C.L. Scheel - Talesian 1 - Under a Warrior's Moon

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Prologue
FOR FIVE DAYS, Cherneth rode toward the west, toward the four-towered keep of Gorendt with
the hope of securing himself a position in the forces of Prince Kazan. It was well known that Kazan's
legions were the best on this side of the great Adrex and a befitting place for an Odun warrior such as
himself.
The father-shaman had begrudgingly released him of his tribebond now that the last of his kin was
dead. Having never taken a concubine--tempting as that was--and his only brother, having fallen less than
one moonturn ago fighting against the Huons, Cherneth knew he must leave his people.
He nudged his hardy black and white horse down the rocky embankment that rose above the East
Sherehn River. From the high vantage point, he spotted a small clump of trees that would do well as a
campsite. The sun rapidly edged the western skies, just showing over the crown of the mighty Adrex
Mountains. Soon, the snows would come and he knew he must not take too long in his journey.
He did not know Gorendt--the few Oduns who had seen it and its great keep were the old ones,
battle-scarred warriors who spent their long lives fighting the fierce Huons, the Qualani, or on occasion,
the well-armed and well-trained Gorendtians. The old ones were full of praise and fine words for them.
"Worthy enemies," said one, nodding wisely. "Their a'kenns are strong within them."
"My a'kenn is the red elk, The-One-Who-Wanders. I also wander as the red elk and fight as bravely.
These men of Gorendt will need a warrior such as myself," Cherneth boasted.
But the father-shaman shook his head slowly. "The tribes of Gorendt are not like us. They no longer
follow the herds of breok or ride with the mothersun. They live in towers where you cannot see the sky.
And you must also beware the warriors of the `Fa."
Cherneth snorted at the warning. "The Leashed Ones! They have no a'kenns; their souls are empty."
The old ones agreed with the father-shaman. The Leashed Ones were unworthy, but they were
cunning. They knew all the Ways of the Odun.
But Cherneth had been determined. He sold all his horses, save for the painted horse--his favorite.
The horse would bring good luck to his a'kenn. He even asked the father-shaman to make a charm of
protection for the horse.
He made his preparations the night before he left--making sure all the fletchings in his quiver of arrows
were in perfect condition and that his knives were sharp. He shaved his head to make certain the
mothersun would find him. Cherneth did not say goodbye to anyone, but left when the mothersun was
just rising to watch them.
The journey had been uneventful and now as he approached the swift-running Sherehn, he gave thanks
to his a'kenn for its protection.
Hobbling the painted horse, he allowed it to graze on the last of the summer grasses and then made a
small fire to prepare his own meal. Cherneth did not understand the old ones and their worries. He had
seen no one--hadn't even smelled the flesh-eaters.
Cherneth bit into the succulent rabbit. The old ones were as fretful as women. They even worried
about Talesians! Ha! Talesians were ghosts now. No one had seenthem for nearly three hundred turns of
the mothersun.
Still the old ones had cautioned him: "You will give ground to the Talesians, Cherneth. Their a'kenns
are powerful, more than the Gorendtians. Their blood is fierce and they die without fear. Even the
Leashed Ones think twice before confronting them. Be warned."
Again, Cherneth shook his head at their advice. He was not afraid of Talesians either.
The sturdy paint suddenly lifted its head, catching an unfamiliar scent of something or someone
approaching the camp. Cherneth never ignored the horse's warnings and immediately dropped the rabbit
and pulled the long knife from his belt.
He waited, tense and alert, hearing nothing, but like the horse, he lifted his head, sniffing the air. He
could smell nothing either, but felt the hairs rise on the backs of arms. Cherneth knew something was out
there, just beyond the rim of his camp. He strained to hear a sound, any sound, but all he could hear was
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the faint rushing of the Sherehn. Glancing at the horse, he watched the animal's eyes and ears focus
toward the river. Its nostrils flared softly as it whickered in friendly greeting to another of its kind.
Cherneth had no time to turn to see what the horse was watching. He suddenly felt something cold and
hard pressed firmly to the back of his neck, preventing him from standing or turning. He heard the faint
rattling of chain mail and the chink of spurs. From nowhere, five forms stepped from the gloom into the
firelight. Cherneth felt his blood turn cold and sluggish. There was no mistaking the dark gray and
blood-red surcoats covering their glittering black mail. Each of them held a long, metal staff--one end
topped with the head of some fantastic beast, mouth opened with the tongue slavering over razor sharp
teeth. The other end, the foot of the staff was hollow and aimed directly at him. Fleetingly, he wondered if
the head of the beast was their a'kenn.
