The Children of Urdis (Grimwold and Lethos Book 2) (14 page)

"With my father dead and all his men gone, the chiefs will again vie for supremacy. There will be war among our own in a matter of days."

Lethos nodded. People were the same everywhere. In his own country, if a leader and his armies vanished in an afternoon, at least twenty new leaders and armies would spring up to contend for the vacancy. The barbarians could not be expected to be different.

"Unless they recognize you as their new leader," Lethos said.

Valda laughed. "A woman does not rule in Valahur. Maybe it's different in the southern lands. Here, no one would listen to me."

They both fell into silence, and though the wind had died down, the deepening shadows cooled the air. Lethos wished he had learned how to burn power as Kafara had described to keep himself warm. He wished Kafara was here. The pensive silence stretched, and soon Valda turned to him with a furrowed brow.

"I could probably hold a loose alliance together, at least long enough for a new High King to be selected among the contenders."

"You vote on your High King? I thought your father took the throne by force. You know, the stories of his sword cutting three men in half and what not."

"We do vote, but often the losers are not willing to abide the result. My father never spoke of his early days. Some say the other contender, Sigurd Blood-Eye, was so evil that my father had no choice but to use violence. I believe that."

The pain in Lethos's chest throbbed again, and he instinctively faced north. It had been so long since such sensations dominated him. He had never been far from Grimwold, and now he was far out to sea. He clutched one hand to where he felt the pain, and Valda frowned.

"You are worried for your friend?"

"I must go to him or we both die. I have no idea how I'll get to that ship, or if they'll let him live long enough for me to find him. Our kind is not supposed to die easily, but I think these storm riders will have no problems."

Valda nodded and at last sat down, tears flowing down her face. Lethos wanted to help her, but he was of no use to her when his own mind might start to decay. How much worse would it be now that a bull spirit haunted his soul? He went to her and placed his hand on her shoulder. She buried her face in her hands, quietly sobbing.

"I don't know what to do," she said. "At least you have some direction for yourself. Am I to just haunt this castle like a ghost?"

"I remember you had a brother. Where is he?"

The tears stopped and Valda frowned. She twisted her words with anger. "Gone to some secret mission. He left with that strange priest of Fieyar, the man with the beautiful voice."

Lethos nodded, remembering Syrus the Silver from his first days in Valahur. "You're upset they left?"

"Father sent his sword with my brother, and they went to a secret location. I was listening in on their talk. There's a copy of the map in the castle somewhere. Some ancient cave. Why did he send his sword away? And why with my brother?"

"Well, why not your brother?"

"Because he's a fool. But Father has only one son. He reminded us enough of it, didn't he."

"I wouldn't know."

"Well, Thorgis may be my father's son, but I've no idea what he inherited. Certainly not courage. Seemed a poor pick for a secret mission."

Lethos patted her shoulder again and steered out of the turbulent waters of Valda's mood. He did not need this now, or at any other time, when he considered it. That Eldegris's sword was gone, however, bothered him. He had hoped to bring it to the fight with Avulash.

Abandoning Valda to her brooding, he again faced north. He would need a ship to reach the ark. He would be spotted and probably killed before he could mount the decks. None of his spy training included sailing up to a ship in open water and sneaking aboard. That had been for advanced students. Of course, he could work at night. Once aboard, he only had to find Grimwold and get him back to his boat. Such a simple plan. It was doomed, of course. He had the choice of dying a gibbering madman or dying heroically in a rescue effort.

"How would you go about sneaking an unconscious man off an enormous ghost ship?" he asked, not looking back. He did not expect an answer, but Valda gave one.

"I'd create a distraction and pray a lot."

Lethos smiled. It was a better plan than he had. In fact, any plan he might make would likely be shattered the moment he approached the ark.

"Help me rescue Grimwold, and I will help you keep your father's kingdom together."

She stared at him, her mouth open.

"Come on," he said. "Your people will respect a Minotaur as your army. It's these storm riders that concern me. Avulash didn't seem very concerned about facing a raging monster."

Her mouth closed and she stood. Lethos turned back to the north.

