Accidental Sorceress (Hardstorm Saga Book 2) Page 4

  The spirit laughed. “No sacrifice?” He howled. Then he whispered, and the sound was more frightening than the howling. “No matter. Kratos takes what he will.”

  I could not move. Fear was all around me. I had gone temporarily blind from an injury during the siege. To live life in that darkness—the thought closed my throat. But the next thought scared me more.

  What if the toll is taken from Batumar?

  A warlord could not lose his strength, or his sight, not in the middle of a war.

  “Take what you will from me, great spirit,” I begged.

  “Of your free will?” he whispered with dark delight.

  My stomach clenched with dread. “Of my free will. Only let us leave the mountain.”

  The spirit said no more, but his terrible laughter echoed off the cavern walls as he left me, the sound of otherworldly hyenas.

  Complete darkness surrounded me. I did not know where I was. I felt terribly lost, as if I could never possibly find my way back to light and those I loved.

  When, out of nowhere, taloned hands clamped over my shoulders, I screamed.

  But then Batumar called, right next to me, “Tera!” his voice filled with urgency.

  My eyes fluttered open. I did not know they had been closed. We were in a new passageway. I was lying on the ground, Batumar and Vooren ashen-faced on their knees, peering over me.

  Batumar had his hand on my shoulder, not the dark spirit. I drew a ragged breath. “You found me.”

  “I will always find you.” He gathered me up and held me to him.

  “Let her breathe, my lord,” Vooren advised gently.

  And Batumar drew back, just enough to look me over, the muscles in his face tight. “You fell ill from the sulfur.”

  Had I? The dark spirit’s heinous laugher still rang in my ears. Had he been real? Was our bargain?

  I blinked. I could most certainly see. The spirit had not taken my sight. In a panic, I struggled to my feet, nearly knocking Batumar over.

  Relief cut through me. I could stand. The spirit had not taken my strength either.

  I filled my lungs with musty, ancient air, no trace of rotten eggs here. Maybe the dark spirit had been a hallucination from the sulfur gas.

  But then I reached up to my throat, and I could feel the droplets of blood where the sharp talons had raked my skin.

  Batumar stood and moved the light closer. “You must have scratched yourself while you thrashed.” Then he added, “We shall stay and rest.”

  My heart racing, I shook my head. I wanted to be away from this place. I wanted to be out of the mountain.

  “Best not.” The steward agreed with me and was moving forward already.

  I followed. Then, finally, so did Batumar, staying even closer to me than before.

  Soon we reached another low passage. I went to my knees and hands without complaint. I would have done anything to keep moving.

  We passed other passageways, wider and taller than ours. But the steward did not alter our course for some time, and when he did, our new path was as tight as the last.

  I heard water running in the distance, and fear filled my bones at the thought of that water coming into our narrow tunnel and drowning us. But instead of water, other things moved in the darkness here, things that slithered and scurried by us, on top of us.

  Living things. These I did not mind half as much as the bloodless, hissing dark spirit.

  “Just a little longer, my lady,” said the steward up ahead, breathless from effort.

  He was right. Soon our passageway expanded enough so we could stand once again.

  As we stumbled forward, over the loose rocks that now covered the path, I heard bats swarming above, disturbed by the noise of our passing. Then I could see light ahead at last, the spirits be blessed, and could smell fresh, salty air.

  My relief was so sharp, it nearly hurt. “The tunnel’s end!”

  I rushed toward the circle of light, passing Vooren. Then had to halt when I saw that the opening led to a sheer drop onto rocks below, the gray sea churning furiously, like boiling metal. Even as I leaned forward to look, the wind pushed me back, my cloak flapping.

  Batumar’s strong arm caught me around the waist, and he pulled me against his chest. “Careful.”

  But his voice held relief, enough to make me wonder if he had been as certain about the mountain passage as he led me to believe.

  “That gust will help us stick to the rock face,” he said over my head.

