Silk And Steel: The Skeleton King Part 25

"How?"

"By rising tonight instead of tomorrow."

Brock's gaze narrowed. "You b.l.o.o.d.y schemer. You planned this all along...fis.h.i.+ng for a traitor among us."

Duncan met the other man's gaze. "There was always a chance one of the weaker men might break...but I did not expect it from the strong ones." His voice dropped to a hoa.r.s.e rasp. "I did not expect it from Bruce."

A grim silence settled over the tunnel.

Brock's voice was a low growl. "You shouldn't have saved that one."

Clovis murmured, "Perhaps he's dead, killed by Grack," but his words held no conviction.

Brock flexed his arms, cracking his knuckles. "If I find him alive, I'll break his bones for bread."

Duncan nodded. "Let justice be served. Either way, tonight we rise."

The big man grinned. "We'll take Grack as he climbs the ladder, smas.h.i.+ng his thick skull with his own mace."

"But don't tarry. The sooner you release the other prisoners, the better chance you'll have. Numbers are key."

Brock scowled. "You talk as if you won't be with us."

"I won't. I've thought of another surprise for our jailors."

"What?" Suspicion laced the big man's voice.

"I'll ride the bucket-chain to the surface and attack from there."

Brock stared, "The bucket chain!"

Clovis hissed. "You're mad! You don't even know what's up there!"

"He's right, cat-man," Brock glared, "You'll die before ever reaching the top."

Duncan said, "Has anyone ever tried?"

Brock looked at Clovis, but neither had an answer.

"Just as I thought. I'll take the risk."

Brock drilled him with his stare. "Why?"

"Because I know a young woman who'd council that surprise can turn the tide of any battle."

"A woman, eh?" Brock grinned. "Now I know why you're so stubborn to survive. Is she worth fighting for, cat-man?"

Duncan thought of Kath, his voice fervent. "More than worth it."

The big man barked a laugh. "Then we best get you free of this h.e.l.lhole."

Duncan lifted his hands, iron chains dangling from his wrists. "First the shackles."

A somber mood settled over the men. They all knew the price. Broken shackles ensured a cruel death at the hands of the torturers. Brock met his gaze. "Once your chains are struck there's no turning back."

Duncan shrugged. "Tell Grack I died in a cave-in."

"You're certain?"

Duncan nodded. "I'll need both hands to climb the bucket-chain." He knelt and stretched the shackles across a boulder. "Strike true."

The big man grunted, hefting the hammer while Clovis held the wedge between two links. It took five swings to break the iron.

The chain snapped, the sound echoing in the tunnel.

Duncan stretched his arms wide, savoring the freedom.

Clovis tore strips from his tunic and bound the loose chains to the outside of Duncan's forearms. "Clanking chains would betray you."

"Just so." He flexed his arms, adjusting the knots. "The shackles can serve as bracers. An armor of chains against our enemies." He grinned at the two men. "And so it begins. Strike hard and fast. Kill Grack and free the others. Time is our enemy and numbers our best hope." He offered his hand to each man. "We'll meet with our jailors crushed between us."

Brock thumped his shoulder. "Fight hard, cat-man."

Clovis gripped his arm. "The G.o.ds go with you."

"Keep your G.o.ds, I'll settle for luck." He took his leave of the two men and crawled back out the tunnel. Torchlight flickered along the main gallery, like fires lighting the halls of h.e.l.l. Hammer-blows pounded a rhythm of drudgery from the side tunnels, the others working to meet the quota. Duncan tucked the metal wedge in his belt, his only weapon, and moved along the gallery. The fearsome clatter and clang of the bucket-chain soon eclipsed the hammer blows. Duncan flashed a feral grin. His shackles were sundered, the die was cast, he was done being a slave.

31.

Katherine Raven-faced healers fluttered around Zith like birds to a cornfield, but Kath finally got a moment alone with the monk. Leaving her guards at the entrance, she sat cross-legged next to his pallet. Light from the glow crystal fell across his face. She stifled a gasp. Pale and wane, he looked one step away from the grave. His eyes were sunken pits, his cheeks hollow, his skin gray, the stump of his left arm swathed in bandages.

His eyes flashed open. "Not dead yet."

Startled, Kath jerked backward, but then she gave him a rueful grin. "I'm glad."

"Help me sit up."

Taking his arm, she helped him up, easing a rolled blanket between his back and the rough rock wall.

"Better."

His left arm was bandaged, just a stump, severed below the elbow. He looked lopsided, like a wounded bird, broken and unable to fly. "Are you well enough to talk?"

He quirked a grin, "It's all they'll let me do." His face sobered. He looked down at his lap, his right hand worrying the frayed edge of his blanket, his voice dropping to a hush. "I failed you."

"Failed how?"

"I wasn't fast enough, too old to wield a quarterstaff. And now I'm a cripple, a burden."

"No!" Kath shook her head, willing him to understand. "It was never your sword arm we needed." But he would not meet her gaze. She reached for his right hand, slowly turning his palm up to the light. The Seeing Eye glared back at them. "This is why we need you, now more than ever."

"Even a cripple?" His gaze burned into her, as if seeking the truth.

She met his stare. "More than ever."

His right hand grabbed her wrist, a surprisingly strong grip. "Swear you won't leave me behind." His stare drilled into her.

