Darkfire: A Book of Underrealm (21 page)

“And yet, I have never heard of them. Are they a type of wizard?”

“Nothing so simple. In truth they are much like the Mystics. Some of their number are among the Mighty of the nine lands, while some are simple soldiers like myself.”

“Pardon me, but you have never been a simple soldier,” said Loren. “If these Shades are like the Mystics, why are they so feared? I thought your order obeyed the High King’s will.”

“So we do. But they are like us only in formation. Where we are light, they are darkness. Where we are red, they are the ghostly grey of death. They serve a master far more terrible than any wizard king you have heard of in tales — or served, I should say, for she has not been seen in many hundreds of years.”

“The man in the main hall? Is he the Lord the satyrs spoke of?”

“I doubt that. She would not be seated so clearly in view, and yet in such a mean place as this. Her place is atop the gilded throne of a kingdom torn to rubble, or else in the shadows of a land about to fall.”

Despite the darkness of his words, Loren sensed a growing excitement within the Mystic, an itching impatience that made his fingers twitch and his feet stamp. He resumed his pacing as the light brightened in his eyes.

“But if she is back — or he, I might say, for it could be — then that means the other, too, has returned. I have not been misled. After all this time, I can tell my masters with certainty. And yet no, not yet. Some other purpose may have brought the Shades to this castle. We must learn more.”

The Mystic was now talking to himself, and Loren could not understand a word. She gripped his arms and turned him toward her. “Jordel. Your words are meaningless. What master do they serve, and if no one has seen her in centuries, how can she still live? You speak of her as if she were elven-kind.”

“No, nothing like that,” Jordel shook his head. “Then we would certainly be doomed. Now there is still hope. But we must learn what Damaris is doing here. And more than that, we must learn how much she knows of the Shades. They are more powerful than I dreaded, if they have kept her waiting so long. Seeing how the man in the main hall comports himself around Damaris will be as valuable as hearing their words.”

“I still do not understand. You have explained nothing.”

“I have told you all I know for certain. They are Shades, and they once served a dark master who means to do no good to any within the nine lands. I do not know if they serve her still, nor how great her might may have grown. This could be some forgotten remnant of their number, hiding in the Greatrocks for centuries, who have only recently emerged to claim this stronghold. Yet I do not think so. It is more important to learn what Yerrin is doing here, and what Damaris hopes to gain from associating with such dark partners in trade.”

“And just how do you mean to do that?”
 

Jordel smiled. “The answer is simple, though you will not like it. I mean to attend her meeting with the master of this stronghold.”

Loren’s stomach clenched. The thought of being in that long hall at the same time as Damaris made her ill. But she steeled herself — this, after all, was the sort of life the Nightblade should expect. “You mean to be one of the guards in attendance, then? At least we are dressed for the part.”

“I do not think so. Who knows if the stronghold’s master will even allow guards to attend? And if so, we should not test our guises so stringently, for no quartermaster would be so easily fooled as the soldiers on patrol.”

“How, then? I can keep from being seen in my cloak, most of the time, but I cannot become invisible — nor can you, unless you have some magic you have yet to reveal.”
 

“No. I think we require a more ordinary sort of trickery. Did you see the roof of the great hall when we passed?”

Loren remembered great wooden rafters stretching above; and set high in either wall, large windows that lay open to the rainy sky, giving the place a gloomy chill. “You mean to sneak in through the windows? But how can we get there?”

Jordel went to one of the room’s cabinets and searched its drawers. From the bottom he pulled a length of rope. “With this. The rear of the hall is joined to the keep, which rises to the pinnacle of the stronghold — a final refuge against any invading force, from which the commander and his chosen guard can hold off an army. The top of the tower reaches some ten paces above the roof. You should be able to climb down easily enough.”

“
I
should? You speak as if you will not come with me.”

“Who will lower you down? And if some other guard should happen by, who will turn their eyes from the rope tied to the battlements? It must be you, Loren — but I have great faith, and know you shall not fail me.”

Loren wished she had the Mystic’s faith. Instead, she had little choice but to obey; and indeed, preferred the idea of perching in the hall rafters to the thought of standing in attendance next to Damaris.

