The Flame Priest (The Silk & Steel Saga) (47 page)

He would never understand. Kath fought to keep her voice from betraying her. “Yes, father, it is hard, harder than you know.” She turned and followed the guards out of the chamber, throwing a passing glance to the two knights. Sir Blaine avoided her gaze but Sir Tyrone nodded, his face grim.

The guards marched her down the stairs, escorting her to her former bedchamber, returning her to her childhood, but that time had already flown, the bird would not return to the cage, gilded or otherwise. Kath’s anger hardened to resolve, the time for obeying was long past.

The two guards took positions on either side of the door, their faces implacable. Knights chosen to guard the King’s Tower were always the most loyal. Kath closed the door, shutting out the guards, shutting out the castle.

She turned to face her childhood. The chamber was just as she’d left it; a narrow bed with a thick eider quilt, a small night table with a half-melted candle, a writing desk stocked with quills and ink, a chest for clothes, a chest for scrolls, and a chamber pot. The only luxury was a worn tapestry on the wall, a battle scene showing the maroon knights triumphing over the Mordant’s hordes. Crossing the chamber, she ran her hand across the tapestry, like greeting an old friend. She’d spent countless hours lying in bed, staring at the tapestry, dreaming of victory and glory…a dream denied to any girl-child. She laughed but the sound was bitter. Her lord father did not see her worth…but the gods did.

Kath shook her head in defiance and began to pace the chamber. She’d come to Castlegard to give warning, and to gain more swords for the journey north…and instead she’d become a prisoner of the king’s narrow-mindedness.
Duncan
had warned her, but she hadn’t wanted to listen. Castlegard had become a trap, a trap she’d eagerly run to. It almost had the twisted smell of the Mordant…but this trap had been set long ago. Prejudice divided her from the king, from the Octagon Knights, from those who should have been her closest allies, her strongest swords. The Dark Lord was devious beyond the telling. But she would serve the Light with Valin’s help.

She crossed to the arrow-slit window to gauge the hour. The sun edged towards the horizon, a glory of gold and red marking the supper hour, a good time to escape. She had no time to waste. The traps and tricks that kept invaders out could also hold a prisoner in. She had to leave before her lord father’s orders extended beyond the guards posted at her door…and that meant leaving this very night. The question was how.

Kath gripped her gargoyle and resumed pacing. The arrow-slit windows were too narrow, and besides, the mage-stone walls were impossible to climb. The guards on the door were incorruptible, so pleading or persuading would be of no help. There had to be another way.

Tightening her grip on her gargoyle, she realized the answer lay within her very grasp. The gods provided the solution! Her gargoyle gave her a key to any wall. But passing through the inner wall would just bring her into confrontation with the guards, while the outer wall offered a shear drop to an ugly death. The gargoyle was the key, but for which lock? The solution seemed just out of reach till a smile crossed her face. The floor held the answer. She could drop to the chamber below and slip out into the hallway. Once she reached the tower basement, she could use the secret passages to make her way to the stables.

Kath knelt, one hand on her gargoyle, one hand set against the mage-stone floor, praying there was no one in the chamber below.

A knock sounded on the door.

Startled, Kath scrambled to her feet, shoving her gargoyle beneath her leather jerkin.

The door creaked open, the smells of roast lamb and garlic wafting into the chamber. The tantalizing smells took her by ambush. Kath lowered her guard. Quintus, the master healer, appeared carrying a platter heaped with lamb and roast potatoes. “I thought you might want some supper.” Clad in a brown robe the color of peat, he flashed her a broad smile, his unruly black hair falling into his eyes.

The sight of her friend and mentor nearly pushed Kath to tears. “Master Quintus, how did you…”

“The castle folk are speaking of nothing else.” He set the platter on the desk. “Come and eat, you must be hungry.”

The smells of lamb and garlic woke a ravenous hunger in her. She sat at the table and attacked the meal, savoring every bite. She mumbled past a mouthful, “Thank you.”

