The Gate, page 22
“I’ll always need someone like you standing beside me, friend,” Jael grasped his arm and pulled him into a quick embrace.
Bent looked over the group sternly. “Well, now that’s over with, why don’t we see about getting this underway. I, for one, am ready to get what we came for and get out of these Goddess-damned mountains.”
Jael bobbed his head in agreement and turned to address his newly assembled team. “I know how to get in. Once we are inside, I’m going after Lors first.”
“Doesn’t it make more sense to just get Amarynn and be gone as quickly as possible?” Ehrinell asked.
Jael’s mouth was set in a grim line. “Yes, it does, but I don’t know where they’ve taken her. Lors will know where she is. Besides, there is a debt to be paid by him, and I will see it collected.”
Ehrinell raised her eyebrows in surprise at Jael’s tone. “As you wish, My Lord.”
“I only ask one thing. When we find him, he’s mine.”
All four nodded, then began their short trek through the forest. In less than an hour, they arrived at a vantage point that overlooked the tower which contained the secret door. Ban and Ahai were high in the sky, the former cradled in the crescent horns of its larger counterpart. The blue glow of Ban mingled with Ahai’s pale yellow to cast an eerie green glow. Their combined light was waning, making it difficult to see the shadowed surface in which the door was concealed.
Before they left camp, Bent sent word to the handful of men and Travelers tasked to agitate the Keep’s contingency of Darkland soldiers. While those on the tower wall were focused on the front of the Keep, they left the sides unguarded.
Jael cocked his head and heard the calls and taunts from the other Travelers as they harassed and occupied the Keep’s guard. He looked back to the others and grinned. “Time to go.”
They moved with stealthy precision and were in the side door in seconds. Once inside the tower storeroom, though, they needed a plan to gain entry to the Keep. Even with Travelers at the entrance to Athtull, there was a measure of uncertainty about the state of the bailey yard. They wouldn’t know what to expect until they were inside the bailey walls.
“Stavin and I can create more chaos,” Finn offered. “We can hold our own against more than what’s out there, even on a slow day.”
“You’ll need me with you, most likely,” Ehrinell added, looking to Nioll and Jael. “If you want to find Amarynn without drawing too much attention, I have the skills to do it.”
She was right. She was a trained assassin in the Legion, proficient in situations where brute force and full Legion assaults were counterproductive.
Jael gave a quick nod of agreement.
“Stavin and Finn, you head out and do what you do. Once you’ve seen that we are in the Keep. You can duck out.”
“We may stick around,” Stavin joked, his low voice rumbling, “if we are having fun.” He flashed a rare smile. Finn chuckled and punched him in the arm.
“Let’s go, you lout,” he said, reaching out to gently pat where he struck. The two smiled mischievously at one another and stood. They drew their swords and were out the door, from where sounds of shouts and metal clashing quickly followed.
Jael arched an eyebrow questioningly at Ehrinell.
“Those two are inseparable. It is what it is,” she said. Nioll and Jael took positions by the door, waiting for her signal. She focused her attention on Jael.
“You lead once we are out there. I don’t want to waste any focus looking for some damn door. I’ll be right behind you. If anyone tries to engage, you let me step in,” she directed.
“Aye,” Nioll interjected. “She steps in, and you fall back. I’ll be behind you. Wouldn’t want to give any Darklands bastards access to that pretty face of yours.”
“Yes, but to be clear, I want Lors. Without a doubt, I want him to know that I was the one to end him.” Jael’s voice was low but intense.
Ehrinell held up her hand. “We go,” she said, “now.”
She grunted as she threw the door open, and they ran out into the chaos. Most soldiers were still up on the ramparts, but many of those still in the bailey yard was preparing weapons for an assault. At least, they had been until Finn and Stavin arrived. The two Travelers were engaged with several men, their blades whirling, several Darklands men already on the ground behind them.
“Go!”
