“Rumours, or lies. Take your pick. She is stretched thin. Her farmers refuse to give up their sons to be soldiers on winter patrol in Claymore Pass. We get past these paltry troops and the tunnel lies open before us.”
“Why did you not bypass them and ignore us?” the lieutenant asked.
“She is a fool, that’s why!” shouted Lorens.
“Consider,” spoke up Santon. “For us to evade Ionia’s guard positions is impossible, and we are too few to fight through. Together we can get to the tunnel.”
“You are me officer,” cried Lorens. “You will obey me!”
“Yes, Majesty.” The office bowed low but his eyes remained on Lokenna’ and her serene acceptance of the situation. Santon knew that they had made an ally. The officer wanted only for his men to survive. Lokenna offered that and Lorens did not.
Lorens wiped the spittle from his lips and calmed. “Where is this weakness in the enemy line?”
Lokenna silently pointed out the posts once more, then erased it all with a quick stamping of her foot. She spun and mounted, not waiting to see if Lorens approved.
The former king did not but Santon did. Lokenna had handled both her brother and the situation with the skill of a diplomat. She had given away nothing, gotten much, and forged an alliance that would get them through the rebel lines. Santon hoped that Vered would be able to slip through the confusion unnoticed. Without him and the Demon Crown, Lokenna would find herself in dire straits at Castle Porotane.
“These posts. How many soldiers man each one?” asked the officer.
Lokenna quietly told him. Together they plotted, then the soldier nodded briskly and rode off to prepare his troops for battle.
“Your brother doesn’t like you usurping his power. He might be crazy but he is not stupid. He knows what is going on,” said Santon. Even as he spoke he watched Lokenna’s husband. Bane Pandasso did not accept his wife’s newfound power easily, either. Pandasso lacked Lorens’ brilliance or magical ability and had nothing but jealousy to fuel him. That jealousy smouldering within Pandasso’s breast would one day burst into flame.
Santon wasn’t sure if Lorens’ madness wasn’t preferable — and safer.
They rode forward slowly, hugging one steep wall of rock until Lokenna lifted her hand as a signal for attack. Then all pretence of caution vanished. The lieutenant urged his troops on in a frontal assault on a small guard post positioned halfway up a gravel-strewn slope. The soldiers’ horses slipped and stumbled but enough got through to overwhelm the post. Santon held back, watching carefully for sign that supporting troops came to regain the post.
“There!” he called to Lokenna. “One of them is escaping!” He didn’t wait for Lorens’ soldiers to give chase to the fleeing guard. Santon put his heels to his horse’s flanks and sent the animal surging forward. He closed the distance between them quickly — almost too quickly.
The wily guard spun and put the butt end of his lance to the ground, thinking to impale Santon as he rode by. Santon swung the glass shield over and protected his right side. The steel tip of the lance bounded off the rounded surface and left him unharmed.
The impact also unseated him.
Hitting the ground would have knocked the breath from his lungs if he hadn’t been screaming the entire distance from saddle to soil. Santon rolled and used his shield as a support to get to his feet. He immediately found strong arms circling him, carrying his backward, threatening to crush him.
Santon tried to get his axe into play. A powerful hand gripped his wrist. Santon’s withered left arm proved no match for his opponent’s right hand. Eye to eye they fought for supremacy.
If it had been a battle only of strength, Birtle Santon would have lost to his stronger, younger opponent. But over the years he had been in similar situations and knew brute strength was not the only way of winning.
Their faces pressed together, Santon strained to gain another fraction of an inch. When an ear came within reach of his mouth, he bit down hard. Gristle filled his mouth. The guardsman let out an agonized scream and momentarily faltered in his attack.
Blood flowing from his torn ear, the guardsman stumbled back half a pace. Santon judged distance and swung his shield. The edge caught the guard under the chin and knocked the man’s head back. This put another pace between them. Santon’s axe came to hand. The silvered downward arc ended in the guardsman’s collarbone.
The impact rocked Santon — and killed his foe.
