Shadowdance (28 page)

There was plenty of headroom, but Innowen ducked instinctively as they rode inside. A supply of dry torches stood stacked just beyond the entrance, and one of the strongmen passed a torch to Innowen and ignited it from his own burning brand. The old, oil-soaked cloth sputtered and sparked and finally caught fire. Innowen welcomed the bright orange light, but not the foul-smelling smoke the flames gave off.

Farther and farther they rode into the dank space as more men poured in behind them. Innowen decided that Veydon had been right, that the entire wall was indeed hollow. Here and there, they passed pairs of wooden tracks that smelled of aged grease. At each pair, iron rings had been driven into the wall, and coils of thick ropes had been stacked nearby. Portals, he was sure, like the one they had entered. But these led to the outside.

A dry, powdery dust rose from beneath the horses' hooves. A fit of coughing racked Veydon. "I think I preferred the rain," he said, covering his mouth as he coughed again.

"Silence that!" someone shouted with a voice of authority. "No talking, no noise!"

At last they stopped. Then, astride their mounts they waited. And waited. The dust, at least, settled, but the sweat of men and beasts permeated the air. Despite the order for silence, the soldiers began to mumble among themselves. Innowen glanced at Dyan, and she smiled. Even in the faint torchlight, her eyes sparkled. But at her side, Kyrin noticed, caught her wrist and jerked her around. He whispered harshly in her ear, something that Innowen couldn't understand. She looked contrite and hung her head, but from the lowered corner of her eye, she still looked at him.

Razkili squeezed his shoulder. "What did he mean," he said softly, "
abathakati?
"

Innowen thought and chewed his lip. "It's complex," he answered slowly. "A priestly concept. Some believe that anyone who practices magic, or is touched by it, becomes corrupted, incapable of a moral judgment. They are
abathakati,
unable to choose between right and wrong, or even to recognize the difference."

"You're cold," Razkili whispered, and he wrapped his arms more securely about his friend.

A shout from back down the tunnel caught their attention. Taelyn crowded his way past his men to the head of the line. "They've breached the gate," he told Kyrin and Minarik. "Parendur is theirs, and nothing we can do."

"Then we make a run for Whisperstone," Minarik decided, "Nothing can breach that keep." He twisted around and cast a glance back down the crowded tunnel. "Choose two teams of five men. One team rides east to search for any remnants of the Third Army. Send the other team among Ispor's nobility. Tell them to bring anyone they can find. We'll make our stand at Whisperstone."

"But how are we supposed to get out of here unnoticed?" Kyrin snapped. Innowen's torch made patches of ruddy light and shadow on his king's face as Kyrin turned sideways and scowled. "A force this size will attract attention!"

Taelyn stiffened. His eyes narrowed with anger and contempt. "You stupid piece of horse shit." He kept his voice low, perhaps out of consideration for Kyrin's daughter, but he glared unabashedly at his king, and his gaze was full of hatred. "Of course, you'll be noticed. But while you're on your way to Whisperstone, most of these men will stay right here to cover your ass. The invaders are in the streets now. Well, we're going to retake the gate and try to keep them inside while you get away. A lot of us are going to die doing, that."

"That's enough, Taelyn," Minarik said firmly.

For once, Taelyn spoke back sharply to his lord. "I want him to remember, Minarik. Many of these are the same men he locked outside the gates the last time they saved his ass."

Kyrin straightened his spine and lifted his head high in righteous outrage. "You've insulted me for the last time, Commander," he said loudly. "If you think so highly of the common soldier, then you will personally lead the ones who stay behind, and you will fight in their front ranks." An ugly smile turned up the corners of Kyrin's lips. "And as you go down in the dust with a blade in your gut, do so with the knowledge that you gave your life in my defense."

"Father!" Innowen exclaimed.

Before Minarik could respond, Taelyn held up a hand. "Shut up, Innocent. Any man here will tell this fool I'm always in the front ranks. I never send men where I'm unwilling to go myself. It's a matter of honor this offal knows nothing of."