  And, after a moment, he pulled away, shed the rope from his shoulder, then shrugged off his fur cloak and laid it on the ground a few steps inside the opening. He pointed at the sun, low in the sky, half-lost in haze. “It is early in the morning still. We are in time. We will rest before we climb down.”

  Now that I could see the sky and smell the sea, I could agree. I settled down next to him.

  Vooren shed his cloak and sat a few paces from us. He offered us biscuits from his own food sack, and we accepted with thanks. He still had enough for his return, and we had enough to reach the markets of Rabeen, if indeed any pirate ships waited in some hidden cove. If not, I silently swore to go the long way around on our way back to Karamur. I did not ever want to journey through the mountain again.

  I ate enough to sate my hunger, but not so much that I would be too full to climb down. We drank sparingly. When we were done, I leaned against Batumar, for the heat of his body and for the sense of well-being his touch gave me.

  He put his arms around me, and we relaxed against each other. I took my first easy breath. We were out of the mountain, and the dark spirit had not swooped in to take what he willed from me. His mockery and menace had been nothing but a dream.

  Yet even as I thought that, I felt a cold invisible talon caress the side of my face.

  Chapter Four

  (The Doomed)

  Kratos, the dark spirit had called himself when he had held me in thrall. I did not dare ask Vooren as we rested, for I did not dare speak the name.

  As if sensing my unease, Batumar tightened his arm around me. “We best not rest long. We must reach the ship before it sails.”

  I drew away from him to stand, more than ready to be away from the mountain. If we missed the ship, all we had gone through so far would be for naught.

  While I inspected my bundles of herbs and retied some to be more secure, Batumar set up the rope, tying one end to an outcropping of rock inside the opening, then testing the strength of the knot.

  When he was satisfied, he dropped the rest of the rope over the ledge to unfurl on the side of the cliff. “I shall go first.”

  He rolled his fur cloak into a bundle and tied it onto his back, stepped over the edge without hesitation, then began lowering himself, hand over hand. I peeked over the edge, my heart in my throat as I watched him.

  He stopped and looked up. “Come carefully.”

  Heart, be brave. I bundled up my cloak and tied it to my back as he had. I kept reminding myself that I was good at climbing, had climbed all the tallest trees in my childhood to collect the healing drops of moonflowers.

  Vooren said, “May the spirits keep you and bring you back to us.”

  The words were heartfelt, but as I turned, I could see in his sunken eyes that he did not expect such a happy reunion. I thought he was most noble-hearted for worrying about us. He would now have to return through the mountain all alone. I would not have traded places with him for all the world.

  “The spirits keep you,” I responded as I gripped the rope. Then I stepped over the ledge.

  Spirit, be strong. Heart, be brave. Those words had been my mother’s last message to me. I planned to hold them close on our journey.

  The wind hit me at once, coming in from the sea in an angry squall. I held on tightly, glad to be wearing my Shahala healer’s clothes that allowed for climbing instead of the billowing dress of a concubine the wind would have used as a sail to blow me clear off the cliffs.

  The rough rope bit into my
hand. I ignored the burn.

  The first stretch of rock was a sheer cut, no crevices for foothold, slippery from the moist sea air, like walking on ice. I lowered myself carefully, handhold over handhold at least a hundred times before the surface turned more scraggly. Once I could find a foothold, I moved my feet from the rope to the rock, but held on to the rope with my hands as tightly as I had before.

  Old bones littered the larger crevices, both animal and human, nearly petrified. I had to move to the side to avoid stepping on a grinning skull bleached by weather and time.

  Buffeted by the winds, our climb was slow and seemed to take as long as the endless journey through the dark belly of the mountain. Countless times my feet slipped, but I held on to the rope, and that saved me. I hung on by sheer will and for fear that if I fell, I might knock Batumar down with me.

  By the time my feet touched the rocky shore below, my muscles were shaking, my face was chapped, my eyes all teared up, and my hair had come fully undone, whipping around me in the wind.

  But Batumar looked at me with nothing but pride and approval in his eyes. “Well done, my lady.”

