Staring at the captain’s throat, Kath caught a glint of silver she’d never noticed. The glint came from a silver chain around his neck. Tugging on the chain, a crude medallion emerged from beneath his tunic. Kath gasped, dropping the chain as if it burnt her fingers. The emblem on the medallion was all too familiar, a pentacle, the symbol of the Mordant. She shivered, shocked to discover that the Mordant’s men had breached the defenses of the Octagon Knights. With a shudder, she realized how lucky she was to have escaped the Mordant’s henchmen. Searching for more clues, Kath found a map in the captain’s breast pocket, but the cloth was so blood drenched from the heart wound the map was illegible. Discarding the map, she kept the medallion, the only answer she needed.
The only other thing of value in the captain’s pockets was a very large purse of golds. The Mordant paid his servants well.
A loud squawk came from the sky. A dark-eyed crow landed near the captain’s head, the first of the carrion feeders. Beady eyes stared up at her.
“He’s all yours.” Abandoning the captain to the crow, she quickly checked the rest of the dead but the captain wore the only medallion.
More crows began to gather to death’s feast.
Kath moved to an unsoiled part of the meadow. Sitting in the sweet-smelling grass, she counted the golds into two piles. The odd gold piece went into the purse for the archer. With the golds sorted, she was about to return to the archer when she realized she needed a scabbard for her sword. Kath returned to the captain. A flurry of dark wings squawked their annoyance. Waving the birds away, she unbuckled his worn leather scabbard and tugged it free from the body. The holes in the leather proved too large for her waist, so she slung the scabbard over her shoulder like a baldric. With the sword settled at her side, Kath was more than ready to leave the meadow.
The archer loaded the venison across the back of the goblin-man’s pony. Golden cat-eyes flashed her way. “Any luck?”
“Evil pays well.” She tossed a heavy purse to the archer. “But more importantly, I found the answer I was looking for. It seems I am even farther in your debt.”
“So who’s behind all of this?”
“The captain carried a token of the Mordant.”
The cat-eyed man hissed in anger. “The Mordant stretches his hand too close to the Deep Green. My people must be warned.”
Puzzled, Kath asked, “What is the Deep Green?”
The howl of a wolf shivered through the forest.
“Mount up and I’ll tell you as we ride.” He swung into the saddle of the gelding. “Where are we going? Toward Castlegard?”
Kath vaulted onto the stallion, swallowing a pain of loss for her valiant mare. “No. We head due west until we reach the lip of a deep gorge. I plan to camp at the edge. If the knights are still on the trail then I hope to find them there.”
The archer shrugged. “As good a plan as any, but I can only travel for a few days. I need to return to my family. Lead the way, princess of Castlegard.”
Kath urged the stallion to a trot. With the pony following on a lead, the two riders headed toward the setting sun. Fading light cloaked the forest in shifting shadows. The weary horses picked a path through the trees. As they rode, the cat-eyed archer peppered Kath with questions about the ogre and the goblin-man. She did her best to answer. “They are malformed by magic. The captain named the ogre a ‘Taal’. He said the Taals are born in a place where the land is fouled with magic from the War of Wizards. The residual magic twists the newborn into giants like the Taals or stunted dwarves like the goblin-man. The twisted survivors are raised to be servants of the Dark Lord.”
The archer grew strangely quite.
Thinking to reassure him, Kath added, “The Mordant’s lands are far to the north. The Octagon Knights will stand firm, a bulwark to the Dark.”
The archer nodded, maintaining a puzzling silence.
Kath felt as if she’d said something wrong. Hoping to bridge the silence, she asked, “So what is the Deep Green?”
A broad smile transformed his face. “The Deep Green is my home, the home of my people. It is a forest like no other. The trees grow to amazing heights.” He waved toward the surrounding old growth forest. “These grandfathers look like youngsters compared to the trees of my home. The Deep Green is so dense and wild that most white-eyes fear to enter. Like a mother to my people, the great forest protects and nurtures the clans while repelling strangers. Few of us ever venture beyond the forest.” With a bitter edge to his voice, he added, “Beyond the forest, our fate is uncertain. All too often, the white-eyes hunt my people as if we were nothing more than animals. They cannot see beyond our golden eyes. Fearing anything that is different, they seek to destroy what they cannot understand.” Falling into a sullen silence, the archer glared at Kath, a challenge in his stare.
