The master’s gaze narrowed. “The Lord Turner would charm his way into the queen’s bedchamber, a back route to the throne.”
The queen thought she detected a hint of anger in his voice, a rare slip for her spymaster. “Is he the one we seek? Is the Lord Turner the leader of the Red Horns?”
The master hesitated. “He has the intelligence, but his ambition is too naked. I would not expect the lure of a blue steel sword to so easily catch the leader of the Red Horns.”
“Then our webs have not yet caught their intended prey.” Disappointed, she moved to the desk on the far side of the chamber. Taking a seat, she chose a sheet of parchment, dipping a quill in an inkwell. The scratch of quill on parchment was loud in the small chamber. Finished, she held a stick of green wax in the flame of a candle. Sealing the scroll, she imprinted the hot wax with the royal seal of Lanverness and then handed it to the Master Archivist. “See that this is sent by courier to Castlegard.”
The master accepted the scroll. “The decision about the third sword?”
“Yes.” The queen studied her spymaster. “The lure of a blue sword has proved a valuable distraction. We kept Castlegard’s master smith quite busy. In addition to our two royal sons, the smith measured the general, the Lord Sheriff, the Knight Protector, the Lord Hunter…and one other.”
“Five men but only one blue steel blade among them.” Hefting the scroll, the master asked, “Which of the five will not be disappointed?”
“A queen is allowed some secrets.”
The master bowed, a small smile on his face.
“Lord Highgate, we wonder why you have never petitioned us for the third blade?”
“A spymaster uses daggers not swords.”
“Clever daggers wielded in shadow.”
“Always in the service of my queen.” The master bowed, slipping the scroll into the deep pockets of his robe. “Is there anything else, majesty?”
“No, that is all.”
She watched him go, the best of her counselors. Fingering her pearls, she considered her royal men. The game was getting complicated. The queen wondered whom she could trust.
69
Blaine
“Whooo!” The single word echoed off of the walls of the mountain pass. “Whooooo!” The word hung in the morning like a mystical challenge. “Whoooooo!”
The call roused Blaine from a restless sleep. His hand found his sword hilt. Through narrowed eyes he cautiously peered at the dawn. Snow-capped peaks loomed overhead, cold and forbidding, crowding out the morning sky. Rising, he took stock of the camp. The others still slept; lying huddled in a row along the length of the trail. The horses stood picketed farther downhill. The campfire had gone cold and the Navarren guard, Jacob, was sound asleep at his post. Anger blistered through Blaine, the guard should never have fallen asleep, yet the camp seemed in order. Looking around, Blaine wondered if he’d imagined the ghostly challenge.
“Whoooooooo!”
Drawing his sword, Blaine pivoted to face the challenge. Perched on a nearby boulder, an immense white frost owl stared back at him. Strange golden eyes studied him, as if the owl questioned his right to cross the pass. Blaine froze, caught spellbound by the owl’s stare. The world stilled to a cold hush, a breath of wind on the back of his neck.
The owl blinked and Blaine was released.
Spreading enormous white wings, the owl took flight. Beating against the thin air, it soared up toward the mountain pass. Blaine watched transfixed as the bird flew overhead, a whisper of feathers against the wind. As the ghost-white owl crested the pass, he yelled, “TELL THEM WE COME IN PEACE!”
“PEACE…Peace…peace.” echoed back down from the mountains.
Sir Tyrone sprang from his bedroll, snatching up his sword. Duncan and Kath both rolled to their feet, reaching for weapons while Sir Cardemir stood over Jordan in a protective stance, his sword drawn.
With a sheepish grin, Blaine sheathed his sword. “There’s no threat, I’m sorry I woke you.”
Sir Tyrone lowered his sword. “What was it?”
Blaine shrugged. “The biggest damn owl I’ve ever seen! It seemed like some kind of mountain guardian or something…”
The black knight sheathed his sword and began to chuckle. “An owl?”
Realizing there was no danger, the companions had a laugh at Blaine’s expense, but it was all good-natured. As they roused the rest of the party, he tried to explain his encounter with the giant frost owl, but it didn’t make a lot of sense, another story for the campfire.
