The SteelMaster of Indwallin, Book 2 of The Gods Within Read online

  Several of them started at that. “In large numbers?” Metadan asked.

  TarnThane shook his head. “No. Just a few. Probably scouts.”

  Metadan considered that carefully. “I wonder if WolfDane himself is considering some action against the Goath.”

  Morddon had heard of the hellhounds, and their king WolfDane, but he himself had never seen one. They were reputed to be giant hounds as large as a horse, with jaws that could snap a man in two. Legend had it they had escaped from the netherhells when Beayaegoath was first exiled there, and had never stopped fighting against the hordes he commanded. But they shunned man and all things of mankind, and they fought their own battles against the Goath, refusing to work in any way with the mortal forces fighting their common enemy. Morddon had heard a story that Metadan had once saved WolfDane’s life, but no one knew if there was any truth to it.

  “If the hounds intend an attack upon the Goath,” Gilguard said thoughtfully, “I would dearly like to know where and when.” He looked at Metadan. “Is there any chance you could get them to work with us. If they would trust any of us, it would be you.”

  Metadan shook his head. “It’s not a matter of trust. Their ways are just too different from ours. We’ll have to depend on our griffin friends here.”

  TarnThane threw his head back. “And we need someone working with us from the ground.”

  At that Metadan turned to Morddon, nodded for him to come forward. He did so, and politely greeted the group assembled at the map table, and as a formality he apologized for being absent when they needed him.

  “Polite words?” AnneRhianne asked sarcastically. “And an apology? And all in the space of a single sentence! And he’s shaved, and washed! I begin to believe you, Metadan, when you say he is a changed man.”

  Morddon stifled an angry retort.

  “Now I want no arguments here,” Metadan said carefully, looking at each of them, “unless you’re arguing the business at hand. This is a council of war, and we have decisions to make.”

  “Why am I here?” Morddon asked, “A common soldier among such hallowed company?”

  The griffin TarnThane spoke with a hearty laugh. “Because you’re not that common, my sad Benesh’ere friend.”

  Morddon kept his eyes on Metadan. “What does he mean by that?”

  Metadan answered with a question. “How long have you been fighting in the wars?”

  Morddon shrugged. “Better than twelve years.”

  “And how old are you?”

  “I’ve seen twenty-four summers. But we’ve been through this before so what’s the point?”

  “From childhood to manhood,” the griffin cried sorrowfully, “with no boyhood between. Ahhh! A hard life indeed!”

  “No breaks?” Metadan asked. “Fighting for twelve years without rest?”

  Morddon shook his head and wondered at all the questions. “A day or two here and there. Sometimes more. This last stretch in Kathbeyanne was the longest I’ve ever been away. Why?”

  Metadan nodded. “As near as we can tell, you have more experience out here than anyone among us. When I question the more experienced commanders, and jog their memories a little, not one of them can remember a time when you weren’t out here, though they remember you only because of your longevity and not because of any great deeds. And AuelThane there—” Metadan indicated with his hand the griffin perched next to TarnThane, “—tells us you scout these hills with such stealth not even the griffins can spot you from the air, even if they know you’re down there somewhere.”

  Morddon nodded, remembering the other griffin now from battles past, and how he’d used Morgin’s shadowmagic through the years to conceal his position from his enemies, and apparently from his allies too. Sharing such memories reminded Morgin he’d always been a part of this dream, and that, he did not like. “What do you want of me?” Morddon asked the archangel.

  “Your knowledge of these hills,” Metadan said, stabbing a finger into the map on the table. “I could use a scout with your abilities. Would that suit you?”

  Morddon nodded. “I like working alone.”

  The archangel smiled. “I thought you might.”

  “What is this?” AnneRhianne demanded. “A mercenary accepting extra duties without demanding additional pay? I don’t believe my ears.”

  Gilguard grinned, though he turned his face aside to conceal it. But Morddon could not hide his own anger as he looked at the tall Benesh’ere princess, and Morgin kept wanting to call her Rhi. “I hadn’t really thought of it that way, Your Highness,” Morddon said to her, then grinned. “But now that you mention it I should be paid more.”