He nodded, taking a seat on her scroll chest.

She watched him, wondering why he’d really come. She’d trusted him before, but her secrets had little consequence then, much had changed. “You’ve seen the guards.”

He nodded, his face solemn.

“The king’s made me a prisoner.” She tore off a hunk of bread, still warm from the oven, and sopped up the thick gravy. “I came to warn the king, but he won’t listen.” Anger flooded her voice. “He never sees me for who I am.”

The master sat listening.

She remembered that about him, the healer was always a good listener. Needing to talk, the painful truth tumbled out. “He’d listen if I was a son.”

“Yes.” The healer’s face softened. “He’s a good king, an honorable man…but he is chained by convention.”

“And that makes it all the more cruel.” Kath shook her head, too much emotion in her voice. “It’s hard to always be overlooked.”

He gave her a conspirator’s grin. “Yes, but you won’t let that stop you.”

A grin slipped across her face, he knew her too well. “You’re right.”

He nodded. “Now how can I help the bearer of the crystal dagger?”

She gasped, “You know?”

He chuckled. “Seek knowledge, protect knowledge, share knowledge.”

“But how?”

“Those of us who serve outside of the monastery do not take the tattoo.”

“So all these years…”

He nodded. “I served as Castlegard’s healer, and I also served the monastery…and I mentored a young girl who showed great promise but was always overlooked.” He chuckled. “Looking back, I see now that destiny’s hand had marked you. But I confess, I never thought you’d be the one to wield the crystal dagger.” His face turned thoughtful. “But then again it makes a certain sense, a certain symmetry. The Lords of Light have a sense of irony and who better to wield the dagger than a daughter of Castlegard.”

“If only the king shared your wisdom.” She knew the answer but she had to ask. “Do you think the king would see things differently if he knew the truth? If I told him about the crystal dagger?”

His face stilled. “Would the king ever give a woman, even his own daughter, a blue steel blade?”

Frustration rode her voice. “You monks always answer questions with questions.”

“Perhaps that is because some students refuse to see the answers.” He gave her a half-smile that she remembered from her days in the healery. “I’m waiting.”

The bitter truth would not be denied. “No. He would never waste blue steel on a mere woman.”

The healer nodded. “The king would see it as his duty to take the dagger from you, to wield it himself, or to give it to a champion of the Octagon. In his eyes, anything else would be a waste of a great weapon.” His voice softened. “The bearers of the crystal dagger always choose their own path. The secret is yours to keep or to tell. But I think you have done well to hold your silence with the king…much as it hurts you.”

The understanding in his eyes threatened to loose her tears.

He clapped his hands against his thighs and stood, his voice full of optimistic vigor.
    
“The Kath I knew would have a plan.” He stared at her, his dark eyes full of mischief.
  
“So how do you plan to beard the knights in their own castle?”

An irrepressible smile spread across her face. “With magic, and wits, and guile.”

He beamed a smile. “I would expect nothing less.” He gave her a half bow. “How can I be of service?”

She thought about her plan. “I
do
need your help.” Reaching beneath her jerkin, she revealed the small mage-stone gargoyle. “I know how to use this.”

His eyes glittered with interest.

“The gargoyle will let me pass through stone walls.” Her hand curled protectively around the small figurine. “I never thought I’d need it to escape from Castlegard.”

“The gods work in mysterious ways. How can I help?”

“Go to the chamber directly below this one and make sure it’s empty. If there’s someone there, get them out on some pretext, whatever you think will work.” He nodded. “Then find Sir Tyrone,
Blaine
, and the monk, Zith. Tell them to quietly make their way to the stables. Have them get the horses saddled and I’ll meet them there.”

“Anything else?”

“No…yes.” She needed information and the healer might be her only chance to get it. “The Mordant has to pass through the Domain to cross the Dragon Spines but the countryside seems peaceful enough. Have the knights reported anything unusual, any type of treachery?”