"Your treasonous tongue!" Kyrin cried, shaking a fist. "You side with the rebels against me!"

"Yes, I'm against you!" Taelyn shouted back, raising his voice for the first time. He pointed to Minarik. "But I'm his man, and he supports you and protects you. Why, I'm damned if I know. He'd make twice the king you are. But as long as he tells me to save your butt, I'll bust mine to do just that. But it's because Minarik asks it of me—not out of any loyalty to you!"

Kyrin shot a look at Minarik. "Uncle, this slave...!"

Minarik turned a cold gaze on his nephew, then on Taelyn. "Enough, both of you." His tone silenced them. "Taelyn, get your teams together. There's not much chance they'll succeed, but they've got to try. Then get men on two of these doors." He pointed to the nearest set of tracks. "Fifty men go out here with us to Whisperstone. The rest, out back there at an exit closer to the gate. We'll wait until you engage and draw their attention. Then we go."

Taelyn let go a sigh. "Gods keep you, Lord," he said softly. He guided his mount back through the ranks, and his voice could be heard giving orders.

Minarik called to the soldiers closest to him. Six men dismounted and approached the wooden tracks.

Two stacks of coiled rope rested beside the tracks where they joined the wall. They quickly uncoiled them, passed them through the iron rings above each track and in teams of three, began to strain.

"Move away a little," Minarik instructed those closest, who only watched.

A huge section of the wall creaked inward. Back down the tunnel, a similar sound echoed in the gloom as men strained with a second portal.

A thin line of blackness appeared around the immense square of stone. "Wait," Minarik ordered, and he slid down from his horse. "Pass those torches farther back," he snapped, waving his hand. "Better yet, extinguish them. Darkness will be our best cloak."

Innowen gave his torch to a soldier who jumped down and rolled it in the dust. A stygian blackness flooded the tunnel, and all whispering and mumbling seemed to stop at once. He held his breath. Razkili's arm tightened around him: He could feel the Osiri's heartbeat.

The ropes snapped tight again, and someone grunted with effort. Again, the stone creaked with movement. Barely visible, Minarik peeked around the edge, then disappeared altogether.

A bright flash lit the borders of the stone, and thunder rumbled as the storm continued to rage. Dimly, another sound reached them. Screaming, Innowen realized, carnage, the sounds of terror reaching faintly over the high wall.

Minarik reappeared in the glare of another lightning blast. He wiped the rain from his face and remounted. "Open it up," he instructed the soldiers who manned the ropes, and the stone slid halfway back inside the tunnel.

Taelyn's voice came out of the darkness. Innowen hadn't seen or heard him as he approached on foot. "We're ready," he said, apparently to Minarik. "Near as we can tell, the gate's wide open and unguarded. They're too busy sacking the city, I guess, to think about their backs."

"Don't worry about their backs," Minarik told him. "Just take the gate and hold it. Keep them inside as long as you can."

Taelyn reached up to clasp his lord's hand, and Innowen imagined him grinning. "I hope they'll appreciate the switch," he said. He tapped Innowen's arm. "I'll say hello to your friend Vashni."

"Stay away from Vashni," Innowen warned, but it was too late. Taelyn was no longer there.

"I'm afraid for him," Innowen confided to Razkili, and his friend said nothing.

Minarik rode to the opening. The lightning silhouetted him as he stared outward, waiting. Back down the tunnel, men and horses began to move, and the dust rose again. The crowding lessened. A slight breeze swept through and faded.

"You've been very quiet, Veydon," Innowen said, unable to see the young soldier, but knowing he waited behind them.

A hesitation. "I should be with my commander," he said sullenly.

"We're going home," Innowen gently reminded, "to Shandisti."

Veydon didn't answer, and Innowen bit his lip. He stared toward the exit. The rear end of Minarik's horse appeared and disappeared in the lightning glow. With a start, he remembered that it was morning. He couldn't walk. Yet the sky outside was eerily dark.

