Part 37 (1/2)

The Mordant dropped to the stone floor, lying next to Duncan.

Above, the shadows kept coming, a roiling cloud pressing down, a mere hand's width above the Mordant's head.

Duncan tried to shrink into the cold stone floor. Drenched in sweat, he stank of his own fear. A primal terror gripped him, the age-old fear of the Dark. Wide-eyed, he turned his head, taking short sharp breaths, afraid the evil would get inside him.

”Witness the power of Darkness.” The Mordant's voice dripped with malice. He reached upward, extending a silver blade into the dark cloud. Twirling the blade, he drew it down. ”Now you'll pay.” A thread of inky darkness bound the blade to the hovering cloud like a tentacle of evil. ”Now you'll scream.”

The blade plunged into Duncan's side, a flaming agony. A scream roared out of him. He convulsed against his bonds, skewered by agony.

”Yes, the Darkness burns like acid in your blood.” The Mordant raised another knife, gathering another thread of shadow. ”Now tell me about the crystal dagger.”

”I don't know!” Pain exploded in his shoulder. He screamed a babble of words. Chained to the floor, his mind fled, his world dissolving into a nightmare of screams.

44.

Katherine Kath squinted against the blinding sun. After so long in the caves, the dazzling brightness hurt yet she yearned to feel warm sunlight on her face. She followed Bear through the narrow crevice, squeezing past a th.o.r.n.y bush to stand on a rocky outcrop. A cold wind beat against her face but it was the view that took her breath away. ”So these are the Ghost Hills.”

Bear nodded, a man of little words.

As a child, Kath had heard tales of the Ghost Hills, how the spirits of slain warriors were forever imprisoned in stone, waiting to be summoned for a final battle. Intrigued, she'd pestered the knights for details but none had ever seen the hills. Most considered them nothing more than a minstrel's fable, but no minstrel's ballad had ever captured the wild strangeness spread before her. Staring at the land, she drank in the sights, as if imbibing pure myth.

Smooth and sculptured, the wind hewed hills took fantastic shapes. Giant beehives of yellowish-orange rock dominated the land, like the dream of a drunken G.o.d obsessed with honey mead. Amongst the beehives sat ma.s.sive cones and twisted towers, each more astonis.h.i.+ng than the next. Majestic curves and towering beehives carved in sun burnt colors, a stunning display of ocher, oranges, and reds. Jumbled together the sculpted hills formed an ancient and mystical landscape. Strangely spiritual, the hills evoked a sense of wonder...and peril, as if the G.o.ds drew near. Kath s.h.i.+vered, feeling a sense of awe.

Bear broke the spell. ”This way.”

Halfway up the side of a ma.s.sive beehive, they followed a narrow track, little more than a goat path. Bear led the way, his hand on his sword, with Boar following close behind Kath. The two men had gained great status by her victory, becoming sworn bodyguards of the new War Lord. Vigilant and stubborn, they took their oaths seriously, staying close by her side, a pair of brooding shadows bristling with weapons.

The track spiraled upward, around the steep sided beehive. Hungry for fresh air, Kath breathed deep, savoring the clean scent of sage. After winning the War Helm she'd met with the council of leaders. For three days and three nights she'd listened to arguments and pet.i.tions, mired in the politics of competing factions. The lions wanted war while the boars counseled caution and the eagles acted like vultures, waiting to pick apart any plan. In the end, they'd all turned to her, expecting a decision, but Kath sensed it was another test, another trap. Too many faces were filled with hostility, waiting for her to fail. So she'd delayed, saying she needed a chance to plan, she needed fresh air to think and the council demurred to her wishes. Having gained a short reprieve, she escaped to the outdoors. She took Bear and Boar with her because they seemed loyal and quietly competent and she liked them. Solid soldiers, dependable as steel, they served as guides and bodyguards, but more importantly, they gave her answers that weren't mired in politics. ”Tell me again about the warriors of the painted people.”

Bear answered as he picked his way up the narrow path, his voice deep and gruff. ”The men number thirty-six hundred at last count. About half are armed with good quality swords and axes, taken from our enemies' hands. Steel is revered, handed down from one generation to the next, but there is never enough. Swords become brittle with age or are ruined in battle, so we must always seek more.” He shrugged. ”The rest of the men carry slings and daggers, fighting with whatever they can.”

