Darkfire: A Book of Underrealm (29 page)

Loren stood and turned to Albern. “We move with the sun.”
 

thirty-three

LOREN THOUGHT LONG ABOUT KEEPING her cloak. But the day’s light was almost upon them, and the black cloth would give her little help within the castle. So she cast it aside and donned instead the blue cloak of her guardsman’s uniform, along with the helmet she had earlier stowed. Loren doubted the guise would withstand close scrutiny — if they had not known already, then surely by now the guards would be on the lookout for strangers in disguise. But it might give her the half-second advantage she would need in a fight, or an escape.

After looking to be sure the way was clear, she and Albern slipped from their hiding place and into the fortress halls. Xain had wanted to come with Loren, but she refused. He was still too weak to help, and she did not want him unleashing magic that might draw attention. Instead, Xain and Annis would wait until they heard the stronghold’s alarms, then leave the secret hallway to meet Albern and Loren before the fortress gate.

Loren had held on to the hope that Jordel and Gem might be brought to the jail cells at the castle entrance. Then they might be able to rescue their friends during their escape, but they had no such luck. As much as it pained her, Loren knew it was her duty to get Annis, at least, out of the stronghold. But once they left, she meant to convince the wizard, and mayhap Albern, to return and rescue the others. They could not try now. If they failed, then Annis would waste away behind the stronghold’s walls, and eventually fall into her mother’s clutches.

They hoped to find the hallways empty, but the moment they entered the stronghold, Loren and Albern heard heavy bootsteps coming down the hall toward them. They had prepared, and with hands on their hilts, marched quickly down the hall in the other direction. The guards rounded the corner and saw them coming, but Loren and Albern tread with such conviction that the Shades gave them no second glance. They passed each other in the hallway, and soon Loren and Albern rounded the corner out of sight.

“Carry on this way to the guardhouse while I make for the courtyard,” said Albern. “But hurry. It shall not take me long to free our horses, then we must ride with haste.”

Loren nodded, and Albern left. She went to the end of the hall where the gatehouse door waited, but paused before opening it. There might be guards within, for she and Jordel had seen two when they had come this way before. If so, she planned to try Jordel’s ruse again; Loren would say she was there to replace one of them, and when they left, subdue the other. She drew a deep breath and stepped through the door.

To Loren’s surprise, she found a lone guard on duty. He sat near the wheel, leaning back in a wooden chair. He shot to his feet when the door opened, then relaxed once he saw her.

“Thought you might be the commander. He’s been making rounds ever since the spies escaped.”

“Surprised to see but a single guard,” said Loren, looking around the room to make sure there was no one else about.

“Of course there are two of us,” he scoffed. “The other had to relieve herself. She will be back in a moment. I told her it was a mistake, leaving post with command breathing down our necks. But I guess some things wait not.” He snickered.

“Tis your good fortune then,” said Loren. “I have been sent to replace one of you. Command’s sent new orders. We are to stagger shifts, so everyone stays on higher alert. Since your partner’s missing, I suppose you get relief.”

His eyes narrowed in suspicion. Loren knew she had made a mistake. “I have heard no such orders. Tell me the password, if you are to replace me.”

Of course they would have set up a password. Loren rolled her eyes and stepped closer, letting her hand drift idly to the back of the chair opposite his, a few feet away. “Honestly, are you surprised that they have yet to tell us? Things are a mess since—”

Loren seized the chair and swung it for his head. The man barely raised an arm in time, and cried out as the wood cracked against his forearm. Loren leapt forward, swinging again from above. This time she struck his helmet with a rattling clang, sending it flying to the floor. Still he did not fall. In desperation she dropped the chair, seized his cloak and struck him once, twice. Finally Loren slammed his head into one of the wheel’s spokes, and his eyes rolled back as he fell.

“There’s your password,” she said, breathing heavily.

Loren grabbed the spokes, then stopped. Albern had told her to wait for the clamor before turning. But what was taking him so long? She went to the window looking out into the courtyard and saw a clear view of the gate itself, spikes at the bottom of the portcullis sunk deep into the ground. A pair of guards sat on either side, holding spears, heads hanging low, hidden from the falling rain.

