Honor's Price (19 page)

*   *   *

The darkness was no longer absolute. The dim glow in the distance grew brighter even as the compulsion to hurry grew stronger. Kane struggled to break free of the invisible chains that held him in thrall before it was too late.

He focused all of his willpower on his feet, infusing the effort with only the smallest bit of the magic he carried in his bones. At best, its effect on slowing his forward progress was minimal. With his next attempt, he
used more of the power he'd spent a lifetime denying. His body jerked to a stumbling halt; he even managed a step or two backward. The small victory wouldn't last long. He had to use what time he had to the best advantage, beginning with sending Hob back to safety. There was no way to know what would happen to the gargoyle if Kane were to die at Keirthan's hands, but his best chance for survival was back in the shield.

“I'm sorry, Hob. I hope we both live to hunt together another day.”

He whispered the words to send Hob back. Nothing happened. He drew a ragged breath and tried again, this time saying the words with more force. A flash of light nearly blinded him, but when he opened his eyes, he was alone in the tunnel. “Thank you, Lady. Keep him safe for me.” The effort left him winded, but this was no time to stop for a rest. He retreated another few steps. Each time took less effort, which scared him almost as much as the compulsion to move forward. Either way, the dark magic was in control. The only difference was in its source. Was it Duke Keirthan's or from Kane's own bloodline?

How could he fight against himself?

That single moment of doubt snapped the tenuous thread of control he had. Once again he lurched forward, the light growing brighter with each step. As the blackness clouded his mind, he managed one last prayer.

My Lady, I have failed you. Forgive my weakness and tell Gideon this was not his fault. Keep my friends safe and let them find peace. And if you have any fondness for me at all, watch over Lady Theda in my stead.

I
fre had been strolling through the great hall, allowing his nobles the illusion that he was actually concerned about their petty problems. Would they never cease their endless prattle? Did they truly believe that he cared about the quality of this year's wool or if their peasants had enough to eat for the winter?

He realized Lord Bacca was waiting for an answer.

“Have my secretary make note of the problem. If there's a way we can assist you, he will let you know.”

Ifre walked away before the blustering idiot could do more than sputter, “Thank you, my lord.”

Ifre looked around the hall for some sign of Theda. She'd always been better at diplomacy than he was. Perhaps he'd been wrong to do so much to destroy her credibility in his court. Mayhap he should do what he could to restore it, so that she could shoulder the burden of dealing with all of these fools. He toyed with the idea, deciding he liked it. The hunger of his creation called to him all the time now. It took nearly all of his time and energy to keep it fed.

It would help if he could improve the quality of the sacrifices he made, but those with even a hint of magic in their blood were growing increasingly rare. That left him no choice but to increase the quantity of the blood sacrifices.

The sound of feminine voices broke through his dark thoughts. Ah, yes, Theda's ladies-in-waiting were walking down the stairs for their nightly appearance in his court.
Their mistress wouldn't be far behind. She guarded over her friends with such fierce determination.

He allowed it because as long as she protected them, they would remain virginal. Their very purity made them valuable to him as potential sacrifices. After all, the blackness craved innocence as much as it craved magic.

Theda finally appeared at the top of the stairs. But instead of immediately joining her charges, she paused to look around the room from above. From the frown on her face, she was looking for someone specific. Who would that be? It clearly wasn't her young companions, because her gaze swept right past them. Had someone in the court actually befriended her?

Before Ifre could discern her intended target, she realized he was watching. Instantly, her face resumed its usual blank expression, the mask she thought hid her anger and hatred. He smiled at her, enjoying the small shudder of revulsion she couldn't quite hide even from that distance.

He raised his hand to summon her to his side. She nodded in acknowledgment and started down the steps. When she noticed her ladies were waiting for her, she waved them away. The crowd ignored her as she walked toward him. That would have to change if she was going to be of more use to him.

Perhaps all it would take was banishing the next person who openly showed her disrespect. That would serve the dual purpose of improving Theda's standing within his court and at the same time reminding his courtiers that their favor in his eyes could change in a heartbeat.

“You have need of me, my lord?”

Before he could respond, the darkness in the labyrinth below his feet flared hot and hungry. The power behind the surge left Ifre dizzy and disoriented. He managed to grab onto Theda's shoulder for support as he fought to keep his balance.

“Ifre, are you all right?”

Her words echoed as if coming from the bottom of a
deep well. What kind of stupid question was that? Of course he wasn't all right. At the moment, he was blind and nearly deaf. What was happening down below?

