Part 2 (2/2)
Bryx trotted close, nosing the carca.s.s, issuing a low growl.
Danya patted her mare and looked pale, her voice flushed with anguish. ”He doesn't even unsaddle the poor beasts.”
Blaine nudged his warhorse close, concern on his face. ”He runs them into the ground and then discards them. Horses and people make no difference to the Mordant, just tools to be used.”
”No, you're wrong.” Kath shook her head, remembering the bitter fight at the Crag. ”To the Mordant, people are bears in a pit, goaded to fight. He incites kingdoms to war and then sits back to enjoy the bloodshed. When the fighting's done, he claims the spoils from both sides.” She looked back at the ruined carca.s.s. ”In the Mordant's world, the horses get off light.”
The monk murmured, ”She has the truth of it.”
Duncan finished his search, wiping his hands on a patch of ferns. ”Saddlebags are empty, no clue to the Mordant's intent, just like the other horse.” He vaulted into the saddle, fluid grace beneath black leather. ”The dead horse is message enough.” His mismatched gaze found Kath, one cat-eye golden and the other sapphire-blue. ”The Mordant races to reclaim his power. His lead is too great for us to stop him.”
The truth could not be denied, yet it did not change her need to put an end to the ancient evil. ”Then we'll just have to follow and find another way.”
Duncan nodded, ”Just so,” but his smile did not reach his eyes.
Kath turned her stallion downhill and asked for a trot. A clop of hooves followed. The rotting stench fell away, replaced by the crisp scents of cedar and pine. Trees twisted by the wind crowded close. Kath peered beneath their boughs, wary of ambush. Everything seemed sinister north of the Spines, the steel-gray sky, the gloomy forest, the winter-cold wind, and the ever present ravens, as if the land held its breath, waiting for evil to strike. Chiding herself for such dark premonitions, she gripped her sword hilt, rea.s.sured by the feel of good Castlegard steel.
Strung out in a line, they rode down through the foothills, the shadows stretching toward twilight. Kath yearned for the sunlight. Her warhorse must have sensed her unease, pulling ahead of the others. Only Duncan kept pace, his dark gelding matching strides with the sorrel stallion.
The trail curved out onto a rocky promontory, offering the first unfettered view of the north. Kath pulled the stallion to a halt. A sea of gra.s.s stretched to the horizon, golden grains rippling in the wind. Untamed by trails or roads, the vast steppes of the north almost seemed benign.
Duncan joined her on the overlook, the wind tugging at his dark hair. ”Don't let the gra.s.slands fool you.”
Kath gave him a questioning look.
”It looks peaceful enough, but it's really a trap.”
Kath studied the north, judging the vast gra.s.sland with military eyes. ”No trees, no high ground, no chance for stealth or strategy.” She nodded, seeing the trap beneath the stark beauty. ”It's like a great greensward, a moat of gra.s.s. Naked and exposed, numbers and speed are the only advantages. And the Mordant always has the numbers.”
”So they say.” Duncan leaned forward, patting the neck of his gelding. ”The forest looks threatening but we're safer here, hidden by leaf and bark.” He stretched in the saddle, muscles taut beneath black leather. ”We'll be out of the foothills by tomorrow afternoon. Then we'll be thankful for the dead horses. The ravens will be our only guides, bellwethers for the Mordant.”
”A trail of death and evil.”
”We've been following it all along, ever since the monastery.”
Kath thought about their journey across the kingdoms of Erdhe and knew it was only a taste of things to come. ”Just so.” Struck by a sense of foreboding, she pointed toward the steppes with her chin. ”My brother, Tristan, died in the steppes.” Her voice dropped to a hush. ”My father's favorite.”
”Why was he favored?”
Kath smiled, her voice wistful. ”Tristan had a way about him. Good with a sword, good with his command, gallant and honorable, the perfect knight...till he was caught in the steppes, out-numbered, slaughtered with all his men.” She stared out at the unforgiving gra.s.slands. ”I wanted to be him.”
”You're better than that.”
”What?”
”You'll not die outnumbered in the steppes. You're better than that.” His gaze held hers, strong and unwavering. ”You'll find a way to out-wit your enemies...and you'll out-heart them as well.”
His voice was certain as steel. He believes in me, a rare gift she'd longed for but never really found...till him. Wrapping his words around her like a wool cloak before winter, she thanked the G.o.ds for Duncan.
”We should find a campsite for the night.”
His words snapped her back to the practicalities of the north. Noting the hint of twilight in the sky, she said, ”Here?”
”No, the cliff is too exposed. A campfire would serve as a beacon to whatever lurks ahead.”
She heard the worry beneath his words. ”Then you feel it too?”