Perhaps she should test it before Albern stole the horses. Surely no one would notice if she moved the gate an inch or two. They might think it was settling chains. With both hands on the wheel and one eye firmly on the portcullis, Loren tried giving the wheel a spin.
 

But the wheel refused to move.
 

Her heart skipped. She heaved and heaved, but the spokes would not budge. She looked desperately for the catch, then found the mechanism and the catch as Albern had described. But it was not in place.
 

The gate should have opened easily.

She pulled ever harder at the wheel. Still it would not turn. She began to panic — at any moment Albern would escape with the horses.

Loren pulled again, gritting her teeth and straining. In frustration she struck the wheel with her fist. It shuddered and spun — in the opposite direction. Cursing herself for a fool, she took the wheel and tried again. It turned easily in her hand, from right to left instead of left to right. But through the window she saw the gate raise, not a few inches as she had intended, but two feet. The guards stood and seized their spears, shouting in alarm. After looking at the portcullis in confusion, they turned as one to the gatehouse.

Guards shouted in the courtyard. Horses screamed amidst the clashing blades. Albern had made his move.
 

Loren hauled again at the wheel, pulling as hard and quickly as she could. It moved easily now, and the iron mechanism caught with each turn to keep the gate from crashing down. The guards outside parried in confusion, unsure of whether to help their comrades in the courtyard or rush the gatehouse to see what was happening.

The wheel finally stopped moving, the gate raised to its full height. Loren turned toward the door — but then it crashed open, and two men rushed inside with drawn swords. Outside, the bell rang to sound an alarm. Loren glanced at the doorway, now blocked by two burly soldiers, and turned to run up the stairs.

They gave chase, shouting, but Loren wore no armor and moved much faster. She passed the middle landing, which was empty, and emerged atop the gate tower into open air. Rain soaked her at once. She shut the wooden hatch behind her, then turned the lever to hold it. Moments later she heard pounding from below as the guards tried to break through.

Looking down into the courtyard, Loren saw Albern atop his bay, one hand leading Midnight and the other horses tied to his saddle. They had run in circles to avoid the guards, but now made for the open gate at a gallop. One entire side of the corral had been cast down, and the other horses were running about in a panic at the clanging loud bell and shouting guards. Beyond them stood the burned husks of Yerrin caravans, now little more than a pile of ash amidst the charred, broken remains of wheel housings. She gave a grim smile.

But the pounding at the hatch grew louder. She heard the splinter of wood as the catch slowly gave.
 

An abandoned narrow walkway connected Loren’s tower to the other. She ran along it, searching for any means of escape.
 

The hatch atop the other tower burst open, and guards flooded the open air.
 

Loren skidded to a halt on the soaking wet stone. She could not go forward, nor back. In desperation she looked over the walkway, but the courtyard lay some twenty feet below. The front was the same.

Loren saw the portcullis. Raised as it was, its iron grid was six feet below the wall’s top.
 

Before the guards reached out to grasp her, Loren vaulted over the front of the wall and caught the gate. She wore the guards’ leather gloves, but still the impact shot agony through her mangled hands.

Ignoring it, she swiftly climbed down, one arm’s length at a time, using the iron bars like a ladder. As she neared the portcullis bottom, Albern shot out from the gate atop the horses. Loren cried out, and he wheeled around to look up.

“Jump!”
 

The distance still seemed too great, but she had little choice. Loren fell, and came down hard on the entranceway stones. Mercifully, her ankle did not twist beneath her as she fell, rolling with the impact, and involuntarily yelping as her ribs shrieked.
 

She came up scrabbling and ran for the horses.
 

