Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

D inner time passed normally, the snippets of conversation Kormac overheard—and those Lomar spied upon—made no mention of the soldier from the Pass. Despite the flirting from several of the women in attendance, Kormac was not in the mood for company and ended up going to bed alone.

Perturbed by the day's events, he found himself wondering what could have happened to the garrison. If Ioan could be believed, then it seemed unlikely a wild animal had killed all those soldiers. So what did that leave?

Most likely a new enemy. Many envied his territory, rich in metals mined in their numerous mountains, and an exporter of the best horses in the world. But it had been more than two decades since anyone last raided one of the outer villages in the north. While some tried to sneak in via the northern bluffs hundreds of feet above an angry sea, most vessels sank before any managed the long climb. Those that did attempt the treacherous ascent were easily picked off by Sraythians who guarded their northern coast.

To the south, Srayth's relationship with Ulkruuba had been good for more than a century and their trading strong.

West lay Acca, the land of the supposed witches who'd spent centuries keeping to themselves, most likely because their kind were executed until recently, as Srayth took a hard line against charlatans who pretended to do magic.

That left the east, past the Andeir mountains, which he would have thought impossible. The mists beyond that range were known to swallow people and never spit them out.

No likely scenarios. Still, a complacent warlord wasn't a long-lived one.

Given the decimation of the force watching the Pass, he'd have to replenish the garrison, perhaps with a better cadre of soldiers, until they'd assessed the threat.

The severity of the situation meant Lomar would be taking some soldiers with him. Perhaps Kormac would visit as well. It had been a while since he'd been to the Pass. His duties kept him tied to the citadel more than he liked. He missed the freedom of being his father's heir and second, riding out to inspect garrisons, quelling disputes, conducting drills close to the border to remind their flanking neighbors not to tangle with them.

The more he thought of it, the more a trip sounded like a fine plan. His mother would most likely argue. His father, who'd retired from the warlord position, would understand, though. Sometimes a leader had to act in person instead of via an intermediary.

With that decided, Kormac fell asleep, a dreamless state that should have taken him to morning, only he woke suddenly. That never happened without reason.

He noticed the tingling in his arms had returned. Could that have been what woke him?

A still Kormac pretended sleep, keeping his breathing even, and listened, not just with his ears but with instincts honed by years of his father's lessons, some of which included nighttime attacks. Nothing like being suddenly roused in the night at a tender age and expected to fight off a man twice his size. But his father never did anything without reason, and those lessons paid off.

Move. Now!

He rolled almost too late. The dagger swiped down and plunged into the pillow where the indent of his head still showed in the strange purple glow emanating from his bracers. Odd, they'd never illuminated before. But forget his ornamental armor. An assassin, how exciting. It had been ages since anyone tried to kill him in person.

Kormac bounded out of bed, his hand wrapped around the hilt of the blade he slept with. Without pause, he swung.

There was no sound as his sword slashed the assassin across the torso, a killing blow, the only kind anyone should ever use in a fight. His father always said, " Dead men can't stab you in the back." Good advice, except for the part where they couldn't answer questions after.

As the figure slumped to the floor, Kormac leaned over and struck the flint attached to the lantern kept by his bedside. The oil within ignited, illuminating the glass. He saw the identity of the assassin: none other than the garrison soldier, a man who should have still been locked in a cell. Someone must have released Ioan since those cells were escape-proof. In the decades they'd been using them, no one had ever broken free, meaning the citadel had a traitor. Kormac would enjoy seeking them out and making an example of them.

He wiped his blade on the body and readied to call someone to remove it when the limbs twitched.

Probably death throes. It happened sometimes. What didn't usually occur with corpses? The mouth opening to whisper, "This is not the end, descendent of Airiok the Destroyer."

The sibilant words almost brought a shiver because dead men didn't talk, and Ioan was most certainly deceased. Between the gaping wound across the torso that exposed the guts, and the copious bleeding that left a huge puddle around the body, there should have been no way Ioan could speak.

