The Black Shriving (Chronicles of the Black Gate Book 2)

by Phil Tucker

  "Say three weeks for the Lunar Gate at the Talon to open and allow the remains of his first force to return home. Then a month for him to recover from the loss, arm his men, beg aid from the Ascendant's Grace..." Wyland trailed off in thought. "I'd say we could expect a second attack in three months' time at the soonest."

  Iskra nodded. "My thoughts as well. That's exactly how long we have to forge an alliance with the Agerastians by one means or another." She ignored how Jander's face stiffened. "I'm going to call a council meeting shortly, but in the meantime I've asked Kolgrimr to attend me. He should be here shortly. I'm going to propose arming his men with the swords and armor that we've won in exchange for their continued service. How does that strike you?"

  Jander rubbed at his short beard. "A good idea. They're stout and brave men, these Hrethings, and while they fight in a wild and disorderly manner, they're a force to be reckoned with. Would you be loaning the weaponry, or gifting it to them?"

  At that point Kolgrimr entered the great hall, paused for a second to scan the bustle, and then saw Iskra and stepped over to her. His father was the leader of the aged Hrethings, though in truth he seemed to have already inherited the mantle of leadership. He stopped a good four paces away and bowed at the waist, a sharp gesture without courtly grace, but there was warmth in his eyes. Heavily bearded, lean and tall, he had the wiry athleticism of a man used to walking the mountains.

  "Lady Kyferin?" he said. "You asked for me?"

  Iskra gestured for him to take a seat. "I did. I know that your men wish to return to Hrething and their mountain farms, but first I wished to thank you all for the great service they provided me, for their bravery and willingness to fight alongside my guards. We all are alive to enjoy this day because of your aid, and I swear to you that I shall never forget your assistance in our time of need."

  Kolgrimr had lowered himself to sit on a heavy hemp bag of flour, but rose to bow again, his face flushing with pride. "You and yours slew the demon that was terrorizing our homes. Coming to your aid was an obligation that we swore to fulfill, and I am proud to have fought by your side."

  "Thank you." Iskra waited for him to sit once more. "Brocuff tells me that we've won an enormous amount of food. I've asked him to set aside what my people need, and to give the rest to you to distribute amongst your people to help them through the coming winter. I especially wish to recompense those families who lost husbands, fathers, and sons in last night's battle."

  Rather than rise again, Kolgrimr simply nodded from where he sat. "Thank you, my lady. The gift of food is a princely one this high in the mountains. Your generosity is much appreciated."

  "Not generosity." Iskra's smile was grim. "Sincere thanks. But our troubles are not over. We've bought some breathing room, but we estimate that within three months we shall see Lord Laur's men once again at our walls, and this time they will not fall for a clever stratagem. Now, I don't expect your people to sacrifice their way of life so as to garrison this Hold until then, but I have a proposition for you."

  Kolgrimr's hard face betrayed little. "I'm listening."

  "I would arm your men with the blades and armor we won from the vanquished knights, and have Ser Wyland train and drill them in their proper use." The details came to her even as she spoke. "Twenty men will stay at the Hold at any given time so as to train with us, and in so doing they will earn the right to own their weapons and armor. I will let you and Ser Wyland decide how to divide the men and how often to rotate them through, but I hope that doing so will allow us to resist Lord Laur with greater efficacy when he comes."

  Kolgrimr leaned back, brow furrowed in thought. "An interesting proposition." He mulled it over. "We're united in purpose, now. The men who are returning to Lord Laur will tell him of the Hrething's role in their defeat. I doubt he'll be merciful when he returns. At the very least, he'll seek to burn Hrething down and hang those he can get his hands on." His smile was wry. "It shouldn't be too hard to convince my father and the other influential men in our community to see the wisdom behind your words." He gave a sharp nod, as if settling his thoughts on the matter. "I'll speak with my father, and should have a response for you in a few days."

  Iskra rose and smiled warmly. "Very well. That is all I can ask for. Please make use of one of the carts we've acquired to take the food down to Hrething, and I look forward to seeing you here soon."

  Kolgrimr rose as well. "Thank you, my lady. You'll be seeing me soon enough. Ser Wyland." He nodded and left.

