They all nodded. “We’ll keep him safe, Chosen.” Alad said with a serious face.
Red took a step closer, and stared hard into his eyes. “Don’t bother coming within sight of me if you don’t.”
Alad swallowed hard, and jerked his head in a nod.
Red stepped back, satisfied. “Send someone for the horses. Don’t bother with the dead, but see to the wounded and get moving within the next hour. Don’t linger here.”
Riah jerked his head at Onza and they started off.
“What about Elanore?” Josiah asked. “We’ll need to—”
“No,” Red said. “She’s dead.”
“She’s what?” Josiah turned in shock.
Red ignored him. She turned to Alad. “Get moving as fast as you can. Take any extra horses you find. You’ll need them.”
Alad saluted her, and trotted off. Red couldn’t blame him for wanting out of the line of fire.
Josiah took a step toward the tent, but Red caught his arm. “Don’t,” she warned.
“What”—Josiah looked back at the tent—“did you do?”
Red brushed her hair back off her face. “What had to be done.”
“You killed her.” Josiah looked down into her eyes. “She was helpless, and you—”
“Helpless, my ass,” Red snorted. “She was a threat, one that I would not leave behind me. I wasn’t about to give her another chance to try to kill us.”
Riah came up with Beast. Red turned from Josiah’s angry face, and took the reins. “And don’t tell me that she was too weak to hurt us, or that she deserved a fair chance, or, Twelve help me, a trial of her peers.” Red pulled herself up into the saddle.
She looked down into Josiah’s stunned face. “I’ve an hour’s ride to get to a portal, goatherder. We can debate the quality of my mercy later.” She leaned down and put her fingers under his chin, to claim his mouth with a kiss.
Josiah pulled his head away, taking a step back.
Red straightened and contemplated the man. Anger simmered in his brown eyes, the gold flecks almost glowing. She knew full well he was upset because he was, at the core, a good man. An honest man, of quiet strength and gentle compassion.
Everything she wasn’t.
“Chosen, we are ready.” Onza and two other men were there, mounted as well.
Red pulled Beast around. “Alad, get Lord Josiah on a horse. If he gives you any problems, chain him to the saddle.”
Alad’s eyes widened.
Red kicked Beast and rode off before Josiah could say another word.
THIRTY-THREE
VEMBAR watched with pride as the Chosen directed the establishment of a fortified camp for the night. Astride her black horse, bathed in the light of torches, clad in her armor and helmet, she made his heart swell with pride.
He hadn’t thought to live this long, and he prayed to the Lord of Light for his doubts. His prayers had been answered, all but one. To see her take the throne, and be crowned. And there was a chance, a chance that it would happen soon, Lord of Light be praised.
A cloaked warrior came up beside him. “You trained her well.”
“She’ll make a great queen.” Vembar gave the warrior a sidelong glance. “Someday.”
Red looked at him from the shadow of her hood. “One never knows, elder. Only time will tell.”
“True enough.” Vembar turned back. “Josiah?”
“Safe.”
Vembar arched an eyebrow. “Elanore?”
“Dead.”
“Well done, then.” Vembar shook his head. “But I still think you made the wrong choice, Red Gloves. And I told the same to your sword-sister.”
“Bethral?” Red asked sharply. “Why?”
“We’ve had a message,” Vembar said calmly. “From Blackhart. He sent for parley, and the Lady Bethral choose to go to the Black Keep.”
“If he doesn’t kill her, I will,” Red growled.
BETHRAL rode into the Keep of the Black Hills alone, as requested. She carried no weapons, only a simple white flag on a branch, also as requested. However, she and Bessie were wearing their armor. She wasn’t that stupid.
Red was sure to disagree when she heard about this little adventure.
Presenting an image of calmness was no problem as she was passed through the gate of the lower wall. The warriors of the Black Hills were respectful enough. The Odium that stood at their sides all had the same vacant expression. Those creatures made her queasy, truth be told. She ran through the methods of killing them as Bessie trotted along the winding road to the upper wall.
