* * *

  CONTENTS

  chapter 1

  chapter 2

  chapter 3

  chapter 4

  chapter 5

  chapter 6

  chapter 7

  chapter 8

  chapter 9

  chapter 10

  chapter 11

  chapter 12

  chapter 13

  chapter 14

  chapter 15

  chapter 16

  chapter 17

  chapter 18

  chapter 19

  chapter 20

  chapter 21

  chapter 22

  INTO THE SHADOWS OF DEATH

  The city of Bistonia has been darkened with a treacherous evil. The mage Aerisan has overtaken the court, ruling its people with black magicks and terror, sacrificing human blood in the name of Black Qar, the God of Death.

  The beautiful Lijena—now possessing the mighty Sword of Kwerin Bloodhawk—has fought her way back to Bistonia. But she soon learns that her beloved father has been sacrificed to the God of Death. Her thirst for vengeance is matched only by the power of the magic-tempered blade she wields.

  But to avenge her father's death, Lijena must face not only Aerisan, but Black Qar himself—who ultimately claims all mortal souls....

  DEATH'S ACOLYTE

  Swords of Raemllyn - 4

  DEATH'S ACOLYTE

  ROBERT E. VARDEMAN AND GEO. W. PROCTOR

  This book is an Ace Fantasy original edition, and has never been previously published.

  DEATH'S ACOLYTE

  An Ace Fantasy Book/published by arrangement with the authors

  PRINTING HISTORY

  Ace Fantasy edition/May 1986

  All rights reserved. Copyright © 1986 by Robert E. Vardeman and Geo. W. Proctor.

  Cover art by Luis Rpyo.

  This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part, by mimeograph or any other means, without permission.

  For information address: The Berkley Publishing Group,

  200 Madison Avenue, New York, New York 10016.

  ISBN: 0-441-14212-5

  Ace Fantasy Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group, 200 Madison Avenue, New York, New York 10016.

  PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

  For Melissa Ann Singer, who picked the right nits!

  — Geo. W. Proctor

  For Frank and AnnaJo Denton —Robert E. Vardeman

  UPPER AND LOWER RAEMLLYN

  1. Kavindra

  16. Evara

  31.Melisa

  2. Kressia

  17. Saüm

  32. Delu

  3. Sarngan

  18. Yaryne

  33. Jyotis

  4. Amayita

  19. Leticia

  34. Initha

  5. Bian

  20. Bistonia

  35. Zahar

  6. Cahri

  21. Harn

  36. Elkid

  7. Chavali

  22. Nawat

  37. Uhjayib

  8. Degoolah

  23. Vatusia

  38. Fayinah

  9, Garoda

  24. Rakell

  39.Pahl

  10. Jyn

  25. Solana

  40. Rattreh

  11. Meakham

  26. Faldin

  41.Ohnuhn

  12. Parrn

  27. Weysh

  42. Gatinah

  13. Qatirn

  28. Salnal

  43. Ahvayuh

  14.Orji

  29. Yow

  44. Nayati

  15. Iluska

  30. Litonya

  UPPER RAEMLLYN

  1. Agda

  2. Weysh

  3. Kou-Garl Mountains

  4. Ardevel

  5. The River let

  6. Solatia

  7. Magic-Sorched Battlefield

  8. Hyian

  9. Harn

  10. Bistonia

  11. Leticia

  12. The River Kukis

  13. The River Stane

  14. The River Faor

  FIRST PREFIX: previous chapter is 0 and next is 2

  chapter 1

  FIRST SUFFIX: previous chapter is 0 and next is 2

  Lijena Farleigh awoke from a restless half-sleep with a start. She leaped to her feet and stood poised in a wide defensive stance. Tempered steel hissed against leather as she freed sword from sheath and leveled it against attack.

  Twice her aquamarine eyes blinked to clear the haze of sleep before narrowing to defiant slits. Temples ringing like the blows of a blacksmith's hammer on an anvil, she scanned the periphery of the clearing in which she camped.

  Nothing!

