Darkfire: A Book of Underrealm

by Garrett Robinson

  Loren’s cheeks burned. Though she knew it for foolishness, a part of her mind felt as though he were speaking directly to her, as though he knew she lurked in the rafters.

  “You say a young child of the forest,” said Damaris, her tone now bitter. “And I thought the same. But since then I have learned plenty to turn my mind in another direction. No doubt the Lord knows much surrounding the battle of Wellmont. But he may not have heard that this girl was in the company of Mystics, throughout that engagement and afterwards. She was last seen still in their company. I know now what I could not before: she is their agent, a redcloak herself, in disguise, and has benefited from their help since always.”

  Trisken leaned forward in his throne. “Do you think the Lord has not guessed at this? And do you think it pleases him? That you, Damaris of the family Yerrin, might very nearly have brought one of them here, to our stronghold in the Greatrocks?”

  Damaris had made a mistake, and knew it. Again she fell into a curtsey, this time bowing her head.

  “I would never have brought her here, Commander. I would have sent word to the Lord and had her vetted by one of his agents. The family Yerrin will never reveal the Lord or any of his places of power, this one least of all.”

  “See that you do not,” said Trisken. “For if that were to pass, the Lord would end you, then wipe the family Yerrin from history’s face. No bard would remember a single song of your blood, and no tome would hold record of your name. Your land would be burned and salted, a blight upon the nine lands that all would forever know as a fear without name.”

  Damaris bowed lower. “I know it, as does my family. We wish nothing more than to serve him.”

  “Then serve him by being more cautious with your dealings.” Trisken sank back into his throne, from angry to almost lazy in an instant. “Now. You spoke of a boon you wish to beg of the Lord — in return for more magestones. What would you ask?”

  Damaris waited a long moment, as though ensuring it was safe, before she finally rose from her curtsey. But still she stood cowed, with shoulders drooping and head bowed.

  “Commander, my boon and the Lord’s concern are one and the same. Along our route I had planned to sell much of our cargo — for as the Lord well knows, Yerrin is valuable to him only so long as we continue to be profitable, and ensure that we can provide him with whatever he desires. But after Cabrus, I proceeded here as quickly as my caravan could travel. I sold no magestones to anyone else. As a consequence, I have half again the amount the Lord purchased — and they are his, if he wants them.”

  Trisken shifted in his seat. Loren well knew that magestones were beyond value, and the true source of the Yerrin’s immeasurable wealth. Honest goods could only accumulate so much coin. But generations of smuggling stones had filled the Yerrin coffers beyond accounting.

  “That is quite a cargo. And must accompany a hefty request.”

  “A request not so great for the Lord to carry out as it has been for me, I think. Tis why I ask. For our master the task will be but a trifle. I ask that he finds my daughter and returns her to me.”

  A small smile appeared at the corner of Trisken’s mouth. Mayhap he had been expecting the question, for it did not seem to surprise him.

  “I see. You have failed to track her down yourself, have you?”

  “Many agents within our family have tried. And we have pressed many of our contacts within the Mystics to aid us. Yet therein lies the problem. If, as we both suspect, the girl Loren is allied with redcloaks, then they will make every attempt to thwart us. And if we cannot find Loren, we cannot find Annis, for I believe they travel together.”

  Trisken rapped his nails. Tap, tap. “Prudent thinking. But so much magestone seems a hefty price, and I find myself suspicious.”

  “The Lord has considerable resources at his disposal,” Damaris said. “Yet to mobilize them for such a task may cause him some minor annoyance. The magestones are a token, a gift to thank him for his kindness, in this smallest of matters.”

  “Smallest of matters indeed. I will beseech the Lord upon your behalf. You will leave your … token with me regardless.”

  At first Damaris did not answer. Loren caught a sharp jerk of her head, then the merchant nodded. “Of course. As I said, they are a gift.”

  “Good. Then—”

  Trisken’s words died as the great hall’s front door burst open. The commander’s guards leapt to the fore, drawing their blades. Damaris whirled, but it was only a stronghold guard, running in, grey cloak fluttering behind her. She ran past Damaris to the foot of the dais and knelt.

