The Book of Kane (25 page)

There were others…

And Kane moaned and gnawed his tongue, crushed his fists to his eyes. Until the visions faded into grey, and only the knowledge remained.

He opened his eyes. The rock was solid about him. The fever had broken.

And now a steaming, fetid breath snuffled his body. Eyes like red glowing stars stared balefully down upon his upturned face.

“No, Serberys,” said a voice, “Kane is not ours… yet.”

Kane snarled and flung himself aside. Larger and blacker than any bear of these mountains, the hound of Hell snarled back at him.

“Now we’ve spoiled his dream,” came the sardonic laugh. “Were you dreaming, Kane?” The Demonlord’s onyx- talonedhand rested on his bound’s heckled neck. He stood tall and lean and muscular; his garments were black and finely cut to the current mode—full-sleeved shirt and tight trousers, knee boots of soft leather, and a long sword at his belt. A wide black cloak seemed to flap about his shoulders, but Kane knew it was not a cloak.

Kane glared at the majestically evil face and the unwinking black eyes. “If you’ve come for me, Sathonys, you’ll find my steel as ready as ever.”

The Demonlord smiled; mockery robbed his expression Of any warmth. “We’ve met on friendlier terms in past years, Kane. Why do you show your fangs now?”

“We’ll play this game no longer,” growled Kane, edging back along the ledge so that the face of the cliff was close behind him. Serberys’s squat bulk completely blocked the trail before him; black tongue licked smoking jowls. He flexed the cramped pain from his sword arm, but did not yet draw his blade.

“But a vassal plays his lord’s game for so long as the master wills,” mocked Lord Tloluvin, his cloak billowing about him.

“I’m not your vassal.” Kane’s fists clenched like rocks.

“But you’ve served me well in the past.” The night winds moaned along the escarpment, but his cloak did not swirl in obedience to the wind’s caress.

“And you’ve served me better—and we’ve fought side by side. But Kane owes allegiance to neither god nor demon, and I’ll not be your pawn in this game you play now.”

“If not pawn, perhaps prize,” the Demonlord laughed. “And yet, you must surely understand that all mortals are but pawns.”

“Nor am I mortal.”

“Perhaps before dawn you’ll be proven wrong on both counts.”

This may be my last night, but who comes for me will find no pawn!” warned Kane, the fury of his blue eyes as hellish a flame as the Demonlord’s own.

Lord Tloluvin studied the death in Kane’s stare. “I’ve cause enough to respect you, Kane, true, and admire you. At times our battles have been in the same cause.”

“You show little gratitude for a comrade in arms.”

“Kane! You know better!” protested Lord Tloluvin in sardonic reproof. “I only follow my nature—one you well understand. Sathonys, Tloluvin, Lato, by whatever name—my nature is the same. Only a fool expects loyalty in the Demonlord’s friendship.”

“Perhaps then you, too, are only a pawn—to your nature, or whatever laws you obey.”

The Demonlord’s smile was suddenly menacing. Serberys growled like brazen thunder and took half a stride forward on the ledge, “Your wit is as bold as your arrogance, Kane. We’ll argue this later, I think.

“But stop to consider my game, since I doubt its nature confuses you. You must admit I’ve set the gameboard well. For seven years Ionor’s festering hate has poisoned this wounded land—twisted her soul and tainted the spirits of those about her. And now to seal her pact of vengeance she will give me the child, the daughter she has tortured herself to keep hating for seven years. Is it not a work of art, Kane? You can admire art such as this, I know. Or do you better appreciate the mastery with which I drew you to me here tonight—held by bonds of fever like a chained sacrifice, with greed and ruthless cruelty like a snarling pack to drive you—and a trail of death and ruin to mark the passage of the hunt.”

“If you’ve set the gameboard for this night, Sathonys,” Kane spat back, “you still cannot manipulate all the pieces. Other men you may use as pawns, but not Kane! I’ll yield to no predestined fate, and if I fall, I’ll die hard and I’ll die a free man!”

“Still shaking your bloodstained fist at fate, Kane? But I suppose that is your nature, and I return your accusation. Before dawn comes we’ll speak further on free will, and then I think we’ll know better whether this arrogance is vain boast or desperate faith.”

Serberys raised his sooty muzzle and bayed. The ravenous howl sent echoes of terror resounding through the night.

