The Name Of The Sword (Book 4)

by J. L. Doty

  “But why didn’t you at least tell me? I spent years looking for the meaning of that symbol.”

  “It would only have frightened you back then. And you were a timid enough child as it was. No, the burden of such a name would have been too much, and you might never have come into your power.”

  She too had made the mistake of thinking he bore the true name of AethonSword. And while he knew she, along with Erithnae and Metadan, was wrong, he wasn’t about to open that argument with her. He turned away from her, found AnnaRail standing in the open entrance to the pavilion, Roland behind her, tiny little NickoLot peering around from behind the two of them. “I’m sorry,” AnnaRail said. “Had I known of her deceit, I wouldn’t have let you live with such uncertainty?”

  AnnaRail walked into the room, followed by Roland and NickoLot. Behind them came JohnEngine and Brandon. JohnEngine burst around his parents, came at Morgin like a charging bull, wrapped him in a bear hug and tried to lift him off the floor. Morgin was larger than him, and he barely succeeded, but they got a good laugh out of it.

  Brandon slapped him on the back and shook his hand, saying, “Back from the dead. You always were full of surprises.”

  France had slipped into the tent and stood near the entrance. Morgin approached him and put a hand on his shoulder. The swordsman smiled, and Morgin saw that glint in his eye again. “You look a lot better.”

  “Ya,” the swordsman said. “Your mother’s healing has some benefits. But damn, I hate magic.”

  Brandon said, “Thank the gods you averted this idiotic war.”

  “Oh child,” Olivia said. “There was never going to be any war. I wouldn’t have allowed it.”

  “But—” Brandon said. “But you—you did everything you could to start a war.”

  Olivia let out a dramatic sigh. “Haven’t you learned yet that everything is so much more complicated than the way it appears?” She pointed at Morgin. “He needed an army, and I gathered one for him. In fact, if you look closely, you’ll see I got him two.”

  To Morgin she said, “You should thank me.”

  Morgin said, “Thank you, grandmother. But what do we have out there, the two armies together, maybe four or five thousand men?” He recalled the walls of the Decouix city. “I need far more than that to breach the walls of Durin.”

  “How will you get them?” Nicki asked.

  He looked at the tiny woman, remembered how he’d liked making funny faces at the little child, now a powerful witch. “With the help of three of the most powerful witches in the clans, I hope to add seven thousand to that number. Will you help me, Nicki?”

  “Of course.”

  He turned to AnnaRail. “And you?”

  She simply nodded.

  He turned to Olivia. “And you?”

  The old woman smiled. “I’m intrigued, grandson. What are we going to do?”

  Morgin was at a loss. He hadn’t figured out how he would get the three women east of the Worshippers in a single night, and it was imperative that he do so. He didn’t know a good shadow there, so that wouldn’t work. On Mortiss he could ride the nether ways, but she couldn’t carry all four of them.

  A common armsmen stepped into the pavilion, approached Olivia and dropped to one knee. The man was literally trembling with fear. “Your Ladyship, I— I—”

  “What is it?” she demanded. “Spit it out.”

  “Dogs, Your Ladyship. Giant dogs, three of ’em, bigger’n horses, with eyes and teeth that glow. And they talk. They asked for the Unnamed King.”

  They all turned to Morgin with a questioning look.

  Outside the tent a horse neighed. I invited them, Mortiss said.

  “Not dogs,” he said. “That would be WolfDane, the hellhound king, and a couple of his subjects.”

  To Olivia he said, “Tonight you’re going to learn to ride the nether ways with me.”

  She started, and he realized it was the only time in his life he’d ever surprised her.

  ••••

  DaNoel wanted nothing to do with the monsters Morgin called hellhounds, and from the fearful looks on people’s faces, he wasn’t the only one. He stepped back, putting as much distance as he could between him and the beasts. Since there’d be no war, maybe he could find one of the camp-followers, have a little fun.

  Where have you been?

  He cringed at the sound of the Decouix’s voice in his head. Watching the whoreson. He averted your little war.

  What do you mean?

