They had sprung Kahan’s ambush.
Minard ducked as another javelin flew from the darkness and struck the wall behind him. Aemon and Kara ran into the octagonal chamber.
Four knives burst from the shadows, twin swords glistening in the torchlight. “Bless us, Lord Dwaycar.” They launched themselves into the chamber in a desperate attempt to reach Kara. Minard and Wrynric charged, driving the knives back with a flurry of blows.
Finding the number-four passage, Aemon started toward it but Kara stopped him.
“Wait, someone’s in there.”
Kara backed away as a fifth knife emerged from the number-four corridor, torchlight reflecting off her blades. Like her brethren, the knife was dressed head to toe in black and wore a featureless mask that covered most of her face.
She started toward them.
“Die, Scion,” the knife screamed, eyes blazing with hatred and single-minded purpose. To kill Kara.
Aemon’s mind spun out of control. He was going to die. Kara was going to die. The knife was almost on him, twin blades poised to strike.
There was little time. He had to do something.
Then his training took hold. Hurling his torch at her, he charged forward and swung his mace.
The torch struck the knife a moment before his mace smashed into her shoulder. Bones crunched, blood sprayed, and a terrible cry exploded from her lips. Her arm crippled, she reeled backward, dropping her left sword.
Aemon’s heart pounded, the world around him forgotten. It was kill or be killed—it was exhilarating. The woman recovered and started toward him. “Get out of my way, fool. You know not what you protect.”
Gritting his teeth, Aemon moved to finish her. “I do not care what you think she is. You will not hurt her again.”
The knife lunged, trying to skewer him on the tip of her sword. “Then die, husk.”
Aemon side-stepped, but her thrust tore a gouge from his armor. The knife’s attack took her past him.
She leapt at Kara, her blade ringed by fire. “Die, Scion!”
For a moment, Aemon did not know what to do. Kara was backed into a corner and had nowhere to go.
Then Minard backed into him, as the monk fended off an attack from one of the other knives. The jolt broke Aemon’s indecision. Without thinking, he charged after the knife bearing down on Kara.
The knife spun to face him, swinging her sword in a wide arc. He slid under it and rammed the mace into her stomach. Blood gushing from her mouth, she flew backward and slammed into the wall, her mask dropping to the floor.
When she came to rest, her eyes fell on him, her body broken, blood pooling around her. There was fear in her eyes. Fear of him or fear of death.
“Sorry,” he said but the knife was dead. Then he noticed the long braid of auburn hair flowing past her shoulders, the decorative earrings, and the young, smooth face. She was a woman, like Kara, and he had just killed her.
He wrenched his eyes away from that dead face and found Kara panting beside him. She looked afraid but in control. Wrynric and Minard still fought the other knives.
Aemon scooped up a torch. “Kara, we need to leave.”
She shoved past him, ran to Wrynric and thrust her torch into his attacker’s face. “Go away, and leave us alone.”
The knife fell back but Wrynric lunged forward, burying his sword deep into her guts. The knife screamed as she slid from his sword onto the ground, staring in horror at her wound.
Another knife burst from the darkness and went for Kara.
Wrynric intercepted her and weathered the blows on his shield. “Get out of here, half-blood.”
Aemon grabbed Kara’s arm, and dragged her toward the exit. She started to fight him. “Let me go!”
He started to lose his grip. “They told us to flee down the tunnel and wait for them. Please, come—”
Kara tore her arm away. “I’m not leaving them. I’ve lost too many friends already.”
Cursing loudly, he raised his mace to protect her. She handed him her torch, then scooped up another from the floor.
Side by side, they strode forward and used their torches to drive the enemy back so Wrynric and Minard could take them down. Suddenly, a knife charged from a tunnel behind them.
Aemon spun to face her. “Kara, look out.”
Kara threw her torch at the knife, breaking her forward momentum. Aemon rushed in and took the knife down before she could recover. It horrified him to kill another person, especially a woman, but he had no choice.