“Are you all right?” came Lokenna’s worried call.
“Killing like this leaves a bad taste in my mouth.” Santon spat again and wiped his lips on his sleeve. He needed a full quart of ale to wash away the taste. He wished Ionia would teach her troops simple hygiene like washing their ears.
“We must hurry. You have saved us from immediate battle with their reinforcements. It will take several minutes before they realize anything is awry,” said Lokenna.
Santon got into the saddle but paused to look behind.
“I haven’t seen Vered,” the woman said softly. “We must trust to his skill.”
“His skill isn’t in question. He might beat us to the castle. It’s that damned crown that worries me.
“It affects him as it did Lorens?” she asked, gazing at her demented brother. Lorens issued conflicting commands ignored by both officers and soldiers as they prepared to fight their way to the tunnel.
“Vered didn’t wear it as long, but the effect was similar. He would have been driven crazy by the images crashing in on him.”
“You must will them to slow and accept only the ones you desire,” said Lokenna. “It…I don’t know how I knew to do it. I just did. It surprises me that others don’t have similar skill.”
“Hurry, Majesty,” cried the lieutenant. Santon wasn’t sure to whom the officer called. Lorens thought it was to him and Lokenna didn’t care. They rode quickly down a narrow ravine that opened onto a broad flood plain.
Deep canyons had been cut in the rock by spring runoff. Snowbanks piled head-high on either side of the plain turned it into an icy temple. Santon wanted nothing more than to worship within the dark circle he spied in the mountainside.
“The tunnel!”
“Aye, it is,” said Pandasso, licking his lips apprehensively. “What do we want to go in there for? It looks dangerous.”
“It’s more dangerous staying here and waiting for Ionia to find that we’ve overrun a guard post.”
“I don’t like close places. I think me and Lokenna will go back to Fron. The brigands have left. We can rebuild the inn and everything will be fine again.”
“You’ll end up dead before you’ve ridden a single hour. Look.” Santon pointed to steam rising from just inside the mouth of the tunnel.
“Soldiers,” muttered Pandasso. “All the more reason to go home and forget this crazy scheme.”
“Too late, too late,” roared Santon. He swung his axe into his grip and kicked hard at his horse’s sides. He led the assault directly into the tunnel, not knowing if the others followed. Santon saw no other course. If they hesitated now, they were lost. An all-out attack might take the guards posted within the tunnel by surprise, even if they outnumbered their attackers.
Santon’s horse’s hooves clattered on hard rock flooring and sent sparks skittering into the darkness. Santon’s charge carried him deeper into the blackness, effectively blinding him until his eyes adjusted to the dimness. His axe swung to and fro but found no target. He reined back to wait for the others to catch up with him.
The bright circle of the tunnel mouth suddenly filled with soldiers — Lorens’ soldiers!
“This way!” called out Santon. “There aren’t any defenders.”
He blinked and peered into the darkness, wondering at the source of the steam he had seen rising from the tunnel. In the distance he saw white, gauzy veils drifting along. Polar-cold fingers gripped at his heart. He hadn’t seen steam or smoke from cooking fires; he had seen phantoms.
How
many had died within these treacherous, rocky confines and had gone unburied? Santon counted no fewer than ten phantoms and more came and went untallied.
“Please help me,” came one plaintive’s cry. “My body is somewhere near. I know it. It must be…”
Santon did not answer. Phantoms could not detect their own corpses; they were souls cut adrift and lost between heaven and hell. Contact with those still living proved possible but they could not communicate with other phantoms. Santon had done his part in finding bodies and giving them the proper burial to put the shade to rest, but he dared not make that effort now.
Cocking his head to one side he heard the pounding of hooves — more hooves than Lorens’ troops accounted for.
“Pursuit! Ionia sends her guardsmen after us!” He reined his horse around and plunged into the inky blackness, praying that Ionia had not littered her commerce tunnel with pits or booby traps.
