“I know,” said Farnar.
“The mage has the power to.”
“Men,” shouted Farnar. “The traitor’s ahead. Slay him and all with him. Now move smart.”
The shieldron drew swords and rushed into the room. Dar listened for the sounds of combat, but for a while it was ominously quiet. Then she heard confused shouts and ringing swords. Anxious to see what was happening, Dar was about to peek through the doorway when she spied a better vantage point. Near the end of the corridor, a portion of the wall and ceiling had collapsed into a high mound of rubble. From its top, Dar would be out of the way while having a bird’s-eye view of the kitchen. She clambered up the pile of stones and peered into the room beyond.
The kitchen was huge. Though much of its floor was covered with fallen stone, a space remained clear. There, a bizarre drama was unfolding. Othar sat atop, not in his litter. Nearby, a large iron cauldron sat upon a fire. A black-robed man stirred it. Judging from the smell, whatever boiled within the vessel was inedible. Kol stood next to him with sword drawn, ready to defend him. He had positioned himself so his back was to Othar. There were other black-robed men, but they lay slain about the floor. Yet there was combat. To Dar’s amazement, Farnar’s shieldron was fighting itself
The tolum led the assault against his soldiers. He fought vigorously, but without any sign of emotion. Those men who fought beside him were equally blank-faced as they murdered their comrades. One had an arm that was nearly severed; yet he seemed oblivious of the injury. With a shock, Dar realized that Othar was seizing the spirits of his attackers, transforming them into his protectors. Though outnumbered, Othar’s protectors were winning, for their former comrades seemed reluctant to fight them. Quickly, the dead outnumbered the living.
Eventually, the shieldron’s remaining men grasped their situation, and they fought with desperate intensity. More died on both sides. Sometimes, a man glanced at Othar, and instantly switched allegiance. Dar watched, appalled yet unable to look away. Soon only a dozen men remained fighting. Then seven. Then five.
Dar became aware that Othar was staring at her. After first spotting him, she had carefully avoided his eyes. Yet even without glancing in his direction, she felt his gaze. It was as immediate as a fire’s heat and just as physical. His hatred burned, commanding her to meet it. Dar was gripped by an irrational urge to glance into those scorching eyes. The urge was primal in its intensity, as strong as pain or hate and equally compelling. It took all of Dar’s will to resist it.
Another man died. Then another. The floor flowed with blood. A soldier slipped in it. The mishap cost him his life. Two soldiers remained—one expressionless and the other red-faced with fury. The furious man triumphed. He stood dazed and panting in a pool of crimson. Then Kol strode over and downed him with a single stroke. As the man fell with a splash, Kol grinned and gazed up at Dar. “I see you,” he said.
Dar scrambled down the pile of stones. Her clunky boots tripped her up, and she fell sprawling onto the blackened rumble. She hurt in half a dozen places, but she bolted upright to half run and half limp away. The walls of the storage rooms that had served the kitchen were still upright. Dar knew which room to enter. She darted into it. As she did, she heard Kol clamber down the rubble.
The room was empty, but it had once stored pashi. Because of this, there were openings in the base of its outer wall for ventilation. They were small, but large enough for Dar to squeeze through. She crouched before one. Its other side was covered with metal mesh. Dar kicked the mesh away, making more noise than she had hoped. Hearing rapid footsteps, she plunged into the opening. It was a tight squeeze. She was almost through when Kol grabbed her ankles. She slipped out of her boots and emerged on the other side of the wall. Discarding her overly long leggings, she hurried down the corridor. It was icy and difficult to negotiate barefoot.
Dar knew Kol couldn’t fit through the opening. That forced him to find another route into the corridor, giving her some time, but not much. I can’t outrun him forever, she thought, and he has a sword. Dar knew there was no escape, for Kol would never give up. One of them would have to die. It would be an uneven contest, so Dar concentrated on her few advantages. She knew the hall, and Kol didn’t. She also had a dagger. Dar recalled Sevren’s lessons: “There’sone time when you have an advantage over a swordsman. With a dagger, you can kill at a distance.” She also remembered his warning: “You only have one chance.”
An ambush seemed Dar’s only hope. Recalling that she had thrown a blade and hit Kol once before, she felt encouraged. Yet Dar was prudent enough to want an escape route if the throw went wide. Thus, she hurried toward the most ancient portion of the hall. The corridors there wiggled like snakes. Dar intended to surprise Kol at a bend, and duck into a room if she missed. The whole area was a warren of hanmuthis interconnected by small rooms and short passageways. Dar knew that maze, for the memories of former queens hadn’t faded entirely.
Since she was bait for the ambush, Dar ensured her trail was easy to follow. Being barefoot made her silent. Kol was not. His iron-studded boots gave him sure footing, but their steps were loud. Dar heard them echo between stone walls. As the steps sounded closer, Dar detected a fainter sound, a soft metallic one. Chain mail! I’ll have to hit his throat! She was considering fleeing when Kol rounded the curve.
Instinct took over. Without reflection, Dar threw her dagger. It flew from her hand with deadly force. The gleaming blade flipped in the air, a blur of motion. Then it struck hard in the center of Kol’s chest. It remained there a moment, then fell to the floor. Kol grinned and bent to pick it up.
The walls muffled Kol’s laughter, but it still seemed loud to Dar. “Do you have another blade or was this your only one?” By the confident sound of Kol’s gait, Dar knew he had guessed the answer. “Don’t fret. You’ll see your blade again. I’ll use it to slice off your nose. You’re Othar’s meat, but appearance doesn’t interest him.”
Dar crept from one burnt room to another, careful to be silent. She tried to leave no trace, but that was difficult. Open to the sky, the chambers and hallways were brightly lit. Soot and snow often worked together to make her footprints obvious. Dar’s feet stung from the cold, making her less agile.
Dar realized that the slain soldiers’ weapons were in the kitchen. But Othar’s there also, and he’s not alone. Dar wondered if Kol’s plan was to drive her toward him. She speculated on the purpose for the simmering cauldron. Perhaps it’s meant for me! Images of boiling alive made Dar retreat farther from the kitchen.
Dar was clever prey, but Kol was an accomplished hunter. She eluded him, but he never lost her trail for long. They moved through the desolate hall as a pair, sometimes far apart, sometimes close. Concentration caused Dar to lose track of time. Every movement was crucial, for any misstep left clues. Her icy feet began to bleed, making footprints more conspicuous. She sensed her time was running out.
Dar passed through an archway and was surprised to see that Muth la’s Dome stood intact. In my vision, it collapsed. This puzzled her, and she thought it might be significant. The structure stood apart from the surrounding hall, and though a nearby wall had collapsed, the dome was remarkably preserved. Even its wooden door was unscorched. Thinking the dome might offer a refuge, Dar walked over to the door and opened it. She hoped that it might bolt from the inside, but there was only a bolt on its exterior.
Dar turned to leave and saw her footprints leading to the door. The fire had reduced the weedy courtyard to a bed of ash covered by a thin skin of snow. Dar’s footsteps had made a dark and bold trail to the doorway. The door swung outward, and Dar opened it all the way to hide the exterior bolt. She stepped into the dome, halting on the stairs leading downward. Then Dar began walking backward, carefully placing her feet into the old footprints.