A voice behind him spoke: "An Odun! We were lucky this time. I am weary of stinking Qualani. Do
not move, plainsman. Not until you are told. Drop the knife."
Cherneth hesitated. His blood cried out to fight. To yield to these collared dogs would be the most
terrible disgrace. He clutched the knife and whirled to strike the man behind him, but he never came near
his mark. Blinding, excruciating pain seared through his skull, down his spine and into the very bones of
his hands. He dropped the knife from senseless fingers.
"You are brave, but foolish, Odun," the calm voice went on. "The Reverend `Fa gives high merit to the
courageous, but you must save your courage for her divine will."
Cherneth was unable a single muscle--the pain bound him to his knees, immobilized him before his
tormentors. His breath came in short, aching gasps. He tried to stand, to fight the agonizing hold on him,
but with each struggle no matter how small, the pain rose even higher.
"The more you struggle, the worse it will get and if you struggle too hard, it will kill you."
The pain was nearly unendurable. It paralyzed him even to the point where he could not speak or cry
out. Again, he tried to struggle and the pain soared in his skull. He felt the hot trickle of blood from his
nostrils.
"Do not try again, or you will die," the voice warned.
Helplessly Cherneth watched the five in front of him lower their staffs and obliterate the signs of his
campsite. They buried the fire and flung the remains of the rabbit toward the river. One of them saddled
the painted horse and another took his longbow, the arrows, and the rest of his weapons and
disappeared into the brush. They returned shortly, each leading a dark-colored horse, saddled and
harnessed in black.
Abruptly Cherneth felt the pain ease, but he had no strength or will to fight them. Something long and
white, a tasseled rope of some kind was wound around his throat and snugged tight. The pain stopped
only to be replaced with...nothing. Cherneth felt at once aware of all that was happening to him, but
powerless and empty. He had no will to fight, not even the slightest wish to defy them. It was as if he had
been drained of every desire, every thought--as empty as a dried-up waterskin. Vaguely, Cherneth felt
his hands being bound behind him, then was dragged across the campsite and forced onto his horse.
His captors took up the reins and led him away, toward the north. Cherneth knew there were
mountains to the north--mountains that contained something terrible.
If he could only remember....
Chapter 1
"TO: MY LORD High Prince and Ter-Rey of Talesia and
All The Eastern Lands and Tribes of the Dominion--
The Sunturn being 3570--The Sixteenth of the Moon's Phasing
The Tenth Turn of My Lord's Reign
May Verlian Give You Grace
Sovereign Lord:
I would not trouble Your Highness in such a bold manner, however, this letter brings grave
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news that cannot wait. Ten days ago, through information received from agents, we have learned
that the Princess Alea, daughter to Prince Kazan of Gorendt, was abducted by a band of common
roadwilds and taken captive to Sherehn Keep--now a ruin, as you know. Their leader, Reddess,
has demanded five thousand talins in gold for her release or she will be killed.
It is well known that this troublemaker, Reddess, and his men number no more than thirty or
forty. It is also our conclusion that Reddess is secretly in league with Prince Kazan to falsely
accuse Riehl of this kidnapping and to use it as an excuse to declare war. Already, we have
received threats from the prince that if his daughter is harmed, he will move his armies against us.
As Your Highness is well aware, Prince Kazan wishes his son Alor, who is also Alea's twin, to
ascend Riehl's Falcon Throne, regardless of the fact that he has no legitimate claim.
We, of Riehl's Council, are outraged by Kazan's scurrilous accusations. They are entirely false.
We ask for Your Highness' intervention on our behalf and to abort Kazan's perfidious scheme to
incite war, an action that clearly violates your own decree.
The Council has striven to govern Riehl according to the laws of the Dominion without the
guiding hand or leadership of our own good Prince Murliff--who recently was taken from us and
Summoned by the Goddess Verlian--may She keep him.
The matter being fully disclosed to you, we await your Will. Your Obedient Subject,
Bordun De'Tai, First Councilor
of the Council Circle at Riehl Keep."
The scribe cleared his throat then rolled up the meticulously rewritten copy and watched as his
companion, the Councilor De'Tai, readjust the fur collar of his tunic and settle himself into the cushions of
the high-wheeled coach.
"Thank you for refreshing my memory Za'Rus. I thank the blessed Goddess His Highness has received
that letter. I hope the Council is satisfied!"
Za'Rus readjusted his own somber-hued tunic with white, frail-looking hands and cast him a worried
look. "You think the session did not go well, Councilor? If I may say so, the Council seemed gratified
and relieved."
