Darkfire: A Book of Underrealm (24 page)

“Are you hurt?” he said, gripping her shoulders.

“Not badly. Let us go.”

Jordel led the way along the stronghold wall back to the cave where the others lay hidden.
 

Not hidden any longer.

The stronghold guards came into view. Several lurked outside the cave mouth, hidden around the stronghold. Loren soon saw why: three bodies lay outside the cave, arrows sticking from their chests like flagpoles.

She ducked for the wall on instinct so the soldiers would not see them — but Jordel pushed onward, and then Loren remembered that they themselves wore uniforms.
 

She followed closely behind the Mystic, lowering her cowl and casting the cloak over her shoulders, so the other guards might not notice that it was black rather than grey.

One of the guards spotted them. “Take cover, friends, or you’ll end up like our comrades there.” He gave a significant nod to the bodies sprawled outside the cave.

Jordel and Loren darted around the corner, but Loren stood in full view of the cave, holding her head high, hoping Albern would look out and recognize her. Jordel, meanwhile, ducked in company with the man who had spoken their warning. Another three guards stood behind them, each afraid to press forward.

“How many are in there?” said Jordel.

“The count is uncertain, but I have seen at least two. One was a child.”

“A child?” said Loren, feigning surprise.
 

All might be lost if Damaris knew that Annis was here.

“Aye, a thin boy, dressed in rags. Looks like he belongs begging on some city street, not up in these mountains.”

Loren’s eyes found Jordel’s as he turned back to give her an urgent look, then gently tossed his head toward the other guards. She sized them up: four against Jordel and Loren. And who knew when more would arrive. Trisken might come at any moment, and Loren did not enjoy the thought of testing herself against that warhammer. The rear guard was smallest, a thin woman with short red hair who did not look much older than Loren herself, though her eyes were grim and determined. To Loren’s other side, she was shocked to see the thin, reedy man who had spoken so rudely to she and Jordel in the guardroom. He did not seem to recognize either of them, for his eyes were fixed on the cave’s open mouth.

With surprise on her side, Loren thought she could take them. She nodded to Jordel, then reached for her dagger.

In a burst of motion, Jordel drove his elbow into the thick man beside him, smashing his face.
 

Loren raised her dagger high and brought the pommel crashing down on the back of the thin man’s head.
 

The woman’s eyes flashed with surprise, but it did not last so long as Loren had hoped, and she brought her sword swinging toward Loren’s head.
 

She easily ducked it, then kicked the woman’s shin and sent her crashing to the ground. But the guard held her grip and swung the sword again. Loren fell back to avoid the strike, then forward on the woman. She seized her tunic, striking her three times in the face while still holding the dagger’s hilt. It lent extra weight to her blows, and the woman’s head lolled back, senseless.

Loren looked up to find Jordel’s arms wrapped around the final soldier’s neck, choking his breath and mayhap his life. The man struggled to strike at Jordel, who was behind him, but his arms could not reach. His eyes fluttered up, then rolled back in his head. He fell unconscious and Jordel dropped him to the ground.

“Let us find our friends, and hope they do not shoot us,” he said.

They ran for the cave, weapons sheathed and hands held high. Loren stepped distastefully around the bodies littering the ground, averting her eyes. There was always death, no matter how she tried to avoid it. Albern must have seen her face, or else saw them fighting the guards, for no arrows flew from the darkness to strike them.
 

They entered the cave and were seized by Gem and Annis in a hug. Xain lay behind them, near the horses, his eyes filled with concern.

“Well, you certainly took your time getting here.” Albern stepped forward. He still held an arrow nocked, but had relaxed his draw. Despite his jovial tone, Loren saw the stark relief in his eyes.

“We heard the shouting and thought you had been found,” said Annis. “Then we realized that we had been spotted, not you.”

“We held them off admirably,” said Gem, stepping back from his embrace as if embarrassed. “Certainly they were no match for our determination.”

“Yes, the little master here cowered so fearfully that the enemy took pity and fled,” Albern said.