They broke camp with quiet efficiency, loading their meager supplies onto the packhorses. Anxious to be away from the exposed trail, they ate strips of dried venison in silence and then mounted their horses for the last push to the top.
The air was thin and the horses struggled up the last switchbacks, a crust of snow crunching beneath their hooves. Blaine clung to his saddle, startled by the sheer steepness of the trail. His horse stumbled and his heart skipped a beat. A stone skittered off the trail, falling to oblivion. Blaine watched the rock fall, deciding he did not like the steep-sided cliff. Hunched in the saddle, he urged his horse forward, eager to be done with the mountains. Behind him, Sir Cardemir raised his deep baritone in song, belting a ballad to the mountains, “I knew a village maid fair of face and blonde of hair…”
His words echoed back in a twisted melody. Blaine swiveled in the saddle, “Keep quiet!”
The seahorse knight gave him a slanted look. “Why? Afraid I’ll wake the dragons?”
Blaine growled, “Only the gods know what these mountains hold. Better to come in silence.”
Sir Cardemir threw him a scathing look. “But they already know we come in peace!”
Chagrined, Blaine turned his back on the knight, but at least the singing stopped. Huddled in the saddle, Blaine wondered why he was the only one to see through the wiles of the troubadour-knight.
A cold wind blew down out of the ice-bound peaks, a breath of snow buffeting his face. The horses lowered their heads, blowing plumes of frost into the thin mountain air. By mid-day they reached the crest. What they found at the top proved more daunting than anything they’d yet faced.
Blaine clung to his saddle. “We’re going to cross that?”
It seemed like suicide. The trail dwindled to a rocky strip just wide enough for a single wagon. On either side, the sheer rock plunged to bottomless depths, a balancing act with death on two sides. As if the knife-edge was not threat enough, a great fist of sapphire blue ice hung suspended from the nearby mountaintop. The ice shimmered with unearthly beauty, casting a shadow over the pass, death waiting in frozen form. The pass was the anvil and the frozen glacier the hammer. This was the reason they’d raced the spring thaw to the mountains. Blaine prayed they weren’t too late.
Kath muttered, “It seems the monastery is protected by more than just mystery.”
Sunlight glinted on blue ice, awaking the beauty of the glacier, a thousand frozen diamonds crowning the mountaintop. The companions stared in silent awe, mesmerized by the wind-sculpted ice. It was Duncan who finally got them moving. “Waiting won’t make the pass any safer. Best we just cross it and see what challenges lie on the other side.”
The archer dismounted and the others joined him. “We’ll blindfold the horses and walk them across one at a time. If your horse shies or bucks along the way, release the reins and get yourself across. Better to lose a horse than to risk your life.” Nodding toward the Navarren guard, he added, “Jacob, stay here with the packhorses, and we’ll come back to help once everyone else is across.” Duncan tore a strip from his blanket to blindfold his gelding, and led the horse out onto the narrow pass.
Kath whispered. “Keep safe!”
Duncan turned and gave her a reassuring smile, tugging the reins of his horse.
Blaine stood with the others, half holding his breath, wishing there was another way.
The archer and the horse seemed to crawl across the pass, smothered by the shad
ow of the glacier. A cold wind whistled across the ice like a warning. The gelding whinnied. Distorted by the mountains, the sound echoed back as a high-pitched wail. Tugging on the reins, Duncan kept moving. The archer and his horse passed beneath the glacier, safely reaching the far side. A wave of relief flooded through Blaine, perhaps this would not be as daunting as it seemed.