The councilor made a slight disparaging noise in his throat. "You mean by the response we received
from His Highness? I only pray Verlian, his warriors will come in time. He did promise they would come
quickly. Read his message again, Za'Rus."
The scribe eased a handsome portable writing desk from its case and then pulled out the document,
careful not to disturb the seal of black wax and dark red ribbons that bore the Ter-Rey's insignia.
"Shall I read all of it, Your Grace?"
De'Tai sighed and settled back deeper into the cushions. "No, just the pertinent section."
Za'Rus cleared his throat again and held the document a little closer to the window so he could read
the bold black writing.
"Let me see. `...have received your letter ...awareand concerned...` Ah, yes. Here it is. `...I am
sending a detachment of my most trusted warriors to inspect Riehl and the situation. They are
under my direct authority to observe, to obtain information, to advise, and to take whatever
measures necessary to secure and defend my Will' ..."
De'Tai held up his hand, signaling the scribe to stop. "That'sthe part: `to take whatever measures
necessary...' Prince D'Assurielmay hold absolute authority over our wretched skins, but he and his
most-favored warriors are still Talesian barbarians."
"Councilor, that was over three hundred sunturns ago! His Highness is a highly knowledgeable, learned
man, hardly to be put into the same classification as his ancestors. I must disagree with you. I believe he
understands our desperate situation perfectly."
Councilor De'Tai smiled at him. "You speak like a diplomat Za'Rus. Riehl should have you as its First
Councilor, not me. I wish I could share your optimism, but I am afraid I am the old dog here. Trusting
Talesians is difficult for me, but then, I had little choice. Asking the Ter-Rey, Prince D'Assuriel, for help
was not my idea but that of the Council Circle." Councilor De'Tai sighed again. "Why did Murliff have to
die now, with no living children, no heirs?"
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"There is the princess, Your Grace, his granddaughter," Za'Rus interjected softly. He placed his slim
fingertips together, making a pale temple before his thin mouth. "She is the last legitimate heir."
"The Princess Kitarisa?" De'Tai snorted derisively. "That animal Kazan, who is the poorest excuse for
a fatherand a prince for that matter, would sooner see her dead than be allowed to return and rule Riehl.
Besides, you know my feelings about the granddaughter. We have no way of knowing how she has been
influenced by Kazan. She may have become just as corrupt. No, Kazan wants his whelp, that whoreson
Alor or the girl, his twin Alea, to rule. By the Divine Goddess I will never see that happen!"
"I do not think Prince D'Assuriel will allow that to happen either. I am sure he is well-aware of Kazan's
petty schemes -- he does not trust him either."
"Perhaps, but His Highness has never journeyed to this side of the Adrex. If he chooses to intervene
for us now, he has chosen a peculiar time to become involved in the affairs of his Eastern holdings."
Za'Rus studied his troubled companion, hoping to find some words of comfort. De'Tai deserved high
marks for his well-known tact and balanced approach to most political situations, but Za'Rus also
understood his vehemence concerning Prince Kazan's self-indulgent and utterly worthless son. The very
idea of a Gorendtian sitting on the Falcon Throne gave him shudders of revulsion.
They both felt the coach shift as the restless horses shuffled and chaffed against the harness, eager to
be off. De'Tai rapped on the ceiling. The driver called to the team and the coach surged forward. Both of
them grabbed for a strap to steady themselves.
Za'Rus pondered De'Tai's words. The Talesian courier and his guard had arrived that very morning
from the west, over the North Pass of the Adrex from Daeamon Keep. It had been difficult, even for the
fearless Talesians. Attacks from Wrathmen and roadwilds were a constant worry. The northern route
also took them precariously close to Qualani lands, and there was always the threat of the flesh-eating
marglims.
Za'Rus watched his eminent companion lean back against the cushions to try and afford himself some
semblance of sleep. The good man was exhausted from the long day's work; the endless discussions, the
worry, and responsibilities of his high office all weighing down upon him--an impossibly heavy yoke for
one man.
Za'Rus returned the valuable document to the desk and then pulled out fresh paper and hardquill. He
needed to write down the highlights of Councilor De'Tai's discussions before he summarized his extensive
notes. The rest of the Council would each need a copy of the proceedings and there was much to
transcribe. In the end, however, nothing would be conclusive until they heard from the Ter-Rey himself.
Riehl's Prince Murliff had died widowed. His only daughter, Princess Liestra, Prince Kazan's first wife,
was now dead too, and their daughter, the Princess Kitarisa had been lost to Riehl since her birth, buried
in the complexities of Kazan's court intrigues. She was the last rightful heir and their only hope, but
convincing Kazan to let her return to rule Riehl would be near to impossible. Kazan had lofty plans for
the son of his dancing girl.
