The Skeleton King (The Silk & Steel Saga) (28 page)

Trapped!
Duncan
struggled to reform his men. “To me! To me!”

Krell slowed to a stop…and the wild
dash veered to a sudden halt. Turning away from the barrier, the men milled in
confusion, caught between two shield walls.
 

A centurion stepped from the ranks,
his voice echoing through the cavern. “Put down your weapons! Serve to live!”

Krell gave the answer. Plucking a
fallen spear from the ground, he hurled it at the centurion. “Live free or
die!” The spear took the centurion in the throat. Roaring, Krell chased after
the spear, charging the wall of shields like a magnificent lion…and the men
followed.

Heartened by Krell’s audacity, Duncan laughed, embracing
to the madness of battle. Bellowing a challenge, he charged with the rest. He
loosed a quarrel and then swung his crossbow like a club. A hundred strong,
they raced toward the shield wall, a ragtag army wielding a motley of stolen
weapons, courage and purpose their only armor. As if sanctioned by the gods, a
wild hope surged through Duncan,
a feeling of desperate invincibility.

Their roar shook the cavern, a
righteous wave bearing down on the shield wall.

But the Mordant’s soldiers did not
fight fair.

Handlers stepped from the shield
wall. Like spurts of black venom, they launched nets into the air. Falling like
spider webs, they trapped the rabble army, pinning them to the ground. A net
caught Duncan
in the face, binding him with sticky strands. Thrashing against the tangle, he
tripped and fell. Weighted with leads, the sticky nets tangled arms and weapons
in a stranglehold, pulling men to their knees. Across the cavern, men thrashed
and hacked but the struggle only deepened the web’s embrace. Swathed in sticky
cocoons, they writhed on the floor like flies awaiting the bite of a spider.

One man broke free.

Somehow Krell broke the sticky
bonds, rising like a god of vengeance, a sword in each fist. Roaring in
defiance, he charged the shield wall like a maddened lion.
“Fight me, damn
you, fight me!”

A deadly hum of crossbows filled
the air.

Krell stumbled, quarrels piercing
his arms and legs…but he did not fall. Bleeding from a half-dozen wounds, he
lurched toward the shield wall. Roaring like a fiery-maned lion, he beat his
sword against the line of spears. “
Fight me in single combat! Come out from
behind your shields and fight!”

Trapped in a cocoon of nets, Duncan thrashed against
his bonds, desperate to fight by the big man’s side.

Krell staggered along the shield
wall, bellowing his challenge…but no champion ever emerged. Instead, the
soldiers trust their spears at the big man, aiming to wound not to kill. Like a
pack of jackals, they harassed the last lion.

“No!”
Duncan struggled to his knees, clawing at the
nets.

As if Krell wearied of the game, he
beat the spears away and rushed the shields. A single spear took him in the
chest. Even then, Krell did not stop. Impaled on the shaft, he lunged forward,
reaching for the soldier who’d killed him. Halfway up the shaft, the big man
staggered to a stop. The swords fell from his hands, clattering to the stone
floor. Groaning, Krell slowly toppled sideways, felled like a mighty oak.

“
No!”
Duncan’s scream split the cavern. He
struggled to stand, his arms bound by sticky webs.

The shield wall opened, disgorging
a score of leather-clad handlers. Wielding heavy clubs, the burly handlers
moved among the cocooned men, beating them into submission, forcing shackles
onto their hands and legs, making them prisoners once more.

Wild with anger, Duncan bucked against his bonds. His arms
remained pinned to his sides, but his right hand reached his dagger. Pulling it
free, he struggled to a crouch.

Mocking laughter beat against him.
“Where do you think your going?” A big brute of a handler sneered at Duncan, thumping a club in
his left hand.

Gripping the dagger, Duncan struggled to stand.
“Fight me!”

“Why bother?”

Snarling, Duncan lunged at the handler, seeking a
warrior’s death…but the smothering web tangled his legs, making a mockery of
his charge. He tripped and fell hard, the dagger skittering across the floor.

The handler barked a crude laugh,
aiming a kick at Duncan’s
groin.

Twisting away, Duncan glared up at the brute, hawking a wad
of spit at his face. “Kill me and be done with it!”

Wiping the spit from his cheek, the
handler snarled. “Your life is not your own.” He brought the club down with
expert blows, hitting flesh instead of bone. “Even maggots live to serve.”

