Skull Gate Read online

  She let out a string of curses with a viciousness that surprised even her. She pulled Aki roughly to her feet. The youngling's arms went around her waist, and her hands locked tightly. Aki trembled all over.

  “It's all right now,” Frost soothed. “He's gone, and we're both fine."

  Tears misted in Aki's azure eyes. “Who was he?” she cried senselessly. The child part of her overwhelmed the queenly part. She buried her face in Frost's short nightshirt.

  Frost separated herself from Aki's grasping arms and retrieved the object the assassin had left behind. It was a medallion. Her fingers traced the device raised on its surface. She started, and slowly the fire rose in her cheeks again. No mistaking that emblem. She didn't need a light to recognize that seal.

  “It wasn't your life he wanted, little one.” She ran the tip of her tongue over her lips, tasting her own sweat. The assassin had not gone to the wrong bed, as she first thought. “He came for me."

  Aki gave her a quizzical look. The mist began to clear from her eyes.

  “An old enemy dogs my tracks,” she explained. “I'd completely forgotten him, a nearly fatal mistake.” She picked up her sword. “Stay here and wait until I come back. Lock the door."

  “Where are you going?” Aki asked with wide, innocent eyes. “You gave your word he'd have time to escape. On your honor."

  Frost gave her a stern look. “Honor is a precious thing, Majesty. Like an orient spice, learn to use it sparingly.” She stepped into the blackness beyond the threshold, then whispered back, “I only promised not to alert the guards. I said nothing about pursuing him myself."

  She closed the door behind her with a soft thud and waited until she heard the bolt slide home. Her bare feet made no sound on the chill stones as she advanced. She listened for footsteps ahead. Nothing broke the eerie silence.

  There's more light in the bowels of hell, she thought, wishing for a torch or a lamp. Could he have gotten away so quickly? Or was he crouched unseen somewhere ahead, ready to plunge his stubby sword into her vitals? She held her sword out before her, as a blind man might hold a stick.

  Her right fist clutched the medallion, the sigil of Lord Rholf. The old man governed a city called Shazad in Rholaroth near the border of her own Esgaria. Two years before she'd been forced to kill a pair of his drunken sons. Rholf and his remaining sons chased her, bent on vengeance, but she thought she'd eluded them when she crossed into Chondos. Rholarothans feared that land with a superstitious dread. Yet somehow he'd managed to find her again.

  I'll not be hunted, she swore. I'll have to end this if it means returning to Shazad.

  She came to the stairs and began a cautious descent, feeling for the edges with her toes. Near the bottom the darkness began to dissolve as she approached the bright royal passage. The passage was empty. No sign of the intruder or the guard who should be on duty. She kicked the wall and cursed again.

  “Seems cursing is all I'm good for tonight.” Her words echoed meaninglessly in the corridor and faded away. She turned to mount the stairs.

  Sudden sounds of racing feet and rattling weapons made her stop. A squad of the palace guards spilled into the hall from one of the adjoining passages. Tras Sur'tian himself, commander of the elite force, led them, his aging face grim and creased with worry. Some of the worry seemed to disappear when he saw her.

  “Aki sounded the alarm!” he called gruffly.

  She held out a hand to halt them and nodded. There was a velvet cord by the queen's bed, and a bell attached to it in the guards’ quarters. A faint smile lifted the corners of her mouth. Aki must have rung it the minute her guardian left the room, throwing “honor” to the winds.

  “She's all right now."

  Tras Sur'tian said something else, but she didn't catch all the words. Instead, she wondered why his men were grinning in such an idiotic fashion. Then, a light draft spilled down the stairway from the unshuttered windows above, and she remembered with a start that all she wore was the thin nightshirt she slept in. Embarrassed, she waved her sword. “I'll cut the lips off the next man who smiles.” Their grins faded.

  Tras Sur'tian glowered at his men and ripped the cloak from a young lieutenant's back. She murmured thanks as he draped it over her shoulders.

  “You're hurt,” he said, spying the blood that trickled down her arm.

  “My own sword,” she said as ungentle fingers probed the wound. “I fell on its edge. Clumsy of me, but not serious."