“Very well. What must I do?”

“Listen. Keep yourself from being seen — that should be easy, for it is a dark day and the rafters are teeming with shadows. Remember everything that is said, even if you do not understand, then return to me when they are done. You must recall every detail, no matter how slight. The manner in which a word is said can be just as important as the word itself.”

“I understand. Let us go, before my nerve flees me.”
 

Jordel placed a hand on Loren’s shoulder and gave her a smile. “I admit to knowing little of you, Loren of the family Nelda — less than I should. But I know you have no shortage of courage. Come.”

Loren ran to the drawer where she had hidden her cloak, folded it tightly, and held the black fabric under her arm. Then, tucking the rope beneath the folds of his cloak, Jordel led her from the guardroom and into the stronghold’s torchlit halls.

twenty-five

THE STRONGHOLD HAD SEEMED DARK enough before. Now it appeared even gloomier. Loren imagined a cloaked figure waiting in every shadow. Her heart was a war drum beating hard in alarm.
 

Fire! Foes! To battle!
 

But there was no battle, and the guards they passed in the halls gave them no more scrutiny than before.

Jordel took a different way this time, left, around the corner, and soon to a staircase leading up into a small room with a fire set in one wall and pair of guards huddled near the flames. They barely looked up as Jordel proceeded swiftly to the door.

“Close that behind you,” said one of the guards. “The latch sticks.”

His voice, sudden as it was, nearly made Loren jump in fright. She nodded, Jordel opened the door, and immediately she understood for they found themselves outside in a courtyard.

Loren glanced around to gather her bearings, trying to be inconspicuous. They had emerged from one of the gate towers in the stronghold’s eastern wall. Beside them was a great corral, and many horses stood inside it, pressing close for warmth against the rain. The weather seemed even harsher than it had upon arrival; she could not see more than fifteen feet in any direction. Yet Loren noted that the eastern gate was now closed, and dim shapes in the gloom seemed to be the Yerrin caravan, arranged around the courtyard in rows. Drivers sat atop the wagons, tightening their cloaks and shivering in the downpour. Loren knew those wagons held magestones — those drivers would not be allowed to leave their posts for any reason, even if fire should rain from the sky.

Though more Yerrin men stood in rings around their wagons, they were not the only ones present. Loren saw many stronghold guards as well, forming another ring around the caravan. But these guards were not present to keep anyone from straying near the wagons; they were there to keep Yerrin guards from wandering too far. The two groups faced each other in the downpour, both sides glaring, trying not to shiver or show their obvious discomfort in the soaking cold.

Jordel pressed on, turning left and leading Loren to the stronghold’s other wall.
 

From nowhere the great hall loomed before them, and above it, the keep. Tall and imposing, the stone was like a mountain in itself, and though the real mountain loomed high above, still Loren thought the keep was the more impressive sight. It was round, not square like most of the other towers, stretching into the sky for what seemed twenty paces.

But they did not make for the keep — and drawing closer, she could see that the courtyard held no entry door. Instead they made for a building built into the southeastern corner, to a door much like the one in the gate tower. Inside was a room filled with arms: swords, spears, bows, and arrows lined the walls.
 

“The armory.”

“I would never have guessed,” said Loren. If the Mystic knew it was a quip, he did not smile.

A sharp turn and one more door placed them in yet another corridor, like the one they had found when they first entered the stronghold. Loren realized that they now stood within the southern wall. At the end of the hallway stood a great door that swallowed the wall, made of iron and thick. Jordel knocked. A moment later, the hatch slid open. Two beady eyes squinted at them from the other side.

“What is it?” said the woman.

“Orders from above,” said Jordel, sounding weary. “Seems the keep has some a leak in the roof. We have been sent to inspect it.”

The eyes squinted further, moving to Loren before drifting back to Jordel. “I have seen no leak.”

Loren’s heart wanted to skip, but Jordel barely reacted. He shrugged and tossed his head behind him. “Nor have I, but then I have yet to enter. I know only what I was told. I was once a mason, and so they have sent me to see if there’s aught I can do.”

