The Skeleton King (The Silk & Steel Saga) (47 page)

61

Katherine

Poised for battle, Kath and her band
of warriors hid within the shadow of the citadel, waiting for the dark of the
moon.
The dark of the moon,
that
fallow time of the month when all life held its breath and the dead drew near.
A time of superstition and fear, when honest folk sought shelter and nightmares
held sway. Even the sea birds sensed the coming dark, stilling to a hush as
twilight fled.

Kath made the moonless night her
ally. Dark and forbidding and laden with omens, it was the perfect setting for
a deceit of swords.

Twilight deepened. The dark was
nearly upon them. Hiding beneath a sheepskin cloak, a smudge of cream against
the snow, Kath led her small band toward the dark walls. Silent as death, they
crept within the very shadow of the Dark Citadel. Needing the assurance of cold
steel, Kath drew her sword and stared up at the monstrous fist of stone, the
lair of the Mordant.

Nightmares lurked within. She felt
it in the marrow of her bones, yet she refused to turn back. More than a
fortress, the citadel was a bastion of evil, a source of power for the Mordant.
She swore to deny him that power. But oh, the risks. The painted people had
come to believe in her, naming her their Svala, the wearer of their War Helm.
Without reservation, they lent her all their strength, every warrior, young and
old, male and female, committed to a single battle. If they failed…if
she
failed, a proud people would be left defenseless before the Mordant’s soldiers.
She could not fail. Yet despite the risks, she would not turn back. In the
depths of her soul, she believed this was their one great chance to strike a
blow against Darkness. And she believed her plan would work. Kath prayed to
Valin like she’d never prayed before.

A soft rustle at her back. Beside
her, Bear whispered, “They come.”

Pride rushed through her; she’d
never doubted it.

More than three thousand painted
warriors crept across the frozen fields. Hiding beneath sheepskin cloaks, they
seemed a part of the landscape, a wild force of nature. Approaching from the
north, they lay in ambush behind her, waiting for her signal.

Kath planned to attack from the
north, from the direction least expected. While the bulk of her army moved into
position, another smaller force of eight hundred, led by Fanggold, was making
its way up from the south with Danya. The citadel was an imposing fortress but
it had two weaknesses, two gates, a main one on the south side, and a smaller
sea gate in the north. Like swordplay, battle was all about feints and
misdirection. If her plan worked, the forces of the citadel would rush to
protect the southern gate while she attacked from the north. But much would
depend on Danya and the dark moon.

She leaned towards Bear, keeping
her words to a whisper. “Call a runner.”

The big man cupped his hands to his
mouth and made a soft whirring sound, imitating a bird of the steppes.

A few moments later, a youth clad
in white sheepskin crept near. In the fading twilight, Kath could just make out
the fierce fox tattooed on his face. “Your name?”

“Tannin, Svala.”

“Tannin, I need you to get a
message to Fanggold. Tell him to attack the barracks at the Pit, release the
horses from the stables, and then set them aflame. And tell him to raise a loud
noise, for I want the enemy to hear the battle. The citadel needs to be
convinced that a great army lies beyond its southern gates.” She stared at him.
“Can you do that, Tannin?”

“Aye, Svala, I will.” And then he
was gone, scurrying across the frozen fields like a mouse evading a hawk, his
sheepskins blending into the snow.

Kath prayed he wasn’t seen.

Blaine leaned toward her, his face darkened
with streaks of mud, just like her own. “What now?”

“Now we wait for Danya.”

Darkness fell like a scythe,
slaying the last of the twilight. Kath huddled beneath her sheepskin cloak,
desperate for warmth. Time seemed to crawl. Waiting proved hard, giving her too
much time to think. Nightmares plagued her mind, memories from inside the
gargoyles, images of hell. Souls bound for centuries inside stone statues,
trapped in unspeakable torment, a fate she could have shared. Shuddering, she
gripped her sword hilt, fighting to banish the memories. She needed to focus on
the battle ahead. So many things could go wrong. The biggest risk was the
enemy’s numbers. She had no way of knowing how many soldiers lurked within the
dark walls. But if her army breached the gates and fought within the narrow
streets of the citadel, then the numbers might be negated. And then there was Duncan, a worry of another
sort. She prayed her dreams were only nightmares, not a warning from the gods.

