The Skeleton King (The Silk & Steel Saga) (27 page)

“Never!” Bryce fought the command, his scream echoing against the rock
walls. He yearned for a way to end this evil, to end his life. The black sword
was too far to reach, the mere sight of the blade making him queasy. Frantic,
his gaze roamed the chamber, desperate for a weapon. A jeweled dagger gleamed
near the throne, a trinket of conquest tossed aside, but perhaps it would buy
his freedom. Bryce strained against his bonds, concentrating on his right hand.
Like swimming in molasses, the hand lifted from the throne, reaching toward the
dagger. He leaned forward, his body slow and sluggish, slumped across the
throne like a drunk, straining to reach the dagger. Fingertips brushed the
hilt, just a little further.

He felt the Mordant connect with the throne, a flush of triumph.

Light flared like an exploding star.

Bryce was hurled through the air, flung from the throne like a rag
doll. He landed on a heap of gold coins, gasping and flailing, desperate to
master his body.

The Mordant reached for him. Gray walls slammed down.
*No!*
Pain lanced through him, the thrust of a thousand spear tips. Ripped
from his body, he was hammered into a small ball of consciousness and forced
back into his prison. Bryce railed against his bonds, but he had no form, no
substance, just a wisp of thought beating against steel walls.

A malevolent presence surrounded him.

The Mordant lashed out.
*You
failed me, monk. The throne rejected both our souls.*

Pain ripped through him, like a scourge of acid, but in a corner of his
mind he stayed connected to his jailor.

Enraged, the Mordant stood, sending a shower of gold coins clattering
across the floor. Ripe with vengeance, he strode across the crypt and took up
the black sword.
Darkness rippled along the five-foot blade, drinking in
the light.
Armed with the fearsome
weapon, he turned to face the throne.

*No!*
Bryce screamed, desperate to save
the last relic of the Star Knights.

*Oppose
me at your peril.*
The Mordant raised the sword in a two-handed grip…but
then he stopped. The sword hovered above the winged throne like an
executioner’s axe. Flames in the braziers guttered, casting strange shadows
across the crypt. The Mordant’s rage slowly annealed to a cold anger. He
lowered the weapon.
*Another time,
another lifetime. Like the Dark Lord, I take the long view.*
Gripping the
sword, he turned and strode toward the staircase.

Bryce huddled in his prison, locked
in misery, but in the depths of his heart he nurtured a thin hope. He’d learned
his prison had a key. Perhaps in time he’d find a way to unlock the door…to
reclaim his body. And then he’d rid the world of a thousand-year-old evil.

34

Duncan

Twelve men.
 
He’d freed a hundred yet he’d gained only
twelve warriors, a grim start to the rebellion. Duncan hadn’t reckoned on the soul-eating
nature of slavery…or the help of a young woman. The Mordant used the mine to
crush men’s spirits but perhaps the gods lent a hand. Either way, the die was
already cast, victory or death the only possible outcomes.

Clutching a loaded crossbow, he led
his small band through narrow corridors and vaulted caverns, always choosing
the deepest route…but with every step his senses screamed that he ran the wrong
way. To control the mine, he needed to control the entrance, but first he had
to find Brock and the others. Together, they’d sweep upwards, killing the
guards and releasing the prisoners. A simple plan, but the mine was proving a
labyrinth, a kicked anthill swarming with armed guards.

Rounding a bend, he heard a subtle
snick. “
Crossbow!”
Duncan
screamed a warning as he lurched left. A quarrel rushed passed his right ear, a
deadly hum. The man behind shrieked, clutching at his face.

Shadows crowded the corridor but Duncan saw every detail.
Twenty guards with swords drawn, but the immediate threat was the single
crossbowman. While the other bowman struggled to reload, Duncan raised his own crossbow. He loosed the
tickler. The weapon bucked, spitting a feathered quarrel. The crossbowman
screamed, crumpling to the floor. Duncan
followed the bolt with a bloodthirsty yell, wielding the crossbow like a club.
The wooden stock smashed against a guard’s face, felling him with a sickening
crunch. Dropping the crossbow, Duncan
drew his sword. Chaos erupted around him. Howling like banshees, his ragged
band attacked. Fighting with scavenged weapons and bare fists, they rushed the
guards. Some fought with their shackles, clasping their hands together and
wielding the chains in a deadly arc, cracking the skulls of their jailors.
Ferocity proved their best weapon, driving a wedge into the guards.

Duncan rode the tidal wave of hate, fighting
at the spear point. Hack and slash, he wielded his sword, twisting away to
avoid a low thrust. Beside him, Krell laughed like a berserker. The big redhead
picked up the felled body of a guard. Wielding the corpse like a battering ram,
Krell charged. Shocked by the barbarity, the lead guards pulled back, seeking
to retreat, but the passage was clogged by other guards. Confusion reigned and
the battle became a rout. Duncan’s
men swarmed forward, releasing a frenzy of hate. Blood slicked the floor and
screams filled the corridor. Showing no quarter, they hacked at their jailors,
prying weapons from their dead hands. The remaining guards retreated into a tight
knot, presenting a hedgehog of swords. Laughing, Krell heaved a corpse at them.
Another prisoner threw a severed head. Other body parts followed, a bloody
bombardment.
 