  His words warmed me, but he meant to warm me further. He unwrapped his fur cloak and fastened it onto his wide shoulders, then drew me against him, tucking me under. I burrowed against him and soaked up his heat, clinging to him with my arms around his waist, grateful to be standing on solid ground once again.

  “The people who lived on the side of the mountain before the Kadar came,” he said into my hair, “used the passages of the mountain as their temples. They sacrificed greatly to their god, casting below even some of their children.”

  I had a dark suspicion who that god might be.

  “Kratos?” My voice was muffled against his chest, so I tilted my head up to him.

  Batumar nodded, an eyebrow lifting in surprise that I would know. “Rorin’s father.”

  Rorin was the god of war Kadar warlords and their people worshipped.

  I turned to look up at the opening we had come through, now impossibly high above us. Our rope was moving up, re-coiled by the steward.

  Batumar said, “We have managed fine well thus far, my lady. We are probably the only people ever to leave through The Mouth of the Mountain and live.”

  He was right. The first step of our journey had been taken safely. I gave silent thanks to the spirits.

  When the rope and Vooren disappeared, I extricated myself from Batumar’s heavy cloak, stepped back, and checked him over, seeing his disguise for the first time in the full light of day.

  The success of our next step depended on not being recognized. If the pirates discovered who we truly were, instead of transporting us across the ocean, they would hold us for ransom.

  Batumar’s cloak was old and worn in patches. He wore a simple wool tunic under it. His winter boots, treated leather on the outside that would not allow water through, warm fur within, were scuffed aplenty. At his side hung his broadsword, no different than any warrior might take to battle, the kind of sword that fathers handed down to their sons.

  His dark mane was shaggy now from the wind, like any warrior’s, not like a proper lord’s who had concubines to comb it. The siege had sewn silver threads through that once ebony hair. His face unshaven, with his scars, he might yet pass for the type of soldier who would hire himself out as a guard for a dangerous journey.

  “Where do the other warlords think you have gone?” I asked as I combed my hair into order with my fingers, then drew my healer’s veil from under my tunic and wrapped the length of yellow satin tightly around my head.

  “They think we are journeying to your Shahala lands to assess the damage and loss of life. And to negotiate the purchase of oil, in case of another siege.”

  During the siege of Karamur, we had poured burning oil from the top of the walls on the attacking enemy below. Nary a drop was to be found now in the city, not even in the High Lord’s palace.

  Batumar glanced to the sky. “Only Lord Samtis knows the truth. I left him in charge of protecting Karamur in my absence.”

  I wanted to ask more, but Batumar led the way around an outcropping that reached into the sea, and here the waves were too loud for us to talk. Each step required our full attention, so we struggled forward in silence for a while.

  No ships bobbed on the water along the shore, nor farther out at sea, but as we rounded the outcropping, a hidden cove did appear as Batumar had predicted. And there, in calmer waters, sat a quick little sloop, along with a much larger merchant schooner, seabirds circling around their red sails. Both ships were manned, both looking ready to cast off.

  I stared, feeling as if I had walked into a children’s tale. “Pirate ships both.”

  “Merchant ships do not visit pirate coves, if they can help it. Rorin be blessed, we are not late.”

  I shared Batumar’s relief, but not without some trepidation mixed in. Will they take us? Why would they? Why not slay us here? Or take us into slavery?

  Now that I could see the pirates with my own eyes, they suddenly seemed frighteningly real and our plan poorly thought out once again. But despite my misgivings, I hurried behind Batumar, even as I struggled to hold my cloak closed so the wind wouldn’t whip it around me and tug me off-balance, watching my footing on the rocks that were slippery from sea spray.

  I could see how Barren Cove earned its name. Nothing but rocks, not a blade of grass, not a single spot of green.

  Once we reached closer, I understood why pirates would choose this particular cove. Beyond a quiet spot to repair storm damage, the far end of the cove also provided fresh water from a stream that trickled forth from among the rocks.