Courteous entreaties had been rebuffed, soundly renounced. The difficulty opened up endless
unpleasant outcomes. To resist Kazan's wishes would undoubtedly bring on war. If the council pushed
the issue, demanding Kitarisa's return as rightful heir, that too could bring on war and Riehl was no match
for the well-armed Gorendtians. If they went to war, both sides would be breaking the High Prince's
Will--the absolute rule of peace. No one, not even the headstrong Kazan, would be foolish enough to
provoke the High Prince, the Ter-Rey.
Za'Rus involuntarily shuddered at the thought. Three hundred turns of the sun had not dimmed the
memory of Talesian brutality. The old texts spared no detail concerning their carnage and their cruelties.
Had time truly changed them? In spite of his reassurances to De'Tai, Za'Rus felt a chilling stab of
uncertainty lance up his spine.
He offered the Goddess, the Blessed Verlian, a brief prayer: No war with the Talesians.
By Your blood, Divine Goddess, spare us from the swords of the Talesians!
THE DAWN BROKE weak and cold, the sun barely showing through the gray haze of the low
clouds. A big horse, gray as the dawn itself, stamped impatiently and blew streams of warm vapor from
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its flared nostrils, eager to be off. The day had begun and it was time for battle.
The man on its back spoke one curt word to check the horse--he was not ready to leave until he had
seen everything from his high vantage point overlooking the listless river below and the immense,
crumbling keep built where the river divided and flowed around it. He needed more time to study it, to
evaluate its vulnerability and judge distances for their approach. The others would be awaiting his
decisions.
Assur had pushed both his men and the horses for six days, almost to the limits of their endurance, but
as exhausted as they were, none would dare show it.
The horse moved again and this time he spoke sharply in deep, guttural tones. The great gray finally
ceased its nervous fidgeting.
He sat astride a warhorse, saddled and harnessed in his colors of dark red, black, and flashes of gold.
Expensive trappings for a barbarian. Five knives of the finest Siarsi steel, their grips of hammered silver
and inlaid with gold and breok horn, lay sheathed behind his right leg in the heavy saddle cloth. He
carried two swords on his back, slung over a jerkin of intricately woven leather, its design made for
protection against sword cuts and the cold. His long, nearly-black hair fastened tightly at the crown by an
intricately designed silver ring, fell to his shoulders in a heavy shank. A short-cropped beard trimmed his
jaw, bracketing a firm, straight mouth that framed a face deeply tanned from endless days in the sun.
Black-marked eyes, dark blue as winter water, and fierce as a lion's were his most arresting feature.
No mark identified him, but he carried himself with an air of decided authority, clearly indicating he had
no tolerance for defiance or disobedience.
The others were similar to him in stature and dress and each bore the two swords strapped to their
backs. Only the man at his right, showed any marked difference. Fierce, raised scars, deliberately cut
and blackened into lean cheeks, marred his face. His lightly graying hair was also drawn back, but two
thin braids, woven with leather and fine glass beads, hung from each temple.
A noise made him turn in the saddle. He steadied his horse while Kuurus nudged his own horse next to
the big gray.
"How bad is it, my lord?" he asked.
"It could be worse, but by nightfall our chances will be better."
"I wish we had more time to watch this place. Verlian's blood, there could be a legion in there!"
"A poorly trained one, Kuurus. They lack discipline and order-- they are easy marks. Here, see for
yourself." Assur handed him the glass eye to study the keep below.
Ancient Sherehn Keep had been built at the fork of the Sherehn River on an island, a rock, forcing the
river around each side of it, forming two branches: one continuing on in a rambling southeasterly fashion
and the other becoming the West Sherehn that wound its way to the west, near the base of the Adrex
and by Gorendt itself.
The ancient engineers, well aware of the river's ability to flood, had built an intricate system of
protective walls on the north and sides of the keep, with release valves to allow for the excess water.
One massive drawbridge spanned over the now-dry moat surrounding the south face and west walls, and
a networking of three bridges crossed both forks of the river, giving easy access to the island keep. In
times of war or flood, the bridges could be drawn back, but their ancient mechanisms were now long
gone to rust from disuse and lack of maintenance.
The keep itself was massive, old, and it rose from its island base a battered hulk of red granite, now
crumbling into ruins from disrepair. Once the outpost and country retreat of a long dead prince, it had
served thieves, roadwilds, and the last of the scavenging tribes.
