Silk And Steel: The Skeleton King Part 43

Blaine was too tired to eat. He picked his way through the others till he found Kath's litter. "Has she woken?"

"Not yet." Bear's gruff voice answered. "We'll keep watch over the Svala."

"As will I." Annoyed, Blaine found a spot nearby and dropped his bedroll. Shrugging his harness from his shoulders, he set his sword close to hand. He tugged off his boots but was too weary to remove his chainmail shirt. When the flagon of mead came his way, he took a long drink but he could not be bothered to eat. Desperate for rest, he curled within his bedroll, pulling his cloak up over his head. Sleep claimed him before he'd even shut his eyes.

A scream split the night.

Blaine bolted awake, reaching for his sword.

All around him, men scrambled from bedrolls, reaching for weapons and armor.

Low clouds shrouded the sky, obscuring the moon, too little light to see by. Blaine stood with his back to another warrior, his sword held at the ready, straining to find the threat.

"Where did it come from?"

"To the left."

Blaine peered into the dark, unable to tell friend from foe.

Another gut-wrenching scream, this time to the right, but there was no clash of steel. It seemed the perfect ambush.

Someone yelled, "A b.l.o.o.d.y gore hound! A gore hound's got Seigen!"

Fear spread like lightning. The beast hunted them. The thought shivered through Blaine's mind. He shuffled backward, needing to feel another man at his back.

A lone howl ripped the night, evoking terror in the dark.

"Stay!" The man at his back whispered a command. "It's just a diversion."

A diversion! "You mean those things think?"

"They think and they hate. Gore hounds hunt for the thrill of it, playing with their food before they eat. And they always hunt in packs."

And we're the b.l.o.o.d.y food. Blaine gripped his sword, straining for a glimpse of the beast.

The attack came without warning. A man screamed to his left, a b.l.o.o.d.y gurgle full of death. Blaine spun, just in time to meet a rush of fangs. He parried the fangs with a warding slash from left to right. Fear lent strength to the cut. Blue steel bit deep, a snarl of pain. Hot blood splashed across Blaine's face. A claw raked his sleeve but his chainmail held true. Blaine twisted his sword and the thing fell dead at his feet.

He wrenched his sword free and moved to a crouch, standing at the other man's back, poised for the next attack.

Terror stalked the night.

Blaine strained to see in the dark, every sense on edge.

Somewhere to the left, a man whimpered in pain. "It hurts! It hurts!"

Torven yelled, "Form a circle around the Svala!"

Someone lit a glow crystal, a pale beacon of light. "This way!"

Blaine shuffled toward the light, his sword at the ready. They formed a circle around Kath's litter, weapons bristling outward, a desperate defense against the beasts.

Another scream, more proof the hounds remained on the hunt.

"It's eating me!" A man's voice screeched in the darkness. "Help me!" The voice shrieked in terror. "Kill me!"

The screams preyed on Blaine's mind. "We can't just let him die!"

"Hold your ground!" Torven shouted over the shrieks, holding his men to their positions.

Blood-curdling screams turned to pitiful wails. The victims took forever to die. Snarls filled the night, the sounds of bones being crunched and men being eaten alive.

Sweat trickled down Blaine's back. Every scream conjured a fresh horror. The night seemed to last forever. Silence eventually prevailed, but the men refused to be fooled. Holding their swords at the ready, they kept their position. The vigil sapped their strength and strained their nerves, but the painted warriors held their ground, as brave as any sworn knights. The dawn light saved them. A glimmer of gold streaked the sky, giving proof that the beasts were gone.

Most of the men dropped to their knees in weariness and thanks, but Blaine staggered forward, needing to know the cost of the fight. Torven joined him, giving names to the dead. Seven men killed, one of them half eaten from the boots up. Blaine looked away, a horrible way to die.

Torven knelt, closing the eyes of the mangled corpse. "Sebold was my friend." He eased a dagger from the dead man's hand. "Such torture is deliberate. The cursed gore hounds are nothing but pure hate."

Blood spattered the trampled gra.s.s, most of it human. Amongst the slain they found only two gore hounds. The creatures reeked of evil. Everything about them was wrong. Snout like a wolf and teeth like a saber cat, the cursed hounds were the size of a small horse. Strong and vicious, the twisted beasts were clearly designed to kill. Kicking one with his boot, Blaine made the hand sign against evil.

"I heard you killed one."

Blaine nodded.

"Good fighting for a bare face." Torven moved on, scouting the battlefield, Blaine a shadow by his side. The eagle faced warrior knelt among the trampled gra.s.s. "Too many paw prints. We've caught the attention of a hunting pack." His face turned grim. "They'll be back."

"What about the dead?"

"Food for ravens."

Blaine's disapproval must have shown from his face.