Tell that to the dead man whose lips remained parted but didn't move as it murmured in a raspy voice, "You cannot kill me. My imprisonment is about to end. My spirit set free?—"

Smash. The pommel of his sword crushed the skull and silenced the eerie voice. A chill breeze swept past him, bringing goose pimples to his flesh before warmth returned. The bracers on his arms also stopped tingling and glowing.

Hmm. Could they be linked? His bracers had never reacted in such a fashion before. Nor had his father ever mentioned it when he passed them on along with the warlord title. It should be noted, his father had only done so after Kormac proved himself worthy, fighting in the competitions that helped them choose their strongest leader. It just so happened he, like his father and his father before him, was the worthiest. Some claimed Kormac's family inherited their strength from their ancient ancestor, Airiok, a man who'd supposedly fought monsters and vanquished a great evil. Or so the storytellers told the children. Strange how the dead man had spoken his name.

Kormac stared at the body, which now lay unmoving and unspeaking, but he didn't trust it and sliced off its head for good measure.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

The pounding at his door led to him bark, "Come in."

A grim Lomar burst into his room, sword out, exclaiming, "The prisoner escaped."

Kormac nudged the body with his foot. "I found him."

"Son of a whore," Lomar swore. "He came after you?"

"With a knife, and he might have killed me, too, if I'd not woken."

"I wonder if assassination was his intent all along." Lomar scowled but not as mightily as Kormac.

"Someone let him loose. I want them found."

"It's hard to imagine anyone helped him," Lomar stated with a shake of his head. "The guard who had the key to the cell is dead. I found him in the cell after Melody woke me in hysterics."

"Melody?" Kormac questioned.

"Kitchen maid. She was bringing the night guards their meal and came across the carnage. It seems Ioan left a string of bodies on his way out of the dungeon. Every single guard in Ioan's path is dead."

"All of them?" Kormac couldn't help his surprise. Ioan hadn't seemed like the most adept of fighters.

"Yeah. Hence why Melody came screeching to find me. The moment I saw what happened, I came to find you."

Kormac debated mentioning the voice but decided to keep that information to himself. Dead men didn't talk.

"Given what the traitor attempted, I'm now more curious than ever as to what really happened at the garrison." Kormac headed for his wardrobe to change from his nightclothes.

"You think Ioan lied?"

"I think the traitor found a convenient excuse to get inside the citadel." Already bare-chested, Kormac slid on a shirt, the sleeve catching on the bracers wrapped around his forearms. While ornamental in appearance, they also offered protection when used to block a blow and apparently now occasionally glowed. Why? What about Ioan triggered them?

"I can leave now instead of dawn," Lomar offered.

"Dawn is soon enough since I'm coming with you," Kormac stated, ditching his breechcloth for britches.

"Is that wise? We don't know what we'll find."

"Which is why we'll bring a battalion with us. I want fifty men ready to go by first light."

They actually set out earlier, the selected soldiers eager to ride, especially since they might get a chance to fight. Peaceful times led to bored soldiers.

Kormac led the battalion with Lomar keeping watch at the rear as they galloped on their war horses, fully outfitted in battle gear. Everyone came armed to the teeth: swords, daggers, bows, axes. Better to be prepared than caught off guard.

It took them several days of hard riding before they came in sight of the mountain named Andeir that stretched as far as the eye could see, impassable due to its height and sheerness but for a single pass. The fort sat on a gravel road a few hundred yards from the passage through the high peaks, the building made of stone blocks, sturdy and old. Very old. Also, highly defensible with only narrow window slits, perfect for firing arrows. A single massive gate at the front led inside to a courtyard and even if someone breached that, the fort itself had a portcullis that could be dropped over its entrance, making it virtually impenetrable. The walls had a slight lean outward, making them difficult to scale. From the base of the path going up, they could see the peaked roof of the watchtower which faced the Pass.

"Leave the horses here," Kormac ordered, not liking the treacherous look of the road slicked with ice.

Five men were left behind to watch their steeds. The rest of the battalion, led by Lomar and Kormac, set out on foot. The mid-afternoon sun provided a bit of warmth, and yet they'd neither seen nor heard any signs of wildlife. No scampering squirrels or birds. Not even a breeze to rustle the branches. The eerie stillness had them all on edge, the soldiers finding reassurance in gripping their weapons.

