The Knight Marshal (The Silk & Steel Saga) (5 page)

Exhausted, Kath fell to her knees.

The others stumbled from the
monolith. Sagging to the courtyard, Blaine stared at her. “I never want to do
that again.”

“Never.” Kath agreed, but the loss
of the Quickner bit deep. “I want that stairway sealed, choked with rock from
the Pit, the demon forever buried in the depths. Alone in the dark, it can
choke on the Quickner.”

The courtyard quaked beneath her,
as if the demon railed in anger.

Kath stood, coated in rock dust and
sweat. She’d risked the others for a bitter answer. She’d failed to save Duncan, and now she’d lost the Quickner. Doom seemed to dog since coming to the Mordant’s
Citadel. Kath prayed it wasn’t an omen of things to come.

4

Blaine

The Mordant’s palace overflowed with riches beyond Blaine’s wildest dreams. Bright tapestries, golden doors, marble statuary, the entire
palace dripped with wealth, a decadent monument to Darkness. As the son of a
pig farmer, such unbound luxury made him feel both diminished and elated.
Refusing to be intimidated, he was more than willing to partake of the bounty,
a conqueror’s due. His boots rang on the marble hallways, gilded braziers
glowing with heat. He reached the great golden doors and pushed them open,
entering a massive bedchamber. Kath shunned the larger bedrooms, leaving Blaine the pick of the palace. The choice was easy. He grinned, liking the irony of an
Octagon Knight sleeping in the Mordant’s bed. To the victors go the spoils.
He’d never dreamt of such rich spoils.

Tapestries filled the walls,
vibrant with color, but all of them showed victories of the Dark. Blaine scowled, tempted to rip them down and order them burnt, but they looked fine enough
to fetch a duke’s ransom, so he did his best to ignore the details. Shrugging
his sword harness from his shoulders, he tossed it onto a velvet divan. His
maroon cloak and chainmail followed, leaving a trail of armor and clothes
strewn across the marble floor. Naked, he padded to the marble water closet. A
golden tub filled the far wall, the sound of water trickling down an elaborate
fountain, probably from a rain cistern on the roof. Splashing brazier-heated
water on his face, he made his toilet and returned to the bedchamber, marveling
at the royal luxuries.

Scented candles lit the room with a
soft glow. An enormous bed dominated the chamber. Large enough to sleep six,
the enticing mound of silken pillows and supple furs beckoned. Weary from the
long day, Blaine fell into bed, sighing as he sank into the goose down
mattress, like floating on a cloud. He rolled amongst the silken sheets, so
many luxuries he’d never tasted. Sprawling across the middle, he reveled in the
downy comfort. Pulling a fur coverlet across his chest, he let sleep take him.

“My Lord?”

Blaine swam from a dream to find
three scantily clad women peering down at him, a blonde, a brunette and a
redhead. All three were breathtakingly beautiful. Bemused, he hugged the
coverlet close. “Am I dreaming?”

The women tittered, their faces
lovely as angels, but the curves beneath their silken sheaths would shame a
harlot.

“My Lord, may we join you?”

“
Join me?
” He was very
confused, except for his manhood, which was standing stiff as a knight’s
salute. “Who are you?”

“We served the Mordant.”

The blonde smiled. “And now we wish
to serve you, the hero of the citadel.”

“We only wish to please.” The
brunette gave him a pretty pout.

Hero,
he liked the sound of
that. “But you’re free, you don’t need to do this.”

“But we wish to serve.”

“Won’t you let us pleasure a hero?”

“Won’t you let us please you?”

It was like talking to a
three-headed hydra, a very lovely hydra. And they used that word again,
hero.
Blaine sat up, his mind at odds with his manhood. He’d never been called a
hero, except in derision, and never by such beautiful women. Perhaps he’d
finally earned the title. He’d be a fool to turn them away. Throwing back the
covers, he revealed his eagerness. “Join me.”

