Child of the Sword, Book 1 of The Gods Within (30 page)

He and MichaelOff sat cross-legged in the
dust to rest. MichaelOff held the broadsword in both hands with its
tip on the floor before him. He sat in the dark unmoving,
unspeaking, lost in his own thoughts, and for lack of anything
worth saying, Morgin chose not to speak at all.

MichaelOff startled him when he finally
broke the silence. “Are we in the dark, cousin? Do we sit without
light?”

“I can make light if you want,” Morgin
said.

MichaelOff shook his head sadly. “No. Don’t.
It would do me no good. And you. You like the dark, while the rest
of us fear it. Why is that, Morgin?”

“I don’t know,” Morgin said. He tried to
hide the quiver in his voice. “When I was Rat the dark was my home.
It protected me from the people in the streets. I was only in
danger when they could catch me, and they needed light for
that.”

MichaelOff laughed. “You love the dark. And
like all others I fear it. And here I sit, condemned to my fear for
eternity.”

“Why did they do this to you?” Morgin
asked.

MichaelOff sneered. “The Decouix tortured
me. He asked no questions, wanted no answers. He just tortured me
for his own pleasure.”

MichaelOff sat suddenly straight. “Promise
me something, cousin.”

“Anything.”

“If you ever hold Valso’s life in your
hands . . . take it. Do not do so for me, but for
those who await his harm, those who have yet to feel the pain of
his evil. Promise me this one thing, Morgin. Promise me.”

“You have my word,” Morgin said. “But how
came you into Valso’s hands?”

“Stupidity. Sheer stupidity and pride. Oh
cousin! I wish I had eyes to cry.” MichaelOff buried his face in
one hand, still clutching the sword with the other, sobbing in
tearless pain. Morgin quietly shed the tears his cousin could
not.

MichaelOff’s sobs ended slowly. He took a
long, deep breath, ran a hand through his hair, then told Morgin of
the false messenger, of Illalla’s plans, of the Tulalane’s
treachery. “What fools we were! We were prepared for war, but we
failed to anticipate treason, even by the
twoname
. And with
the hostages Valso now holds we dare not storm the castle.”

MichaelOff lowered his head, buried his face
in the palm of his left hand. His right hand never left the hilt of
the broadsword, as if it gave him comfort to clutch it so. He
drifted off into his private thoughts and the room again fell
silent.

Morgin prompted him by asking, “So you
entered the castle to open the gates from within?”

“Aye,” MichaelOff nodded. “We chose such a
simple plan. Father and Roland and Tulellcoe helped me form a veil
of illusion so that I could go undetected. But Valso knew of it all
along. He toyed with me, and when he was ready he and his Kulls
sprang their trap. So here I sit, a blind fool, and in the woodland
outside father and six hundred men wait for gates that will never
open.”

Morgin’s mind churned with possibilities.
Malka and the Elhiyne armsmen must have returned while he lay
unconscious in the alcove. Morgin asked, “What of Illalla and his
army?”

MichaelOff shook his head. “I don’t know. He
should already have driven Eglahan out of Yestmark, and be moving
down the eastern side of the Worshipers now. He’ll probably try to
cross at Sa’umbra Gap, and that is where he must be stopped. And
since I have failed, father is faced with a terrible dilemma:
abandon the women to Valso’s evil, or allow Illalla into our
heartlands.”

“What of the other Lesser Clans?” Morgin
asked. “Will they help us?”

MichaelOff shrugged. “Inetka perhaps, though
it is the least of the clans and can do little. And of course Penda
thinks it can remain forever neutral, that it is our fight, and
ours alone. And as always the Tosks allow Penda to do their
thinking for them. They both hope Decouix will be satisfied with no
more than Elhiyne blood. No, cousin. We are alone in this.”

Morgin thought carefully before speaking.
“Cousin,” he said tentatively. “Perhaps you and I together might
succeed where you alone failed.”

MichaelOff’s head snapped up. “What are you
saying? Do you mean to open the gates? Valso’s Kulls are
everywhere.”

“I can move us about without detection,”
Morgin said, hoping he spoke the truth. “And in any case, if we
fail, we lose nothing but our own lives.” He hesitated. “But if we
succeed, how will Malka know to be ready?”