The warriors were well hidden in the trees just above the western shore of the river. The fierce one,
Kuurus, holding the glass to his eye, studied the ruined turrets and battlements, counting guards.
"I count only four at the top most battlements, my Lord Assur," he said, handing over the glass.
"By the looks of them, they will be more interested in the revelries Reddess will provide for them
tonight, rather than guarding those walls. Their backs will be to us."
"My lord, allow me to take Brekk and Jarad to the east side and set fire to the breach wall and the
stable."
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From inside his leather jerkin, Assur removed a map, a sketch of the keep. He studied the rough
drawing.
"The inner wall here is designed well, but we don't know how many men are inside. The fire must be
high if they are to be diverted enough for us to get inside."
"It shall be high enough, my lord," Kuurus promised.
Even as the last threads of light vanished in the west, Assur still held them back until the night's
revelries had begun. An oxcart filled with laughing, bold-eyed women, lumbered across the main
drawbridge. In a very short time, those within the entire keep would be drunk on free wine and dancing.
Assur and his men would still have to hurry--they did not know the lay of the keep well enough to make
any mistakes. If they did, Kazan's daughter would be killed unless the ransom was paid. If they
succeeded, Kazan would pay for their services--and Talesian mercenaries did not come cheap.
Reddess' clumsy attempts to cover his tracks had been easy to detect. His band of scavenging thieves
did not know the land nor did they have the skills to elude cunning Talesians. Petty theft and drunken
brawling were the worst of their crimes and for the most part, generally overlooked. Abduction of
Kazan's daughter would not be overlooked.
Assur fixed the glass eye on the river barge moored on the eastern fork of the river. They would burn
that first.
It was dark only a short while before the men on the battlements turned their attention to the festivities
below. From beneath their own jerkins, they pulled out forbidden flasks of strong ale and soon were
lolling against the crumbling walls.
Assur signaled Kuurus and his men. Silent and swift, the three hurried down the embankment to the
nearest bridge. Had they been seen from the ramparts above they might have been
stopped, but the irresistible sounds of tambour and flute, the high-pitched laughter of the women,
diverted the guards' attention from their duties.
Kuurus and the others slid down the edge of the dry moat and ran under the main drawbridge. It was
too dark to see anything with the glass, but Assur knew they were close to their mark. At first there was
only the smallest spark in the darkness, but soon the barge was ablaze.
"Fire!"
Aroused from their stupor, the four guards on the battlements saw the fire and frantically called to their
comrades below.
Assur signaled the others and they too slid down the embankment and raced for safety under the
drawbridge. Overhead, they heard the thudding feet and frantic cries.
"The stable! The stable is on fire, too! Get the horses!"
Assur nodded to a grinning Jarad. Kuurus had done his job well.
Screams and cries filled the night. Panic stricken horses broke free from their drunken handlers and
thundered across the bridge into the blackness of the forest. Above the chaos, Reddess shouted orders
and growled furious oaths as his men desperately tried to save the interior of the keep.
From the darkness, Kuurus and the others suddenly appeared under the drawbridge to join them.
"They will be busy for hours," he said, a broad grin splitting his scarred face.
Assur nodded. "Good."
As silently as they had begun, the six barbarians eased onto the drawbridge and melted back into the
shadows of the walls.
Two half-dressed women stumbled across the bridge, clutching at each other. A small dog skulked
nearby and stopped to sniff at Kuurus's boot, but a well-placed poke with his sword tip sent it scurrying
away.
The entire inner court was a melee of frantic people, terrified horses, and fire that flared and roared
into the night. Flames licked at the main walls of the inner keep, burning the tinder dry hay of the stables
and the old timbers supporting it. The light flickered and danced like hot demons, casting eerie shapes
and shadows against the great walls.
Using the shadows and the chaos as cover, the warriors easily entered the now empty main hall. In
the feeble light of the guttering candles and rank torches left on the walls, Assur made a low noise of
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disgust. Filth and offal littered the entire hall. Overturned tables, spilled, rotting food and excrement, both
human and animal covered the floor. In the corner, under a torn, ancient tapestry, a pig and her litter
grunted in peaceful oblivion.
The fire in the massive hearth, the only bright spot in the huge hall, still burned, but its ancient splendor
was ruined by the half-cooked, half-consumed carcasses piled before it.
The ringing noise of a fallen platter sent them melting behind pillars and into the deep shadows. An old
retainer, stupid with wine and sleep stumbled into the hall, clutching at the great table for balance, sending
the long forgotten feast crashing to the floor. Assur slipped behind him and pressed his sword lightly to
the old man's throat.