They smiled, shrugging silken
sheaths from their shoulders, revealing luscious curves. Naked, they climbed
into his bed. Blaine could not believe his good fortune. Lying back amongst the
pillows, he opened his arms wide, smothered by naked beauty. His hand found a
ripe breast while tender lips found his manhood. He gasped at the intimate
touch, straining to keep control. Some of the things they did seemed strange at
first, but he soon succumbed to their tender pleasures. It was like nothing
he’d ever experienced. Every touch was exquisite; every part of him licked and
fondled. He groaned with ecstasy, shivering on the brink. He’d done it before,
but the town whores always made short work of it. This was different, so very
different. The women found ways to make it last, an eternity of pleasure, a
night of dalliance. Blonde, brunette, and redhead, he sampled a bouquet of
delights. They took turns riding him like a stallion and then he took them like
a bull in heat, bellowing his delight. Three times he reached ecstasy, finally
collapsing in a stupor of pleasure. Sated with sex, he slept entwined with
beauty, like a hero feted in paradise.

Tap…tap, tap, a noise intruded on
his sleep. Blaine tried to push it away, reluctant to leave dreams of endless
pleasure, but the sound persisted. Tap…tap, tap. He swam awake. The women
snuggled close around him, oblivious to the disturbance. Groggy from sex, his
gaze circled the chamber. Night darkened the room, most of the candles melted
to stubs, but nothing seemed amiss.

Tap…tap, tap.

The sound came from the far doors,
but he could have sworn there was nothing out there but a balcony, a sheer drop
overlooking the tiered city.

Tap…tap, tap.

Freeing himself from the feminine
tangle, Blaine struggled from bed. The blonde sighed but none of them woke. Blaine grinned, perhaps he’d given as good as he got. He reached for a candle, a small
circle of light against the dark, and padded naked toward the double doors.

Tap…tap, tap.

Annoyed at the intrusion, he yanked
the doors open. A cold wind gusted in, snuffing his candle. He blinked against
the dark, but then he saw it. A giant albatross fluttered to the railing. Pale
as death, the great bird stared back at him, its head at eye level, but instead
of a bird, it was a monster.
Eyes and mouth of a man!
The winged beast
was an abomination, a fiend sprung from hell! 

“The Mordant sees you, Knight of
the Octagon.”

Stunned, Blaine staggered back a
step.

Its voice was a dry rasp. “
The
Mordant marks your soul for you dared to breach his Citadel.”

Blaine reached for his sword,
shocked to realize he stood naked before the fiend.

 “
Pain will be your future, and
forever will be your service, for he shall twist flesh and meld souls crafting
you into one of the damned.”
The great wings flapped as the creature
hovered above the railing. “
Look at me to foresee your fate, to foresee your
doom.”

“No!” Blaine threw the candle, a
feeble weapon.

The fiend laughed.
“You will be
a man no more!”

Blaine whirled, desperate for his
sword. Tripping over the trail of clothing, he finally reached the divan.
Sweeping the blue sword from its scabbard, he charged the balcony, but the
fiend was already gone, great wings beating toward the moon-drenched clouds.
Naked, Blaine stood on the balcony, his sword raised to the heavens, his shout
chasing the monstrosity south. “I’ll kill him!
I’ll kill him first!
”

A winter wind beat against him,
snatching at his words. Shivering against the bitter cold, he slammed the doors
shut and set the bar. Shaking, he returned to bed to find the three women
watching him, the fur covers clutched close.

“Did you see?”

Pale faces stared back at him. The
redhead gave a grim nod.

Blaine’s voice was a low growl.
“What was that thing?” 

“A gorelabe, a messenger of the
Mordant.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “It means our master still lives.”

“Your
master!”
Her answer
infuriated him. He yanked the covers from the bed, revealing their nakedness.
“Get out! All of you out!” He brandished his sword and they fled before him,
scampering from the bedchamber with a piteous squeal.

The door slammed shut and he was
alone.

Scaring naked women,
Blaine shook his head, ashamed of himself, yet he could not let them see his shaking hands.
He climbed into the massive bed, pulling the warm furs close, clutching his
sword. The luxuries of the palace were forgotten, poisoned by nightmares. His
gaze haunted the balcony doors.
An albatross melded with a man
, he
shuddered at the horror. How could such a twisted creature ever come into
being? How could swords defeat such fell magic? The monster’s threat echoed
through his mind, “
forever will be your service
.” Blaine made the hand
sign against evil. “I’ll kill him first.” He clutched his sword, his words full
of defiance, but in his mind a ravening fear took hold.