  Only the predawn purples and grays of the third morning after her escape filtered through the dense foliage of Agda's imposing primordial forest. Amid the shadows of the tangled boughs, the columnlike boles of pine, oak, morda, and fir, her imagination gave birth to a horde of demons and elementals escaped from the lowest level of Peyneeha, which men called Hell.

  In truth, Black Qar, the God of Death, had not unleashed her, his, its—the Great Destroyer's sex was as varied as the profanities spat into the Death God's face by those whose lives the Dark One claimed—minions on the lone woman. Simple forest trees stood silhouetted against the dim glow of the coming morning.

  A nervous sigh of relief quavered over trembling red lips. A dream... the cry of a night bird... a forest sound.... Lijena explained away her abrupt awakening. Yet, she scrutinized the camp's perimeter a last time before she eased the broadsword into its scabbard, tossed three new branches atop a low-burning fire, and settled crosslegged before the flickering yellow and blue flames.

  Just a dream, she reassured herself while securely hugging a fur cape about her shoulders to fend away the cold breath of winter. It could have been nothing more.

  Her three stolen horses stood with hobbled forelegs locked and massive necks drooped in sleep. If a forest predator—or worse—approached, the animals would be aprance, ears perked high, and nostrils flared with the scent of danger.

  Only a dream. Memory of that disturbing phantasma evaded conscious scrutiny.

  Graceful, long-fingered hand still clasping the sheathed sword that rested in her lap, Lijena Farleigh lowered chin to chest and closed her eyes. She breathed deeply, calming the panicked race of her heart. Tension refused to flow from her taut muscles.

  The forest of Agda intruded. The creak of a wind-caressed branch, the screech of a red-hooded owl on wing to roost before the sun rose, the rustling movement of rodents in the winter-dry underbrush, assailed the bubble of surcease she attempted to construct and shattered it.

  Her weary eyes slits, Lijena studied the purloined sword balanced atop her thighs—the fabled blade of Kwerin Bloodhawk, Raemllyn's legendary first High King. A silent curse moved over her lips. What hardships this magic-tempered length of steel had brought—still brought—her!

  She stiffened stoically when tears threatened to mist her eyes. These last months, the long, lost months, had robbed her of the tears of a lifetime.

  She turned her attention to the forest once again. The growing blaze and the approaching dawn did nothing to dissipate the ominous presence of the looming giants of wood that towered around her.

  Lijena shivered. For two days, since her escape from the rogues Davin Anane and Goran One-Eye, the sensation that the wood followed her every movement had haunted her. She sensed unseen eyes peering from behind each of the ancient gnarled trunks. When she turned to confront them—there was nothing! Yet the feeling of wrongness persisted.

  Perhaps, I escaped from Davin and Goran too soon. Doubts niggled free from the recesses of her mind. No! I would rather throw myself to direwolves than abide those two!

  The bravado rang false. What did she, the daughter of a Bistonian merchant, know of Agda's wilds? Or of swords endowed with magicks cast by a mage at the dawn of Raemllyn's history?

  She edged the blade from its sheath, exposing a finger's length of naked, blue steel to the campfire's light. No surge of strength flowed through Lijena's arm. Nor did a tingling of magical energies dance about her body. The sword merely felt cold and heavy.

  Faint runes, cuneiform writings worn away by countless generations of use, were barely discernable in the campfire's light. These were the only hint of the sword's power, and their meaning lay veiled in a forgotten past. Had she not seen the sword wielded, seen the burning light that radiated from lifeless steel, she would have mistaken it for an ordinary blade, no different than any sword worn throughout Upper and Lower Raemllyn.

  In truth, she admitted to herself, she would not now possess the longsword with which Kwerin Bloodhawk freed these realms from the dark mage Nnamdi had it not been for the Jyotian Davin Anane. She had stolen it and the sheath that gave power to the blade, the three mounts, and her supplies from Davin and his changeling companion Goran in partial retribution for all the suffering they had brought her.