Ehrinell gave Jael a push, and he ran toward the entrance to the Keep. They might as well have been invisible. Not a single soldier stopped them as they charged across the yard and into the door.
Once safely within, the outside din lessened. Without hesitation, Jael ran for a flight of stairs and bounded up, with Nioll and Ehrinell close behind him. He wasted no time, running straight for the throne room. He knew Lors would be there with his precious maps and plans.
He skidded to a halt just before the open double doors and ducked inside, striding confidently into the chamber.
Lors stood at the far end of his long table. The Darklands King looked up as Jael appeared.
The Prince approached him, chest heaving from the run up the stairs but savoring the look of surprise on Lors’ face. He adjusted the grip on his sword and stepped forward. Lors, acknowledging the danger, reached for his sword, which lay on the table among the maps.
“Where is she?” Jael’s voice was quiet.
The room was almost silent. In the distance, sounds of soldiers in the bailey yard and the fall of footsteps in quick succession wafted in and out of earshot. Lors, sword in hand, leaned casually against the table’s edge and cocked his head to the side, “Who?”
Jael was stoic. He refused to play Lors’ game.
The King’s eyes glinted with amusement. He cleared his throat. “Am I to assume this is a rescue?” He pushed off the table and took a step forward. “Did daddy finally arrive?” Lors flashed a knowing smile. “I bet he was pleased with your handiwork.”
“Where.” Jael took a step forward. “Is.” And another, his voice stronger. “She!” He was shouting now.
Lors threw his head back and laughed.
“Oh! This is rich,” he exclaimed. He strode to the center of the room casually. “You approached me,” he pointed back toward the throne, “in this very room. You demanded I return your precious stone and warrior to no avail, and now you return and make more demands?” His expression darkened. “You’ll have to kill me.”
Jael lowered his chin, never breaking eye contact with the King. He could feel the unbridled magic in his blood thrum in response to his rage. It wanted release.
“Done,” he whispered, then charged.
Lors had no chance. Jael was on him in seconds. The King brought his sword up to block Jael’s attack, but the Prince effortlessly knocked it out of his grip. Jael felt the power in his body infusing the sword. He brought it around to strike Lors on his unprotected side in one fluid motion. The blade bit through the leathers and found his ribs. Jael could feel the metal scrape bone as Lors fell back onto the stone floor.
The King staggered and reached for the dagger at his belt, but Jael swung his sword, magical energy arcing behind his swing. The dagger clattered to the floor.
Lors cried out, one hand pressed to his side to quell the blood seeping through his tunic. He scrabbled backward toward the dais as Jael came for him, unrelenting. Lors pulled himself up the steps, and in an instant, Jael was there. He stood over the King, breathing hard, his sword pointed directly at the fallen King’s chest. He paused. Lors lifted his chin in defiance, but his bravado was erased as he winced in pain, grasping at his side.
Jael dropped his sword as he knelt over Lors, one knee on the trembling King’s chest. He pulled his dagger from his belt and held it to the hollow at his throat.
Lors stared at him, suddenly perceiving the magic in Jael’s eyes, pulsing and twisting. His panic was unmistakable in his widened gaze. His breath caught, and he whimpered. “Please.”
Jael’s eyes narrowed. His mouth turned up in a snarl. “Where is she?” Jael’s voice was ice.
“Lise!” Lors cried out, his breathing quickening as he tried to push backward and wriggle away. Jael stopped him, slammed his left hand down on Lors’ shoulder, and pinned him in place.
“Your mage isn’t here to protect you, m’Lord,” Ehrinell taunted from the doorway just as Jael leaned in close enough to see the stubble on Lors’ quivering chin.
“Since you refuse to answer my question, I have another.” The dagger drew a drop of blood as Jael pressed harder on Lors’ throat. “Do you even have a heart?” Jael whispered, tightening his grip on the hilt of his weapon.
