Silk And Steel: The Skeleton King Part 4

A crackling fire drew her back to the glade. Six fire-rings of blackened stones proved the glade was an old campground, a staging area for the knights before they sallied into the north. Kath found her companions gathered around the ring closest to the stream, bedrolls spread in a circle around the fire pit. Duncan had set his bedroll next to hers, the same discrete distance as always, but Kath blushed to see it. She ducked her head, hoping the others would not notice.

Busying herself with work, she went to gather kindling, but pinp.r.i.c.ks kept dancing down her spine. She whirled to find Duncan staring. The man was driving her to distraction, but she could not repress an answering grin.

Returning with an armful of kindling, she found Zith had a.s.sumed the role of cook, taking over from Sir Tyrone. Rabbits spitted on sticks sizzled above the flames. The smell made Kath's mouth water, sparking a sudden hunger.

They shared the rabbits, licking grease from their fingers. Bryx chuffed, gnawing on the bones. Sitting circled around the fire, they leaned on bedrolls, sipping mugs of tea, the warmth chasing away the evening chill. Kath smothered her impatience, wis.h.i.+ng the others would sleep, but Blaine nattered on about the forest of s.h.i.+elds and the heroes of old. Kath had never seen him so talkative. She studied the blond-haired knight and the wolf-girl, wondering if the attraction was mutual. Blaine was clearly smitten, showering the girl with attention, but Danya seemed distracted. Huddled beneath a cloak of brown wool, her hair bound in a long braid, she sat cross-legged, staring at something in her hand, a dreamy look on her face.

Magic spiked through Kath, creating an irresistible pull. Kath gasped, feeling a magic she'd thought long lost. She gripped her gargoyle, but it was not the source. A strange certainty ran through her. Sitting up, she stared at Danya, her voice hard with mistrust. "What's in your hand?"

The conversation stilled.

The wolf growled a low warning.

Danya blinked like an owl woken from sleep. "My hand?"

Kath stifled the urge to leap across the fire and take what was hers. "What are you holding?"

Understanding seemed to break across the wolf-girl's face. "Is it yours?" She opened her hand and held it out. A small amber pyramid nestled on her open palm.

Kath gasped, fighting the urge to rip the focus from the girl's hand. "Where did you get that?"

Danya extended her hand. "If it is yours, then take it." Her voice fell to a hush. "I don't think I need it any more."

Kath circled the fire, her gaze locked on the amber pyramid. Her right hand gripped her sword hilt, unable to believe that Danya would give up the focus without a fight, but the brown-haired girl did not waiver, the amber pyramid offered on her open palm.

Kath s.n.a.t.c.hed the focus from her hand...and staggered backwards, as if released from a spell.

Duncan leaped to catch her, concern in his voice. "Are you well?"

Kath shuddered, released from the compulsion. Sinking onto her bedroll, she stared at the amber pyramid and then at the wolf-girl. "I'm sorry." She shook her head, struggling to understand. "I don't know what came over me." Clenching her fist, she held the pyramid tight. "I somehow knew you had this...and I had to have it back."

"The bond of the focus re-a.s.serts itself."

They all stared at Zith.

Wrapped in his midnight-blue robes, the monk tugged on his silver beard, his voice thoughtful. "A magical bond is created between the focus and the wielder. It usually displays as a compulsion to touch or fondle the focus, to always keep it near, to never let anyone else have it." He stared at Kath. "The bond called to you, demanding to be reclaimed."

Kath opened her fist and stared at the pyramid, disliking the compulsion, but unable to give up the small amber carving. "But why now? The pyramid has been missing since I woke from the gray s.p.a.ce." She stared across the fire at Danya, questions in her gaze. "I lost it in the Deep Green. Why didn't I sense it before?"

The wolf-girl nodded, her face pale. "I found it in my pocket when I woke from that awful nightmare." She s.h.i.+vered, her voice holding a note of apology. "I never knew it was yours."

Kath stared at Danya, relieved to hear the honesty in her voice. She turned to Zith, needing answers. "Why didn't I feel it before? Why now?"

The monk held up his hand, forestalling her questions. He turned to Danya, his voice full of soft inquiry. "Did you bond with the focus? Do you know its purpose?"

