The Knight Marshal (The Silk & Steel Saga) (12 page)

The marshal spurred his horse. The
bay stallion leaped forward, churning the snow to a gallop. Behind him, the
maroon knights surged, thundering to a charge. Spreading wide like armored wings,
they swept across the valley floor. “
For the king!”
Visors snapped
closed and lances lowered, a solid wall of armored knights galloped to meet
teeth and claws. The marshal picked a foe, a massive hellhound with a single
arrow protruding from its shoulder. Leaning forward, he aimed a blow for its
head, but the beast swerved at the last moment, avoiding the blade. Shocked,
the marshal nearly lost his seat. A second hellhound charged. Claws scrabbled
against his saddle. The beast lunged, dagger-sharp teeth snapping for his face.
Too close to bring his sword to bear, the marshal punched its snarling snout.
His mailed fist hit a solid blow. Squealing, the brute dropped to the ground,
slithering under his stallion’s belly. His horse reared, hooves lashing. The marshal
sought to control his mount while frantically searching for the hellhound. It
lurked behind, hunched for a rear attack. The marshal whipped his sword around.
The beast’s own leap impaled it on the blade, spitting it through the mouth.
Teeth snapped shut, gnawing on the sword. So close the marshal could smell its
fetid breath, he locked stares with the beast, shocked to find a knowing hatred
in its gaze. “By the gods!” The marshal yanked his sword from the toothy maw,
kicking the cursed carcass away.

Lifting his visor, he took stock of
the battlefield. Chaos swirled around him, a primal battle of steel against
claw. Hellhounds howled and horses screamed, thickening the air with fear.
Nearby, a hound pulled a knight from the saddle. Clawing the helmet open, it
savaged the knight’s face. The marshal spurred his horse to a charge, his great
sword descending in a reaping blow. The blade struck deep, severing the beast’s
spine. Yelping, the brute collapsed, but the knight was already lost, his face
nothing but a bloody maul.

The marshal reined his mount to a
halt, searching for another foe, but all the howls were silenced, replaced by
squealing horses. A dozen writhed in agony, ironshod hooves churning in pain.
Half as many knights lay savaged, but the cursed hellhounds were vanquished,
their blood darkening the snow.

“They’re coming!”

The marshal snapped his gaze to the
far end of the valley. A swarm of black-cloaked soldiers poured down the
mountain trail. Howling vengeance, they came at a run.

The battle of beasts was done; it
was time to slay men.

17

Katherine

Kath tossed and turned, besieged by the need to escape the
north. Twisting beneath the wool blanket, she found no answers and she found no
peace. Her glance speared the lead-paned window but it remained stubbornly
dark, proof it was too early to rise.

A fist pounded on her door.

Startled, she reached for her
sword, steel slithering from leather.

The pounding continued, hard and
incessant.

“Coming!” Kath cracked the door and
cast a wary glance into the hallway.

Blaine grinned back at her. Clad in
chainmail beneath his surcoat, his great sword rearing over his shoulder, he
looked ready for battle. “I’ve heard rumors of another a nest.”

His words made no sense. “A nest?”

“A nest of acolytes and priests,
they’re infesting the palace.”

Kath rubbed the last remnants of
sleep from her eyes. “And we need to do this now?”

His grin widened. “Catch the
bastards while their sleeping.”

She might as well fight priests as
wrestle blankets. “One moment.” Ducking back into her chamber, Kath hastily
finished dressing. Swirling her maroon cloak around her shoulders, she strapped
on her throwing axes, belted her sword to her waist and made sure the crystal
dagger was secure in its sheath. Touching her mage-stone gargoyle for luck, she
stepped from her sleeping chamber.

Bear and Boar waited in the hallway
with Blaine. Both painted warriors wore mismatched armor, most of it black and
gold, scavenged from the enemy. In defiance of their scavenged colors, they
wore tattered strips of maroon cloth tied like proud talismans to their right
biceps, the symbol of her personal guard. Hands on weapons, they nodded to her.
“Svala.”

Kath shrugged. “It seems were
hunting priests and acolytes before the morning meal.”

The two warriors flashed feral
grins as if they preferred blood to bread.

Swayed by their enthusiasm, Kath
gave them an answering grin. Tossing a quizzical look to Blaine, she said,
“Where?”

“The throne room.” He turned and
strode down the marble hall, setting a brisk pace.

The throne room,
Kath
shivered, making the hand sign against evil. Disgusted by the oppressive
palace, she’d made a conscious decision to avoid the Mordant’s throne room, yet
somehow Zith knew. The monk nagged her to see it, arguing she needed to
understand her opponent, yet Kath found endless excuses to delay. Perhaps this
was fate’s way of getting her to confront her true enemy. Her hand on her sword
hilt, she marched through the shadow-choked corridors, following Blaine to the throne room. All too soon, they reached the great bronze doors.

Thrice the height of a tall man,
the double doors bore a massive pentacle inlaid in gold, the symbol of the
Mordant. Gripping her sword hilt, Kath nodded and Bear put his shoulders to the
cold bronze. The great doors slowly swung silently open. Blaine took a torch
from the wall and stepped inside.

