Part 34 (2/2)

His grin widened. ”The Mordant's a.s.sa.s.sin.”

A clatter of footsteps approached the doorway. A dozen guards crowded into the chamber. A tall man in a long black robe followed. He carried himself with an air of authority, studying Duncan like a bug stuck on a pin. ”So the rumors are true.” Nodding, he made an imperious gesture. ”Take him. The Mordant awaits.”

Spear points dropped. A dozen hands reached for him.

Duncan seized his chance. His right fist snaked out, connecting with a jaw. Bone crunched and a guard fell screaming. Instinct took over, a cornered animal desperate to escape. He whirled, throwing elbows at faces, knees to groins, dealing a whirlwind of pain. Twisting and turning, he fought like a rabid animal, nothing to lose. A gap opened between two guards. Duncan lunged for the doorway, but the small man was suddenly there, a blur of shadows. Something solid struck the side of Duncan's head. He staggered to his knees. A dozen hands grabbed his arms and legs. A strangler's noose was slipped around this throat. It pulled tight and Duncan gasped for air. Ignoring the pain, he fought to win free, but the guards were too many. Ropes lashed his arms, and still he fought, trying to bite his captors.

”Follow me.” The priest turned, a whirl of dark robes and strode from the chamber.

The soldiers hoisted him onto their shoulders, borne like a felled deer fresh from the slaughter.

Naked, Duncan writhed against his bonds, but he could not win free. They carried through a maze of marble corridors, a palace of some sort. A pair of ma.s.sive doors opened, admitting a rush of cold air. They bore him out into the bitter wind. A flock of sea gulls wheeled overhead, their mournful cries filling the air. Across a rune covered courtyard, they carried him toward a ma.s.sive boulder. ”Where are you taking me?” But there was no answer.

A dark crack creased the boulder, like a doorway to h.e.l.l. Spiral stairs cut into solid rock, a steep descent. Duncan breathed deep, tasting the air. Stale smells filled the stairway, scents of stone and blood and pain laced together, a lingering nightmare. Duncan struggled, but the guards kept their hold.

Torches lit the stairwell, so many steps, like descending into h.e.l.l. Rough rock walls carried a feeling of age and menace, a place that time forgot. The stairs leveled out and he caught a glimpse of a great copper door.

Cold brushed against his skin like dead fingers. Naked, he writhed against his bonds, but the soldiers did not stop. They carried him through the doorway and into a ma.s.sive chamber. Red stalact.i.tes hung from the ceiling as if the stone wept blood. Raw scents of blood and fear intensified, a tortured reek suffocating him. Every aspect of the cavern was carved from nightmares. Duncan's stare skittered around the chamber, desperate to win free.

”Put him here.”

They carried him to the heart of the chamber, five braziers glowing with flames. Someone yanked the strangler's noose taut and he gasped for breath. Soldiers lowered him to the ground, his naked back pressed against cold, hard stone. His arms and legs were pulled tight, put in a spread-eagle position. Iron clamped around his wrists and ankles, binding him to the floor like a sacrifice.

One of the soldiers removed the noose.

Duncan gasped for air, desperate to keep the panic from his voice. ”What is this place? What do you want from me?”

The priest smirked. ”Only your soul.” He made a sharp gesture and the soldiers followed him toward the round doorway.

”You're leaving me?” Duncan bucked against his chains, but he was held tight, only able to lift his head. ”Don't leave me!” His cry echoed against the stalact.i.tes, a pitiful wail. Straining against his chains, he watched his captors leave, till their footsteps died to echoes. He fought the chains, desperate to win free, but the cruel iron could not be defeated. Exhausted, he slumped against the cold stone, chained in a G.o.d-forsaken place.

Movement at the edge of his vision, a dark figure stepped from the shadows. Gliding like a shade, the a.s.sa.s.sin moved to stare down at him, a hint of regret on his face. ”You would have made a worthy opponent.”

”Then fight me, here and now, man against man!”

The a.s.sa.s.sin shook his head. ”Orders.” He c.o.c.ked his head as if listening to a hidden voice. ”But I'll give you a piece of advice. If ever you have the chance, fall on the spears. A much better death than this.” And then he was gone, striding toward the doorway.

The great copper door shuddered close and Duncan was alone. Chained to the floor, splayed like a sacrifice, he watched the shadows cavort among the stalact.i.tes, struggling to keep his sanity.

42.

Blaine ”My sword!” Blaine stared at the blue steel sword, desperate to reclaim it. Hands balled into fists, he strode towards the fox-faced man, but Kath was suddenly in the way.

”No.”

He towered over her, his voice a low growl. ”I'll have my sword.”

Kath stood her ground, keeping a hand on his chest, her voice a hushed whisper. ”You'll get your sword back.” She turned, appealing to the wrinkled crone huddled beneath sheepskins. ”We're allies of the painted people, sworn to fight the Mordant. Our weapons should be returned to us.”

The crone nodded. ”As you say.”

Blaine waited, keeping a leash on his anger.

Three lads, all of them tattooed with badger faces, scurried up the steps to the dais. They brought Kath her sword in its leather scabbard, the dagger for her boot, and her throwing axes in their hawk-harness...and they brought Blaine a dagger. A dagger. His anger erupted. ”The blue steel sword is mine!”

Grinning like a thief, the fox-faced man raised the sapphire sword with both hands. Blue steel gleamed as keen as when it was first forged, death crafted into steel. The fox sneered, ”The sword is mine, given as payment for your rescue. The price for our aid.” Twirling the blue blade, he glared at Blaine, his every gesture a taunt.

Blaine's rage boiled over. ”Are you a merchant or a warrior? Where's your honor?”

Anger rippled through the crowd.

Kath stepped between them, her gaze fixed on the old woman. ”The matter of the blue sword must be decided. Allies should not require payment.”

Blaine hissed, ”Just let me fight for it!”

Kath gave him a barbed stare, her voice a hissed whisper. ”We need allies not enemies.”

”Tell that to him!”

The old woman gestured to Blaine, her hand as frail as a bird's claw. ”Come closer, knight of the Octagon.”

Scowling, Blaine sidestepped Kath and strode to the old woman. A wizen sack of bones swathed in sheepskins, she looked so frail he could snap her neck with a single hand. He wondered how such a shriveled old thing could hold sway over a warrior people...but then he looked into her eyes, dark brown flecked with gold, bottomless pools of memory, tugging at his soul, pulling him into an abyss of obligation. A question whispered in his mind, *Will you be true?*

A witch! He tired to pull away, but she held him with her stare.

*Will you be steadfast or will you reach for glory?*

His mind reeled, why couldn't he have both? Honor and glory, I'll have both!

*Beware the choice, knight of the Octagon.*

Something snapped in his mind. Blaine staggered backwards...and the link severed. Shaking his head, he studied the crone through hooded eyes...but she was just a shriveled old woman, harmless beneath a sheepskin cloak.

But there was nothing frail about her voice. She pointed a bony finger at him. ”Is it true you bartered the sword for aid?”

”Yes, but...”

”And was the aid given?”

His anger simmered, ready to over boil. ”Yes, but...”

<script>