Torven scowled. "It's our way."

Others were already moving among the dead, scavenging weapons and food.

"So how do we fight them?"

"With steel and with guile. These are no ordinary beasts." Torven raised his voice to a shout. "Tarly and Pren, skin the hounds. We'll rest an hour and then move out."

No one argued. The two painted warriors set to work skinning the beasts. Blaine sat huddled with the others, gnawing on a strip of dried horsemeat. No one talked. Their faces said it all. Streaked with weariness and grim determination, they'd pit swords against the terrors of the night. He wondered how many would survive. The battle for the north had begun, but instead of soldiers they fought nightmares that prowled on four legs, making meals of men. Blaine shuddered, thankful for his blue steel sword.

53.

Duncan Darkness swirled overhead, shadows darting among the stalact.i.tes. Chained to the floor, Duncan drifted in a haze of agony. Knives studded his body, a hundred stabs of silver. So much pain, it seemed as if his body was nothing but hurt. He begged the G.o.ds for death, or perhaps he'd already died, dead and gone to h.e.l.l, trapped in an eternal nightmare, the torment of the d.a.m.ned.

A sibilant voice whispered at the back of his mind, the voice of the Mordant. Fear struck like lightning. Duncan raised his head and searched the chamber, but only the shadows remained.

A foul oily taste crept into his mouth and then he remembered. He was alone yet it was happening again. A shout sprang to his lips, "No! I won't let you use me!" Braziers erupted in flames, tongues of fire licking the stalact.i.tes. A thrum of power filled the cavern.

"Not again!" Duncan shrank into the floor, trying to seal his mind.

Tentacles of darkness descended from the ceiling, as if searching for his warmth. Cold as midnight, they slithered across his skin, seeking out his wounds.

He thrashed against his bonds but he was held tight, shackled to the floor, an unwilling sacrifice.

Darkness seeped into him, like acid in his veins. A scream roared out of him, too much to contain. Magic thrummed through him, dark and terrible. Words shuddered through his mind, whispered in the voice of the Mordant, spoken in a language long dead. The words held no meaning yet they rushed to be born, erupting from his mouth like vomit. He thrashed and bucked, caught in the grip of evil. Something answered. Shadows crawled across his skin. A relentless darkness pressed down on him like a smothering hand. It poured into him, forcing its way down his mouth. He choked and gagged and still it came. Just when he thought he would drown in darkness, a roaring filled his ears. A single clap of thunder and the darkness was gone.

Duncan lay naked on the stone floor, gasping for breath, like a drowned man tossed on a stormy sh.o.r.e. Exhausted, he opened his eyes, half afraid to look. The shadows were gone, retreated back amongst the stalact.i.tes, waiting for another chance to pounce. The cavern stank of fear and p.i.s.s, his fear, his p.i.s.s. Shuddering against his fate, he closed his eyes, desperate to sleep, but all his dreams held nightmares.

Something poked his side.

Groaning, he opened his eyes. A pair of black robed priests hovered near like hungry vultures. At first he thought he was dreaming, but then one of the priests knelt and forced a thin reed into his mouth. A spurt of warm liquid gushed down his throat, a revolting taste of boiled blood and herbs. He gagged but the foul flood kept coming. He swallowed more than he wanted, gasping for breath when the reed was withdrawn.

Priests knelt on either side of him, sponging him clean, tending him like a babe.

"Just let me die." But they ignored his words.

"Why? Tell me why?"

Finished with their work, they turned and strode from the cavern. The copper door shuddered closed, sealing him in with the shadows.

Duncan lay chained to the floor, a single tear running down his cheek. "Why?" The word was a whisper, a question for the Light. "Why did you let this happen to me? What have I done to deserve this?" He stared at the nearest brazier, willing an answer from the light, but it never came, not even the hint of an echo. A deadly silence reigned in the cavern. He heard his heartbeat and willed it to stop but even that prayer went unanswered.

Cursed and forsaken, he closed his eyes, enduring the pain, waiting for the next a.s.sault.

He must have dozed, or else succ.u.mbed to a haze of misery, he couldn't tell the difference anymore, but then he heard the voice, a faint whisper scratching at his mind.

*Listen to me!*

Duncan jerked awake, afraid the Mordant had returned. He cringed against the stone floor, his heartbeat thudding loud in his ears.

*You must listen, I've little time.*

The voice came again, a subtle whisper, small and naked, without the frightening power of the Dark. Duncan struggled to understand. "Who are you?" His own voice echoed against the stalact.i.tes, "you...you...you."

*I'm a prisoner like you.*

Duncan raised his head, staring into the gloom. Perhaps it was a ghost, the shade of another prisoner come to taunt him...or perhaps the pain had finally forced him to madness.

