“I suppose, but I can’t help worrying.”
“Spend your worries on things you can change.” He gestured up the trail. “How do you plan to get us past the knights of Cragnoth Keep?”
“Lionel is the best of my brothers, just five years my senior. He’s the only brother who ever understood me.” Kath gripped the hilt of the crystal dagger, her voice grim. “I thought I might tell him the truth.”
Duncan raised an eyebrow. “The truth can be dangerous.”
“Yes, but I can’t think of anything else. And once we’re across the mountains it won’t matter.” She tugged on the leather thong around her neck, making sure her gargoyle was safe. “But something nags at me, as if we’re too late.”
“I know what you mean. It’s been too quiet for too long. In Wyeth and Tubor, and even in the Deep Green, we found signs of the Mordant’s passing but none since we crossed the Snowmelt River.” He shook his head. “It seems an ill omen, like a doom waiting to fall.”
An eagle’s shrill cry beat against the mountains.
Kath’s gaze followed the cry, surprised to find a dozen eagles riding the wind, carving lazy spirals in the crystalline sky.
Duncan said, “That’s odd.”
“Why?”
“Eagles are very territorial. They only congregate when there’s a rich food source.”
Kath surveyed the snowcapped peaks, bleak and forbidding. “What would draw them here?”
“Eagles haunt the heights, but a dozen is a riddle.” Duncan shrugged. “Seems you’ve run out of time to worry.”
The horses rounded the last switchback and Cragnoth Keep loomed overhead. Squat and ugly, the tower blocked the top of the pass, a blunt finger pointing toward the sky. Made of brute granite wrested from the mountains, the tower held a signal post at the crown and a tunneled passageway at the base. A crude design, the frozen keep was nothing to look at, but Kath knew it had a rich history. Legends said that a single knight could hold the tunneled passageway against all the hordes of the Mordant. She hoped to explore the tower before crossing into the north.
The horses plodded into the courtyard. A knight wrapped in a maroon cloak guarded the tunneled passageway. He clutched a spear and pulled the cord of a great bronze bell. The deep-throated clangor seemed to toll a warning instead of a greeting.
Kath slipped from the saddle and joined Sir Tyrone, stamping her feet for warmth.
The knight had long auburn hair and a crooked nose, a morning star belted to his side. His glance darted between the companions, finally settling on Sir Tyrone. “What’s your business here? And who are these others?”
The black knight kept to the agreed story. “Sir Tyrone, escorting three visitors to see Prince Lionel.”
“You’re here to see the prince?”
Sir Tyrone nodded.
The door to the tower banged open and three knights spilled into the courtyard. A barrel-chested knight with a great sword strapped to his back led the others. He surveyed the visitors and strode toward the companions, a smile on his face. “Tyrone, what brings you to the Crag?”
The black knight offered his hand in greeting. “Penross, I didn’t know you were posted here.”
“Been here a year now, a long frozen year.” His gaze kept slipping to Kath. “But what brings you to the frozen keep?”
“King’s business, we need to see the prince.”
“To see the prince, huh.” The knight stared at Kath, studying her face. Recognition dawned. “The Imp? The king’s daughter here at the Crag?”
There was something about the knight’s smile that Kath did not like. “Greetings, Sir Penross. I’m here to see my brother. Will you tell him we’ve arrived?”
“Afraid I can’t do that. The prince is ranging north of the Spines. He took a squad out five days ago. Don’t expect him back for another week.” The knight gave her a crooked smile. “You must be cold after the long ride. Get your horses settled in the stables and then come up to the great hall for a meal.” He barked an order to one of the other knights, “Dravin, tell the others we have visitors.”
A large blonde knight slipped back into the tower.
The wolf chose that moment to lope up the switchbacks, startling the horses. A frightened whinny echoed in the courtyard.
“A wolf!” Sir Penross drew his great sword.
The wolf barred his fangs, snarling at the threat.
Kath stepped between them. “He’s no danger.”
Danya dismounted, shouting, “Bryx, to me!”