"If you value your life, old man, you will tell me where the princess Alea is being held."
He started to protest, but the sword bit deeper, silencing his urge to cry out.
"Up the main stairs to the fourth corridor on your left. She is in the last room on the right," he managed
to choke.
The old man would never know who they were. Bound, gagged, and blindfolded, he was hastily tied
to a pillar and left to whatever fate would become him.
The first, faint threads of acrid smoke began to fill the hall as they climbed the stairs. Only one dim
torch flickered from its rusting bracket, barely dispelling the blackness of the corridor. Assur could just
see the doorways stretching down the corridor and strained to find the last one.
From the deep shadows they heard a guttural cry, a sudden
flash of a blade and the bright clang of steel against steel. Young Del sidestepped the assailant,
effectively blocking the stroke aimed for Kuurus' neck. Without pausing, he drove his own blade into the
attacker's mid-section allowing the body to fall heavily to the floor.
Tense and keen, the six crept toward the last door, straining to see in the darkened hallway. Assur
motioned three of them to take a stance on the other side of the doorway. The girl could be guarded
even inside the room. He nodded and with a single blow, Kuurus kicked open the door.
Chapter 2
TWO WOMEN stood huddled at the back of the filthy, ancient chamber--one, a golden-haired
beauty in the ragged remnants of a once regal gown. Her blue eyes were red-rimmed from constant
weeping as she clung to her companion, trembling with terror. The other woman was scarcely taller than
the golden-haired girl, but older. She was past her first blush of youth and at first glance, Assur thought
she was the girl's maid. Her own gown was torn too, but equally as fine. Her soft, dark eyes, filled with
terror at the sight of so many barbarians, held a glimmer of defiance. Dark brown hair, probably once
confined into a ladylike coiffure and headdress, now tumbled freely down her back past her waist in an
incredible, shimmering cascade. Where the younger girl was all pink and roses, this woman was as cool
as silver and as distant as the moon. She drew herself up as much as her slight frame would allow.
Swallowing hard, she lifted her chin, bravely meeting his gaze.
"Do with me what you wish, but I beg you, please spare her," she pleaded softly, her voice shaking
with fear.
Assur lowered his sword and motioned for his men to do the same. "We will not harm you. We are
here to save the daughter of Prince Kazan."
The dark-haired woman looked puzzled for a moment. "We are both the daughters of Prince Kazan."
Assur hesitated and glanced at an astonished Kuurus.
"Why were we not told there weretwo daughters?" Kuurus muttered irritably, flinging up his arms in
disgust.
"Our orders are to find and return the Princess Alea," Assur said firmly.
"How do I know that? How do I know what you will do with her? Maybe you will kill her, or use her
vilely. Maybe you will ravish both of us?" she asked, trying to sound determined over the quaver in her
voice.
"Do you doubt the word of a Chaliset warrior?" Kuurus growled threateningly. "If you doubt us, then
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stay here and die!"
The dark-haired woman appeared to weigh his words, glancing from one fierce face to the next. Assur
deliberately lowered his sword and shook his head to convince her. Finally, she seemed to have
accepted the situation.
"It is she whom you want. She is Alea," indicating the shaking blonde girl. "I am Kitarisa."
Assur noted the thread of sadness in her voice, but quickly dismissed it. "We must hurry if we are to
get out. My men have created a diversion by starting a fire on the east side of the keep. If we are to get
across the drawbridge without being noticed, we must go now."
"We only have the one extra horse," Kuurus exclaimed. "If we try to take both, we will be slowed
down too much."
Kitarisa shook her head, at once grasping their dilemma and pulled free of the girl's tenacious grip.
"You must not go back that way. Reddess's men are drunk but they are not stupid. Once they realize
the fire is a hoax, this is the first place they will look. Come, I know a better way."
She moved to the shabby bed, picked up one of the cloaks and pulled it around the girl's shoulders.
"You must stop crying Alea. Father has sent these men to rescue you. Be a brave girl now." She
kissed the girl's forehead and patted her arm, then turned to face Assur. "I know a back way. If we
hurry, she will not be missed for hours."
She brushed past him into the hall and moved to the right, completely avoiding their entrance route.
From the depths of the keep they could hear the shouts of frantic men, trying to put out the blazing fire.
Horses whinnied and the hunting hounds barked and whined in fear.
Kitarisa led them through a series of seeming blind corridors and down a narrow stairway, curving
deep into the bowels of the keep. There were few torches to light the passageways and stairs and as she
approached the last step, she stopped and drew back. She motioned them to be silent.