Soon the last of the knives fell. All up, five lay dead in a growing pool of blood, the last still staring in horror at her gut wound, posing no immediate threat. Wrynric leaned against the wall to catch his breath while Minard kept an eye on the wounded knife while using a piece of cloth to wipe blood off his staff. Kara stood beside Wrynric, making sure he was all right while Aemon busied himself gathering up the torches.
Once Wrynric had recovered enough to talk, he said, “We need to go. One ran off and she’ll bring back more.”
Before he had finished speaking, they heard running feet down one of the tunnels. Minard grabbed Kara and dragged her toward the number-four passage. Aemon and Wrynric raced after them, faces covered in sweat, weapons dripping blood and gore.
Kara struggled with the monk. “Let go, you’re hurting me.”
A scream of rage pierced the darkness behind them. Aemon’s heart skipped a beat. He had heard that scream before.
Wrynric shoved Aemon forward with his shield. “Run faster, they’re right behind us.”
They sped along the passage, their torches near blowing out. Over his shoulder, Aemon saw lights less than fifty feet behind them. A javelin clattered to the floor inches from him and another would have taken him in the arm had Wrynric not batted it aside with his shield.
Their equipment weighed them down and soon it was a struggle for the men to keep up their pace. A javelin ricocheted off the wall beside Kara and she cowered against the monk. She looked close to collapse, her face lined with fatigue.
“How much farther?” Wrynric shouted over the pounding of their feet and the jingle of his armor.
Minard glanced back at him. “We’re close. One minute, maybe two.”
Aemon’s chest heaved and his muscles burned with fatigue, adrenaline all that kept him on his feet. Not long now. Not long. We are going to make it!
At last, they reached the end of the tunnel. Minard let go of Kara and waited for Aemon and Wrynric to pass him, then he reached into a nook in the wall and grasped a hidden lever. The monk ducked as a javelin smacked into the wall an inch over his head, then pulled it.
The last thing Aemon heard before tons of rock tumbled from the ceiling was a piercing shriek of, “Sister...” Then there was only the roar of falling stone.
Chapter 17
KARA
Two days later, they emerged from the shallow river onto the stone bank and startled an old man fishing the gently flowing waters. Kara bumped into Minard as he stopped. “Here it is. Rylore Bellholes. The stinkiest town in all Stelemia.”
Kara rubbed sleep from her eyes as she saw a village carved out of the limestone walls of a large chamber. Several dozen doors and windows glowed with light, like fiery eyes in the dark. Looming beyond the settlement sat a huge mound of rocks, fallen from a gaping black hole in the roof.
The sharp clang of someone chiseling stone echoed off the chamber walls and the murmur of voices drifted over to the river. Kara sniffed. A most unpleasant stench hung in the air, a stench almost as bad as the rotting bodies under the temple.
She squeezed her nose shut. “What’s that smell?”
Minard laughed. “I told you Rylore Bellholes reeks.”
“What causes it?”
“It’s a tannery, built some ways up river. They make leather goods there, like the vest you’re wearing under your robes.”
“I thought Klardna smelled bad,” Aemon choked. “This place is worse.”
“Don’
t worry, we won’t be here long.” Wrynric said.
A group of dirty-faced children ran up to them and rattled off a barrage of questions about who they were and where they’d come from. Wrynric growled at them and they ran off crying.
The old warrior pulled Kara’s hood over her head. “We’ll stop and eat at a tavern and discuss the next leg of our journey. Try to keep your head down and don’t let anyone get a good look at you.”
Kara touched the passkey through her robes and nodded. The light had dimmed again, yet the weight of it felt like it had grown. Her back and neck ached, and she found it hard not to hunch her shoulders. To add to her suffering, her wound constantly throbbed and the strange tingling sensation in her head had yet to go away. Then, sometime over the last day, a creeping emptiness had begun to spread within her, as if her very essence was being consumed, leaving her a withered husk of the woman she once was.
The trek along the river had sapped her of what little strength she had left. Though, the same could be said for all of them. The men looked weary, and she’d seen Wrynric occasionally remove his chainmail and reach around to rub his back, as if it pained him.