Kath gasped, daunted by the sight,
like nothing she’d ever seen.

Built of mitered stone, the cold
immensity of the basilica seemed impossible. A vast domed ceiling vaulted
overhead, but instead of airiness it held a brooding darkness. Pierced by the
first faint rays of morning light, the sunbeams died before ever reaching the
marbled floor, strangled by darkness. Twisted pillars upheld the dome,
everything built of dusky-colored stone. Dark and dominating, the scale was
brutal, the heavy gloom hammering down, crushing mortal souls into submission.
Kath’s footsteps faltered, slowing to a stop. Vast and dark and brutal, the
basilica felt soul-numbing.

 “Coming?” Blaine strode down the
central aisle, using his flaming torch to light candles on either side. Even
the candles were massive, six foot pillars twisted and deformed. Screaming
faces pressed through the pale wax as if souls of the damned writhed within,
striving to break free. Remembering the gargoyles gates, Kath wondered if the
twisted candles were soul traps. Shuddering, she made the hand sign against
evil.

Blaine continued down the aisle,
seemingly indifferent to the nightmares sculpted into wax and stone.

Candlelight illumed the path
forward. Built of cloistered stone, the basilica was cold as a tomb. Pulling
her maroon cloak close, Kath followed the knight into the gloom. Even her
footsteps were diminished, swallowed by the cavernous space. Everywhere she looked,
Kath saw opulence cunningly contrived to oppress mortal supplicants. And then
she noticed the marble floor. Names were written upon the basilica’s floor.
Most were unfamiliar…but then she recognized a few. Names of battlefields lost,
castles betrayed, and cities plundered, forever cast in stone beneath the
Mordant’s boot heels. The names inscribed the length of the basilica, a litany
of pain and loss and suffering. Bile rose in the back of her throat. So this
was the Mordant’s plan for Erdhe, to be forever trod beneath his boot heels,
subject to his dark rule. 

“Come, Svala.”

Bear’s voice pulled her deeper into
the basilica. Gold gleamed in the distance, torchlight illuming the details.
Hammered gold clad the stairs rising to the Ebony Throne, enough wealth to feed
a kingdom for a year, used for nothing more than adornment beneath the
Mordant’s boots. Kath shuddered at the cruel hubris of dark power.

Blaine prowled along the back wall,
his torchlight beating back the gloom, searching for hidden doorways…but Kath
was drawn towards the throne.

Unable to avoid the countless names
inscribed upon the marble floor, she reached the dais and stared up at the
throne. In the Mordant’s treasury crypt, she’d longed to sit upon the winged
throne, but this was different, very different. The Ebony Throne repulsed her.

Sit upon the throne,
the
thought shivered through her mind like a command. Kath shuddered at the words,
yet she found herself climbing the dais stairs. Drawing closer, she realized
the massive seat was carved from a single block of wood. Jet-black with rich
swirls of emerald green in the ebony grain, the throne must have been carved
from the heartwood of a great grandfather tree. Duncan would have hated this
throne, nature twisted to the service of Darkness. Sickened by the abomination,
she made the hand sign against evil.

Kath stood before the throne,
dwarfed by its scale, wondering what secret powers it harbored. With a single
finger, she dared to touch the throne.

Nothing happened.

The ebony wood was smooth and cool
beneath her touch.

She cast a sideways glance at Bear
and Boar. They waited at the foot of the dais, stalwart and stoic, their
torches casting islands of light.

Taking a deep breath, Kath dared to
sit upon the Ebony Throne. Expecting magic, she cringed, hugging her maroon
cloak close.

Nothing happened, the throne
remained dormant…but then the very stones began to groan.

The great basilica shuddered and
shook, another tremor from the depths, as if the demons raged at her sacrilege,
but the throne remained dormant. The tremors slowed to a stop, a sprinkle of
dust falling from the domed ceiling. Bear coughed, the sound swallowed by the
return of the basilica’s brooding silence.

Seated upon the throne, Kath drew a
deep breath and stared out at the basilica.
So this is the Mordant’s throne.
Exulted above the great space, she took in the whole of it, from the vast
vaulting darkness looming overhead, to the wealth of gold beaten into the dais,
to the river of names carved the length of the marble floor.
Invincible
power wrought into stone
…the Mordant’s chilling challenge hammered against
her with the force of a battering ram…but within the details she found the
monk’s potent message whispering through her mind. How many deaths in the river
of names? How many souls lost to Darkness? How much pain and suffering for
glory of the Mordant?
This
is what he would make of Erdhe, a vile temple
to Darkness built on suffering. Kath realized she’d embarked on a struggle that
was far more than an ancient prophecy, far more than justice for Duncan, it was about the brutal enslavement of all of Erdhe. It was the Battle Immortal,
the struggle of Light against the Dark. Shivering with desperate resolve, she
gripped the crystal dagger and bowed her head, praying to Valin for the
strength to prevail.

Something snicked in the darkness.