  DaNoel heard the frustration in Valso’s words. There are rumors everywhere. According to one, you had some Penda whore working for you, convincing BlakeDown to start a war. But BlakeDown killed her yesterday.

  She was a tool, and sometimes a tool fails and is discarded.

  I assume you plan to discard me too.

  Oh no, not at all. You’re much too valuable to me.

  Especially since Morgin killed Salula, and now I’m all you’ve got left. Incidentally, France is back among us, and apparently quite healthy.

  DaNoel sensed Valso’s anger flare, felt him struggle to suppress it. Never before had Valso’s emotions come through their link so clearly, and he wondered if the Decouix king had lost some of his control. None of that matters.

  All of your plans are failing, and none of it matters. I think not.

  Blinding pain shot through DaNoel’s head and he staggered, barely managed to keep his feet. Please, stop. I’ll be discovered. The pain snapped off. DaNoel sat down at one of the campfires to catch his breath.

  I could kill you with merely a thought, or even better, let you live with intense pain for years. So don’t push me. What is your brother planning?

  It irritated him that Valso insisted on calling the whoreson his brother. But as the vestiges of the pain slowly receded, DaNoel new he’d have to give the Decouix something. He’s combined the Penda and Elhiyne armies, and he’s going to bring them to Durin.

  How many men?

  Four to five thousand.

  That’s nothing, Valso said. It will take ten times that to breach the walls of this city. And it’ll take six or seven days to get here.

  He says he can get this army to Durin in far less time than that, and everyone’s wondering how he plans to do it.

  He does, does he?

  DaNoel could almost hear Valso’s thoughts churning. The Decouix continued. He’s going to use the nether ways. To transport an army that size he’ll have to, and he’ll have to go deep, and my master will be waiting for him.

  ••••

  Rhianne’s Kull escort opened the door to Valso’s workshop and held it for her. She stepped into the room with no idea what to expect, and tried to be ready for anything. Valso was expounding on something, while Carsaris and Magwa listened raptly. Or perhaps they only pretended to listen, for if the king felt slighted in any way, someone always died. Rhianne took note of the little snake coiled on its perch in the corner, Valso’s favorite executioner.

  “Rhianne, my lovely Rhianne.” Valso crossed the room, took her hand and kissed it with a flourish. She never trusted his exuberance, for he could turn dark and angry in a heartbeat.

  “I was just telling Magwa and Carsaris that your husband is coming, and he’s bringing an army.”

  He turned, took her arm and marched her across the room. “But it’s a paltry army. Between Magwa’s forces and mine, we have him outnumbered five to one. And we have Durin’s walls.”

  Magwa said, “My generals tell me it will take fifty thousand men to breach the walls of this city.”

  Valso released Rhianne’s arm, leaned toward her and kissed her gently on the cheek. “I don’t have to seek out your husband, because the fool is coming to me. He’s giving me exactly what I want.”

  Rhianne said, “But every—”

  Magwa barked, “Silence.”

  “No, no, no,” Valso said. “Let her speak.”

  She hesitated, knew she would pay a price for her words, but it was up to her to carr
y the battle to Valso. “It seems to me that every time you think you have him defeated, he surprises you.”

  Valso blinked, and his eyes narrowed in thought, then his smile slowly disappeared. He frowned, then he lashed out and hit her. She fell to the floor, managed to keep from striking her head on the stone.

  As Magwa and Carsaris cringed and stepped back, he stood over her and screamed, “You are insane, woman.”

  At the sound of his fury the little serpent shot off its perch and dashed across the room. “I’ll kill her for you, massster.”

  Now was the critical moment. If Rhianne was going to bring her plan to fruition, this would be her only chance. Valso stepped back and she rose slowly to her feet, cringing beneath the snake as it hovered above her. She tilted her head slightly to one side, exposing the side of her throat. “Then do so, little snake,” she said, “for I care not if I live.”

  It was a lie, a gamble, a calculated risk that Valso would want her continued presence for his gloating. The snake darted toward her, its fangs extended dripping venom. In the same heartbeat that thing that haunted Valso entered his soul and he shouted, “No.”

