The Flame Priest (The Silk & Steel Saga) (54 page)

Halfway through the stone wall, Kath realized
Duncan
might be naked. The thought stole her concentration…and the stone began to claim her. Granite surrounded her with an immortal embrace. Panic seized her. Kath fought to control her magic, desperate to remain flesh, desperate to breathe. A roaring sound, like the beating of a thousand wings, surrounded her and then she was through. Kath staggered into the small cell, hungry for air, her heart pounding.

Bare arms and a warm chest caught her, pressing her against the wall, a knife held to her throat.

“Kath?”
Duncan
sheathed the knife but stayed close, keeping her pinned to the wall.

A quick glance proved he was only half naked. Muscles rippled across his chest, a line of dark hair disappearing beneath his belt. A blush heated her face.

“That’s quite an entrance.”

“There wasn’t any way to knock.” She tried to steady her breathing, tried to keep her gaze on his face…but it was hard to concentrate. “Check your bed.”

“My bed?” His voice held an odd quality, a hungry smile spreading across his sun-tanned face.

Her blush deepened. “I found dried blood on mine…and a cut from a sword thrust.”

“Murder!”

She nodded. “The reason for all the lies. Danya had the truth of it. They murdered my brother in the depths of the night and threw his body off the mountainside. That’s why the eagles circle above…for the loyal dead.”

Duncan
sobered. “I’m sorry, Kath.”

A cold fist gripped her heart. She couldn’t think about her brother. “If they murdered once they’ll murder again.”

“Tonight?”

“I expect so.” The musk of his bare skin was distracting.

His face turned grim. “I counted twenty-two knights in the great hall…and there must be others standing guard…too many swords against us. Any chance some are still loyal to the Octagon?”

“Trask wouldn’t let them live.” She considered the odds, twenty-two swords trained by the Octagon…and then there was Trask, a knight with the strength of a
Taal
. She shuddered. “We’ll have to sneak out and fight only if we have to.”

He cursed and took a step back, releasing her. “My bows are with my saddle. And an archer’s not much good for close fighting.”

She stared at him, regretting the distance. “But you can see in the dark.”

“True.” He ripped off the leather patch, revealing his golden eye. “But how does that help?”

She met his mismatched gaze. “I don’t know, but we’ll need every advantage.”

He stared at her, a thread of tension running between them.
Duncan
closed the distance and leaned toward her, staring down, his gaze intense. For a moment, she thought he might kiss her…but instead he pressed his lips to her ear, his voice a husky whisper. “When we’ve won.” And then he did kiss her, long and deep. His arms encircled her, pulling her to his bare chest. Kath answered his kiss, feeling his heat, feeling his heartbeat, breathless for more.

Without warning, he stepped away. His gaze smoldered. “Too tempting.” He took a deep breath, a promise in his gaze. “When we’ve won.”

She leaned against the wall, hungry for his touch, but instead she just nodded. “Till then.”

He turned away, pulling on a black shirt, leather sliding over a ripple of muscles. “We need a plan.”

Kath took a deep breath, trying to keep her thoughts focused. “We sneak down to the stable, saddle the horses, and ride through the tunneled passage into the north.”

“They’ll have a guard posted in the hallway, maybe more if murder is their plan.”

She reached for one of her throwing axes. “I’ll take care of the guard, you get the others. Rouse Sir Tyrone first, his sword will be needed.”

“They’ll be knights guarding the tunneled pass-through.”

“I have an idea that might give us an advantage.” She moved toward the door.

He gripped her arm, lightning in his touch. “Stay safe.”

She gave him a quick kiss. “And you.”

They opened the door and peered out, grateful the hinges were silent. Torchlight danced along the curved walls, proving the hall was empty, quiet as a tomb. Kath nodded to
Duncan
and crept down the hallway, hugging the inside curve. Nearing the staircase, she paused to listen. The quiet told her there was only one guard. Taking a deep breath, she steeled her courage, telling herself that the knights were all false. Still, it was hard to fight against the Octagon…if she was wrong, it would be treason. Kath weighed the axe in her hand and then returned it to the shoulder harness. Needing to be sure, she stepped around the curve.

A knight slouched near the stairs, one hand resting on his sword hilt. Recognizing the droopy blonde mustache and the crooked nose, she decided to risk a question. “Sir Carfax, why?”

He gave her a squinty stare, his face wary. “Why what?”

She studied him, looking for telltale signs, her voice a whisper. “Why murder my brother?”

His eyes widened, his grip tightening on his sword hilt.

Cold certainty rushed through her. She reached for an axe. The blade whirled, a tumble of death.

