by Sanan Kolva
“Lord Cailean!” Shiolto exclaimed in relief.
Cailean smiled, but his gaze moved to Aikan. He stepped toward the older man, then hesitated, looking at the bruises that darkened Aikan’s face. “Aikan… I…”
Aikan collected himself, and fixed a stern gaze on Cailean. “My lord, I hope you are not struggling under some mistaken idea you must publicly apologize to one of your men under your own roof. It’s unfit for a lord.”
“A lord can publicly apologize to one of his most loyal men under his own roof when he’s been an idiot and isn’t afraid to admit it,” Cailean countered. “Gods, Aikan… what happened?”
“I could be far worse, my lord. Fortunately, Ewart has been occupied with other matters so he kept his visit brief.”
Cailean tensed. “Ewart?”
“The ‘reward’ he promised me, my lord, is not what those words led you to think,” Aikan answered. “You didn’t believe Ewart simply accepted my rejection of his offer, but you didn’t allow me to elaborate. You were right, he did not take kindly to my refusal. I offered it not with words, but steel. We fought in my chambers. He mocked me and called me a fool. Told me I was too late to save you from your doom. I stabbed him in the chest. I hoped the wound would prove fatal, but I didn’t dare continue to cross blades with Ewart when you were in danger. I left him bleeding and ran in search of you, my lord. The first soldiers I met, I ordered to your chambers. They were fresh, and I am not young anymore. I prayed they would find you in time.”
Cailean drew a startled breath, eyes opening wide. “The men, their timely arrival… You sent them. Gods, Aikan, I’m a fool. You saved my life by sending them to find me, and I repaid you with… this.”
“You had every right to judge me, Lord Cailean,” Aikan said. “When I found Ewart’s final, mocking message after we escaped the keep, it chilled me to the bone. Seeing it, I knew I had failed, and he lived. I feared to tell you. To explain how I found myself in single combat with Ewart would require telling everything leading to our battle. After I left your camp, I resolved to return here and finish what I had failed to do—end Ewart’s life. His men captured me before I reached the keep.” Aikan shook his head. “Ewart paid me only a brief visit—long enough to inflict bruises. He put off more damage until he had time to enjoy his work. I suspect, until he had other prisoners for an audience.” Aikan’s eyes met Cailean’s.
Lyan heard quiet steps approaching on the stones. Kithr spoke sharply. “Lovely reunion. Are you done yet? We have minions of the Mad God to kill.”
The Tathrens started and turned. Kithr stood, bow slung over his shoulder, injured leg bandaged tight. Behind him, Praett waited. Lyan smiled in relief to see them safe, surprised he’d been worried, at least a little, about Praett as well.
Aikan scowled at Kithr, but without much venom. “I’m surprised you allowed Lyan to enter without you.”
“Just as well I did. Now the treacherous bastard thinks we’re all cleverly contained,” Kithr said, his voice cold. “Apparently, my plans are as predictable as my fighting style.”
“Torqual,” Cailean’s voice grew icy, his eyes angry. “He knows me too well, and he knows elves too well.”
“No,” Kithr said. “He knows the ways of those like me or Nylas, those who invaded your country. He knows the ways of the Lost. He does not know the ways of elves.” Kithr looked at Lyan.
Certain this moment would come, Lyan dreaded it. His hands closed tight around Equinox.
Dalrian leaned heavily against his brother. “Lord Cailean, are we going to withdraw and find the rest of your men, to take back the keep?”
The idea tempted Lyan. He could let Cailean take charge, and find his men, so they could… what? Besiege this keep? Try to attack against an enemy who held the favor of Murdo? “No,” he heard himself say. “No, we’re not going to retreat. We’re not going to leave this evil to fester and rot until it spreads so far there’s no stopping it. I came here to fight the forces of the Mad God that are trying to take root in your very home. Didn’t you? Isn’t this why you set in search of Equinox, to have a weapon strong enough?”
Eyes gazed at him, but no one spoke until Kithr stepped to Lyan’s side. “Well, this sounds like it will turn into the sort of plan I’ll enjoy.”
Praett sighed. “I’ll do as you will, master.” It, too, joined Lyan.