  “Fine,” Metadan said. “You can have whatever you want. I really don’t care about the gold.”

  “No,” Morddon said flatly. “I won’t hire out to you as a scout. Our agreement was for one year of my services as a common soldier, nothing more.”

  Metadan actually frowned, the first expression Morddon had ever seen on the angel’s face. Metadan shook his head. “But I thought you said—”

  Morddon interrupted him, pointed at AnneRhianne, “If you want me as a scout then she must hire me, and she must pay me, with coins from her own purse, and by her own hand.”

  If there were any color in the white of a Benesh’ere face, it disappeared from AnneRhianne’s in that moment. “Never,” she shouted.

  TarnThane crowed with laughter. “You thought he had no pride, my princess.”

  “Shut your beak,” she shouted at the griffin, though even Gilguard saw the irony in Morddon’s demand and his grin widened. “Wipe that grin off your face,” she shouted at him.

  “If you won’t pay me,” Morddon said, “then your sharp tongue has cost this army the best scout it could have had, for there are no other circumstances under which I will accept.”

  AnneRhianne was ready to explode, but with a visible effort she controlled herself. She looked at Morddon closely, and when she realized he would not yield, she demanded, “Very well, what’s your price, mercenary? Another gold coin for your purse?”

  Morddon smiled and shook his head. “No. One small copper coin, to be paid to me each day, and by your own hand. And when I am out of the camp, and unavailable, you will hold the coins for my return. But remember, it is you who must seek me out, and you who must pay me.”

  Her eyes narrowed further at the added insult of such a small price. “It appears I have no choice,” she said. “I agree. And now that we have a bargain, mercenary, never doubt that I will keep my end of it. Just see that you keep yours.” She looked at Metadan. “Am I required further, my lord?”

  Metadan shook his head. “You may go.”

