Lord of the Black Tower: A Mega-Omnibus (5-book epic fantasy box set)

by Jack Conner

  The time of the Great One has come.

  Baleron thought of the woman in the black cells beneath the fortress, or what was left of her, the woman that had begged for death from a tongue-less mouth. To think that one of the creatures who had done that to her had bowed to him ...

  He led his men from the forest onto the main road, and from there it was a short journey to the caravan, where hundreds of horse-drawn carriages stretched in a line for miles—just fine despite Tines’s worrying. On one side of the road a sheer precipice dropped down into blackness, and on the other a steep-sloped forest ascended to the rocky peak high above. The caravan blazed with lanterns and torches, and it did Baleron’s heart good to see some vestige of civilization here in the borderlands.

  “Look!” people cried. “It’s Prince Baleron! He’s returned!”

  The people gathered round his raiding party and the men they had liberated, cheering and laughing, and Baleron saw a tear in more than one eye. He realized how hopeless his charges were. They were all alone high in the Aragst, weeks from reaching their destination, and the Borchstogs had decided to move against them. The creatures had killed many during the raid that had taken Salthrick and the others, and the reason behind their attack was unclear. The attacking force had not been large enough to destroy the caravan, and the Borchstogs had melted away after taking their prisoners. Had they been willing to risk death just to collect victims to torture? It made little sense, even for them.

  Baleron raised his voice: “The Borchstogs have been destroyed! Our men have been rescued!” There was some cheering. “We have shown that we can prevail over the Enemy even in his own territory, so take heart. Now, a moment of silence to honor the fallen.” He bowed his head, and all around him did likewise. The wind whispered. The trees rustled. When Baleron raised his head. he looked into the faces of the people and saw sadness and fear, but also determination. “My friends, we will survive. We’re strong, and we bear the blessing of the Light, for though we are fallen we are not in shadow.” Sermons from the priestesses of Illiana echoed in his head. “Now go, enjoy yourself. We will celebrate our friends’ return.” The gathering dispersed.

  He turned to a lieutenant. “Have the players start up. The rain thins. And unload a keg of ale and have some meat spitted and laid over a fire.” The lieutenant nodded and rushed off. Baleron and Salthrick shared a glance. “The people need something to lift their spirits,” Baleron said.

  “Are things really so bad?”

  “You tell me. You happen to overhear anything useful while you were enjoying Borchstog hospitality?”

  Salthrick gingerly fingered a newly bandaged wound where the Borchstogs had removed a strip of skin from his abdomen. “Sorry, Bal, but if they said anything interesting my screams drowned it out.”

  Baleron suppressed a wave of horror. “There must be some reason they attacked.”

  “They hate us.”

  “Yes, but they haven’t attacked any other large party in years. Why us?”

  It was a good question, and Salthrick had no answer. The two friends sat their horses and endured the greetings of various well-wishers, and for Salthrick the attention of another healer, until at last the musicians started up. The rain thinned, then faded. People danced or gathered for warmth about the newly-sparked bonfires, and the smell of roasting pork made Baleron’s mouth water.

  Rolenya arrived. She looked anxious, and her long black hair glimmered by the light of the moon, which was just now appearing from between the storm clouds. Mounted on her white mare, she made her way through the crowd of nobles and soldiers, and the people gave way for her readily. Tears were in her eyes as she swung down, and Salthrick swung down, too. Somewhat to Baleron’s shock, they embraced.

  She drew away, somewhat abashed, came to Baleron and pulled on his arm until he dismounted and let her wrap her arms around him, too. He was careful not to plaster her with gore, though she didn’t seem mindful of it.

  “Thank the Omkar,” she breathed. “You returned.”

  “I think the Omkar had less to do with it than steel,” Baleron said, “but I appreciate your enthusiasm.”

  She and Salthrick exchanged another glance, then the captain caught Baleron’s eye and coughed. “I think I’ll just ...” He ambled toward the nearest fire and the meat roasting over it.