  Hastily, she sketched the details of the intruder's surreptitious visit. Tras Sur'tian gave orders and half his men sped away to seal the exits from the palace grounds. Too late, she secretly feared.

  “First thing in the morning I want to see every man who was on duty tonight,” he told the lieutenant. “I'll know who fell asleep, or I'll hang the lot."

  “Let's see to Aki,” Frost said. “She's alone right now and no doubt frightened.” She hugged the cloak tighter around her shoulders and hurried up the stairs. The lamps borne by Tras Sur'tian and his squad lighted the way this time, and passage was much quicker.

  “Hell of a country that puts a child on its throne,” she muttered.

  Tras Sur'tian agreed. “The choice was not mine or yours to make."

  “I can't stay with her any longer, Tras.” She touched her old friend's shoulder. “I was thinking of leaving anyway, but now my presence is a threat to her safety. Aki mustn't be in the way if my enemies try again."

  Tras Sur'tian nodded understanding. They moved quietly up the last of the stairs. When they reached the door to Aki's bedchamber, Frost pushed. Locked from the inside, as she had instructed. She called out.

  No answer.

  Again she called, and a third time. Tras Sur'tian's hand clamped on her shoulder. “Let me try,” he said. One time only he called Aki's name, his booming voice filling the narrow corridor. Then he slammed his massive frame against the wooden door. It shook on its hinges, but held. A second assault broke the bolt; the door sprang open.

  A sickening stench of brimstone and sulfur boiled into the passage, filling her lungs with choking fumes. She staggered back coughing, nearly tripping over a man who had fainted behind her. Smoke stung her eyes. Someone bumped roughly into her, gasping for breath: Tras Sur'tian.

  She took a deep breath, covered her face with a corner of her cloak, and rushed into the room. No trace of Aki. The walls were scorched and blackened as if a fire had raged through. Wisps of thick smoke clung to everything. Yet despite the smoke, the walls, all evidence of fire, nothing was burned. Furnishings, carpets, tapestries were all intact.

  Tras Sur'tian pointed to the silken sheets strewn upon the royal bed. The canopied veils were thrown back. Five long, charred streaks ruined the fine material. The sentries all pressed closer for a better view.

  “It has the shape of a large handprint,” one guard observed.

  Indeed it did.

  “Sorcery,” whispered Tras Sur'tian. He made a hasty pass in the air. “The work of demons."

  The soldiers imitated his passes, invoking the protection of the One Korkyran God.

  Frost leaned on the windowsill and drew a clean, slow breath. The spires and minarets of the sleeping city made dark silhouettes on the star-speckled horizon. The sudden wind that stirred her hair did nothing to cool the flush of anger that ignited her heart. Her gaze swept the courtyard below, then the palace boundaries and beyond, as if from her high vantage she might penetrate the gloomy shadows that swallowed up the streets and alleys.

  Tras Sur'tian came to her side. “Come away and let me tend your arm.” His voice was low, thick with fear and sorrow. “There's nothing more to do here."

  She shook him off. It had been her job to protect the child-queen. She had failed. The blame was hers. She gripped her sword-hilt until her knuckles went white and threatened to break the skin.

  Where was Aki?

  She looked up at the moon for an answer.

  The pale crescent was still a smile in the night sky.

&
nbsp; Chapter Two

  There was no sleeping that night. She spent the time interviewing guards and combing the palace grounds for any clue to Aki's disappearance. Little hope, she told herself bitterly. Not by physical means had the little queen been stolen from under their noses.

  As dawn began to unfold in the east, she made her way back to the tower and the chamber she shared with Aki. A pair of sentries stood watch at the door, set there by Tras Sur'tian. They saluted sharply as she passed between them.

  A vague odor of brimstone still lingered in the room.

  Beneath her bed she kept a chest containing her few possessions. She retrieved it and, kneeling began to rummage through. There were traveling clothes of gray leather; she spread them on the bed. There was a silver circlet inset with a polished, gleaming moonstone; she placed it on her head to hold back her hair.

  “Very pretty."

  She glanced over her shoulder. For a heavy man, Tras Sur'tian could move quietly. “A gift from an old friend,” she said, and turned back to her rummaging.