  Four men were filling a row of oak barrels. They wore snug, black wool pants and shirts, their long hair tied back with colorful rags. Curved swords hung from their wide belts, an assortment of daggers stuck in the back. As those men paid no mind to us, I turned my attention back to the ships.

  Only a handful of men worked aboard the sloop, but the merchant schooner was better manned. Dozens of swarthy men hurried with their duties on and around it. I took in the two tall mainmasts and a shorter foremast, the red sails marked with symbols and patterns of faraway lands I did not recognize.

  Some of the crew were making last-minute repairs, others prepared the schooner to set sail, and yet others were rolling water barrels—lids nailed down—up the plank that connected the ship to shore.

  The pirates regarded us with sideways glances, keeping track of our progress, but as a single warrior and a woman presented no threat, they did not interrupt their preparations.

  Batumar strode to the merchant schooner as boldly as if he were an expected guest, his stride strong and sure, yet not the regal stride of a High Lord. His gait and posture transformed into that of an ordinary foot soldier. He ignored the pirates coming and going and eyed the tallest man on board, who wore a round hard hat decorated with seagull feathers.

  Batumar called up, even his tone different, sounding as if he’d grown up on the docks of Kaharta Reh. “Greetings to the captain.”

  The man measured him up with a cold glance. Then he looked me over and smiled, showing a single black tooth on the bottom.

  “We wish to book passage,” Batumar said with the deference of a man talking to someone he is asking for a favor.

  I could but stare at him, so changed was his entire demeanor.

  The captain scoffed. “Ye got yer eyes up yer arse?” He jerked his head toward the red sails above him that clearly designated them as pirates. “We take nay passengers.”

  Batumar reached under his cloak and retrieved a small leather pouch. “Ten blue crystals for taking us across the ocean.”

  No sooner had he said the words than he was attacked from behind. One pirate grabbed his elbows and jerked them back; another held a knife to his throat. Before I could decide what to do, the third pirate divested him of his coin, then tossed the pouch up to the captain. I was left standing there, gaping, my hand closed arou
nd the small paring knife that hung from my belt, hidden by my cloak from the men.

  “Twenty blue crystals,” Batumar said without fighting back. “It is all we have.”

  “’Tis what I got. Ye got shite.” The captain jerked his head toward his men.

  They released Batumar, one eyeing his cloak, the other his sword, no doubt picking out what they would take once they managed to subdue him and tied him up to be sold at the nearest slave market, or planning to cut him down if he fought too hard.

  But Batumar did not move to fight. Instead, he pulled back his cloak and showed our food sack. “We have our own food. We will not be any trouble. I can help on deck.”

  Batumar was a strong man, and a ship could always use more muscle. But the captain shook his head, returning his gaze to me with a speculative gleam in his beady eyes that I did not like. I had been sold into slavery before.

  I stepped forward and held my head high, tucking in the edge of my Shahala healer’s veil so it would not flutter in the wind. “I am a traveling healer. The passage is a dangerous one. You might yet need my skill.”

  He sucked his black tooth and narrowed his eyes at me. “Why are ye leavin’ Karamur?”

  I was certain he already had my worth calculated, and Batumar’s, along with how many men he would lose while subduing my guard.

  Yet his ship was our only chance to bring help for our people. I stood tall before him. “The siege is long over. There are few to heal, and those prefer the Lady Tera. No room for a simple traveling healer now.”

  He watched me for a long moment. “And the Gate is broken. Bloody Kerghi bastards.” He spat, returning his gaze to Batumar. “Ye nay have the look of a fool. ‘Tis a mighty foolish thing, seekin’ passage with pirates.”

  The two men spent a tense moment staring at each other in silence, each measuring up the other all over again.

  Batumar spoke first. “Tatip the Cutthroat said you were the most honest pirate he knew.”

  The captain spat over the railing into the sea. “Insulting me will nay get ye on my ship.” He spat again. “Never did like mine idiot brother.”