Lord Tloluvin stroked his massive shoulders. “Yes, Serberys, I sense it, too. Ionor approaches Raven’s Bald with the child, and we must go await her.”

His smile was agelessly cruel. “By your leave, Kane—but while we’ve tarried here, the seeds sown seven years ago in hate, and so carefully nurtured since, are about to flower beneath my moon.

“And did you know that this trail you’ve so desperately followed ends in a sheer precipice only a short way from here?”

Thunder smashed down over the ledge, like deafening laughter.

Kane stood alone.

At first Kane hoped that the Demonlord had lied. As rage fired new strength through his muscles he plunged recklessly along the now wider trail. For some distance the ledge offered a secure path along the face of the cliff. Kane realized now that he was not on the trail he had thought to follow, but at the same time he was headed in the direction of Raven’s Bald. Lord Tloluvin would have known this—had be then lied to make Kane turn back?

The Demonlord had not lied this time.

Kane skidded to a halt, as before him theledge abruptly fell away. Here the fault in the strata had broken loose, and a great section of the escarpment had sheared off into the River Cotras far below. No trail crossed the black chasm.

Straining to pierce the river mist, Kane peered upward. Above him the cliff marched into the night; below he could hear the muffled roar of River Cotras. From what he remembered of the river gorge in this region, this ledge must be at least a hundred feet from the crest. He was trapped here, unless…

Examining the chasm he thought he discerned a narrow crack which appeared to lead to the area of the fall. If he could find handholds along this crevice, he might be able to reach the slide, where the broken rock might provide an avenue to scale the bluff.
There was, of course, no hope in turning back.

Am I truly a pawn in the Demonlord’s game?

The crack in the rock ran perhaps fifty feet—a sheer plummet—before it reached the slide rubble. The stone was damp and slippery, white with frost in places. Bits of splintered rock plugged the crevice every few inches. There scarcely seemed space enough to dig his fingers.

Stretching out, Kane forced his powerful hands into the crevice. He heaved his massive body off the ledge and into space. His giant shoulders bunched and strained; his legs scuffed against the rock, while the river mist swirled up about him from far below.

His movements were rapid, for he knew his overtaxed strength would falter in another moment. Like a great ape, he swung across the escarpment, driving his body on by force of will. Death awaited his first misjudged grip.

The crevice slowly narrowed. Kane found he must support his weight solely by his clawing fingers—and still the crack tightened. Until there was no longer space to thrust his fingers.

Kane’s breath grunted an inarticulate curse, but with each second a killing agony, he wasted no time. Hanging perilously by one arm, Kane quickly drew a dagger from his boot. Its flat balanced blade was designed for throwing; whether its steel would support his bulk, Kane had only one way of determining. Using the knife for a piton, Kane jammed it into the crevice and tried his weight.

The tempered steel shivered and grated; the hilt seemed to bend slightly under the tearing stress. But it held. Clinging desperately to the sweaty hilt, Kane jerked itsmate from his other boot. He thrust it into the crevice, then swung out with the other blade. Two insignificanthafts of steel and leather were all that supported himabove the deadly abyss. It seemed the blades could never endure the strain. They did; Kane’s desperate gamble succeeded.

With these makeshift pitons, he struggled across thefinal few yards to what was relative safety. Reaching the rubble left by the avalanche, he gratefullyrested his boots on an outjutting boulder. An hour’s rest would seem life saving now, but he knew there was not a minute to spare. Grimly he began to scale the chaos of broken rock which marked the slide.

Stundorn was ill at case. The blocky mercenary distrusted the strange swirling mist that cloaked, then revealed the autumnal ridges. Nor did he like the eerie shadows that seemed to flash along in the darkness on all sides of them, although time and again a sudden frightened challenge had revealed nothing.
But would shadows
make
sounds?

Once more he tried to fight down gnawing fear. He had lost hope of finding Kane in the night—already they had hunted farther than Pleddis had been prepared to. Pleddis had overstretched their lines, spread the search too far. Now they wandered through the darkness in small bands. Stundorn glanced ahead on the ridge as the Demonlord’s Moon rose high over Raven’s Knob. Dread chilled his spirit. This trail skirting the river gorge was no place to linger tonight.

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” he demanded of Nattios. The mountaineer’s nerves were, if anything, worse. “There’s the tracks. Look at them yourself, and tell me what we’re doing. Woman and a child, and not too far ahead. I’ll kiss your ass if it’s not the woman from the inn and her kid.”