  "That went well," said Jander as she sat back down.

  "I was going to ask you first." She gave him an apologetic smile. "Would you be willing to help train the Hrethings?"

  He laughed. "Of course. As my lady commands. I cannot promise miracles, but three months is sufficient time to make them an effective fighting force." He stirred his oatmeal once more, then set it aside. "Iskra, I must speak to you about your proposal to ally with the Agerastians." He leaned forward, his face intent. "Please. You must listen."

  Iskra bit back an angry response. Patience. No good ruler refused the counsel of their trusted advisors. "I believe I know what you have to say. But please, speak your mind."

  "I will be brief." He hesitated, composing his thoughts. "First, I would speak of honor. It is what I have lived my life by. It is what led me to follow you here, though I knew it a death sentence. I have always chosen honor over mere survival. Honor as a knight, as an Ennoian, as a Black Wolf and now your humble servant."

  Iskra tightened her jaw. When had the Black Wolves ever been concerned with their honor?

  "Second, piety. We fight a political fight, a personal battle. Yet if we ally with the heretics, we shall be imperiling our souls and those of the ones who follow us. As cherished as your son is to you, is he worth damnation? Please, my lady. Let us search for another means of defeating Lord Laur, and barring that, fight him courageously when he comes, confident that we will ascend to a higher station should we die."

  Iskra looked down at her hands. There was dirt beneath her nails. Her mother would be aghast. "If you can suggest an alternative way to defeat Lord Laur and whatever forces the Ascendant's Grace sends with him, I would hear it now." Her voice was quiet, firm, implacable. "But I will not sit here helplessly and be slaughtered. I will not abandon my son. Our cause is just. We are the wronged party. Lord Laur has conspired with the Ascendant's Grace for political gain and I cannot accept that such is the Ascendant's will."

  Jander's lips were pursed, his fingers interlaced, his knuckles white. "I don't deny that the Ascendant's Grace is acting in a manner unbefitting his station -"

  "Asho saw him cheat death," whispered Iskra angrily. "Unbefitting? That flies in the face of all that is holy."

  "And we can trust Asho on this? He is a fine boy, but that was his first battle. Who knows what he saw?" Jander's voice was a harsh hiss. "Whom would you trust: the Ascendant's Grace, an Aletheian of the highest rank, or a Bythian?"

  Iskra sat back. "He hasn't proved himself enough for your taste?"

  "No, of course he has. He's done admirably." Jander made a chopping motion with one hand. "My point is this: there are times when our lords fail us, fail themselves. It doesn't matter in the end if the Ascendant's Grace has acted righteously or not. What matters is our own conduct. We must safeguard our own souls, and not take their sins as an excuse to sin even more."

  "Believe me, Jander, if there were any other way out of this I would seize it in a heartbeat. It sickens me to take this step. Right up until the last, I will search for a different way to defend my people and family. But I will not simply concede defeat. I will not let scheming, corrupt men take advantage of our weakness and use our religion to force our surrender. I don't know if the Ascendant will damn us or understand our actions, but I do know this: my late husband would have fought until the last, and I intend to do the same. So I will go to Agerastos if I can. I will make a deal with their heretical emperor, and I will take back Kyferin Castle and save my son."

>   Jander stared at her, his mouth a thin slit. Servants and guards sitting around the fires were watching them both out of the corner of their eyes. Had she raised her voice toward the last? Iskra took a deep breath. "Enough. Let's gather the others. I would hold council."

  Jander gave a sharp nod and rose to his feet. "I'll summon them. If you'll excuse me, Lady Kyferin."

  He strode off without waiting for her nod, and Iskra watched him go. Lady Kyferin. She took a deep breath, sat up straighter, and waited for the others to gather.

  One by one, her council stepped in and sat before her. Mæva the Hrething witch with her firecat. Brocuff with his tally in hand, followed by an expressionless Jander.

  A moment later Asho approached and bowed. "Good morning, Lady Kyferin." His hair was damp with sweat, his expression grave. A fever? No. Exercise, as befitted a knight.

  "Ser Asho," said Iskra, forcing a smile. A lifetime spent by her brutal lord's side had made doing so effortless. "Fetch yourself some food so that we may talk."