"By Valin, I swear."

Releasing her, he slumped back against the wall, a wash of relief flooding across his face. "For my son, you see." He stared at her though hooded eyes. "I can't let him down, can't let him be kept as a slave to a harlequin."

Another reason to stop the Mordant, she'd almost forgotten.

His gaze turned shrewd, a hint of color returning to his face. "Something troubles you. More than just an old man's missing arm." He studied her face. "Duncan?"

She gasped in surprise, a worry she'd kept locked in her heart. It was her turn to look away. "After the battle, he left to track down the survivors, making sure no word would reach the Mordant. I keep hoping he'll catch up to us." She shrugged. "The painted people have seen no sign of him."

"He's a fierce warrior. If anyone can survive the steppes, Duncan will."

Kath nodded, storing his words away like hope.

"And the others?"

"Blaine smolders over the loss of his sword." Puzzlement filled his face, so she hurried to explain. "The Painted Warriors found us in the steppes, laid low by the poison of the h.e.l.l hounds. They demanded Blaine's blue sword as the price of their aid."

The monk nodded. "So they value steel."

"And now Blaine resents the loss."

"And Danya?"

Kath chose her words with care. "The horror of the battlefield struck her hard. I don't think she ever expected it would be like that."

"So much power," his words held a touch of awe, "a Beastmaster unleashed." He flashed a wolfish grin. "The Mordant will not expect a Beastmaster on his doorstep."

"If she dares the power again."

"But she must! Every advantage is needed against the Mordant."

Kath shook her head, weariness. .h.i.tting her like a club. "So many musts, we are all burdened by them."

Zith reached out but this time there was sympathy in his touch. "Forgive me for prattling. You came with questions and I have not answered a single one."

"Time is running short. I need your help." She struggled to explain. "In three days the painted people will hold some type of conclave. I fear much will decided at this conclave yet their ways remain a mystery." Kath shook her head, trying to explain. "We're not treated as enemies, yet we're not trusted. We're permitted to roam the den, yet our weapons are not returned and guards shadow our every move." She lowered his voice to a whisper. "And we're always watched, always being judged, it's as if we must pa.s.s some test yet I don't know the rules." She stared at Zith, desperate for answers. "We need the painted people as allies. Yet I'm stymied how to do it."

He nodded, his face thoughtful. "Living in the shadow of the Mordant, they'd make formidable allies. And their desire for steel proves they're warriors."

"But how do we gain their trust? What do you know of them?"

"Little enough. They're an ancient people, forgotten by most of Erdhe. If the Kiralynn Order had anything to do with them, it was long ago." He tugged on his beard, a straggle of silver. "But I've gleaned a bit from their healers. They're a society of escaped slaves and runaway soldiers, so they know the cruelty of the Mordant more than most. And their freedom is hard won." His gaze sharpened. "p.r.i.c.kly with pride, you must tread lightly. You dare not break their customs or cross their taboos."

"Easier said than done." She stared at the floor, fingering the top of her boot, getting up the courage to tell him the rest. "They took all our weapons...including the crystal dagger."

"Nooo!" The word was a groan. "You must get it back or we have no chance of freeing my son."

"I know." She gave him a sideways glance, keeping her voice to a whisper. "A crystal dagger is a rare thing. Will they recognize it?"

He sagged back against the rock wall. "They might. The dagger has a lore of its own. But the G.o.ds meant it for your hand."

"But how do I get it back?" Her voice betrayed her desperation. "Should I ask for it, or just pretend it's another weapon?"

"If they learn what it is, then they might keep it for themselves. The Mordant is a fearsome enemy." His breath hissed in warning. "The amber pyramid?"

"I have it. And my gargoyle. They only took our weapons." She reached into her pocket, making sure the pyramid was safe. "Why do you fear for it so?"

He sighed. "There's so much you need to know." He shook his head. "So much you should have learned before ever leaving the monastery."

"That's why we have you."

Grat.i.tude flashed across this face. "Thank you. I just hope I know enough." Zith settled back against the wall, his voice falling into the pedantic rhythm she'd come to expect in the monastery. "The pyramid is a Quickner, very rare and very powerful. It creates and strengthens the bonds between a focus and the wielder. In essence, it quickens magic. But what makes it a higher power, is the way it spans all types of magic."

"Types of magic?"

He nodded. "The power of each focus follows a single element. Your gargoyle allows you to walk through stone, so your gargoyle is keyed to the element of earth. Since magic depends on a connection between the focus and the wielder, something in the earth calls to you, connects with your inner spirit, allowing you to awaken the magic of your gargoyle. So if you found other focuses, you'd most likely be able to wield the ones keyed to the element of earth. But with a Quickner, you should be able to wield any focus, keyed to any element."

Her breath caught.

"With a Quickner you might achieve the powers of the wizards of old."

Kath stared at the amber pyramid cupped in her palm, so much power in such a small thing.

"Never let the pyramid fall into the hands of the Mordant...or any other harlequin."

Kath nodded, clenching her fist. "So what are the other elements of magic? Fire, water, and air?"

Zith nodded. "Those and one more. The fifth and most powerful element."

"What?"

"Soul magic."

"Soul magic!" Kath hissed, making the hand sign against evil.