Silverthorn

Guards blocked a door leading to a remote wing of the palace. The rooms were used only occasionally by guests of minor importance. The wing was a recent construction, being accessible from the main buildings of the palace by a single short hall and a single outside doorway. The outside door was bolted from within and was posted with two guards without, who had orders that absolutely no one, no matter who, was to enter or leave by that door.

Inside the wing all the outer rooms had been secured. In the centre of the largest room of the suite Arutha studied his two prisoners. Both were tied to stout wooden beds by heavy ropes. Arutha was taking no chances on their attempting suicide. Father Nathan supervised his acolytes, who tended the two assassins’ wounds.

Abruptly one of the acolytes moved away from the bedside of the man with the grey lock. He looked at Nathan, his face betraying confusion. ‘Father, come see.’

Jimmy and Laurie followed behind the priest and Arutha. Nathan stepped up behind the acolyte and all heard his sharp intake of breath. ‘Sung show us the way!’ The grey-locked man’s leather armour had been cut away, revealing a black tunic beneath embroidered with a silver fisher’s net. Nathan pulled away the other prisoner’s robe. Beneath that robe was another, of night’s black colour, also with a silver net over his heart. The prisoner’s hand had been bandaged and he had regained consciousness. He glared defiantly at the priest of Sung, naked hatred in his eyes.

Nathan motioned the Prince aside. ‘These men wear the mark of Lims-Kragma in her guise as the Drawer of Nets, she who gathers all to her in the end.’

Arutha nodded. ‘It fits in. We know the Nighthawks are contacted through the temple. Even should the hierarchy of the temple be ignorant of this business, someone within the temple must be a confederate of the Nighthawks. Come, Nathan, we must question this other one.’ They returned to the bed where the conscious man lay. Looking down upon him, Arutha said, ‘Who offers the price for my death?’

Nathan was called to attend the unconscious man. ‘Who are you?’ demanded the Prince of the other. ‘Answer now, or the pain you’ve endured will be merely a hint of what will be visited upon you.’ Arutha did not enjoy the prospect of torture, but he would not stop at any means to discover who was responsible for the attack upon him. The question and the threat were answered by silence.

After a moment Nathan returned to Arutha’s side. ‘The other is dead,’ he said softly. ‘We must treat this one cautiously. That man should not have died from your blow to the head. They may have means to command the body not to fight against death, but to welcome it. It is said even a hardy man may will himself to death, given enough time.’

Arutha noticed sweat beading upon the brow of the wounded man as Nathan examined him. With concern on his face, the priest said, ‘He is fevered, and it rises apace. I will have to tend him before there can be an accounting.’ The priest quickly fetched his potion and forced some fluid down the man’s throat as soldiers held his jaws apart. Then the priest began to intone his clerical magic. The man on the bed began to writhe frantically, his face a contorted mask of concentration. Tendons stood out on his arms, and his neck was a mass of ropy cords as he struggled against his confinement. Suddenly he let forth a hollow-sounding laugh and fell back, eyes closed.

Nathan examined the man. ‘He is unconscious, Highness.’ The priest added, ‘I have slowed the fever’s rise, but I don’t think I can halt it. Some magic agency works here. He fails before our eyes. It will take time to counter whatever magic is at work upon him … if I have the time.’ There was doubt in Nathan’s voice. ‘And if my arts are equal to the task.’

Arutha turned to Gardan. ‘Captain, take ten of your most trusted men and make straight for the Temple of Lims-Kragma. Inform the High Priestess I command her attendance at once. Bring her by force if needs be, but bring her.’

Gardan saluted, but there was a flicker in his eyes. Laurie and Jimmy knew he disliked the thought of bearding the priestess in her own halls. Still, the staunch captain turned and obeyed his Prince without comment.

Arutha returned to the stricken man, who lay in fevered torment. Nathan said, ‘Highness, the fever rises, slowly, but it rises.’

‘How long will he live?’

‘If we can do nothing, through the balance of the night, no longer.’

Arutha struck his left hand with his balled right fist in frustration. There was less than six hours before dawn. Less than six hours to discover the cause for the attack upon him. And should this man die, they would be back where they started, and worse, for his unknown enemy would not likely fall into another snare.

‘Is there anything else you can do?’ asked Laurie softly.