  “Did many die?” Rolenya asked Baleron quietly.

  “Not many. I lost perhaps thirty men.”

  “And you saved, how many?”

  He frowned. “Perhaps forty that had been taken from the caravan, plus a score of captives already there.” And another dozen that asked for death. He tilted her chin up, so that her eyes caught the light of the nearest bonfire. “You’re still crying.”

  She wiped her eyes impatiently. “This is all my fault, Bal. They all died because of me.”

  “Don’t blame yourself. I approved the route.”

  “Only because I forced it on you.”

  “The generals approved it. Even Father approved.”

  “He just wants me to visit ... you know.”

  “I know.” The blasted temple. What does Father think she has to atone for so badly? He thought of Salthrick ...”At any rate, don’t blame yourself.”

  She nodded but did not look mollified. In a low voice, she said, “You were right. I’m so sorry, Bal. I should have listened—”

  General Tines and his handful of men rode in, dragging behind them carts bearing the dead and wounded. Immediately the priestesses of Illiana came around and started blessing the fallen heroes and seeing to the injured. Baleron looked on the corpses and said a silent prayer of his own, asking them for forgiveness.

  “I’ve done what you requested, prince,” said General Tines.

  “Good. Now enjoy the feast. We leave as soon as the scouts return. I won’t have us taking another wrong turn.” Night had fallen, and Baleron was impatient to be on the move. He had struck the Borchstog fortress when the Borchstogs were weak, but with nightfall they and the other foul things in the region would be stirring.

  The general did not leave. “Perhaps you and I can have a private word,” he said. “Let us go up to the peak and spy out the lay of the land while the clouds are clearing.”

  Baleron raised his eyebrows, but he could not reasonably refuse such a request by his second-in-command. “I’ll come find you as soon as the scouts return.”

  Holding himself erect, Tines rode off.

  “Let’s enjoy the feast,” Baleron told Rolenya. “I’m sure your betrothed won’t begrudge you one dance with your brother before the wedding.”

  She smiled a little and let him lead her to the nearest bonfire. It was a chilly night, and the cold wind howled with fury over the lip of the precipice and dark whispers filtered down from the forest, and so it felt very good to be close to a raging flame, especially one with a roasting hog thrown over it. The musicians played, and Baleron danced, first with Rolenya, then Sophia, a fair girl with blond locks and green eyes, daughter of a minor nobleman. She and Baleron had been seeing each other in secret for several months, this to protect her honor, but at the moment she seemed not to care if they were seen or not.

  “I was so worried,” she said as they danced. “While you were away it was all I could think of.”

  “Why is everyone so surprised that I returned alive? I’ve never died yet. It’s not as though there’s a precedent for me not returning.”

  She smiled, but it was a worried smile, and they danced, and the night grew dark and cold. Nearby danced the sorcerer Bragan Thad, and Baleron was amused to see the normally reserved gentleman letting lose. However, another part of Baleron thought, He should be on guard. Bragan Thad was their only means of unconventional defense. I will have a word with him later.

  Baleron could see that the dancing of the people was more mechanical than jovial, as though they were trying and failing to ignore their circumstances. Many of the soldiers were not partaking of the celebration at all but standing about staring
into the bonfires, sipping from their flasks and toasting the dead.

  Baleron understood, but the drink and the company fired his blood, and he was sorely tempted by Sophia’s offer to retire with her to her carriage (careful to make sure they were unobserved). However, just as he was letting her drag him away, one of his scouts returned and gave him the report. Reluctantly, Baleron left her and the gathering to find General Tines, who was sitting alone by a bonfire peeling strips of meat off a bone with his carving knife and eating them one by one, his gaze on the flames.

  “Come,” Baleron said. “If you still want that talk, now’s the time.”

  Tines looked up, his mouth red. “I do, and it is.”