”What about the women? I've seen armed women in the caves.”

”The last defense. Women protect the hills and the caves, rarely venturing into the steppes.” He shrugged. ”But for you, they might fight. Women warriors would add another six hundred to the total, mostly armed with long knives and slings.”

Too few and too poorly armed, she'd gained a ragtag army, yet somehow the G.o.ds expected her to defeat the Mordant. It seemed a hopeless task. ”What about archers?” Her mind skittered to Duncan but she forced that worry away.

Bear gestured to the barren hills. ”Wood is dearer than steel. Without trees we can't make bows or even arrows.” He shook his head, a tangled ma.s.s of s.h.a.ggy blond hair. ”Slings are much better, plenty of stones around. Every child grows up wielding one. Good enough for killing scrag cats and deterring hungry wolves. Good enough to keep the sheep safe.”

She'd never considered the sling as a serious weapon. Stones against steel, the G.o.ds must be laughing, but she couldn't afford to scoff at any weapon. ”Do you carry a sling?”

”Always.”

”Show me.”

He came to an abrupt halt. Kath almost ran into him. She watched as he removed a four-foot length of braided rope from his belt-pouch. The rope had a loop at one end and a large knot at the other, with a leather cradle in the center.

”Pick a target.”

The hills were truly barren; nothing but sculptured rock, th.o.r.n.y brush, clumps of sage...and sheep. Now that she looked, there were sheep everywhere, white and s.h.a.ggy with small curved horns, scrambling up sheer cliffs, hunting for morsels of scrub. ”How many sheep are there?”

Bear shrugged. ”Too many to count. It's the children's task to keep the predators away so the sheep flourish. Without sheep we could not survive.”

Kath nodded, pulling her borrowed sheepskin close against the bitter cold, grateful for the added warmth.

Bear stared at her, the sling hanging from his right hand. ”A target?”

”But I don't know its range.”

He pointed up the path. ”See that small head-sized stone perched on the edge?”

Kath judged it to be about a hundred yards away, half the range of a longbow. ”It will do.”

Bear stepped a few paces away. Grasping both ends of the sling, he fitted the pouch with a small stone. Standing at an angle to the target, he whirled the sling overhead, putting his entire body into the motion. It happened faster than Kath expected. A single lightning-fast revolution and he released one end of the sling. A loud crack echoed through the hills. The head-sized stone toppled backwards, clattering down the side of the beehive. It took forever to fall.

Bear turned and stared at her, his face impa.s.sive.

”Impressive, but it won't stop a man in armor.”

”It might. One stone in the head will kill a sheep, a scrag cat...or a soldier. It's one of the reasons the Mordant's men never follow us into the hills. From the cliffs, a rain of sling-stones is deadly.”

”Will any stone work?”

”Smooth pebbles fly the farthest.” He gave her one from his pouch.

She weighed it in her hand. ”There's something carved on this one.”

Bear cracked a smile. ”A message for the enemy.”

She stared at the symbol but it meant nothing to her. ”What does it say?”

Laughter tugged at the side of his mouth. ”In polite words, ouch.”

She laughed, suspecting it meant something else entirely. Tucking the stone in her belt-pouch for luck, she gestured for Bear to keep walking, glad she'd asked for the demonstration. The sling had its advantages, a simple but effective weapon...very much like the painted people. But it still didn't solve the problem of numbers.

The trail steepened to a climb. Single file, they spiraled up the great stone beehive, scrambling over rugged terrain. Two thirds of the way up, Bear stopped and turned, his eyes glittering. ”Listen.”

At first she heard nothing, but then the wind picked up. A frigid blast from the north howled through the sculpted rock. An eerie wailing keened through the hills, like the spirits of slain warriors roused to a wordless fury. Kath s.h.i.+vered, making the hand sign against evil. The Ghost Hills were aptly named, worthy of a bard's ballad.

They climbed to the beehive's leeward side, protected from the worst of the wind. Bear led them to a smooth flat perch overlooking a deep gorge. The view was amazing. Every direction revealed a jumble of wind-sculpted rock, each formation more beautiful than the next.

”Will this serve?”

She'd asked for a high place with a good view, a place where she could sit and think. ”Better than I could have imagined.”