Nathan considered. ‘Perhaps …’ He moved away from the ill man and motioned his acolytes away from the bedside. With a gesture he indicated that one of them should bring him a large volume of priestly spells.

Nathan instructed the acolytes and they quickly did his bidding, knowing the ritual and their parts in it. A pentagram was chalked upon the floor, and many runic symbols laid within its boundary, with the bed at the centre. When they were finished, everyone who stood within the room was encompassed by the chalk marks upon the floor. A lighted candle was placed at every point of the design, and a sixth given to Nathan, who stood studying the book. Nathan began waving the light in an intricate pattern while he read aloud in a language unknown to the nonclerics in the room. His acolytes stood quietly to one side, responding in unison at several points during the incantation. The others felt a strange stilling of the air, and as the final syllables were uttered, the dying man groaned, a low and piteous sound.

Nathan snapped shut the book. ‘Nothing less powerful than an agent of the gods themselves may pass through the boundaries of the pentagram without my leave. No spirit, demon, or being sent by any dark agency can trouble us now.’

Nathan then directed everyone to stand outside the pentagram, opened the book again, and began reading another chant. Quickly the words tumbled from the stocky priest. He finished the spell and pointed at the man upon the bed. Arutha looked at the ill man but could see nothing amiss, then, as he turned to speak to Laurie, noticed a change. Seeing the man from the corner of his eye, Arutha could discern a nimbus of faint light around him, filling the pentagram, not visible when viewed directly. It was a light, milky quartz in colour. Arutha asked, ‘What is this?’

Nathan faced Arutha. ‘I have slowed his passage through time, Highness. To him an hour is now a moment. The spell will last only until dawn, but to him less than a quarter of an hour will have passed. Thus we gain time. With luck, he will now linger until midday.’

‘Can we speak to him?’

‘No, for we would sound like buzzing bees to him. But if we need, I can remove the spell.’

Arutha regarded the slowly writhing, fevered man. His hand seemed poised a scant inch above the bed, hanging in space. ‘Then,’ said the Prince impatiently, ‘we must wait upon the pleasure of the High Priestess of Lims-Kragma.’

The wait was not long, nor was there much pleasure evident in the manner of the High Priestess. There was a commotion outside, and Arutha hurried to the door. Beyond it he found Gardan waiting with a woman in black robes. Her face was hidden behind a thick, gauzy black veil, but her head turned towards the Prince.

A finger shot out towards Arutha, and a deep, pleasant-sounding feminine voice said, ‘Why have I been commanded here, Prince of the Kingdom?’

Arutha ignored the question as he took in the scene. Behind Gardan stood a quartet of Guards, spears held across their chests, barring the way to a group of determined-looking temple guards wearing the black and silver tabards of Lims-Kragma. ‘What passes, Captain?’

Gardan said, ‘The lady wishes to bring her guards within, and I have forbidden it.’

In tones of icy fury the priestess said, ‘I have come as you bid, though never have the clergy acknowledged temporal authority. But I will not come as a prisoner, not even for you, Prince of Krondor.’

Arutha said, ‘Two guards may enter, but they will stand away from the prisoner. Madam, you will cooperate and enter, now.’ Arutha’s tone left little doubt of his mood. The High Priestess might be commander of a powerful sect, but before her stood the ruler of the Kingdom absolute, save the King, a man who would brook no interference in some matter of paramount importance. She nodded to the two foremost guards, and they entered. The door was closed behind them, and the two guards were taken off to one side by Gardan. Outside, the palace guards kept watchful eyes upon the remaining temple guards and the wicked curved swords carried at their belts.

Father Nathan greeted the High Priestess with a stiffly formal bow, their two orders having little affection for each other. The High Priestess chose to ignore the priest’s presence.

Her first remark upon seeing the pentagram upon the floor was ‘Do you fear otherworld interference?’ Her tone was suddenly analytical and even.

It was Nathan who answered. ‘Lady, we are not sure of many things, but we do seek to prevent complications from whatever source, physical or spiritual.’

She did not acknowledge his words but stepped as close to the two men, one dead and the other wounded, as she could. Seeing the black tunics, she faltered a step, then turned to face Arutha. Through the veil he could almost feel her malevolent gaze upon him. ‘These men are of my order. How do they come to lie here?’

