Darkfire: A Book of Underrealm (28 page)

“They are trying to slow us until their friends arrive,” said Albern. “Come!”
 

The door behind them flew open and two guards ran into the rain. Ahead, at the other end of the wall, another pair emerged. Loren and Albern skidded to a halt. Albern dropped his bow — only two arrows remained in the quiver — and drew his blade at the charging Shades.
 

Loren drew her hunting knife, then ducked as a blade swept toward her face. She leapt forward with a feint, not to draw blood but to drive the soldier back, then swung her fist hard into his nose. It crunched under her knuckles, and he seized his face, cursing.
 

She heard another moving up behind her, and turned. Loren’s new foe swung overhead, which let her easily sidestep, yet that set her back to the ramparts with no room for retreat. Loren rolled across the stones, a sidelong swipe passing above her, close enough to feel its wind.

She found her feet and held the knife forward again — but then a stray arrow struck the soldier’s face. Her eyes went dead, and her head chased the arrow’s momentum, pitching the soldier’s body over the wall and onto the rocks below. Loren watched in horror; the woman’s limbs flopped about like a doll’s. She bounced on the ground, then pitched over the cliff and plunged into the valley’s unending darkness.

A hand seized Loren’s elbow, and Albern dragged her forward, stepping over the bodies of three slain guards. They ran on, Loren feeling ever more nauseous with each passing moment.

Then she saw a figure appear in the outer doorway leading to the great hall, across the courtyard. Even from the corner of Loren’s eye, the massive form caught her attention, and she turned to look. Her heart quailed:
Trisken.

The stronghold commander stood illuminated in torchlight, shorn of his armor but still wearing his thick leather vest. He looked at them through the rain, his face an impassive mask. No fury marked his gaze, nor confusion. Only a heightened interest and a dark intent, like a wolf eyeing a wounded elk. He stepped into the courtyard, walking around the edge of the caravan toward them, his eyes never leaving Loren’s face.

“Albern,” she cried in warning.

He turned and saw Trisken. His look darkened. He had recovered his bow, and drew an arrow. The shaft sped true, planting itself in the commander’s heart. Trisken fell back with a grunt, then sank to his knee. A second shaft sped forward, striking the commander in the neck. It almost toppled him backward, but he put out a hand to steady himself, and now Albern’s quiver was empty.

Slowly Trisken found his feet. First he grabbed the arrow, tugging it out of his neck as though pulling a knife through a hunk of roast meat. He took the arrow in his chest, and to Loren’s horror, pushed it deeper in, further and further until the head pushed out his back. He snapped the shaft in two, throwing the fletching away, before reaching back with his other hand and pulling the arrowhead forth. With blood spilling down his chest, the commander continued his advance.

“What manner of creature is he?” cried Loren.

“The kind you cannot fight,” said Albern.

They ran, making the northwest tower a few moments before Trisken could reach the bottom. They found the middle floor empty and made ready to run onto the next part of the wall.
 

A door crashed open below them, followed by the sound of iron-shod boots slamming into stone.

“Come, children.” Trisken’s voice echoed up the stairs, like thunder off the stone walls. “We have two of you already, but I want the rest. Come to me, and end your useless flight.”

Albern made to pull her on, but Loren stopped him. She spied a rope in the corner, and got an idea. She ran to the rope, picked it up, then nodded to Albern and ran — up the stairs, rather than back out to the wall.

“What are you—” Recognition flashed in his eyes, and Albern came without question.

He followed her up, until they found a hatch and burst out into the tower’s top. Her fingers struggled to tie the rope in a knot, her mangled palms making every motion difficult.

“Here, let me.” Albern took the rope and finished her knot.
 

He threw it around the battlement and let the end trail into the darkness below. Loren waved her hand. “You first. My injured hands will slow me.”
 

“All the more reason I should follow behind, to protect you in case we are discovered.” Loren tried to argue, but Albern nearly threw her from the tower. “I shall brook no argument, Loren. Go! Now!”