She met his strange golden stare with an unflinching gaze. “I’m sorry for the plight of your people.” After a while, she added, “I can only offer you my friendship and my gratitude.”
He stared at her as if gauging the sincerity of her statement. She must have passed his scrutiny because he gave her a slow nod. “Some of our elders want to close the forest to outsiders. They would seal the Deep Green and leave the white-eyes to their own fate. Others, especially the young, are restless, risking much to venture into the kingdoms of Erdhe.” Bitterness laced his voice, “Does it take a princess to see past the difference of our eyes?”
His bitterness struck a chord with her. “Only a princess who is forever being told she cannot be a warrior. Perhaps I understand better than you think.”
His face flushed with disbelief. “They would try to keep you from taking up the sword? Are they blind not to see that the gods have marked you as a warrior?” Shaking his head, he added, “You white-eyes are so backwards. In the Deep Green a woman is equal to a man, free to take up any skill she fancies.”
His words shocked her. “Even the sword?”
“Of course! Many of our women become rangers, although our people prefer the bow.”
Kath muttered under her breath, “Why would the Children of the Green accept women as warriors yet Castlegard will not?”
She was surprised when the archer replied. “It is a simple matter of survival. Our numbers have never been great. We cannot afford to waste the talents of half our people.” Pausing, he gave Kath an appraising stare. “You should have been born with golden eyes; you would have done well among us.”
Kath ducked her head, embarrassed by the compliment. “Castlegard is my home but it sounds like there is much to admire about the people of the Deep Green.” Filled with curiosity, she added, “My path takes me elsewhere, but I would like to visit the Deep Green some day.”
“It would be good for the elders to meet a white-eye like you.” He gave her a thoughtful stare. “Travel due east from here. You will eventually come to trees that will forever change your idea of a forest. Sheath your weapons and enter in peace, a ranger will find you.” With a touch of pride, he added, “A white-eye would be hopelessly lost in the Deep Green without the aid of a ranger.”
“I’ll remember.”
He winked. “See that you do.”
Night settled around them, the song of the cicadas filling the forest. In the pale moonlight, Kath studied the archer. His golden eyes were the only alien feature in an otherwise human face. An old wives’ tale said that the eyes are the windows of the soul. Perhaps if the difference were anything else, then Children of the Green would be better accepted. It seemed an affront to the gods that appearances mattered more than deeds. She’d only known the archer for a short time, yet he seemed noble as well as wise. She suspected the kingdoms of Erdhe were the poorer for persecuting his people. Putting a hand on the hilt of her sword, Kath silently vowed that she would offer friendship and aid to any of the Children who crossed her path. An owl hooted in the depths of the forest, accepting her vow.
The night sounds grew louder as they rode west. A pack of wolves sang to the rising moon. I
nstead of feeling threatened, Kath somehow felt at home. Stretching in the saddle, she tried to stay awake. The horses’ hooves splashed through a shallow stream, the same stream that had led her to the broken tower. She felt a subtle tug to follow the watercourse upstream, a longing to reclaim the crystal dagger, but she suppressed the urge. She trusted the archer, but she did not know him well enough to lead him to the ruined keep.
Beyond the stream, they found the lip of the gorge. A short ride along the edge brought them to a suitable campsite. Kath unsaddled the horses and rubbed them down with handfuls of sweet grasses while the archer collected firewood and used a flint to strike a blaze. Spearing two venison steaks with a long stick, he sprinkled the steaks with spices and set them over the roaring fire. The archer’s eyes glowed like lanterns in the firelight, almost like magic. Kath touched her gargoyle, knowing it was magic of a different sort.