We're coming, Grimwold.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Syrus peeked around the stagelike outcropping of rock, praying to any god that would hear him. The dark expanse of the cavern was relieved only by a wide shaft of yellow light spilling from a crack in the ceiling. Moving through that light came the six men who had apparently been following behind. Their strange plate and mail armor caught the light as they flickered through the shaft. Their thin bodies hid behind shields stylized to look like shells. Voices echoed off the walls lost in darkness. The men were speaking among themselves in a language Syrus strained to recognize. They drew long, thin blades from scabbards belted to their hips, and the raspy hiss made Syrus's mouth go dry.

He ducked back into the shadow. Thorgis stared at him through the low reflected light. With his clothes matted and his right sleeve ripped away, he looked less like commanding royalty and more like a bedraggled deckhand. His father's sword remained strapped to Thorgis's back, merging with his shadowed outline like it grew from his body. Syrus glanced around the darkness, a cold draft scented with ocean water met his nose but also contained the unmistakable notes of blood.

"Little dog, come fetch your armor," said one of the men. The voice was clear and sharp with derision, just around the corner of the outcropping.

Syrus glared at Thorgis's ordinary sword, still in its sheath at his side. Frustration washed aside fear for a moment. "Can you draw at least one of them?"

Thorgis remained as silent and still as the rock outcroppings that dotted the cave floor. Syrus flicked off the loop that kept the ordinary sword in its sheath, tugged the blade free, then spun in time to face the first man to round the corner.

He was tall and thin, pale yellow hair streaming from beneath his unadorned helmet. What arrested Syrus was the man's eyes, which glowed with a faint golden fire. He smiled with small, pointed teeth like some deep ocean predator.

"Two fools are hiding here," he said. "A lucky surprise."

Syrus valued intelligence and learning over the violence beloved in Valahur. He considered himself far more diplomatic and refined than any other man besides Eldegris himself. Yet when confronted with danger, he reacted as his long-dead father had trained him. He struck low, beneath the enemy's shield at the exposed thigh. The point of his sword crunched into chain links that turned the blade aside. The golden-eyed man jumped back with a playful laugh, much like one would withdraw from a snapping puppy.

"They want to play." The man's face was lost in shadow, but Syrus still saw the smirk.

"Run!" Syrus shouted and turned to grab Thorgis. To his shock no one stood behind him. Thorgis had already run.

Syrus leapt away as the man gave a playfully lazy slash at him. The air swished behind his head and he heard the others laugh. One voice, however, shouted something stern in the language that Syrus thought he understood. He had no time to think deeper, running blind into the dark as he was.

"Thorgis?" he shouted as he flitted into the dark. His shoulder clipped a rocky column that hid in the shadow. Behind him, the echoing laughter of the invaders drew closer. To his left he heard a shouted curse in his own language. That had to be Thorgis.

He leapt after the sound, fumbling through darkness barely illuminated with the faintest strokes of light bouncing around the colossal cavern. His palm grew sweaty on the grip of the sword. "Thorgis," he whispered. "Where did you go?"

The six men did not seem able to see him, which relieved Syrus's fear they could never be evaded. They had drawn together at the outcropping, and sparks were blazing in the darkness. They were lighting a torch or lamp. Syrus's hands ran cold as he hovered in the dark.

The crash of stone alerted both Syrus and his pursuers to Thorgis's location. Syrus bounded off in the direction of the crash, holding his sword against his leg to avoid either impaling Thorgis in the dark or skewering himself if he fell. He heard the young man cursing and he scurried beside him, seeing him a vaguely darker lump against a lesser black.

"Where did you think to run? How foolish." Syrus felt for Thorgis's arm, grabbed it, and pulled him up. "What did you run into?"

"A rock or statue, I can't tell. They're coming, look."

Syrus whirled and a torch fluttered in the mild current of the cavern. It was a ball of orange light hovering over the inky shapes of the armored men. They picked their way carefully toward them, their low conversation carrying ahead of them as if they were on a springtime outing. Yet their blades flashed with the bobbing of the light.

