The Blue Flame [Book 1 of the Daradawn Series]

by Barbara M. Hodges

  THE COURTYARD HAD tilted and she'd gripped Gilda's sides with her thighs. The memory of Thomas's hateful face, the crystal, and the intense pain flooded her mind, and she fought the grayness that threatened to engulf her. Taking a deep, shuddering breath she spoke. “You were in the castle."

  Dirkk smiled. “I've been there many times, with Thomas's aid, of course."

  "Then the cave and the Ru'taha were a set-up? I controlled nothing?"

  "A set up? If you mean planned ahead of time, yes. But you did order the slaughter, and an interesting one it was."

  "You were there?"

  "No."

  "But how...?” She was confused.

  "There will be time for me to show you all later ... plenty of time. Now dismount, please. Your accommodations await."

  Regan glanced frantically around the courtyard. The only exit was the drawbridge and, as she watched, it settled back into place with a rusty squeal. Her gaze returned to Dirkk and she thrust her chin out. To her chagrin, he laughed.

  "We've played this game before, remember.” Regan flushed hotly and then flinched as Dirkk raised his hand. “Do you want to play again?"

  She quickly shook her head.

  "Good. Now come down from the horse,” he ordered.

  From a large, squat building on their right, a man came running. He skidded to a halt in front of Dirkk. Attempting to brush hay from his shirt and deliver a bow at the same time, a broad-rimmed hat toppled from his head and dropped to cover Dirkk's boot.

  Dirkk frowned. “Watch yourself, Nicholas, unless you wish a trip to the lower levels."

  The florid face of the man paled to a dead gray. “N ... n ... no, my Lord."

  Dirkk kicked the man's hat away. “See to the lady's horse."

  "Yes, my Lord.” The man walked to where Regan still sat and looked up at her with wide, fear-filled eyes. With a scornful glance in Dirkk's direction, she swung her leg over Gilda's back, then slid into the man's waiting arms. The fear in the stable man's blue eyes turned to pity as he stared into hers, and her blood chilled.

  He steadied her on her feet, then scrambled two steps back. Eyes downcast, he looped Gilda's reins around his hand and led her away. “Don't worry, lady. I'll be coming for you soon,” Regan sent, knowing it was a useless effort.

  "Regan, will you follow without my aid?"

  "Yes,” she forced between dry lips.

  With stilted marionette movements, she followed him across the courtyard. Her eyes darted quick glances around, taking in the drabness surrounding her. Everything was colorless—gray walls, gray castle, even the grass was a drab-spreading mass. She took a deep breath; even the air seemed tainted with listlessness.

  The courtyard was empty and eerily silent, so unlike the crowded mayhem around Raya's queen. Where are all the people? A scream shattered the stillness, and she whirled to face the direction from which it still echoed. Her stomach knotted and rolled. She swallowed a burning sourness in her throat as she realized the answer to her question. Ru'taha and shaping—that was the reason no one was about.

  Looking past Dirkk's tall frame to the black oval that was the entrance to Castle Crag, she squared her shoulders and shuddered. Am I to join the Ru'taha's ranks?

  Dirkk entered before her, then turned and waved her in with a flourish. Head held high, Regan marched through the door, only to freeze in mid-stride as she heard the dull thud as it closed behind her. Irony made her smile. Another prison. Today just isn't my day.

  He circled to stand in front of her. “What amuses you?"

  She ignored him and looked around her newest prison. They stood in a cavernous chamber, empty except for a black winding staircase starting at the apex of a spiral path. The path began where she stood, circled inwards in ever-tightening spirals and stopped at the first step of the staircase. White-marble squares, pure and unmarred, made up the path. The remaining squares of the floor were black marble with swirling veins of red. Embedded in the room's walls at even intervals were stone eagles’ heads. The top of each predator's head pulsed with a globe of white light.

  She looked up. The circling iron steps went on and on, seemingly forever.

  Dirkk stepped around her and onto the beginning square of the spiral. He turned and faced her. “Don't stray from the path. The rest of the floor contains nasty surprises."

  She swallowed before following.

