The Flame Priest (The Silk & Steel Saga) (29 page)

“The Knights of the Octagon patrol the
Dragon
Spine
Mountains
, but all of your eyes face north, watching for the Mordant’s hordes. We ask that you spare some men to look south, to stop the Mordant before he crosses the mountains.”

“And what guise does he wear, this evil of many lives?” A trace of mockery rode the king’s words.

The monk scowled. “The Mordant was reborn as one of our own. He wears the guise of a young monk-initiate, a young man of twenty-two, tall and fair of face, with short blond hair and pale blue eyes. He left the monastery wearing the golden robes of a monk-initiate but clothing is easily changed. He will seek to cross the
Dragon
Spine
Mountains
and reclaim the power of the Dark Citadel.”

“So, you have lost one of your own.” The king gripped the hilt of his sword, his voice as keen as his blade. “And does this Mordant-monk know the secrets of your Order?”

“Bryce was trained in our ways of thinking. He studied in our outer libraries, training to become a healer, but he was not a full monk. He never had access to our true secrets.”

“…or your powers?”

The monk bowed his head in acknowledgement. “You see beneath the words.”

“So you would have us kill this Mordant-monk, doing your work for you, protecting your secrets?”

“Not kill but capture.”

The king’s eyes narrowed.

“If you kill the Mordant, he will only be reborn in another body. The unknown may be worse than the threat that is known. The only way to stop this evil is by using a weapon of the Light, a dagger made of Dahlmar crystal. Capture him and the bearer of the crystal dagger will be sent to you.”

“And where is this wondrous weapon, this crystal dagger?”

“The bearers of the crystal dagger always choose their own path.”

The king scowled. “Magical weapons and reborn ghouls, this sounds like a mummer’s farce!”

“I assure you, it is not. The Grand Master merely asks that you keep a watch for a young blonde-haired man trying to make his way into the north.”

The marshal said, “It seems a simple enough request.”

The monk nodded. “If you capture him, you would do well to gag him and hold him in your deepest dungeon lest he find a way to turn brother against brother.”

“Lest he tell your secrets.”

The monk stared, “Caution is advised.”

“Your caution, our blood.” The king’s eyes flashed steel-green. “What else should we know about this Mordant-monk?”

“He carries an amulet the size of a man’s fist, a golden oval incised with runes along the edge and the Seeing Eye and the eight-pointed star in the center. It was stolen from our monastery and is dear to the Order.” The monk’s voice softened to a request. “The Order would be most grateful to see it returned.”

“Now we come to the truth of it. You’ve lost one of your precious secrets.”

“The amulet is no threat to you or yours. The magic is of no use away from the monastery.”

The marshal studied the monk’s face, looking for deception but found none.

“And if we capture this Mordant-monk, how will we get word to you?”

“Fly a blue pennant from the highest tower and word will reach us.”

The king’s gaze flashed to the knight marshal, understanding passing between them. The king set his sword on the table, the point facing the monk. “The
Dragon
Spine
Mountains
are vast. To find and stop a single man from crossing into the north will take the luck of the gods. As a favor to your Grand Master, we will turn a few eyes south and look for a stranger seeking to cross. If we catch anyone similar to your description, we will fly a blue pennant from our ramparts.” The king narrowed his gaze. “Meantime, we prepare for war…for that is the true message of the comet, is it not?”

“If the Mordant crosses the mountains, look for war from the north.”

The king glared across the table. “We doubt your story, but we will do what we can to catch this rogue monk.”

“You have the thanks of the Grand Master.” The monk bowed toward the king. “May the Lords of Light be with you.” His voice deepened. “There is a second part to the message. A warning and an offer of aid.”

The king waited, his face like chiseled stone.

“The Mordant may not be the only Harlequin to walk the lands of Erdhe. The Dark Lord is stingy with his favors, so there are never more than a handful of the reborn. Given the magnitude of the coming battle, there may be more than one monster loose in the lands of Erdhe…though none are as old or as potent as the Mordant.”

“And how does this warning apply to Castlegard?”

“Castlegard is said to be invulnerable to attack…but what if a traitor lurked within, waiting to lower the drawbridge, to open the gates when an army waits outside the walls? What if one of the Awakened wore the surcoat of the Octagon Knights?”

The king’s voice cut like steel. “The knights are loyal to a man.” His voice dropped to an angry growl, a bear baited in his own den. “Be careful who you name traitor.”

The monk raised his hands in a placating gesture. “It is not a matter of loyalty. Harlequins are awakened within the minds of men in their early twenties. The host has no choice in the matter, a victim crushed beneath the older mind, subsumed by a great evil. Once awakened, the Harlequin can masquerade as the host knight until the time of the Dark Lord’s choosing.” Reaching within the pocket of his midnight blue robe, the monk extracted a milk-white crystalline shard, the length of a small dagger. “This is a Dahlmar crystal, a gift of the Lords of Light. In the hand of an awakened Harlequin, this crystal will glow bright red.” The monk set the crystal on the table. “The Order uses Dahlmar crystals to test monk initiates, ensuring that no Harlequin ever gains access to our deepest secrets.” He gestured toward the crystal. “You have heard the second half of the warning. This crystal is the Order’s offer of aid. If your majesty so wishes, I will use the crystal to tests the knights in your service before I leave.”

The king stared at the crystal as if it were a coiled snake. “And why should we trust this tale of magic? Why should my loyal knights submit to this test?”

The monk’s face saddened. “Because our warnings have always born the weight of truth.”

A perilous stillness settled over the chamber.

The king lanced the monk with his stare. “Is there a traitor among us?”

The words coiled like venom in the small chamber.

