Part 8 (2/2)

The Mordant stifled a secret smile, enjoying the irony. A tool of his oldest enemies now served to protect his throne. Steeped in magic, the Dahlmar crystal was used by the Kiralynn Order to detect the re-born. Taken from a captured monk, the Mordant had long ago subverted the crystal to his own use, making it part the Trials of Return.

He reached for the shard and raised it high. ”Let the truth be known.”

The crystal blazed to life, glowing with the red light of h.e.l.l.

Compelled by the crystal's magic, the Mordant's eyes revealed his true nature. Like twin lanterns, his gaze filled with a fiery red glow, revealing the oldest of the harlequins. ”I am the Mordant re-born.” He turned toward the crowd, his voice booming across the courtyard. ”The power of the Dark Lord flows in me. Kneel before me and obey!”

Thousands fell to their knees. Lying prostrate on the cold stones, they groveled before him.

The Mordant turned his fiery gaze back to the citadel's elite. All sank to their knees...except for the High Priest. Unlike the others, Gavis had tasted the rulers.h.i.+p of the citadel. Sometimes stewards needed to die before they were deposed. ”Which will it be, Gavis, service or death?”

The stiff-backed priest slowly sank to his knees. ”Yours to command.”

”A wise choice.” The Mordant returned the crystal to his High Priest, extinguis.h.i.+ng the red light. ”This will be a glorious lifetime.” Climbing the palace stairs, he turned to accept the adoration of the crowd, the ruler of all he surveyed.

9.

Katherine

Death galloped towards them. Still leagues away, the soldiers rode in disciplined ranks, bristling with spears. Hunters following the h.e.l.lhounds, the threat of steel chased the savage bite of fangs. Kath guessed they numbered a hundred or more, too many to doubt the outcome.

Duncan stood beside her, his voice calm. ”Fight or flee?”

Kath shook her head. ”With only two horses, we won't get far. And there's nowhere to hide in the gra.s.slands.” She shuddered, recalling tales of torture from the north. ”I'd rather die fighting.” She stared at each of her companions, seeing her own grim resolve etched on their faces. Even Danya, the girl who never carried a weapon, gave a solemn nod. Kath gripped her sword hilt. ”Then we fight. Let's use what time we have.”

She studied the steppes, cursing the flat openness, realizing the slain horses offered their only cover. Two of them lay close together, forming a rough vee. ”We'll make our stand here, using the dead horses as a bulwark. Get your weapons. We have little enough time to prepare.”

Ignoring the pain in her left thigh, she hurried to recover her throwing axes, not bothering to wipe the blood from the blades. Next, she approached the sorrel stallion, searching her saddlebag for the chainmail s.h.i.+rt at the bottom, carried all the way from Queen Liandra's kingdom. Burnished bright, the chainmail gleamed in the sun, but what good would it do against a hundred spears? Banis.h.i.+ng the grim thought, she pulled on the quilted jerkin and then shrugged into the chainmail. Her harness with her throwing axes went over the chainmail, her shoulders tightening beneath the added weight. From the rear of the saddle, she unbuckled a small octagonal s.h.i.+eld she'd found in Cragnoth's armory. Lastly, she unwrapped Sir Cardemir's princely gift, setting the gleaming garnet helm on her head. Girt for battle, she stripped the saddle from the stallion and beat his rump with the flat of her sword. ”Run!” Snorting, the warhorse sprinted south. She prayed he'd make it home to the Octagon; the valiant steed deserved a better end than death in the G.o.d-cursed steppes.

Armed for war, she had one more thing to attend to. Reaching into her deepest pocket, she removed the amber pyramid. To the victors went the spoils, but she dared not let the Mordant claim the Quickner. Kath scanned the trampled gra.s.s for a hiding place. Knowing pockets and saddlebags would be searched, she knelt by one of the dead horses. Taking a last look at the small amber focus, she pried open the horse's mouth.

A shadow fell across her. She looked up, meeting the monk's stare. ”You said the amber pyramid should never fall to the Mordant.”

Zith nodded, his face solemn.

”Then I'll give it to death.” She shoved the pyramid into the horse's mouth. ”Let the G.o.ds and the ravens fight over it.”

A m.u.f.fled thunder came from the north, a warning that the enemy drew near.

Wiping her hands on the gra.s.s, she joined her companions.

Duncan gave her a lingering look. ”Armor becomes you.”

Kath felt her face flush...but the pounding hooves intruded, drawing her back to the threat at hand. ”We'll make our stand behind the dead horses.”

They stood behind the vee formed by two dead horses, a pitiful bulwark but it was all they had.

Blaine unsheathed his great blue sword.

Duncan nocked a black-fletched arrow, three full quivers tied to his belt. He stared at Kath, his voice steady. ”They're almost within range.” He quirked a half smile. ”Shall I let them know we intend to fight?”

She looked at her companions, giving each of them a last chance to retreat. ”There's one horse left.”

Blaine hefted his sapphire blue sword, sunlight glinting on his silver surcoat, looking like a hero of old. ”What else are blue swords for?”

She gripped his arm, grateful for his lighthearted bravado. Releasing the knight, she turned to the others, a question in her stare.

Zith leaned on his quarterstaff, his voice grim. ”The G.o.ds' willing; I'll see this to the end.”

Danya stood further apart, a dagger awkwardly clutched in her right hand, her left hand on the wolf. She gave Kath the smallest of nods, her face pale but determined. The wolf pressed close to the girl, issuing a throaty growl.

Pride rushed through Kath. ”So be it.” She turned to Duncan, memorizing the lines of his face, wis.h.i.+ng they had more time. ”Make every arrow count.”

He smiled, his voice full of meaning. ”And every sword stroke.” He pulled the bowstring to a kiss, a fluid motion, and then released.

A black-fletched arrow arced into the steel-gray sky. It soared for a small eternity...and then plummeted into the spears, a declaration of war.

A cry erupted from the enemy.

”Now they know we have teeth.” Kath's hand tightened on her sword hilt, determined to make a difference.

Beside her, Duncan pulled and released, a thrum of arrows arcing skyward, a steady rain of death.

A horn sounded and the dark riders spread out. A long line of spears swept south across the gra.s.slands, a scythe of death.

Kath watched them come, their lances leveled. ”If anyone has a brilliant idea, now would be a good time.” She looked at Zith, half-hoping the monk had some secret magic, but he shook his head, his face grim, his hands white-knuckled on his quarterstaff.

Danya moaned and sank to her knees, her face ghost pale, her eyes glazed, the dagger discarded on the ground.

Kath felt sorry for the wolf-girl, but there was nothing she could do. She raised her sword to the heavens, shouting loud enough for the G.o.ds to hear. ”For Honor and the Octagon!”

The wolf loosed a howl, as if echoing her cry.

Blaine lifted his blue sword, ”Honor and the Octagon!”

Hoof beats thundered from the north, a long line of death. Details became clear, gold pentacles on black armor, stern faces beneath dark helms, black battle banners snapping in the wind. She watched them come, a dark wave racing across the golden gra.s.sland, a destiny of spears.

Duncan's arrows thrummed a constant rhythm, poking holes in the long line, like bees stinging a raging lion...but the beast kept coming.

Kath counted their numbers, still too many. The ground shook with the threat of hooves. A cold hand seized Kath's stomach, the grim certainty of impending death. She gripped her sword hilt, sending a prayer to Valin, hoping her courage would not fail.

<script>