errand or another, and foot soldiers drilling in squads.

Behind her BlakeDown’s lieutenant said, “And you, milady.”

Theandrin turned around, saw that the man held his hand out to assist Chrisainne, who sat unmoving. In the grip of the compulsion spell, the girl couldn’t move until Theandrin allowed her to.

“You may take his hand,” she said, “and allow him to assist you.”

As the lieutenant helped the girl, Theandrin scanned the camp, saw BlakeDown’s banner fluttering in the air above the largest pavilion. Once Chrisainne stood beside her she said, “Walk beside me and say nothing.”

They stepped around puddles of mud and piles of horse dung as they made their way to the pavilion. Some of BlakeDown’s junior officers emerged from it as she approached. They all looked unusually tired and drawn, though she knew no real fighting had yet occurred, only small skirmishes. One of them stepped aside and held the tent flap for her. “Your Ladyship,” he said.

Within, BlakeDown and PaulStaff leaned on a table reviewing maps with some senior officers. Theandrin spotted a small stool, pointed at it and said, “Chrisainne, sit there, say nothing, and don’t move.” The girl obeyed without question.

BlakeDown and the other men turned to look her way. She thought they all looked rather haggard and drawn, with gray, washed out complexions. She said, “When you’re finished, my dear, I have something important to discuss with you.”

BlakeDown glanced at Chrisainne with an uneasy look.

Theandrin crossed to the far side of the pavilion and helped herself to a tin cup of water. She turned about and waited, sipping on the water, and after some brief discussion, PaulStaff and the other men excused themselves politely and left. BlakeDown turned her way, his hand resting on the hilt of the broadsword strapped to his side.

“You look tired,” she said. “Almost ill.”

“No sleep,” he said. “Just nightmares, and always about that Elhiyne.”

“That Elhiyne?”

“Ya, the one calls himself ShadowLord. I’m going to have to kill him. So what’s so important you made the trip all the way out here?” He glanced at Chrisainne. “And with her?”

Theandrin crossed the room to stand in front of the girl. “She has an interesting tale to tell, husband. And I have her under compulsion so she’ll tell the truth.”

“Your spell crafting is powerful. Isn’t that a bit harsh?”

Theandrin said, “She tried to murder me with some very nasty poison.”

BlakeDown frowned, clearly couldn’t justify such actions in a young girl who was supposed to be enamored with him. To Chrisainne he said, “You tried to kill my wife?” The compulsion spell forced Chrisainne to answer only Theandrin’s questions, so she remained silent.

Theandrin said, “Chrisainne, ignore him and answer my questions when I ask them. And do so truthfully, with no dissembling or misdirection.”

Theandrin had already interrogated the girl rather thoroughly, knew the details of her work for Valso. “You have been spying on us for someone else. Is that correct?”

The girl spoke in a toneless voice. “Yeth.” The poor girl had bitten her tongue quite badly and it had swollen a bit.

Theandrin glanced BlakeDown’s way and saw his brow furrow.

“Who have you been working for?”

“King Valso.”

“What were his instructions to you?”

“I was to seduce your husband.”

“Did you enjoy seducing my husband?”

“No?”

“Why?”

Chrisainne struggled for a moment, a valiant effort to resist the compulsion spell, but it ruled her completely. “He ruts like a pig.”

BlakeDown grunted, interestingly enough, sounding a bit like a pig. Theandrin controlled the look on her face carefully, had to suppress the smile that wanted to form there.

“What else did Valso tell you to do?”

“Encourage him to distrust ErrinCastle’s choice of lieutenants for patrolling the Elhiyne border.”

“What?” BlakeDown demanded, stepping forward.

Theandrin put out a hand and stopped him. “Tell me the reason you were to do this.”

“King Valso wants war between Penda and Elhiyne.”

“Why does he want such a war?”

“It will weaken all the Lesser Clans and make them easy to conquer later.”

BlakeDown shouted, “But he promised me—”

He lunged at Chrisainne and Theandrin stepped in his way. Her husband had a horrible temper, and he’d likely beat the girl into unconsciousness, but she wanted BlakeDown to hear more, so that must wait.

“Hold off,” she said. “We can punish her later.” She looked at him pointedly, and didn’t try to hide her contempt as she asked him, “And what did Valso promise you?”

A sulking look crossed his face. “It was a private agreement between him and me.”

When BlakeDown got stubborn like this, she’d get nothing out of him.

He nodded at Chrisainne. “She looks like she wants to speak.”

Theandrin turned and saw the girl’s eyes flash. She clearly had something to say, and was angry enough, and stupid enough, to blurt out something indiscreet. Perhaps they could learn more. She chose her words carefully, chose a phrasing that would make the spell force the girl to speak from her heart. “Speak you mind, girl.”

Chrisainne shouted at BlakeDown, “I would have made a much better wife to you than this cow.”