The road was a fairly long one, and if her eyes strayed over the defenses once in a while, taking note of their strength and nature, what harm in that, eh? She’d had hopes of rescuing Evelyn, but not much more than that. This fortress would be hard won, and the forces of the Chosen had other things to do. Still, Blackhart’s message had offered a truce and an exchange. Bethral had to explore the possibility. The Lady High Priestess had saved Ezren Silvertongue, and there was an obligation on Bethral’s part.
She arrived at the gate, and was admitted to the courtyard before the main doors. A guard stepped forward—a human, thankfully. He was clad in plain tunic and trous, with no weapon. “I am to watch your mount, Lady Warrior.”
Bethral nodded, and dismounted, keeping her peace flag. She handed the reins to the man, and then reached out an armored hand to place it on Bessie’s neck. “Ward.”
Bessie shook herself, and seemed to relax, as if about to take a nap. Larrisa had gone over all the tricks her husband had taught the horse, and this was one of them.
The doors to the castle opened, and Bethral strode forward, the peace flag in her hand like a sword.
The place was dark, as if built of shadows and black marble. There were Odium lining the corridor, apparently placed there on guard. In the confines of the hall they had a definite odor about them. Bethral kept her face blank, but tried not to breathe too deeply.
The darkness stretched on, lit only by torches placed far apart. Bethral wasn’t certain, but it seemed to her that her armor was almost glowing in the dark shadows of the place.
The doors ahead opened by themselves, revealing a throne room filled with torch light. Bethral strode forward at the same pace, not stopping until she stood before the throne.
To her relief, Evelyn was seated on the throne, her hands and feet chained together, looking small and vulnerable. Her eyes opened wide when she saw Bethral, then narrowed in concern. There were some stains on her robes, especially at the knees, but Bethral couldn’t see any injury.
Then again, she knew damn well that some of the worst hurts can’t necessarily be seen.
Two robed and hooded figures stood just behind the throne where Evelyn sat. But Bethral focused on the man standing at the bottom of the dais, one foot up a step, dressed all in black. A handsome bastard, that was certain, with black hair and eyes. His face was pale, as if he’d not seen the sun for quite some time.
He arched an eyebrow, well aware of her scrutiny. “Lady Bethral, I assume.”
“Blackhart,” Bethral replied. “You asked for a parley.”
“I did.” Blackhart gestured to the throne. “You see the Lady High Priestess, as promised.”
Bethral looked at Evelyn. “Lady High Priestess, are you well?”
Evelyn sighed, and shrugged. She pointed to her ear, and shook her head.
“A precaution, nothing more.” Blackhart gestured toward where the robed figures stood. “She can’t hear you, nor can she be heard. She’s well, I assure you.”
“I’d like to hear that from her,” Bethral said pointedly.
Blackhart smiled. “I am certain you would, but the Lady High Priestess’s skills are highly spoken of, and while the chains about her wrists suppress magic, I’d prefer she didn’t speak.”
Bethral gave him a mild glance. “Not a good beginning to a parley, Lord.”
Blackhart smiled charmingly. “Then let me draw your attention
elsewhere.” His smile disappeared. “We’ve learned that Lady Elanore is dead, slain at the hands of the Chosen.”
That was interesting news. Not wanting to acknowledge her ignorance, Bethral just shrugged.
Blackhart’s eyes narrowed. “What do you know of the Odium?”
“How to kill them,” Bethral said promptly.
Blackhart nodded. “Then what would you say if I told you that Elanore created the Odium that guard this place?”
Bethral shrugged again.
“And the magic that creates them dissipates upon the caster’s death.”
Bethral raised an eyebrow, and looked around the room. “Then she’s not dead.”
“She is dead.” Blackhart stepped off the dais, and walked closer to Bethral. His voice dropped to a bare whisper. “They should be so much dust on the floor. And while they are obeying me and my warriors, I do not know who really controls them.”
“What do you ask of me?” Bethral said softly.
“I will disband the Black Keep’s army, provided my men go free with their armor and weapons and gear.” Blackhart looked grim. “They’ve kith and kin in these hills, and they will need every piece of it to survive.”