Yion spoke next. “I have no need to ask my lord what he would have me do. I will fight with the Spearbearer of Equinox.”
“Mad God’s Pits, Lyan, I said I would do what I can to help you, whatever the plan is,” Cailean protested. “No need be melodramatic. But is there any chance you can explain the plan somewhere a little warmer than my dungeons?”
“The guard room at the dungeon entrance is clear,” Praett said. “And you will find some weapons there.”
“Good. Lead the way.” Lyan glanced at the Spear. I hope you or the gods can give me some kind of help in making a plan that won’t get us all killed.
Chapter Seventeen
Strike the heart,
That the body sprawls
Strike the head
That the spirit falls
Kithr walked beside Lyan. They followed Praett back up the hall. Kithr watched Lyan, then spoke quietly in Elven, the slightest hint of humor lurking in his voice.
“You don’t have a plan, do you?”
“I had a plan,” Lyan protested. “It got us this far, didn’t it?”
“It did,” Kithr agreed. “And did your plan go any further than this?”
Lyan didn’t answer.
“That’s what I thought.”
“You’re not really helping, Kithr,” Lyan said.
“I can’t be as much help as you want me to be, Lyan. I can’t craft a scheme that will fool our enemies. Not when that bastard knows how I think.”
“And he doesn’t know me?”
“He thinks he knows you, but he underestimates you, Lyan.” Kithr forced a thin smile. “As far too many of us have done before him. He could never imagine you would find a way to enter the dungeons in the guise of a prisoner. He couldn’t imagine I would have been willing to let you do so.”
“I didn’t think you’d agree to go along with my plan, so I’m not surprised no one else would expect it,” Lyan told him.
They climbed the steps into the guard room. The jailer's chair sat empty, but the room showed no evidence of a fight.
Praett answered Lyan’s question before he asked it. “The jailer’s body rests in a cell, master. We took him by surprise.”
Cailean studied the room, then walked to the far wall and opened the chest on the floor. “Good. His men didn’t steal all the gear.”
“Weapons?” Kithr asked. He assessed a rack of blades, and another of spears.
“Armor,” Cailean responded. “They took the mail, but left the leather.” He lifted a thick jerkin from the chest and smiled grimly. “Probably because my family crest is prominently dyed into the leather.”
That thought stirred an idea in Lyan, and he abruptly turned to Praett. “How many servants and other people here are loyal to Ewart?”
“Loyal? Very few, master. They serve under fear, and keep their heads low so as to avoid attention. Whether any have courage enough to help their true lord, I doubt. Those who had that courage either fled to find Cailean’s forces, or they learned firsthand the consequences of open defiance.” Praett considered. “At the most, I expect many would turn a blind eye to the presence of men in their lord’s colors.”
“If they let us use the servants’ passages to get around the keep, that’d help by itself.” Shiolto eased Dalrian, pale and weary as his brother, down to the floor near the crackling fire. Shiolto eyed the pooka warily, then looked to Lyan. “Can we really trust what it says, Lyan?”
“Yes, Shiolto. I’ll explain why later.”
“Well, if you say we can believe it… I guess that’s good enough,” Shiolto said, still cautious.
“Such doubt,” Praett pu
rred. “I’m hurt.”
“Sure you are.” Shiolto scowled.
Aikan stiffly walked to the rack of sheathed swords and drew one. “So, two elves, Lord Cailean, and his four men are going to retake the keep?” He gave Lyan a dubious look.
“I don’t know about retaking the keep,” Lyan admitted. “But I know we need to kill Ewart and Porephyn.”
“Who?” Shiolto asked.
Aikan, however, stiffened. “What part does that black-hearted mage have in this?”
Lyan glanced toward Cailean. The Tathren lord had pulled on the leather jerkin and straightened it so the vivid emerald crest, a large cat carrying a spear, showed clearly on his chest. He met Lyan’s gaze.
“Cailean, I don’t care if you like it or not, I’m telling your men the truth. You not telling them didn’t help—your loyal men weren’t prepared, and Torqual obviously knew already.”
Cailean didn’t say anything.
