Part 30 (1/2)
Memories s.h.i.+vered within Kath. Her voice dropped to a hushed whisper. ”Only a p.a.w.n can become a queen.”
The old woman chuckled. ”A p.a.w.n is the least expected piece. Easily overlooked, it slips past the other players, strength hidden beneath weakness, an irony of the G.o.ds.” Another handful of herbs ignited in the fire. ”But who taught you the purpose of the crystal blade?”
Kath hesitated, but she saw no reason not to answer. ”The Kiralynn monks.”
”The Eye in the Hand.”
She nodded, surprised by the old woman's knowledge.
”Long have they remained hidden...since the time of the sundering.”
Dizzy from the strange blue smoke, Kath shook her head, trying to think. ”The sundering of the world?”
”No, the sundering of civilization, broken by the War of Wizards, when magic was lost and women became chattel.”
Kath held her breath. ”How old are you?”
”My memories are beyond age.” The old woman fingered the crystal dagger, her expression hidden by a ma.s.s of wrinkles. ”My great granddaughter tells me that you met a lost son of the painted people, one who wore the face of a mountain lion.”
A mountain lion again, Kath tried to concentrate. ”Yes, in Castlegard, over two years ago.”
Dark eyes stared back at her like fathomless wells. ”It seems many destinies are entwined in you.” The old woman hefted the crystal dagger. ”The G.o.ds make their choices known.” Leaning forward, she held the dagger over the flames, extending the hilt toward Kath. ”Use it well.”
Kath reached for the dagger...but the old woman held on. Bathed in smoke and the heat of the flames, their stares locked across the fire, their hands joined by the dagger. Light leaped along the crystal, creating a bridge of magic. Kath felt a relentless pull in the depths of her soul. She fell into the old one's stare, plummeting through the ages, tossed and turned by thousand questions; Who are you? Will you be true? Why are you here? Questions beat against her mind like the wings of ravens...till a single word was spoken. Remember! Like the pure note of a gong, the command s.h.i.+vered through her mind. Kath gasped, feeling as if a forgotten doorway suddenly burst open.
The old woman released the dagger.
Kath rocked backwards, clutching the blade. Coughing on a lungful of smoke, she shook her head, a tumult of thoughts. ”I don't understand.”
”A consequence of youth.”
Anger pulsed through Kath. ”Will you help us against the Mordant?”
”Help is here...if you know where to look.” The fire snapped and crackled, sending curls of blue smoke wafting to the ceiling. ”Mother Earth has the longest memories. In such a place, it is difficult to lie...even to yourself.” She smiled, a ma.s.s of wrinkles, amus.e.m.e.nt glinting in her dark eyes. ”Memories of the past, visions of the future, the Womb of the World holds them all, waiting to be born. Breathe deep and open the doors of your mind.” The old one leaned toward the blaze, gently fanning the smoke toward Kath.
A cloud of blue wafted her way. Kath coughed, but the coughing only made her swallow more. Smoke surrounded her. The domed chamber seemed to spin. A distant chime sounded...and then her mind exploded in visions. She knew things she never could have known. Images of the past, of that s.h.i.+ning time before the War of Wizards, when knowledge and honor held sway. She wore a sword belted to her side, and on her s.h.i.+eld, an eight-pointed star. A Star Knight! The great sword felt right in her hands, as if it was meant to be. But all too soon, the scene s.h.i.+fted and she saw the Star Tower betrayed, the knights murdered in their sleep, the tower desecrated, the great library burnt...even the stones were pulled down, as if the dark ones sought to destroy the very memory of the Star Knights. But a few who lived remembered. In the darkest of times, the s.h.i.+eld was re-drawn. Lines connected the eight points of the star...to create an Octagon! The symbol blazed in her mind...but then the world was spinning, and she knew time skipped forward, leaping by centuries. She saw her father, King Ursus, standing on a rampart, his blue sword drawn for battle. The scene s.h.i.+fted and she glimpsed his foe. Her soul quailed, shaken by the mult.i.tude. A sea of enemies stretched to the horizon, as if the very gates of h.e.l.l had disgorged all the armies of the past. And above the vast horde flew the Darkflamme, the war banner of the Mordant. She quailed at the sight, fearing for the Octagon. Once more, the scene s.h.i.+fted, this time to a cavern deep in the earth, red stalact.i.tes dripping like blood from the ceiling. A foul taste filled her mouth, reeking of evil. She wanted to flee but there was something here she needed to see. Beneath the stalact.i.tes, Darkness clutched a man, chained to the symbol of the pentagram like a dark offering...and then she saw his face...Duncan!