  "I'll break my fast when we're done," he said, lowering himself to a crouch. "My appetite hasn't awoken yet."

  Kethe stomped up behind Asho and sat heavily to his left, pushing her sword's hilt down so the scabbarded tip rose behind her, clear of any obstacles. She had a bowl in both hands and wasted no time spooning food into her mouth. "Morning," she grunted.

  Lady Kyferin raised an eyebrow as she watched her daughter, and decided to pick her battles. "In one month the Lunar Portal below will re-open and return Audsley and Ser Tiron to us. With a modicum of luck they will have found a means to contact the Agerastians so that we may forge an alliance. Two weeks after that the empire shall celebrate the Winter Shriving. We've learned that it's called the Black Shriving here, and is an occasion for terror and violence. All who reside in the Hold shall be attacked by supernatural forces and killed. If we survive that assault, we shall face Lord Laur a mere six weeks later. He shall come at us with as many Virtues and knights as he can assemble. Ladies and gentlemen, time is of the essence."

  The mood around their small circle became decidedly grim.

  "Mæva," said Iskra. "What can you tell us about the Black Shriving? Where we come from it is a time for reflection and penance followed by a day of celebration."

  Mæva stirred uneasily. "Your version sounds much more hospitable. The Hrethings know that night as a time to lock our doors and windows, to gather with weapons drawn and beware the evil that comes down from the mountains." She glanced at Ashurina as if for confirmation. "I know it to be when the forces that surround the Black Gate overflow and come pouring down to this Hold. Any who reside here are slain. Come dawn, the evil returns to the heights. As to the why? No one knows for sure. I believe it is an ancient grudge against the Kyferins who once garrisoned these walls and routinely cleansed the Gate so as to mine the Gate Stone."

  Iskra nodded. "All right. And this Black Gate that Audsley discovered in the mountains. Where might it be located? What might defend it? What can we do to shut it down so that we can access the Gate Stone in the ground?"

  Mæva leaned back. "I'm flattered that you assume I possess such information."

  Iskra expected to hear Tiron's irritated snarl, and felt instead a pang of loss over not having him with her. Instead it was Ser Wyland who leaned forward, hands clasped between his knees.

  "It's alright to admit your ignorance," he said gently. "If you don't know -"

  "I do know," Mæva snapped. "I am as steeped in these mysteries as you are in..." She paused, her gaze flicking up and down his body. "Your distinctive odor. No, what I sought to impress upon you all is that the answers I do have are to be taken as educated guesses, not fact. Am I clear?"

  Kethe shoveled another spoonful of food into her mouth and grunted. "Sounds like you're hedging to me."

  Mæva rolled her eyes and lifted Ashurina to eye level. "Don't despair of them, my sweet," she said. "It's like trying to dress a kragh in fine silks."

  Lady Kyferin tapped her fingers on her knee. "Mæva?"

  "Very well." Mæva lowered Ashurina to her lap. "These mountains are perilously high, and there are a number of false peaks between where we sit and where I believe the Black Gate to be. I've spent some time studying the maps that Audsley discovered below, and I believe I now know the general area in which the Gate may lie."

  "May?" Ser Wyland raised an eyebrow.

  "May. A steep valley hidden in a cleft high up in the Skarpheðinn range." She paused and licked her lower lip. "Understand: on rare occasion a demon might descend from the heights to plague our land, much like the one you slew a few days ago. But up in the Skarpheðinn Range, their presence will be commonplace. I can't even guess what else might infest the land that close to the Gate. Stone trolls, most certainly. Who knows what other creatures, what monstrosities?"

  Asho leaned forward. "You were able to shield our presence from the demon. Could you do so again?"

  "Yes," said Mæva. "That would be your only hope of survival."

  "Then it seems you must accompany our force to this range," said Iskra.

  "Yes," said Mæva quietly. "I had intended to."

  "Thank you," said Iskra. "How do you suggest we undertake this mission?"

  Ser Wyland sat straight. "We can -"

  "You're not going," said Mæva.

  "I - pardon? What do you mean?"