Gem opened his mouth, but Jordel interrupted his answer. “We have no time for words. Fetch the horses and Xain, for—”

THOOM

The heavy crash of a gate striking the ground drowned the Mystic’s words. They all stopped and turned toward the cave mouth in time to see Trisken step forward from the stronghold, the greatest warhammer Loren could have ever imagined clutched tightly in his hands.

twenty-eight

TO TRISKEN’S EITHER SIDE WALKED the guards Loren had seen at his dais, and before him marched a squadron of stronghold soldiers. They made no attempt to hide behind cover as they advanced, though the front soldiers traded uneasy glances.
 

“Well, he is an ugly one,” said Albern, raising his bow and drawing.
 

His shaft struck one soldier in the chest. The others flinched and made to stop, but Trisken’s guards shoved them forward. The soldiers raised shields, but against Albern they might as well have had no protection. Once, twice, three times his arrows struck, and the soldiers fell to the ground before him. Still there were more. Trisken and his bodyguards were behind them, but when Albern felled another pair, they paused and ducked behind the cave’s edges.

“Back!” Loren seized Gem and Annis, then tried pulling them deeper into the caves.

“No,” said Jordel. “We cannot flee without leaving Xain and the horses behind. It will be a fight.” He drew his sword and stepped forward.

“Aye, and we could use more than two blades,” said Albern, looking at Loren sidelong.

“I will help,” said Gem, his voice little more than a quiver. He reached for the small sword buckled to his waist.

“Don’t be a fool.” Loren grabbed his wrist before he could draw and shoved the blade back in. “You will be slaughtered.”

“He will likely be slaughtered in any case, if they get through Jordel and myself,” said Albern. “Let the boy die with a sword in his hand if he wants.”

Jordel said, “I told you I would not ask you to kill, and will not do so now. But if we do not fight, then likely we die here.”

Loren looked into his eyes, then at the cave entrance where the soldiers’ heads could be seen poking into view, no doubt goaded by Trisken and his men. How could she stand idly by while even Gem raised a blade in their defense? Annis was stooping to pick up a rock from the ground, holding it ready to throw.

There was a shout from the cave mouth, and the soldiers rushed them again, with Trisken coming close behind. No time for thought; Loren ran to Midnight, seized her bow from the saddle, and turned with a shaft already drawn.

She planted one arrow in a man’s leg, but her next went wide as she tried to fire a nonlethal shot. Albern, without any such compunction, slew one of the bodyguards and felled the other two soldiers.
 

Trisken and the final bodyguard reached them. Jordel stepped forward to meet the attack, and beside him came Gem, thin voice raised in a battle cry — but the bodyguard struck with a mighty fist, and Gem was dashed aside into the cave wall where he slumped to the ground.
 

Jordel traded blows with them both, backing up a step at a time, as Albern cast his bow aside in favor of a blade. Trisken’s great warhammer nearly caught Jordel in its mighty sweep again and again, while Loren watched helpless.
 

A rock flew as if from nowhere, striking the bodyguard in his temple. Loren saw Annis’s empty hand. The moment’s distraction gave Jordel an opening, and his sword found its mark at last, plunging through chain mail and into the guard’s gut.

Before he could withdraw the blade, Trisken stepped around his henchman and struck with the hilt of his hammer, driving the pommel hard into Jordel’s chest. The Mystic fell to his back with a great
whoosh
and doubled over, clutching his chest where he had been struck. Albern leapt to his defense, trying to keep Trisken at bay, but the stronghold commander pushed him back as easily as if he were Gem, then turned back to Jordel on the ground.

“No!” Loren could withhold herself no longer. She seized Gem’s blade and charged Trisken, swinging wildly, and regretting never having learned to properly wield a sword. Even to her, the strikes seemed clumsy. But they gave Trisken just enough pause for Jordel to find his feet, and he pressed forward beside her while Albern circled around from behind.

They had Trisken surrounded in the center of their cave, his head turning back and forth to keep them all in sight. Loren held the sword awkwardly before her. Albern moved to strike, but Trisken turned the blade aside with his hammer. He used the advantage to step back and around the bowyer, putting his back to the cave wall.

The air grew quiet in a sudden lull. Only the outside and the fighters’ heavy breathing could be heard. Trisken’s eyes sought their faces one at a time. Then he looked past them, to where Gem lay crumpled on the floor, and where Annis knelt beside him.

