On the second night, Steffan played to their vanity. “Enlightened One, the capital city of Balor is steeped in the love of the Flame God…but the people’s religious intensity decreases dramatically the farther one rides from the capital. The Flame God’s love should fall like a blanket across the land, from the capital city to the farthest borders.” Intrigued, the Pontifax leaned forward like a fish caught on the hook. Steffan hid his smile. “The people of the countryside need to feel your presence. They need to witness the Test of Faith in order to achieve the same deep religious commitment as the capital.” Seeing the gleam of interest in the eyes of the Pontifax, Steffan knew the hook was set. Despots, religious or otherwise, seldom passed up the opportunity to gain followers. “To consolidate the theocracy, I suggest you revive the age-old tradition of taking progresses through the countryside. A ceremonial journey full of pomp and circumstance will provide an opportunity to demonstrate the Test of Faith in far-flung villages. The progresses will solidify your influence across Coronth, securing the entire kingdom for the Flame God.” Throwing a bone to the Keeper of the Flame, he added, “Of course, the Keeper of the Flame should rule in Balor during the absence of the Enlightened One.” The sullen Keeper suddenly swung to Steffan’s point of view, urging the Pontifax to undertake the journey. By the end of the evening, the Keeper and the Pontifax were both scribbling notes on a map, planning routes through the countryside. Steffan smiled as he took his leave. The puppet masters had become the puppets.
On the third night, Steffan played to their greed. Revisiting the idea of the progresses, he suggested that the towns and villages should be encouraged to offer a gift to the Enlightened One. “The gifts should reflect the love of the people for their high priest. If handled correctly, the giving of gifts will become a competition between villages. Once the tradition is established, gifts of unrivaled wealth and beauty will flow to the private coffers of the Pontifax.”
The Pontifax seized the idea. “But how do we start this tradition?”
“Holy heralds should be sent across Coronth announcing the upcoming progresses. The heralds will advise the leaders of the towns and villages on the protocols of the visit. The protocols will include the giving of gifts as well as the expectation of lavish feasts and entertainment.” Smiling, he added, “Each progress will serve the Flame God, but there is no reason they should not also be enjoyable.” The Pontifax clapped his hands, delighted with the idea. By the end of the third night, the Pontifax was referring to Steffan by his first name. As he bowed his way out of the chamber, the Enlightened One actually thanked Steffan for his suggestions.
The fourth night was different. Having set the hook, Steffan planned to risk everything. On the fourth night, he played to their need for power. As dark sands trickled through the gilded hourglass Steffan settled his stare on the great ruby amulet worn by the Pontifax. As the symbol of the priest’s high office, Steffan had never seen the Pontifax without the amulet, but it was the Dark Lord who whispered the truth of the great ruby. “Enlightened One, you’ve achieved undeniable greatness in Coronth…but you’ve barely begun to use the magic of your amulet.”
“Magic!” The Pontifax hissed like a venomous snake, both hands covering his ruby amulet. “You risk death with such blasphemy! How dare you suggest my powers are anything but divine favor!” The mood in the room turned ugly.
Steffan bowed his head in a gesture of subservience, careful with his reply. “Holy One, you misunderstand me. I will proclaim to all of Erdhe that you alone hold the divine favor of the Flame God. You alone are the Pontifax of his religion. You alone wield the ruby amulet, a gift of the Flame God…but it is a gift you might wield to even greater effect.” He softened his voice. “As your servant and your counselor, I only wish to extend your power.”
The Pontifax stared at Steffan with hooded eyes. “Have a care what you say. This ruby is the sacred symbol of my office. I will hear no blasphemy. Take care lest you condemn yourself as an infidel.”
Steffan nodded, daring to continue. “As you say, the ruby amulet is a divine gift. When you hold the ruby, divine protection allows you to walk safely through the raging fires.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “But there is more you might do. If you hold the ruby with one hand and concentrate, you may be able to extend the divine protection to another person, shepherding a second soul through the sacred Flames.”