"Let's go!" Minarik rode out into the rain. Kyrin trailed after him, leading Dyan's mount. Innowen, Razkili, and Veydon followed, then the rest of their escort. Now the pain of the city swelled louder over the walls, and the glow of fires gleamed on the low, black storm clouds. Far down the wall, Innowen made out the last of Taelyn's force as it rode in the opposite direction toward the gate. He wiped rain from his eyes.

At Minarik's command, they ran at full gallop toward the foothills of the Akrotir. The wind bit sharply, and the rain stung. The muddy ground splashed treacherously under the horses' hooves. Still, they rushed onward, putting distance between themselves and the city.

Then, off to the right where the plain spread before Parendur's main gate, Innowen spied a small glow. Though Rascal held him tight, he still bounced and jostled, and it was hard to see. He shielded his vision against the rain and stared. "Do you see that?" he cried.

"What?" Razkili shouted back. "See what?"

"Over there!" Innowen pointed. It was just a small glow, moving slowly. Still it sent a tingle through him. He peered, squinting. "Stop, Rascal! We've got to!"

"Forget it!" Razkili's grip tightened around his waist, nearly crushing the breath from him. "There's nothing there!"

Innowen jerked sharply on the horse's mane, but Rascal slapped his arms down and pinned them, then spurred the beast on faster. "It's her!" Innowen screamed. "It's the Witch! Stop!"

"There's nothing there!" Rascal bellowed in his ear

But he could see the glow! She used it to keep the rain off. Yes, and he could see her riding into Parendur alone to claim her prize of conquest. His vision seemed to sharpen as he stared. Darkly blond her hair, and so long, so beautiful, and those same lips like dark roses. He knew it was her!

"Minarik!" he screamed.

But Minarik couldn't hear him over the crash of the storm and the rush of the wind.

Chapter 12

The rain continued to fall. What might have been a blessing on the parched, dry land quickly turned into another kind of nightmare. Water ran in torrents upon the ground, carving deep ruts, washing away what little grass and topsoil remained. Streams swept treacherously over their banks, cutting new courses, spilling out to flood the forests and flatlands.

A thick gray fog lingered everywhere. It clung to the earth like a thick paste, stirred and swirled in the slightest breeze, eddied around the horses' hooves, parted and congealed again at the movement of art arm or leg. In the low places, it was hard to see two men ahead. On the plains the strange shape of a tree would loom suddenly out of the mist, half-concealed, a shadowy monster that made the heart quicken for just an instant.

For three days they rode, taking little rest, eating nothing. There had been no time to supply themselves, and hunting was impossible. The soldiers took it well. Even Riloosa with his broken arm bore his hunger in silence, though his pain carved deep lines in his face, and he cradled his arm as if it were a suffering child. Only Kyrin, of all the company, grumbled and complained.

When the gray day segued toward night, they found copses of trees and spread their soggy bedrolls or wrapped themselves tighter in wet cloaks. Few slept.

There were no fires to gather around; what wood they could find refused to burn. Some of the men curled up together under the scant shelter of dripping branches, sharing body heat for warmth and, perhaps, finding a measure of comfort from the demoralizing fear that gnawed at their hearts. They posted no guards. It was unlikely any pursuers would find them in such weather.

On the third night, Innowen waited, as he had the two nights previously, for Razkili to fall into a troubled sleep. He watched the lines of tension that flowed across his friend's brow, watched the twitching of the eyes, the tightening of the jaw. Rascal's breath came in short, uneven gasps and long, soul-wrenching sighs. Innowen wondered what dreams or nightmares wracked him, and he wondered if it was much of a blessing that Rascal could sleep when so few others could. He clung to Razkili longer than usual that night, their bodies fitting together like spoons, before he slipped his arms free, rose, and stole away toward the edge of the copse.

He had seen rain, and he had seen fog, but never so much of both at the same time. He knew it was the Witch's work. But why did she persist when her army had already taken Parendur? Was it to impede the king's escape? Or was it greater in scope? Perhaps she intended to drown the hopes of all the other rebels and armies that might try to wrest the capitol from her, now that Kyrin was out of the way. Certainly, it would be hard to martial their forces in such weather. They would be paralyzed while she secured her grip on the city.