A few minutes later, they arrived at the settlement’s tavern and sat at a table near the fire. Kara found the warmth welcoming. Their journey along the river had been wet, cold and dark, with only a torch to warm their hands.
Compared to the Golden Keg, the Bellhole Tavern was plain. There were no pretty courtesans working the floor, no laughter from drunken guests and no bouncer at the door. She’d thought entering a tavern might make her homesick and bring back bad memories, but this tavern felt so different from her old home it failed to elicit such feelings. In fact, she felt nothing. It was hard to care about anything anymore.
The knives might not have killed her back at the temple, but she sure felt dead inside all the same.
A plump, young, freckle-faced barmaid waddled up to them. First she winced at the hand-shaped bruise on Aemon's face, and then she began admiring Minard’s muscular arms that he had resting on the table. When the monk looked up, she jumped. “Sor-sorry, m’lord.” She glanced at his staff then back at his face. “Are you from the temple?”
Minard gave her a lopsided grin. “Who else dresses as well as those who serve Ibilirith?”
She let out a confused little laugh. “I don’t know, m’lord.”
Kara rolled her eyes. A giggly girl with nothing but rocks in her head.
“Why did you want to know where I came from?” Minard laughed.
The barmaid gave him a toothy grin, revealing crooked front teeth. “Oh, you’re funny, m’lord. Anyways, I was about to say that a group of monks passed through here—oh, I don’t know, an hour ago? One of them, a tall, bearded fella he was, said no one would lower the bridge for em so they couldn’t get into the temple.”
Minard leaned back in his chair, losing his mirth. “Indeed, when we left, it was under attack.”
The barmaid put a hand over her mouth. “M’lord, who would dare such a thing? Was it the beasts that attacked Deep Cave? I took the talk of what happened there as rumor, I did, but now I’m not so certain.” She glanced toward the barman. “I should tell my pa we need to leave, what with all the refugees and soldiers of late. My old ma is gone, divines bless her soul, and my pa won’t want to leave but—”
Minard spoke over her babbling. “We don’t know who attacked the temple yet, but you can rest easy, my anserine lady—that Ibilirith will have her revenge. For now, we’re tired and hungry so get us some soup and four mugs of shroom tea.”
The plump woman scratched her head. “What did you call me? Answering—umm, what was that word again?”
“Get us our tea, girl,” Wrynric snapped irritably, scowling at Minard.
She bit her lip and looked like she wanted to blurt out more questions, but the old man’s expression made her think the better of it. The barmaid hastily left them and disappeared into the kitchen.
The rotund innkeeper glanced over at them curiously but returned to wiping down the bar when Kara made eye contact with him. She studied the three other patrons in the tavern. One was a man smoking a long metal pipe, another an old woman asleep in the corner and the last, a surly one-legged drunk sitting near the bar. None of them seemed interested in her, which suited her just fine.
Kara turned to stare into the fire and let the flames soothe her. It didn’t work. Her thoughts whirled around her head like water down a sinkhole. Almost as bad as the pain, the annoying tingling feeling and emptiness was the growing paranoia she’d been feeling the last few days. She’d felt like she was walking on slippery stone, where one misstep could send her plummeting into a bottomless shaft.
How could she tell the others about this? Minard might very well kill her if he thought she was losing it. Aemon would stress more than he already was and he’d already chewed his nails down to the quick. Who knew how Wrynric would react? He’d probably tell her the feelings were a normal part of being a scion.
No, wait, I almost forgot. Of being a half-blood scion.
She studied the old man out of the corner of her eye as he spoke of the journey ahead. “From here, we head to Celestial Rest, then make our way to the hidden refuge of my covenant called Safehold. I took the survivors from the massacre at Sunholm there, for only a select few of our scouts know of its location.” A flicker of warmth came to his eyes. “One of the survivors hiding in Safehold is a woman named Erinie. She was one of Sunholm’s librarians and will guide us to the Dead City.”
Minard gestured toward Aemon. “We need warriors, not another quill pusher like him.”
