Child of the Sword, Book 1 of The Gods Within (28 page)

He stood straight again and returned to his
throne. He sat down, resting one arm casually on an armrest and the
other on the hilt of the great sword. Then slowly, inevitably, the
decay returned. The tapestries lost their brilliance and the
weaponry lost its shine. And the king, powerful and majestic in
life, was once more a skeleton of brittle bone and rotted
flesh.

~~~

Morgin snapped awake and, eyes wide, sat up
instantly, feeling his chest for a nonexistent death wound. His
mind filled suddenly with glimpses of a strange dream: throne rooms
in decay and long dead kings. He shook his head violently, trying
to make some sense of fragmentary images that seemed ever to evade
him, but just when the dream seemed real and whole it disappeared,
shattered into a million illusions that drifted forever out of his
reach.

He looked at the wall of the alcove
carefully, wondering why he thought there should be another room
there. There never had been before, nor was there one now. He
decided that he must have hit his head awfully hard while
struggling with the Kulls, though such a simple explanation felt
strangely inadequate.

His hand touched something at his side: his
sword. He picked it up, looked at it closely. It was his sword; he
was certain of that. He knew it too well to be mistaken about that.
He knew every nick and scratch on the blade: some had been there
when he’d bought it; some he’d put there himself. Yes, it was his
blade, but he felt certain he’d dropped it in the corridor when hit
by the crossbow bolt. The crossbow bolt! Again he examined his
chest, shaking his head with wonder. There was a hole in the jerkin
just above the heart, but he could find no wound. He decided he
must have hit his head terribly hard to have brought on such
hallucinations.

Before leaving the alcove he peered into the
corridor beyond. The carnage there lay untouched; the Kulls had not
bothered to remove the bodies of their dead comrades and both still
lay as they’d fallen. Morgin called on his shadows then stepped
into the corridor, conscious that someone might come along at any
moment.

Something bothered him about the two dead
Kulls, and it took him some moments to realize just what: they were
in the early stages of decay. It appeared they had been dead for
several days. He must have taken a truly terrible blow to the head
to have been unconscious for so long, but oddly he could find no
bump or sore spot, and his mind suddenly filled again with glimpses
of the skeleton king.

He shook his head. More hallucinations, he
decided.

He turned back to the alcove and was not in
the least surprised to find it no longer there, just bare stone
wall. Sword in hand, he turned and walked down the corridor,
thinking the best place to hide would be in the old castle. There
he would wait, and plan, and when the time was right he would come
again into the new castle and teach Valso and his Kulls to fear the
very shadows about them.

Chapter
13: The Magic of Shadow

The torch on the wall flickered slowly,
sending shadows skittering about the room. Morgin stepped into one,
followed it for a few paces, a phantom of the half-light of the
world of shadow. The Kull guard, leaning on his lance by the door
to Olivia’s audience chamber, remained unmoving, unknowing. Morgin
chose another shadow. He moved again, always striving for that
fluidity of motion that would make him indistinguishable from the
flickering gray-black world of shadow, and when it all came
together it was as if he had become shadow. In the last few days he
had learned to use his shadowmagic well.

The Kull yawned. Morgin moved again, edging
his way carefully along the tapestried wall, conscious that if he
should err his only escape lay back the way he’d come, for the
antechamber had only two exits. The door near which the Kull stood
led directly into the audience chamber, while opposite that was the
doorway that led back into the hall, where another Kull stood
guard. Morgin chose another shadow, and with each step moved closer
to the audience chamber.

He had waited until nightfall before leaving
the old castle and returning to the occupied wings. It had taken
great patience to wait so, for his first impulse had been to hunt
Valso down without delay, but he quickly realized that to have any
chance of success, he must move carefully, methodically. He’d
ventured out only to steal a dark, gray-black Kull cloak: something
to keep him warm, and it helped conceal him in the shadows that he
was learning to know so well.

Valso, it seemed, stayed hidden in one of
the upstairs suites, ringed by Kull guards. But the Tulalane
remained accessible, had virtually taken up residence in Olivia’s
audience chamber, with Kulls reporting to him there. Morgin was
within a sword’s length of its entrance when he heard boot steps
approaching from the castle proper. The guard lost his slouch and
straightened, suddenly attentive. Morgin pressed his back tightly
against the wall, wrapped the cloak about his shoulders and
concentrated on his shadow spell.

Valso emerged from the hallway followed by a
retinue of Kulls. He stomped past the guard without acknowledgment
