The Flame Priest (The Silk & Steel Saga) (52 page)

The companions left autumn behind, climbing into winter, snowcapped peaks thrusting into a crystalline sky. The trail was just wide enough for a wagon, a forbidding passage of sheer drops, biting winds, and sweeping views. Jagged peaks stretched in a sinewy line from east to west, like the spine of a great dragon felled to earth. The Dragon Spines made a formidable barrier to the north, every crossing point held by the Octagon.

Kath swiveled in the saddle, surveying the long mountain trail, searching for a glimpse of
Blaine
. She couldn’t believe he’d abandoned her, but there was never any sign of the blonde-haired knight and his great blue sword. She bit back her disappointment and huddled beneath her dark-green cloak, a thin shield against the bitter cold.

The north wind howled through the mountains like a pack of ravenous wolves. The companions rode single-file up the switchbacks, the lead rider taking the brunt of the wind’s wrath. Kath was thankful for Sir Tyrone’s strong sword and
Duncan
’s bow, but she worried about Danya and the monk. The old man had a quarterstaff tied to his saddle, but Kath had never seen him use it. Danya was a worry of a different sort. She glanced back at the wolf-girl riding in the rear. Huddled beneath her cloak, Danya seemed shrunken and withdrawn, as if she hid within herself, cocooned in silence.

Kath nudged her roan stallion, pulling even with
Duncan
’s black gelding.

Dark hair tied back with a silver clasp, a black patch hiding his golden eye, he flashed her a brilliant smile. His smile warmed her like a fire against the winter wind, but his blue-eyed stare missed little. “You’re worried.”

She sighed. “Worried about
Blaine
, worried about Danya…and if truth be told, worried about Cragnoth Keep.”

He nodded. “
Blaine
will make his own decision. From what you’ve told me, he never really did. He followed you because he was ordered to, not because he chose to.”

His words held the truth but they carried a bitter sting.

“As to Danya,” he glanced back at the wolf-girl, “something happened in the gray veil, something that frightened her…or changed her. But whatever it is, she’s never mentioned turning back. She’s been a good traveling companion and the wolf has proved a boon.” He shrugged. “Give her time. She’ll tell us when she’s ready.”

“I suppose, but I can’t help worrying.”

“Spend your worries on things you can change.” He gestured up the trail. “How do you plan to get us past the knights of Cragnoth Keep?”

“Lionel is the best of my brothers, just five years my senior. He’s the only brother who ever understood me.” Kath gripped the hilt of the crystal dagger, her voice grim. “I thought I might tell him the truth.”

Duncan
raised an eyebrow. “The truth can be dangerous.”

“Yes, but I can’t think of anything else. And once we’re across the mountains it won’t matter.” She tugged on the leather thong around her neck, making sure her gargoyle was safe. “But something nags at me, as if we’re too late.”

“I know what you mean. It’s been too quiet for too long. In Wyeth and Tubor, and even in the Deep Green, we found signs of the Mordant’s passing but none since we crossed the
Snowmelt
River
.” He shook his head. “It seems an ill omen, like a doom waiting to fall.”

An eagle’s shrill cry beat against the mountains.

Kath’s gaze followed the cry, surprised to find a dozen eagles riding the wind, carving lazy spirals in the crystalline sky.

Duncan
said, “That’s odd.”

“Why?”

“Eagles are very territorial. They only congregate when there’s a rich food source.”

Kath surveyed the snowcapped peaks, bleak and forbidding. “What would draw them here?”

“Eagles haunt the heights, but a dozen is a riddle.”
Duncan
shrugged. “Seems you’ve run out of time to worry.”

The horses rounded the last switchback and Cragnoth Keep loomed overhead. Squat and ugly, the tower blocked the top of the pass, a blunt finger pointing toward the sky. Made of brute granite wrested from the mountains, the tower held a signal post at the crown and a tunneled passageway at the base. A crude design, the frozen keep was nothing to look at, but Kath knew it had a rich history. Legends said that a single knight could hold the tunneled passageway against all the hordes of the Mordant. She hoped to explore the tower before crossing into the north.