Aemon bared his teeth. “I killed two knives back at the temple. How many did you kill?”
“More than—”
Wrynric pounded his mailed fist on the table. “Do you think I’d bring her if she couldn’t handle herself? Unlike you civilized people in Stelemia, we from the Nether must learn to fight from the moment we can walk.”
The old warrior glanced at the overweight innkeeper, who was licking a plate of food clean. “Life is hard out there, and even librarians need to learn how to defend themselves. You here in Stelemia can afford to lower your guard and get fat. Unlike you, we never had an army to defend us.” He touched his sword. “We defend ourselves.”
“So how does Erinie fight?” Minard asked. “The librarians I know have their noses pressed against computer monitors or buried in books.” He drummed his fingers on his staff. “They may know the theory of fighting but not the practice.”
Wrynric’s sigh sounded like two rocks grinding together. “Erinie is an alchemist, a healer and an expert with daggers. What her concoctions don’t kill, her blade will.”
Minard rested his chin in his hands and gave the old man a goading grin. “So tell me, my armored friend. When do you plan on killing me? Are you going to slit my throat while I sleep or are you going to knife me in the back?”
Kara stiffened. Did he really just ask that?
Wrynric stared at the monk in silence, while Aemon watched them both with eyes as sharp as stalagmites.
“Come now, old man,” Minard said. “I see the way you look at me. I’ve not seen someone look at me that way since the last time I saw my father. He’d just killed my mother and was coming to kill me.” The monk’s grin seemed forced. “I don’t think he liked me.”
So, that is what he is hiding, Kara thought. He projects strength, but is nothing more than a hurt little boy inside.
Wrynric’s hands encircled the hilt of his sword and the muscles in his neck bulged. “If I wanted you dead, monk, I’d have killed you by now. In truth, I need you.” He inclined his head toward Aemon. “He has a good heart and shows promise when it comes to fighting but there are creatures out there in the dark born of the old world.” His lip quivered. “The few warriors who survived the attack on Sunholm need to protect the last of my people. That means I need your help to get the half-blood to the Dead City.”
“I can fight,” Aemon growl
ed. “Back under the temple, I killed two knives. Why do you treat me as if I am a shriveled boy?”
“Easy, son,” Wrynric said with a look like he wanted to break a chair over Minard’s head. “Be proud. You did well. But even still, we need his help.”
Aemon’s face screwed up like he’d swallowed a stone. Then he nodded and asked, “How far away is Safehold?”
“It’s four days journey from here. Once we’re through Celestial Rest sometime tomorrow we’ll head beyond the sacred lights and enter the Nether.” The old warrior glowered at Minard. “It’s going to be a dangerous journey to Safehold, but what comes after that will be more so.”
Aemon leaned closer to the old man. “You started discussing the monsters living in the Great Dark at the temple. Why would the ancients create such things? Is it true what Lucien said? That they wanted to remake living things into their own image?”
“They did it because they could,” Kara said.
All three men looked at her and she shrugged. “If there’s one thing I learned about human nature while working the tavern floor, it’s that power corrupts. The rich and powerful men were often the cruelest. They paid well, but we courtesans did our best to avoid them, for they enjoyed hurting us.” She could almost feel drunken hands groping her. Once, that had been normal, but now it felt as far removed from her as the father she’d never known. “The powerful knew they could get away with anything, because of a family name or gold. A poor man, on the other hand, couldn’t pay as well, but knew if he hurt us, he’d pay for his crimes in blood.”
Minard shifted his feet, looking uncomfortable about listening to her talk of her past profession. Aemon nodded. “I think you are right. There are a lot of greedy and corrupt nobles in the Priest King’s spire, and many grovel at his feet but speak ill of him behind his back. Power indeed corrupts.”
At least Aemon had accepted her past. Wrynric didn’t seem to care what she used to do. To him, she was the half-blood scion, savior, and daughter of his beloved Arden.
Heir to a Lost Sun: A Caverns of Stelemia Novel Page 26