Blood of War (49 page)

Disregarding the filth—he had servants to clean his clothing—he knelt and ran a finger around the edge, felt the smooth edge of the stone and the grit in the seam. About two thirds of the way around, his finger sank into the grout. He cocked his head and rose.

Opening himself to his source again, he concentrated on the stone. With a hollow grinding noise, the stone lifted and revealed a hole.

“Major,” he called, not looking away from the impenetrable darkness revealed. “Come here.”

Major Reowynn gasped when he saw what Thalor had found. Without waiting for instruction, Reowynn turned and barked several orders in quick succession.

Soon, Soldiers of God were swarming down the hole on a ladder brought hastily forth. And soon, Thalor became surprised by how many Soldiers fit down there.

Moments later, a sergeant appeared at the top of the ladder, his head poking up through the floor like a groundhog. He craned his neck until he caught sight of Major Reowynn.

“Sir, you'd better come down and see this.” Then he disappeared back down the hole.

After Reowynn disappeared behind the sergeant, Thalor decided he should see whatever it was. Gingerly, mincing his way, he made his way down the ladder. When his feet touched ground, he turned. And his mouth dropped open.

Flickering torchlight illuminated an earthen room that was large enough to accommodate a table with six chairs. Along one wall, several old crates and burlap sacks were stacked in haphazard fashion. Surprising enough, but what caught his attention was that he had counted forty Soldiers descending into the hole in the tavern floor before he decided to give up. Besides himself, only Reowynn and the sergeant, who had their heads bent together in close discussion, and two guards remained posted on either side of a tunnel that opened in the wall to his right.

Major Reowynn caught his eyes and stepped to his side.

“Sergeant Humkus tells me that tunnel goes on for quite some distance,” he said softly. “He reports that up ahead, there are several side tunnels. It would appear that this network of tunnels has been in construction for a very long time.”

“What is down there?”

“More rooms like this. Secret meeting places of sorts, I assume.”

“Have they found an end to these caves?”

“Not yet, my lord. But they have been searching only a short time.”

Thalor's mind was spinning. Several things were falling into place. Twin Town was unremarkable in every aspect. A grubby, dirty little port town, it was viewed largely as nothing more than a point of entry for trade ships sailing the Sun sea from the great empire to the south. Often, port cities were wealthy ones, like Grayson City a little farther south, living off the taxes and the trade brought in by ships, but Twin Town was not one of them. It was nothing more than a muddy, grubby checkpoint for goods and traders, wishing to avoid the heftier taxes charged in Grayson, who came and left as quickly as they could.

But Twin Town, only days away from the Abbey, straddled the Eastern Caravan Route. And it was only a few days to the South Caravan route that connected Grayson City to Oceanview on the western flank of the kingdom. Anyone based in this small, unremarkable town had, given a little time, unlimited and direct access to any point in the kingdom via the main highways, as well as the empire of Kashya by both road and sea.

With dawning horror, Thalor understood something else. This town should have thrived. It should have been wealthy. Why was it not? Why was it a forgettable dump, a miserable backwater, even though it was in such an advantageous location?

Salosians. They were adept at hiding, had been doing so, in fact, for generations. Could it be? Could this entire town be a staging area for the Salosian infestation, an access gate into the rest of the kingdom, and the world? Had it been kept intentionally poor to keep unwanted attention away? Had the damned Salosians spent the last two thousand years hiding right out in the open under everyone's noses?

As it all fell into place, he gripped Major Reowynn's tabard in one claw-like hand, and spun the Major to face him.

“Bring the army in. The whole lot of them. Bring them into town.
Now.
I want this entire garbage heap locked down in an hour. I don't want even a fly to get in or out without my knowledge.

“And I want every single local arrested and questioned for heresy.”

His mind spinning with realizations and implications, he clambered back up the rickety steps of the ladder, calling as he did for his horse. Much as it galled, Maten was still his superior and the old man would need to be made aware of this.

The Salosians had penetrated farther than anyone in the prelacy could ever have conceived, but forewarned was forearmed. Thalor would see them burn.