  “It becomes you,” he answered. “And what's that?"

  She gazed at the small silken-wrapped bundle in her hand and the three strips of leather that bound it. For a long time she hesitated, just staring at it. Then she drew a slow breath, closed the lid of the chest, and pushed it back under the bed. There was nothing else she needed.

  “What is it?” Tras Sur'tian repeated. “It must be precious; you've wrapped it so carefully."

  She almost smiled at that. Any Esgarian would have recognized the binding. White silk and leather were meant to contain a charm's magic power. If an object were wrapped so, its energies would not seep away, nor could it be contaminated by outside influences.

  But this bundle contained no mere charm, and the binding was little more than hopeful caution on her part. She untied the leather strips one by one and laid them aside. Then she unrolled the silk.

  Tras Sur'tian whistled softly and leaned closer.

  The dagger gleamed softly in the combined lamplight and light of dawn that spilled through the window. The sheath was pure polished silver and the belt a chain of shining silver discs. Three crimson bloodstones sparkled on the dagger's silver hilt.

  “A finer-looking piece I've never seen!” Tras Sur'tian reached out to touch it.

  “No!” She caught his hand. “No one touches Demonfang but me. Pray you never learn why.” She pushed his hand away, rose, and set the dagger beside her riding clothes.

  “Demonfang?"

  She began to undress, casting off her soldier's garb. She thought nothing of Tras Sur'tian's presence. Men had seen her naked before. “A silly habit we Esgarians have of naming our weapons."

  “What do you call your sword?"

  She shrugged. “Sword.” In truth, Demonfang had been named long before she'd come to possess it.

  She pulled on the riding outfit and tucked the trousers legs into her boots, buckled the dagger on her left hip, sword on her right.

  “You're going to look for her, aren't you?"

  “She was my charge,” Frost answered coldly. “I let her be taken."

  “What could you have done against sorcery?” he responded. “You're a warrior, not a witch."

  She stiffened, then drew a careful breath and let it pass. “She was my charge,” she repeated.

  Two more guards appeared in the doorway. They called her name. “His Highness summons you,” said one. “We are sent as escort."

  Frost shot a look at Tras Sur'tian.

  “It's what I came to tell you,” he said. “Thogrin Sin'tell arrived less than an hour ago. He'll rule in Aki's place now. The coronation is three days away."

  She was able to hide her anger from the guards at the door, but Tras Sur'tian knew her too well. “He has the right,” he continued, “as Aki's first cousin and Baron of Endymia. Korkyra cannot be without a monarch."

  “I'll be along shortly,” she said to her escort, and she made to shut the door.

  The guards did not budge. “We are to escort you."

  “I'll escort her myself,” said Tras Sur'tian. “You are dismissed.” The two bowed, turned smartly, and disappeared. Frost closed the door.

  “Endymia is on the other side of the kingdom,” she hissed when they were alone. “How in the nine hells did Thogrin Sin'tell learn Aki was missing?"

  Tras Sur'tian tried to calm her. “He didn't. He was coming to pay a visit, that's all."

  “Traveling at night?” she pushed. “In all the two years I've served Aki, Thogrin Sin'tell has never shown his face at court. Why now, of all times?"

  “Are you saying he's involved?"

  She nearly laughed at his disbelieving countenance. “Right up to his coronet. You can't be so stupid. You have to see it."

  He shook his head. “He's of royal blood."

  She spat. “History is written with such blood, families butchering each other for a crown. The armies are loyal to Aki. Arrest this rat and wring some answers from him!"

  Tras Sur'tian paced the room. “They won't do it. No army of Korkyra has ever rebelled against a monarch. They won't do it,” he repeated. “I won't do it."

  “He's not your monarch,” she insisted.

  His face purpled and one fist pounded the wall. “We have no proof that Aki lives,” he roared, “or that Thogrin's involved in her disappearance!"

  “A taste of the rack would gain you such proof, I'll warrant."

  He straightened, striving for a measure of control again. For all her urging, Tras Sur'tian was a Korkyran commander, a soldier trained to loyal service. “It is not possible,” he said finally.