  At the first iron step, he stopped. With his foot hovering just above it, he spoke to her over his shoulder. “When you step from the floor, the lights in this chamber will extinguish. Stay close, for it is not a place to become lost in.” He set his foot down and the step he rested it on began to glow.

  Dirkk continued upwards. Regan stepped onto the first step and, as her trailing foot left the floor, the room went dark. The only thing she could see was the next step ahead of her and the vague form of Dirkk's ascending back. As she stepped onto the next lighted step, the previous one went dark beneath her foot and the one ahead lit. She glanced back into the pitch-blackness and shuddered. She had no choice but upward—at least not yet.

  Step by step, the stairs wound up and with each forward inch, the enveloping darkness grew heavier and pressed closer.

  When would this ascent into hell end? She turned and searched the blackness. It had changed. It no longer appeared solid, but seemed to roil with life. What was out there? Nothing from this world, I'll bet.

  Suddenly, what felt like frigid, leathery fingers trailed across her cheek. She screamed and swatted at them, then grabbed for the cold railing as her frantic movements caused her to sway backward. In the darkness above her, she heard a soft snicker and gritted her teeth.

  She climbed onward. The back of her calves began to ache. She was completely disoriented now in the heavy darkness. Were they still climbing upward, or had they now started to descend?

  The blackness ahead seemed to solidify again. She reached out and her fingers grazed cold, slickness. She drew back with a choked cry.

  "Foolish woman, it is only me,” Dirkk said with a dry chuckle. “We've reached our destination.” A door opened and a soft wash of light filtered out.

  The room was dim, but had the hollow feeling of immense space. As the door closed behind her, the light went out. In the center of the room, a globe glowed wanly, then brightened. In front of it sat a dark throne. At the edge of the circle of light she saw a wide, empty fire pit. Dirkk walked toward the light and she trailed him, her feet sinking into plush softness. He stopped in front of the globe and motioned her to sit on the floor.

  She dropped to the floor, drew her knees to her chest, and began to moan. She began to rock slowly, back and forth, never taking her fixed gaze from Dirkk's face. In the pulsing light, she saw a frown curve his mouth.

  "Stop your wailing, or I will send you to the lower levels."

  She continued to moan softly, still glaring at him.

  "I will give you to my pets.” His eyes flicked over her. “You could service them well—for a while, although I've heard their way with females is somewhat bestial."

  Regan's keen did not alter or cease. He looked into her eyes for a long moment, then shrugged as he walked to the throne. Seated, he gave her a hard look. “Has this all been to much for you? Or are you faking?"

  * * * *

  "Regan, I am speaking to you,” Dirkk said, drawing her back to the present. He waited until she met his eyes, then bent over the glowing orb. “When I shape the Ru'taha, I must first rid the body of its needless soul.” He looked up to savor her reaction. Regan fought to keep the disgust she felt from showing on her face. “Souls are a never-waning source of energy. They glow nicely, don't you think?"

  She looked closer at the globe. “These are the souls of all the people who've become Ru'taha?"

  "Look close. The newest pulse brightest."

  "Can you release them?"

  He frowned at her. “Why would I?"

  "What happens when they die?"

  "The body rots, but the soul rem
ains mine.” He glanced at her with annoyance. “Enough questions.” His voice reminded her of an impatient, petulant child. She rubbed her suddenly goose-pimpled arms with her hands.

  Dirkk was all smiles again as he placed his palms flat against the glowing globe. “Let's see. What shall I make them do?” His smile widened. “Look, one is limping. He will be of no use in battle.” He leaned in closer.

  She closed her eyes in sudden fear.

  "Watch, or I will kill them all and, if I do, I will only have to form more."

  She opened her eyes and looked down into the light.

  The small horde stopped. As one, they turned and looked at the limping Ru'taha. Then, in unison, they raised their clubs and advanced toward it.

  "No,” Regan moaned, unable to turn away.

  A club smashed down on the shoulder of the Ru'taha, and from the globe she heard the clear snapping of splintering bone. Again the club rose and then fell, and the Ru'taha's skull cracked like an overripe melon. Blood ran in rivulets down its face and dripped from its chin. Its knees buckled and it fell. The clubs continued on with the slaughter.