Chapter 42

The day was cold, crisp, carrying the scent of the slumbering earth on the wind. The sun cast a brilliant glow that illuminated the land with crystalline clarity. Except for the tramping of boots and hooves, all was silent; there was a sense of breath held in waiting.

For weeks, the king's army had marched north at a brutal pace. If King Threimes had forced this pace at any other time, for any other reason, he knew reports of men flagging, falling between one step and the next, exhausted, would have been rampant. But, to a man, they'd heard of the atrocity visited upon Killhern. They had all heard of the butchery, the massacre. There were no reports of men faltering in their stride. There was only a sea of grimly determined faces.

And each day that passed deepened the determination. For, with each day that passed with neither hide nor hair of the murderous army that had caused the atrocity to be found, each and every soul strove a little harder to suppress the unease that grew. With no knowledge of where such a large force could have disappeared to, Threimes's army began nervously glancing behind as though expecting ambush at any moment.

Ignoring the advice of his retinue, Threimes rode in the van. Thus it was that he was one of the first to spy the devastation that was all that remained of Killhern. The feeling of anticipation was released as all who saw the ruins gasped. Many fell to their knees and wept openly. Some wailed their grief to the sky.

Killhern City, jewel of the north, first defense against the hordes of Dakariin, was no longer recognizable. The duke's tower that had once sparklingly proclaimed the wealth and power of this great city, that had proudly reached to the sky in hope, now grasped brokenly, desperately.

At its base, spread for a mile in all directions, the city was a charred wasteland. The walls were little more than crumbled rock which afforded a view of what lay beyond. Charred rubble where once stood homes and shops, ruined gardens of bare, twisted trees where children had romped and amorous couples had strolled hand in hand.

Threimes sat his horse, fighting to retain his stone-face expression, fighting to keep his composure. He surveyed the scene ahead, purposely staring unflinchingly to engrave the image of his dead city firmly in his mind.

He would find the Dakariin savages. He would find them and make them pay.

As if he did not have enough to worry him, no one had heard a word from the Sharong garrison in weeks. He had commanded Thiessen to pass orders that Sharong was to march. The last he had heard was that the garrison had set out for Killhern. And now, seeing Killhern ahead, he knew there was not a living soul anywhere within what remained of the walls. The Sharong garrison was not there.

With a few quick words to Thiessen, scouts were dispatched to travel the north road back toward Sharong in hopes of finding something, anything. Then he signaled and the army broke formation, tents and bedrolls coming out of their packs while pits were dug for fires. Meanwhile, his detachment of bodyguards surrounded him as he made his way toward his jewel in the north.

Past what had once been the city's south gates, Threimes tried not to sick up. As bad as seeing this desolation had been from a mile and more away, seeing it this close was much worse. For one thing, the extent of the damage was more visible. For another, the bodies were not visible from a mile away.

A little over a month had passed since the Dakariin had fallen on this town like a pack of hyenas. Bone glistened wetly through corrupt, black flesh of the remains scattered through the streets like garbage. Rictus grins laughed macabre jokes at Threimes. Open, unseeing eyes, shouted recriminations.

He kept a tight rein on his emotions as he continued forward; he needed a clear head. His guards kept a close watch on every avenue and alley and building. Threimes tried very hard to not look too closely at the heaping piles that spilled from the mouths of the alleys.

They marched on slowly, like a funeral procession, toward the duke's palace, passing horror after horror. The scent of death, light and ignorable when they passed the crumbled wall, now hung heavy and cloying, tainting the air. Burnt timbers rose from the ashes of ruined buildings like skeletal fingers. The twisted dead lay blackened and bloated, mocking him. Every way he looked was illuminated to stark clarity by the vengeful sun. It was hard to ignore the eyeless stares that were wreathed in a halo of mid afternoon light.

After an eternity, they reached the duke's compound. The gate was shattered. The wall was more rubble sprayed onto lawns that had been lush and well-tended when last Threimes was here but now were weed-choked mud. The palace itself was like a skull bleached in the sun. Empty windows stared at him, each one broken and shadowed. The main entrance gaped like a beast's maw awaiting its next victim.

