Silk And Steel: The Skeleton King Part 45

"Our champion against yours?"

General Haith flashed a grim smile. "No, you misunderstood. Our king against yours."

A premonition of dread flashed through the marshal. "Sire, it's a trick! You cannot do this."

The king's voice cracked with anger. "Osbourne, hold your tongue. This is a king's decision."

The marshal bit back his words, fearing a disaster.

The king stared at the general. "So the Mordant will fight?"

The general gave a terse nod. "This afternoon, in three turns of an hourgla.s.s, midway between our two armies."

"No, it will be here, within sight of the third wall, where all my men can bear witness."

The general hesitated but then he agreed. "As you wish."

"And the weapons will be swords."

"Agreed."

"And we'll fight afoot."

"As you say."

The king nodded, his face solemn. "Then I call upon the G.o.ds to witness this agreement. For the sake of the Octagon, I will meet the Mordant in battle."

The general smiled. "So be it." He began to turn his horse but then stopped. "Oh, the Mordant bade me to give you this." One of his escorts threw a long bundle wrapped in bloodstained maroon to the ground. "In three turns of the hourgla.s.s, the Mordant will meet you in mortal combat. To the victor goes the spoils." The general turned his horse and put spurs to flanks.

They watched as the enemy galloped into the north.

"Sir Abrax, the package."

The king turned his mount and they galloped back to the wall. The other captains waited near the campfire. The men pressed close, yearning for news.

Sir Odis, the champion of the lance, broached the question. "What news, my Lord?"

But the king ignored him. "Sir Abrax, the package."

The king sat by the fire, using a dagger to cut the bindings. The bloodstained cloak fell away revealing a gleam of sapphire blue. The king's breath caught. "My son's sword." He lifted the great sword, "Mordbane!" a sheen of blood still coated the blade.

A hushed silence fell on the men.

The marshal took a deep breath. "Sire, the sword is a weapon aimed at your heart. More proof of the Mordant's treachery."

Rage smoldered in the king's green eyes. "He mocks me by returning Ulrich's sword. As if it has no value."

"Sire, he seeks to cloud your judgment. By returning the sword he goads you to battle. He goads you to rage. I implore you, for the sake of the Octagon, do not accept these terms."

"For the sake of the Octagon, what else am I to do?" The king rounded on the marshal, a spray of spittle flying from his mouth. "Would you have me hide behind my men, letting his army slaughter us to a man? Or should I take this chance, this one chance, to wrest victory from the Mordant?" The king glared, his mailed hands balled into fists. "It's not just the fate of the Octagon at stake. Nay, the fate of the entire southern kingdoms lies at risk. You're the knight marshal of the Octagon. Can you see another way to victory? Can you?"

The marshal had no answer.

"This is an offer I cannot refuse. Not and keep my honor." The king's voice turned winter cold. "Or do you doubt my skill at arms?"

Aghast, the marshal shook his head, "Sire, no, never that."

"The Mordant is not trained as a knight, nor does he wield a blue sword. He will not stand against me."

"Not in a fair fight, no." The marshal struggled to put his fear into words. "Sire, I cannot believe the Mordant will take the risk. Since when does the Dark Deceiver fight from the front?"

The king's gaze narrowed.

The marshal pressed the attack. "Sire, there's some trick here that we do not understand."

"Enough!" The king's voice carried a cold rage. "It is done. I've given my word. In three hours time, I will meet the Mordant in single combat." A gasp of awe rippled through the men. "As the G.o.ds are my witness, I shall slay the Mordant, claiming victory for the Octagon and vengeance for my sons. So help me, Valin."

The marshal bowed before the king's will. "May the G.o.ds make it so," but in his heart, he feared the Mordant's treachery.

56.

Blaine It took the better part of the day for Kath to recover. She asked a torrent of questions, while ravenously devouring their meager stores. "Tell me again about the h.e.l.lhounds."

So Blaine told her everything while Bear and Boar sat nearby, urging her to eat. He told her a tale of running during the mornings, sleeping in the afternoon, and then fighting all night. The hardest part was explaining the hounds' fiendish cleverness, how they always waited till the men were bone weary and how they used diversions, hunting as a pack. And then he told her about Torven's idea to use the dead hides to ambush the hounds and about the battle in the moonlight.

Kath listened hard to every word. When he finished, her face was thoughtful. "I never thought they'd be so many." She looked at him, a trace of fear in her eyes. "I wonder what other surprises the Mordant has in store?"

It was a question none of them could answer.

"Do you think there are more hounds out there?"

Bear answered. "Most likely."

Kath nodded. "Then the battle's not over."

"Svala, we have a gift for you." Blushing red beneath his blue tattoos, Bear nudged a large leather pack toward Kath, a pack he'd carried all the way from the Ghost Hills.

"A gift?" Kath smiled, her face a mixture of surprise and pleasure.

Bear nodded, gesturing to Boar. "We traded for it. We thought it might be yours."

"Mine?" Kath pulled the pack toward her, fumbling with the buckles.

The other warriors crowded close, come to watch Kath.

She opened the pack and gasped, pulling out a small octagonal shield, the same shield she'd borne from Cragnoth Keep, the one they'd abandoned after the battle on the steppes. "My shield!" Blaine marveled how her face lit up, as if someone had given her the moon.

Bear said, "It was badly battered, but Gren has a way with fixing shields."

She ran her hands across the polished wood. "My thanks."

The big man blushed. "There's more, Svala."