  Baleron saw to the placing of the perimeter patrol, made sure scouts had cleared the area he and the General would be passing through, and only then did he and Tines mount up and ride off the main trail and up into the forest. The prince led the way up the steep slope, and as a fierce wind roared like some primordial beast he spurred Brandy on, up to the rocky crown. His bow and quiver of arrows, somewhat depleted after the battle, jostled on his back. He felt cold, and alone, and tired. Sophia ... He remembered her warmth and the smell of her perfume.

  Brandy neighed in protest, as there was no path, but she trusted him and forced herself on. Tines, not quite the horseman Baleron was, lagged behind.

  Baleron reached the rocky tip of the mountain and stood near the brink of a sheer cliff. Thunder still rolled above from dark clouds that streamed across the night sky, but the sliver of a moon peeked out, shining brightly, its illumination lancing through the spaces between clouds. From here Baleron could see the seemingly infinite peaks of the Aragst Mountains. He sat right in the middle of them. They rose like a thousand fangs sticking up from the earth—and if any land should have fangs, it should be this one, the very mountains the Dark One was said to have raised to stymie attack from his foes to the north, the countries of the Crescent Alliance.

  The wind blew even more frigid here, and Baleron shivered, wrapping himself tighter in his thick jacket.

  Roschk ul Ravast! The time of the Great One comes ...

  “Fate give us wings,” he muttered.

  A sound behind him. Scrabbling stones. General Tines had reached the peak.

  “Let us finish this,” Tines said, shivering. He suddenly looked very frail, very old, and Baleron realized that coming up here must be quite a chore for him. But worth it for the chance to berate me.

  In silence, the two leaders surveyed the terrain. Below, on an abandoned path, stretched the caravan they were shepherding: over four hundred horse-drawn coaches sat still, vulnerable. Lights blazed like fireflies in the falling night—a long, sinuous string of them, a serpent of flame winding itself about the mountain. Music drifted up, and Baleron wanted to be down there, enjoying the festivities, however forced and lukewarm. Yet he also wanted to be getting the caravan under way. They had sat still for long enough. Anywhere but here with Tines.

  “The trail looks fine,” he said. “And the scouts report that it’s clear. We should still be able to use it for another few days before we have to find an alternate.”

  “Perhaps. If Borchstogs don’t block it off again.”

  “Have faith, General.”

  Tines shot him a sideways look. “You are a fool,” he said quietly.

  Baleron had expected this. He waited.

  “To go sneaking around in the woods! What were you playing at? That was madness. Idiocy.”

  Baleron tried to keep his voice civil. “I set off to rescue my men.”

  “For what purpose? The Borchstogs will attack us again soon, and next time they will finish us.”

  “You seem awfully sure of that. Why?”

  “We were doomed from the moment we entered these mountains, and you know it.”

  “I know no such thing. You’re a poison, General, and I wish Father had not assigned you to me.”

  “You would not have been allowed this chance without me.”

  That was true enough. When Rolenya had asked their father to allow Baleron to lead the caravan, the King had approved, though reluctantly, with the caveat that the general accompany him as second-in-command.

  “You have a right to your dislike, General, but don’t let it affect your responsibilities.”

  “We should never have come this way.” Something strange entered the general’s eyes. “We’re all dead men, and the ‘stogs will make sport with our bones. I’ve been thinking on it, and I believe I’ve figured it out. It makes sense only one way.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Don’t you see? The Borchstogs fired the Naslym bridges to force us to come this way. That’s why they burnt those bridges. They wanted us to come through the Aragst.”

  “Why?” Baleron felt something drop in his belly. “Why would they want that?”

  “I don’t know, but their attacks bear it out.”

  Baleron wanted to tell Tines that he was mad, but ...”Why would they have gone through such lengths to ambush a wedding party?”

  General Tines sat and stared, looking cold and sour. “I have no idea. But I said from the beginning that this route was madness.”

  “Then why did you approve it?” When Tines didn’t answer, Baleron scowled. He had always found it suspicious that Tines had approved the route the very morning after Baleron’s duel with Darin. Suddenly, in dismay, he realized the truth of it. “You came here to see me fail, didn’t you?”