  She looked once more at Morddon, and the hatred he saw in her eyes saddened him.

  ~~~

  AnnaRail’s attention drifted away from the heated debate raging in the center of the Hall of Wills, and settled on the scarred and pitted walls that surrounded them all. The Hall had received only a cursory cleaning for this unprecedented extended session of the Lesser Council, and as yet no real repairs had been attempted. The magnitude of the destruction drew her eyes again and again away from the debate. It struck a cold shaft of fear into her heart, and served as a constant reminder to them of the topic of discussion.

  Olivia and BlakeDown had argued through the afternoon and well into the night, though AnnaRail knew they’d soon settle the issue. But even though Morgin’s life hung in the balance, she stayed far back in the crowd and was careful to avoid participating in any way, for nothing she said would serve in his favor. Instead she waited quietly near an exit, ready to leave the instant she determined the battle was lost.

  “He has endangered us all,” BlakeDown shouted at the top of his lungs, “Each and every one of us, and our families, and our kinsmen far from here, for he cannot control that beast he has brought into this world, and who can say what will stop it when it begins devouring the countryside? Certainly not I, and you all know I am a sorcerer of more than
trifling power.”

  BlakeDown paced back and forth in the middle of the Hall as he spoke, stopping occasionally to look fearfully at one of the stone pillars Morgin’s sword had whittled down to a splinter of rock. “All of us here have sensed the magnitude of its evil. We stood outside for two days while he fought it, and I grant you it was a valiant fight. But it was through his own stupidity such a power was allowed access to this world, and by his own admission he has lost his power, and he lays now in a stupor of fatigue and exhaustion with no remaining strength for the next battle we all know will come. So I can have no pity for the man. He has brought this fate upon himself, and now he must bear the responsibility for his actions.”

  BlakeDown paused and looked at Olivia, who alone stood with him in the center of the Hall. Under normal circumstances the old woman would have spoken out long ago, but the odds had been stacked against Morgin all afternoon, so she was moving carefully lest she incite public opinion even further against him. But AnnaRail sensed within the old witch that the battle was lost, that she could not sway the Council sufficiently to save Morgin, and believing his life was the only thing that held the power of the talisman within this world, the Lesser Council would soon place him under sentence of death, then move speedily to carry out the sentence while he lay unconscious and defenseless. As Olivia spoke AnnaRail slipped quietly out of the Hall.

  She kept her pace to a calm, even walk, knowing any appearance of haste might alert Morgin’s enemies to her purpose. When she knocked softly on the door to Morgin’s suite the answer that came to her ears was a muffled, “Who’s there?”

  She said nothing, but touched the door with the palm of her hand and knew all those of power within were satisfied. She heard muffled words behind the door, then the sound of heavy furniture being moved aside, then the door opened a crack.

  France peered out, looked up and down the hall, then, holding a bare sword in one hand, he opened the door to admit her. Within, Morgin lay on his bed in a stupor, one hand unconsciously gripping the hilt of his sword, the other gripping the sheath. Rhianne sat beside him trying to comfort him with her power, and JohnEngine, Brandon, Roland, the Surriot and the Balenda stood nervously ready with swords of their own. AnnaRail was surprised to find DaNoel absent, and NickoLot present. Nicki seemed much older. “What are you doing here?” AnnaRail asked her.

  Nicki’s eyes hardened. “No one is going to murder my brother, not without a fight from me.”

  “It won’t be murder,” AnnaRail said flatly. “It will be a proper execution carried out under a legal sentence of death.”

  “Call it what you like,” the young girl argued. “I’m going to fight.”

  There came no rousing chorus of cheers from the others, but their eyes held the same determination as Nicki’s.

  “Are they really going to kill him?” Nicki asked.

  AnnaRail nodded. “Yes. We don’t have much time.”

  “Then we fight,” JohnEngine said flatly.

  “No we don’t,” AnnaRail snapped angrily, shaking her head. In that moment she saw in the eyes of the swordsman that he, at least, understood the futility of such a battle.

  JohnEngine’s eyes widened. “But—”

  “Be silent and listen,” AnnaRail barked at him. “If you make a stand here you’ll die, and then he’ll die too, and you’ll have gained nothing.”

  “I won’t abandon my brother.”

  AnnaRail found it difficult to hold her temper in check. “And you believe I will?”

  JohnEngine shook his head, lowered his eyes contritely. “No. Of course not.”

  “Then be silent and listen, for I intend to keep him alive, and all of us with him.”

  “How?” JohnEngine demanded.

  “Shortly the Council will declare him an outlaw, and then not even we can legally help him without starting a full scale war. So he must leave. Now.” She looked at France; he nodded his agreement. “But it’s obvious he cannot travel on his own so someone will have to go with him.” Still looking at France, she asked, “Will you go?”

  France nodded, though he said nothing.

  “I’ll go with you,” the Surriot said without emotion.

  “And I,” the Balenda added flatly.

  “I’ll go too,” JohnEngine shouted.

  AnnaRail shook her head. “No. The House of Elhiyne must stay out of this. Besides, you’re going to be our diversion.”

  ~~~

  All of Morgin’s instincts pulled him urgently toward consciousness, but his body remained locked within a sea of lethargy. In the background of his soul he sensed Rhianne and AnnaRail feeding him strength with their own power, but when he peeled open his eyes his lids hung heavy with exhaustion, and it required a constant effort to remain awake and conscious. The sound of heavy rain pounding on the roof of the castle dominated his thoughts, a constant, numbing roar that threatened to lull him back to sleep.

  “You must stand,” AnnaRail told him, “And you must move on your own. If you lean on us someone will surely notice and alert the Council. And by the name of the Unnamed King keep a tight rein on that sword!”

  Morgin wanted to ask a hundred questions, but the urgency in AnnaRail’s voice drove him to obey in silence. He shook his head to clear it, though that didn’t help, then sat up, stood unsteadily, and asked, “What’s going on?”

  Rhianne answered. “This moment the Council is declaring you an outlaw, and within the hour they’ll come for your blood. There’s no time to explain further. We’ve prepared an escape, but you must move quickly. A second’s delay might mean your life.”

  Fear helped sober Morgin. “What do I do?”