Behind her, Yerrin men and Shades had gathered. They were charging, scarcely a few yards behind. Xain and Annis, hidden around the wall’s side, burst into view and ran for Albern. They reached the horses almost in unison, jumping up and atop their saddles. With a cry and the kick of his heels, Albern spurred his bay out and across the bridge. The other horses followed, and together they fled the stronghold as their pursuers’ cursing faded behind them.
 

thirty-four

“WE HAVE LITTLE TIME!” ALBERN shouted over the thundering hooves. “They will not allow us to escape so easily, and will soon recover their steeds. Ride as hard as you can, and stop for nothing!”

The stronghold had already vanished behind them, but still Loren could feel its presence, like a malevolent evil seeing without sight, its ill thought bent upon them. Perhaps it was only her imagination, or mayhap some dark magic of Trisken’s, but either way she urged Midnight on to greater and greater speed.

Loren caught a glimpse of Annis’s face as they rode, wide-eyed and frightened. Xain rode silently, his eyes filled with quiet intensity as the wizard gripped his reins. He must be in great pain, Loren realized, for likely he was still weak from the sickness.

Despite Loren’s sense of a watchful presence behind them, they saw no sign of pursuit. The road from the stronghold delved straight into a crack in the mountains, where a peak appeared as if it had been cloven in two by a giant’s axe. The cleft made a passageway that had been flattened by craftsmen long ago — wide enough for them all to ride abreast with room on either side. The passageway ended after a time, and Loren was surprised to see another gate looming ahead. This one had long fallen to disrepair, and remained unoccupied by Shades, or anyone else. The stone bridge between the towers had fallen to rubble, and the towers themselves looked ready to collapse with a strong enough whisper of wind. No soul observed them as they passed, slowing to a trot so the horses would not lose their footing upon the stones.

“I am glad to see this place empty,” said Albern with obvious relief.

“You knew it was here?” said Loren.

“It was here when last I came this way. I guessed that the Shades had not yet claimed it, for as you can see it is in far worse repair than the stronghold.”

Annis was obviously angry. “And what if you had been wrong, and we found soldiers waiting to stop us?”
 

Albern shrugged. “Then we should have devised another plan. It hardly seemed likely that we would get this far.”

Beyond the gate lay another narrow pass snaking through the mountains. They seemed to be heading gently downward, and Loren thought this must be the descent that Albern had told them led out of the mountains. The horses stepped with more vigor, almost as if they could sense the promise of freedom ahead. But still Loren felt darkness haunting their steps, and could not shake the feeling.

As they crested a rise and prepared to climb down the other side, they heard a terrible screeching. Instinct had them ducking even as their horses reared beneath them.

“Harpies!” cried Albern, as the creatures swooped down to attack. “Now we know they are minions of Trisken — or mayhap his master. I thought our escape seemed too easy.”

Albern had his bow in hand, and had stolen many arrows from the stronghold. Shafts flew to strike the diving creatures, and they fell in piles before him. The rest swooped up and away, regrouping, screaming down at the party in fury.
 

After a moment they dove again, and Loren brought her own bow to bear against them. They dodged and wove in tight curves of descent, but she could not find her mark — only Albern’s arrows sped true.

Loren saw a familiar glow beside her. Glancing over, she saw light blooming from the wizard’s eyes. His hand twisted into a claw as he whispered words in a foreign tongue. Her breath caught as he raised his hand skyward and aimed flames at the harpies. A weak, sputtering fire, far more meager than many she had seen from the wizard before, curved in the air and struck one of the beasts, singeing its feathers. Again the harpies broke off their attack, screeching in hatred.

Xain slumped forward over his saddle, holding the horn tightly as if to keep himself from falling. With a nudge from her heels, Loren brought Midnight beside him and gripped his shoulder.

“Are you all right?”
 

“I have not the strength,” he gasped. “Not yet. I am sorry.”

“Do not blame yourself,” said Albern. “We are too exposed. Come! Let us ride.”

Their horses flew down the mountainside, needing no urging from their riders, nostrils filled with the harpies’ stench. As their prey fled, the harpies swooped low, filling the air with their screeching.
 

Albern took them off the path and into the thin, scrubby trees lining either side, where the harpies could no longer see them.

“This will not last,” he said. “But mayhap we can stay under cover until we think of a plan, or until those creatures give up.”