“It is a possibility, not a certainty. Hosts for the Harlequins are chosen to give the Dark Lord every advantage. To place one of his minions among the Octagon Knights seems logical.”

The marshal said, “The Dark Lord targets his strongest enemies.”

The monk nodded. “Just so.”

The king gestured toward the crystal. “What is involved in this…
test
?”

“Each knight need only hold the crystal in his hand. If a Harlequin lurks within, the crystal will glow cherry-red.” The monk picked the crystal up and held it in his fist. “It is a simple test, with no harm or ill effect to mere mortals.”

Seeing the king’s doubt, the knight marshal stepped forward. “I’ll take this test. Try your magic on me.” He looked to his king for permission. “We need to understand how it works.”

The king gave a grim nod, his hand on his great sword, his eyes wary.

A fine tension threaded through the chamber.

The monk handed the marshal the crystal. “Hold it in your fist so that half the crystal is exposed. By tradition, the person taking the test proclaims their name and their position.”

The marshal accepted the crystalline shard. It seemed nothing more than an ordinary crystal. “My name is Sir Osbourne and I am the knight marshal of the Octagon.”

There was no change in the crystal.

The monk retrieved the shard. “You have passed the test. There is no Harlequin within you.”

The marshal shared a glance with his king.

The king turned his stare to the monk, his voice grave. “We need time to consider your request.”

“As you wish. But Dahlmar crystals are rare and I must take this with me when I leave.

The king nodded. “We will talk more about this in the morning, but only behind closed doors. I’ll not have rumors of traitors dividing my men, especially on the eve of war.”

“As you command.”

The king fingered his silver beard. “Will you share meat and mead at my table tonight?”

“I would be honored, your majesty, but I can only stay a few days. Others need to be warned of the threat.”

The king nodded. “Sir Abrax will see you settled into a guest chamber in the Marshal’s Tower. He’ll see to your needs while you remain at Castlegard.”

“Thank you, your majesty. Your welcome is most generous.”

The king waved his hand in dismissal. The monk turned to follow the knight. When they reached the door, the king said, “One more thing.”

The monk turned.

“We received a scroll from Lanverness. My daughter, Princess Katherine, was invited to your monastery for fostering. Is she there? Is she safe?”

The monk turned ghost-pale. “The monastery is vast. I know of your daughter but we never met.”

A slow anger burned in the king’s eyes. “This fostering was arranged without my blessing. She is only a girl, but she is a daughter of Castlegard. Her marriage will bring an alliance and a wealthy dowry to the Octagon. I will have a proper accounting of this fostering from your Grand Master or I will have the girl sent home. Am I understood?”

The monk bowed, his eyes wide. “I will see that your message is conveyed to the Grand Master.”

The king nodded. “You have our leave to go.”

The monk bowed and followed Sir Abrax out the chamber.

The marshal secured the door and then waited, watching his king. The king went to the sideboard and poured a goblet of wine. He drained it in long pull and then refilled it with more merlot. He gestured toward the marshal, “Don’t just stand there stone-faced. What do you think?”

“It’s a strange tale, even for the monks.” He moved to the sideboard and poured himself a goblet. “It’s a hard tale to swallow…but the monks’ warnings have always carried weight.”

“The monks are like crows, carrion birds with a sixth sense for the carnage of war.” The king took a seat, his face thoughtful. “But they’re only telling us a fraction of what they know.”

“Always.” The marshal nodded. “They want their amulet back. Whatever it does, it is precious to them. But do you believe their tale about a renegade monk being the Mordant reborn?”

“Impossible…yet it might explain the long peace.”

The marshal stared, startled by the idea. “It might at that…but it’s still sounds like a bard’s folly.” He lowered his voice. “And what of this talk of a traitor among us, one of these Harlequin devils?”

“The monk slights our honor.” The king banged his fist against the table. “The rumors alone would ruin morale, making brother distrust brother.” He scowled. “And he wants to test my knights with his magic! It is an insult, an outrage!”

The marshal risked his king’s ire. “But what if it’s true? What if this crystal is the only way to know?”

“A grim choice. I would sooner trust to swords.”

“So would we all, but that is not the choice.” The marshal refilled the king’s goblet. “I watched the monk’s face when he told his tale. I swear he believes it is true.”

The king swirled his goblet, taking a long drink. “The monk seemed open and honest…except when it came to Katherine. But why be evasive about a mere girl? And why invite her to their monastery? Do you think they hope to gain leverage over Castlegard?”

“If it’s an alliance they want, they should have approached you directly. Whatever the monks want, it is nothing simple.” The marshal shook his head. “The monks are a riddle unto themselves. They make uneasy allies.”

The king shook his head. “No, Osbourne, the monks are never allies. Allies share the risk; they fight at your side, risking their blood with yours. The monks hide in their mountain monastery and watch, hoarding their secrets. They give warning but they do not take risks. They’ve endured for centuries while so many others have fallen to dust.”

“If they are not allies, what are they?”

The king stroked his silver beard, his face thoughtful. “Messengers. They seem to me like messengers of the gods…”

“So do we trust the gods?”

The king barked a laugh, a mixture of defiance and amusement. “We trust in steel, Osbourne, steel and honor and courage.” His voice sobered. “But we’ll listen to the gods, when they care to speak.”

“So we’ll search for this Mordant-monk?”

The king nodded. “We’ll search for their renegade. If we catch the devil, perhaps we’ll squeeze the truth out of him. Prepare a dispatch for each keep and castle in the Domain. Order the captains to keep a sharp lookout for anyone who tries to cross.”

“And what about this test of crystal?” The marshal shrugged. “I felt nothing when I held it. It seemed harmless enough, no more than an ordinary quartz shard.”