"This is sport to them," Syrus said. "Your father's sword? He knew we would be pursued, I think. Are you ready to fight?"

Thorgis's shadow answered for him. He scurried away from the approaching men, and Syrus's cold hands turned hot with his anger. What kind of defender was this boy? Did Eldegris truly appoint him as his protector? Syrus jogged after him.

He tried to take care with his steps, but as he went deeper into the dark he was completely blind. Echoes of laughter and idle chatter haunted his path, and looking back he saw the distant shaft of sunlight amid a sea of inky dark. The globe of torchlight bobbed less directly toward him, but still on his general path. His pursuers were in no hurry, and perhaps they knew he was running into a corner.

Ahead, Thorgis screamed, a sharp yelp that vanished with alarming speed. Syrus froze in place. Moving ahead in blindness was stupid. He slid his booted feet across the ground to check for both obstructions and drop-offs. He ranged ahead with his sword, inching deeper into the unknown.

"You idiot," he whispered as loud as he dared. "Where have you gotten? Answer me."

But no answer came. No more sounds from ahead, only a stale and clammy scent floating out of total darkness. Syrus's heart beat wildly, and he wished he could lie down and sleep until the nightmare ended. But the globe of orange light drew nearer, and the sallow faces illuminated within it began to resolve into the visages of death they represented. Their laughter had ended along with their conversation. They had come to kill, and Syrus was on their path.

"Thorgis?"

No answer. He had either fallen or hurt himself. He should now start to circle back, evading his pursuers, and exit the cavern. Yet his duty was to his king, and by that to Thorgis. Fieyar would guide him if he fulfilled his duty with bravery and zeal. She would see his good deeds and reward him. So, he ranged ahead with sword and foot, moving ever deeper into the dark seeking Thorgis.

He had never experienced fleeing in such tiny steps. He wanted to burst into a run, but he would certainly trip or collide with something. Twice his sword had already chimed against something solid in his path. Yet the faces were closer now, the globe of light revealing even more of the strange men at his heels. Their weapons seemed to shed their own light, a dim shimmer that rippled like a flame along the edges.

Heart slamming, desperate for anything useful to reveal itself, he pushed forward. He slid his feet faster, the grit beneath his soles sounding like crashing boulders in the silence. It was no use. The six were at his heels now.

He broke into a run. They were almost at sword's length. He pitched headlong into the darkness, slammed into something hard that sent him crashing onto his back. The warm throb of blood filled his mouth with a coppery taste. Scrambling up, he still held the sword he had snatched from Thorgis. The six were nearly on top of him now. The edge of their torchlight seeping toward him.

The space was clear before him now. He ran. He heard armor clank and crunch as the men following also ran. His feet pounded on hard stone. If he ran into a wall now, he would knock himself unconscious.

Then his foot landed on nothing and he was falling. His stomach came up to his throat and he screamed. He pitched into black; terror unlike anything he ever knew gripped his heart. He braced to splatter on hard rock or slam onto a spike trap.

Instead, he plunged into ice cold water. He sank like a stone. The sword slipped from his hand and sank alongside him.

Unlike his jump into the sea, no unseen force guided him to safety. His lungs already burned as he held the last breath he had drawn. His legs and arms kicked wildly. This was it. He had failed Fieyar by failing his king. Death by drowning was his fate now, and he ceased struggling. He hung limp in the water, his chest on fire with his held breath.

Then hands slipped beneath his arms. He opened his eyes to find nothing but cold darkness. Air bubbles rushed by his ears, an alien and horrifying gurgle. Someone pulled him up and then his head broke the surface. Syrus gasped, and his head swam as he sucked in the air. Whoever had him dragged him out of the water onto rocks that pressed painfully on his body. He lay on his back, his vision a mist as breath returned to him. At last he realized he was no longer in total darkness. A weak light shimmered from the corner.

Eldegris's sword was partially drawn from its sheath, the blade glowing with yellow light that shimmered on the water. Rippling light reflected on natural stone walls. Everything was colored black and yellow. A dark shape moved before the sword, and with a snap pressed the blade back into its sheath. The world plunged into darkness.