He was dimly aware of being led to a nearby bench. When he felt it against the back of his knees, he gave up all pretense of standing and sank down onto its cushioned surface. As soon as he sat down, the floor settled under his feet. Slowly, he fought the darkness back under control until at last he could make sense of its babblings.

Someone had invaded his private sanctuary! Two people, actually, but the first one was Sergeant Markus, who was supposed to be there. He would never be stupid enough to bring anyone with him. So that meant he'd been careless enough to allow himself to be followed. The stupid bastard would pay for that.

But right now Ifre was more concerned about his uninvited guest. He needed to get down there. Now, before his weapon lost all control.

“Ifre, sip this wine.”

Theda shoved the drink into his hand and then actually guided it to his lips. He allowed it only because he didn't have the strength to do otherwise. Gradually, the darkness cleared, his vision returning. He blinked up at Theda and then looked around the silent room.

“I am fine,” he whispered, his voice little better than a rasp. After another sip of the wine, he tried again, this time his voice carrying across the room.

“I am fine. Quit staring and go about your business.”

Everyone except for Theda and the guardsmen who had rushed to protect him from the perceived attack immediately turned their backs and began talking among themselves. As long as he sat there, he appeared weak and vulnerable. He dredged up the strength to stand.

One of the younger guards remained in front of him, blocking his view of the room. “Shall we help you to your quarters, Sire, and fetch your physician?”

“No, and you may return to your posts.” He
reluctantly added, “Thank you for your concern. I will make sure Captain Kane learns of your prompt response.”

The guard bowed and withdrew, leaving only Theda to deal with. He glared up at her. “What are you staring at?”

The note of concern he'd thought he'd heard in her voice was clearly gone. No doubt it had been a momentary weakness on her part.

She took the wineglass he held out to her. “What would you have me do? You had indicated you wanted to speak to me.”

“That will have to wait. I have other business I need to see to right now.”

He pushed himself up to his feet and was relieved to find the dizziness was gone. “For now, entertain my guests.”

Normally, he would have taken a more circuitous route to the door leading down to the chambers below, but there was no time for subterfuge right now. The darkness could strike out at any second, once again leaving Ifre at its mercy.

His hands still trembled, so it took him several tries to get the key in the lock and open the door. He relocked it from the other side and then hurried down the passageway. He pulled up short of the entrance to the hall that housed the altar to school his expression into a blank mask similar to the one that Theda always wore around him. The hunger fed off Ifre's fear as well as anyone else's.

Taking one last deep breath, he started forward at a sedate pace. But as he walked, he prayed for strength. If he didn't somehow regain full control over his creation and soon, he might well be the next one to fall prey to its hunger.

*   *   *

Kane fought with everything he had, but still the dark compulsion dragged him forward until at last he stumbled out of the tunnel into a circular chamber with a high, vaulted ceiling. A movement over near a fire pit caught his attention briefly. It was Markus, not exactly a
surprise. Neither was the cart loaded with dead bodies. But even with his sword grasped tightly in his hand, Kane was helpless to do anything but stare at the man.

A tangle of black threads streamed across the room to wrap themselves around Kane, head to toe. Their relentless pull had Kane moving toward a raised platform at the near end of the chamber. The bloodstained altar was bad enough, but the true horror was the malevolence hovering above it. Its red eyes flared wide as it smiled down at him. In a voice that grated on the ear, it rasped, “Lord Kane, welcome. I've been waiting for you.”

A name arose out of the deepest recesses of Kane's long memory. He'd faced this enemy before, lending the strength of his inborn magic to his grandfather to bind the entity and send it back to the netherworlds where it belonged. He spat out the name as if it were poison.

“Damijan.”

The crimson eyes blinked and the smile widened. “Ah, yes. The name your people gave me. I've been trying to remember who I am. That is not my true name, but it will do.”

As Kane continued to struggle against the hold Damijan had on him, he hadn't forgotten about Markus. Right now, he was creeping across the stone floor, probably hoping to bolt for the passageway, while leaving the cart and its gruesome load behind. Coward. But before the sergeant had gone more than a few steps, Keirthan made his presence known. When had he entered the room?

“Sergeant Markus, stop where you are.”

He'd made it almost to the tunnel, but he stopped short of his goal.

“Come here.”

Keirthan's words were spoken softly yet carried across the room with amazing clarity. Still ignoring Kane, Markus circled around the fire pit to stand before Duke Keirthan. Damijan floated over to hover behind his master's shoulder.

“Yes, my lord?”