Kormac, though, pursed his lips as he glanced around. No sign of anyone or anything.

As they plodded slowly up the road to the gate, Lomar pointed to the ground. The light dusting of snow was undisturbed. "No tracks," he remarked.

"If it fell overnight that's not surprising," Kormac murmured. As they neared the garrison, he noticed the lack of soldiers manning the ramparts. Heard not a single challenge to their approach. To his disquiet, the gate had been left slightly ajar.

Before Kormac could say or do anything, Lomar bolted past, axe in hand. His second wasn't about to let his warlord walk into an ambush. At least that would be his claim. More likely he wanted first shot at any threat.

Kormac followed more cautiously. His tread crunched in the snow that had crystalized in the sun.

"Seems deserted," a disappointed Lomar stated as he reappeared.

"Could be they're hiding." A glance at the parapet didn't show any arrow tips or movement but that didn't mean no one watched. His nape prickled in warning.

"I'll grab some men and do a sweep," Lomar stated.

"Take half. I want the rest to do a perimeter sweep," Kormac commanded as he strode through the gate.

The stench of death hit him immediately and he glanced at Lomar. "When you said deserted…"

"I meant I found no signs of anyone living." Lomar pointed. "The smell appears to be coming from the stable which would match Ioan's claim the horses were slaughtered."

"And left to rot?" Kormac's brow rose.

"So it seems."

"Disrespectful," Kormac grumbled. His people had long valued the stallions and mares that they caught running in the wild and tamed. They were their greatest pride—and their most expensive export. To have them not only slaughtered but then left to rot? Khaal had much to answer for.

Kormac strode into the barn and the smell turned his stomach. Not that he gagged. A warlord couldn't show weakness.

He glanced inside the stalls to see the remains of the once fine steeds lying where they'd died, their flesh ribboned. Why hadn't Khaal had them removed?

The courtyard held no bodies. Neither did the main chamber once he entered the fort. The long tables, flanked by benches, held dishes, the food on them moldy. Further investigation resulted in them finding some bodies in the barracks, the soldiers murdered in their beds, the blood long dried, the bodies rigid.

Kormac's lips tightened at the sight.

Lomar leaned close to murmur, "Think Ioan did this?"

"I don't know what to think." Ioan hadn't seemed strong enough to be able to cause such carnage, but he only had to remember the dungeon to wonder if they'd underestimated the man.

Kormac pointed to some of his soldiers. "Clear the dead." By clear he meant remove and burn. In his culture, they didn't bury those who passed. Burying trapped the soul. Only fire could release it from its fleshy prison. The morning they'd left, Ioan's body had been put on a pyre—a small one made up of trash and not the fine wood used for the soldiers—because even a traitor didn't deserve to slowly decay.

"Only one place left to check," Lomar murmured.

The watchtower where Ioan claimed Khaal had barricaded those who'd survived. He didn't hold much hope for those men, not with the deep silence they'd encountered thus far.

The watchtower sat at the rear of the garrison, facing the pass it guarded. It went a full two stories higher than the fort and had a large window-like opening at the top where not only could someone watch, but a fire could be burned to provide a signal. At least, that was the original intent. The watchtower three days ride away that would have seen it had collapsed during a tremor more than thirty years ago and never been rebuilt. Why bother when they had the birds to communicate? In retrospect, not too smart since whatever enemy they dealt with had eradicated them early on. If not for Ioan, it might have been months before they noticed a problem with the garrison.

The door at the base of the tower, the only entrance, appeared barricaded from the inside. The exterior of the portal was untouched, no scratches on its surface, also no reply to their pounding.

Kormac glanced at Lomar with his massive axe. "Take it down."

"If I must." Lomar grimaced. "My poor blade." He complained but he swung.

Thunk, thunk . His strong strokes splintered the seasoned wood. The thick panel took some time to penetrate and the moment Lomar created a small hole, they could smell it.

Death.