The Pontifax gaped, his hand clutching the amulet. The Keeper stared slack-mouthed. Recovering, the two charlatans shared sideways glances.
Steffan hid his smile.
Returning his gaze to Steffan, the Pontifax asked, “How do you know this?”
“I do not know it as a fact. I only suggest it as a possibility. If the idea works, then you will have a second miracle, a second way to magnify the people’s devotion.” Noting the sudden hunger in the Pontifax’s eyes, Steffan continued, “I suggest you test the idea in a private prayer service. Use someone who is expendable. This new miracle may require practice.”
The Pontifax took the bait. “How should this be done?”
“The trials will require secrecy and expendable ‘volunteers’. Convicted criminals should serve. If the criminals pass the trial then you can spare them. If they fail then it was obviously the will of the Flame God. For your protection, the criminals should be heavily shackled. They need only be able to walk in order to be suitable for the test.”
The Pontifax fondled the great ruby, his eyes glazed with visions of power. “Yes, we can see it, a new miracle to capture the hearts of the people. I will arrange for a private prayer service to be conducted in the Residence chapel tomorrow morning. As the new counselor to the Pontifax, your first duty, Lord Raven, will be to oversee these trials. See that you return to the Residence for morning services. Now kneel, and accept our blessing.”
Hiding his smile, Steffan knelt before the Pontifax, swearing his allegiance and accepting the blessing of the Flame God. In just four days he’d accomplished the Dark Lord’s will. Steffan was learning to be a puppet master…and he found he liked pulling stings.
33
Katherine
Night fell hard in the forest, a smothering blanket of darkness. A hint of shy moonlight hid among the treetops. With so little light to see by, Kath knew galloping through the forest would be dangerous, but she couldn’t pass up this one chance to escape. Time crawled as she waited on the moon.
Deep within the forest, cicadas sang a soothing lullaby. Kath smiled at the unexpected ally, willing her captors to sleep. The campfire dimmed to embers, a faint red glow. Lying still, she feigned sleep, watching her captors through hooded eyes. The captain worried her the most. Tossing fitfully beneath his blanket, the oily man proved a light sleeper. He deserved a plague of nightmares, but for once she wished him a deep sleep. She’d have to be silent to avoid waking him. On the other side of the fire, the ogre snored like a wounded bull. He’d help cover any sounds of escape, but even so, she planned to be stealthy. With four against one she couldn’t afford any mistakes.
Judging the pale moonlight to be at its peak, Kath decided to take her chance. Saying a quick prayer to Valin, she squirmed against her bonds, reaching for the knife hidden in her boot. Lashed tight against the tree, she brought her boot up to her hands. It took a bit of twisting but she finally gripped the hilt. Moving the boot away, she freed the dagger. It felt good to hold steel in her hand.
Careful not to drop it, she positioned the blade against the ropes. Back and forth, she sawed her bound wrists across the blade. The rope proved thick and tough but it could not contend with the sharpness of good Castlegard steel. A final stroke and the rope parted. Her hands won their freedom.
A swift glance to her captors proved they still slept. Relieved, Kath quickly cut the ropes binding her arms. Freed from the pine tree, she pulled the hated leather gag from her mouth. A hunter’s smile spread across her face. The meek little captive-girl was banished, transformed into a princess of Castlegard. With steel in her hands she
felt complete, a warrior once more.
But she could not afford to be brash. Knowing a single clumsy move could foil her escape, she forced herself to wait, rubbing her arms until the pins and needles went away. Feeling the pain ease, she stood and raised the knife to the heavens, saluting the Lords of Light. She’d escape or die trying. An owl hooted in the forest depths, acknowledging her vow.
Slow and wary, Kath crept toward the horses. She slunk passed the sleeping forms and stepped wide around the glowing embers.
A twig snapped.
Kath froze.
The captain rolled toward her, a thrash of blankets.