Keirthan gestured toward Kane, who remained frozen in place before the altar. “Would you care to explain to me how Captain Kane came to be here?”

Markus swallowed hard. “He must have followed me from the city, although I don't know how. I waited to leave the great hall until he was on duty. I never take the same route through town to the gate, and there's no way he could have followed my trail through the crowds.”

The duke's eyes narrowed. “And yet there he is. How, then, do you explain his presence here?”

Kane almost felt sorry for Markus. By leading him to Keirthan's chambers, the sergeant may have signed his own death warrant.

“I cannot explain it, Sire.”

The duke looked disgusted. “How did he act when he arrived?”

“He was moving strangely when he entered the room, as fighting a compulsion. I'm not sure he even realized I was here. At least not at first.”

“Interesting.” The duke started toward Kane, but paused to glance back at Markus. “Come here, and draw your weapon in case he decides to attack.”

Markus did as he was ordered. Both men stared at Kane as if he were a piece of sculpture, not a warrior who would gut them both the second he broke free of these invisible bonds.

Kane focused briefly on the altar and then turned to meet Markus's gaze. Judging from the rank fear pouring off the sergeant, Kane knew his own eyes burned with flickers of red, and the mark on his cheek was hot and pulsing. Markus looked a bit sick.

Keirthan, by way of contrast, couldn't have looked more pleased. He leaned in close to Kane to study the mark. “Ah, Captain, I see that you do indeed possess your grandfather's gift for mage craft. How delightful! I suspected you had misled me about your inheritance from your grandfather. Perhaps you've thought it was of little value, but that's about to change.”

The duke rubbed his hands together, looking more like a greedy child than the ruler of Agathia.

“You see, Kane, I was born with a lesser gift than either my father or my brother.” He paused to point in the direction of the dark cloud over the altar. “But as you can tell, I have honed my gift razor sharp and strengthened my power a thousandfold. Imagine what I will accomplish when I add your strength to my own.”

For the first time, Kane moved, shaking his head slowly from side to side. He growled, “I would die first.”

“True, you will die, but not at first and hopefully not for a long time. I'm guessing my creation will find the taste of your blood quite satisfying. What did you call him? Damijan?”

“His name means ‘death' and for good reason. And it will start with yours.”

The memory of Damijan's name dredged up more of Kane's lessons from his grandfather. He'd rejected them, but right now they might be his only chance of breaking free of Damijan's hold on him. Kane turned his fury back on himself, twisting it around the blackest memories from his past to grasp a blade of magic. Screaming words of power, he shattered his bonds, the black threads snapping back at Damijan. Next he brought his fist up to connect with Keirthan's cheek, sending him flying backward to bounce off the altar.

He came close to gutting Markus, but he was still moving more slowly than usual. The sergeant belatedly blocked Kane's attack, dancing back out of reach. As it was, Kane managed to slip past his guard long enough to slice open Markus's forearm. The sergeant yelled in pain and charged right back, but just as the two of them collided again, the duke intervened from where he'd scrambled to safety on the far side of the altar.

“Sergeant, kill him and you'll take his place!”

Knowing it wasn't an idle threat, Markus once again retreated a few steps, still fending off Kane's blows.

Keirthan wasn't done interfering. “Keep him distracted long enough for me to ensnare him again.”

Markus shot the duke an incredulous look as he continued to block Kane's blows. Unfortunately for him, Kane was picking up speed quickly.

“Let me past, Markus, and you'll live.”

The guard shook his head. “You can't promise that, Captain. I won't die for you. Not down here.”

And they both knew that was what Keirthan had planned for Kane, which was why he should be more intent on reaching Keirthan than on hurting Markus. By now, the duke was chanting, the words grating on the ear like two jagged stones rubbing against each other. Kane did his best to counter the spell, but with Damijan's help, the duke entrapped him again, leaving him frozen in place

“Take his sword and check him for weapons.”

After Markus pried Kane's sword from his fingers and stripped him of his knives, the duke cautiously approached Kane. Markus stood back, his sword still at the ready in case Kane broke free again.

Damijan still hung over the altar, but now the black cloud was spinning and spinning. Yet even as it twirled in the air, those eyes remained fixed on Kane.

Keirthan's laughter rang out over the room, but Markus clearly saw no humor in the situation. For an instant, Kane thought maybe Markus was tempted to use his sword, but who would be his target? If he killed Kane to prevent the duke from using him, Markus would die screaming on that altar in his place. If instead he turned his weapon on the duke himself, there was no way to know how that malevolence by the altar would react.