His stubbornness might have seen them both killed, but she had little choice. Loren seized the rope and swung out into emptiness, lowering herself an arm’s length at a time as quickly as she could, boots planted on the wall. Her torn hands, only recently healed, ripped back open. She gritted her teeth and tried not to scream. Rain mingled with blood to make her grip slippery, and she barely made the bottom. Once her feet struck the mountain, Loren kept her hands on the line and tried to steady it, for Albern was coming much faster.

He let himself fall the final ten feet and landed at a run. Together they fled along the north wall toward the secret entrance. Loren’s bloody fingers scrabbled along the lines between stone and mortar. At first she could not find the catch, and in a panic thought she had forgotten where it was. Then her fingers vanished into the wall. She felt the latch and pulled it. The door opened, and together they disappeared inside.

Annis jumped up as the door opened, her face a mask of fear. She relaxed when she saw them, then found her hysteria when Loren swung the door shut and saw that Jordel and Gem were missing.
 

“Where are the others? What happened to Gem? What—”

Loren pressed a bloody hand over the girl’s mouth, drawing Annis down to the floor. Albern picked up a waterskin and ran to the wall torch, dousing it and pitching them into blackness.

Loren whispered in her ear.
 

“They are gone. I lost them. They were taken.”
 

The thrill of their flight seeped from her veins, and Loren found her cheeks with tears, blending with the rain and stray drops of blood. She repeated, “They are gone. I lost them.”

Loren could say nothing more, her chest heaving in wracking sobs that she longed to silence. They heard footsteps outside, and the shouts of many soldiers. The dim glow of torches shone in the tiny crack between the door and the ground. But Loren hardly cared. She did not even notice when at last the footsteps and shouts receded, and the thin line of light vanished at the passageway’s bottom.

“Gone,” she sobbed, as Annis turned around and pulled her into a heavy embrace. She pressed her face deep into the girl’s shoulder, letting her tears spill forth anew.
 

Albern managed to light the torch again, and she could see his pained eyes. Across the passageway, Xain stared at his feet, his head bowed in grief.
 

“Gone. I lost them,” said Loren as she wept. “Forgive me.”

thirty-two

“WE HAVE LITTLE TIME,” SAID Albern. “And no choice. We must flee the fortress.”

It was some time later, and dawn’s thin grey light seeped in under the door. Loren hardly noticed. She sat against the wall, head bowed so far forward that it hung low between her knees. Her hair fell thin and scraggly, reminding her of Xain’s when he had suffered from the sickness. Wordless, she nodded.

“What about Jordel and Gem?” said Annis. “You cannot mean to leave them.”

“We do not know if they live.” Though Albern spoke sternly and without hesitation, Loren could hear a thickness in his voice that she had never heard before. “And I made Jordel a vow. I mean to fulfill it, as atonement for leading you upon this road.”

“You have nothing to atone for,” said Loren. “We have had little choice from the moment we set out from Strapa. I curse the day we laid eyes upon this fortress. I would rather have walked back into the satyrs’ spears than this place.”

Albern’s eyes filled with fresh pain, and he turned from Loren. “Curse not the fortress, but Strapa itself and the day you met me. I am to blame, and no other, for the fortune that has befallen you.”

Loren raised her head to meet Albern’s gaze, not understanding. “You saved us in Strapa, Albern. Without you, the Mystics would have taken us.”

“Without me, they would never have known you were there,” said Albern, eyes cast downward. “I reported you to the Mystics. They had already reached the town, and put out word with your party’s description. I followed you to the inn after you came to my shop, then sought the Mystics to tell them where you were.”

Loren felt as if the ground crumble beneath her.
 

“But … but you saved us. After the Mystics’ ambush, you led us to safety.”

“That was my plan. I never meant to let them have you for long. I would either save you from their clutches in the village, as I did, or ambush the Mystics once they left Strapa with you in tow. I thought it was the only way you would choose to take the mountain pass, which I thought safer than the Westerly Road.”

Her sense of disorientation vanished, replaced by a rising fury. “And because you thought it would place more coin in your pockets.” Loren’s voice boomed dangerously loud. “All along the road you pretended to befriend us, when in truth you thought only of gold.”

Albern shook his head. “That is not so. I swear it. How often did Jordel offer more coin, only to have me refuse him?”

“A fine show. Mayhap you thought to steal the rest once we were safely out of the mountains.”