Sir Penross growled, “What’s the meaning of this?”
Kath answered, “The wolf is with us. He’s tame.”
“A tame wolf?”
Danya hugged the wolf, ruffling his fur.
Sir Penross shook his head. “That beast’s not coming in the tower.”
Kath nodded. “Fine. He can bed down in the yard. Just tell your men to leave him alone and there won’t be any trouble.”
The barrel-chested knight sheathed his sword, but he kept his stare on the wolf. “Get your horses settled and I’ll show you up to the great room.” His voice dropped to a growl. “And I’ll expect no more nasty surprises.”
Kath let the snide comment go unanswered. She led her roan stallion to a narrow cleft carved in the side of the mountain, grateful for the warmth of the stable, but the stench was appalling. Crowded with horses, some two to a stall, the stable stank of old hay and sour dung. Kath took care where she stepped, shocked by the slovenliness of the stalls.
Sir Tyrone growled, “I’ve seen cleaner pig sties.” The black knight glanced at Kath, his voice apologetic. “Perhaps discipline is lax when the prince is away.”
Kath nodded, but the state of the stable did not speak well of her brother. She brushed her roan stallion and then went to help with the packhorse, surprised to find Zith grooming Danya’s mare. “Where’s Danya?”
The monk shrugged. “She wouldn’t come in.”
Worried about the girl and her wolf, Kath returned to the courtyard. She found Danya staring up into the sky, the wolf turning in nervous circles at her feet. “Danya, what is it?”
The girl did not reply.
The wolf issued a low-throated whine.
Kath gripped Danya’s arm. “What’s wrong?”
Danya stared into the sky as if spellbound, her voice thin and distant. “The eagles.”
A shiver raced down Kath’s spine. “What about the eagles?”
“They’ve come for the dead…so many dead.”
Kath gripped the girl, urgency in her grasp. “Who’s dead?”
Danya shook like a wolf emerging from a pond. She stared at Kath, her eyes going wide, a flush spreading across her face. “What?”
“You said something about the dead.”
“The dead?” Danya sounded confused. “I don’t know…” She glanced up at the eagles, her face wary. “I was just watching the eagles…watching the lazy circles.” She shrugged and stared at Kath, looking lost and frightened.
The wolf nuzzled Danya’s hand, whining for attention.
The other companions gathered around.
Kath wasn’t sure what to make of Danya’s strange behavior, but a warm fire and a tasty meal could not hurt. “Come on, you need a hot meal and we all need to get out of the cold.”
The ironbound door was unlocked, a cold wind following them into the tower. The big knight, Sir Penross, led them down a long corridor, and up a tight spiral staircase. The stone steps were worn deep with centuries of use, footprints of countless knights sworn to serve the Octagon.
The great hall took up the full width of the tower. Stone fireplaces at each end roared with welcome heat. Trestle tables ran the length of the room, clusters of knights sitting on the benches. A gray-haired steward roamed between the tables serving tankards of ale and steaming mugs of tea. Blazing heat and the tempting smell of meat stew drew the companions into the hall.
The conversation crashed to a halt. Twenty-two knights turned to s
tare. A mountain of a man wearing the silver surcoat of the Octagon slowly rose from the head table. He crossed the hall to greet them, a great axe strapped to his back.
Kath gasped, “Trask!”
The knight’s voice rumbled like grating boulders. “The daughter of the king.” He sketched a courtly bow, surprisingly graceful for his massive bulk, but his face held a sneer. “What brings the Imp to Cragnoth Keep?”
Sir Tyrone intervened, “The princess.”
Trask flicked a glance to the black knight. “As you will.” His gaze returned to Kath. “What brings the princess to the frozen keep?”
“I’ve come to see my brother.”
“So Dravin tells me.” His dark eyes glittered in the torchlight. “Prince Lionel is ranging north of the Spines. Perhaps I can be of help?”
Kath couldn’t believe her brother would leave a brute like Trask in charge. “You?”