Setting out two blanket rolls, she settled down to wait for dinner. Suddenly weary, she slumped onto the bedroll, closing her eyes for just a moment. Exhaustion struck like a hammer-blow. Without ever tasting the venison steaks, she slipped into a dreamless sleep, her hand on her sword hilt.
41
Danly
Danly woke to find the scroll on his bedside table. He swore it had not been there the night before. Suspicious, he examined the seal. The scarlet wax portrayed a pair of entwined lovers, the seal of an exclusive bordello hidden away in a rich section of the capital. Breaking the seal, he found an invitation to one of the bordello’s famous theme parties. The theme for this party was the Wheel of Eros. Patrons were asked to dress in black and to wear a black mask. It was the type of event Danly relished, but the mark at the bottom really made his eyes widened. Boldly drawn on the bottom was a red horn. This party would be more interesting than most.
Throwing back the silken covers, he crossed the room and consigned the invitation to the fireplace. He watched the parchment blacken and burn, wondering how the Red Horns had managed to place the scroll on his bedside table. The rebels were clearly resourceful as well as secretive, but Danly did not like having secrecy turned in his direction. He spent the day trying to ferret out the messenger, questioning servants and guards but he found no clues to the culprit. Evening came and he was no closer to solving the riddle, perhaps he’d learn more at the party.
Danly took his time dressing, choosing a wardrobe of solid black. Deciding his appearance was too somber, he added a silk vest of emerald green, the royal crest embroidered on the right breast. Pleased with his reflection, Danly swirled a black velvet cape around his shoulders and pocketed a simple black mask and a generous purse of golds.
His two guards, Hobs and Harland, stood waiting in his solar. Physically intimidating with broad shoulders and barrel chests, the two men were good with their swords, but even better, they knew how to clean-up unpleasant situations. Discretion was so important when serving a prince. With his guards trailing behind, he strode through the castle to the eastern gates.
A black stallion and mounts for his guards were waiting as ordered. A short canter brought them to the bordello. Boys in scarlet livery rushed to hold the horses while the men dismounted.
Settling the black mask on his face, the prince entered the house. The house guards bowed as he made his way to the main sitting room. Danly stopped on the threshold, amazed by the transformation. Swaths of gold and silver fabrics draped the walls, transforming the room into an exotic tent. Braziers lined the walls providing a soft golden light while giving off the scent of cinnamon and other rare spices. Colorful cushions littered the floor, offering a comfortable place for the patrons to take their ease. The chamber resembled the inner sanctum of a harem, a gentleman’s fantasy.
Nine men in black were already sampling the pleasures of the house. Young girls served glasses of fine liquors and offered exotic delicacies on silver platters. The servants were pretty things, but the crowning adornment was the costumed courtesans, the women who would be offered on the Wheel. Danly recognized many of the madam’s best…along with a few fresh faces. Each courtesan expressed a different face of Eros, representing all the compass points from pleasure to pain.
Accepting a glass of brandy, Danly took his time working his way around the room. He pretended to inspect the courtesans, but it was the masked men who drew his gaze. Most were familiar, but the one face he expected was not present. Danly supposed he’d just have to play along until the Red Horn chose to reveal himself.
Cymbals crashed and the conversation came to a sudden stop. The madam of the house, a retired courtesan with shrewd eyes and a figure that had succumbed to too many delicacies, approached the prince. She dropped to a deep curtsy, showing off her ample bosom. “Lord prince, we ask you to do the honor of starting the Wheel. Choose your pleasure by selecting the First Face of Eros.”
Danly’s gaze was drawn to a petite blond dressed in demure robes of white. He smiled, wondering how well an accomplished courtesan could play the role of Virginal Love. He indicated his choice and the madam clapped her hands, gaining the attention of the room. “The First Face of Eros has been chosen. Tonight we start at the beginning of the Wheel, we start with Virginal Love.”
A cascade of male “Hurrahs!” rippled through the chamber.