Kath held her breath, her hand clutching the dagger…but none of them woke. Her heart thundering, she made her way to the picketed mounts, careful with each step. She reached the horses and took a deep calming breath, lest her anxiety spread to the mounts. Holding her hand out in supplication, she slowly approached the stallion. If the stallion accepted her, the other horses would not fret. The stallion sniffed and snorted into her open hand. Bobbing his head, he submitted to her touch. She rubbed his silky nose, letting him breathe her scent. Accepted by the stallion, the other horses remained still. Her gaze turned to the chestnut mare. On the three-day cross-country journey, Kath had carefully evaluated each of the horses. The stallion was a proud showy animal but the chestnut mare had the best speed and stamina. She wanted the mare for her escape.
Stroking the mare to gain her confidence, Kath untied the reins from the picket stake. She cut the leads of the other horses, hoping they’d scatter. Sheathing her dagger, she glanced over at her captors one last time. The captain tossed restlessly but the others lay still. A sudden temptation gripped her, a strong desire to slit the captain’s throat, but the risk was unacceptable, better to just get away.
Touching her gargoyle for good luck, she grabbed a handful of mane and vaulted lightly onto the mare’s bare back. Holding the reins in her right hand and twining the fingers of her left through the mare’s mane, Kath turned the horse toward the depths of the forest. She thrummed her heels, asking for a gallop. The mare leaped forward, answering her demand, hoof beats drumming loud in the night.
The other horses stamped and snorted, shying away from the picket stake. Behind her, she heard the captain shout an alarm. The race for freedom was on.
Leaning low, Kath urged the mare to speed. She brought the horse to a full gallop, plunging into the depths of the forest, a wild midnight ride. Hoof beats drummed on the forest floor. A thrill rushed through Kath, yet she needed to keep her wits. Her captors would need time to gather their horses, but she’d only have a small lead. Escape would depend on her horsemanship and the speed of the chestnut mare.
Molding herself to the flanks of the mare, Kath asked for more speed and the mare answered. Like a wild, eldritch ride, horse and rider sped through the forest. Silvery moonlight striped the forest with light and shadow. The uneven lighting made for treacherous riding. Fused to the horse, Kath strained to find the best path. She needed speed but she could not afford to risk the mare, one misplaced hoof and she’d be lost. Cresting a small ridge, she glanced behind. The captain followed on the stallion, an echo of hoof beats hunting her through the night.
Whispering encouragement, Kath urged the horse to lengthen their lead. Forgetting about pursuit, she focused on the mare and the treachery of the forest floor. Leaping over fallen logs and dodging boulders and trees, she used the pale moonlight to thread a way forward. The mare proved agile and light on her feet. Kath was pleased with her choice.
The sounds of pursuit trailed behind, yet Kath could not afford to slow. The mare blew hard, lather forming on her sides, but the valiant horse maintained the hard gallop. With each stride, they lengthened their lead but the pounding hooves always followed. Kath knew she had to do something to evade the captain and his men, but for now all she could do was ride. Time seemed to stand still. A gibbous moon traversed the night sky giving way to the first blush of morning.
A slash of brightness cut a line across the shadows. Assuming the strip of light heralded a change in terrain, Kath slowed the mare to a walk. As the mare caught her wind, Kath listened for sounds of pursuit. Muffled hoof beats followed behind, she could not afford to tarry. Urging the mare to a trot, she approached the cut in the forest, surprised to discover a break in the canopy.
The ground dropped away to a swirling river.
Kath pulled hard on the reins, stopping the mare on the lip of a narrow gorge. Sheer rock walls plunged forty feet to an angry blue-green river. Water tumbled below, a froth of white carving a path through rock and forest. She’d risked a midnight ride only to be trapped by a gorge. Her heartbeat hammering, Kath sought a way to escape.
Upstream, the gorge got deeper but the width narrowed considerably. Downstream, the gorge widened, the height of the walls gradually diminishing. She had the choice of following the gorge downstream hoping to find a crossing, or riding upstream, looking for a place to jump. A jump would be the riskier choice but it was a choice she believed her pursuers did not have. Without a saddle and with only her slight weight, the mare would have the best chance to make the jump, but it was still an enormous risk.