and stormed into the audience chamber.

“He’s alive,” Valso shouted. “I can sense
him lurking about somewhere.”

“If the coward lives,” Morgin heard the
Tulalane say, “then he’s crawled into some hole for the
hiding.”

“Are you certain?”

Morgin could sense the Tulalane’s scorn. “Do
you fear him, my prince?”

“No,” Valso shouted. “Never. I just want to
be certain he doesn’t spoil my plans. Have you kept up the
search?”

“Yes, my lord,” the Tulalane said. He made
no effort to hide his contempt for the Decouix prince. “We haven’t
been able to find him, but don’t concern yourself with the
guttersnipe. His fear will keep him hidden until this is done.”

Morgin changed shadows, found one that
allowed him a slanting view of Valso in the audience chamber,
standing before the Tulalane.

“Of course it will,” Valso said. He eyed the
inside of the room. “I like your blasphemous choice of a command
post, Lord Hwatok. You and I will do well together.”

The Tulalane shrugged. “I take a certain
amount of pleasure in having the old witch attend me here where I
was forced to attend her for so many years. And I do not care how
well you do, Your Highness. My only concern is for myself, and I
intend to do well indeed by this.”

Valso smiled malevolently. “And I care not
what you gain from this venture,
twoname
. Just remember that
you will do only as well as me.”

Morgin waited for a reply from the Tulalane,
but the
twoname
answered with silence. Valso continued
speaking, “Have you learned anything from the Elhiyne
lordling?”

Morgin stiffened, held his breath.

“No, Your Highness. He is stubborn. But
we’ll break him.”

“What of the girl?” Valso asked.

The Tulalane shrugged. “She seems willing to
cooperate.”

Valso’s eyes showed his eagerness. “Is she
ready for me, do you think?”

“Perhaps.”

“Then have her sent to my rooms immediately.
I want to see how far her desire to please goes.”

The Tulalane sneered. “I do not arrange for
your bed chamber entertainments.”

Valso grimaced. “You will do as I say,
twoname
. Or I and my Kulls will turn you out to deal with
the Elhiynes yourself.” Valso did not wait for a reply, but turned
and left the room.

Morgin watched him storm through the
antechamber. Moments later the Tulalane shouted, “Guard.”

The guard turned, rushed into the audience
chamber, was ordered to “Bring the girl,” rushed back out and
disappeared into the castle proper.

Morgin decided to wait. He was curious to
see who “the girl” might be.

The guard returned quickly, followed by
Rhianne and several of his fellows. The Kulls waited in the
antechamber with Morgin while Rhianne joined the Tulalane in the
audience chamber.

“You called for me?” she asked coldly.

“Play no games with me, girl,” the Tulalane
said. “I know your mind. You have no reason to love the Elhiynes,
every reason to hate them. You’ve told me you are more their enemy
than their friend, and now it’s time to prove it. Prince Valso
wishes you to attend him in his private apartments.”

“I am no plaything of Valso’s.”

The Tulalane laughed. “I care not whose
plaything you are, woman. But you must choose, and you must do so
now. The Decouixs, or the Elhiynes. You will attend Valso
willingly, and please him however he chooses, or you will die with
the rest.”

Morgin heard Rhianne sigh. “Very well. But
tell His Highness I wish to freshen up first. I will attend him
within the hour.”

Rhianne emerged from the audience chamber
almost immediately, but the Tulalane stopped her by calling,
“Girl.”

Morgin watched her turn slowly to face the
Tulalane in the audience chamber. He could have easily reached her
with his sword, and as rage boiled up within him it was all he
could do not to cut her down then and there.

The Tulalane’s voice filled the silence.
“You have made the right decision, woman.”

Rhianne gave no answer. She turned slowly to
leave, but as her eyes passed Morgin she hesitated for an instant
as if looking directly at him. He tensed, thinking he was
discovered, determined that the traitorous bitch would be the first
to die. But if she did see something she must have dismissed it as
just another shadow, for she completed her turn and left the room
without another word.

Alone again, the guard returned to his post
at the door and leaned back onto his lance. But he did not relax.
He stood there uneasily for a time as if something bothered him,
then turned slowly about and looked toward Morgin’s hiding place.
His brows narrowed suspiciously, as if he’d noticed Rhianne’s
instant of hesitation. He grasped his lance in both hands and
approached Morgin slowly, peering uncertainly into the shadows.

Morgin’s heart climbed up into his throat.
He stood paralyzed with indecision and fear, then suddenly, as if
it had a mind of its own, his sword leapt out, pulling his hand and
arm with it as it cut a flat arc through the air. The guard’s head
dropped to the floor with a dull thud. Then his headless body,
still crouched low and gripping the lance, toppled slowly backward
and landed with a crash.

“What’s that?” the Tulalane shouted angrily.
“What do you want now? I have work to do.”

Morgin paused for a moment to look at the
dead Kull, then melted into the shadowy night and was gone.