That statement surprised even Theandrin. Clearly, she hadn’t learned everything the girl had to reveal, and apparently hadn’t asked all the
right
questions. And from the doubtful look on BlakeDown’s face he hadn’t yet made the right connection. Theandrin needed to help him do so. “Hmm! You clearly intended to poison me, but you couldn’t have taken BlakeDown as your husband while you had one of your own. No doubt you intended to poison him too.” It was not a question, so the spell did not compel the girl to answer her.

Theandrin wondered how far the girl’s plans for poison went. “And what else would you have been to my husband?”

“I would have given him strong heirs.”

The wide-eyed look on BlakeDown’s face told her he was starting to put the pieces together. She still needed to help him along a bit. “But my husband already has an heir.”

Chrisainne realized her mistake and her eyes widened.

Theandrin asked her, “So what plans did you have for our son?”

The girl struggled in the merciless grip of the spell, shook as she tried to resist it, finally blurted out, “I was . . . going to . . . kill him too.”

BlakeDown roared, “What?”

Theandrin threw out an arm to hold him back. “So you would murder me, murder your husband, murder our son, wed my widowed husband, bear him new heirs . . . and then what?”

Chrisainne shook uncontrollably, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Poison . . . him . . . too.”

Theandrin had gotten what she needed from Chrisainne, so the time had come to let BlakeDown punish the girl. She expected him to strike her with his fist or his open, gauntleted palm a few times, didn’t think he’d beat her into unconsciousness yet. As BlakeDown’s eyes bulged and his face turned red, Theandrin stepped back a pace, just in case a drop or two of blood spattered her way. She didn’t want to ruin her gown.

BlakeDown roared with fury. In an instant he drew the massive broadsword at his side and swung it high over his head in a two-handed grip, the muscles of his shoulders and arms bunching with the effort. Chrisainne’s eyes widened, and held in the grip of the compulsion spell she could neither move nor flinch. She sat there stiff-backed with her mouth open as he brought the steel edge of the blade down on the top of her head, cleaving it in two, splitting her face cleanly down the center, the blade stopping only after it had cut half way down through her chest. Blood sprayed outward and covered everything. It dripped from Theandrin’s face and hair and arms. She looked at BlakeDown, his face screwed up in a blood-spattered grimace of rage.

Chrisainne hadn’t fallen from the stool. The sword buried in her chest, and BlakeDown’s two-handed grip on the hilt, held her sitting there. He lifted a boot, pressed the heel against one of her breasts and kicked out. The girl tumbled backward off the stool, ended up with the shoulders of her split torso on the floor, her hips still up on the stool, her legs splayed at odd angles.

“Well,” Theandrin said. “She died as she lived—legs spread.” She retrieved a delicate handkerchief to wipe the blood from her face, but it really wasn’t up to the task.

She turned to BlakeDown, who stood there staring dumbly at the girl’s corpse, blood dripping from his eyebrows, nose and chin. “And so, husband, you now know the real purpose of this war you and Olivia are so intent upon.”

••••

Morgin rode Mortiss at a slow walk out toward Salula. The halfman waited unmoving, and as Morgin drew closer he spotted Bayellgae hovering above him. Morgin stopped about ten paces from them. Behind them he saw Metadan appear momentarily, then vanish.

“So,” Salula said, “You think you’re finally man enough to face me.”

It hurt to hear that hard, dead voice coming out of France’s mouth. Morgin didn’t respond, just locked eyes with the halfman. Salula nodded, then dismounted, drew the obsidian blade and waited by his horse. Morgin dismounted, drew his sword and waited by Mortiss.

Salula swatted his horse’s rump with the flat of his sword and the animal trotted away. Mortiss simply vanished.

Morgin wondered what role Metadan would play in this as he bent into a crouch. He and Salula squared off, circled slowly, Morgin conscious that the elusive archangel could appear at any moment.

Salula came in with a series of quick strikes that Morgin parried, sparks erupting where the steel and obsidian met. They disengaged and circled again.

Morgin thought he might be able to defeat Salula, but he’d have to kill France to do so. He hadn’t come up with a better solution, and death would at least free the swordsman’s soul from the grip of the demon. He pulled a shadow around himself, cast one behind Salula, stepped into it with that falling sensation, stepped out of it only to meet Metadan face-to-face.

He charged in under the archangel’s guard, butted him under the chin with his head, knocking him into Salula. Metadan and the halfman stumbled away, turned on each other and traded two quick sword blows. Morgin noticed that the dead steel of the blade that dripped blood did not strike sparks from the obsidian.

Metadan staggered, looked about as if coming to his senses, turned on Morgin and attacked. Morgin back stepped, parrying the archangel’s strikes, sidestepping to keep Metadan between him and the halfman so they couldn’t take him on two-on-one. He stepped into one shadow, stepped out of another behind Salula, but Metadan winked into existence beside the halfman and struck at Morgin.