The level floor proved slippery from seepage but otherwise safe. Still, Santon pulled back and let the others catch up with him. He strained to see if the guardsmen entered after them of if they considered pursuit futile. If they followed, Vered might never be able to get by them. They would form a plug that would effectively stopper him on the wrong side of the tunnel.
If that happened, the pressure to use the Demon Crown to see a way past would be overwhelming.
“Are they pursuing?” Santon asked of the lieutenant.
“They are moving slower but yes, they come after us.” The officer frowned as he peered at Santon. The only illumination afforded them came from the feeble light of drifting phantoms. “You do not want them in the tunnel. Why?”
“I…Lokenna’s husband is afraid of tight spaces. He likes to be able to see a way out.” The lie came slowly to Santon. He did not prevaricate as easily as Vered. This sounded flat and both he and the lieutenant knew it for what it was.
“Very well. We can send a small squad back to do what they can.”
“Let me go with them.”
“Lorens’ orders are to see you and the woman through to the other end of the tunnel. I’ll tend to this personally.”
Santon watched the officer wheel around and go to the three nearest soldiers. The four rode back to do battle. Santon hoped that they succeeded in driving Ionia’s men out of the tunnel. If they failed, Vered would never be able to get through. Santon wondered why Ionia had not placed a stronger guard at the tunnel mouth — but he knew she would after this.
“Come, we must hurry. There will be barges at the docks soon,” said Lokenna.
“You saw this — before?”
“Yes. Cargo had gone upriver. The sudden winter storms prevented heavy loading on the return trip. We can get passage.”
“And then?”
“Then we reach Castle Porotane and have other matters to cope with.”
“How’s your husband holding up?” Santon looked up and saw the arched vault of the tunnel coming lower and lower as they rode. The rocky roof soon brushed the top of his head, forcing him to ride hunched over. If it came any lower, he would have to dismount and lead his horse.
“Bane was trapped in a cave when he was a young boy. This must be frightening for him.” Lokenna spoke in an offhand manner, no emotion tingeing her words. Santon wondered, not for the first time, how loyal she was to her husband. Love seemed to be lacking on both their parts; was devotion enough to hold Lokenna to him?
Santon didn’t think it was, not when she had tasted the power granted by the Demon Crown.
Santon rode along in silence, trying not to hear the phantoms’ wails or the steel-on-steel clanking from behind.
CHAPTER IX
“I can’t take more of this. I can’t!” Bane Pandasso screamed and charged ahead wildly, leaving his protesting horse behind. Birtle Santon had seen the tension mounting in the man for the past mile. Pandasso’s shoulders had hunched far more than needed to get through the low-ceilinged tunnel; it appeared that the innkeeper carried the weight of the entire mountain on his back.
The lieutenant, carrying a guttering torch that produced more noxious fumes than light, started after him. Lokenna held the officer back. “Let him go,” she said. “He isn’t going to run far, nor is he likely to hurt himself.”
“Not in this tunnel,” grumbled the lieutenant. “There’s nothing in here except those bedamned phantoms.”
Santon wiped the back of his neck to get off a cold droplet of water that had dripped from above. Ahead he heard Pandasso running as if a horde of demons chased after him. He felt sorry for the man. Fearing tight spaces had to tell on his courage, and who was without some fear, but Santon scorned the man more. Others in the tiny band obviously disliked the low roof and tight fits through the tunnel with their horses, but they controlled themselves. Such weakness on Pandasso’s part only shamed Lokenna.
Or so it seemed to Santon.
He paused and pressed his ear to the cold rock wall to detect any vibrations in the tunnel behind. The lieutenant had driven out Ionia’s guard with a single frontal attack. Had this given enough opportunity for Vered to enter the tunnel? He could not tell. Between the noises made by the restless horses and the frightened, running Bane Pandasso, all hope of hearing a solitary man following vanished.
Without Vered, his and Lokenna’s position became untenable when they reached the castle. Santon heaved a deep sigh and doggedly walked on. He estimated his chances for driving a dagger into Lorens’ corrupted heart and did not like the odds for escape afterward. The mad king cavorted and bounced around like a child’s toy, appearing boneless at times and then going stiff like a stone statue come to life.