“Who sent you? If there was a leak, I would have heard.”

“We are newly arrived. I know not his name — only that his rank was higher than mine, and most likely yours. A captain, I think.”

Through the viewing hatch, her squinted eyes finally widened. “A … a captain? Ah … well, you had best come in.”

The view hatch slid shut with a rusty shriek, then Loren heard a thump as a bar was moved on the other side. The door slid inward, grating on the stone floor to fill the corridor with its groan. Jordel stepped in once the gap widened enough to invite him. Loren was quick to follow.

The room seemed small, but when she took a second look Loren saw that it stretched far in every direction. But the ceiling was low enough to touch, if she jumped, making it cramped. Fine weaponry lined the walls. Two swords crossed over a shield above the fireplace. Well-made spears stood in rows, and there were bows on display that put even Albern’s finest to shame. A great tapestry hung against the back wall, bordered in red and worked through with gold and silver threads. In it Loren saw a tall figure in black armor holding a silver sword high, though she was not close enough to see its details. To their right was another iron door. If she had her bearings right, that was the door leading into the stronghold’s hall, behind the throne they had seen upon arrival.

“Take the stairs all the way up,” said the guard. Loren saw a small table and a single chair nearby. Though modestly carved, there was obvious skill in their making. Otherwise, the guard was alone.
 

“Thank you,” said Jordel. “Though I certainly won’t enjoy going out into that rain again.”

“Welcome to the Greatrocks,” said the guard, her expression sour. “I wish we had never left the forest behind us.”

Loren’s ears perked, but Jordel seemed not to hear. “I would know little of that. Stay warm.”

Against the opposite wall a narrow stone staircase without a bannister vanished into the ceiling. They climbed and found themselves on another floor like the first — except this one had no weapons or tapestries. Just a great table in the middle surrounded by many fine and cushioned chairs. A council room, from which the stronghold’s commander could coordinate defenses. The staircase ended, and yet spiraled up on the opposite side.
 

“Why did they build it that way? Why not have only one staircase going all the way up?”

“Anyone who breaks into the keep must cross each floor before they can keep climbing,” said Jordel. “It gives the defenders many places to retreat. Attackers cannot push all the way up one staircase in a single surge. They must fight for each floor, and conquer every staircase anew.”

Loren nodded, imagining the battle. Men fighting and dying for every foot of stone floor, blood pouring down the steps of each storey. She shuddered and hoped she would never know a battle like that, men killing to gain purchase of a few stone walls.

The next floor up held provisions and rations. Great barrels lined one wall, likely filled with wine or ale. There were great sacks holding flour, wheat, and even some vegetables. A few had spilled out upon the floor, and Loren wondered how often the place was inspected. The next floor held beds. One side of the room was blocked by a curtain — quarters for the stronghold’s lord, no doubt, in times of siege.

A final staircase led to a wooden hatch. Jordel pushed against it, but it did not budge. He thudded on it hard with his fist, then with the hilt of his sword when no answer came. They finally heard footsteps above, and the sharp sliding of a thrown latch. It raised, and immediately they were pelted by raindrops.

They emerged into rain atop the keep. Two guards stood huddling under cloaks and cowls, trying to stay dry in the lee of the ramparts. A fruitless attempt; there was no place to hide from the downpour.

“We have only just started our watch,” said one of the guards, shouting to be heard in the rain.

“Nor am I here to replace you,” said Jordel. “I have been sent to look for a leak.”

“There is no leak,” said the guard.

“Well then my search will be fruitless, but I have orders, same as you.”

“Waste your time if you wish. Tis no trouble on me.” The guard turned with a shrug and went back to huddle away from the wind, crouching against a wall at the roof’s edge.

Jordel made a great show of inspection. He went to the roof’s eastern side and crouched, running his fingers along the seam between wall and floor. He moved in a crouching walk, leaning down to look carefully at the joins between stone and mortar. He was so busy, Loren wondered if he had some skill in masonry. If not, he was convincing enough, so animated in his inspection that soon the guards began to watch.