The night wore on and the darkness
deepened, not a sound upon the land. Even the stars were reluctant to shine.
Valin gifted her with a moonless night, so dark and absolute that the sky
seemed like the vault of a grave and all the world a tomb.

“Svala, look!”

And then she saw them. Lights crept
across the land, thirty thousand or more, moving up from the south. Spread out
across the fields, they swept forward like a tide of starlight, as if a vast
army marched toward the citadel, each soldier holding a lighted taper.

Blaine gripped her arm. “It works! Danya’s
done it!”

“The awesome power of a
Beastmaster.”
 
Kath could only imagine
the strength of Danya’s magic to hold so many to her will. She’d asked the
wolf-girl to bring the mountain sheep out of Ghost Hills and march them across
the steppes. Thirty thousand sheep with glow crystals tied to their horns, they
moved across the steppes like a vast eldritch army. Superstition and the dark moon
completed the illusion, as if an attacking horde swarmed toward the citadel.
The ghost army gave Kath the deceit of numbers she so desperately needed. “Now
we wait to see if they believe it.”

Huddled at the base of the citadel,
Kath was close enough to hear the cries of alarm raised along the walls. Horns
blared from the ramparts and drums pounded a warning. Shouts rang out, echoing
against the stone walls. The distinctive whump of catapults and trebuchets
shook the night, hurling boulders into the steppes. And all the boulders fell
toward the south.

Blaine’s voice leaped with eagerness. “You’ve
done it! They’ve bought the ruse!”

“Wait.” Kath held her forces back,
giving the citadel time to shift the bulk of their men toward the southern
gate.

Out on the southern fields, the
army of lights kept their distance, a bright swarm dancing just beyond the
reach of the defenders, yet the rain of boulders never slowed.

A clash of steel shattered the
night, the distant battle sounds heightening the sense of danger. Flames
erupted to the east, tongues of fire licking the barracks. A bright orange glow
lit the massive wooden structures of the Pit, making them seem like
flame-breathing dragons. “Fanggold.” Kath released a long held breath. “Almost
time.”

The time for battle was nearly upon
them, but she was not afraid, as if she’d finally found her true destiny.

“Stay low and keep quiet.” Kath led
her band of thirty-four warriors toward the northern gate, the same men who’d
battled the hellhounds, every one wearing a swath of maroon tied to their sword
arm. To a man, they’d insisted on following her into the citadel. If they
failed, the rest of the army had orders to retreat.

Faces blackened, they crept across
the frozen ground to the stone ramp, a broad roadway leading up to the northern
gate. Torchlight flickered along the battlement but the ramp remained sheathed
in darkness. Kath shed her sheepskin cloak, leaving it in the snow, trusting
the maroon cloak to hide her against the dark stone. Slow and stealthy, she
crept up the ramp, a thin line of marauders following behind. Halfway up, her
shoulder’s blades itched. Fearing an arrow or a crossbow bolt, she hugged the
ground, afraid to breathe. When no bolt came, she scurried forward, relieved to
reach the ironbound gate.

The gate was immense, timber
reinforced with iron plates, thrice the height of a tall man. Wood was
impervious to her magic, so Kath avoided the gate, seeking the stone wall on
the far side of the gatehouse. Slipping around the corner, she pressed her back
against the cold stone. Blaine,
Bear and Boar kept close. The others hugged the darkness, an ambush waiting for
an open gate.

Kath reached for the amber pyramid
lodged deep in her pocket. Breaching the wall would be risky. Anything could
lurk on the other side, including a legion of soldiers. Kath knew she was just
as likely to walk into a trap, as to succeed, but it was too late for doubt. She
sidled close to Blaine.
“If I don’t return, take the others back and warn the painted people.”

Kath held her breath, expecting
another argument, but he just gave her a curt nod. “I’ll be waiting for you.”

She gripped his arm in thanks. Sending
a quick prayer to Valin, she looked at Bear and Boar. “Ready?”

Both men nodded, gently easing
their swords from their scabbards.

“Then take a deep breath, and whatever
happens, don’t let go.”