Kath reached into the pack and removed a chainmail shirt. The tightly woven links flashed silvery bright in the morning light, a small shirt, suited to a squire or a girl. "My mail shirt! I never thought to see this again."

Blaine gaped in surprise, amazed that the big warrior had carried the extra weight all the way from the Ghost Hills.

Bear nodded, his face solemn. "It was scavenged from a battlefield where more than a hundred of the enemy lay slain." He dipped his head toward her. "The same battlefield that brought you to us."

Kath shrugged the chainmail over her head. It fit like a tailored shirt, a bright gleam of silver.

Blaine's breath caught. He'd seen her in mail before but somehow this was different. In the depths of the Mordant's domain, she suddenly seemed like a warrior princess touched by the G.o.ds. But then the clouds dimmed the sun and the spell was broken.

Kath ambushed Bear with a hug. The big blond warrior flamed bright red. And then she did the same to Boar, settling a quick kiss on his tattooed cheek. "You both have my thanks."

The others hooted and laughed, making good-natured sport of the two men.

Bear and Boar looked away, their faces crimson, but then Bear said, "There's one more thing."

"Something else?" Kath reached into the pack and then her face turned solemn, tinged with sadness. She pulled forth a knight's maroon cloak. "This is not mine, never mine."

"But Svala, is not maroon the color of Castlegard? And are you not born of the great castle?"

She smoothed her hand along the cloak's soft wool, a wistful look on her face. "Yes, but a maroon cloak must be earned. It is a high honor, a mark of knighthood." Her voice caught. "And never meant for the likes of me."

Blaine watched how she fingered the cloak, the look of longing etched on her face, and he thought of the many times she'd stood against the enemy, daring to come north while so many knights stayed safe behind stone walls. He found himself standing, taking the cloak from her hands. "Rise, Katherine of Castlegard."

She stared up at him, a look of wonder on her face, and then she stood, her lower lip trembling.

"Most knights earn their maroon cloaks in the Octagon Trials," Blaine did not know where the words came from but they felt right, "but you've earned yours in true combat. There can be no better way to earn a maroon cloak." Swirling the cloak, he settled it across her shoulders. "Wear it well."

Pride shown from her sea-green eyes, pride and astonishment.

And then Blaine knelt. "Katherine of Castlegard."

All around, the painted warriors knelt, their voices raised to a shout. "Svala! Lead us to victory!"

She stared at them, as if memorizing every face, and then she unsheathed her sword and raised it to the heavens. "For the Light!"

"For the Light!" The men echoed her cry. Weapons raised, they danced around her as if victory was a.s.sured.

Laughing, Kath moved among them, offering a word and a smile. And just for a moment, she reminded Blaine of the king.

But then her laughter changed and she looked at him, an impish grin on her face. "It's too long!" She lifted the cloak and pivoted. More than a foot of maroon dragged on the ground.

Blaine shared her laughter. "Let me." He cut a notch in the wool and then tore a wide swath from the bottom. He handed it to her. "Better?"

"Better." But then her face changed, like quicksilver, suddenly growing solemn. She stared at the men around her and they caught her mood, becoming quiet.

A hush settled over the warriors, a gleam of expectation in their eyes.

"You've all shown your valor, daring to fight the h.e.l.lhounds instead of retreating, keeping me safe while the magic claimed me." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Will you share my pride and wear my colors?"

A resounding, "Yes!" echoed from every man.

They crowded close, watching as Kath cut thin strips from the cloak's remnant. Bear was first. The big man insisted that Kath tie the maroon strip around the bulging muscles of his right arm. Boar and Torven came next. One at a time, they accepted the strips of wool as if they were symbols of valor...or holy talismans.

Blaine stood aside, watching their faces. With a strip of cloth, Kath claimed them for her own, a troop of warriors who'd fight to the death, no matter the odds. And he marveled again at what a mere girl could do.

57.

Blaine Running, always running, they pressed on, into the steppes. For five grueling nights they played cat and mouse with the gore hounds. On moonlit nights, they became the cat, hunting the hounds. On cloud-shrouded nights, they stayed in a defensive hedgehog, fending off the beasts. But even on cloudy nights, they fought back, for the mice had gained fangs. Kath changed their tactics, putting the slingers inside a ring of swords. When the hounds came hunting, the slingers cast stones at any sound, confident they'd not strike a companion. After five nights of fighting, the hounds came no more.

"Do you think we've finished them?" Kath nudged a dead hound with her boot, pulling her throwing axe from the beast's ugly maw.

Blaine shrugged, his sword held at the ready. "Either they're all dead or they've learned to fear us."

"Let's hope they're dead, else Danya and the others will have a tough time of it." She stared up at the waning crescent. "Three more nights till the dark of the moon," she gave him a wolfish grin, yet he could see her worry in every line of her body. "It's past time we caught a glimpse of the Dark Citadel."

The Dark Citadel, the name alone conjured nightmares, a bastion of evil. Blaine wiped the gore from his sword and sheathed it. "When we came north I never truly believed we'd attack the Mordant's lair."

"Nor I, but we've gained allies, just as the monks said."

"But will it be enough?"

She stared at him and he saw the nightmares crowding her eyes. "It has to be."

"You think Duncan is there."

Kath made the barest of nods, but then she looked away, her voice a whisper. "He has to be there...else he's dead."

He wanted to say something rea.s.suring but the words eluded him.

Torven found them, keen eyes staring from an eagle's face. "Time to leave before the ravens find us. Shall we head for the citadel?"

Kath nodded. "It's time."