The Skeleton King (The Silk & Steel Saga) (22 page)

Her anger boiled over. “
No!
A knight is
honor
.” She jabbed the maroon octagon emblazoned on his
surcoat. “
You
are
honor
, never forget that.” She glared up at
him. “And you are sworn to me. I’ll not have you risk your life needlessly.”

He stared at her, wide-eyed, caught
in an ambush of words.

“But you still want your sword.”

“Yes.” His mouth hardened to a
stubborn slash.

“Then go and talk to them. Time is
running out.” She waved him toward the exit. “See what you can learn…but
don’t
pick a fight.”

He grabbed his maroon cloak,
twirled it around his shoulders and then left, ducking through the exit without
looking back.

Weary from arguing, she threw
herself on her bedroll. Her frustration gradually subsided and she found
herself running her hand through the bedroll’s thick fleece. Sheep seemed to be
the main staple of the painted people. The evidence was everywhere, from
sheepskin bedrolls, jerkins, and cloaks, to haunches of lamb for supper, and
chunks of mutton in the midday stew. The painted people depended on sheep. It
was the one obvious truth about their captors…while so much else remained a
riddle.

Closing her eyes, Kath sank back
into the fleece, weary of so many problems. Reaching beneath her jerkin, she
gripped the silver warrior’s ring and thought about Duncan, praying for Valin to keep him safe. She
missed him so much, she ached.

A wet rasp licked her face.

Startled, Kath sat up.

Green eyes stared at back her, a
soft whine.
 

“What do you want, Bryx?” Sometimes
the wolf seemed half human.

He chuffed and whined and slunk
back to Danya, his tail between his legs. Settling next to the brown-haired
girl, he stared back at Kath, reproach in his gaze.

Kath sighed, another problem. She’d
tried talking with Danya, tried pulling the wolf-girl out of her grief, but
words seemed to have little effect. The brown-haired girl remained listless,
eating little and saying less, clutching the wolf as she rocked back and forth,
locked within her own remorse. Still, the wolf was right, Kath could not give
up.

Her bedroll was too far away. She
moved it closer, sitting across from Danya with the wolf lying between them.
Reaching out, she stroked the thick, dark fur. The wolf rumbled in pleasure,
rolling onto his side.

“Danya, talk with me.” Kath kept
her voice soft, cajoling, inviting a response. “You grieve too much.” She shook
her head, recalling the horrors of the battlefield. “You saved us all. If not
for you, we’d all be dead, or worse, prisoners of the Mordant.”

But the brown-haired girl made no
reply. She sat hugging the wolf, her face buried in the black fur.

Kath leaned forward, trying to
shatter the wall of silence. “Battle
is simple, kill or be killed. The Mordant’s soldiers would have taken our
heads. You waste your grief on them.”

“No.” The word was little more than
a moan.

Kath held her breath, hoping for
more.

“You don’t understand.” Danya
raised her head, her face streaked with tears. “It’s not the soldiers…but the
horses.”

Kath rocked backwards, struck with
understanding.

Danya sat up, her gaze haunted, her
voice a harsh whisper. “I
tortured
those horses.”

Kath scrambled for a reply. “You
commanded them to attack. You saved our lives.”

“I did far worse than that.” Tears
spilled down her face. “I know wolves.” Her voice dropped to a guilty whisper.
“I put wolves in their minds.”

The terrible carnage finally made
sense, horses screaming, stomping their riders into puddles of gore. Kath shook
her head, dispelling the horror. Somehow she had to save Danya from an abyss of
guilt. She gripped the wolf-girls hands, conviction in her voice. “We need you,
Danya.” The girl tried to pull away but Kath held tight. “Some larger destiny
is at work here. We all have a role to play. Can’t you feel it?”

“What I did was unforgivable! And
you want me to do more? Use my god-cursed magic to torture more animals?” Her
voice flooded with scorn. “Animals feel too. They love life. They know pain and
death.” Danya pulled away, her face full of outrage. Ripping her shirtsleeve, she
revealed the silver cuff. “This
thing
is a curse…yet I cannot bring myself to be rid of it!”

“Not a curse.” Kath shook her head,
there had to be a way to use the magic and still walk in the Light. “Perhaps
there is another way.”

“What do you mean?”

Kath stared at Bryx, struggling to
put her thoughts into words. “The wolf helps…he’s a true companion, one of us.”

“So?”

“So…instead of commanding, ask.”

Danya shook her head. “I don’t
understand.”