The Prince’s eyes glittered as he drove the dagger into Lors’ chest, just below his throat. Jael’s magic surged as metal bit into flesh, raging through his limbs, threatening to burst. Ice-blue energy skated across his hands and traveled down the dagger’s hilt into Lors’ body. The magic disappeared into the wound, and Lors convulsed, his mouth contorting into a silent scream. Jael’s eyes lingered on the King as the magic dissipated. He stood, retrieving his dagger and wiping it on his breeches as he watched the King’s blood pour onto the floor. Lors lay there, writhing and drowning in his own blood, the panicked look on his face mirroring Amarynn’s when she endured the very same.
“Before you die, know this.” The Prince leaned over and retrieved his sword, sheathing it. He drew himself up. “I, Jael, First Son of King Lasten and sole heir to the throne of the Kingdom of Karth, hereby claim the Darklands. Your throne is forfeit, and you are deposed.”
Without another glance in Lors’ direction, Jael tossed the dagger to the side, then turned and walked out of the room.
Jael did not stop in front of Ehrinell and Nioll. He did not need to. He was going to find Amarynn, and he would bring her home.
Chapter 31
Ehrinell caught up to Jael at the bottom of a double flight of stairs. They were deep within the mountain, past the dungeons. The screams and cries of the caged atranoch broke the hot and heavy silence.
“My Lord, do you know where you are going?” she asked quietly, fully aware of his agitated state.
He said nothing.
She laid her hand on his arm. “Maybe you should take a moment. Let me do what I do best.”
He studied her in the dim light of the passageway. Her face was fine-boned; she looked more like a lady of the court than a highly-skilled assassin. However, the glint in her eyes revealed her warrior’s edge.
“But—” Jael began.
Ehrinell gripped his shirt and pushed him back against the wall. “Do you want to find her? Or do you want to run around this Keep, playing hide and seek?” Her challenge struck a nerve.
“You’re right,” he conceded. “We’ll wait here.”
“If I haven’t returned in five minutes, go on without me.”
She faded into the shadows before Jael could reply. Nioll leaned back against the stone wall and sighed heavily.
Jael did the same, pressing his head against the wall and closing his eyes. All he could envision was Lors, his dagger in the King’s throat, shock frozen on his face. It was not a comfortable thing, taking a life. But the bastard deserved it, Jael told himself. He deserved to know the horror he had put Amarynn through, and Jael was more than happy to deliver the lesson.
Then the image changed to Amarynn’s hazel eyes widening when Lors’ blade struck her in the same place. Jael could not escape reliving the helplessness he had felt at that moment. A knot of dread formed in his belly. A sensation, like a gentle tug, overtook him. He pushed off the wall and stepped toward a darkened passageway to his right. The pulling relented. He replayed the memory, stepping back toward the wall, and the sensation returned.
You two are connected, my boy.
Regealth’s words resonated as Jael stepped to the left, towards a staircase that led downward into shadow. The pull strengthened, almost to the point of being painful.
“Unbelievable,” he breathed. He took a step back, and it lessened.
Nioll reached out a hand to stop him as he paced forward again, a quizzical look on his features.
“What is it?”
Jael looked through Nioll, a fire in his eyes that hadn’t been there when they entered the Keep. “Wait for Ehrinell here. When she returns, I want you both to leave the Keep. Find Bent and help him.”
“Leave? My Lord—”
“Just do as I ask, Nioll.”
Jael was running down the darkened passageway before Nioll could say another word.
Pain, relentless, coursed through Amarynn’s body. The dagger was locked in a slow dance around her, darting in and out as it sliced perfect, painful marks she could not dodge. First, there was the cut that burned a fine line through her flesh. Then, the bite and sting as magic pulled muscle and skin back together. It happened over and over again; Amarynn had lost track of time.
When Venalise left her in the darkness, she tried to listen for the blade. Immortal or not, she did not seek out pain. Immortality offered no guard against suffering — only against ending it.