  She cared nothing of swords and magicks! She had never hefted a sword until this nightmare journey had begun. Of what use was a sword to a young woman raised to be the gentlest of ladies in Bistonia? What need of honed steel when soft furs, perfumes, gossamer gowns, and the coy batting of an eye were the weapons she had been trained to use?

  To be certain, swords and dirks were no longer strangers to Lijena Farleigh. In these long months, she had gained intimate knowledge of fine tempered steel—had killed with both sword and knife! But she was no ebilsis, the female mercenary warriors who matched their skills against male weaponsmen and worshipped Ebil, Goddess of the Frenzy. Even resting on her lap, the Sword of Kwerin Bloodhawk felt awkward and alien.

  The sword... this forest... are not my way. I was never meant for them, she thought for the hundredth time, fully aware that she would now be starving to death were it not for the stolen supplies. Of hunting and trapping, she knew absolutely nothing. The luxury of life as the daughter of wealthy merchant Chesmu Farleigh had ill-prepared her for the long journey that now stretched ahead. Alone she must traverse half of Upper Raemllyn before returning to the protection of her father's house in Bistonia.

  Alone. She shivered again at the thought of the unknown lands that awaited her. Alone.

  The chirping of an awakening songbird drew Lijena from her forlorn reflections. To the east rosy-golden fingers of light announced that a new dawn arrived. Her choice was simple, sit and brood until melancholia beset her and devoured the day, or mount and ride to the southeast, for there awaited Bistonia.

  Days... weeks... months away? She didn't know, nor did she wish to dwell on the long months that it had taken to bring her to Upper Raemllyn's northwestern reaches. All she must focus on—must—was that at the end of each day, she would be leagues closer to home and family.

  Rising, she hung the Sword of Kwerin Bloodhawk from a wide leather belt encircling the gray doeskin breeches she wore. Satisfied with the balance of the broadsword on her left hip, she kicked out the fire, saddled and bridled the three horses.

  She resisted the urge to break fast and gorge herself on the twists of jerked meat contained in one of the leather pouches tied to the saddle's skirt. She had no idea when she might reach a village or hamlet to procure fresh supplies. Rationing herself to two meals a day would stretch what food she had.

  Ignoring her stomach's rumbling protests, she swung astride a sorrel mare, gathered the reins of the other two animals in her left hand, and clucked the mare forward. A smile lifted the corners of her mouth as her heels urged the chestnut mount into a canter, then an easy rhythmic gallop. The morning breeze caught her frosty blond tresses, whipping them into disarray behind her.

  At least she could ride, she thought. Neither her father nor her Uncle Tadzi, lord of Harn's thieves guild, had neglected that portion of her education. She had been given her own horse at age five and had ridden whenever she had had the opportunity.

  For an instant she thought of Orria, her own dappled gray mare. She shoved cherished memories of the beloved animal aside. When she had begun the hellish journey from Harn to Agda's wood, she had ridden Orria.

  Now? She knew not what had become of the horse. Lost in the confusion of the escape from the insidious sorcerer Lorennion and his vampiric Blood Fountain, or dead? She could only guess. And speculation did nothing to fill the hollowness the loss left within her.

  She rode for an hour, halted long enough to dismount and climb atop the bay gelding, then continued through Agda's forest. Thus it was she travelled; ride for an hour, switch mounts, and ride on. While none of the three horses was ever totally rested, neither were they fully winded.

  When the sun climbed to its zenith, Lijena and her mounts stood atop a small rise and stared out over the forest of Agda. Mountains with rugged caps of snow surrounded her. She had no desire to attempt crossing any of those imposing barriers. Better to find a pass, or best to locate a road, whether it be simple cart ruts or a caravan trail.

  The young woman's head lifted. A line of slate gray clouds moved eastward, blowing in off the Oceans of Kumar. Snow would fill the air and cover the ground when those moisture-laden forms clashed with the cold mountain air.

  Lijena shivered; the reaction stemmed not from any thought of winter blizzards. All seemed quiet, but she could not escape the sense of an undercurrent churning beneath the forest's surface tranquility. Nor could she elude the distinct feeling that spying eyes were focused on the back of her neck.