Duncan writhed in pain, longing for death.
The club thumped against the side of his head, the taste of blood flooding his
mouth. The world began to fade…cruel laughter chasing him into the darkness.

35

Katherine

Kath dreamt of Duncan, of their wedding
night in the Shield
Forest. Moonlight
filtered through the branches, silvering their bower like a blessing from the
gods. Naked, they lay entwined beneath the great oak tree. She kissed him,
reveling in his touch, in his taste, in his warmth. Tenderness burned to a
deep-seated need. She ached for him. He rolled on top, his mismatched gaze full
of love…but something changed. Bruises appeared on his face, his gaze full of
pain.
No!
Kath fought the nightmare, struggling to scream.

“Shhhhh!”

Kath woke, reaching for a sword
that was not there.

“
Shhhhh!”
A raven-faced
woman hovered overhead, ebony eyes demanding silence.

Recognizing the healer, Kath shucked
the nightmare, struggling to wake.

“Come,”
a whispered command.
Thera handed Kath her boots, gesturing for her to follow.

Her companions slept, wrapped in
their bedrolls, the glow crystal dimmed to a pale light. Even the wolf slept,
huddled close to Danya…so perhaps there was no cause for alarm. Rubbing her
eyes, Kath crept from her warm blankets, wondering at the late night summons.

The healer moved toward the chamber
opening, her footfalls soft on the earthen floor. It was only then that Kath
noticed she carried a candle, the first she’d seen in the caves. Why a candle
instead of a glow crystal? Another riddle of the night, yet she followed
without comment.

A pair of grim-faced guards waited
outside the sleeping chamber, but these were strangers, not Bear and Boar. The
smaller of the two men wore the tattoo of a badger…but the larger guard bore
the snarling tattoo of a mountain lion. Kath stifled a gasp. “What’s this
about?” She turned to confront the healer.

“You seek to learn our ways?” Sharp
eyes stared back at her, full of judgment.

“Yes.”

“Then come.”

“But the others?”

“Just you.”

Kath sensed Thera’s words were chiseled
in stone, leaving no room for debate. She looked at the lion-faced guard and
then back to the healer, but their faces held no answers. Swallowing her
questions, she gave a terse nod.

The healer whirled, setting a brisk
pace, a single candle clutched in her fist.

Kath rushed to keep up. The
corridors were empty, the light dimmed for sleep. Shadows hovered close, obscuring
the drawings. Kath peered through the gloom, searching for landmarks. Horses
galloped across a vaulted ceiling, marking a familiar cavern. Three passageways
later, the horses gave way to a pack of wolves baying at an ocher moon, but the
healer did not tarry. More twists and turns followed, as if Thera deliberately
sought to confuse her in a tangle of stone.

Kath kept pace, struggling to
memorize the progression of paintings. Horses, wolves, badgers, snow geese, the
narrow passage opened to a long gallery, a place she’d never been before.
Charcoal ravens took flight across a rocky sky. The long cavern tightened to a
narrow chokehold, the low ceiling almost touching her head. Ducking low, Kath
shuddered at the suffocating closeness. The den seemed an endless warren of
rock. No sky, no stars, no moon, a place forgotten by time. Kath wondered how
the painted people could go so long without feeling the sun’s kiss or the
wind’s breath.

Left and then right, the passage
widened and then narrowed. Strange glyphs appeared on the walls. The crude drawings
seemed older, more simplistic. Kath felt as if they walked backwards in time. Handprints
filled an entire wall, a primitive accounting. Done in a dark reddish stain,
Kath wondered if they were marked in blood. One of the hands held a sword, the
first weapon she’d seen in the drawings. She wanted a closer look, but the
healer forged ahead, walking deeper into the caves. Kath hurried to keep up,
not wanting to be lost in the stone labyrinth.

Light from the glow crystals
disappeared, leaving only Thera’s candle.

The smothering darkness drew near.
Kath rushed to stay close to Thera, nearly treading on her heels.

Thera’s footsteps slowed, the
candlelight flickering against rough rock walls. The passage opened to a
chamber that seemed a dead end…till Kath glimpsed the jagged crack running the
height of the far wall. Like a bolt of darkness, a lightning-shaped crack split
the rock, creating a narrow passage. A great stag protected the opening,
magnificent antlers spread wide above a noble neck. Drawn in bold lines of
charcoal and umber, the stag’s dark eyes seemed to bore into her soul, full of
primal power.

