The Path of Flames (Chronicles of the Black Gate Book 1) (34 page)

“We are a small force,” she began, voice soft. “But there can be no question of our loyalty.”

Kethe wanted to scoff, but instead looked away. She felt her mother’s stare but ignored it, staring down at her hands.

“None of you were compelled to follow me into exile. The fact that you did so means more to me than I can express. Know, then, that you have my deepest gratitude, and that your service and friendship will not be forgotten.” She paused, allowing her words to sink in, then sighed. “Mythgræfen Hold is bleaker than I’d feared. We cannot repair it without outside help. And while we may now have all the time in the world, given Lord Laur’s control of the Raven’s Gate, that may matter little if the forces that have devastated the Hold in the past take notice of us. Magister Audsley, you are well-versed in history and Kyferin lore. Why don’t you tell us what you know, so that we may all understand?”

Audsley coughed and stood awkwardly. “My Lady, before I delve into the multifarious and riveting history of the Hold—no, I mean that quite sincerely—I would like to share something that I heard as I was departing the keep.” He blushed suddenly. “It was my satchel, you see. The strap had grown worn, and I had been meaning to fix it for some time now. But good intentions are worth a thousand fish in the sea, as they say in Nous, and none in the hand if they are not acted on.”

Lady Kyferin raised an eyebrow, and Audsley coughed again. “Yes. To hew closely to the point, then. My satchel fell in the keep stairwell, so I hurried back to retrieve it. But, you see, while I was picking it up, and totally by accident, please let me assure you, because it’s not my nature to snoop—”

“It’s all right, Master Audsley,” said Lady Kyferin. “What did you hear?”

“Lord Laur and Father Elisio in argument. Elisio seemed to desire immediate and violent action against us. But Lord Laur said that ‘there were forms’, and quite steadfastly refused. I was on the verge of feeling gladdened until he instead admonished his priest that he would wait a month, and then proceed through the Talon, and that would be the end of it.” That last had all come out in a rush, and he paused as he let the gravity of his words sink in, nodding as he did so. “The Talon. That’s the name of the only other fort in this region, isn’t it? The one whose Lunar Gate connects to Lord Laur’s castle?”

Lady Kyferin pinched the bridge of her nose, grimaced, and then visibly took control of herself and nodded. “Well, then. So much for all the time in the world. If the evils of this place don’t get us, Lord Laur means to kill us as soon as his private Gate opens. I fear there is little time now for his Grace to come to our rescue.”

Kethe bolted to her feet. “But why? What harm can we do, banished all the way out here? And if he means to kill us, why wait?”

Ser Tiron shrugged and leaned back on one elbow, completely at ease. “Like he said, girl, there are forms. Appearances to keep. He means to murder us, but quietly, out of sight. A cunning stratagem, really.”

Kethe drew her blade and pointed it at him over the flames. “Go on. Call me ‘girl’ again. I’ll have your tongue out before you can blink.”

Ser Wyland leaped to his feet and Asho called out her name in alarm, but Ser Tiron only grinned, a vulpine drawing of his lips that didn’t touch his flat, dead eyes. “Go on then, girl. Cut away.”

Kethe’s blade trembled over the leaping flames. Damn him. He was so relaxed, reclining there as if he couldn’t care less. One side of his face was purpled and swollen, but his eyes… His eyes gleamed coldly, as if he welcomed this. As if he was daring her to proceed.

“Kethe.” Her mother’s voice was a whipcrack. “Stop this. Now.”

So close. All she had to do was lunge over the flames and stab with her blade. He wouldn’t move. On some level that she couldn’t understand, she realized that he would take the cut.

Everybody was staring at her, even the servants from the other fire. She put up her blade. “Just because you came through the Raven’s Gate doesn’t make you an honorable man. You’re a coward and a monster, and very soon I’m going to pay you back for what you did to me.”

Ser Tiron nodded, eyes still gleaming darkly in the firelight. “You’ll find me ready and waiting, girl. Don’t you worry about that.”

“Kethe! Enough!” Her mother was glaring at her with a fury so incandescent her eyes nearly blazed. “Sit down or leave this fire. Now.”

Kethe sheathed her blade and almost walked away. Her whole body was shaking. She hadn’t felt this worked up even at the tournament. She wanted nothing better than to spurn them all, but instead she took a shuddering breath and sat. Ser Wyland lowered himself as well, and Audsley patted her timidly on the arm.