  “Commander,” said the messenger. “We have found a small party of spies in the caves south of the stronghold.”

  On his feet, Trisken said, “How many? Have we taken them?”

  “Not yet, but a force has been dispatched to bring them into the cells — or kill them.”

  twenty-seven

  GEM. ANNIS. ALBERN. NO.

  LOREN’S mind whirled, and yet for a moment she could not force herself into motion. She had no doubt of who the messenger spoke of — how many parties of travelers could the stronghold soldiers have found in those caves?

  Trisken’s guards sheathed their blades, but the commander went to the hammer leaning against his throne. He seized its handle and, though it looked heavier than a boulder, lifted it easily and slid the weapon into a sheath on his back.

  “Take me there. Lady Damaris, your request has been heard. Wait for me within your quarters while I deal with this nuisance.”

  “Of course,” said Damaris, curtseying a final time. Trisken swept past her and out of the room.

  As if the commander had held her in a spell, once Trisken left the room Loren found herself able to move. She stood from her crouch in the rafters, wincing as her knees throbbed from holding position so long in the chill. She slunk back to the rafter beside the window, and stepped out to the sill.

  As she clasped her black cloak around her, Loren’s gaze drifted upward to the roof’s lip, three feet above her outstretched hand. It seemed impossibly out of reach, but she had to try. Gem and Annis were in mortal danger, and Jordel did not know it.

  She had to save the others.

  Loren allowed herself one long moment, then crouched and jumped hard. But the angle was wrong, and she nearly missed. Her right hand slipped, her left clinging desperately to the roof’s edge. Her torn finger screamed, and she gritted her teeth to keep from crying out. She swung out and away from the wall, thinking for a moment she would lose what little hold she had, before finally swinging back in and seizing the lip with her other hand. Every muscle in her arms and chest burned with the agony of her earlier fall and the biting air, but still she heaved with all her might. Her right elbow came up over the edge, and after a bit more pulling and wriggling, she collapsed upon the rooftop in a heap.

  But she could not take so much as a moment to rest. Leaping to her feet, she darted for the rope and seized it, wincing at the pain tearing through her mangled hands. She tried pulling herself up, but it was far too slow.

  The rope jerked, and suddenly she found herself flying upward through the air. Looking up, Loren saw Jordel’s strong gloved hands as he yanked her up one arm’s length at a time. She wanted to keep pulling herself along, to help him lift her, but the pain left her unable to do anything more than hold on as he tugged her to the top.

  The Mystic seized her arm once she was within reach and nearly flung Loren to the rooftop. She lay on her back, gasping and clutching her hands in between her knees, trying to quell her burning palms.

  “Come, Loren, you must rise.” Jordel seized her arm and pulled Loren to standing. She tried not to strike him. “I heard shouting in the courtyard. If you have been discovered, we must flee, quickly.”

  “It was not me they found” said Loren miserably. “The others have been discovered.”

  Jordel’s keen blue eyes went wide. He froze, and for a moment Loren feared he did not know what to do. But then he looked
at the hatch leading down, and over to the roof’s edge.

  “We cannot go all the way back through the stronghold. It will take too long. We will lower the rope over the outer wall and climb down that way.”

  He must have seen her face, for his eyes grew troubled. Jordel seized her wrists and flipped her hands palm upward. His mouth soured at the blood soaking her palms, and the sight of her missing nail.

  “We must help them. Here. Take my gloves. They will help.”

  Jordel ripped the gloves from his hands and handed them to her. She pulled them on, then he untied the rope from the north end and retied it to one of the southern ramparts. He looked over the edge and turned back with a frown.

  “It ends ten feet from the ground. We will have to take care with the final drop. Are you ready?”

  “I must be.”

  Though Loren’s body did not wish to obey, still she forced herself forward.

  “A moment,” said Jordel, raising a hand to stop her.

  He pulled the rope back up to the roof, then handed Loren the end.