A handful of his guards broke away and disappeared into the once splendid palace. Threimes waited, felt the bite of tension in his shoulders begin to grow with each passing moment. He blinked.

Dakariin, dozens, hundreds, of them vomited forth from the maw. Greasy hair, burning eyes, gnashing teeth; serrated swords held overhead, they shrieked their war cries in their guttural language. Threimes's breath caught in his throat. He tried to shout the alarm. He blinked.

The courtyard was empty save for his company. Exhaustion, he told himself. Exhaustion and unbearable tension and sick sorrow. He shook his head and wiped stinging sweat from his eyes. Odd, he thought, that he should be sweating on such a cool autumn day. In the distance he heard the raucous call of a vulture.

When his men reappeared through the broken doors, their swords were in their sheaths. Their faces were ashen, their eyes wide and sick. Captain Viks approached and made his report.

“Your Majesty,” he said. His heavy tone was as telling as the nervous tic in his left eye. He was a man with many years of service. He had seen too much in his long career. Threimes had the distinct impression that none of it had prepared the captain for what he saw in the palace. “Only the dead are in residence.”

Threimes sighed deeply, closing his eyes. “Any sign of the duke?”

“No, Sire. We searched, as you commanded, behind the duke's throne. We found the bolt-hole that you told us of. The door is broken in but the tunnel leading beneath the palace is empty save for three dead Dakariin.”

Where was everyone? The duke missing, the Dakariin force missing; where in the name of the gods were they? He needed answers and he needed them now. He turned his horse and passed a weary eye over the incinerated remains of his jewel in the north. In the far distance beyond the city's limits, he saw the churned earth of the farm fields that had fed this city. And beyond that, the impenetrable looming presence of the Great Central Forest.

As much as he needed the duke's input, he needed to know where the Dakariin had gone more. His eyes lingered on the dark stain of trees to the north. He did not believe for even a heartbeat that the butchers had turned tail and fled for home. There was no sign of them on the northern route. There was no sign on the Caravan Route. His eyes narrowed as he continued to stare at the forest. There was no sign of them anywhere. Except...

Except maybe Threimes had made a terrible mistake. But it was impossible. They could never have navigated the dense trees and thick, clinging underbrush. Could they? Where else could they be? Where else?

With dawning horror, he knew where the Dakariin had gone. He raised a finger and pointed, his mouth dropping open but no sound emerged.

“Your Majesty?” General Thiessen asked, concern clouding his eyes.

But still no words came forth.

Theissen followed where he pointed. At first confused, he scanned the distance to the south and west. Then he gasped. With a burgeoning horror, Theissen turned back to Threimes.

“But that would be impossible. The Great Central Forest is impassable. It's too dense. It would take even a single skilled woodsman a week to travel just a few miles.”

Yes, and it should take an army far, far longer. But Threimes trembled nonetheless. For if he was right—and he felt to the very core of his icy bones that he was, that the savages were somehow managing to do the impossible—then while most of the kingdom's remaining combined might stared at a dead city far to the north, a horde of Dakariin were spilling south, completely undetected and undeterred, toward his largely undefended capital city.

Chapter 43

The tunnels had low ceilings, just barely high enough for a man of average height to walk without stooping. The uneven floor was treacherously slippery. Torches flared at distant intervals—almost useless pinpoints of light scattered in the vast warren of tunnels. A light haze of bitter pitch smoke burned Gaven's nostrils as he hurried, limping slightly. Footing in the tunnels was treacherous; he had twisted his ankle farther back on a jutting rock.

He caught up to Kurin and Mikal, cursing under his breath after negotiating a particularly nasty zag in the tunnel, one that nearly left him with a bloody nose.

Behind him, chasing him like wolves, came the echoes of the Soldiers of God who had found their way into the tunnel.

“How far?” Mikal growled.

“Maybe a few hundred paces. Maybe a little less.”

“And you're the last?”