Barbarity turned the tide of
battle. The guards broke and ran.

The prisoners howled in victory, giving
chase like wolves hot on the scent of prey.

Duncan tried to stop them, fearing the mad
rush would end in an ambush. His roar cut through their howls. “
Hold your
ground!”

Krell staggered to a stop, the
glaze of battle leaving his eyes. He grabbed the nearest man and dragged him to
a stop. “The cat-man’s right.
Stand your
ground
.” His voice boomed through the corridor, tugging at the men like a
leash.

They stumbled to a halt. Battle lust slowly bled
from their faces. Some leaned against the wall, clutching their weapons and
gasping for breath, while others winced in pain, feeling wounds for the first
time. One man lay dead and two badly wounded, a steep price for victory but the
alternative was death.

Duncan strode amongst them, offering words of
encouragement. “We’ve proved the guards can be defeated.” The spark of pride
lit their eyes, transforming ragtag prisoners into fighting men. “But we must
stay together and make the most of our numbers. We’ve had our first taste of
victory but there are more battles to be won, and more prisoners awaiting
release. Bind your wounds and loot the fallen. We can’t afford to tarry.” Duncan joined the search,
surprised to find a half-full wineskin hanging from a belt. Sniffing the
stopper, he took a long pull. His mind knew it was swill, but his mouth savored
the sudden taste of grape.

“Share the spoils, cat-man.”
Grabbing the skin, Krell spouted a red stream into his open mouth. “Ambrosia of
the gods! Now that’s worth fighting for.” The wineskin made the rounds, each
man gaining a mouthful.

Krell grinned, slapping Duncan on the back. “The
men fought well, cat-man.”

“Ferocity won the first battle but
that mad dash could have been our undoing. We need to stay together and not
rush into a trap. One defeat and we’re all dead.”

Krell growled. “You worry too much,
cat-man.”

“Someone has to.” Duncan retrieved his crossbow, making sure
the mechanism still worked. Putting his foot in the stirrup, he reset the
tickler. The crossbow suited him so much better than a sword, but in the heat
of battle it was only worth one death. He searched the dead bowman, scavenging
another handful of quarrels. The looting proved a boon. The dead guards gave up
a score of swords and half as many daggers. His band of freed men bristled with
weapons, some wielding a sword in each hand. Duncan called the men back to their purpose. “We’ve
gained the teeth of war, now let’s show the guards how freed men fight!”

The men growled their assent, a
pack of hungry wolves at his back. Duncan
led them into the depths, running at a lope. Despite the danger, he set a hard
pace, feeling as if a trap closed around them. Always taking the downward path,
he stretched his senses, alert to ambush. Breathing deep, he tasted the air.
The corridor stank of blood and death yet he heard no clash of steel. He
readied his crossbow, his thumb near the tickler. Rounding a bend, he found a
corridor awash in blood. Corpses lined the hallway; a dozen prisoners hacked to
death. A few still gripped swords, at least they’d died as warriors. Duncan stared at their
faces, relieved to find them strangers. “The rebellion spreads. We need to find
our brothers-in-arms.”

Torches flickered in the hallway.
They came to a three-way fork and he paused to listen, testing the scents at
each passage. The middle fork rang with the faint clash of steel. “This way.”
The sounds of battle drew them on.

Figures appeared ahead, blocking
the corridor, black leather armor, fighting with swords and spears. A host of
guards…
all showing their backs!
They’d come up behind the guards, the clamor of battle covering their approach.

Beside him, Krell flashed a feral
grin. “The gods favor the bold!”

Whispered words passed between his
men.

They approached from behind, cold
and silent, the perfect ambush. Two strides from the guards, Duncan loosed a
quarrel.
Thunk!
The bolt punched a fist-sized hole through the first man
and skewered the second. Duncan
swung the crossbow like a club. Slash and hack, they fell on the guards,
blooding their swords without opposition. They cleaved a swath deep into enemy ranks
before the guards began to turn. The murderous ambush turned into a desperate
fight. Trapped between two bands of prisoners, the guards fought like rabid
dogs. No quarter was asked for and none was given, a bitter struggle to the
death.

Krell led the advance. Bellowing a
fearsome laugh, the redhead wielded a sword in both fists. Wrecking havoc with
each blow, the big man scythed through the enemy like a god of war reaping a
bloody harvest. Duncan
followed in his wake. Reloading the crossbow, he killed two men with one
quarrel, smashing a third with the heavy wooden stock. Parry and strike, the
battle became a blur…till Krell staggered to a stop.

The swords fell silent…corpses
strewn across the floor.

From across the corridor, a ragged
band of prisoners stared back at them, an odd jumble of weapons gripped in
their fists.

For a moment, both sides stared in
disbelief…but then one man cheered, and the cheer became a roar. The two sides
rushed together, pounding each other on the back, talking at once,
brothers-in-arms.