The axe struck deep, embedding in his face with a wet thunk. He grunted and slumped to the floor.

Kath retrieved her axe from the bloody mess.
She’d killed a knight.
She stared down at him,
 
an ugly wound, an ugly way to die, but he’d killed her brother, a traitor to the maroon.

Duncan
joined her, a dark shadow slipping down the hallway. “The others are coming.” He nudged the body with his foot. “I’ll hide him in your cell.”

Kath nodded. “Get the others to the stable. I’ll clear the way.”

Steeling her resolve, she slipped down the stairs. Her doeskin boots whispered around the tight spiral, her heart hammering.

Footsteps came from below…one man. The knight climbed into sight. Sir Penross sneered at her, “What…”

She loosed her axe, a whirl of steel.

The blade took him in the throat. Blood sprayed across the stairwell. Kath lunged for the body, lowering it to the stairs. Bile threatened to choke her. She fought to keep her supper down. Tugging her axe free, she wiped it on his surcoat. Blood spattered the walls, too much blood, too much death.

Her companions joined her, footsteps on the stairs.
Duncan
shook his head. “No way to hide this one.”

Kath grimaced. “Time is against us. We need to hurry.” She led them down the last spiral and into the long corridor, pausing at the outer door. Turning to Danya, she whispered, “Can you reach the wolf? Can you tell me how many guards are out there?”

Danya nodded. “Bryx is easy to reach.” Her eyes glazed, as if in a trance…and then she was back, her brown gaze clear. “There’s only one. Bryx says he stands by the dark cave-mouth.”

“He must mean the tunneled passageway.” She looked to the others. “I’ll take care of the guard. The rest of you run for the stable and saddle the horses.”

Sir Tyrone said, “I’ll take the guard.”

“No.” Her voice brooked no argument. “My throwing axe is quicker, quieter. Anything else and the guard will ring the alarm bell.”

The black knight nodded, his face grim.

Kath turned to Danya. “Can Bryx watch the tower while we saddle the horses? To give warning if the other knights come?”

Danya nodded; her face pale. “Bryx can do that.”

“Good.” Kath hefted her axe, an assassin’s weapon. “I’ll go first.” Remembering her lessons with the Empty Knight, she stepped out into the frozen moonlight.

A lone knight stood huddled beneath his maroon cloak, guarding the tunneled passageway. The rope-pull of the warning bell dangled beside him, the greater threat.

This time she did not hesitate. Stepping toward the knight, she hurled the axe, a bright blade whirling in the night.

The knight lurched sideways.

The axe clanged against stone, a clean miss.

Kath stared, frozen in shock.

The knight lowered his spear and charged.

Kath stood her ground, reaching for the second axe. She hurled the second, but he deflected it with his spear. Stunned, she reached for her sword.

Something blurred at the edge of her vision. The wolf hurtled toward the knight, leaping for his throat. Man and beast fell to the cobbles. With a savage growl, the wolf tore the knight’s throat.

“Bryx to me.”

The wolf grinned at Kath. Shaking the blood from his fur, he trotted toward Danya.

Kath approached the body. His throat gaped open, torn and bloody. Luck or stupidity had kept him from ringing the alarm and now he was dead. Kath thought of her brother, food for eagles, and wished she’d killed him. She went in search of her axes. Pale moonlight showed a glimmer of steel at the base of the tower. Retrieving her axes, she raced for the stable.

The companions worked by lantern light, buckling saddles, tightening girths, and checking bridles. The horses whinnied in protest, milling in their stalls. Kath found the roan stallion and flung the saddle across his back, her fingers clumsy with the buckles. She elbowed the stallion, pulling the girth tight and led the horse out of the stall.

Zith struggled with the packhorse.

Duncan
strung his short bow.

Out in the courtyard, the wolf howled.

Danya yelled, “They’re coming.”

“We’re out of time!” A shiver of fear raced down Kath’s spine. “Mount up and ride for the passage.” She swung into the saddle and unsheathed her sword. “
Duncan
, open the gates in the passageway and get the others through. Sir Tyrone, stay with me. We’ll hold them off till the others get free.” She settled her shield on her left arm and spurred the stallion toward the mouth of the stable.

The stallion burst into the courtyard.

Knights spilled out of the tower, a chaos of swords. Kath charged, a war cry on her lips.
“Castlegard!”
The battle-trained stallion bulled into the closest knight, knocking him to the ground. A muffled scream came from beneath ironshod hooves.

The alarm bell rang, loud and urgent.

Kath slashed with her sword, a spray of blood in the moonlight.

The wolf snarled, an ambush of teeth.

Sir Tyrone fought beside her, his great sword a swath of silver.