”No!” Kath stood, the crystal dagger clutched in her fist, poised to strike. Reality returned in a rush. She lurched forward, gasping for breath. Seeking an anchor, her stare roamed the chamber, from the dark to the light, coming to rest on the old woman's face. ”What did I see?”
”In the Womb of the World...old souls are gifted with images of the past.” Dark eyes glittered beneath the mound of sheepskins.
”It wasn't just the past.”
Her face was hard to read, a ma.s.s of wrinkles, a muddle of blue tattoos, but her voice held no surprise. ”Tell me.”
Kath explained about the dark horde...and about the man trapped in a cavern of weeping stone...but she did not yield his name.
”Mother Earth knows of this cavern, a place of the foulest magic...it lies at the heart of the Mordant's kingdom...beneath the Dark Citadel.”
Kath shuddered. ”But is it the future? Or can it be changed?”
”Nothing is written in stone. Every one has the chance to write his own destiny. And a rare few have the chance to change the course of the world.”
Kath gripped the crystal dagger. ”Then I have the chance to change my vision?”
”Perhaps.” The old woman nodded. ”Or perhaps you are given a choice, to take the crystal blade south to the Octagon or to go north to the Dark Citadel.”
Kath shuddered, the taste of ashes in her mouth.
The old woman stirred beneath her sheepskins. ”There is a thing you should know. Our scouts keep watch on the Mordant's domain. The Dark Citadel prepares for war.”
”The horde of my dream.”
The old woman nodded. ”Your dreams are powerful, they rush to be born.” She clapped her hands and a man stepped from a side pa.s.sage. Tall and brawny, clad in pale white leathers, he bore a snarling mountain lion on his face. He nodded to the old woman and then gathered her into his arms, carrying her as easily as a small child.
Cradled in sheepskins, the Old One lost none of her dignity. ”Come, child, the painted people are already gathered. It is time to hear the truth of my great grandson.” She gave Kath a piercing stare. ”Time for destinies to collide.”
36.
The Knight Marshal A horn sounded in the courtyard, a trill of notes full of triumph.
The marshal strode to the battlement and gazed down into the muddy courtyard.
Thirty knights galloped into the yard, maroon battle banners fluttering from lances, arms and armor gleaming in the sunlight. They rode with their heads held high, as if fresh from victory.
King Ursus joined him at the battlement. ”Ulrich returns from Cragnoth Keep.”
The marshal saw that the king had the truth of it. The lead rider had the same bearish build, golden hair beneath a burnished half helm, a blue sword strapped to his back. Perhaps the prince was just the tonic the king needed.
Turning from the battlement, the king called for his squire. ”Baldwin, summon the other captains. I'll meet the prince in my council chambers.”
A lanky red-haired lad snapped a salute and then sped away.
The king strode the length of the battlement, the marshal at his side. They reached the drum tower and clattered down the stairs. A pair of guards saluted as they entered the king's chambers.
”Ulrich's return can only mean one thing.” The king stood in front of the cold hearth. Ever the warrior, the hilt of his great blue sword loomed over his right shoulder, the monk's crystal glinting in the pommel. ”The Mordant must have struck at Cragnoth Keep, hoping to claim treachery's wages. Rebuffed at the Crag he'll soon come calling at Raven Pa.s.s. I'll wager we'll see his army before winter ends.”
”He'll dare the steppes in winter?”
The king nodded. ”A goad to his army.”
”A cruel ploy, befitting a foul lord.” The marshal set a lit taper to the kindling. Fire erupted in the hearth, a welcome blaze of heat.
The king paced in front of the fire. ”A doom stalks us, Osbourne, I can feel it in my bones. The Mordant will send a slavering horde against us, the likes of which none has ever seen.”
The marshal had long ago learned to trust the king's battle sense. ”We're as ready as we can be. We've pulled men from all across the Domain, leaving skeletal forces in the other towers. There are none left to answer the summons.” He did not raise the specter of magic, that nightmare he kept to himself. ”In times past, allies would have marched from the southern kingdoms, to stand shoulder to shoulder with the Octagon, fighting to hold back the Dark.”