The healer looked thoughtful. “I’m not privy to the king’s council, but there has been talk in the great hall that two knights have gone missing.”

“Missing?” A warning shivered down her spine.

“Yes, they were sent to
Raven
Pass
with dispatches from the king but they never arrived.” He stared at her.
 
“Do you think the missing knights have something to do with the Mordant?”

“I don’t know. But whatever the Mordant does, it will be devious and deadly.”

“Just so.” The healer threw a glance toward the arrow-slit window. “The sun sets. If you’re going to slink through the castle, you best do it while the knights are at supper.” He gave her a conspirator’s wink. “I’ll meet you in the stables.” He picked up her empty platter. “A thin excuse but it worked,” and turned for the door.

She couldn’t let him leave without a last word. “Thank you…” she was going to say for helping, but the words came out differently, “…for believing in me.”

He smiled but his eyes were solemn. “The gods marked you from a young age. I never doubted you’d find a way to make a difference.” He opened the door and was gone.

The healer left behind the lingering smell of roast lamb…and a sense of optimism. Kath had to smile; with such friends she would find a way to move mountains. But first she needed to escape from her beloved castle.

She paced the length of the chamber, counting to one hundred, giving the healer a chance to clear the chamber below. Finished with the count, she gave her bedchamber a final glance, knowing she might never be welcome in the great castle again. She slipped a candle stub into her pocket and gave the timeworn tapestry a last salute. “Honor and the Octagon.”

Throwing her saddlebag over her shoulder, she crouched in the middle of the chamber. Placing one hand flat on the stone floor while holding her gargoyle with the other, she took a deep breath and reached for the magic within. Stone pulled beneath her hand. Proud and stubborn and strong, the stone called to her. She fell forward, into the floor, submerged in mage-stone. Hard to move, hard to think…but she needed to breathe. Kath pushed forward, refusing to be trapped. A roaring sound filled her ears, and then she was through. She gasped for breath…and fell.

The floor rushed up to hit her.

She tried to get her feet under her but the floor was too quick. She landed with a hard thud, the breath knocked out of her, a sharp pain in her left ankle. Gasping for breath, she shook her head in wry amusement. She’d forgotten that one man’s floor is another’s ceiling. Pity she didn’t land on the other bed but at least the chamber was empty.

Pushing to her feet, she tested her ankle, relieved to find it sore but not sprained. Her palms stung and she’d have a bruise on one elbow but thank Valin nothing was broken. Retrieving her saddlebag, she went to the door and pressed her ear to the thick wood. Hearing nothing, she eased the door open and peered out.

Torchlight danced along the mage-stone walls, but hall was empty. Kath grinned, knowing the castle was her ally. She crept down the hall, hugging the shadows, slinking her way toward the stairs. Her doeskin boots whispered down the staircase, taking two at a time. Rounding the second spiral, she heard voices climbing from below. She ducked into the nearest corridor and hid in the shadows till the voices dimmed.

Twice she had to backtrack to avoid being seen, but her knowledge of the castle served her well. She reached the tower basement and sprinted down the empty hallway, counting six torches to the left.

Every trigger mechanism was slightly different. She pressed the raised metal octagon at the base of the torch…but nothing happened. Turning the octagon left and then right did nothing. Frustrated, she wracked her memory, wondering if she’d chosen the wrong torch.

Voices flowed down the stone staircase.

Desperate, she grasped the torch bracket and tugged to the right. A low grating noise came from the opposite wall. The thick wall slid back, releasing a long-held breath of stale air.

The voices grew louder.

Kath fumbled in her pocket for the candle stub and held it up to the torch. Shielding the small flame, she dashed into the secret passage and punched the raised octagon on the inner wall. The wall ground closed, sealing her into the subterranean passageways. She leaned against the inner wall, soaking up the cold solidness of the stone, relieved to have reached the secret ways.