“I freed Ser Tiron from the dungeon,” said her mother, still staring at her, “knowing full well what he did. As I said, there is more to this tale than you know. But I have decided to enlist Ser Tiron to our cause, and while he is under my roof you will treat him with respect. If you cannot control your sword, I will have it taken from you. Am I clear?”

Kethe felt her face flush. Hadn’t she won the tourney and saved their honor? Hadn’t she proved herself a warrior? How dare her mother treat her like this!

She opened her mouth to retort, and then saw Ser Wyland’s level gaze. Brocuff’s face was craggy and hard as if carved from rock. Even Asho’s pale eyes were flat and gauging her. She swallowed and raised her chin. She would have her revenge. But regardless of how unfair this was, she wouldn’t act the child. “Fine,” she said. “Continue.”

Her mother held her gaze for a moment longer, then nodded. “All right. Magister Audsley, how long till the Talon’s Gate opens?”

Audsley beamed. “Ask that of any other soul and you would receive a blank stare. But I am a resourceful man, and came prepared.” He fairly bounced to his feet and hustled to his packs, where he rummaged amongst a collection of books before drawing forth a battered tome. “This,” he said, turning around with a look of shy pride, “is Alistair’s Lunar Almanac.” He hurried back to the fire. “Many Gates are recorded here, including which moon phase they are tied to. A true treasure. So, let us see. The Talon.” He rifled through the pages, frowning, then nodded. “Here it is. Preamble, unnecessary prolegomena, et cetera et cetera, a rather nicely executed illustration, and finally we have it. The half moon.” He looked up with a proud smile, then he blinked. “Oh.”

Kethe’s mother sighed. “So, we have two weeks before Lord Laur sends men against us from the Talon.” She took a deep breath, and uncertainty flickered across her face. “I am open to hearing your thoughts. How should we proceed?”

Ser Wyland rose slowly, almost with a sense of inevitability. “We’ve fifteen swords amongst us. Not enough to resist Lord Laur’s men when they come calling, especially not with the Hold in the condition it’s in. Come morning, we’re going to have a lot of work to do. I suggest we do a full reconnaissance of the island, and then turn our attention outward. We know the Talon is downriver of us by what—a few days?”

“About a week’s ride,” said Audsley.

Ser Wyland nodded. “So, we look for help. Forge alliances. Are there others in this land?”

“There are,” said Audsley. “But not many. There used to be mining operations up on the slopes, but no longer. Those were apparently abandoned centuries ago. There are a few villages, however. At least they’re marked on a map I brought. Whether they’re still there, who can say?”

“You brought a map?” Ser Wyland beamed at Audsley. “A Noussian after my own heart. We’ll study it in the morning. Now, what else can you tell us about this Hold and the lands around it?”

Audsley replied, “Not much, unfortunately. Most of the records were destroyed almost a century ago in a lamentable purge. The Hold is fearsomely old, going back easily four centuries, maybe half a millennium or more. I believe it was built by Kyferin ancestors, who, when the ability to create Lunar Gates was discovered, opened one to the present location of Kyferin Castle, a convenient few days’ ride from Ennoia. It was continuously held until around the Unification, at which point it was abandoned. We don’t know why. I believe there were three different attempts to garrison it thereafter, but each ended with the disappearance of everybody who had been sent to man the Hold.” He paused and glanced at Kethe. “Or woman it? Hold the Hold? No. Garrison it.” He’d turned a deep shade of red again, and kept glancing at Ser Tiron, who was grinning like a wolf. He coughed loudly. “Regardless. Nobody has ever ridden from this land to any other known territory, and only a handful of villages and the Talon exist in this area. None are as high in the mountains as the Hold.”

He paused. “Also, Asho saw what I believe to be a naugrim when we first entered the castle. I had thought such creatures the stuff of nurses’ tales, but, well, Asho is adamant. As such, don’t go about by yourself. They’re small and quick and can pass through walls—and they have a predilection for drinking human blood. So—nasty. And in the tales they’re never alone, but operate in packs. Like rats. I would suggest we place vigilant watches, and all sleep in the same room.”

Ser Tiron raised an eyebrow. “Wait. Bloodsucking albino rats that can walk through walls? You’ve got to be shitting me.”