Horses clattered through the courtyard.

A man’s scream split the night.

Kath parried a sword thrust close to her leg and took a blow on her shield. Pain thundered down her shield arm, but she fought through it. Parry and slash, she kept her horse moving, not letting the rogue knights surround her. The courtyard became a milling swirl of steel. Kath hacked at a mace, pulling the stallion into a tight turn to avoid a slashing sword. More knights spilled out of the tower…too many swords to fight. In danger of being surrounded, she slashed at a hand grabbing her leg and spurred the stallion away. “Retreat!” The stallion lashed out, hooves clearing a path. The wolf raced into the tunnel. She looked for her friends, but the others were gone. Kath galloped for the dark passageway, Sir Tyrone followed.

She heard Trask bellow, “Stop her!

A knight barred the tunnel.

Kath whispered to the stallion. The war-trained horse did not flinch.

The knight dodged away.

The stallion clattered into the narrow tunnel, a mouth of darkness. Kath rode low, hugging the stallion’s neck, asking for speed. The passage was just wide enough for single horse, a tunnel designed to choke an army. She raced for the opening on the far end, a keyhole of moonlight, the north side of the Dragon Spines.

Hoof beats from behind her came to a sudden stop.

She turned in the saddle to see Sir Tyrone dismount. “What are you doing?” She pulled on the stallion’s reins, slowing the horse.

The black knight grinned up at her. “A single knight can stop an army.” He saluted her with his great sword. “I’ll hold them here.”

“No! We stay together!”

“They’ll only follow. Better to fight them here.” He hit his horse with the flat of his blade. “Now ride! You’re not the only one to hear the voice of the gods.”

The warhorse crowded behind.

Sir Tyrone turned and settled into a fighting stance, guarding the tunneled passageway.

Kath watched him through a blur of tears, a valiant swirl of maroon. She knew he was right, but it hurt. “Valin guard you!” She thrummed her heels against the stallion and rode through the moonlit keyhole…galloping into the north.

Tyrone stood in the center of the long passageway, claiming the tower as his ally. Two hundred years of honor besmirched by traitors…but the legends of Cragnoth Keep said one knight could stand against an army. Long and narrow, the tunneled passageway was designed to choke an army, to stop the hordes of the Mordant. Relying on the strength of legends, he’d turn the keep’s defenses against the false knights, giving Kath and the others a chance to escape.

Ever since the god’s voice on the Isle of Souls, he’d known this day would come, a last chance for glory. Raising his great sword in a final salute, he yelled, “For Valin and the Octagon.” His battle cry echoed down the passageway, as if legions of knights stood at his shoulder. Tyrone settled into a fighting stance, his great sword poised to strike.

The enemy did not waste time. Hoofbeats echoed down the long narrow passage. The false knight urged his horse to a gallop, brandishing a sword but not a lance. Sir Tyrone smiled…and waited, studying the warhorse as it loomed large. Ironshod hoofbeats rang like rolling thunder. The horse listed to the right. Tyrone stepped to the left and knelt, his great sword slashing at the horse’s knees.

The horse tumbled in a spray of blood, throwing the knight.

A squeal of terror echoed down the passageway.

Tyrone scrambled to his feet and stepped past the struggling horse, avoiding the slashing hooves. A quick sword thrust through the gorget finished the false knight. Wrenching his sword free, he waited, using the dying horse as a bulwark.

The narrow passage stank of blood and death…a trap with teeth.

Warhorses balked at the tunnel’s mouth. Rearing in fear, they refused to enter. The knights came at him on foot.

He waited; forcing his enemies to step around the dying horse. His patience was rewarded. As they dodged flailing hooves, he caught them off balance, his great sword slipping through their guard, quick and keen. The traitors’ screams mingled with the horse’s dying squeals, but the enemy kept coming. The living tripped on the dead. Bodies of his enemies formed a barrier, choking the passage. The narrow tunnel became a nightmare clogged with death.

The traitors proved relentless. They rushed him two at a time, forcing him back, gaining room to fight. Steel met steel with a ferocious clang. He parried their attacks and answered with his own. The fight became a blur. His sword grew heavy; his arms began to ache. Sweat stung his eyes. Tyrone staggered under a vicious blow but somehow found the strength to fight back. Every man he defeated was replaced with another, no rest for his sword. His strength waned; his breath grew ragged. Cuts slashed his arms and legs. Pain becoming part of the fight, but he refused to give up.

Tyrone retreated backwards, trying to buy more time. Every stroke was an effort. He hoped Kath and the others were well away. He prayed to Valin for the strength to fight…he prayed to be equal to the legend.