~~~

Rhianne concentrated on stilling her racing
heart. She had thus far managed to control it, but she knew that if
she relaxed that control for only an instant it would run away from
her. It would climb up into her throat, pounding like a drum, and
destroy what little composure she’d managed to achieve. Her
breasts, already chilled by the low cut gown that half exposed them
to the damp castle air, would chill even further as her chest
muscles tightened with fear. If only she could speak with the other
women. If only Valso didn’t keep them isolated, out of contact,
alone.

Morgin came suddenly to mind. She had seen
him hiding in the shadows near the audience chamber, though oddly
she’d not seen him with her eyes, but rather with her heart, her
soul, her magic, and from him she’d felt a murderous hate radiating
like the heat from a white hot hearth. His hate had come upon her
so intensely she almost cried out in fear, but she’d held her
silence, and she wondered now if he would ever forgive her for
rejecting his love so long ago.

He’d wanted to, she knew. She’d seen the
forgiveness and love in his eyes time and again, but something else
always appeared there too: hate, fear, pride; she could never be
certain, and it stood between them now, a wall whose making she
could blame on no one but herself. If only he would come to her,
she would beg his forgiveness. She would prove to him that she was
no longer the stupid young girl who’d let her pride mirror her
mother’s ambitions.

Without warning the door to her apartments
opened. The Kull Captain Verk entered, bowed deeply from the waist.
“His Highness will see you now, your ladyship.”

A chill ran down Rhianne’s spine. It was
said the Kulls were half man and demon, but nothing human hid
behind those eyes, only cruelty and desire. She had chosen her gown
for effect. It squeezed her small breasts upward, produced a slight
but provocatively enticing bit of cleavage. It was meant to please
Valso, but it appeared to have the undesired effect of also
pleasing the Kull.

She stood quickly, walked past Verk without
speaking, whispering small spells of witchcraft quietly to herself.
She walked rapidly down the hall, allowing no one to lead her to
Valso’s suite, forcing them instead to follow. Verk caught up with
her only when she stopped at Valso’s door.

Verk knocked politely. From within there
came a grumbled “Enter.” Verk opened the door, stepped through it
and closed it, while Rhianne waited in the hall. She cast quiet
spells to hide her thoughts and emotions and fears.

The door opened again. Verk reappeared, and
his eyes settled hungrily on her breasts as he spoke. “You may
enter.”

Suddenly she could not go on. Fear
threatened to overwhelm her, to sweep away the confidence she’d
struggled to maintain. Her nerves were taught, her emotions raw and
barely in check, but she took a deep breath, swallowed carefully,
and stepped through the open door.

Valso stood politely, bowed. “Welcome, Lady
Rhianne,” he said sweetly. “You must forgive the
setting . . .” He spread his arms, indicating the
room about them, “. . . but Elhiyne hospitality is
crude at best.”