  He swung out. The snake darted around his arm and halted just above Rhianne’s throat, hovering, drops of venom dripping from its fangs onto her skin.

  “Do not defy me, little snake,” Valso’s master said as fiery pain erupted on Rhianne’s throat, accompanied by a hissing crackle where the venom had touched her.

  “Back away,” Valso said, and the little snake retreated.

  Rhianne grimaced with pain. When Valso saw that he produced a delicate handkerchief and tossed it to her, saying, “Get that healed.”

  Carsaris stepped forward. Valso held up a hand. “I need you too much here, now.”

  To Rhianne he said, “Go find another healer, or heal it yourself.”

  Rhianne took the handkerchief and rushed out of his workshop, but she went to her own suite, not to a healer. Geanna and the girls tried to hover over her, but she kicked them angrily out of her room. She retrieved a small mirror, and carefully wiped the remaining venom onto the cloth. Ignoring the burning pain on the side of her throat, she retrieved another handkerchief from the bottom of a chest. On it were the dark stains of Morgin’s blood, seven drops now dried and brown. Since taking them from him, she’d carefully prepared them with all the magic she could summon without being detected by Valso.

  She rubbed the two pieces of cloth together, mixing the dried blood and venom, blood from a man in whose veins the venom had flowed. Then she stuffed the two handkerchiefs into a goblet from her nightstand, and poured water over them. She carefully lifted the two pieces of cloth out of the goblet and wrung them dry over it, leaving it half-filled with water that had taken on a faint, brownish tint. She fed power into the water and said, “Let the fire of the venom flow with the chill of ice.” Then she put the goblet to her mouth and drank the contents, praying that the essence in Morgin’s blood that now protected him from Bayellgae’s venom would keep her alive.

  Her stomach cramped up, spasming in an effort to reject the concoction, but she held it down as she slumped to the floor. Geanna found her there and called in Carsaris.

  33

  Exile Absolved

  Riding on the back of a hellhound through, as Morgin called it, the nether ways, Nicki decided she would have a little talk with that brother of hers. Earlier that morning, outside Olivia’s command pavilion, Morgin had politely introduced them to WolfDane, the hellhound king. Then WolfDane had introduced Nicki to Lord KarlDane, one of his subjects, all nice and polite and formal. Hellhounds! Nether ways! How many more surprises was Morgin going to spring on her without warning?

  The armsman hadn’t exaggerated—just the opposite—the hellhounds dwarfed a normal horse. As she’d stepped out of the tent Nicki hadn’t known what to expect, but when she saw the enormous beasts with golden-yellow eyes and teeth that glowed, massive canines that could snap her spine with a shrug, fear washed through her. How was she going to ride an unsaddled monster?

  With a nether wind in her face, she leaned forward on its back, kept her eyes closed, her fingers buried in its fur gripping fiercely, her legs straddling its spine. Oddly enough, her saddle sores from yesterday’s ride didn’t bother her in the least. The nether beast must emit some aura that helped her stay mounted without discomfort, or maybe its fur simply cushioned her. And while the night had a chill to it, the warmth that radiated off the massive animal comforted her, and she drifted off into a pleasant doze . . .

  Standing in the midst of a vast forest, a dark canopy of leaves overhead, Morgin said, “You’ve nothing to fear. Come, let me show you the Kingdom of Dreams. It’s near dawn and I have to check for Rhianne.”

  Nicki looked around at the forest, couldn’t mask the awe in her voice as she said, “The Kingdom of Dreams!”

  “Yes,” Morgin said, though he sounded tired. “I’m the Unnamed King. Didn’t you hear me tell everyone that?”

  “Yes, but I—” Nicki couldn’t find any words to express how she felt. She spun toward him and said, “When this is done, you’re going to sit down with me and tell me everything.”

  He smiled and nodded. “Okay, but it’s a long story.”

  She noticed he had dark bags under his eyes. In the shadows of the forest canopy she hadn’t noticed them until she looked closely. And he walked like an old man. “What’s wrong?”