Duncan looked for his friends. Familiar faces
crowded the corridor, Seth, and six-fingered Nef, and Simeon the hunchback, but
there were two he wanted to see more than the others. He finally found Brock
and Clovis
together. The big man grinned, brandishing a spiked mace like a rare trophy.

Duncan answered his grin. “So Grack gave up
his mace.”

“We took the one-armed bastard on
the ladder, just as you said.” Brock twirled the blood-soaked weapon, beaming
like a man in love. “This spiked beauty cracked the Taal’s
skull like an eggshell. You should have seen the look on the bastard’s face
when we charged the ladder.” Grinning, he thumped Duncan’s back hard enough to rattle his
teeth. “Your plan worked, cat-man! But I never thought to see your mismatched
stare again.”

Duncan gave the big man a wry smile. “Cats
have nine lives.”

“Ha! I hope you saved some for the
fight ahead. The tunnels teem with guards.”

“All the more reason why we can’t
tarry.” He felt the press of time, like a hand strangling his throat. “Get the
men ready. Bind their wounds and strip the dead of weapons. We have a mine to
take.” Brock grinned and began issuing orders. Duncan
turned to Clovis,
relieved to find the older man unharmed.

“The gods watch over you, Duncan
Treloch.” Clovis smiled, rock dust coating his
straggly beard.

Duncan clasped his friend’s arm. “I’d rather
they lent a hand.”

Torchlight glinted in the older
man’s eyes. “Perhaps they do.”

Duncan shook his head, but there was laughter
in his voice. “You and your gods. Better to put your trust in steel, or a good
bow.”

Clovis lifted his sword, an odd smile on his
face. “Seems I haven’t forgotten the way of the sword…but I long for the color
of the sky.”

“We’ll see it again, my friend, but
first we must take the mine.” He turned away and lifted his crossbow, raising
his voice above the clamor. “We’ve clawed our way out of hell…but I’ve a
yearning for the sky. Are you with me?”

The men cheered a roar that shook
the corridor.

“Then let’s show the guards how
freed men fight.” Setting off at a run, Duncan
led them through rock-carved passageways, but this time they traveled up. Left
and then right, he threaded a path through the rabbit warren of stone, always heading
toward the surface. Wary of ambush, he strained his senses, trying to detect
the first clank of steel.

Ambushing guards from behind, they
fought a running battle. With scavenged weapons and bare hands, they clawed
their way toward the surface.

Needing more men, Duncan breathed deep, always searching for the
rotting stench of prison holds. Twice they stopped to release men from bitter
hellholes. Shackled and chained, the prisoners climbed out of the depths,
astonished by the sudden chance for freedom. Some cowered and slunk away, too
broken to fight, but most joined the struggle, their courage bolstered by the
sight of so many freed men wielding swords. Their numbers swelled to over two
hundred, half of them armed, all of them desperate, a mob running at his back.

Guards blocked their way, setting a
thin picket of swords and spears, but the mob would not be denied. Howling like
the damned, his men overwhelmed the guards, carving a swath of death through
their ranks like justice on a rampage.

One battle at a time, they fought
their way up through the twisting passageways, leaving a trail of carnage in
their wake. The narrow corridors proved a boon, the perfect funnel for their
ferocity. Swarming the enemy, they never lost a battle, but the fighting took
its toll, leaching their stamina and culling their numbers to half. Caught in a
labyrinth of stone, it seemed they waged an endless struggle…till the air began
to freshen, and the men caught the first hint of the surface

It smelled like victory.

A sense of triumph pulsed through
the men, lifting their spirits and renewing their strength. Gripping their
weapons, they pounded through the rocky corridors like a force of nature that
could not be denied.

They rounded a bend and found a
clog of guards blocking the corridor. Duncan
loosed a quarrel as Krell led the charge. Screaming like banshees, they fell on
the guards. Slash and hack, they smashed the blockade, ferocity overwhelming
discipline. The guards broke and ran.

Baying like hounds, the men gave
chase, their blood hot for battle.

The corridor widened into an
enormous cavern. Howling for vengeance, the men spread out, chasing their prey
across the broad expanse, hungry for blood.

Duncan ran with the pack, wielding his
crossbow like a club. Halfway across, a warning thundered through his mind. He
slowed to a stop and stared at the cavern…and then he knew. “
Stop! Fall
back! It’s a trap!”
He screamed at the top of his lungs, grabbing the men
around him, knowing that discipline would defeat ferocity in such a large
space. “
Krell, stop them!”
But the big man was lost to the battle-fury.
Leading the wild charge across the cavern floor, Krell laughed like a
berserker, his flaming-red hair waving like a banner. Caught in the rush of
war, the men streamed passed Duncan,
brandishing their weapons, their eyes glazed with the heat of battle, giving
full throat to their blood lust. Sensing disaster, Duncan tried to stop the rush, but he was one
lone man straining against a blood fury.

And then the drumming started. Like
a heartbeat of war, the sound thundered through the mine with the force of doom.
Ranks of soldiers appeared blocking the far end of the cavern. Not guards, but
disciplined soldiers. A solid line of rectangular black shields embossed with
golden pentacles, they formed a wall across both ends of the cavern, deadly
barriers bristling with spears.