“But why would she be on the trail to Raven’s Knob?” the other persisted. “No sane errand would take her there tonight of all nights. Hell, you know the stories they tell.”

“I didn’t say she was going
to
Raven’s Knob,” Nattios argued. “I said this trail leads
past
Raven’s Knob. We don’t know where she’s really headed.”

“Then why don’t we turn back?” grumbled one of the other half-dozen men in their party “Damn woman wants to take her kid and risk what’s out here tonight, that’s her business.”

“None of that talk,” growled Stundorn, thinking the man had a valid point. But no he would have to face Pleddis, and his captain took a harsh view of cowardice.

“Ionor’s out here she’s got to have a good reason,” he explained. “Could be she’s gone to meet Kane. That kid’s got hair like Kane, and those blue eyes. Didn’t get them from her mother, and we don’t know who she calls father. Might be it’s Kane—he’s been through this range of hills before.”

“Seemed ready enough to drink his blood back at the inn,” the grumbler persisted.

“Could have been fake,” guessed Stundorn. “Kane decided to hole up at Raven’s Eyrie after all—and she was fixing them food. Could be Kane’s more welcome therethan anyone guessed. Might explain how he managed to slip out of the inn without our knowing it.”

“Well, there’s something sure funny about that inn,” Nattios contributed. Talk drowned out the night’s eerie sounds. He hoped the conversation would continue.

They shuffled on a bit farther in silence. The movement from the corner of their eyes seemed to increase; the night sounds edged closer at hand. Bolder.

“How close are we to Raven’s Knob?” Stundorn asked, uneasily gazing at the bald spur of rock on the crest of the ridge.

“Pretty close—maybe a mile or so by trail,” the tracker hazarded. “Stundorn, you suppose Kane knows you shot him?”

“That ain’t certain,” protested the man with the arbalest, who had earlier boasted of it.

“Because maybe Kane’s dead after all. We ain’t none of us seen him since the first. There’s some damn weirdthings you hear about Kane, and if he died tonight… Well, there’s been dead men before that didn’t lie intheir graves.”

“Shut up!” Stundorn cursed him, thinking that a dead man would surely take vengeance on his slayer if hecould return from the grave.

“I just wondered if you knew for sure you shot him, and if you knew where the quarrel hit him, that’s all. Then maybe we’d know whether Kane’s just crippled, orwhether up ahead somewhere there’s a dead man waiting…”
“I said, shut up! Keep your mind on the trail.”

“Ain’t nothing there to keep my mind on. A blind mancould read these tracks—they’re leading straight alongthe trail to Raven’s Knob.”

“Vaul! What’s that?” someone gasped.

They froze in their stances to listen. A scraping, scrambling sound not far away…

“It’s something climbing up from the river!” another cried out.

“Fool! That’s a sheer drop”‘ Nattios swore.

“It’s closer!”

“Then what...?”

With a bloodcurdling howl, Kane flung himself over the last shelf of rock. A man screamed in terror.

Kane’s face was battered, his body and clothing torn filthy, stained with blood. His sword flashed from the scabbard as he cleared the precipice, a yell of animal ferocity twisting his lips. He had sprung out of the abyss as if by sorcery—a vengeful phantom who loomed to giant stature in the terror of that moment. The Demonlord’s Moon cast its red glare upon him, and his killer’s eyes blazed with the sure promise of death.

Stundorn’s shot was wild, for only fear had triggered his weapon. “Kane!” someone bawled in panic. The bounty hunters broke and fled.

With a roar of insane fury, Kane lunged after them. With no thought of danger, he drove them before him. Too long had he been hounded by jackals; the wounded lion had turned to kill.

Stundorn wasted an instant trying to crank the cocking rachet of his arbalest. The reflex was fatal now, for his comrades had left him to stand alone. As he dropped the useless weapon and groped for his sword, Kane’s hell-driven blade split him almost in half. The others made no attempt to stand before his rush. In frantic haste to escape the bellowing demon, Nattios misjudged the edge of the cliff; his screams were swallowed in the river mists.

Kane ravened after them. Another mercenary died with Kane’s sword sunk to the hilt through his spine. The survivors split from the trail to plunge into the forest, and Kane leaped after them to tackle the last man. Brutally he pounded the mercenary’s skull against the rocks, again and again, until his fists held only pulp.