"Do you see that light coming from the doorway?" she whispered.
Assur nodded.
"It is the guard's common room, the last one this far west in the keep. I am certain they do not even
know what has happened above."
"How many?" Assur asked in an equally low voice.
"Four, no more than five. They are probably drunk, too, but we cannot be sure of that."
Assur nodded again.
"The only other difficulty is the alarm. At the back of the room, to the left, is a pull-rope. If that is
pulled, it will sound a series of bells in the great hall and in the soldier's quarters--it was supposed to
signal a water breach in this part of the keep, but it can also alert them of your escape."
Assur signaled to his men, conveying his plan of attack. "Stay back and keep her quiet," he ordered
firmly.
Kitarisa shrank back against the damp wall of the stairway, pulling Alea close to her, allowing the men
to pass.
Silently, the six men eased into the corridor and crept to the light coming from the open door of the
room.
Raucous laughter and the stench of sour beer, spoiled food, and unwashed bodies spilled into the grim
passageway. Assur nodded to Kuurus and two of the men. They darted across the narrow expanse of
the doorway to the other side, unseen by the drunken revelers inside. Kuurus held up five fingers,
indicating the number he had seen while moving to the other side of the door. More than good odds.
Assur waited, listening until the ribald laughter had reached a loud enough level when they would be least
aware of an attack. He gave the signal and the six mercenaries sprang into the room.
Like the great hall above, two filthy tables, covered with weeks of rotting food, befouled trenchers and
cups littered their surfaces. Rats and other vermin feasted boldly with their human hosts. Two of the men
were sprawled in a drunken stupor over the table to the right, oblivious to the attack. The two others,
seated at the left table, swayed drunkenly against each other and singing a coarse song about a certain
tavern wench. Too late, they noticed the six men, swords drawn and upon them before they could move.
Kuurus grabbed the first man's hair, pulled his head back and slit his throat as easily as gutting a fish.
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Del and Brekk dispatched the other three so swiftly, they never realized what had happened.
At the back of the dark, little room a small fire still burned in a hearth that served both as a place for
cooking as well as a latrine. The last guard, still on his feet and in possession of a clear head and a sword,
made a lunge for the bell-rope. Assur blocked his path, striking away the attempted blow, sending him
reeling against the hearth.
The man was neither drunk nor inexperienced. He rallied and faced Assur and drove hard at him,
Assur just managing to parry the thrust. The guard had no chance and he knew it, but he refused to give
any ground.
In quick order, Assur exchanged two more blows with the unfortunate guard. As dispassionately as if
he were destroying one of the rats on the table, he saw his opening and drove his sword deep into the
roadwild's throat, just above the breastbone. Choking on his own blood, the luckless guard toppled
forward, dead before he hit the floor.
As silently as they had come, the six warriors slipped from the room into the dank corridor. Assur
motioned for Kitarisa to hurry.
"Do not look into the room," he muttered, taking her arm and pulling her quickly past the sights and
smells of their carnage.
The princess needed no encouragement and Alea, too frightened to even look up, followed her.
Once more they followed her down the dark corridor until they came to one final set of stairs leading
down to an enormous vaulted chamber; the floor entirely covered in red sand. Far to the left and deep
into the interior they could just make out the crumbling remains of hundreds of stalls, row upon row,
disappearing into the gloom.
"This used to be the stables, when the keep was an outpost to fight the Oduns," she went on in her
hushed whisper.
"You seem to know this keep well," Assur murmured.
"I ought to. Before it was abandoned, I was permitted to come here to be with my grandfather. As a
girl, I used to explore every corner of the keep."
They eased to the foot of the stairway; Assur's men were still tense and wary. They fanned out into the
open expanse of the huge chamber. Incredible pillars, as thick as trees supported the entire length of the
chamber, and beyond the pillars, at the far end, thrusting high up into the dark ceiling was what appeared
to be a drawn up ramp, sealing off an enormous opening, wide enough for six horses ridden abreast. Its
ancient, rusting mechanism loomed in the eerie half-light like a monstrous beast, ready to spring and
devour the first intruder into its black lair.
"The noise alone ought to call back the Summoned," Assur commented and Kitarisa nodded in
agreement.
"There is a smaller entrance that only allows people. I will show you."
To the left of the massive drawbridge, a separate opening, a smaller entrance doglegged sharply to the
right and then to the left, designed to hamper an attacker on foot.
Suddenly, Assur felt Brekk touch his arm.
"My Lord Assur, you must see this..."