  Tines sniffed. “I didn’t know we would all die in these godsforsaken mountains, but I did know it would be a terrific disaster and your true nature would be revealed for all to see.”

  “Then you are the fool, not I.”

  “You are an indulgent young prince,” Tines said in barely suppressed rage. “A drunken, gambling, whoring disgrace to the crown, and you should have died in the woods.”

  So that was it. Tines had hoped to see him die.

  Strangely this did not anger Baleron. With a patience that seemed to infuriate Tines, he said, “I understand your feelings, General. I’d hate me if I were you, too.” He paused. “Would it be taken amiss if I apologized? I attempted to offer an apology to your son, but he threw it back at me. I truly didn’t mean for it to go as far as it did.”

  “What you did with Lydia was bad enough. But you had to compound Darin’s humiliation—his, and mine.”

  “I had every intention of letting him win that duel. General. Three scratches and I would’ve lost. But he didn’t go for scratches. He went for heart’s blood. I only defended myself.”

  “Heart’s blood,” Tines snorted. “Would that he had found it! Well, if nothing else, I’ll see finished what he could not.” He wheeled his horse about and descended the peak, returning to the narrow and over-grown trail the caravan had been forced to take.

  Baleron tried to shrug it off. He had made too many mistakes in his life for that one to stand out, and this expedition was the crown of them all. It was almost as though he had been set up for failure, and Tines had been undermining him at every opportunity. I won’t fail, he told himself. He would lead Rolenya and her wedding guests to Felgrad safely, Borchstogs be damned.

  He started to turn Brandy around and descend from the peak, when suddenly an eerie sensation overcame him. He felt ... cold. Unnaturally so. It was a shivering, icy cold that came from within. He jerked Brandy to a stop and looked all about, his breath steaming in the frigid night.

  Nothing.

  Roschk ul Ravast!

  Baleron could feel evil on the air as though it were a palpable thing. It invaded his pores and put a sour taste on his tongue.

  A hand fell on his shoulder—gods!—and he nearly jumped out of his skin.

  He wheeled about, but it was only Rolenya astride her white mare. She must have seen him alone on the peak and come to visit him privately.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “No. No.” He forced a chuckle,
but it came out badly, and his voice sounded breathless. “I’m—I’m fine.” His heart pounded and he felt sweat bead on his forehead despite the chill.

  “Don’t let the general get to you,” she said, making a guess at his thoughts. “He’s lost hope.”

  Baleron took a breath. “He’s not without reason.”

  She averted her gaze.

  “Let’s go down,” he said. “I need to get the caravan under way.”

  She nodded, and he led her down from the peak. As soon they emerged onto the road, Salthrick greeted them, smiling.

  “I’ve got great news,” Salthrick said. “The temple’s been found.”

  Chapter 4

  “One of the scouts discovered it while you were away,” Salthrick said, then hastily added to Rolenya, “No one’s entered. Would you like to take a look?”

  Rolenya bit her lip. “Well,” she said, “I suppose ... it is why we are here, and we cannot delay the caravan ...”

  “Excellent. I’ll have a priestess meet you there.” Salthrick nodded to a mounted soldier nearby, one of those whom Baleron had rescued. “Gahan will lead you.”

  “If you’ll follow me,” the man named Gahan said, and started to lead the way.

  Baleron paused. “We should bring men,” he said.

  “Those who fought in the battle are drunk by now,” Salthrick said, “and the rest are needed as sentries. Don’t worry, the temple isn’t far.”

  Baleron trusted Salthrick. If he said the way was safe, it was. “Fine. See that preparations are made to get the caravan back under way. By the time I return, I want us gone.”

  “Of course.”

  Satisfied, Baleron accompanied Rolenya, and they set off along the trail after Gahan. As they threaded their way through the stopped coaches, the people they passed brightened when they saw the princess. It did not matter that she looked uneasy. There was something about her, some light, some sense of Grace, that cheered them on. It had always been so.