“Do we have time for this, Lyan?” Kithr asked.
“They need to know.” Lyan looked to Aikan, Shiolto, Dalrian, and Yion. “Porephyn is a priest of the Mad God. When Ewart’s men attacked and took the walls, Porephyn attacked and cursed Cailean. Whenever Cailean uses the powers of Solstice, it drains his strength. Torqual knew of the curse when they ambushed you. He knew Cailean would be too drained to stop him after using the Spear.”
The Tathrens exclaimed in surprise. Yion nodded grimly, as if he had known at least some, if not all, of what Lyan revealed. Cailean closed his eyes.
“So, we kill Porephyn to break the curse, we kill Ewart to break the leadership of his pitiful excuse for an army, and we kill Torqual… to hang his filthy corpse from the battlements,” Kithr said, breaking the silence. He shifted his bow. “So, where do we start?”
Cailean found a faint smile. “Ever to the point, Kithr.”
“If I’m not, you’ll stand around talking until someone dies of old age.” Kithr drummed his fingers with an impatient glower.
“I can use Equinox to shield us from notice, like I did when we rescued Nylas and his men,” Lyan said. “It’s not a perfect protection, but it’s something. Torqual knows that trick of Equinox, but that won’t help him find us.” Lyan considered, then looked to Praett. “Where are Ewart and Porephyn likely to be found?”
“During the day, any number of places. At nightfall, both retire to their shrine,” Praett answered.
“What shrine?” Cailean demanded.
Praett’s expression darkened. “The shrine to the Mad God that Porephyn built in the back courtyard. He often required me to report to him there. I suggest purifying the site with fire.”
“I agree. I can feel the foul taint from here. How many guard this shrine?” Yion asked.
“At night, two men at the courtyard gate, five patrolling the grounds, four outside the shrine itself, and four more who follow Ewart like dogs, with about as much wit. The courtyard remains lit all night, but the servants avoid it as much as possible. Investigative ones disappear.” Praett’s voice was flat.
“Is it guarded during the day?” Lyan asked.
“The courtyard is closed and warded during the day, master. Porephyn will know the moment someone attempts to enter.”
“They spend the entire night there?” Aikan scoffed.
“Neither man appears to require sleep,” Praett said. “It seems nights spent in worship and rituals to the Mad God revitalize them. However, Ewart struggles more by the end of the day than Porephyn. If he’s careless, a wound on his chest begins bleeding. For some reason, it does not heal. He is at his weakest when he first enters the shrine, shortly after nightfall.”
“We don’t have to wait here until night, do we?” Shiolto protested.
Lyan shivered. “No. I’d rather wait someplace where I can tell when it is night. Equinox can hide us.” He turned to Kithr and spoke in Elven. “Am I overlooking anything?”
Kithr considered, then replying in Tathren. “Actually… yes. Cailean, you have men waiting for word from you outside the keep?”
Cailean nodded.
“They ought to have scouts close enough to know if something important changes. Maybe spies among the servants, if they have any wits.” Kithr turned to the pooka. “Are there any?”
Praett considered. “Many were discovered and dealt with, but a few servants remain loyal.”
Cailean sat down with a weary sigh. “I’m not sure where this is leading, Kithr.”
“Find one of these servants. Send him to tell your men you’re here and once Ewart and Porephyn are dead, you might need a little help cleaning up his men,” Kithr said blandly.
Cailean stared at Kithr in surprise, then a laugh escaped. “Are you sure you can’t handle them all yourself, Kithr?”
Kithr snorted. “No doubt I could, but I haven’t yet found an enchanted quiver that never runs empty.”
“If I ever encounter one, it’ll be my gift to you.” Cailean pushed to his feet. The banter surprised Lyan, as if they discussed an upcoming festival. But Lyan had to admit, it made him feel more at ease, as if they faced some minor difficulty.
Cailean continued. “Aikan, Shiolto, Dalrian, find armor and weapons, assuming Yion hasn’t somehow secreted an entire sword rack on his person.”
Yion smiled. “No, Lord Cailean. Most of the blades are too long—I could at most hide four without inhibiting my movement.”