Kath held her breath. She'd carried the amber pyramid since the monastery but she'd never learned its secret.

Danya nodded, her face hesitant. "I think so."

"Can you tell us what it does?" The monk's voice was soothing, a gentle prod.

Danya lifted her left arm, slowly rolling back the sleeve to reveal a gleam of silver. An ornate silver cuff covered her arm from wrist to elbow, silhouettes of animals incised along its length. "It taught me how to use this."

The monk gasped but Kath's stare remained locked on Danya.

"Before, I could only talk to Bryx. Sometimes I'd catch a few stray thoughts from the horses, just bursts of emotions." Danya stared at the cuff, turning it so the firelight flashed along its silvery length. "But at Cragnoth Keep, I could feel the eagles. I knew why they circled overhead. I saw the dead as they did, bodies broken on the rocks, discarded carrion, food for eagles." She stared at Kath, her dark eyes begging for understanding. "And today, when you raced ahead, I felt the horses. I knew they ran for the joy, not fear, so I knew there was no need to follow, no need to rush and catch up."

Zith whispered, "A Beastmaster," his voice full of awe. "You've become a Beastmaster."

Kath said, "Why didn't you say something?"

Danya shrugged, her face flaring red. "I was so overwhelmed...I didn't know what to think." She shook her head, a bewildered look on her face. "At first I did not believe. And then I didn't know what to say." She s.h.i.+vered, a glimmer of fear in her dark brown eyes. "In the village where I grew up, those who consorted with beasts were hunted down and killed," her voice fell to a hush, "burned at the stake. I've had nightmares."

The wolf whined, pressing close to the girl, as if offering comfort.

"You're among friends." Kath stared at the dark-haired girl, willing her to hear the truth in her voice. "We'd risk our lives for you."

Blaine unsheathed his blue sword, his silver surcoat s.h.i.+mmering in the firelight. "By my sword, I swear to protect you."

Danya stared at Blaine and then back to Kath, a mixture of relief and grat.i.tude on her face. "I could not ask for better friends."

Duncan leaned toward the fire, his voice intense. "This proves we are all outcasts, each in our own way." His single cat-eye glowed golden in the firelight, a reflection of his mixed heritage. "Perhaps that is why we've been chosen for this task. Those who are overlooked may yet make the greatest difference."

The archer's words fell like a mantle across the five companions, binding them together, a promise and a geas.

The monk broke the silence. "The G.o.ds work in mysterious ways."

A s.h.i.+ver raced down Kath's back. "What do you mean?"

"More raw power sits around this fire than any dared hope for." Zith stared at Danya. "There has not been a true Beastmaster since before the War of Wizards." He turned his gaze to Kath. "And in addition to the crystal dagger, you now carry a Quickner."

Kath shook her head, confused.

"Danya's growing talent reveals the truth of the amber pyramid. Much more than a simple focus, it is a higher magic, long thought to be lost. A Quickner creates and strengthens the bonds between a focus and the wielder. In essence, it quickens magic." His face turned thoughtful. "If the Grand Master had known of the pyramid's power, he would not have let it leave the monastery." He gave Kath a penetrating stare, his voice earnest. "You can never let the pyramid fall into the hands of the Mordant...or any other harlequin."

Kath tightened her fist around the pyramid. "Why?"

"The Mordant h.o.a.rds magic."

His words brought back memories of her kidnapping, her ordeal in the woods.

"Given a Quickner, he could bond with every focus in his h.o.a.rd, achieving the powers of the wizards of old."

Duncan gasped, "By all the G.o.ds!"

A s.h.i.+ver of fear sliced through Kath. She opened her palm and stared at the amber pyramid, reluctant to lose it, but she said the words anyway. "Perhaps we should send it back to the monastery?"

Zith shook his head, pulling his midnight-blue robes close. "No. Sometimes magic seeks the wielder. The Quickner found its way to Danya, to waken her powers, and now it has found its way back to you." He stared at Kath, his face thoughtful. "The Quickner chose you for some purpose. We must trust in the G.o.ds...and in our own abilities."

Duncan's voice was hard. "The G.o.ds have a habit of being absent when they're most needed."

The monk nodded. "Just so. But more than coincidence is at work here."