5

Katherine

Torchlight played across the frieze of demons, shifting
shadows granting the illusion of life. While the palace slept, Kath escaped the
bonds of duty, fleeing to the demon-carved hallway. Like a restless spirit she
returned desperate for succor. Stone-carved demons leered down at her, as if
they sensed her weakness, but Kath did not care. With urgent fingers, she
sought the hidden key. Eye of varg and claw of balrog, her fingers pressed the
riddle wrought in stone. Tongue of ghoul and skull of lich, she longed to see
him. Tooth of snarg and scale of dragon, she pressed the last stone praying for
her heart’s desire.

The hidden door whispered open. She
sped past the lich king and down the spiral stairs, torchlight playing across
dark stone. The treasury crypt remained just as she’d found it, gold coins
spewed across the floor, cedar chests stacked along the far wall, a trove of
incalculable wealth, but Kath cared for naught save the winged throne. Silver
sculpted into wings, the elegant throne drew her like a lodestone. Whispering a
prayer to Valin, Kath dared to sit in the regal seat. Her maroon cloak wrapped
close, she held her breath, hoping, praying…but the throne remained dormant.
Gripping the armrests, she willed the throne to life…but the shadows held sway.
The darkness mocked her. Kath slumped against the throne, her hope dwindling to
a whisper. “Come back to me!” but her plea went unanswered.

For five nights she returned to the
crypt, sitting in the silver throne till her torch sputtered to embers, all to
no avail. On the sixth night, she brought the monk.

“What is it you want me to see?”

“Best if I just show you.”

“Must we do this in the dead of
night?”

Kath shrugged, taking a torch from
the wall bracket. “The less eyes the better.”

He gave her an odd look, but said
nothing more, following her through the marble labyrinth. Zith gasped when he
saw the demon-carved hallway, his voice changing from annoyance to a wary
interest. “What is this place?”

“The Mordant’s secret.” She pressed
the stone riddle and the hidden door whispered open. “This way. Mind the stairs
are steep.” She went first, holding the torch behind her so the monk could see.
He lurched down the steep stairs, still awkward from his missing hand, lost in
their first battle with the gorehounds. Reaching the bottom, Kath stepped
aside, torchlight glittering on gold.

Zith gasped. “
By the gods!”
 He
stepped amongst the coins, turning in all directions, his face full of wonder.
“How did you find this?”

“Duncan told me.” She watched the
monk’s face. “Bryce told him.”

His gaze snapped to hers. “My son?”

She gave him a solemn nod. “I told
you, Bryce still lives. Somehow in that hellish cavern, he spoke to Duncan, whispering the Mordant’s secrets.”

“Then he still serves the Light.”
Pride leavened with fierce resolve flooded the monk’s face. “We best make use
of it.”

“Tell me about the throne.” Kath
crossed the crypt to the silver wings. Her fingertips stroked the sculpted
metal, so cool to the touch, but there was no answering light. Hearing the monk
gasp, she turned to see the wonder in his stare.

“
The Throne of the Star Knights!
”

“So you know it?”

“Only by myth and legend. Lost a
thousand years ago, during the War of Wizards,” Zith shook his head. “We
thought it destroyed, melted down for silver.”

“Do you know what it does?”

“Does?”

“What magic it holds?”

“There are none who know. Its
secrets are lost to the ages.” Zith’s gaze narrowed. “Have you woken the
throne?”

Kath shrugged. “I’m drawn to it.”

“Have you dared to sit in it?”

She gave the smallest of nods.

“Show me.”

Hoping to see Duncan’s face again,
she wedged the torch between two chests and then sat in the throne…but nothing
happened. Kath smothered her dismay.

Zith shrugged. “A relic from
another time, a forgotten trophy from a battle long lost.” He turned away, his
gaze ensnared by the wonders crowding the chamber.

Kath swallowed her disappointment,
watching as the monk circled the crypt, sending coins scattering across the
floor like a rich man’s chime. He paused to sniff the air. “I smell oil. Bring
your torch.”