Kath turned the mare upstream. Riding along the edge of the gorge, she found a spot where the two sides narrowed to within ten feet. If she dared and if the mare was capable, this might just be the chance she needed to lose her pursuers. Judging that her side of the gorge was higher than the other, she decided to take the risk.
She let the mare catch her breath, while listening for approaching horses. Perhaps it was a trick of the forest, but it seemed to Kath that the captain and his men were drawing near. It was time to take the dare.
Kath walked the mare in a straight line away from the gorge. Pivoting the mare, she eyed the line of ground leading up to the edge. Farther down the gorge, the captain and his men emerged from the forest. With her lead gone, Kath was out of time.
She drummed her heels, asking for a gallop. The sturdy mare surged forward, responding with a burst of speed. Racing toward the lip of the gorge, Kath molded herself to the back of the horse. Approaching the edge, she felt the chestnut mare gather herself for the leap. Kath prayed the mare would not balk. Without breaking stride, the valiant mare took the leap.
Horse and rider hung suspended across the chasm.
Kath held her breath. Time slowed as the mare stretched out her forelegs. With a jarring thud, the mare’s front hooves connected with the far side of the gorge. Thrown forward, Kath nearly lost her seat. She clung to the horse’s mane as the mare scrabbled for purchase, teetering on the edge. Loose stones clattered down the side of the gorge. Death nipped at the horse’s hind hooves. Kath leaned forward, hugging the mare. The horse caught her balance. With a thrust of her hindquarters, the mare cleared the gorge. Coming to a stop, the mare quivered with stress, blowing hard. Kath gave the mare a mighty hug. “We did it!” Looking back across the chasm, she pumped her fist in the air, celebrating victory and freedom.
An arrow thunked into the ground in front of her.
In the flush of excitement, Kath had forgotten the archer. Her pursuers would not dare the jump but the gorge was no barrier to arrows. She needed the cover of the forest. Kath gathered the mare and urged her to a gallop.
They rode away from the gorge, plunging into the forest, passing from brightness back into shadow. Without warning the mare stumbled into a hole, throwing Kath head over heels. Pain ripped through her. Kath slammed into the tree trunk, while the mare squealed in pain. Kath tried to stand, but the world spun. Everything ached, her head most of all. The mare’s squeals kept her from passing out. Kath crawled toward the injured horse.
Kicking and squealing, the mare lay on her side, struggling to rise…but she would never stand again. White bone protruded from the chestnut’s front leg. Kath let out a sob. She could not bear to see the valiant mare in pain. There was only one thing to do. She knew what was required though she’d never done it before. Tears st
reamed down her face as she whispered words of thanks to the mare as she slipped the knife from her boot. As if the mare understood, the horse stopped struggling, staring at her with liquid eyes. Saying a prayer to the Lords of Light, Kath positioned the dagger over the mare’s heart. She leaned forward, putting all her weight behind the dagger. The thrust was true. Death came quickly. Removing the dagger, Kath crawled away and slumped under a low shrub. Sick at heart, she let the darkness take her, passing out on the forest floor.
34
Danly
Danly was bored. As the night wore on, the dice continued to roll against him, the pile of gold in front of him dwindling. He did not mind paying for his bets, after all he had plenty to spend, but he was getting tired of the losing. He hated to lose. Ordering another glass of brandy from a passing servant, he consoled himself with the excellent liquor.
Tiring of the dice, Danly regretted accepting Lord Carrington’s invitation to join the wealthy of Pellanor for a night of gaming at his manor house. The food and liquor were excellent but the evening seemed drab and colorless. He considered retiring to one of the private rooms upstairs where women of the night were available, but there was no challenge in it, no thrill of the hunt…no risk. Bored, he left the gaming table and sat in an armchair near the fireplace, quietly sipping his fourth brandy.
From the darkness behind him a deep voice whispered, “Many miss your father, the man who should have been king.”
The Steel Queen (The Silk & Steel Saga Book 1) Page 21