  "You're not going." Mæva smiled sweetly at him.

  Ser Wyland frowned. "Of course I'm going. Why wouldn't I?"

  "Because," said Mæva, leaning back on one arm, "you would be a terrible liability. You have not a thimbleful of mystic power to you. You won't be able to harm our foes, won't be able to fight on their level, and will distract and slow the rest of us who would have to take care of you."

  Ser Wyland's face darkened and he rose to his feet, but it was clear he didn't know how to respond.

  Iskra raised a hand, forestalling him. "Then, who should accompany you?"

  Mæva turned to regard Asho and Kethe. "Those two. The three of us shall move quickly, under the cover of my protective magic."

  Asho blanched. "Just the three of us? Going up to the Skarpheðinn range? Alone?"

  Mæva smiled and nodded. "Precisely."

  Kethe set her bowl aside firmly. "An intelligent choice. After all, we're going to die soon anyway. When do we leave?"

  "Kethe!" Iskra's outrage was scalding. "How dare you speak so flippantly about such matters!"

  "You think me flippant?" Kethe's gaze was steady and without remorse. "Hardly, mother dear. Merely honest."

  The silence stretched out between them. Iskra wanted to take her daughter by the hand and drag her outside for a scolding. Wanted to pull her into a tight hug and weep into her hair. Torn between her desire to chastise and scold, all she could do was glare. Kethe held her gaze and then shrugged, dismissing her, and returned her attention to her bowl of food.

  "A scouting mission," said Iskra at last. "Am I understood? Get as much information as you can without imperiling yourselves, and then return for us to plan further." She paused and stared levelly at Kethe. "Am I understood?"

  Kethe pursed her lips and then shrugged one should. "Yes, mother."

  "Good. Mæva, what do you need to do to prepare?"

  "Nothing. I am ready to depart immediately. We should leave now, so as to make the most of the sunlight. We've a long climb ahead of us."

  "Good. Asho, Kethe?"

  Asho rose to his feet. "I can be ready in ten minutes."

  "Same here," said Kethe, rising lithely to her feet. "I'll meet you two up front by the gate. Take care, everyone." That said, she turned and walked toward her corner, where her pack and armor rested.

  Mæva smiled and rose as well, Ashurina scampering up to rest on her shoulder. "Ser Wyland, may I have a word?"

  It almost looked like the older knight was going to refuse her, but then he sighed and nodded, and followed the witch to one side of the great hall with a look of helpless fascination on his f
ace.

  Iskra looked up to where Asho was standing. "Ser knight. Promise me one thing."

  He lowered himself smoothly to one knee. "Anything, my lady."

  She turned to watch Kethe fixing her pack. "Bring my daughter back to me. I feel her drifting. Her powers are growing and they will destroy her if she indulges in them too often. Don't let her use them unless it's a matter of life or death. Please. Bring her back to me."

  Asho followed her gaze. "I swear I'll bring her back if it's within my power to do so, my lady. You have my word on it as your knight."

  "Good," said Lady Kyferin, already feeling very alone. "Thank you, Ser Asho. May the Ascendant watch over you all."

  Asho bowed his head but not quickly enough to hide his sour expression. Iskra remembered too late that he had killed a Virtue just the night before. What did such blessings mean to him now? Before she could ameliorate the situation, he rose and departed.

  Iskra rubbed her hands together nervously, then caught herself and stopped. Somehow she doubted very much that the Ascendant was watching them with any sign of favor. She was allying with his greatest enemies and sending her people up into the mouth of Hell, a forgotten Black Gate that was guarded by who knew what evils.

  Jander's words echoed in her mind. But what choice did she have? So be it. If she had to damn herself right down to being reborn a Bythian, she would do so. She would do anything if it meant saving her son from the clutches of their enemies.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Tharok awoke early. He dressed and donned his armor in the dawn sunlight, then descended to the courtyard of Porloc's enclosure where Nok awaited him, Shaya sitting alert and nervous on the back of their mountain goat. The city of Gold was silent, a pall of smoke hanging in the air and battling with the stench of spoiled meat and spilt wine. Tharok, filled with purpose, merely nodded to his two companions and then strode out through the unguarded front gate.