“I, ah, am not, as you put it, uh—”

Brocuff shook himself as if coming awake. “Watches will of course be set. We’ll not bother with the walls, and rather simply set guards around the perimeter of this hall. If these… naugrim can really walk through walls, I’ll have a man at each corner of the hall, and not just the doors. We’ll keep the fire burning. Good enough?”

“Yes,” said Audsley. “I hope?”

Ser Wyland rose and stretched and turned to Lady Kyferin. “It’s been a long day. But twelve hours ago, a third of our number fought in a brutal tournament. With my Lady’s permission, I suggest we all turn in for the night. We’ve a long day tomorrow. We’re going to need all the rest we can get.”

Lady Kyferin had been staring away at nothing, and blinked as she focused on the group again. Her eyes were glassy, and Kethe knew with a terrible certainty that she was thinking of Roddick, alone with Lord Laur and his men. She had to be as exhausted as any of them, and beyond that, who knew how heavily the responsibility for their fates rested on her shoulders? Kethe’s anger began to melt away, but then she forced herself to sit up straight. It was admirable for her mother to be concerned about her son. A pity she couldn’t spare much time to think about her daughter.

Her mother smiled wanly and nodded. “Yes. Thank you, Brocuff. Rest. Tomorrow we’ll convene and make specific plans. Thank you.”

As the others dispersed, Kethe rose to her feet, resolute, and then moved over to her mother and sat beside her. Lady Kyferin rested her head against Kethe’s shoulder and gazed into the fire, the warm hues flicking over the new lines that night seemed to have carved into her face. Kethe had never seen her like this. Always she had been vigilant, self-possessed, prepared to face any crisis. Even when facing her father at his worst, her mother had always seemed coiled and ready. Now, for the first time, she looked overwhelmed. Tired. At a loss. The sight tugged at Kethe in a way she had never felt before, and she suddenly had an intuition as to how her mother would always grow older, each day, each month, until her strength began to leave her, her mind growing vague, becoming thinner and more stooped till at last she was an old lady, and Kethe would have to be strong for her, take care of her, hold her hand at night and tell her that everything would be all right.

Given all that, her anger seemed childish. She hugged her mother tightly, and her mother finally smiled at her and kissed her cheek. “You should sleep,” said Lady Kyferin. “You’re battered and bruised from your first glorious fight today. How are you keeping your eyes open?”

Kethe shrugged, trying not to feel pleased by the compliment. “I don’t know.”

The others were moving to their separate places, some around the big fire, Ser Wyland and Asho helping each other with their armor. Ser Wyland’s squire had been left behind, Kethe knew, to return his steed to his home. Asho had but recently been a squire, and it showed in how effectively he helped Ser Wyland with his armor, unbuckling and pulling off each piece with a methodical practice that was mesmerizing. Ser Wyland sat ignoring the process, his plain brown eyes reflecting the firelight, mouth pursed in thought.

Thank the Ascendant he’s with us
, thought Kethe.

“I’m sorry, Kethe. I should have told you.” Her mother’s voice was almost a murmur. “About Ser Tiron. It tore at me to keep my oath to him, but I gave my word. It was his condition. ”

Kethe fought the urge to stiffen, to pull away. “I don’t understand why you freed a man who tried to kill us. How can you trust him?”

Her mother sighed and turned Kethe’s hand over to trace the lines in her palm. Her fingertips ghosted over the thick calluses. “How did I not notice these before?” Her voice was filled with a quiet, almost sad wonder. “This is the hand of a warrior.” She gazed up at Kethe. “You don’t know how proud I was of you today when you forced that worm Laur to surrender.”

Kethe felt again a burst of pride that made her smile, but this time she wanted to protest and keep the focus on the monster her mother had loosed.

Her mother continued, “Do you know why I let you fight? When I thought—no, I was sure—that you would suffer?”

“Because…” Kethe trailed off. She could guess, but she wanted to hear it from Lady Kyferin. “No. Why?”

Her mother looked back down at Kethe’s palm, and again traced the ridges. “I’ve known since the moment your father died that I would not be taking another husband. I would not be letting another man determine the course of my life and yours. Not due to some misguided loyalty to your father. You know that there was no love there.” Her mother paused and gazed at her. “Don’t you?”