Kath crossed the chamber, handing
the torch to the monk. With his one remaining hand, Zith held the torch to the
wall, dipping it into a runnel. Light flared along the runnel, illuminating the
four walls and spilling into basins. Like magic, the crypt glowed bright. Light
multiplied the treasure. Gold glittered from every corner, coins and scepters
and bejeweled crowns, the wealth of countless kingdoms spilled careless across
the floor. The crypt’s corners held martial splendors, golden helms and
scabbarded swords. Imprisoned in gossamer cloaks spun by spiders, they awaited
a hero’s hand. Lances leaned against the wall. Rune-forged weapons wrapped in
moldering battle banners whispered of ancient glory.
Kath’s interest quickened. Zith plucked an
uncut ruby the size of his fist from the floor. “Wealth undreamt of,” he let
the ruby fall, “a treasure of the ages, but the Mordant does not seek gold…he
craves
power!
”

Kath saw the chamber with fresh
eyes. The glowing walls made new details clear. An empty armor stand snagged
her attention.
Empty,
a sense of foreboding gripped her, she wondered
what other treasures were missing, lost to time…or taken in service to the
Mordant. Islands of bare stone sat amongst the strewn coins, showing where
cedar chests had once stood, an ominous sign.

“Look here.” Zith called her to the
far side. Dust on a tabletop showed the outline of a two-handed great sword.

Kath’s eyes flared wide.

“Did you take it?”

“No, I took nothing!”

“Then the Mordant must have it.
I’ll wager he took the most powerful items with him.” Zith turned, studying the
chamber. “But he intended to return. Look how much he left behind.” He opened a
cedar chest, revealing a trove of scrolls. “Every chest, every item must be
examined. Who knows what magic lies hidden amongst the gold.”

“Magic?” Her hand crept to her
mage-stone gargoyle, clasping it close.

“Magic is power.” Zith gestured to
the four walls, his voice brimming with excitement. “Look at this chamber, a
priceless hoard of knowledge, wealth, and ancient magic! Just think what we
might discover!”
His gaze caressed the cedar chests crowding the crypt.
“Who knows what lies within? Perhaps the perfect weapon to defeat the Mordant.”
He circled the crypt, his gaze bouncing across the glittering trove. “We’ll
have to test every item, the crowns, the jewelry, the armor, anything could be
a focus.” He snatched a jeweled dagger from a pile of coins. “Here, try this.”

“Try it?”

“See if you can sense any magic.”

“I can’t.”

“Just try.” He pressed the dagger
on her, flashing a reassuring smile. “With the Quickner you should be able to
sense other magic, perhaps even waken other focuses and wield them. The gods
granted you a powerful gift when your hand found the Quickner.”

Kath took a step backwards, the
taste of ashes rising to her mouth. “No.”

He proffered the dagger, his voice
insistent. “Just try.”

Kath shook her head. “I can’t.”

His gaze narrowed. “What do you
mean, you
can’t
?”

She felt nauseous but the truth
needed to be told. “I lost it.”

“You
lost
it?”

“It was stolen.”

“
Stolen?”
His face paled.
“By whom?”

“By the demons in the bloody
cavern.”

Zith’s face turned pale as ice, the
jeweled dagger falling from his fingers. He stared at her as if an
executioner’s axe hung above his head. “Tell me.”

Kath began to pace, the words
flooding out of her. “I’m certain I had the Quickner when I descended the long
stairs to the bloody cavern. I remember holding it in my hand.” She fisted her
hand as if it still held the amber pyramid. “I killed the guards and then the
rune-covered door shuddered opened of its own accord…almost as if it wanted me
to enter.” She flashed him a wary look, but he did not argue. “I ran inside and
found Duncan.” Kath shuddered against a tide of bitter memories. “I tried to
free him…but the shadows came alive. Shaped like demons, they reached for me.
And I swear they said,
Give us the Quickner!”

Zith sank to the ground as if he
had no bones. “They knew…or they sensed it.”

Kath nodded. “And then the Mordant
spoke and the shadow demons attacked. It was only later…much later, that I
realized it was gone.” 

Silence blanketed the crypt like a
tomb, but there was more she needed to say. “I went back.”

Zith raised his stare, skewering
her. “And?”

“I took Bear and Boar and Blaine and we went back down there.” Kath shuddered at the memory of the demon’s strength.
“A shadow demon has it.” She dared a look at his face, scorched by the
desolation in his gaze. “The demons are stronger. Much stronger. Our swords
could not harm them.”