The horses plodded into the courtyard. A knight wrapped in a maroon cloak guarded the tunneled passageway. He clutched a spear and pulled the cord of a great bronze bell. The deep-throated clangor seemed to toll a warning instead of a greeting.

Kath slipped from the saddle and joined Sir Tyrone, stamping her feet for warmth.

The knight had long auburn hair and a crooked nose, a morning star belted to his side. His glance darted between the companions, finally settling on Sir Tyrone. “What’s your business here? And who are these others?”

The black knight kept to the agreed story. “Sir Tyrone, escorting three visitors to see Prince Lionel.”

“You’re here to see the prince?”

Sir Tyrone nodded.

The door to the tower banged open and three knights spilled into the courtyard. A barrel-chested knight with a great sword strapped to his back led the others. He surveyed the visitors and strode toward the companions, a smile on his face. “Tyrone, what brings you to the Crag?”

The black knight offered his hand in greeting. “Penross, I didn’t know you were posted here.”

“Been here a year now, a long frozen year.” His gaze kept slipping to Kath. “But what brings you to the frozen keep?”

“King’s business, we need to see the prince.”

“To see the prince, huh.” The knight stared at Kath, studying her face. Recognition dawned. “The Imp? The king’s daughter here at the Crag?”

There was something about the knight’s smile that Kath did not like. “Greetings, Sir Penross. I’m here to see my brother. Will you tell him we’ve arrived?”

“Afraid I can’t do that. The prince is ranging north of the Spines. He took a squad out five days ago. Don’t expect him back for another week.” The knight gave her a crooked smile. “You must be cold after the long ride. Get your horses settled in the stables and then come up to the great hall for a meal.” He barked an order to one of the other knights, “Dravin, tell the others we have visitors.”

A large blonde knight slipped back into the tower.

The wolf chose that moment to lope up the switchbacks, startling the horses. A frightened whinny echoed in the courtyard.

“A wolf!” Sir Penross drew his great sword.

The wolf barred his fangs, snarling at the threat.

Kath stepped between them. “He’s no danger.”

Danya dismounted, shouting, “Bryx, to me!”

Sir Penross growled, “What’s the meaning of this?”

Kath answered, “The wolf is with us. He’s tame.”

“A tame wolf?”

Danya hugged the wolf, ruffling his fur.

Sir Penross shook his head. “That beast’s not coming in the tower.”

Kath nodded. “Fine. He can bed down in the yard. Just tell your men to leave him alone and there won’t be any trouble.”

The barrel-chested knight sheathed his sword, but he kept his stare on the wolf. “Get your horses settled and I’ll show you up to the great room.” His voice dropped to a growl. “And I’ll expect no more nasty surprises.”

Kath let the snide comment go unanswered. She led her roan stallion to a narrow cleft carved in the side of the mountain, grateful for the warmth of the stable, but the stench was appalling. Crowded with horses, some two to a stall, the stable stank of old hay and sour dung. Kath took care where she stepped, shocked by the slovenliness of the stalls.

Sir Tyrone growled, “I’ve seen cleaner pig sties.” The black knight glanced at Kath, his voice apologetic. “Perhaps discipline is lax when the prince is away.”

Kath nodded, but the state of the stable did not speak well of her brother. She brushed her roan stallion and then went to help with the packhorse, surprised to find Zith grooming Danya’s mare. “Where’s Danya?”

The monk shrugged. “She wouldn’t come in.”

Worried about the girl and her wolf, Kath returned to the courtyard. She found Danya staring up into the sky, the wolf turning in nervous circles at her feet. “Danya, what is it?”

The girl did not reply.

The wolf issued a low-throated whine.

Kath gripped Danya’s arm. “What’s wrong?”