  “I will lower you down. It will be easier on you, and make you less likely to fall.”

  Her heart fluttered. “But … what if your grip should slip? What if guards arrive while I am being lowered?”

  “It is not my grip I worry about, and if we are quick, no one will have a chance to come. Quickly! We have no time for argument.”

  Jordel lifted Loren like she was a child, perched her on the rampart’s edge, then took the rope in his thick hands. At his nod, Loren pushed herself from the edge.

  She felt the rope give in his grip, and in a panic thought he was losing her. But it was only his arms stretching to full length, and she jolted to a stop just two feet down.

  Loren planted her boots on the wall as she had before, hoping to control her descent and lessen Jordel’s burden if possible.

  She need not have worried. Jordel’s hands moved swiftly, end over end as he lowered her down the stronghold’s outer wall. Loren felt for one mad moment that she was walking backward down the stones.

  As Jordel had said, the rope ended ten feet from the ground. Loren stopped with a jolt and looked up to see the Mystic’s face peering down from over the rampart. Now she must drop.

  I must let go. Annis and Gem need me.

  Her frozen fingers finally obeyed, and she fell through the air.

  Loren had spent long years dropping from trees in the Birchwood, and knew how to absorb the shock of a landing. But the Birchwood floor had been soft loam, and now she landed on rock. Her ankle twisted beneath her and Loren fell backwards, slamming her head on the stone. After the blow Xain had given her in the cave, this felt like a spike lodged in her brain. For a moment she lay senseless, mouth open in a wordless scream, unable to move. It hurt when she lifted her head, but not quite so badly as she feared. She moved her ankle, and it responded with only a twinge of pain.

  “Not so bad as it could have been,” Loren muttered to herself, climbing to her feet. Then she moved quickly out of the way, for Jordel had scurried down the rope like a squirrel. Already he had reached the bottom. He hit the ground a few feet away, tumbled into a somersault before landing on his back, then shot to his feet.

  “Are you hurt?” he said, gripping her shoulders.

  “Not badly. Let us go.”

  Jordel led the way along the stronghold wall back to the cave where the others lay hidden.

  Not hidden any longer.

  The stronghold guards came into view. Several lurked outside the cave mouth, hidden around the stronghold. Loren soon saw why: three bodies lay outside the cave, arrows sticking from their chests like flagpoles.

  She ducked for the wall on instinct so the soldiers would not see them — but Jordel pushed onward, and then Loren remembered that they themselves wore uniforms.

  She followed closely behind the Mystic, lowering her cowl and casting the cloak over her shoulders, so the other guards might not notice that it was black rather than grey.

  One of the guards spotted them. “Take cover, friends, or you’ll end up like our comrades there.” He gave a significant nod to the bodies sprawled outside the cave.

  Jordel and Loren darted around the corner, but Loren stood in full view of the cave, holding her head high, hoping Albern would look out and recognize her. Jordel, meanwhile, ducked in company with the man who had spoken their warning. Another three guards stood behind them, each afraid to press forward.

  “How many are in there?” said Jordel.

  “The count is uncertain, but I have seen at least two. One was a child.”

  “A child?” said Loren, feigning surprise.

  All might be lost if Damaris knew that Annis was here.

  “Aye, a thin boy, dressed in rags. Looks like he belongs begging on some city street, not up in these mountains.”

  Loren’s eyes found Jordel’s as he turned back to give her an urgent look, then gently tossed his head toward the other guards. She sized them up: four against Jordel and Loren. And who knew when more would arrive. Trisken might come at any moment, and Loren did not enjoy the thought of testing herself against that warhammer. The rear guard was smallest, a thin woman with short red hair who did not look much older than Loren herself, though her eyes were grim and determined. To Loren’s other side, she was shocked to see the thin, reedy man who had spoken so rudely to she and Jordel in the guardroom. He did not seem to recognize either of them, for his eyes were fixed on the cave’s open mouth.

  With surprise on her side, Loren thought she could take them. She nodded to Jordel, then reached for her dagger.