A cruel recognition claimed his face.

“No,” he chuckled. “No, this cannot be. This is too wonderful.”
 

Trisken threw back his head and laughed, loud and long. The deep sound echoed terribly off the cave walls until it became a choir of dark voices joining in his mirth.

“If you call dying in a cave wonderful, then you are a madman,” said Albern.

Trisken acted as if he had not heard. His eyes were still only for Annis, his lips split in a wide grin. “The Yerrin girl. I thought finding you for your mother would be difficult. How could I have imagined you would walk right into my arms? The Lord will be most pleased.”

Annis’s eyes filled with fright, and she clutched Gem’s unconscious form tighter.

“Yes, I will be bringing you to your mother shortly. After I have dealt with these.” Trisken’s gaze went to Loren. “You must be the other one — the Mystic spy who stole her away. The one some call Nightblade. Your corpse will make the Lord a fine gift.”

Thinking him distracted, Jordel lunged. But Trisken sidestepped the blow, moving far more swiftly than such a large man should, batting the Mystic’s sword with his hilt. He turned the movement into a swing that sped toward Loren’s head. She barely ducked in time.

Trisken fell back into a fighting pose, and kept speaking as if nothing had happened. “And you. I can smell the stench of a Mystic upon you. The outcast. Where is your fallen wizard, Jordel? Ah, there he is upon the floor.” The commander laughed again, slowly shaking his great head. “What marvelous fortune for me. And for the Lord, who fortune shall always favor. How sad for you, to come so far only to find death in the Greatrocks.”

Loren had an idea. If she could distract him, it might give Albern and Jordel a chance to fell down. Certainly she could do no more than that, for Loren was no fighter. As Trisken spoke again, she leapt forward with a cry, bringing her sword down in a heavy overhand swing.

Trisken’s warhammer swung to meet it, and Loren’s sword rang painfully in her hand. One of his great ironshod boots leapt up, his heel smashing into her ribs. She cried out and fell, but before Loren could reach the ground Trisken brought the hilt around again, sending the pommel crashing down between her shoulder blades.

Jordel jumped forward with a wordless roar of fury, smashing the warhammer aside and driving forward with another strike, pressing in close where Trisken could not bring his warhammer to bear. That barely gave the commander pause; he seized the front of Jordel’s tunic in one meaty fist, drew him forward, and slammed his forehead into Jordel’s nose.

That gave Albern a much needed chance. His blade found its home deep in the back of Trisken’s knee, its bloodied tip exploding through the front of the man’s leg. Trisken sank with a grunt, but in a desperate final attempt he raised his hammer to bring it down upon Jordel’s chest.
 

Albern’s sword swung around and nearly cleaved his arm in two, hacking through skin and muscle right into bone. Trisken’s hammer fell useless, his arm limp and wasted. Jordel rose, dagger in hand, and plunged it into Trisken’s neck. The giant fell at last, facedown on the cave floor, blood pooling around him to mix with the rainwater.

Loren rolled onto her back, gasping for air, wincing as she landed on a rock where the pommel of Trisken’s warhammer had struck her. Slowly she regained her hands and knees. Her fingers prodded at her ribs. The bone was certainly bruised, but they did not feel broken. Alas, she may leave the Greatrocks alive.

Loren could only crawl, so she made her way to Gem on the cave’s other side. Annis was already there, holding his head in her lap, staring down into his face. Silent tears painted her cheeks.

“He lives. I can feel his breath. He is only hurt.”

“Good,” said Loren. “But he needs to wake. We must flee, now.”

“He knew me, Loren,” said Annis, her voice breaking. “He knew who I was. He knew my mother.”

“She is in his stronghold now,” said Loren. “She wanted his assistance searching for you. I will tell you everything we have learned, but later. For now, rest easily. He is dead, and it no longer matters what he knows.”

Loren shook Gem by the shoulders. Still his eyes remained closed. She slapped his face, gently at first, then harder. Finally she went to a dip in the cave floor, where water had pooled. She bowled it in both hands, then dropped it into his face.
 

Gem came up sputtering. “What happened?” His words were slurred by thick lips, for a large bruise was already covering most of his face on the left side.