Kath s.h.i.+vered, feeling the weight of prophecy...or the threat of doom. Sometimes it was hard to tell the difference. She stared at the amber pyramid, wondering that so much power could be contained in such a small thing. "But why did it leave me? And will it leave again?"

Zith had a strange look on his face but he did not answer. Kath wondered if he did not know...or if he did not want to say. She pressed for more. "Does it serve the Light or the Dark?"

"Magic is like a sword. It serves the one that wields it."

A stillness descended on the companions, each to their own thoughts.

Blaine broke the tension, throwing a log onto the fire, releasing a spray of sparks. "I'll take the first watch."

His words jarred Kath's thoughts back to Duncan. "No, I'll take first watch."

Blaine gave her a searching look.

Realizing her words were too eager, Kath scrambled for an excuse. Opening her palm, she revealed the amber pyramid. "I have much to think about."

Duncan said, "I'll take second watch."

Blaine shrugged. "As you wish."

Kath settled by the fire, watching the others slip into their bedrolls, their weapons close at hand. She clenched her fist around the amber pyramid, the words of the monk running through her mind. The Quickner seemed like a boon...and a perilous burden. She wondered if they dare take it into the north. Staring up at the sky, she searched for answers, but the stars were hidden. A full moon hung low in a cloud-choked sky, a single smudge of light against the dark. So dark the sky, it seemed an ill-omen.

Blankets rustled beside her. Kath felt Duncan's steadfast gaze, tugging her thoughts in a different direction. She met his mismatched stare, a rope of emotions tethered between them. He leaned towards her, his voice a low whisper, pitched for her alone. "Yours to decide."

A choice, he gave her a choice, the most precious gift of all. Warmth rushed through her, confirming the rightness of her choice. She held his mismatched stare, a flood of emotions in her voice. "Yes."

He smiled like a burst of suns.h.i.+ne at the dawn. "Then I best get some rest." He flashed her a rogue's grin before pulling his blankets close.

Kath's face flamed red. One glance and he brought her blood to a boil, a promise of the pleasure to come. She bit her lip, finding it hard to wait, but they could not leave till the others slept. Feeling the amber pyramid in her fist, she buried it in her deepest pocket. The G.o.ds alone knew what they'd face tomorrow, but for this one night, she would think of nothing but Duncan.

5.

The Knight Marshal Cold seeped into his bones, waking the pain of old war wounds, yet the marshal felt drawn to the tower. Wrapped in his maroon cloak, he paced a circuit around the signal platform, another man's great sword looming over his right shoulder. Before coming to Cragnoth Keep, he'd always carried a saber, his First Weapon, but he'd felt compelled to take up Sir Tyrone's blade, reclaiming it from the ashes. Kissed by fire, yet the blade was not blackened or dulled, as if the G.o.ds offered their blessing...as if the blade still held a greater purpose.

He shrugged his shoulders against the harness, unaccustomed to the weight. A cold wind battered his face, a bitter squall from the north. Storm clouds threatened to break but at least the gray sky was empty of eagles. All the dead were buried or burned, yet a pall still hung over the tower, a lingering stench of treachery.

Rusted hinges squealed in protest as the tower door opened. The marshal turned, hoping to see the king, but it was just a pair of squires laden with wood. Sir Tyrone's remains were gone, given honorable burial with the prince and his men. Swept clean of ash, the stone platform held layers of chopped wood carted up from the valley below, fuel awaiting the next signal fire. The squires hesitated when they saw him but the marshal waved them toward the platform. "Stack it tall and stack it well, lads, for the signal fire's sure to burn a warning ere winter's end."

Iron-shod hooves clattered into the courtyard below. He leaned over the parapet to spy the new arrivals. A party of six, their horses sweat-streaked from a hard ride. One in particular was familiar, Sir Lothar, the captain of the Salt Tower, the farthest to ride and the last to arrive for the king's council.

Keen to greet his old friend, the marshal abandoned the tower top. Descending the spiral stairs, he paused on the sixth level, but the king's door remained shut as it had since Lionel's burial. Except for morning arms practice, the king kept to himself, wrapped in his grief. But too much grief could erode a man's soul. The marshal hesitated, his hand raised to the door, but his resolve bled away. After all, what did he know of a father's loss?