Arutha’s face was a mask of controlled anger. ‘Madam, it is to answer that question that you have been fetched. Do you know these two?’

She studied their faces. ‘I do not know this one,’ she said, pointing to the dead man with the grey lock in his hair. ‘But the other is a priest of my temple, named Morgan, newly come to us from our temple in Yabon.’ She paused for a moment as she considered something. ‘He wears the mark of a brother of the Order of the Silver Net.’ Her head came around, facing Arutha once more. ‘They are the martial arm of our faith, supervised by their Grand Master in Rillanon. And he answers to none save our Mother Matriarch for his order’s practices.’ She paused again. ‘And then only sometimes.’ Before anyone could comment, she continued. ‘What I do not understand is how one of my temple priests came to wear their mark. Is he a member of the order, passing himself off as a priest? Is he a priest playing the part of a warrior? Or is he neither priest nor brother of the order, but an impostor on both counts? Any of those three possibilities is forbidden, at risk of Lims-Kragma’s wrath. Why is he here?’

Arutha said, ‘Madam, if what you say is true’ – she seemed to tense at the implication of a possible falsehood – ‘then what is occurring concerns your temple as much as it concerns me. Jimmy, speak what you know of the Nighthawks.’

Jimmy, obviously uncomfortable under the scrutiny of the Death Goddess’s High Priestess, spoke quickly and forwent his usual embellishments. When he finished, the High Priestess said, ‘Highness, what you say is a deed foul in the nostrils of our goddess.’ Her voice was cold rage. ‘In times past, certain of the faithful sought sacrifices, but those practices are long abandoned. Death is a patient goddess; all will come to know her in time. We need no black murders. I would speak to this man.’ She indicated the prisoner.

Arutha hesitated and noticed Father Nathan shaking his head slightly. ‘He is close to death, less than hours without any additional stress upon him. Should the questioning prove rigorous, he might die before we can plumb the depths of these dark waters.’

The High Priestess said, ‘What cause for concern, priest? Even dead, he is still my subject. I am Lims-Kragma’s ephemeral hand. In her manor I will find truths no living man can obtain.’

Father Nathan bowed. ‘In the realm of death, so you are supreme.’ To Arutha he said, ‘May my brothers and I withdraw, Highness? My order finds these practices offensive.’

The Prince nodded, and the High Priestess said, ‘Before you go, remove the prayer of slowness you have called down upon him. It will cause less difficulty than should I do it.’

Nathan quickly complied and the man on the bed began to groan feverishly. The priest and acolytes of Sung hurriedly left the room, and when they were gone, the High Priestess said, ‘This pentagram will aid in keeping outside forces from interfering with this act. I would ask all to remain outside, for within its bounds each person creates ripples in the fabric of magic. This is a most holy rite, for whatever the outcome, our lady will most surely claim this man.’

Arutha and the others waited outside the pentagram and the priestess said, ‘Speak only when I have given permission, and ensure the candles do not burn out, or forces may be loosed that would prove … troublesome to recall.’ The High Priestess drew back her black veil, and Arutha was almost shocked at her appearance. She looked barely more than a girl, and a lovely one at that, with blue eyes and skin the colour of dawn’s blush. Her eyebrows promised her hair would be the palest gold. She raised her hands overhead and began to pray. Her voice was soft, musical, but the words were strange and fearful to hear.

The man on the bed squirmed as she continued her incantation. Suddenly his eyes opened and he stared upwards. He seemed to convulse, straining at the bonds that restrained him. He relaxed, then turned to face the High Priestess. A distant look crossed his face, as his eyes seemed to focus and unfocus in turn. After a moment a strange, sinister smile formed on his lips, an expression of mocking cruelty. His mouth opened and the voice that issued forth was deep and hollow. ‘What service, mistress?’

The High Priestess’s brow furrowed slightly as if there was something askew in his manner, but she maintained her poise and said in commanding tones, ‘You wear the mantle of the Order of the Silver Net, yet you practise in the temple. Explain this falsehood.’

The man laughed, a high shrieking cackle that trailed off. ‘I am he who serves.’

She stopped, for the answer was not to her liking. ‘Answer then, who do you serve?’

There came another laugh and the man’s body tensed once more, pulling against the restraining ropes. Beads of sweat popped out upon his brow, and the muscles of his arms corded as he drew himself against the ropes. Then he relaxed and laughed again. ‘I am he who is caught.’