He turned his head to stare at Bethral. “I will surrender the Keep to you, although little good it will do you. I cannot clear it of the Odium within. I’ve already tried. I can only release my men, and see your Priestess to you safely.”
“Why?” Bethral asked, more for time to consider than anything else.
“A keep full of undead that I can’t control, a High Baroness dead, your army at the borders, and my people caught between.” Blackhart arched an eyebrow. “I’d have thought my reasons fairly obvious.”
“Very well,” Bethral agreed. “But you must be held accountable for your crimes against Palins, Lord Blackhart. I will require you to surrender yourself to me. They may go free. You may not.”
“Done.” Blackhart handed her a set of keys. “You may free her.”
He gestured toward the robed figures, and they retreated as Bethral advanced. Evelyn was shaking her head, as if to clear it of the spell effects, as Bethral approached.
“Are you well?” Bethral unlocked the wrist chains first. Odd to see that the Priestess still wore her star sapphire ring. Prisoners didn’t normally keep jewelry for long.
“Well enough.” Evelyn looked at her with wide eyes. “What—?”
“Can you work magic?”
“No.” Evelyn shuddered, rubbing her wrists. “Whatever those chains are, they’ve drained me completely. I’ll need rest before I can do anything.”
Bethral handed the keys to Evelyn and gestured for her to free her legs. She turned slightly, watching the room. Blackhart was talking to a group of the hooded warriors, who then darted off in all directions.
Blackhart looked their way. “Leave with her,” he suggested. “You can do nothing with this place.”
“I’m free?” Evelyn whispered.
Blackhart gave her a long look, then jerked his head in a nod. Bethral helped Evelyn to stand as Blackhart continued. “I will give the orders to my warriors, and then I will emerge from the gates and surrender myself. Your men will let my people pass?”
“I will give the orders myself,” Bethral replied, as Evelyn took a few shaky steps. “I have your word?”
Blackhart gave her a grim smile. “For what it is worth, Lady.”
Evelyn’s head jerked up at that, and she focused wide eyes on Blackhart. For a long moment they looked at one another, then Evelyn advanced, folding her hands into her robes.
Bethral followed, first grabbing the chains on the floor. At best they might aid Ezren. At worst, she’d use them as a weapon.
Evelyn walked forward, pausing to study Blackhart’s face. “I thank you, Lord—”
“No.” Blackhart gestured. “There’s no time. Go, and quickly.”
Evelyn made no move to obey.
Puzzled, Bethral reached for her arm. “Lady High Priestess, we must go.” She took her by the elbow, and urged her forward.
“I will be at the gate within an hour.” Blackhart was looking at Evelyn as he made the promise.
Whatever had passed between them, there was no point in lingering here, and every reason to leave. Bethral took the chains and the High Priestess, and left the throne room, marching down the long, dark hall. The torches still burned, the Odium still stood watch. “Did he hurt you?” Bethral demanded.
“No,” Evelyn said, breathless. “Why are we—”
“Elanore is dead,” Bethral said softly, not breaking her pace. The chains were wrapped around one hand; the white banner was in the other.
“No, she’s not,” Evelyn insisted. “If she was, the Odium would collapse. Although how she had the time and power to create so many is beyond me.”
“That’s the point,” Bethral said. “She may not have.”
“Then who…?” Evelyn wondered.
Bethral shook her head, and hurried their pace to the courtyard. The man was still there, and Bessie came instantly alert when Bethral emerged from the building.
Bethral wasted no time in mounting, pulling Evelyn up behind her. “Hold on, Priestess,” Bethral commanded.
With a clatter of hooves, Bessie turned and cantered through the gates and down the road. Bethral urged the mare on, noting the movement of people in the barren land between the walls. Blackhart must have planned this for days. From the looks of it, people were prepared to flee the Keep in droves.
Once out the main gate, Bessie galloped to where their forces stood waiting. Bethral pulled to a stop, and called for one of the warriors to help Evelyn down. “Take her to the shrine in the village, and get out of here,” Bethral ordered.
“The village?” Evelyn said breathlessly.