She tried to dodge the blade, but the dark made that nearly impossible, and the chains on her wrists chafed and pinched and only allowed her to move so far in any given direction. The worst of all was when it found her face. That had only happened twice, but she jumped in surprise as it found her lip, making the cut that much deeper and more painful to heal.
Amarynn dropped her head as she focused, chin to her chest, and sat back on her heels. If she found a way to sever her hand, to get free of the chains, it wouldn’t be restored by the same magic that healed her other wounds. Limbless Travelers weren’t unheard of but being unable to wield her weapons would be torment. Immortality was hard enough to bear when she had something to offer. An eternity of uselessness was unthinkable. There were no weapons near her, save the dagger, anyway.
The dagger struck again, this time across the back of her neck. She hissed and arched forward. Her head swam.
The room turned bright. Someone was shaking her with heavy, rough hands. They shoved her shoulders back, and she stumbled.
“Lazy bitch! What do you do all day!”
The low, raspy voice made her stomach clench. The sun was setting — purple and orange streaks appearing across the early evening sky. A loud crash made her turn while her heartbeat hammered in her chest. An older man was in front of her, reaching for her, and when she escaped his grasp, he swung. She tried to dodge his blow, and it caught her just behind the ear instead of on her cheek where he’d intended.
A child was crying. He was screaming from somewhere she couldn’t see.
Where was he? Oh, God!
Amarynn cried out, and the memory diffused into mist.
Her heartbeat was erratic, like the flight of the dagger. She still heard cries, but this time they were that of the atranoch, not of a child. Their screams and cries had been building since Venalise left her here. Maybe they cared, she thought to herself. She laughed at her absurdity. The dagger struck again, but this time she didn’t flinch. She began to welcome the agony, to enjoy it.
She was slipping into the battle rage that would render her numb — impervious to the pain — and she embraced it. The darkness closed in again, and this time, she dove willingly into it.
The pull became overpowering.
Descending the staircase, Jael turned off several times down various passageways but felt his insides contort until he could barely breathe. As he changed direction and returned to the stairs, the feeling would subside. It became clear that his magic was guiding him somewhere. He could only hope that it would lead him to Amarynn and that alone kept him moving forward. She was somewhere deep within the mountain, and he put his trust in the magic to find her.
The stairwell ended at the very bottom of the keep. Here, the air was thick and heavy, and the short corridor, lined with sputtering sconces and the occasional tattered tapestry, ended with a single door. Now, the magic was all but singing in his blood. The hairs on the back of his neck stood straight up. The magic was responding to her. It had been all along, but now that she was near, there was no mistaking it — she must be close.
He reached the door and pulled on the heavy iron handle. The room was pitch black, so he snatched a lantern from the wall. His body was vibrating with a resonance that could only mean one thing.
He had found her.
There was a groan from the heavy wooden door, then light — a lantern shining from the doorway — and it moved closer. The lantern’s glow barely reached the center of the vast cavern where she was bound, casting an otherworldly illumination on Amarynn’s form. Rivulets of sweat and blood mingled with the damp chill of the chamber, dripping from her body to the stone floor. Sagging against the chains, she was immersed within herself; her concentration focused on listening for the blade’s next approach. Her sides heaved as she fought her battle with the dagger, and in her rage, she found a discipline that pulled the world away, allowing her to focus on survival without distraction.
The light finally reached her face, and she squinted towards it, its radiance too much for her eyes after being in total darkness for what felt like days. The figure holding the lantern was only a dark shadow, but as her eyes adjusted, she saw him. Jael was striding into that dark, cold chamber with the force of a thousand armies. His eyes shone with an icy glow–– he had no fear.
Amarynn shook her head as she let her battle rage fall away. She was finished, and Lors had won. The King had the mage, the stone, and the child, and now there would be no stopping him. Amarynn grunted between clenched teeth, “No, Jael! Go!”
The Prince knelt just outside the etched stone circle where Amarynn knelt, chained to the floor. Blood trickled from her skin and mixed with the cold water that dripped from above. He set the lantern down.