  The sensation mounted, an expanding core of panicked hysteria. The urge to spur her mount forward and blindly flee into the forest swelled, threatening to dominate reason.

  Lijena sucked in steadying breaths to retain an outward shell of composure. Panicked flight would serve her naught. Where could she ride, that others could not follow? If there were others; she remained unconvinced that the niggling sensation of being watched was not born in her own insecurity and loneliness.

  She had to break through the flotsam clogging her mind and think clearly, examining the possibilities that might lurk ahead. First and most importantly, who could be following her?

  Davin Anane and Goran One-Eye? She shook her head. If the two freebooters were that stupid, they trailed leagues and days behind her. After all, she had left them on foot when she had stolen their horses.

  Brigands? Lijena doubted it. Like the birds, the roving bands of thieves and cutthroats migrated south during winter to ply their trade in warmer climes.

  Another traveller? If so, why hadn't he made his presence known? A woman travelling alone posed no threat. Lijena did not deceive herself on that point. If the traveller were a man, or men, he would hasten to join her, to offer aid and travelling companionship. In the hope of shared warmth among his sleeping furs during the cold nights, no doubt!

  If the traveller was a woman, she might feel safer with her than if Lijena had been a man alone. Were her watchers were both men and women, the safety of still another in their rank would bring them forward to offer a temporary alliance to the next city.

  They weren't casual travellers, of that Lijena felt certain. And if they weren't brigands, that left only the disturbing possibility—

  Zarek Yannis!

  The bloody usurper had ascended the Velvet Throne of Raemllyn's High King amid a civil war that still raged. Yannis' soldiers might study her, believing her a scout for a band of rebels loyal to Prince Felrad, the rightful heir of the murdered High King Bedrich the Fair.

  And a rebel might consider me one of Yannis' spies! Lijena nibbled nervously at her lower lip. Either presented problems.

  The cold realization that she had left one possibility unexplored tapped at the base of Lijena's spine like an icy spike when her gaze drifted to a copse of cherry laurels at the foot of the rise. A frigid fear constricted her chest. Her breath came quick and shallow in counterpoint to her pounding heart.

  Six eyes, like orbs of burning coal, flared within the shadowy darkness cast by the tangled limbs of the broad-leafed evergreens! Unblinking, they focused on the daughter of Bistonia.

  How apparent the oversight was now—magic!—be it the usurper's or another's! An ice floe of terror engulfed Lijena, leaving her paralyzed in its wake.

  The cherry laurels' boughs opened as though parted by invisible hands. Three massive jet black horses moved into the light. Sparks flew and sulfurous smoke curled each time their hooves—hooves aflame with a hellish fire—touched the ground.

  Mounted astride those demonic steeds—three riders with black, woolen cowls drawn over their heads so that the only facial feature revealed within were their fiery eyes. If there were indeed faces hidden by those hoods, no man or woman had ever seen them.

  Faceless Ones! Lijena's brain railed against the hell-riders who edged toward her. But her body remained immobile, frozen by unreasoning panic.

  Zarek Yannis had resurrected these unholy warriors to hasten his conquest of Upper and Lower Raemllyn. Demons of an era long dead, the Faceless Ones were more than a match for a legion of any human fighters. Not since their defeat at the hands of Kwerin Bloodhawk had they rode within the realms of Man. Now three of them came for her!

  "Zarek Yannis summons you." The lead rider spoke in a hollow voice devoid of inflection. The nightmarish creature lifted a skeletal hand and pointed. The tip of the gnarled finger danced with eerie green witch fire. "You shall come with us."

  Long, broad tails aglint with silver scales writhed from beneath the Faceless Ones' black robes as the three continued to ascend the slope.

  Flee! Lijena's brain screamed, shattering the ice encasing her supple muscles.

  Releasing the two horses she led, Lijena jerked her mount's head to the left and dug her heels into the horse's flanks. The sorrel mare snorted and broke into a full run.

 

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