70
Jordan
Jordan stepped forward. “I’ll go next.” Spooked by the icy heights, she decided it was better to cross than to wait. Blindfolding her horse, she led him out onto the narrow pass. Step by step she coaxed her warhorse across the spine of the trail, like threading a needle across a chasm of death. Refusing to look down, Jordan kept her gaze fixed on Duncan, his reassuring smile pulling her forward. Nervous, she wrapped the reins around her wrist, keeping a close hold on the blindfolded horse. She was doing fine till she entered the glacier’s shadow. Sapphire blue ice loomed overhead, blocking out the sun. Crystalline forms jutted from the glacier like great swords, as if awaiting the hand of a god. It was like nothing she’d ever seen, a frozen ocean hanging suspended from a mountain. Sparkling in the sun, the glacier creaked and groaned like a live beast. A loud crack echoed through the pass. A massive shard of blue ice broke off the main face, arrowing down into the void. Caught off guard, her warhorse shied and crabbed sideways, his rear hooves skittering on the edge. The reins tightened on her wrist, yanking her forward. Jordan struggled to keep her footing. She hauled on the reins but the horse panicked, lunging toward the chasm. Dragged forward, Jordan’s boots slid across rock, unable to find purchase. Loose rocks clattered off the side, dropping into deadly silence. The glacier groaned, releasing a volley of ice darts. Sharp as glass, the shards sliced Jordan’s face and hands. Her horse reared in terror, dragging Jordan closer to the chasm. The reins tightened around her wrist like a noose. Jordan fought to get loose, one boot skittering over the edge. Death hung in the balance.
“Hang on!” From the corner of her eye, she spied a glimpse of pale blue. Sir Cardemir raced to her side, his shield raised against the ice darts. His sword slashed the reins binding her wrist. One quick cut and she was loose. Jordan scrambled to her feet, crouched beneath the shelter of his shield.
Her horse reared, iron-shod hooves lashing towards them. Fearing for her mount, Jordan yelled, “My horse!” Sir Cardemir urged her forward, “No time to save the beast.” They sprinted across the pass, shards of ice pelting down, beating a pattern on Sir Cardemir’s shield. Behind them, her horse bugled in terror. Jordan turned in time to see her mount lose the war of balance. Hooves flailing, the gelding slowly toppled, falling sideways into the chasm. Terrified squeals seemed to echo forever.
Jordan realized she was shaking.
Sir Cardemir wrapped her in his arms. “Are you well?” The knight’s strength seeped into her, easing her trembling. Jordan took a steadying breath and then stepped away. “I’m fine. Thank you.” Regaining her composure, she met his gaze. “You saved my life.” He gave her a soft smile. “The duty of any knight.”
And then Duncan was there, wrapping a blanket around her shoulders. “You scared the hell out of me.” Jordan hugged the blanket. “I scared myself. I should never have wrapped the reins around my wrist. I’m a better horsewoman than that. And now we’ve lost my mount.” Her voice trailed to a whisper, remembering the awful squeals.
“You can ride one of the packhorses, there’s not much left of our supplies.” Duncan shepherded her away from the pass. Steering her towards a boulder, he pressed a flask of brandy into her hand. “Drink this, it will help.”
Jordan gulped the brandy, a blaze of heat running down her throat. Her gaze sought the seahorse knight, thankful the gods had brought him on their journey. Without his help, she might have died, pulled to her death by her horse.
The others made it across without incident. Kath came straight to Jordan, giving her a ferocious hug. “Don’t you dare leave me! You’re the only sword sister I’ve got.” Blaine stood behind Kath, looking as pale as Jordan felt. The others gathered around. They passed a flask of brandy and a pouch of dried venison strips, talking about anything but the crossing. The meager meal helped to lessen the terror of the pass. Taking a last sip of brandy, Jordan said. “I’m ready.”
Duncan gave her a measuring look and then nodded. “Let’s mount up. We’ve a long way to go and little supplies to get there.”
Jacob cut the straps from the packhorse, throwing a spare saddle blanket across the mare’s back. He offered her a leg up. Jordan wasn’t too proud to take it. She gripped the reins, nudging the mare into line between Kath and Sir Cardemir.
Duncan led them down out of the pass, into a series of steep switchbacks. The narrow trail meandered around a bend. The view was both breathtaking and fearsome, a jumble of snow-capped mountains stretching for as far as the eye could see. Jordan began to wonder if they would ever find the monastery, but then a cry came from ahead. Rounding the bend, she saw the reason for the yell. Spread out below was a valley of tilled farm fields with a cluster of stone houses nestled at the far end. They’d found the village of Haven at the very edge of the map. Jordan urged her mount forward, wondering if the monastery was worth the terror of the mountain pass.