His dark gaze narrowed. “I hold the keep in the prince’s absence.” The seven-foot knight towered over her, a hulking menace, drilling her with his stare.
Kath held his gaze.
A log in the fireplace snapped, spitting a shower of sparks. The noise seemed to break the stalemate. Trask grinned. “You’ve had a long ride. Come and join us at the head table.” The big man turned without waiting for an answer and led the way to front of the hall. He settled in the center chair. The others scrambled to make room for Kath and her companions.
Kath’s gaze roamed the hall, realizing she knew only a handful of knights.
The steward set bowls of steaming stew in front of each of them, returning with mugs of tea and a platter of biscuits. The day-old biscuits were hard but the stew was rich with chunks of venison flavored with garlic and rosemary. After the long cold ride, the hearty stew was more welcoming than the knights’ reception.
Sir Tyrone plied the table with questions while they ate. “What tempted the prince down the mountains?”
Trask took a long pull from his tankard, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve. “Scouts reported sightings of the Mordant’s forces.” He shrugged. “The prince decided to give chase.”
“But the crag is a defensive post. Why would the prince risk men north of the mountains?”
Trask grinned. “Maybe the prince got tired of defense.”
Sir Tyrone asked, “Tired of defense?”
Trask banged his fist on the table and bellowed, “More ale!”
The elderly steward nearly jumped out of his skin. His tray-load of tankards crashed to the floor, spraying ale in all directions. The pale-faced steward bowed toward Trask, and then scurried to bring a fresh pitcher. His hand shook as he filled the knight’s tankard.
Kath watched, surprised by the steward’s reaction. She’d never seen such fear at Castlegard.
Sir Tyrone persisted. “What do you mean, the prince grew tired of defense?”
“He wanted a share of the glory.” Trask’s voice bristled with anger. “There’s never any glory in defense. So he took a squad north, looking for a fight.” He stared at the black knight, his voice a low growl. “Satisfied?”
Duncan leaned close to Kath’s ear, his voice a whisper, “He lies.”
Kath fought to keep her face still. Duncan’s words sent a shiver down her back. Everything about Cragnoth seemed wrong, from the sloven stables, to the steward’s fear, to Trask being left in command. It was like finding rust on a fresh-forged blade. Kath took a long drink of tea, studying Trask. The knight was freakish-large, like one of the giants of legend…or a Taal. She choked on her tea; the knight looked half-Taal.
Duncan thumped her back. “Are you well?”
Kath nodded, burying the thought. Trask was a bully, a braggart, and a brute but he was a sworn knight. Her gaze roamed the great hall. All the men of Cragnoth Keep were all sworn knights…but then why all the lies?
Duncan nudged her beneath the table.
She found Trask staring at her. “I’m sorry, I must have missed the question.”
He gave her a shrewd stare. “I asked why you’ve come to Cragnoth Keep.”
She reached for an answer. “My…father finally gave in.”
“Gave in?” He shook his head.
“I’ve begged for years for a chance to see the Domain, to visit all the walls and towers, to see for myself where the legends were born.” She shrugged. “Father finally relented.”
His stare narrowed. “And this is your retinue?”
“These are my friends.”
He glanced at her companions, disdain on his face. “Seems a weak guard for a king’s daughter.”
“Castlegard is at peace and we visit only strongholds held by the knights.” She skewered him with her stare. “What’s to fear?”
He gave her a surly smile. “I’d be pleased to give you a tour of the keep. The view from the tower top is impressive.”
Kath repressed a shudder. “Perhaps on the morrow.” She smiled. “It’s been a long cold ride.”
He raked her with his stare. “I’m sorry, but I can’t offer you the prince’s quarters without his permission…and we have no other quarters fit for royalty.”
She shrugged. “Knights’ quarters will do…but we’d like to stay together.”
Trask scowled. “Penross, show the princess and her retinue to the third floor. There should be plenty of empty cells for them to choose from.”
Sir Penross pushed back from the table and stood waiting.
Kath finished her tea and nodded to Trask. “Thank you for the hospitality of your table. I look forward to the tour on the morrow.”