  AnnaRail handed him a dark, hooded, sleeved cloak, said, “Put this on, and make sure the hood shields your face.”

  Morgin noticed then that both women were wearing similar garments. He pushed his arms into the sleeves, pulled the hood over his head, fumbled at the cloak’s clasp for a moment before securing it.

  AnnaRail adjusted her own hood, burying her face in shadows. “Now follow me. We’re going to the stables. If someone tries to stop us, Rhianne and I will take care of them, but you must not stop. Keep your face turned away from the light, and keep walking, but do not run, for that will certainly attract attention.”

  Rhianne opened the door a crack, peered out into the hallway, then opened the door fully and stepped out. Morgin followed her, with AnnaRail close behind.

  The castle was unusually dark and badly lit, and it occurred to Morgin that AnnaRail had probably seen to that. Out in the hallway the roar of the rain was even louder, and while it would be miserable outside, he couldn’t have hoped for better if he must become a hunted fugitive.

  They moved cautiously down the large stairway at the center of the castle. Once on the main floor he heard raised voices coming from the Hall, punctuated occasionally by the growl of an angry crowd. AnnaRail quickened her pace, but they had barely reached the castle’s front entrance when the doors of the Hall burst open and the growl became a roar, and with only an instant to spare they slipped out into the night. A driving wind slanted the rain horizontally into their faces.

  AnnaRail shouted above the wind, “We have only a few moments before they reach your room and find you’ve gone.” She turned, and with Rhianne following close behind, she started across the castle yard toward the stables. Morgin followed, splashing through mud up to his ankles, knowing he would make an easy target for an ambitious bowman. When they reached the stables AnnaRail raised a hand to pound on the stable doors, but before she could do so one of them creaked open.

  Inside, the stable boy Erlin held a hooded lamp with one hand, and with the other slammed the door shut. Someone grabbed Morgin and pushed him toward Mortiss, who was saddled and ready. He climbed up into her saddle, marveling that he had the strength to do so. JohnEngine mounted a horse nearby, and by the dim light of Erlin’s lamp Morgin noticed four more horses behind JohnEngine’s, all saddled, and each with a sack of grain tied in its s
addle and a hooded cloak tied about the sack. JohnEngine smiled at him. “The cloaks were my idea,” he said proudly. “Makes ‘em look just a little more like riders crouching low in the saddle, eh? The night and the rain’ll have to do the rest.”

  Rhianne gripped Morgin’s left hand tightly. “Ride out of the stable alone,” she said, “And keep your horse at a walk. The guards opened the gates earlier for Val, and with a few small spells we’ve managed to keep them that way. Try to get out of the castle unnoticed, and as soon as you reach the woodland between here and the village, cut off the road to the right. Val and Cort and France are waiting there for you. Go southwest, to Aud. The clans can’t hunt you there.”

  It occurred to Morgin that in many ways his life was coming to an end. He was no longer a wizard, nor a clansman, nor an Elhiyne. They had given it all to him when he didn’t want it, and now they were taking it away when he did. His soul and heart filled with bitterness, and he asked, “But they’ll hunt me tonight, eh?”

  Rhianne shook her head. “No. When the mob comes looking for you JohnEngine and his sacks-of-grain are going to lead them in the opposite direction. They’ll hunt him, not you.”

  She threw her hood back and her eyes filled with tears. Morgin had so many things to tell her, but all he said was, “I love you.”

  She clutched at his hand, tears now streaming freely down her cheeks. “And I you.”

  “You must go,” AnnaRail hissed sharply. “Now.”

  Erlin shielded his lamp and pulled the stable door open, again only a crack. Morgin touched his spurs to Mortiss’ flanks and she trotted forward at an easy pace that should arouse no suspicion, though the very fact of a rider going out in this weather would not go unnoticed.

  The rain was pouring down even harder now, cutting his visibility to almost nothing and pounding with a roar into the mud of the castle yard, and yet at the same time the yard was possessed of an eerie quiet, as if the castle and MichaelOff’s ghost were waiting for something.