“He’ll know,” MichaelOff said, “from your
father. Roland and I are tied by a spell of strong magic. He cannot
discern details, only emotion. He won’t know you are with me, but
he will know of the gates.”

“Good,” Morgin said. “We’ll open the gates,
you and I. But we must act soon, before Valso discovers you’re
missing and triples the guard.”

“Then our best chance will be at dawn.”

“Very well,” Morgin said. “Dawn it will
be.”

“Where is he?” the Tulalane demanded angrily.
“He should be here by now.”

Valso casually examined his fingernails. “I
am not my father’s keeper,
twoname
. When he does finally
arrive you must ask him yourself why he is late.”

The Tulalane grunted, then eyed Valso
narrowly. “Is he late, I wonder, or were you early?”

Valso shrugged. “Perhaps I did move a bit
hastily.”

“Perhaps you moved a bit hastily,” the
Tulalane shouted. “Did you never consider our plans?”

Valso shrugged again. “I move according to
my own plans, not those of some power hungry fool.”

“That power hungry fool is your father, and
your king.”

“He will always be my father,” Valso said
unhappily. “That I cannot change. But when this is done I doubt he
will be my king any longer.”

“Oh magnificent!” the Tulalane shouted.
“I’ve waited for this moment for ten years, and you choose now to
play your games. Couldn’t you have at least waited another
month?”

“I have my reasons for doing what I do,”
Valso said. “And beware how you speak to me,
twoname
.”

The Tulalane mocked him openly. “Oh forgive
me, my prince. Did I offend you?”

“You go too far, Tulalane.” Valso’s anger
formed a halo about his shoulders and back. His lips curled into a
snarl, and his power came upon him.

“Not here, you fool,” the Tulalane hissed.
“Not with six hundred Elhiyne armsmen waiting outside these walls.
Put your petty magic away before it destroys us both.”

Valso’s confidence faltered and he allowed
his magic to dissipate. He smiled. “So you fear the Elhiynes,
eh?”

“I fear nothing. But I know there is a time
and place for everything. And I am patient.”

Valso’s smile broadened. “Not terribly
patient when it comes to your reward.”

“Only a part of my reward,” the Tulalane
said, “and a very small part at that. You owe me much, and I demand
partial payment now. Otherwise, I shall withdraw my services.”

Valso changed the subject. “What have you
done about the whoreson?”

“Nothing. He’s not worth the bother.”

“But he’s about.”

The Tulalane smiled. “Yes he is. Lurking in
shadows. But he’s not been heard nor seen. There’s been nothing
since the dead guard.”

“But he’s here,” Valso said uneasily, “in
the castle. I can feel him, but I can’t locate him because he’s
using no magic.”

“We’ll deal with the whoreson when the time
comes. For now, we were talking of my reward.”

Valso weighed the Tulalane carefully before
speaking. “Very well. You will have what you request.”

“Now,” the Tulalane demanded.

Valso ignored him, turned with a flourish
and walked to the door. He paused there, looked back and grinned.
“As you wish.”

Morgin, huddled within a shadow in the
antechamber, watched him leave. The shadow in which he hid was much
closer to the audience chamber than he’d intended to come, but he’d
become absorbed in the conversation within and forgotten himself.
Nervously he kept an eye on the three Kull’s standing with their
backs to him, standing now in the middle of the room so they
wouldn’t slouch against the wall, watching the entrance through
which he’d already passed. He decided to wait. There was time,
several hours before dawn. It would be interesting to see what
reward the Tulalane had chosen.

Earlier Morgin had moved MichaelOff to a
spot closer to the occupied wings of the new castle, then gone to
reconnoiter the gates and gatehouse. But while returning he’d
decided to make a short side trip, because to Morgin’s mind there
remained one question yet to be answered: Why had Illalla not
arrived on schedule? And apparently, the answer to that question
was that Valso had acted prematurely. But again the question arose:
Why?

Valso was no fool; bloodthirsty yes, and
vicious, but not to the point where it clouded his judgment. Why
would he risk so much to gain so little? Certainly the Tulalane
believed him to be a blood-crazy fool, as did almost everyone else.
And that bothered Morgin, for that was exactly what Valso wanted
them to believe.

Boot steps in the hall beyond brought
Morgin’s mind back to the present. He checked his shadowmagic then
froze.