  In a burst of motion, Jordel drove his elbow into the thick man beside him, smashing his face.

  Loren raised her dagger high and brought the pommel crashing down on the back of the thin man’s head.

  The woman’s eyes flashed with surprise, but it did not last so long as Loren had hoped, and she brought her sword swinging toward Loren’s head.

  She easily ducked it, then kicked the woman’s shin and sent her crashing to the ground. But the guard held her grip and swung the sword again. Loren fell back to avoid the strike, then forward on the woman. She seized her tunic, striking her three times in the face while still holding the dagger’s hilt. It lent extra weight to her blows, and the woman’s head lolled back, senseless.

  Loren looked up to find Jordel’s arms wrapped around the final soldier’s neck, choking his breath and mayhap his life. The man struggled to strike at Jordel, who was behind him, but his arms could not reach. His eyes fluttered up, then rolled back in his head. He fell unconscious and Jordel dropped him to the ground.

  “Let us find our friends, and hope they do not shoot us,” he said.

  They ran for the cave, weapons sheathed and hands held high. Loren stepped distastefully around the bodies littering the ground, averting her eyes. There was always death, no matter how she tried to avoid it. Albern must have seen her face, or else saw them fighting the guards, for no arrows flew from the darkness to strike them.

  They entered the cave and were seized by Gem and Annis in a hug. Xain lay behind them, near the horses, his eyes filled with concern.

  “Well, you certainly took your time getting here.” Albern stepped forward. He still held an arrow nocked, but had relaxed his draw. Despite his jovial tone, Loren saw the stark relief in his eyes.

  “We heard the shouting and thought you had been found,” said Annis. “Then we realized that we had been spotted, not you.”

  “We held them off admirably,” said Gem, stepping back from his embrace as if embarrassed. “Certainly they were no match for our determination.”

  “Yes, the little master here cowered so fearfully that the enemy took pity and fled,” Albern said.

  Gem opened his mouth, but Jordel interrupted his answer. “We have no time for words. Fetch the horses and Xain, for—”

  THOOM

  The heavy crash of a gate striking the ground drowned the Mystic’s words. They all stopped
and turned toward the cave mouth in time to see Trisken step forward from the stronghold, the greatest warhammer Loren could have ever imagined clutched tightly in his hands.

  twenty-eight

  TO TRISKEN’S EITHER SIDE WALKED the guards Loren had seen at his dais, and before him marched a squadron of stronghold soldiers. They made no attempt to hide behind cover as they advanced, though the front soldiers traded uneasy glances.

  “Well, he is an ugly one,” said Albern, raising his bow and drawing.

  His shaft struck one soldier in the chest. The others flinched and made to stop, but Trisken’s guards shoved them forward. The soldiers raised shields, but against Albern they might as well have had no protection. Once, twice, three times his arrows struck, and the soldiers fell to the ground before him. Still there were more. Trisken and his bodyguards were behind them, but when Albern felled another pair, they paused and ducked behind the cave’s edges.

  “Back!” Loren seized Gem and Annis, then tried pulling them deeper into the caves.

  “No,” said Jordel. “We cannot flee without leaving Xain and the horses behind. It will be a fight.” He drew his sword and stepped forward.

  “Aye, and we could use more than two blades,” said Albern, looking at Loren sidelong.

  “I will help,” said Gem, his voice little more than a quiver. He reached for the small sword buckled to his waist.

  “Don’t be a fool.” Loren grabbed his wrist before he could draw and shoved the blade back in. “You will be slaughtered.”

  “He will likely be slaughtered in any case, if they get through Jordel and myself,” said Albern. “Let the boy die with a sword in his hand if he wants.”

  Jordel said, “I told you I would not ask you to kill, and will not do so now. But if we do not fight, then likely we die here.”

  Loren looked into his eyes, then at the cave entrance where the soldiers’ heads could be seen poking into view, no doubt goaded by Trisken and his men. How could she stand idly by while even Gem raised a blade in their defense? Annis was stooping to pick up a rock from the ground, holding it ready to throw.