“So you ordered the cavern sealed
with rock.” His voice sounded as if it came from a grave.

“Yes.” Kath sank to the floor, idly
running her fingers through gold coins. “I’ve failed you. I’ve failed you all.”

For the longest time, he said
nothing, but then he stirred. “No.” His grim tone belied his word.

Kath looked away, daring to whisper
her secret fear. “If the demons have the Quickner, will it serve the Mordant?”

Zith gasped. “I hope not. I
pray
not.”

“Prayers don’t seem to matter any
more.”

The monk rallied. “The loss of the
Quickner is a grievous blow, but you’ve gained a great victory by taking the
Mordant’s citadel.”

Bitterness rode her voice. “You
don’t understand. We’ve taken the Mordant’s city, but the viper’s lair is
empty, the monster fled south. And now we’re trapped here, trapped by winter.
Yes, I have an army, an army that’s tasted victory, but none of them can ride,
and even if they did, there’s only enough mounts for a hundred or so. Winter is
cruel in the north. I dare not lead them into the frozen steppes, or sure as
hell, winter will kill them all.” She glared at him. “The Painted People
deserve better. I’ll not use them so.”

His gaze softened. “True enough.
But there must be a way.”

She felt the weight of duty
crushing her shoulders. “Then the gods will have to provide, for I do not see
it.”

They settled into a grim silence.

“I made a mistake coming here.” Her
voice sounded small in the chamber. “Instead of victory, it feels like a trap.
It feels like a tomb.”

“You must not give up hope.”

“Hope?” She shook her head in
disbelief. “I do not see it, for we’ve lost so much! Duncan is gone, Danya is
locked in a magical trance, you lost your hand…and now the Quickner is
stolen…such a steep price. It does not seem like we won anything.”

“There is always a price, yet this
victory achieved much. An entire city is freed from the grip of Darkness. You
saw the horrors of the Pit. You cannot regret your victory. And you’ve given
the Painted People a better future, released from the Mordant’s shadow.” He
gestured to the crypt. “And you’ve gained all this. The Mordant has been dealt
a grievous blow, though I doubt he’ll learn from it.”

His words intrigued her, slipping
past her misery. Kath sat cross-legged, her maroon cloak gathered close. “Learn
from it, what do you mean?”

“After a thousand years of victory,
I doubt he’ll learn from his mistake.”

Kath stared at him, weighing his
words.

“Just look at this chamber,” Zith
picked up a fist of coins, letting them fall in a shower of gold. “The Mordant
never
gives up power. He never intended to lose this hoard or his citadel. The
Mordant never anticipated your victory, he never anticipated
you.”
The
monk grinned. “Don’t you see? You’ve proven he’s not infallible, that he can be
defeated...that he does not see you.”

Kath thought back to the chamber of
weeping rock, how Duncan told her to hide, how the Mordant spoke to Blaine. A shiver passed through her. “You’re right. He does not see me.”

Zith nodded. “He overlooks the
blade bearer.”

Her hand went to her belt, to the
hilt of the crystal dagger.

“The gods grant a strange power to
those who are overlooked, the power to do the unexpected.” His eyes blazed. “Do
the unexpected. Defeat the Mordant.”

Kath nodded, her voice solemn. “I
promised Duncan.” Her stare roved the crypt. “Somehow I have to find a way
south…but in the meantime, we must wrest an advantage from this victory.”

“The scrolls might hold a clue, a
manifest to the plundered trove. Perhaps we’ll learn what magics the Mordant
has hoarded…or what he’s taken with him.”

More magic,
a shudder raced
down Kath’s spine recalling the Mordant’s power in the bloody cavern. “Down in
the cavern, the Mordant spoke through Duncan. Even from a great distance, he
wields a terrible power.”

Zith nodded. “The Mordant is a
formidable foe, his power magnified by dark magic. For centuries, he’s hoarded
focuses, seeking to rival the power of the ancient wizards. This crypt is proof
of it.”

Kath shivered. “We need to know
what we face…and we need an advantage.”

“Perhaps the Mordant’s hoard will
betray him.”

Kath prayed for it to be so. She
offered the monk a hand. “Let’s see what secrets the Mordant left behind.” They
spent the long night sorting through treasure, searching for a glimmer of hope.