The more Lokenna attempted to talk with her brother, the more Lorens spurned her.
Santon did not think there would be such difficulty in killing Lorens — except for the occasional cunning glint he caught in the wizard-king’s eye. It was as if Lorens put on a small drama to keep the troops amused while his agile mind worked on, considering matters great and small. Santon ignored the antics. The problem Santon faced was the loyalty of Lorens’ soldiers. They had gone through much with their king in the Yorral Mountains. Did this bond them strongly enough or could they be swayed to Lokenna’s side?
Santon had no easy answer for that. In the officer he saw a chance for shifting allegiance to Lokenna. The lesser ranks might follow their lieutenant, who was personable and fair as a commander. Santon shook his head and gave up such speculation as a waste of time.
“It would not work,” came Lokenna’s soft voice. Santon jumped at the unexpected answer to a question he had not given voice to. The woman laughed gently. “No, I do not pry into your mind using some arcane magic spell. Your intentions are obvious to everyone.”
“He is your brother. I meant you no disrespect.”
“No disrespect to me or death to him.” Lokenna’s eyes fixed on her brother. Lorens dangled over the back of his horse, pretending to be a sack of flour. “Look at him. Child or madman? Who can say?”
“Madman. The Demon Crown did it to him.”
“You’ve known him longer than anyone else here. I must believe you.”
“Have you learned what you need from him?”
“No. He is careful when he speaks of the crown, not revealing enough to fill in the gaps in my knowledge. Lorens is also far more adroit a wizard than he lets on. The crown has brought out skills even his master did not possess.”
“Patrin was the most powerful wizard in the kingdom, or so said Alarice.”
“Alarice,” mused Lokenna. “That is a name my brother refuses to mention. I have pointedly inquired after her and he turns the question to an insult.”.
“She died so that he could ascend the throne.” Santon did not try to keep the bitterness from his voice.
“You loved her,” stated Lokenna. “I see the way you examine each phantom as we pass. Do you think to find her among these poor abandoned souls?”
“She is — was — a wizard in her own right. She is not bound to
the area where she died like these wights. She has spoken to me several times.”
“I would like to meet her, even if it is only a dim shadow of her former self. There is so much I need to know that Lorens will not speak about.” With a sudden animation, Lokenna asked, “What do you know of the Wizard of Storms?”
“Nothing more than that Alarice feared him — no, wait. Fear is too strong. She respected him but also strongly disapproved.”
“He brings the storms to the mountains. These are not naturally occurring — you can sense that, can’t you?”
Santon shook his head. “I guessed it.”
“Magic,” Lokenna sighed. “There is so much to learn and so little time.”
Santon stopped and stared. Outlined in an arch of twilight stood Bane Pandasso. Tears of joy ran down the man’s cheeks. He threw himself to the ground and dug his fingers into the rocky soil. “We have come to the end of Ionia’s tunnel,” said Santon.
“So it seems. The worst of the journey lies ahead of us,” said Lokenna. She held her head up high and walked on, looking more like a queen by the instant.
*
“Too much. Too high,” insisted Santon as he bargained for the use of the river barge.
“Then stay and freeze off your arses.” The bargemaster stopped and inclined his head slightly in Lokenna’s direction. “No offense meant to you, milady.”
“So you think to insult the rest of us. Is that it?” demanded Santon, enjoying the haggling. Life pumped through his tired body and the argument gave him purpose once more. Lorens and the soldiers held back and let him ply his skills against those of the river man.
Santon took the bargemaster by the arm and led him to the side of the craft. “The soldiers I travel with — you know them?” The bargemaster shook his head. “They are King Lorens’ personal guard.”
The grizzled man laughed out loud. “You want me to think that he is our king? That’s a rich one!” The bargemaster pointed at Lorens, then began to laugh even harder until tears ran down his ruddy cheeks.
A Symphony of Storms (Demon Crown Book 3) Page 6