“You’ve seen what the Mordant does
to horses, riding them till they drop, leaving them for dead without even
removing the saddle.”

Danya nodded, her face pale.

“And the gore hounds, a twisted
abomination of man and animal.”

The wolf bared his teeth, a
menacing growl.

“The Mordant has no compassion for
men or animals, an ancient evil that must be stopped.

“Yes.”

“Then show the animals what we
fight against and
ask
them for help. Ask them to fight on our side.”

“Ask?” Danya hugged the wolf. “And
if they say no?”

Kath hesitated, but no matter the
risks, there could be only one reply. “Then the answer is no.” She saw the
hesitation in the other girl’s eyes. “I swear by my sword.”

Danya hugged the wolf, her face thoughtful.
“It might work.” She wiped her eyes, a look of reason replacing her grief. “I
could ask.”

Relief washed through Kath. She
gripped Danya’s arm. “We truly need you.”

The wolf-girl blushed and looked
away.

“Come, you must be hungry.” She
pulled the other girl to her feet, refusing to let her pine alone in the cave.
“Let’s see if there’s any supper left in the cook pots.”

The wolf chuffed.

“I’ll wager a gold, it’s lamb
again.”

Danya ruffled the wolf’s fur. “Bryx
likes lamb.”

Kath turned, shocked to find a
woman standing in the shadows of the entranceway.

“May I enter?”

Kath nodded, wondering how much
she’d overheard.

Thera stepped from the shadows, the
tattooed raven staring from her face like a dark omen. The healer smiled,
dispelling the grim illusion. “I bring word of your companion. The fever has
broken, the old man will live.”

Kath sighed in relief. “Thank
Valin.”

“I bring other news as well. The
Ancestor will meet with you in three days time. She’s called for a conclave in
the Great Hall.” A raven peered from the healer’s face, keen eyes surrounded by
dark feathers. “At conclave we will learn the fate of the man who walked among
the lions, the man who died in Castlegard.” Her dark gaze drilled into Kath. “You’ll
tell his tale and then much will be decided.” She turned, her back stiff with
silence. “Come, I will take you to your companion.”

A conclave…
the words had the
ring of a trial, or a judgment. Kath followed the healer, needing to speak to
Zith. Perhaps the monk knew the key to the painted people…or perhaps the answer
lay in Castlegard, with a tattooed man two years dead. Either way, she still
had a riddle to solve…the sands of time were running out.
 

27

Duncan

Duncan waited with the others for a turn at
the ladder. Bruce went first, scrambling up the rungs as if death tugged at his
heels. One at a time, they scaled the mineshaft, white-knuckles grasping the
rungs, refusing to look down. Duncan
waited till last. He was accustomed to heights, having climbed the great trees
as a child, but this was different. The climb seemed to stretch to forever,
testing muscles already weary with strain. Relief washed through him when he
finally reached the top.

Grack waited at the door to the
sleeping chamber, thumbing a string of knots as each prisoner passed. Duncan wondered if the big Taal
even knew how to count, but he kept his thoughts to himself. A boy accepted his
torch, snuffing it in a bucket of sand. Duncan
followed the others into the cell. The men shuffled forward, keeping their backs
to the rough-hewn walls. Hungry and parched, their stares fixed on the two
buckets waiting beneath the trapdoor. One held a slop of brown-colored stew,
while the other brimmed with murky water, their second meal of a long hard day.
Duncan breathed
deep, hoping to catch the stew’s scent, but the combined reek of sweat and piss
overpowered the stale air. Anger thrummed through him, how he hated the mine.

The iron door clanged shut.

The men kept their heads lowered.

Grack strode into the torchlight,
his sheer bulk enforcing a brooding menace. “One’s missing.” His voice was a
low growl, his stare full of suspicion. He poked a thick finger at Brock. “You,
explain.”

“A cave-in.” Brock kept his head
bowed. “Trell died in a cave-in.”

“One less maggot to tend.” Grack
prowled the chamber. “One less maggot to feed,” his spiked mace whistled though
the air, “one less maggot to work.” The mace swung close to Martin’s head, but
the skinny man knew to keep still. Grack scowled, “One less man to work but the
quota stays the same.” The big Taal came to a stop
next to the bucket of stew, his booted foot poised to kick.

The men gasped, a strangled sound.

Grack laughed. “Meet the quota or
go hungry.” He kicked the bucket, just a light tap, but the stew slopped over
the side, forming a small puddle.