Danya stared into the sky as if spellbound, her voice thin and distant. “The eagles.”

A shiver raced down Kath’s spine. “What about the eagles?”

“They’ve come for the dead…so many dead.”

Kath gripped the girl, urgency in her grasp. “Who’s dead?”

Danya shook like a wolf emerging from a pond. She stared at Kath, her eyes going wide, a flush spreading across her face. “What?”

“You said something about the dead.”

“The dead?” Danya sounded confused. “I don’t know…” She glanced up at the eagles, her face wary. “I was just watching the eagles…watching the lazy circles.” She shrugged and stared at Kath, looking lost and frightened.

The wolf nuzzled Danya’s hand, whining for attention.

The other companions gathered around.

Kath wasn’t sure what to make of Danya’s strange behavior, but a warm fire and a tasty meal could not hurt. “Come on, you need a hot meal and we all need to get out of the cold.”

The ironbound door was unlocked, a cold wind following them into the tower. The big knight, Sir Penross, led them down a long corridor, and up a tight spiral staircase. The stone steps were worn deep with centuries of use, footprints of countless knights sworn to serve the Octagon.

The great hall took up the full width of the tower. Stone fireplaces at each end roared with welcome heat. Trestle tables ran the length of the room, clusters of knights sitting on the benches. A gray-haired steward roamed between the tables serving tankards of ale and steaming mugs of tea. Blazing heat and the tempting smell of meat stew drew the companions into the hall.

The conversation crashed to a halt. Twenty-two knights turned to stare. A mountain of a man wearing the silver surcoat of the Octagon slowly rose from the head table. He crossed the hall to greet them, a great axe strapped to his back.

Kath gasped, “Trask!”

The knight’s voice rumbled like grating boulders. “The daughter of the king.” He sketched a courtly bow, surprisingly graceful for his massive bulk, but his face held a sneer. “What brings the Imp to Cragnoth Keep?”

Sir Tyrone intervened, “The
princess
.”

Trask flicked a glance to the black knight. “As you will.” His gaze returned to Kath. “What brings the princess to the frozen keep?”

“I’ve come to see my brother.”

“So Dravin tells me.”
 
His dark eyes glittered in the torchlight. “Prince Lionel is ranging north of the Spines. Perhaps I can be of help?”

Kath couldn’t believe her brother would leave a brute like Trask in charge. “You?”

His dark gaze narrowed. “I hold the keep in the prince’s absence.” The seven-foot knight towered over her, a hulking menace, drilling her with his stare.

Kath held his gaze.

A log in the fireplace snapped, spitting a shower of sparks. The noise seemed to break the stalemate. Trask grinned. “You’ve had a long ride. Come and join us at the head table.” The big man turned without waiting for an answer and led the way to front of the hall. He settled in the center chair. The others scrambled to make room for Kath and her companions.

Kath’s gaze roamed the hall, realizing she knew only a handful of knights.

The steward set bowls of steaming stew in front of each of them, returning with mugs of tea and a platter of biscuits. The day-old biscuits were hard but the stew was rich with chunks of venison flavored with garlic and rosemary. After the long cold ride, the hearty stew was more welcoming than the knights’ reception.

Sir Tyrone plied the table with questions while they ate. “What tempted the prince down the mountains?”

Trask took a long pull from his tankard, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve. “Scouts reported sightings of the Mordant’s forces.” He shrugged. “The prince decided to give chase.”

“But the crag is a defensive post. Why would the prince risk men north of the mountains?”

Trask grinned. “Maybe the prince got tired of defense.”

Sir Tyrone asked, “Tired of defense?”

Trask banged his fist on the table and bellowed, “More ale!”

The elderly steward nearly jumped out of his skin. His tray-load of tankards crashed to the floor, spraying ale in all directions. The pale-faced steward bowed toward Trask, and then scurried to bring a fresh pitcher. His hand shook as he filled the knight’s tankard.