He shrugged. ”We're only five against the north. We'll need to keep our wits sharp and our weapons close.” He rubbed the dark stubble on his chin, his face thoughtful. ”And we'll need to keep our advantage.”
Hearing the irony in his voice, she studied his face, a hawk's piercing gaze over a suggestive smile, the shadow of a beard only making him more attractive. ”What advantage?”
”Whatever the Mordant expects,” he flashed her a wry grin, ”it won't be the five of us.”
”Ah, the element of surprise.” She met his gaze and shared his laughter, loving the glint of daring in his mismatched eyes.
He gave her a quicksilver smile and wheeled his gelding back toward the trail. ”Come on!” Drumming his heels against the horse's flanks, he yelled a challenge, ”Or I'll leave no enemies for your sword!” The gelding exploded into a gallop, hooves flying down the trail, sending up a spray of stones.
Kath glanced up the trail and waved to Danya, then wheeled the stallion to follow. The big warhorse surged to a gallop, a charge of hooves racing after the gelding. Kath leaned low in the saddle, her long blond hair streaming behind, glorying in the thrill of the chase. Ahead, the black gelding pulled around a curve. The gelding was quick but the sorrel stallion was powerful, she settled into the race, certain the stallion would close the distance. The trail snaked down through the forest, a series of twists and turns, a clatter of hooves on stone. She lost sight of Duncan but held to the trail. Her warhorse thundered around a curve, charging into a long straight away...but the trail was empty, no sign of the leather-clad archer. Kath hauled on the reins, bringing the stallion to a stop. The warhorse stamped and snorted but stood his ground. Unsheathing her sword, she studied the forest, searching for a threat. She nudged the stallion forward, holding him to a walk. ”Duncan?” Her voice echoed against the mountains.
”Down here.”
Relief washed through her.
”Take the side trail.”
She followed his voice to a narrow side-spur, branches of cedar and pine obscuring the turnoff. Deliberately breaking a branch, she left a marker for the others before descending the tree-cloaked trail.
Her stallion's hooves skittered on loose stones, a steep descent into the depths of the forest. Branches beat against her, releasing a breath of pine. A hushed stillness cloaked the forest, fallen needles m.u.f.fling the drum of hooves. Her eyes adjusted to the gloom, her hand still gripping her sword. Trees crowded close, curtains of moss hanging from low branches. But something else hung from the lower limbs. She got a better look and gasped with understanding. s.h.i.+elds hung from the lower branches, old and weathered, cracked and dented. Most were so blackened by time that the heraldry was hidden...yet she knew with certainty what device they all bore. She'd heard legends of such places. Between the trees, impaled in the ground, she saw the swords, their hilts rusted dark red, marking the graves of fallen heroes. A forest of s.h.i.+elds, so many men lost to the north, their lives traded for the peace of the southern kingdoms, their bodies laid to rest in hallowed ground. She rode beneath the octagon s.h.i.+elds, thinking of Sir Tyrone and his valiant stand at Cragnoth Keep. ”For Honor and the Octagon.” The words whispered out of her, a token of reverence for the honored dead. She sheathed her sword, feeling safe among the fallen heroes. Awed by the number of s.h.i.+elds, she sent a prayer to the Lords of Light, giving thanks for the maroon knights.
Ducking beneath a curtain of moss, she emerged into the last light of day. The forest gloom gave way to a small glade and the cheerful sound of a brook. Kath s.h.i.+vered, feeling as if she'd ridden from the stillness of the grave back into life.
Duncan waited for her by the stream. Tall with broad shoulders and a tapered waist, muscles beneath black leather, he leaned on his longbow, watching the gelding drink. He looked up as she approached, a greeting in his mismatched eyes, a warm smile on his sun-tanned face. ”I found our campsite.”
Kath slipped from the saddle. ”What will we do when this is done?”
”You mean after we beat the odds and kill the Mordant?” His tone was playful but he held her gaze.
Nodding, she secured her horse.
His hand caressed the polished wood of his longbow. ”I suppose we'll live happily ever after.”
Kath watched his hands, envious of the yew wood. For a rare moment, the two of them stood alone. Like iron pulled to a loadstone, she moved towards him. He reached for her, pulling her close. Her arms wrapped around him. Nestled against his chest, enfolded by his musky scent of leather on skin, she s.h.i.+vered with need. He tilted her chin and kissed her. Tender at first, but then his kiss deepened. His lips burned into hers, a whole world of wanting. Closing her eyes, she shuddered against him, yearning for more. Beneath his leathers, his manhood reared against her. Instead of pulling away, she pressed close, a desperate mix of fear and wanting. He broke the kiss, his voice ragged. ”We'd best not...”
She looked up at him, daring to speak her heart. ”I don't want to wait.”
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