Part 22 (1/2)

Kath leaned forward, trying to shatter the wall of silence. ”Battle is simple, kill or be killed. The Mordant's soldiers would have taken our heads. You waste your grief on them.”

”No.” The word was little more than a moan.

Kath held her breath, hoping for more.

”You don't understand.” Danya raised her head, her face streaked with tears. ”It's not the soldiers...but the horses.”

Kath rocked backwards, struck with understanding.

Danya sat up, her gaze haunted, her voice a harsh whisper. ”I tortured those horses.”

Kath scrambled for a reply. ”You commanded them to attack. You saved our lives.”

”I did far worse than that.” Tears spilled down her face. ”I know wolves.” Her voice dropped to a guilty whisper. ”I put wolves in their minds.”

The terrible carnage finally made sense, horses screaming, stomping their riders into puddles of gore. Kath shook her head, dispelling the horror. Somehow she had to save Danya from an abyss of guilt. She gripped the wolf-girls hands, conviction in her voice. ”We need you, Danya.” The girl tried to pull away but Kath held tight. ”Some larger destiny is at work here. We all have a role to play. Can't you feel it?”

”What I did was unforgivable! And you want me to do more? Use my G.o.d-cursed magic to torture more animals?” Her voice flooded with scorn. ”Animals feel too. They love life. They know pain and death.” Danya pulled away, her face full of outrage. Ripping her s.h.i.+rtsleeve, she revealed the silver cuff. ”This thing is a curse...yet I cannot bring myself to be rid of it!”

”Not a curse.” Kath shook her head, there had to be a way to use the magic and still walk in the Light. ”Perhaps there is another way.”

”What do you mean?”

Kath stared at Bryx, struggling to put her thoughts into words. ”The wolf helps...he's a true companion, one of us.”

”So?”

”So...instead of commanding, ask.”

Danya shook her head. ”I don't understand.”

”You've seen what the Mordant does to horses, riding them till they drop, leaving them for dead without even removing the saddle.”

Danya nodded, her face pale.

”And the gore hounds, a twisted abomination of man and animal.”

The wolf bared his teeth, a menacing growl.

”The Mordant has no compa.s.sion for men or animals, an ancient evil that must be stopped.

”Yes.”

”Then show the animals what we fight against and ask them for help. Ask them to fight on our side.”

”Ask?” Danya hugged the wolf. ”And if they say no?”

Kath hesitated, but no matter the risks, there could be only one reply. ”Then the answer is no.” She saw the hesitation in the other girl's eyes. ”I swear by my sword.”

Danya hugged the wolf, her face thoughtful. ”It might work.” She wiped her eyes, a look of reason replacing her grief. ”I could ask.”

Relief washed through Kath. She gripped Danya's arm. ”We truly need you.”

The wolf-girl blushed and looked away.

”Come, you must be hungry.” She pulled the other girl to her feet, refusing to let her pine alone in the cave. ”Let's see if there's any supper left in the cook pots.”

The wolf chuffed.

”I'll wager a gold, it's lamb again.”

Danya ruffled the wolf's fur. ”Bryx likes lamb.”

Kath turned, shocked to find a woman standing in the shadows of the entranceway.

”May I enter?”

Kath nodded, wondering how much she'd overheard.

Thera stepped from the shadows, the tattooed raven staring from her face like a dark omen. The healer smiled, dispelling the grim illusion. ”I bring word of your companion. The fever has broken, the old man will live.”

Kath sighed in relief. ”Thank Valin.”

”I bring other news as well. The Ancestor will meet with you in three days time. She's called for a conclave in the Great Hall.” A raven peered from the healer's face, keen eyes surrounded by dark feathers. ”At conclave we will learn the fate of the man who walked among the lions, the man who died in Castlegard.” Her dark gaze drilled into Kath. ”You'll tell his tale and then much will be decided.” She turned, her back stiff with silence. ”Come, I will take you to your companion.”

A conclave...the words had the ring of a trial, or a judgment. Kath followed the healer, needing to speak to Zith. Perhaps the monk knew the key to the painted people...or perhaps the answer lay in Castlegard, with a tattooed man two years dead. Either way, she still had a riddle to solve...the sands of time were running out.

27.

Duncan Duncan waited with the others for a turn at the ladder. Bruce went first, scrambling up the rungs as if death tugged at his heels. One at a time, they scaled the mineshaft, white-knuckles grasping the rungs, refusing to look down. Duncan waited till last. He was accustomed to heights, having climbed the great trees as a child, but this was different. The climb seemed to stretch to forever, testing muscles already weary with strain. Relief washed through him when he finally reached the top.

Grack waited at the door to the sleeping chamber, thumbing a string of knots as each prisoner pa.s.sed. Duncan wondered if the big Taal even knew how to count, but he kept his thoughts to himself. A boy accepted his torch, snuffing it in a bucket of sand. Duncan followed the others into the cell. The men shuffled forward, keeping their backs to the rough-hewn walls. Hungry and parched, their stares fixed on the two buckets waiting beneath the trapdoor. One held a slop of brown-colored stew, while the other brimmed with murky water, their second meal of a long hard day. Duncan breathed deep, hoping to catch the stew's scent, but the combined reek of sweat and p.i.s.s overpowered the stale air. Anger thrummed through him, how he hated the mine.

The iron door clanged shut.

The men kept their heads lowered.

Grack strode into the torchlight, his sheer bulk enforcing a brooding menace. ”One's missing.” His voice was a low growl, his stare full of suspicion. He poked a thick finger at Brock. ”You, explain.”

”A cave-in.” Brock kept his head bowed. ”Trell died in a cave-in.”

”One less maggot to tend.” Grack prowled the chamber. ”One less maggot to feed,” his spiked mace whistled though the air, ”one less maggot to work.” The mace swung close to Martin's head, but the skinny man knew to keep still. Grack scowled, ”One less man to work but the quota stays the same.” The big Taal came to a stop next to the bucket of stew, his booted foot poised to kick.

The men gasped, a strangled sound.

Grack laughed. ”Meet the quota or go hungry.” He kicked the bucket, just a light tap, but the stew slopped over the side, forming a small puddle.