Something metal slammed into the
throne where her head would have been.

Kath glanced up to find a dart
embedded in the ebony wood.

“Svala!”
Bear and Boar
dropped their torches. Weapons unsheathed, they sprang up the dais, standing in
front of her. “
Assassin!”

Bear’s warning jolted her to
action. Leaping from the throne, Kath drew a throwing axe. She peered into the
gloom, searching for the enemy. Something clad in black scuttled down a massive
column, clinging to the marble like a cockroach. “
There!”
Her axe
whirled, metal striking marble with a harmless clang. The assassin dropped to
the floor, landing in a crouch. Elbows and knees bent, he looked like a giant
spider, death lurking in the shadows.

Somewhere in the back of the
basilica, she heard Blaine’s shout and the clash of steel.

Bear and Boar attacked. Bellowing a
war cry, they charged the assassin, weapons raised for the kill.

The assassin remained crouched.
Lifting a slender tube to his blackened face, his cheeks puffed.

“No!”
Kath hurled her last
axe.

Snick
, time seemed to slow.

Her axe whirled, end over end,
gleaming in the torchlight.

Unsheathing her sword, she raced to
follow her axe.

Something struck near her heart.

Snick,
the assassin blew
again, and then he lurched away, but he’d waited too long. Her axe took him in
the chest, releasing a spray of blood across the dusky marble. Bear reached the
fallen assassin, his sword pressed to the enemy’s throat.

Boar uttered a strangled cry and
crumpled to the ground.

“No!”
Kath veered away,
racing to Boar. “Not you too!” Falling to her knees, she cradled his head,
horrified to find a dart embedded in his throat. Yanking the dart free, she
flung it into the gloom. Such a small wound, a pinprick of blood, yet the big
man shuddered and shook, his skin turning clammy. “We need Zith!”

“Too…late.” Boar struggled for
breath.

“No.” Kath shook her head in
denial, but she knew he spoke the truth.

Slick with sweat, he gazed at her,
gentle brown eyes in a face tattooed with a fierce boar, a warrior who’d become
her friend. A single tear fell on his cheek. Boar struggled to speak, his gaze
turning cloudy. “For the Svala…” Life fled from his body. She shook him,
willing him to live, but it made no difference. Kath closed his eyes, and
settled him on the cold marble floor.

“He’s gone, Bear.” Her voice
cracked with sorrow.

“Svala, this one still lives.”

Kath stood. Her sword in her hand,
she strode toward the assassin.

Clad all in black, a baldric of
nine throwing knives slung across his chest, the assassin lay sprawled on the
dark marble. Arms and legs askew, he looked stunted and broken, her axe buried
in his chest. Blood frothed from the axe wound, and from the side of his mouth,
yet his gaze was razor keen, locked on hers. “
Just
…
a
…
girl,”
his
voice wheezed with blood.

“Why did you kill him?”

“
A girl
...
defiling
…
master’s
…
throne”
His gaze hardened, his face flushed with pain. “
You
…
will die
…
screaming.”
 

Anger thrummed through her. “Not
today.” Her sword flashed down. “For Boar.” With a single stroke, she severed
his throat. Blood spurted from the wound, staining the dark marble.

And then she heard the clash of
steel. “
Blaine
!”
Tugging her axe from the assassin’s chest, Kath
raced toward the sound. In the rear wall of the basilica, a door stood open,
torchlight glowing from within. The doorway led to a narrow corridor, a corpse
slumped at the far end, black robes suggesting a priest. Beyond the corridor,
steel clashed against steel. Kath followed the sound, her sword in her right
hand, her throwing axe in her left, her deerskin boots silent on the marble
floor. A bitter stench clogged the hallway, rankling her nose. Reaching the far
doorway, she peered inside.

Blaine fought two dark-robed
priests, his blue sword beating against two gleaming sickles. His back to the
doorway, he attacked the far priest, landing a killing blow. The priest howled
in pain, yet he clutched the blue blade with blood-slick hands, keeping it
embedded deep in his stomach. While Blaine’s sword was entangled, the second
priest lunged from behind, wielding a vicious swing of the sickle.

“No!”
Kath leaped forward,
her sword meeting the sickle.

Steel clanged against steel.

Startled, the priest whirled,
slashing at her. Kath stepped close, loosing a downward slash. Her sword struck
flesh, severing the priest’s hand. The silver sickle clattered to the floor but
the priest never slowed. Shrieking like a banshee, he shoved his bloody stump
into her face. Clawing at her eyes with his remaining hand, he tried bite her
face, his lips blackened, his teeth snapping close, his eyes glazed like a
ghoul.

Horrified, Kath lurched backwards,
struggling to bring her weapons to bear.

The rabid priest clutched at her,
teeth snapping, his breath horrid on her face.

Kath squirmed away.

Suddenly the priest was jerked
backwards. Blaine hurled the rabid fiend across the chamber. Slamming against
the far wall, he crumpled to the floor, knocking over a lit brazier. Before the
priest could rise, Bear was on him. One blow of his sword took the head from
the body.