“Deserted when we came through,” Bethral snapped. “We’ve a mage waiting to open a portal.”
Evelyn shook off the hands of the warriors around her. “I’m fine. I want…”
The gates opened behind them.
Everyone went on guard instantly. Bethral turned Bessie to face the gate, grabbing her mace from the warrior who held it for her. Evelyn was pushed to the back, and warriors formed up in front of her.
They needn’t have bothered. The wave of people emerging from the keep had no interest in them. They swarmed down the road, some on horse, some in wagons, some on foot—all wearing black cloaks, all fading into their surroundings like shadows.
“Let them pass,” Bethral called, and no one raised a hand.
From horseback, Bethral could see others emerging from hidden doors in the walls and following faint paths into distant woods. She kept a sharp eye for betrayal, but none was evident. The only thing here was fear.
Finally, the wave ebbed, and then stopped. At the last a troop of seven mounted men emerged, moving slowly down the road to the gate. Blackhart was in the lead, apparently looking about for stragglers.
Just shy of the gate, he pulled his horse to a stop and spoke with the man to his right, seeming to argue for a moment. Whatever the talk, Blackhart won. They clasped hands, and then the six mounted men galloped off through the gate and turned to the north.
Blackhart waited for a moment, then urged his horse forward. When he reached the lower gate, he stopped and gestured to the side. An Odium shuffled forward.
“Guard,” he demanded in a loud voice.
The figure stood there.
“Guard,” Blackhart said again.
This time, the figure nodded its head. “Gaard,” came a dry, empty voice.
Bethral heard Evelyn gasp in horror. “Odium don’t speak,” she whispered. “They can’t…they can’t!”
Blackhart rode forward, and the gates closed behind him. He kept his horse at a walk and drew up next to Bethral. With a flourish, he handed her his sheathed sword. “We’d best be on our way.”
Bethral nodded, and gave the orders. Willing hands lifted Evelyn back onto Bessie. Bethral felt her shift, looking towar
d Blackhart, whose hands were being roughly secured.
Blackhart wasn’t looking at the men around him. His eyes were fixed on the High Priestess. Bethral felt her shift again, and knew full well that Evelyn had looked away.
Something had passed between those two, but there was no time for speculation. With one last look at the Black Keep, Bethral gave the order to leave.
IT was ten days before Josiah and his escort joined the army of the Chosen. And that was just the outer edge. It took another full day of riding to reach the command center, and Red’s tent.
Josiah slid off his horse with a weary sigh. They’d had no problems on the road, but it had been a hard ride nonetheless. He ached.
“This way, Lord Josiah.” One of the young guards headed toward the command tent, and Josiah followed. Alad and Riah were right behind.
The huge tent was filled with tables and maps. The men who surrounded the tables were all talking at once. Red stood in the center, at the largest table, considering the map before her as two men described the movements of the Regent’s forces.
He could tell that she’d sensed his presence the moment he stepped in the tent. She didn’t react, didn’t turn her head, but Josiah knew.
The men finished their explanation, and she dismissed them with thanks and a nod. Only then did she turn and look at him.
She tilted her head, her unbound hair falling to her shoulders. “What, no chains?” she asked Alad as she looked at Josiah.
“Not necessary, Chosen.” Alad’s tone was formal. “We’d no trouble on the journey.”
“You made good time. I thank you for bringing Lord Josiah to me safely. I’m sure you are tired—”
“Not too tired to fight, Chosen,” Riah blurted out. Alad nodded his agreement.
Red smiled. “Oris was hoping you’d feel that way. He’s got positions waiting for you. Again, my thanks.”
They nodded to both her and Josiah, and left the tent.
“Sit.” Red gestured to a chair without looking at him. “There’s kavage, if you’d like.”
Josiah eyed her closely as he sat. She ignored him, studying the maps before her, so he was free to look at her. Lord of Light, she was beautiful. Maybe not in the classic sense, but she had her own sharp beauty. She was at ease in her armor, her sword and dagger on her hips. Strong and confident. His mouth suddenly went dry. To break the silence, he looked at the table, at the maps and notations. “How does it go?”
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