Verk and some of his Kullish bullies entered
the antechamber escorting NickoLot. In her late teens she was a
women now, though she’d always been small, an almost tiny thing.
She stood proudly, back straight, eyes forward, dressed in the
finery of an Elhiyne lady. The effect was marred only by the silent
tears that rolled down her cheeks, and the slight quiver that shook
her chin. She stood scared and tiny and proud.

The Kulls halted just outside the audience
chamber and Verk turned upon them angrily. “Watch her. She may be
small, but she’s a witch just the same, and she has a nasty little
sting.”

He turned back and entered the audience
chamber. “The girl is here, my lord.”

“Then bring her in.”

Verk reappeared, motioned for NickoLot to
precede him. “After you, milady,” he said, then followed her as she
stepped through the portal.

On impulse Morgin stepped into Verk’s shadow
for an instant, followed him in, then stepped into a shadow against
a wall. He changed shadows, moving away from the entrance, then
froze into stillness.

The Tulalane eyed NickoLot as if looking at
a meal. “Leave us, Verk. And close the door.” The Kull obeyed.

The Tulalane looked upon NickoLot for a
long, silent, hungry moment. She sniffed once, but said
nothing.

“You are beautiful, milady,” he said. He
advanced slowly toward her.

She remained silent.

“I have been an admirer of yours for a long
time now.”

She frowned, sniffed back another tear.

He stood over her. “You have nothing to fear
from me. I can protect you. Valso will not anger me by touching
you, not without my permission. When this is done I will be very
powerful, and you can share in that power.”

Her eyes narrowed into thin, untrusting
slits. “What do you want?” she asked.

“I want you, milady.”

Her eyes widened. She squeaked, took one
step back. “No.”

The Tulalane stepped toward her, closing the
gap between them. “My proposal is an honorable one, Nicki. I want
you as my wife, not as a whore.”

She stepped back again. “No. Never.”

He advanced. “Don’t make a decision now.
Think about it. You’ll die with all the rest if you turn me
down.”

She tried to step back again, but found her
back against a wall. Her voice filled with disgust and fear.
“Never. I would rather die.” She finished by spitting a single word
in his face, “Traitor!”

“So!” he said, and now he towered over her.
“You would rather die, eh? Well that can be arranged. And believe
me, little Elhiyne whore, the dying will not be easy. And like it
or not, I will still have you anyway.”

He reached toward her, but she ducked
beneath his arm and raced for the door, tore it open and shot out
of the room, eluding the grasp of the startled Kulls outside.

“Let her go,” the Tulalane shouted. “I’ll
take care of this myself.” He followed her.

NickoLot raced through the castle proper,
with the Tulalane following her casually. His Kullish guards
followed him with comments about enjoying some sport after the
inactivity of the past several days, and Morgin followed in the
shadows behind them.

When NickoLot turned toward the inner
sanctum Morgin wanted to shout to her that it was a dead end, but
it was too late so he just followed. The chase ended in the sanctum
itself, NickoLot cornered within trying to close the heavy stone
portal, while the Tulalane casually blocked it with the tip of his
boot. “You won’t escape me that easily, my little Elhiyne
whore.”

The Tulalane gave the portal a shove,
forcing it open and knocking NickoLot to the floor. The Tulalane
laughed, turned to his Kulls. “Wait here. I’m going to have some
fun.”

As the Tulalane turned and stepped into the
sanctum, Morgin slipped into his shadow and followed, then stepped
into a shadow at the edge of the room and froze. The Tulalane
turned, put his shoulder to the portal and closed it, sealing the
sanctum. Then he turned back to NickoLot, who huddled against the
far wall. The twelve-sided room was now lit only by a single dim
brazier, casting fluttering shadows everywhere.

Morgin was having trouble concentrating. The
walls of the sanctum were more than a thousand years old, dug up
from the ruins of the Great Clan Wars, the only thing left of the
old Elhiyne magic. Something there pulled at him and it frightened
him.

“Please,” NickoLot pleaded as the Tulalane
stood over her. He reached down with a giant paw and she trembled
uncontrollably. He bent down to bring his face close to hers. She
tried to turn away, but his grip tightened painfully on her face.
His lips met hers, and at the same time his free hand groped toward
her small breasts.