Kath approached the jagged opening,
acknowledging the stag with a nod. “Lightning in the depths of the earth.” Awe
prickled the back of her neck, feeling the breath of the gods. “What is this
place?”

“A sacred trust.” The healer stared
at her, the tattooed raven supplanting the woman. “A bolt of knowledge split
the earth. Do you have the courage to follow it into the depths?”

“A test?”

Thera nodded; the barest hint of
approval in her smile. “One rarely given to outsiders.” The raven peered from
the healer’s face, dark eyes surrounded by tattooed feathers. “What god do you
pray to?”

“Valin, the god of warriors.”

 
“Can your god see into the earth?”

 
Kath had never considered the question yet she
staunchly defended Valin. “He sees into the heart of every warrior.”

“Then pray to him now.” Reaching
into her pocket, Thera removed a fresh candle. “To each soul the gods give a
single Light against the Dark.” Her face solemn with ritual, she slowly waved
the two candles in an intricate pattern, as if scribing a great rune in the air.
“Light conquers the Dark.” She touched the two wicks together. The second
candle flared bright. She offered the slender taper to Kath. “Guard it well.”

Accepting the candle, Kath stared
at the lightning bolt cracking the wall. “Alone?”

“Yes.” Thera’s voice held a solemn
tone. “To the very Womb of the World.”

A feather of foreboding shivered
down Kath’s back. “What will I find there?”

“That depends on what you take.”
The healer’s gaze narrowed. “Your candle is lit, don’t squander the Light.”

The words held a note of finality.
Shielding the candle, Kath stepped toward the lightning bolt. Cold air seeped
out. Nodding to the great stag, she slipped through the crack.

Darkness rushed to surround her.
Her single candle cast a feeble glow. The rock walls pressed close. Musty and
cold, they crowded her shoulders, a smother of rock too close for comfort.
Shielding the candle, she walked forward, studying the walls, searching for
animal guides but the rock proved barren.

The earthen floor dipped away.

Kath stumbled and nearly fell,
almost dropping the candle. Clutching the taper, she regained her footing.
Shaken, she leaned against the cold rock wall, her heart hammering. Without
flint, the candle flame was her sole shield against the dark. She stared back
toward the lightning bolt opening…but only darkness lurked behind. Taking a
deep breath, she pressed on, caution in her steps.

The steep descent continued,
twisting and turning like a serpent delving into the earth. Rounding a corner,
she stifled a scream. A skull stared back at her, yellowed with age. It sat in
a niche, no bones, no coffin, just a hollow-eyed stare, perhaps a guardian of
the cave…or a warning of things to come. Sending a prayer to Valin, she ducked
past the watcher.

 
Deeper…darker…colder…she followed the narrow
passage into the depths…till she came to a choice. The passageway split in two,
both branches equally narrow, both slanting down. Holding the candle to the
rock walls, she searched for a clue, a hint about one path or the other…but she
found no markings. Why give her a choice with no way to choose? Hot wax dripped
like tears on her hand, goading her forward. On impulse, she took the
right-hand passage.

Kath searched the walls as she
walked, hoping for a sign that she’d made the right choice…but nothing to mark
the way. Down and around, the darkness grew more oppressive. Doubt gnawed at
her mind, dragging her footsteps to a crawl. Her breathing sounded loud in her
ears. What if she’d taken the wrong turn; forever lost in a labyrinth of stone?
Icy fingers slid down her back. Feeling a cold stare, she whirled, holding the
candle out…but it was just another skull, staring with vacant eyes, death
keeping watch.

Taking a deep breath, she struggled
to bridle her fears.

Candle wax dripped on her hand,
more than a quarter gone.

Kath turned a corner and the
passage branched again. A sob threatened the back of her throat but she forced
it down. Making a choice, she moved forward, wondering if she made a mistake.

