None of the knights walked here with their lord unless they were specially invited. There was no greater honor than to be asked to climb Mt. Ambition with Lord Ariakan, sharing his stroll and his thoughts. Krell had come here often with his lord. It was the one place he most avoided during imprisonment. He would not have come here now, but that this peak afforded him the best view of the inlet and the dock, and the human speck that was attempting to climb what the knights called the Black Stairs.
Perched amid the rocks, Krell looked down over the edge of the cliff at Mina. He could see the life pulsing in her, see life’s warmth illuminating her, as a candle flame lights the lantern. The sight made him feel death’s chill all the more, and he glared down at her with loathing and bitter envy. He could kill her now. It would be easy.
Krell recalled a walk with his commander along this very part of the wall. They had been discussing the possibility of an assault on their keep by sea and arguing over whether or not they would use archers to pick off any of the enemy who were either bold enough or stupid enough to try to climb the Black Stairs.
“Why waste arrows?” Ariakan gestured to the boulders piled in heaps all around them. “We will simply toss rocks at them.”
The boulders were good-sized. The strongest men in the knighthood would have had to work hard to lift them up and heave them over the wall. Himself one of those strong men assigned to this post, Krell had always been disappointed that no one had ever mounted an assault against the fort. He had often pictured the carnage that those hurtling missiles would have created among an enemy—soldiers struck by the stones falling off the stairs, plunging, screaming, to bloody and broken death on the crags below.
Krell was sorely tempted to pick up one of those boulders and hurl it down on Mina, just to witness firsthand the destruction he had always fondly imagined. He controlled himself with an effort. Meeting this killer of death knights face-to-face was a rare opportunity, one not to be wasted. He was so looking forward to it that he actually cursed when he saw Mina slip and almost fall. If he’d had breath in his body, he would have sighed it out in relief when she managed to regain her footing and continue her slow and laborious climb.
The air was chill, for the sun was rarely allowed to break through the clouds that hung over Storm’s Keep. Exertion and the sudden flash of terror caused by her near fatal slip sent chill sweat rolling down Mina’s neck and breasts. The wind that keened endlessly among the rocks dried the sweat, set her to shivering. She had brought gloves, but she found she could not wear them. More than once, she was forced to dig her fingers into fissures and slits in order to drag herself from one stair up onto the next.
Every step she took was precarious. Some of the stairs had large cracks running through them, and she had to test each one before she put her weight on it. Her leg muscles soon cramped and ached. Her fingers bled, her hands were raw, her knees scraped.
Pausing to try to ease the pain in her legs, she looked upward, hoping she was near the end.
Movement caught her eye. She caught a glimpse of a helmed head peering down at her from the top of the cliff. Mina blinked to clear her eyes of salt spray, and the head was gone.
She did not doubt what she had seen, however.
The stairs seemed to go on forever, climbing up to heaven, and at the top, Krell was waiting.
Below her, the sea surged over glistening, sharp pointed boulders. Foam swirled on top of turgid water. Mina closed her eyes and sagged against the cliff face. She was worn out and she was only about halfway up the stairs. She would be exhausted by the time she reached the top, where she would have to face the death knight who had somehow been warned of her coming.
“Zeboim,” Mina said with a curse. “She warned Krell. What a fool I am! So proud of myself to think that I had deceived a goddess, when all along it was the goddess who was deceiving me. But why would she alert him? That’s the question. Why?”
Mina tried to puzzle this out. “Did she look into my heart and see the truth? Did she see I was coming to free Krell? Or is this just a whim of hers? Pitting the two of us against each other for an hour’s entertainment.”
Thinking back to her conversation with the goddess, Mina guessed the latter. She pondered what to do and it was then a thought occurred to her. She opened her eyes, looked back up at the peak where she had seen Krell standing.
“He could have killed me if he’d wanted to,” she realized. “Cast a spell on me, or if nothing else, dropped a rock on my head. He didn’t. He’s waiting to confront me. He wants to toy with me. Taunt me before killing me. Krell is no different from other undead. No different, even, than the god of death himself.”
From months of commanding a legion of souls, Mina knew that the dead have a weakness—a hunger for the living.
The part of Krell that remembered what it was to be alive craved interaction with the living. He needed to feel vicariously the life that he had lost. He hated the living, and so he would kill her eventually. But she could be assured that at least he would not slay her outright, before she had a chance to speak, to tell him her plan. The knowledge lent her hope and raised her spirits, though it did nothing to ease the cramps in her legs or the bone-numbing chill. She had a long and dangerous trek ahead of her and she had to be ready, both physically and mentally, to meet a deadly foe at the end of it.
The name of Chemosh came, warm to her numb lips. She sensed the god’s presence, sensed him watching her.
She did not pray for help. He had told her he had none to give, and she would not demean herself by begging. She whispered his name, held it fast in her heart to give her strength, and placed her foot carefully on the next stair, testing it.
The stair held firm, as did the next. Gaining that stair, she had her eyes on her footing, watching where she was going, using her hands to feel her way along the cliff face. Inching her hands along, she was startled to feel nothing, so startled that she almost lost her grip. A narrow fissure split the rock wall.
Balancing precariously on the stair, Mina placed her hands on either side of the crack and peered inside. The gray light of day did not penetrate far into the darkness, but what she could see was intriguing—a smooth floor, obviously man-made, about three feet below where she stood. She could not see much beyond the floor, but she had the impression of a vast chamber. She sniffed the air. The smell was familiar, reminding her of something.
A granary. She had just liberated the city of Sanction. Her men, busy securing the city, had come upon a granary. She had gone to inspect it, and this was the smell or close to it. In the Sanction warehouse, the grain had been recently put up and the smell was overwhelming. Here the smell was faint and mingled with mildew, but Mina was certain she had found the granary of the fortress of Storm’s Keep.
The location made sense, for it was close to the dock where the grain would be unloaded from the ship. Somewhere at the top of the cliff there must be an opening, a chute down which they would have poured the grain. The granary would be empty now. It had been forty years since the Keep had been abandoned. Hundreds of generations of rats would have feasted off any stores the knights had left behind.
Not that any of that mattered. What mattered was that she had found a way to slip inside the fortress, a way to take Krell by surprise.
“Chemosh,” said Mina in sudden understanding.
His name had been on her lips when she found the crack in the wall. She had not asked for his help, but he had granted it, and her heart beat fast with the knowledge that he wanted her to succeed. She eyed the crack in the wall. It was narrow, but she was slender. She could just possibly squeeze through it, although not while wearing the cuirass. She would have to take it off and that would leave her without any armor when she came to face the death knight.