  "Enough.” Dirkk removed his palms from the globe and the Ru'taha army turned and started forward, their feet marching across the body of the fallen Ru'taha.

  Regan, swallowing bile, jerked her gaze from the globe.

  Dirkk suddenly laughed. “Look, there is the limping Ru'taha. I had them kill the wrong one. What a pity. I'll have to make another. Would you like to watch?"

  "No,” she said, forcing the word out between stiff lips.

  "I can make you watch."

  She blinked back frustrated tears. “I know."

  He straightened and stretched. “Maybe tomorrow. Come.” He turned and walked away from her. She glanced again at the endless line of marching Ru'taha and then followed him across the room to another door. He stopped and drew a key from his pocket. “This is the room I always have prepared for special guests. I am sure you will find it comfortable.” He pushed the door inward and stood aside for her to enter. “I will send Caitlan to you."

  Regan walked into the room, wincing as she heard the door close and the key turn in the lock.

  * * * *

  She stood where she was and looked around. A four-poster bed with a half-moon headboard of glossy wood dominated the room. A leaf-green coverlet draped the bed and a mound of lemon-yellow pillows balanced against the headboard. Next to the bed was a table. A freestanding screen, carved with towering mountains and soaring eagles, enclosed one corner of the room.

  Against the right wall stood an armoire. Its door was a large beveled mirror atop three stacked drawers. In the center of each drawer was a handle in the shape of an eagle's head. “He really has a thing for predators."

  Curiosity itched, but she ignored the closed drawers and crossed the room toward two glass doors.

  They opened onto a small balcony. Without much hope, she pulled up on the latch fastenings and pushed outwards. They swung open with silent ease.

  "You are so sure of yourself and this little velvet prison,” she said, then with a sigh stepped out into bright sunlight. She closed her eyes, raised her face to the sun, and inhaled deeply. Unlike the air below in the courtyard, this was clean and cold. A screeching cry rang in her ears and she snapped her eyes open. The cry rang out again and she looked up. An eagle glided above her. Its golden wings dipped as it circled closer, then beat back in a forceful sweep as it landed in an aerie between two jagged crevices across from her. The eagle cocked her head and looked at Regan with green piercing eyes. Regan returned the appraisal until the eagle looked away and began to preen her feathers.

  Regan's gaze traveled across the face of the sheer, rusty-red cliff. Above wisps of clouds, she could just make out a snow-covered peak. Above it, like a burning star on top of a snow-flocked Christmas tree, was the sun. There were still hours before dark. How could so much have happened in so little time?

  She looked down into the wide chasm separating her from the eagle. Jutting rocks like giant teeth rose upwards, reminding her of a maw she had once seen of a great white shark.

  Behind her someone rapped on the door of the bedroom.

  Lifting a hand in farewell to the eagle, she entered the room. Stopping only inches from the door she called out, “Yes?"

  "I've brought you food, miss,” a feminine voice answered.

  "Well, if you're expecting me to open the door for you, you've a long wait,” Regan said sourly.

  "I've a key. Just step back please."

  Regan remained silent.

  "Have you stepped back?"

  Regan still did not answer.

  "Escape is not possible,” the voice continued with a twinge of exasperation. “You wouldn't be able to find the stairs down. Dirkk has the halls bespelled."

  Regan cursed under her breath, then took two steps back. “Okay,” she snapped. She heard the key turn in the lock and the door opened. A woman came through and Regan found herself staring in shocked amazement. The woman, whose arms were loaded with a mounded tray, wore not a stitch of clothing. Her cornflower-blue eyes sought Regan's, then her chin tilted up proudly before she looked away. She walked to the table and set her burden down.

  Regan cocked an eyebrow. “Do all of Dirkk's servants go about naked?"

  The woman looked away. “I am being punished."

  "What did you do?” Regan was dumfounded. What could this woman have done that merited such punishment?

  She shrugged. “I don't know.” She turned away and Regan saw red welts striped her back. “My God! Did Dirkk do that?"

  "It's better than going to the lower levels to serve.” The woman faced Regan again. “Will there be anything else?"

  Regan's gaze shifted to the open door.