The passageway brought more branches,
a maze of choices. Her doubts multiplied with every twist and turn. Molten wax
dripped on her hand, a measure of the time lost. She stared at the candle,
surprised to find it three-quarters melted. Panic threatened, crowding the
darkness. Kath stifled the urge to turn and run. Darkness tightened around her,
as if the weight of the world pressed down. She longed for a sword but her belt
was empty. Feeling naked, she gripped Duncan’s
warrior ring, a comfort in the dark. Fighting the urge to run, she forced
herself to think. They’d come to the north to defeat the Mordant, but to do
that, they needed allies. And that meant gaining the trust of the painted people.
In order to gain their trust, she would have to trust in return. The insight
stiffened her resolve. Facing the darkness, Kath clutched the slender taper of
wax like a sword. “
A warrior does not run.”
Her whispered words formed a
shield against the dark. Gripping Duncan’s
warrior ring, she descended into the depths.

A row of skulls sat on a rocky shelf
at eye level, a long line of disembodied sentinels. Yellowed with age, some
were half-crumbled to dust. She met their ancient stares, wondering if she
walked to her own grave.

Beyond the skulls, the passage
twisted and turned; a torturous meander of stone. Her candle melted to a nub.
Chased by darkness, Kath rushed through the passageway, desperate for an end.
Just when she thought it was hopeless, she turned and saw the light.

Light
,
warm and welcoming, a distant glow that beckoned.

Tempted to run, Kath slowed to a
crawl, wondering if it was trap. Breathing deep, she caught the musky aroma of peat;
proof the light was no illusion. She crept forward, peering around the corner.

The passage opened into a round
chamber with a domed ceiling. The near half glowed golden with light, a
thousand candles perched on rocky shelves…but the far half was pitch black, as
dark and forbidding as a sealed tomb. A great crack, three feet wide, split the
chamber asunder, like a bolt of divine lightning separating light from dark.

Drawn towards the divide, Kath
entered the chamber, stepping to the jagged edge. The great crack split the
ceiling and the floor, creating a jagged gaping darkness, as if an angry god
had sundered the world in two. Cold seeped up out of the depths, laden with
mystery and a feeling of great age, like the first breath of the world. Kath
stared into the depths, wondering what lurked below. Gripped by curiosity, she
nudged a small rock over the edge. The stone disappeared, swallowed by
darkness. She waited, poised on the edge, but there was never a sound, as if
the great crack had no bottom.

“Few are so brazen at the boundary
of the gods.”

Startled, Kath spun. Putting her
back to the dark half, she searched for the speaker. Glowing candles filled
every niche and cranny of the domed wall, tears of wax dripping down. A peat
fire burned in a circle of stones, providing warmth and the loamy smells of
grass and roots. A mound of blankets and sheepskins sat on the far side of the
blaze. A face peered out of the mound, so wrinkled and worn that the blue
tattoos were muddled to a blur.

“Come and sit by my fire.”

A woman’s voice, frail with age.
Kath stepped away from the crack, taking a seat near the blaze.

“Blow the candle out, dear, before
it burns you.”

She’d forgotten the candle clutched
in her hand, a mere nubbin of wax. She blew it out, sending a curl of smoke to
the ceiling, and then stared across the flames at the woman. So old, her face
was a mass of wrinkles, only a few wisps of long white hair on her head. She
sat huddled under the sheepskins as if a breath of wind would blow her away…but
then Kath looked in her eyes. Dark brown eyes stared back at her, impossibly
deep, wells of memory, full of power, as if they held the wisdom of the ages.
“Who are you?”

A soft cackle of laughter, “Always
the first question.” The old woman smiled; a toothless grin yet full of mirth.
“The oldest one, the guardian of truth, the keeper of memories, the Ancestor.”

“Keeper of memories?”

“The mind is full of doorways. Memories
leak past the doors, around them, beneath them, images of other places, other
lifetimes. And sometimes those doors open wide, revealing much that was lost.”

Kath held her breath, thinking of
her visions in the broken tower. “Why am I here?”

“To confront the Dark, a test all
leaders must take.” The woman reached into a pouch, throwing a scattering of
herbs into the fire. The herbs sparkled and cracked, releasing a blue smoke, a
faint scent of sage…and something else, something Kath could not name.

The old woman gestured to the domed
ceiling and the great dark divide. “Light balanced against the Dark, we are all
drawn into the Battle
Immortal…but some bear more of the burden than others.”

Kath shuddered, having heard those
words before,
the battle immortal.

The old woman’s voice dropped to a
hushed whisper. “Deep in the bowels of Mother Earth, a warrior can feel the
weight of the world.” Dark eyes bored into Kath. “You felt it, didn’t you,
child, the weight of the world on your shoulders?”