“I swear to you, on any oath you could ask, that I thought the mountain pass would be safer. How could I know this stronghold had been occupied? I thought we would face no danger greater than satyrs. I knew nothing of these Shades, or the Lord who rules them. I promise you.”

“The promises of a liar mean nothing.” Loren went to the secret door and leaned her arm against it, shaking as she tried to calm herself. It would be fitting, she thought, to open the door and cast Albern out, to let him get caught by the Shades. He had brought this fate upon them. Let him reap what he had sown.

But slowly, as her blood cooled and her fist stopped twitching, Loren realized the futility of her thought. Gem and Jordel were gone, and would not be helped if she lost Albern. Despite what he had done, he was the one who knew the mountains. If they managed to escape the stronghold, only Albern could lead them to Northwood. But how could she trust him, now that she knew the truth?

Loren turned from the wall and looked at Albern, whose face was still cast down, shadowed from torch glow. Both Annis and Xain were looking at him, the wizard and the girl finally unified by their anger.
 

“If you feel remorse for leading us astray, then prove it,” said Loren. “We must escape this fortress, and I cannot do it alone. Help me save those of us who remain.”

“I will,” said Albern, looking up at Loren with pain in his eyes. “I swear it. Even at the cost of my life, for that would be a small payment.”

“Very well,” said Loren. “How shall we do it?”

“I have thought on that,” said Albern. “To escape, we shall need two things: horses, and an open gate. If you can take care of the gate, I shall fetch our horses from the corral.”

“How?” said Loren. “Guards are posted, and they will not let you simply walk in and take them.”

“I shall tend to that,” said Albern grimly. “I promise, they will not stand against me.”

“Even if I trust you, how shall I open the gate? Rarely have I seen a gate, much less a guarded one.”

“There is a winch that opens it, in the gate tower, likely on the first floor. You will see a great wheel, with a catch to hold it once raised.”

Loren remembered when she and Jordel had visited the gate tower in disguise. She had seen the wheel then — large, almost as tall as her, and made with many spokes. “I saw it. But I do not know if I can open it myself. It was large.”

“Fortress gates are cleverly made,” said Albern. “A single man may turn the wheel. Still, it might take you some time, and the guards will know something is amiss the moment you begin. So we must work in concert. The moment you hear commotion in the courtyard, which there surely will be once I make off with the horses, you must quickly open the gate. My distraction should give you time.”

“Fine.” Loren looked from Albern to Xain. “Then there is only one matter remaining.”

She went to the wizard and knelt before him. His eyes were clear as he looked back at her, bright without any trace of madness. Loren quailed at what she was about to do, then reminded herself that the Mystic had believed his remorse. If she could not trust Xain for herself, she could at least trust in Jordel.

“I mean to free you from your bonds, Xain. Tell me, can I trust you not to betray us when I do?”

Xain nodded slowly.

Annis said, “You mean to free him? Now? This plan seems dangerous enough already.”

Loren did not take her eyes from Xain. “Jordel said he would not leave the wizard behind. In his absence I am bound to carry out his orders. And we cannot make good our escape if we are dragging a man behind us. I cannot lift him atop a horse as Jordel did.”

Loren reached out with her hunting knife and seized the wizard’s ankles. The ropes parted easily before her blade, and then the ones at his wrists. She waited. He did not try to remove his gag. After another moment’s pause, Loren reached up and removed it herself.

“If you mean to speak words of power, say them now,” said Loren. “I would rather your betrayal come before our escape than in the middle, where it would send us into the hands of the Shades.”

“I promised you no harm, Loren of the family Nelda.” His voice croaked, but he cleared his throat and continued, stronger. “I meant it. My magic is weak within me, and I doubt I will be able to make more than sparks for a while to come. But if I reach for those sparks, it will be only in your defense. And I echo Albern’s vow: if by my life, or death, I can see the two of you to safety, I will.”

“I shall hold you to that.” Loren’s mind drifted to her cloak, and the two packets of magestones inside it. She suppressed a shiver. “You know I will not take your life. But if you should betray us again, with my final breath I will ensure you spend your remaining days in the Greatrocks, under the knives of Shades.”