*No, I'm trapped inside the Mordant.*

A bolt of fear struck Duncan. "You've come to trick me." He shrank inside of himself, bracing for the next a.s.sault.

*No, don't close your mind to me. You must listen.*

Duncan waited for the tendrils of darkness to attack but they never came. He risked a thought aimed at the other voice. *Can you hear me?*

*Yes,* a whisper at the back of his mind. *My name is Bryce. I was studying to become a Kiralynn monk when the Mordant took me. He stole my body and trapped my soul. Like you, I'm a prisoner of the Mordant.*

Shock and surprise rippled through Duncan's mind, but he was afraid to trust. *I don't believe you.*

*Trust your own senses. Do I feel like Darkness?*

The question made him think. He fought his own pain, questing within his mind, but he felt none of the oily corruption that came with the Mordant. *How is this possible?*

"Magic, a boon of the Light, call it what you will, but when the Mordant sleeps he lowers his guard. Somehow I found my way to you, like sneaking beneath a locked door. But we must be quick. I've eavesdropped on the Mordant. I know his plans to conquer Erdhe. The southern kingdoms are in grave danger. You must get my words to the others."

"Others?" Duncan barked out loud, an explosion of rage and frustration. "I'm chained in this G.o.d-forsaken place, pierced with a hundred knives! You've picked the wrong messenger!"

The cavern mocked him, "messenger...messenger."

But the voice was undaunted, *And I'm chained within the Mordant, unable to speak, or touch, or smell, a lost soul condemned to watch a monster use my body. I'd willingly trade my h.e.l.l for yours.*

His reply sobered Duncan like a slap in the face. Perhaps h.e.l.l had many levels and he hadn't yet reached bottom. He took a deep breath, shuddering against the pain. *How can I help?*

*I'm a prisoner yet I spy on my jailor. I've seen his plans. I know what he intends. You must live and you must get my words to the others, to the champions of the Kiralynn monks.*

Fear struck Duncan to the core, fear for Kath and the others. For the thousandth time he wondered what he'd babbled to the Mordant. Mustering his courage, he dared to ask the question. "What did I tell the G.o.d cursed Mordant?"

*Your words made little sense, your mind was swamped by pain.*

The answer came like a balm to his heart. So he hadn't betrayed them, he hadn't betrayed her. He clung to the belief that Kath remained safe. *Thank you.*

The voice became tentative. *Will you tell me who wields the crystal dagger?*

Suspicions rose like a spring tide. It felt too much like a trap. *No.*

A sigh of sadness blew through his mind. *I understand. Perhaps it is best. The crystal dagger is my only hope.* But then the voice changed, a sense of urgency pulsing through his mind. *Our time grows short, you must listen, listen and remember.* A floodgate opened and images poured into Duncan's mind. A map of Erdhe lay spread before him, but it was unlike any map he'd ever seen. Jeweled castles and ivory walls sat amongst painted fields and forests. He soared like an eagle across the land, hearing details of the Mordant's plans, dire warnings about a place called Raven Pa.s.s, and the Kiralynn monastery, and the Queen of Lanverness. Visions tumbled through his head, a jumble of thoughts and ideas, each one potent with urgency. A strange hallway carved with demons of every description. A secret door opened to reveal a vast h.o.a.rd of treasure and forgotten magic. His vision blurred and he was in a courtyard, in the heart of the Dark Citadel, yet he saw a squad of knights in silver surcoats, false knights wearing the colors of the Octagon, knights of deception. Another shift and he sat on a dark throne giving orders to men bearing tridents. An avalanche of thoughts and visions pummeled his mind. So confusing, they crashed against him, like being tossed in a storm racked sea. He struggled to make sense of the chaos. *I have questions, things I don't understand.* But the other voice retreated, leaving a whisper of fear in his mind. *You must live. You must remember!*

And then it was gone, snuffed out like a candle.

Silence struck like a thunderbolt.

Suddenly alone, Duncan shuddered against the stone floor, gasping for breath. He struggled to understand, wondering if he'd finally gone mad. Visions swam in his mind, things he'd never seen before, thoughts that could never have been his own. The Mordant was a monster, a demon in the guise of a man. And if the visions held true, then south had little chance.

Pain threatened to swamp him, a constant companion gnawing at his sanity, but the memories of the other voice a.s.saulted his mind. "You must live. You must remember!" Duncan turned his head to stare up at the nearest brazier, his gaze fastening on the flickering light. "You used me." His voice sounded hoa.r.s.e in his ears. He still wanted to die, still wanted the pain to end, but he changed his prayer, his voice a low whisper. "Let Kath come, let her hurry." He bit back a sob, resolved to endure the pain, for the secrets of his mind could not die with him.

54.