A few men, the skinniest ones,
whined and trembled, leaning toward the spill…but discipline held.

Grack scowled, disappointment in
his voice. “All right, feed the maggots.”

The boys leaped to obey, circling
the chamber with the two buckets.

Grack pulled Clovis from the line. “You get to eat the
spill. Nothing’s ever wasted in the Pit.” The Taal
laughed like crush of boulder. “On your knees, maggot. I want to see you use
your tongue.”

Clovis knelt. Keeping his gaze on Grack, be
bent forward, lapping the spilled stew from the floor. Duncan glowered, hating to see his friend
debased, but there was nothing he could do.

The boys made the rounds, doling
one bowl of stew and one cup of water to each man. Clovis finished the spill, scrambling to his
feet in time to get the last serving. Grack scowled but said nothing. Ravenous,
the men ate standing, slurping down their supper. Duncan got lucky, two greasy lumps floating
in his stew. Tough and stringy, the meaty lumps tasted like salted pork. Duncan ate them, despite
his suspicions. He licked the bowl clean and then gulped his one cup of water,
thirsty for more.

Empty cups and bowls clattered into
the leather sack. With the meal over, the three boys scampered back up the
ladder. Grack prowled the chamber, swinging his mace in a deadly arc. “Sleep
well, maggots, for tomorrow’s another day in hell.” Laughing, he hooked the
mace on his belt and then struggled one-handed up the ladder.

The ladder disappeared, yanked from
above. A heavy metal grate clanged shut. A key turned in the lock and the
shadow of the big Taal moved away. Lantern
light bled through the grate, casting a checkered pattern on the rock floor,
the only light in the chamber.

Three men lunged forward, fighting
to lick the floor where the stew had spilt, desperate for anything Clovis might have missed.

Duncan looked away.

The rest of the men claimed their
lumps of straw for the night. The choicest spots were farthest from the
piss-buckets. Duncan
sat halfway along one wall, staring up at the grate, watching for shadows. A
few men talked in quiet murmurs, but most succumbed to exhaustion, snoring on
their pallets.

Brock rose from his pallet and
stood over Duncan.
“Seth, take my place.”

Seth grunted. “What’s a matter? You
don’t like yer own lice?” A few men sniggered, but Seth moved to Brock’s pallet
at the far end of the chamber.

Brock settled to the floor, sitting
with his back against the wall. “You had something to say, cat-man?”

Duncan kept his voice a low whisper. “Fifty-seven
against one.”
 

Brock shook his head. “Yeah, but
that one’s a vicious-mother of a Taal.”

“A
one
-handed Taal.”

Brock just stared.

“We could take a one-handed Taal.” Duncan
lowered his voice. “Wouldn’t you like to see him dead?”

Brock grunted, his fists clenched.

“We take him when he’s halfway up the
ladder.”

“And then what?”

“We release the other prisoners,
take the mine and then the pit.”

“Just like that?” Brock shook his
head. “You’re a crazy bastard.”

“You’d rather die in the mines?”
When Brock did not reply, Duncan
pressed his argument. “From what I saw of the pit, I figure we have the numbers
all the way…but only if we work together. It’ll take all of us to succeed.”

“It will never work.”

“If we don’t try, then we all die.”

Brock shook his head. “We’d have a
better chance of finding a tit on a bull.”

“But it’s a chance, no matter how
slim. I’ll take a chance over certain death any day.”
 

Brock grinned. “I like you,
cat-man. I like the way you think.” He nudged the man next to him. “Wake the others,
pass the word.” Men snorted awake, nudged by their neighbors. Brock got to his
feet, his voice a command. “Hal and Feldon, check the grate.”

Hal grumbled and complained, but he
knelt below the grate while Feldon climbed on top. The giant stood with the
skinny man perched on his shoulders. Feldon grasped the grate and peered
through the bars. “No one above.”

“Good, keep watch.” Brock raised
his voice, claiming the men’s attention. “The cat-man has something to say.”

Duncan rose and stood in the checkered
torchlight, letting the men see his face. He turned slowly, surveying each man,
and then he stopped and spoke, putting steel in his voice. “Fifty-seven against
one.”
 

A few men swore. Some looked away
while others grumbled. “Not a chance.”

“Certain death.”

“No chance in hell.”

Duncan spoke over them. “And when Grack kicks
the bucket so there’s no food for any of us…what then?”

Anger rippled through the men.