‘Who do you serve?’

‘I am he who is a fish. I am in a net.’ Again came the mad laughter and the near-convulsive straining at the ropes. As the man strained, sweat poured off his face in rivulets. Shrieking, he pulled again and again at the restraints. As it seemed he would break his own bones with exertion, the man screamed, ‘Murmandamus! Aid your servant!’

Abruptly one of the candles blew out as a wind from some unknown place swept across the room. The man reacted with a single convulsive spasm, bowing his body in a high arch, with only his feet and head touching the bed, pulling against the ropes with such force that his skin tore and bled. Suddenly he collapsed upon the bed. The High Priestess fell back a step, then crossed to look down on the man. Softly she said, ‘He is dead. Relight the candle.’

Arutha motioned and a guard lit a taper from another candle and relit the extinguished one. The priestess began another incantation. While the first had been mildly discomforting, this one carried a feeling of dread, a chill from the farthest corner of some lost and frozen land of wretchedness. It carried the echo of the cries of those without comfort or hope. Yet within it was another quality, powerful and attractive, an almost seductive feeling that it would somehow be wonderful to lay aside all burdens and rest. As the spell continued, the feelings of foreboding increased, and those who waited fought against the desire to run far from the sound of the High Priestess’s spell casting.

Suddenly the spell was over, and the room lay as quiet as a tomb. The High Priestess spoke in the King’s Tongue. ‘You who are with us in body but are now subject to the will of our mistress, Lims-Kragma, hearken to me. As our Lady of Death commands all things in the end, so do I now command you in her name. Return!’

The form on the bed stirred but lay silent once more. The High Priestess shouted, ‘Return!’ and the figure moved again. With a sudden movement the dead man’s head came up and his eyes opened. He seemed to be looking around the room, but while his eyes were open, they remained rolled back up in his head, only the whites showing. Still there was some feeling that the corpse could yet see, for his head stopped moving as if he was looking at the High Priestess. His mouth opened and a distant, hollow laugh issued from it.

The High Priestess stepped forward. ‘Silence!’

The dead man quieted, but then the face grinned, a slowly broadening, terrible, and evil expression. The features began to twitch, moving as if the man’s face were subject to some strange palsy. The very flesh shivered, then sagged, as if turned to heated wax. The skin colour subtly shifted, becoming fairer, almost pale white. The forehead became higher and the chin more delicate, the nose more arched and the ears pointed. The hair darkened to black. Within moments the man they had questioned was gone and in his place lay a form no longer human.

Softly Laurie spoke. ‘By the gods! A Brother of the Dark Path!’

Jimmy shifted his weight uncomfortably. ‘Your Brother Morgan is from a lot farther north than Yabon city, lady,’ he whispered. There was no humour in his tone, only fear.

Again came the chill wind from some unknown quarter, and the High Priestess turned towards Arutha. Her eyes were wide with fear and she seemed to speak, but none could hear her words.

The creature on the bed, one of the hated dark cousins to the elves, shrieked in maniacal glee. With a shocking and sudden display of strength, the moredhel ripped one arm free of its bond, then the other. Before the guards could react, it tore free the bonds holding its legs. Instantly the dead thing was on its feet, leaping towards the High Priestess.

The woman stood resolute, a feeling of power radiating from her. She pointed her hand at the creature. ‘Halt!’ The moredhel obeyed. ‘By my mistress’s power, I command obedience from you who are called. In her domain do you dwell and subject you are to her laws and ministers. By her power do I order you back!’

The moredhel faltered a moment, then with startling quickness reached out and with one hand seized the High Priestess by the throat. In that hollow, distant voice it screamed, ‘Trouble not my servant, lady. If you love your mistress so dearly, then to her go!’

The High Priestess gripped its wrist, and blue fire sprang to life along the creature’s arm. With a howl of pain it picked her up as if she weighed nothing and hurled her against the wall near Arutha, where she crashed and slid to the floor.

All stood motionless. The transformation of this creature and its unexpected attack upon the High Priestess robbed all in the room of volition. The temple guards were rooted by the sight of their priestess humbled by some dark, otherworld power. Gardan and his men were equally stunned.