  "Don't try it, miss. Even if you got out of the castle, you'd never get beyond the moat."

  Regan turned her gaze again to the woman. “Who are you?"

  "I am Caitlan Bannion."

  "Bannion? Rourk..."

  The woman's blue gaze dropped. “My husband."

  "But you're dead!"

  The woman's lips twisted. “'I would be better dead."

  "Rourk saw them overrun you and his son."

  "We were not harmed. Dirkk wanted us."

  "But how...?"

  "He'd been watching us for some time,” she added bitterly. “How fares my husband?"

  Regan stared at Rourk's wife. “You know he still lives?"

  Caitlan shrugged. “Dirkk lets me watch battles now and then, hoping I will see Rourk and Kelsey fall.” The woman snorted.

  Regan dropped her gaze from the woman. “You know about Kelsey?"

  "Rourk and I have been parted for seven years. He thinks Patrick and I are dead and, if the truth be known, we are to him."

  Regan's gaze jerked back to Caitlan. “What do you mean?"

  Caitlan's face hardened with hate. “Dirkk has defiled me. I can never go back to my husband."

  "And your son?"

  "He was but a babe when Dirkk took us. He doesn't remember his true father."

  Regan shivered at Caitlan's words. “His true father?"

  Caitlan moved to the door and closed it with a hard push. “Dirkk has taken a liking to the boy. He's shaping him to follow in his footsteps."

  "No,” Regan whispered.

  Caitlan crossed to the food-piled tray and unloaded the plates onto the table. “It hasn't been all that bad. Patrick thinks Dirkk is his father."

  "What?"

  "It was his command, or we both would have died.” Caitlan saw Regan's look of horror. “Don't judge me,” she snapped. “I did what I had to do so both of us would survive."

  Regan looked away. Who was she to judge? “Of course you did, but that will change now."

  Caitlan's smile was mocking. “And how is that?"

  "Kelsey will come for me."

  The other woman's eyes filled with pity. “Do you really believe that?"

  "I do."

&
nbsp; She shook her head. “You are stuck here now, the same as I. There's only one escape ... and that is death. I dare not take it and leave my son. What is stopping you?” Caitlan picked up the empty tray and walked to the door.

  "Death is the coward's way."

  "Stay trapped within these walls for seven years and you will seek any way out.” The woman opened the door, walked through and shut it behind her.

  Regan sank to her knees, laying her head on the bed as she heard the key again turn in the lock. “I'll not be trapped here. Kelsey will come. I know she will. She has to."

  She flopped over onto her back and the impatient movement bounced her notebook against her ribs. She stiffened and her eyes widened. The notebook. I can't let Dirkk get his hands on it.

  Fingers clumsy with fright, Regan yanked the notebook from her pocket. Her gaze scanned the room. Where can I hide it? Her glance passed over the three drawers, then darted back. Why not?

  Passing the food-laden table, her stomach rumbled, and she grabbed a piece of cheese and a slice of brown-speckled bread.

  The makeshift sandwich tasted strongly of garlic and herbs. A bottle of wine sat next to the cheese. She picked it up and took it with her.

  Standing in front of the drawers, she took a long drink, straight from the bottle. The wine was definitely young, tannic and full-bodied. “Must have aged a whole day,” she murmured as she pulled the top drawer open. It was empty.

  Regan took another bite of her sandwich, washed it down with more wine. She sat back on her heels, then gasped as a wave of dizziness flowed over her. Whew! Take it easy, girl. A little too much wine on an empty stomach? Regan teetered as the room moved again. The wine. Could he have drugged it?

  Her vision blurred and she blinked. Her gaze fell across the notebook. No, he couldn't know. She took a step toward it and toppled to her knees, swallowing nausea. “I can't let him find it.” Gulping in air, she crawled toward the notebook. Her fingertips just grazing its covering, she fell into blackness.

  * * * *

  Regan opened her eyes, then snapped them shut again as the world tilted. She ran her tongue across her teeth, swallowed, grimaced at the sour taste. Keeping her eyes closed, she inched upward to a sitting position, then eased one eye open. The room remained stationary, so she opened the other.