The courtesan was formally presented to the prince. The young woman bowed demurely and even managed to show a trace of blush; the girl was either an accomplished actress or else reality fit the role. Intrigued, the prince gallantly offered his arm. The couple followed the madam out of the room, the prince’s two guards trailing a discreet distance behind.
Madam Stock led them up the grand staircase and back toward a suite of rooms at the rear of the house. As usual, he always got the madam’s best. Stopping at the door, the madam whispered instructions to the girl and then leaned to the prince. “May you take great pleasure in the First Face of Eros. Return to the sitting room if you wish a second selection from the Wheel.” With a flourish, the madam opened the door.
The young courtesan trailed her hand across the prince’s chest and then flitted into the dimly lit room. Pleased with her performance, the prince followed. The girl fled the outer suite for the inner bedroom, closing the door behind her. Rising to the spirit of the game, Danly crossed the sitting room.
A firm hand gripped his shoulder.
Startled, Danly spun, his hand gripping his dagger.
“No need for that, my prince.” A burly man wearing a red cape, his face hidden by a peaked hood with slits for eyes stepped from the shadows. “For the sake of the horse with the red horn, please do as I say.”
Danly’s eyes widened, so this was how it started. He nodded, trying to still his racing heart.
“The Red Horns wish to meet with their future king, but first tell your guards that you are not to be disturbed.”
Danly complied. Returning to the sitting room, he was surprised to see a wall panel swung open to reveal a hidden staircase. He never knew the bordello had such passageways. He wondered what other surprises lay in store for the night.
The robed man offered Danly a black cape of course wool. “Please remove your vest and your cape. You’ll be less conspicuous in this.”
When Danly hesitated, the man said, “These arrangements are necessary for the security of us all.”
Shedding his garments, the prince drew on the cape, cringing at the coarse wool. He pulled the hood up, hiding his face in shadow. The red-cloaked man picked up a candle and motioned the prince toward the staircase. “Take your time, the steps are steep.”
Stone steps spiraled down into darkness, just wide enough for one man. Danly made his way down the stairs, reaching the small landing at the bottom. The masked stranger crowded close, unlocking an ironbound door. “A carriage waits just outside. When I open the door, move quickly. We dare not be seen.”
Snuffing the candle, the man waited a few heartbeats and then opened the ironbound door. Danly rushed up the stairs, assaulted by the reek of a back alleyway. As he stepped i
nto the waiting carriage, a whip cracked and the carriage lurched forward. Thrown onto a seat, the prince eyed his mysterious guide. “Is all of this really necessary?”
“We plot against the Spider Queen, pray that ‘all of this’ as you put it, is enough.” Removing a red sash from his pocket, the man added, “I must ask you to wear this blindfold.”
The man’s insolence knew no bounds. “You show little trust in your future king.”
“We risk our lives for the sake of your crown.”
The argument quenched his anger. With a curt nod, he allowed the man to bind his eyes. Danly sat in total darkness, the sudden turns of the carriage becoming a rocking blur of motion. The carriage lurched to an abrupt halt and the man put a hand on his shoulder. “Allow me to guide you. We’ll step out into the street and then descend a set of stone steps. When we reach the bottom, I’ll remove your blindfold.”
The door opened admitting a breeze of cool night air. The man guided Danly out of the carriage and down a steep set of steps. Wooden doors clattered overhead and then the blindfold fell away. Danly blinked in the torchlight. Alone with his guide, he stood in a stone passageway lit by torches. Cold as a cellar, the passageway sloped gently down, the cloying scent of dung hanging heavy in the air. “Where are we?”
“Somewhere safe.” His red-cloaked guide gestured toward the depths of the passageway. “This way, my prince.”
Danly followed, regretting the absence of his guards. He fingered the gilded dagger in his belt, but it gave him no reassurance, he was a lover not a fighter. His footsteps echoed against cold stone walls, a gradual descent into the earth. With each step the reek of dung and blood intensified, the remnants of a recent slaughter…or a sacrifice. Danly hesitated.
The Steel Queen (The Silk & Steel Saga Book 1) Page 27