She stood between them, linking her
arms through theirs, pulling them close. Taking a deep breath, she summoned her
magic and stepped into the wall.

Evil assaulted her. Like plunging
headfirst into a frozen sea, she writhed in shock. Stone surrounded her,
seeking to steal her breath, pulling her down like a dark malignant tide. Panic
threatened, like nothing she’d ever experienced. The stone itself was corrupt,
imbued with evil. Kath flailed against the dark current, desperate to keep her
bearings. Disoriented, her lungs burned with need. She tightened her fist on the
small amber pyramid. A light flamed within her mind and the panic eased.
Forcing herself forward, she battled against the dark tide…and then she was
through, stepping into air. Gasping for breath, she doubled over, convulsing like
a drowned sailor.

Firm hands seized her arms.

She looked up, relieved the two men
had made it.

They pulled her back against the
wall, into the shadows. Her mind snapped back into focus; they were
inside the citadel.
Excitement laced
with fear shivered through her. She’d half expected a legion of soldiers to be lurking
just inside the gate but the street was nearly empty. She strained to listen
for the tramp of boots. Drums and trumpets echoed through the night, but the
sounds were distant, somewhere toward the southern gate.

Torches fluttered along the far
wall, drawing her gaze. Kath gasped in shock, recognizing the small statue
carved into the wall like a wayfarer’s shrine. Three creatures sitting in a row
with rounded ears and long tails, but the carvings had very human gestures. One
covered his ears, another his eyes, and the third his mouth, a crude version of
the statue in the Kiralynn monastery. The creatures seemed to mock her. She
staggered back against the wall, there was more evil here than she’d ever
imagined.

“Are you all right?” Bear gripped
her arm, staring into her face. “You’re as pale as death.”

Kath nodded. “I’m fine,” but she
knew she wasted valuable time. She gripped her sword, desperate to clear her
mind. A pair of guards patrolled the gate, but otherwise the street was empty.

A door burst open and a dozen
armor-clad guards emerged, half of them carrying crossbows. They clattered up
the stairs to the barbican over the gate.

Kath shook her head. “We need more
men.” The plan called for her to slip back into the wall, ferrying her men
through two at a time. She shuddered, reluctant to re-enter the stone, but she
had no choice. “Wait here.”

Taking a deep breath, she gripped
the amber pyramid and stepped back into the wall. Evil struck like a cold wave,
battering against her, but this time she was ready. Holding her breath, she
forged a path against the dark tide, refusing to be swept away. Head down, she
battled forward, holding a blaze of light in her mind. And then she was
through, staggering into the air.

Hands caught her, strong and sure,
pulling her back against the wall. “Svala!”

Blaine and Sidhorn stared down at
her, big men bristling with weapons.

Just for a moment, she sagged
against them, gulping air and warmth, and then she took a steadying breath.
“You’re needed on the far side.”

They did not hesitate. Linking arms
with her, they turned to face the wall. Kath wished she had their certainty.
Taking deep breath, she sent a prayer to Valin and plunged back into the dark
stone.

Thrice more, she made the perilous
passage. Each time, the men were unaffected, but the dark stone took its toll.
Shaking, Kath leaned against the inner wall. “No more,” she shook her head, “I
can’t do it again.”

Blaine took charge. “Then we’ll have to make
do.” He whispered orders to the others. Bear and Boar would open the gate while
the rest charged the stairs, attacking the bowmen on the battlement. “Kath, can
you take out the two guards with your axes?”

Her hands shook. “Not yet.” She
hated admitting the weakness but she’d not spoil the plan, not when they were
so close.

Bear said, “We’ll take them with
our slings.”

Kath grinned at the irony. The
simplest of weapons would open the gates to the Dark Citadel.

Blaine nodded to the big warrior. “When
you’re ready.”

Kath slipped her sword from its
scabbard. They crouched in the shadows, tensed for battle. Bear and Boar loosed
their slings, a quick whirl followed by a sharp crack. The two guards dropped,
felled in their tracks, and then everything erupted in a blur of motion. Bear and
Boar raced for the gate while Kath guarded their backs. The big men put their
shoulders to the massive crossbeam, straining to open the gate. Blaine led the others up
the stairwell, attacking the archers on the barbican.