With another booming howl of laughter the creature turned towards Arutha. ‘Now, Lord of the West, we are met, and it is your hour!’

The moredhel swayed upon its feet a moment, then stepped towards Arutha. The temple guards recovered an instant before Gardan’s men. The two black-and-silver-clad soldiers leapt forward, one interposing himself between the advancing moredhel and the stunned priestess, the other attacking the creature. Arutha’s soldiers were only a step behind in preventing the creature from reaching Arutha. Laurie sprang for the door, shouting for the guards without.

The temple guard thrust with his scimitar and impaled the moredhel. Sightless eyes widened, showing red rims, as the creature grinned, a horrid expression of glee. In an instant its hands shot forward and were around the guard’s throat. With a twisting motion it broke the guard’s neck, then tossed him aside. The first of Arutha’s guards to reach the creature struck from the side, a blow that gouged a bloody furrow along its back. With a backhand slap it knocked the guard down. It reached down and pulled the scimitar out of its own chest and with a snarl tossed it aside. As it turned away, Gardan hit it low and from behind. The huge captain encircled the creature with his powerful arms, lifting it from the ground. The creature’s claws raked Gardan’s arms, but still he held it high, preventing its progress towards Arutha. Then the creature kicked backwards, its heel striking Gardan in the leg, causing both to fall. The creature rose. As Gardan tried to reach it again, he stumbled over the body of the fallen temple guard.

The door flew open as Laurie tossed aside the inner bar, and palace and temple guards raced past the singer. The creature was within a sword’s thrust of Arutha when the first guard tackled it from behind, followed an instant later by two more. The temple guards joined their lone fellow in forming a defence around the unconscious High Priestess. Arutha’s guards joined in the assault upon the moredhel. Gardan recovered from his fall and rushed to Arutha’s side. ‘Leave, Highness. We can hold it here by weight of numbers.’

Arutha, with sword ready, said, ‘How long, Gardan? How can you stop a creature already dead?’

Jimmy the Hand backed away from Arutha’s side, edging towards the door. He couldn’t take his eyes from the knot of writhing bodies. Guards hammered at the creature with hilts and fists, seeking to bludgeon it into submission. Hands and faces were sticky red as the creature’s claws raked out again and again.

Laurie circled around the mêlée, looking for an opening, his sword pointed like a dagger. Catching sight of Jimmy as the thief bolted towards the door, Laurie shouted, ‘Arutha! Jimmy shows uncommon good sense. Leave!’ Then he thrust with his sword and a low, chilling moan came from within the jumble of bodies.

Arutha was gripped by indecision. The mass seemed to be inching towards him, as if the weight of the guards served only to slow the creature’s progress. The creature’s voice rang out. ‘Flee, if you will, Lord of the West, but you shall never find refuge from my servants.’ As if gifted by some additional surge of power, the moredhel heaved mightily and the guards were cast aside. They crashed into those standing before the High Priestess, and for a moment the creature was free to stand upright. Now it was covered in blood, its face a mask of bleeding wounds. Torn flesh hung from one cheek, transforming the moredhel’s face into a permanent, baleful grin. One guard managed to rise and shatter the creature’s right arm with a sword blow. It spun and tore the man’s throat out with a single rake of its hand. With its right arm dangling uselessly at its side, the moredhel spoke through loose, rubbery lips, its voice a bubbling, wet noise. ‘I feed on death! Come! I shall feed on yours!’

Two soldiers jumped upon the moredhel from behind, driving it to the floor once more, before Arutha. Ignoring the guards, the creature clawed towards the Prince, its good arm outstretched, fingers hooked like a claw. More guards leapt upon it, and Arutha darted forward, driving his sword through the creature’s shoulder, deep into its back. The monstrous figure shuddered briefly, then resumed its forward motion.

Like some giant, obscene crab, the mass of bodies inched slowly towards the Prince. The activities of the guards increased, as if they would protect Arutha by literally tearing the creature to shreds. Arutha took a step back, his reluctance to flee slowly overbalanced by the refusal of the moredhel to be stopped. With a cry, a soldier was tossed away, to land hard, his head striking the stone floor with an audible crack. Another shouted, ‘Highness, it grows in strength!’ A third screamed as he had an eye clawed out by the frantic creature. With a titanic heave, it tossed the remaining soldiers away and rose, with no one between itself and Arutha.