Assur followed Brekk across the darkened sand to the ruined networking of ancient stalls, with the
others close on his heels. Brekk thrust the fluttering torch into the gloom of the nearest stall. Kitarisa and
her sister gasped softly. Swords. Dozens, hundreds of swords arranged with military precision, lined the
inner walls of the stall.
"My lord, there are more here," Del called from the next stall. Like the first, the second stall was filled
with arms, including spears. The next stall held shields, the next crossbows. There was no need to
examine each stall, as each one, on back into the deepest interior of the vaulted chamber contained an
arsenal of weapons, provisions, saddles and harness, helmets, leather goods and foodstuffs.
"Enough for an army," Kuurus muttered.
"But which one?" Assur added. "What does a roadwild need with all these weapons?"
The Talesians eyed each other uneasily.
"Not another abduction," Brekk commented dryly. "There is enough here to supply an army for many
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moonturns--a long siege."
Kuurus lifted his head, suddenly alert. "Someone comes."
Like wraiths, Assur and his men vanished into the shadows and behind the massive pillars. From the
darkness a lone guard emerged carrying a rapidly guttering torch.
If he saw them he would most assuredly call out and Assur was uneasy as to how far the sound of his
shouts would carry in this blackened echo chamber...and there could be others.
"Wait for your chance," he heard Kitarisa murmur faintly.
To his astonishment, Kitarisa tugged down the top edge of her gown to reveal her pale shoulders. She
bent over allowing the long, gleaming hair to fall to the floor and then stood up, tossing it back, giving her
at once a sensuous, wild look. She stepped from behind the pillar.
"They told me I would find you here," she said sweetly.
The surprised guard almost dropped the torch as he took in her white, creamy shoulders and soft, full
lips.
"I got so bored up there." She shrugged, indicating the upper halls. "Reddess said there were some
nice soldiers down here and so lonely, too." She eased up to the guard and placed her hands on his
chest. "I hope you like dark-haired women." Kitarisa pouted prettily and shook the rich hair. "Reddess
always seems to have blondes around."
"I like `em, like `em fine," the man stuttered.
Bewildered and delighted, the man looked about frantically to find a place to set the torch so he could
return her embrace. A rusting bracket hung on the nearest pillar and he hastily set the torch into it.
Eagerly he slipped his arms around Kitarisa.
"`Specially ones like you."
He bent to kiss her but she easily pushed him back, feigning coyness.
"Oh, not here. I don't even know your name yet."
"It's Duras."
"Duras. Well, I am Fiana. Let me look at you in the light so I can see how handsome you are."
She turned him by the shoulders so his back was to the torch and to Assur. Willingly the man turned, a
huge grin of delight spread across his coarse features.
"Have you been down here long? It must be so lonely," she said sympathetically, slipping her arms
around his neck.
From the gloom, Assur eased from behind the pillar, the reflection of the low light glinting dangerously
on the edge of his sword.
Kitarisa lifted herself up on her toes and pulled the man's head nearer to her. "And the lonely ones are
such sweet lovers," she sighed. The guard gathered her close and again bent to kiss her. The pleasure of
her kiss was short-lived.
Sudden, excruciating pain registered on his face as Assur's blade drove deep through the guard's ribs,
into the lung and finally his heart. He sagged heavily on Kitarisa, dying, his eyes wide open with
astonishment. He fell to the sand, his mouth working in silent anguish, until death finally ended his
suffering.
Kitarisa wiped her mouth with the back of her arm and readjusted her gown. She was once again the
cool and distant woman as before. "Come on!"
With no more regard for the man than dead vermin, she hurried through the dogleg passage to the
outer door. Kitarisa struggled with the ancient door and the rusted iron bolts, until Jarad gently tugged her
hands from the task. In his element, the big barbarian easily slammed the bolts back and pulled the heavy
door open. Without hesitating, Jarad, Kuurus, and the others slipped out into the night.
"Go! Go now," she ordered Alea.
Fresh tears ran down Alea's cheeks. "No! Come with me! Don't leave me with them." She sobbed
and clutched at Kitarisa.
"Alea, you must go. Father has paid these men handsomely for your return. They have risked their
lives for you. Go!"
"But what about you," she cried. "They, they will..." She choked on her words, unable to finish.
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摘要：

Prologue    FORFIVEDAYS,Chernethrodetowardthewest,towardthefour-toweredkeepofGorendtwiththehopeofsecuringhimselfapositionintheforcesofPrinceKazan.ItwaswellknownthatKazan'slegionswerethebestonthissideofthegreatAdrexandabefittingplaceforanOdunwarriorsuchashimself.    Thefather-shamanhadbegrudginglyrel...

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