“This morning there were
fifty-eight of us. Now we’re fifty-seven.” Duncan’s stare circled the chamber. “Death
stalks us all.” Raising his left forearm, he pointed at the hated brand. “We’re
like cattle marked for slaughter. Death brands our skin. If we don’t fight, the
mine will slay us all.” His voice hardened. “How will you die?” He turned and
pointed at Bredan. “Crushed in a rock fall?” He pointed at Seth, “A fall from
the ladder? Bashed by Grack’s mace? Death by hunger?” Someone coughed and his
finger pointed in their direction, “Death by rocklung.” Duncan turned and pointed at Bruce, “Or buried
alive.”
 

A harsh silence settled over the
chamber.

“We can wait for death to claim
us…or we can fight and take a chance at life.”

Most swore and muttered “no”, but a
few said, “How? Tell us how?”

“It starts after the evening meal.
We swarm Grack when he tries to climb the ladder. Grab the mace from his belt
and give the bastard a taste of his own weapon.”

A few men grinned. “The bloody Taal deserves it. Shove his head in the bloody piss bucket
and let him choke on it.”

Duncan hissed. “Listen to me!”

An uneasy silence held sway.

He met their stares. “This isn’t
about revenge, it’s about
escape
!”
More than a few nodded. “We kill the Taal and
then climb the ladder and release the others. Rumors say there are five other
cells, as many as three hundred prisoners.” He let the numbers sink in. “Three
hundred is an army. Enough to take the mine.”

“Yeah, but then what?”

“Then we take the pit.” He filled
his voice with confidence, trying to stem the avalanche of doubt. “We rouse the
people. If the people fight with us, then we’ll have the numbers to win. It’s
all about the numbers.”

A grim silence choked the chamber.

Bruce spoke, voicing the fears of
the others. “What about the soldiers? The Mordant has a whole army in the
citadel. We can’t fight trained soldiers. We’ll be crushed like glass beneath a
blacksmith’s hammer.”

“We’ll have the element of
surprise.” Voices started to protest, but Duncan
talked over them. “The brown cloud hides the pit from above. We take the pit
and then wait till nightfall. We fill the cages with our own men and capture
the cranes. Once we win the pit top, then we ferry up the rest.”

“But the Mordant’s army?”

“We don’t fight the army. We get
out of the pit and run. We head south, seeking a better life.”

Some men shook their heads in
disbelief; other gaped. Simeon, one of the hunchbacks said, “You’re preaching
doom, a death wish for us all.”

“Aye, you’ll get us all killed.”

“Or worse, tortured and then
beheaded.”

Clovis raised his voice above the others.
“We’re already dead.” He stared at the others. “The cat-man is offering us a
chance at life.”

A grim silence choked all argument,
like a hand snuffing a candle flame.

Duncan stared at the men, his voice a
whisper. “Like you, I want to live…but I’d rather die fighting than let the
mine have me.” He circled the chamber, pointing to the weak and the vulnerable.
“Feldon, you’re nothing but skin and bones, how much longer can you live
without a decent meal? Gren, how many times have you slipped on the ladder? And
Seth, you’re already coughing up blood, how much longer till you succumb to
rocklung?” He turned and stared at Bruce. “And Bruce, you’re a strong one yet you
should already be dead, buried alive, the worst fate of all.”

More than a few men made the hand
sign against evil.

“So instead of dying like
slaves…lets live like men. Let’s take a chance and fight. Who’s with me?”

Brock stood. “I am.”

Clovis was next. “I am.” Seth followed Clovis. A few became many,
swaying the reluctant, pulling them to their feet. Bruce was the last to stand.
“I guess I owe you my life.” A cheer rippled through the men, a pulse of pride
in their voices.

Duncan raised his hands, drawing their
attention. “And so it’s decided. We’ll fight as men.”

Brock stepped forward. “When?”

“Not tomorrow, but the day after.
Save your strength, working just hard enough to make the quota. We need to eat
in order to fight.” He stared at the men. “In two days, we fight for our lives,
for our freedom.”

The men murmured ascent, all
talking at once.

Brock silenced them. “We best get
some sleep. And act like nothing is planned. Don’t let Grack suspect anything.”

The men returned to their pallets,
but it took a while before the snoring started.

Duncan lay on his back, running the plans
through his mind. The odds were long, nigh on impossible, but he refused to die
a slow death in the mines. He’d find his way to freedom or die fighting, taking
his secret to the grave. Rolling on his side, he tried to still his mind.
Weariness claimed him. For the first time since his capture, he dreamt of green
trees, and crystal waterfalls…and Kath.