Aikan already had a sword belted around his waist, and moved to the chest for armor. Shiolto helped Dalrian to the rack. Dalrian took the nearest blade, belting it on with an effort. Shiolto searched a dusty weapons pile closeby and emerged with a mace much like the one he’d carried during their travels. Cailean lifted a spear from the rack. It wasn’t as long as Solstice, but none of the available spears were. Cailean took several experimental jabs at the air before nodding. By his expression, he wasn’t wholly satisfied with the weapon, but it would suffice.
“Should I wear one of those leather jerkins?” Lyan asked Kithr.
Kithr considered. “It wouldn’t hurt. Shouldn’t weigh you down much. Try to find one that doesn’t have a bright green target on the chest.”
Lyan looked, but he didn’t find any without Cailean’s crest. Taking one that seemed close to the right fit, he struggled into the heavy sleeveless jerkin. Kithr helped him pull it on and grunted approval.
“Better than nothing, even with the target.”
“Better to be wearing Cailean’s colors than to be attacked by his men when they arrive,” Lyan replied.
“I’ll take my chances with them,” Kithr said.
Lyan’s hand tightened around Equinox. Hide us, please.
He felt the Spear’s power. Trusting Equinox but anxious all the same, Lyan led the way up the stairs, eager to escape the underground. His friends trailed him, moving with less haste.
Lyan almost froze when he stepped from the stairs and into clear view of the guards standing on either side of the doorway. Their eyes drifted lazily over him, glazing slightly. Kithr pushed Lyan in the back when he stopped, making Lyan stumble forward. He barely caught himself before he tripped into a woman carrying a full basket of clothes. One of the guards chuckled softly, making Lyan turn sharply. The man’s eyes were still glazed, and he didn’t seem aware what he’d found humorous.
Lyan swallowed hard, then motioned for his friends to follow. He directed his thoughts to Praett. “Find a servant who can carry a message to Cailean’s men.”
Praett nodded and turned to the right, the same direction the woman with the basket had gone. “Follow me.” He walked swiftly. The Tathrens struggled with the pace, and Kithr tried not to limp. Lyan sensed Praett’s annoyance as he slowed for them. As they passed a window, Lyan looked out and guessed the time at halfway through the afternoon.
We don’t have much time.
Praett turned down halls with confidence. Lyan quickly lost any sense of where he was in the stone building, and he wondered how anyone found their way through a place like this.
“Master, you and Cailean will find the washer woman in the next room. The others ought to wait here—too many people, and she will lose her nerve.”
Lyan nodded, willing to trust Praett’s judgment. Cailean frowned. “A washer woman? She’s trustworthy?”
Praett shrugged. “I have the sense that someone… a brother, or father, or son, is one of the scouts watching your keep.”
“Cailean, if we stop and double-check everything the pooka says, we aren’t going to have time,” Lyan snapped. He walked toward the far door.
Cailean pushed open the door. A wave of steam hit them. Large cauldrons sat over grates on the floor, filled to the brim with water and laundry. A haggard-looking woman moved between the cauldrons, stirring them with a massive paddle. She glanced over when the door opened, but her eyes passed over them.
Let her see us, Lyan told Equinox.
The paddle dropped from the woman’s hands to clatter on the floor and her eyes widened as large as dinner plates. “My… my lord? Lord Cailean?”
Cailean nodded, raising a finger to his lips. The woman bowed low, her eyes still wide in disbelief. She spoke in a whisper. “My lord… what… what can I do for you…? How did you… We heard you’d been imprisoned by Ewart, my lord.”
“I’m not a prisoner anymore,” Cailean told her. “And I know you can contact my men who watch the keep.”
She gulped, then nodded. “My… my brother, sir. Do they know you’re free, sir? Did they find a way to reach you?”
Cailean shook his head. “No. Another of my allies helped me escape.” He nodded to Lyan.
She looked past Cailean to Lyan, and her eyes, amazingly enough, grew even wider. She stumbled back several steps, one hand raised to ward against evil. “An… elf…?”
Lyan made a gesture of peace, and bowed to her. “Lyan Stargazer at your service, milady.”