He gave her a leering grin.
Kath felt the weight of stares in the room, too much tension, too many lies. She swallowed a retort and turned her back on Trask.
The companions left the table and followed Sir Penross down the spiral staircase to the third floor. Torchlight danced against the curved stone hallway, distorting their shadows. The knight stopped at a narrow wooden door, one of many in the hall. “This one should be empty.” He opened the door to a small cell and gestured to Kath, “Your Highness.”
She ignored his surly attitude and glanced in the chamber. “This will do.” She stood in the doorway, watching as her companions were settled. Duncan took the room next to hers. Danya, Sir Tyrone, and Zith were settled in rooms on the opposite side of the hall.
Sir Penross nodded to her. “Anything else?”
“What time is breakfast?”
“The first meal is served a turn of the hourglass after first light.” He gave her a wry smile. “Sleep well, princess.”
She watched the knight saunter down the hallway, a sense of unease shivering in her mind. Turning back to the room, she found a half-melted candle on the small nightstand and lit it before closing the door. The cell was small and spare, a narrow cot, a chamber pot, and hooks on the wall for weapons and clothes. Too restless for sleep, she paced the length of the chamber, mulling over the riddles of the evening. She couldn’t shake the feeling of wrongness…or Duncan’s warning of lies. But why would the knights lie? What did they have to hide?
Kath shivered against the chill. The small chamber was cold, especially after the heat of the great hall. Kath tugged the wool blanket from the bed…and found the stains. Old bloodstains on the mattress…and a deep cut from a sword thrust. Murder in the night! Kath shivered as the puzzle fell into place. Danya had given the first warning; the eagles had come for the dead. A cold certainty gripped Kath; her brother lay dead on the mountainside, his body flung from the tower after being murdered in the night. And those who murdered once would murder again. Kath did not know whom Trask served, but it was not the Octagon.
60
Liandra
A thousand times the queen thought to order him not to come, but each time the ache within grew stronger, a bonfire consuming common sense. Daylight faded to darkness and still she could not decide. Her indecision bled to her wardrobe, unable to choose a nightgown. The green sheer of Urian silk was too revealin
g, the dark red temptation of spider-fine lace too bold. Liandra finally settled on an elegant sheath of ivory silk, a perfect contrast to her long dark hair, an enticing shimmer of curves in the candlelight.
She ordered a platter of fruit and cheese and a bottle of her best merlot, not knowing if he’d like something to eat beforehand…or maybe afterward. Liandra shook her head, bemused by her own indecision. She was the Spider Queen, the White Rose of Lanverness. Tempting and teasing the men of her court, she twisted them to her will…but she never let them touch, never let them in. Only her husband, a marriage of pure politics, and that had ended with a hunting accident eighteen long years ago. A long time to last without a single kiss, a single caress, Liandra shivered with longing, eager for his touch.
Doubts assailed her. Surely this was a folly, a weakness of the mind, a road to madness. Liandra paced the length of her solar, raging a silent debate. She understood men all too well. They worshiped from afar, but once the prize was claimed, the goddess became a mere possession, something to be owned and jealously guarded, subject to the whims of the conquering lord. She’d never again suffer the yoke of a wedding ring, never again submit to the whims of a man. She was the queen, married to her people, wedded to her kingdom. The weight of the crown could never be removed…not even for a single night. She had to stop this madness before it began.
Crossing her solar, she reached for the hand bell to summon a servant…but the secret door swung open. Tall and dark, her shadowmaster stepped into the room.
She felt the rake of his stare, felt the way his eyes lingered at her curves, felt a blush rise to claim her face.
He stood by the hidden door, statue-still, his plain robe dark black, his voice deep and hoarse. “You summoned me, my queen.”
His words rippled down her spine. She met his stare. Even now, he waited for her permission…as if he understood her concern. She held to her resolve, a thin shield of words. “We must always be the queen.”
He nodded, his voice rough. “Always.”
The Flame Priest (The Silk & Steel Saga) Page 51