71
Duncan
On the surface, Haven seemed like any other town but the details kept screaming of differences. For a man who relied on all of his senses, including his intuition, the differences were unsettling enough for Duncan to keep his bow strung and a full quiver close at hand.
A hard packed dirt road served as the main street of the village. The companions rode past predictable storefronts interspersed with well-kept stone and clapboard houses. People smiled and the town seemed prosperous but the differences gnawed at Duncan’s mind, creating a sense of unease. It took him a while to realize what was missing. The main street was clear of the usual refuse that tended to accumulate in cities and towns and the air smelled clean like a well-kept stable instead of reeking like a forgotten chamber pot. And no beggars plied the street looking for handouts, and no one skulked in side alleyways looking for unwary travelers. Once he realized the differences, he felt more comfortable but his curiosity deepened. He kept his gaze sharp, looking for the reasons behind the differences.
The sun set on the mountains in a blaze of reds and golds as the companions reached the village stable. They took careful care of the horses, ordering an extra ration of oats for the weary animals, and then they booked rooms at Haven’s only inn, appropriately named the Mountain’s Rest.
Eager for the bliss of a hot bath and good food, the companions dispersed to their rooms, reassembling in the inn’s common room for dinner. The inn did not disappoint. Roast lamb served with a mint sauce and garlic roast potatoes was good enough to grace the queen’s table. While the others indulged, reaching for seconds, the excellence of the meal bothered Duncan, another subtle difference that kept gnawing at him like an irritating itch. When he commented about the meal, the others shrugged off his remarks. Sir Tyrone argued that mountain altitudes made for hearty appetites. Duncan had to admit that it could be the thin mountain air, but he decided to keep his bow within reach just in case.
Sated by their meal, the companions turned in for the night, exhaustion lining their faces. Duncan tried to sleep, but his mind was too restless. Giving up, he pulled on his boots and decided to explore the town. He slipped down the stairs, surprised to find the portly innkeeper still tending the bar. Knowing that innkeepers kept their fingers on the pulse of gossip, Duncan approached him with a smile. “Not much business for such a well-run inn.”
The fat man nodded, a jovial smile on his ruddy face. “True but a town needs an inn. We get by.” Wiping his hands on his apron, he selected a bottle of brandy. “Join me in a glass of amber delight? Takes the chill off the mountain nights.”
Duncan slipped a silver coin onto the bar top, enough to encourage more than one glass. “A glass of brandy would go well after such a fine meal.”
>
The innkeeper poured two glasses, passing one to Duncan.
Smooth as a summer night, the amber liquor left a welcome trail of warmth down his throat. Setting his empty glass on the bar top, Duncan studied the portly innkeeper. “We’ve crossed the mountains looking for something, I’m wondering if you can help? We were told to get directions to the Kiralynn monastery in the town of Haven.”
Pouring another round of drinks, the innkeeper gave Duncan a shrewd wink. “Thought you might be looking for the monastery. Strangers in Haven usually are. Do the monks expect you or do you have reasons of your own for seeking them out?”
“We’ve been invited but I’m not sure we’re expected. Why? Does it matter?”
The innkeeper offered a good-natured smile. “Not to me, just curious. Either way, the monks will decide for themselves if you’re welcome.” Reaching under the counter, he produced a scroll. “I’m supposed to give one of these to anyone who asks. The scroll provides directions for the next leg of the journey. You’ll need to talk to Martin at the stables in order to arrange reindeer.”
Wondering if he’d heard right, Duncan said, “Reindeer?”
The innkeeper chuckled. “First time visitors always say the same things. Yes, reindeer. We raise them in the valley, good for meat, hides, and even milk, makes a tasty cheese with a tang to it. The reindeer are easier to raise in the highlands than cattle and they also serve as dependable pack animals for the steep mountain trails. Horses would never make it up to the monastery. You’ll have to arrange to board your mounts at the stables. And you’ll have to think about what to pack, for the reindeer can’t carry as much as a horse. Might explain why the monks aren’t keen on possessions. Anyway, there’s plenty of storage space in the attic. For a small fee, I can store whatever you don’t want to take up the mountain.”
The Steel Queen (The Silk & Steel Saga Book 1) Page 44