He pa.s.sed the door and descended to the great hall. Like stepping from winter into summer, the hall brimmed with light and life. Heat blazed from both hearths, the smell of roast lamb teasing his hunger. Every table was crowded. Knights in maroon cloaks sat shoulder to shoulder on the long benches, sharing an ale and a jest. Gray-garbed squires scurried between tables, helping the stewards serve heaping platters of spit-roasted lamb. Laughter erupted from a far table, echoing a line from a bawdy joke.

The marshal forged a path between the benches, making note of names and faces. A man's choice of drinking partners often revealed his alliances. Even within the maroon, politics played a part.

Like a ripple in a pond, men raised their heads as he pa.s.sed, some nodding greetings while others stared at the great sword looming over his shoulder. The marshal kept his face closed, ignoring their stares. Command had its privileges and its burdens. His true friends were few, his responsibilities many. The marshal eavesdropped as he walked, regretting that he hadn't paid closer attention to Trask and his cronies.

Six knights trooped into the hall, a dusting of snow on their maroon cloaks. The marshal's gaze snapped to their captain, Sir Lothar, his weather-beaten face sporting a long mustache, his dark gaze full of questions. The marshal crossed the hall to greet the newcomers. "Well met." Sir Lothar clasped the marshal close, his voice a low whisper, "Are the rumors of treachery true?"

"Too true."

"And the king?"

"Locked in his grief."

They parted with a knowing look. The marshal said, "Come and share meat and mead with me. There is much to discuss." He led Lothar to the high table. Most of the chairs were already taken, filled with captains come to pay court to the king's three remaining sons. The princes dominated the table. Ulrich and G.o.dfrey sat in the center, supping on ale and lamb and roasted potatoes, while Prince Griffin sat sprawled at the far end, his hands curled around a tankard. All three were fierce warriors and able swordsman, captains in their own right, commanding strongholds along the Domain. Big blond men, well muscled and bold, the princes echoed the king's bearish physique. They struck an uncanny resemblance, especially Ulrich. The king's first-born wore scarred fighting leathers, the hilt of a blue steel sword looming over his right shoulder. For half a heartbeat the marshal hesitated, like staring into the past. Yet there was something missing, some indefinable quality that made the son a pale imitation of the father.

Ulrich broke the spell, his booted foot pus.h.i.+ng an empty chair toward the marshal. "So the one-eyed eagle comes down from his aerie. It seems even the knight marshal must eat."

A forced chuckle circled the high table, the sound of men currying favor.

The marshal shrugged his cloak over his shoulder, taking a seat across from the prince. Lothar took a chair next to the marshal.

Ulrich's stare fixed on the hilt of the marshal's great sword. "So it's true, you've taken up a dead man's blade?"

He didn't explain; he wasn't sure he understood it himself. "Good steel should never be wasted."

"But you've always been a saber man. Why take up the great sword when there's gray in your hair?"

So the princeling flexed his muscles, reaching for Lionel's place. The marshal flashed a predator's smile, rising to the challenge. "I wanted a sword with greater reach. You understand the value of reach?"

The prince never broke eye contact, but he eased back in his chair. "We've seen little enough of you these past few days, and even less of the king. What draws you to the tower top?"

"Snow, rock and more snow." Gesturing for a squire to bring a plate for himself and Lothar, the marshal tugged the leather gloves from his hands, tucking them into his belt. "It'll likely be a long winter."

Ulrich grinned, the right side of his mouth twisted by an old scar. "But if the signal towers hold true, it'll be a winter full of war. A chance for honor and glory, else why call the captains to council?"

Griffin, a leaner version of Ulrich, answered from the far end of the table. "For the sake of treachery, brother."

Ulrich scowled and G.o.dfrey shook his head but Griffin's hooded gaze never wavered. "And then there's the question of the crown."

Prince Griffin's words hung across the table like a battle axe.

The marshal glared, "Prince Lionel's grave is still fresh-turned."

Griffin held his gaze, "Yet it is the duty of king's to have an heir...and our lord father is ever fond of duty."

Ulrich intervened, wielding his birthright as the eldest. "Rest a.s.sured, brother, the king will name an heir, else why has he summoned us to council?"