  She gave up. There was more to worry about. “Do you know why he wants to see me?"

  Tras Sur'tian turned to face her; maybe her words had left a mark after all, for she read a sudden concern in his large brown eyes.

  “I can only guess,” he answered. “With Aki gone you have no status now. You're a common mercenary again, and your fate is in Thogrin's hands."

  She frowned. “That's not terribly reassuring."

  “Be wary of him, woman.” Tras Sur'tian was suddenly animate again. He paced the floor and rubbed his hands as he spoke. “Thogrin does not look like much of a man. In fact, I doubt he has ever held a sword. But he is wily and has about him the look of a man who has waited a long time to be king. Say nothing about this quest of yours to find his cousin. He'll not look favorably on it, or on any action that would foster the belief that Aki still lives."

  “Would he try to keep me from leaving?"

  Tras Sur'tian nodded. “If he knows you plan to search for Aki."

  She thought for a moment, realizing that time was slipping away and that Thogrin Sin'tell was waiting for her. “Then, Tras, if you hold our friendship of any worth, and if you ever loved Aki, you must do something for me.” She removed her sword and wrapped it in the gray cloak that still lay on the bed. She pressed it into his arms. “My horse is in the royal stables. Bring him to the eastern gate. Don't try to saddle him, just bring the gear. Speak my name, and he'll follow you. Don't treat him roughly. And best you disguise yourself in some way so no one knows you gave me any aid."

  Tras Sur'tian looked disturbed, his brow furrowed. “You'd ask me to disobey my king?"

  “Has he already given orders that I'm not to leave?"

  The old commander shook his head.

  “Then you're not disobedient. And if you leave now, you'll never hear if such an order is given."

  He seemed unconvinced. She touched his arm and spoke softly. “Tras, please? I'll need your help."

  At last he shrugged his huge shoulders. “Damn if I ever thought I'd see the day a woman made me her puppet,” he said, “but you've done so, and handily."

  “Then I've one more thing to do.” She unfastened Demonfang's belt, then her tunic, which she raised above her breasts. She rebuckled the dagger next to her skin. When she lowered her garment no trace of it showed.

  She caught the look in Tras Sur'ti
an's eye. “I'm no assassin,” she assured him. “But I can't leave this blade lying around or trust it even into your care. Neither can I wear it openly in Thogrin's presence, since he's of royal blood and I'm not sworn to him. This is the best way.” She pulled a piece of velvet cord from the trimming on Aki's bed and tied it around her waist for a belt. “See,” she said, patting the dagger beneath her tunic, “how difficult it would be to reach?"

  Tras Sur'tian hugged her sword in its cloak wrapping. “I'll be at the gate,” he said, “and look that you deal cautiously with Thogrin Sin'tell."

  “If I'm not there in an hour, look for me in prison."

  His eyes darkened at that, but he said no more. They opened the door and departed, leaving the two original sentries to guard an empty room.

  Two more sentries stood rigidly outside the reception hall. They parted as she approached, but she hesitated between them. She knew the role she had to play, and a few moments to compose herself would ease her task. Slowly, the anger ebbed from her, and the tension in her muscles faded. She checked her appearance, making sure Demonfang could not be detected under her clothes. Finally, she felt ready to confront Thogrin Sin'tell.

  The reception hall doors were massive carven oak. At her push they swung back on well-oiled hinges.

  She had stood in this hall on countless occasions. It never failed to impress her. The ceiling was supported, not by columns, but on the heads of tall, slender sculptures of milk-white marble, men and women from the various Korkyran myths and legends. The ceiling and floor were painted with all manners of birds and animals and flowers. The walls were draped with tapestries. A light incense floated in the air.

  At the far end of the hall twenty ivory steps led upward to the emerald throne. Above it, the ceiling rose in a deep bell. The merest whisper could be heard clearly throughout the entire chamber.

  Sprawled on the cushioned seat, Thogrin Sin'tell spoke to her. “You've kept me waiting, woman."

  She didn't miss the mocking note or the thinly veiled threat. Her footsteps echoed loudly on the painted tiles, and she bent one knee on the bottom stair. She averted her eyes.