  He grimaced. “The nether ways have become . . . difficult.”

  He threw his shoulders back and once again stood straight and tall. “Come, let me show you Sabian.”

  He took her hand and led her to the strangest castle she’d ever seen, walls, turrets and parapets all made from the life of the Living Forest. It was a wonderful dream, marred only by the way Morgin seemed so weary.

  “Nicki, wake up.”

  She opened her eyes, had trouble leaving her dreams. She sat up, still straddling the monstrous beast, Morgin standing beside her. She looked about, saw that they’d entered the Benesh’ere camp, whitefaces walking about everywhere. The sun had just risen and hung low on the eastern horizon.

  “Let me help you down,” Morgin said. He reached up, took her by the waist, lifted her off the monster’s back and set her down beside it. Nicki thought he looked tired, exhausted, or was that just part of a dream?

  Olivia laughed like a school girl. “That was exhilarating. Grandson, you’ll have to let me do that again, some time.”

  They gathered in Angerah’s tent with several senior members of the black tribe, where they were served a breakfast of warm tea, fruit and roasted meat—she wasn’t sure what kind. Nicki ate in silence.

  Speaking to the Benesh’ere, Morgin said, “I need you to gather the entire tribe, every man woman and child. Don’t overlook a single soul, have them ready to travel, and meet me at Gilguard’s Ford.”

  The Benesh’ere sat silent and unmoving. Angerah said, “Where are we going, SteelMaster?”

  Morgin said, “It’s time to ride to Durin.”

  Several of them nodded solemnly, as if those words held some great significance for them. Nicki paused, for the Benesh’ere couldn’t ride to Durin, and then she realized the import of Morgin’s words. Oh, she was definitely going to have a talk with that brother of hers.

  ••••

  Mounted again on the back of a hellhound, Nicki followed Morgin through the netherworld up the steep slope, AnnaRail and Olivia behind her on their mounts. They gained altitude quickly, then the terrain leveled off into a flat expanse of rock, and they stepped back onto the Mortal Plane. She watched Morgin shrug off his weariness, and she worried about him, thankful they’d spent only a short time in the nether ways.

  Around them stretched a wide plateau with little soil to support vegetation. The occasional stunted tree and small clump of brush grew here and there among the boulders and loose rocks of black basalt.

  Morgin led them to the edge of the plateau. He dismounted, helped her off KarlDane’s bac
k again, and as he put her down she noticed a trickle of blood on his upper lip.

  She said, “You have a nose bleed.”

  He touched a finger to his lip, examined the blood for a moment then wiped his lip with his sleeve. He started to turn away but she grabbed his arm and said, “What’s wrong?”

  He grimaced and said, “The nether ways . . .”

  “Then stay out of them.”

  “I can’t, not completely, not if we want any chance of victory.”

  They approached edge of the cliff carefully, eased their way toward it slowly, all of them but Olivia in a crouch. Nicki wanted to get down on her hands and knees, but the old witch would never approve. Below them, in the distance, the Plains of Quam stretched to the horizon.

  Morgin pointed east. “You see the Ulbb there.”

  The river formed a jagged line zig-zagging its way east.

  Still pointing, Morgin said, “Now see that ridge south of it, and south of the ridge the jagged line of overgrown brush that looks like another river.”

  “What is it?” Nicki asked.

  “Centuries ago,” Morgin said. “That’s where the Ulbb flowed.”

  When Morgin explained what he wanted them to do, even Olivia was taken aback. “That will take quite a bit of preparation, grandson, and enormous power.”

  “I know,” Morgin said, and there was nothing cavalier about the way he said it. “That’s why I need you three.”

  ••••

  At the base of the cliff Morgin selected a large boulder with a good shadow on its north side; it would be there most of the day. He pulled Mortiss to a halt, dismounted and said, “Wait here. I’ll be back about mid-afternoon.”

  She neighed, Don’t be late.

  He stepped into the shadow, stepped out of the shadow in the corner of Cort and Tulellcoe’s room. The older man stood at the room’s window, and there was no sign of Cort.