The Crimson Lord (The Dark God Rises Trilogy Book 2) Read online

  “And did you see the dead men that haunt the place?” Hruidgar asked. “Are the legends true?”

  There it was. The crux of the matter. It was almost like Hruidgar was the voice of the whole army, for they fell silent and awaited the answer to his question. But voice or no, it was a question only and not the stating of an intention to resist.

  “I saw many strange things. Where there’s smoke there’s fire. The place is said to be haunted, and I believe it.” He stood taller and spoke more proudly. “But I keep my fear for live men with sharp steel rather than dead men with grudges. And they will have no grudge against us, for despite the legends, it’s never said that harm comes to anyone who travels by the fortress. Nor did harm come to me, as a boy, within it.”

  Hruidgar gave a shrug. “What you say is true. Men shun the place, and stories of its haunting are many, but no tale tells of any harm coming to someone. If you go there, I’ll follow.”

  Brand gave a nod to acknowledge his words. He realized that the hunter was helping him, for he had voiced the fears of the soldiers, but then in agreeing to go himself he had deflated any opposition. It was a smart tactic, and once more Brand wondered about the man. He was far more than the simple hunter he seemed.

  “We march!” Brand called, seizing the moment. “And if nothing else, soon you’ll have walls about you to keep away the wind and a roof to protect you from the rain. He turned and walked to his horse, gathering the reins and leading the army off.

  The men followed. He knew they would, for he had just led them to a great victory, but what Hruidgar had done helped. He would not forget, but one day soon he’d have to have a conversation with the hunter and find out more about him.

  None of his companions said anything. Shorty and Taingern at least would have faith in his judgement. Sighern, despite his fear of the place, said nothing either. He was one who would go wherever Brand led, no matter his own feelings. It was one more responsibility on top of a long list of others, but Brand would do his best not to let him down.

  The men followed behind, quiet and subdued. They had no wish to go where he intended, yet they marched at a good pace and did not let their doubts slow them. They were fine soldiers, learning to trust in their leader and work well together in a single unit. Had he the time, he could turn them into one of the best armies in all Alithoras. But what then? What would he do with them? It worried him that his mind even went to such places.

  Throughout the day scouts reported to him. They were not being followed, nor was there any sign of enemies ahead. The battle they had won had given them freedom of movement, at least for a while. The High Way was theirs, and they moved quickly along it.

  As the army marched, passing by villages and farming lands, new recruits joined them. Rumor of their victory went before the marching men. And rumor of their victory also brought its opposite: knowledge that Unferth could be defeated and overthrown. When the army came into view, it swelled people’s hearts. Here were the soldiers who had fought back, who had outsmarted and outmaneuvered Unferth’s army and given the usurper a bloody nose. Next would come the final battle, and they wanted to be a part of that, they wanted to do their bit as the men already in the army had done theirs.

  So it went, mile by mile and village by village. Many who joined them were farmers, young men more used to tending sheep and cattle than fighting, but every man in the Duthgar trained as a child in the arts of the warrior and most had at least a sword and helm. Many had coats of mail armor also, and those who did not had vests of hardened leather.

  The day passed. Another day followed, like the first, only now they were in a more populous part of the Duthgar and the number of recruits increased. Lords in halls also joined them, and Brand sent word ahead through his scouts that they needed food. This too, they increasingly were given as they progressed. And they would have need of it if Brand’s tactics worked, for within Pennling Palace they would be under siege, and they would need supplies to last them some while. But it was not going to be a long siege. The Duthenor, neither attackers nor defenders, had the temperament for that.

  The lords were useful with supplies. They had wealth, and this purchased many needful things. Their swords were welcome too, and they brought men with them, though most of these would have joined Brand’s army anyway. Many a lord joined the army merely because without doing so they would be left in their own lands, bereft of warriors and prestige. Moreover, better than anything else, the lords spread the word of the army’s coming and to whence it marched. They used riders for this, and word spread. Brand was done hiding. He did not care now if Unferth found him. He wanted his enemy to find him.

  Late in the afternoon, the High Way climbed upward. A great forest of dark pines swathed the steep lands to left and right. Brand knew that forest, had hidden there also for a time. A dim and dreary place, yet he had liked it well enough once he had got used to it.

  The road was steep now. There were no farms here, no people, no sign of habitation of any sort. The Duthenor came seldom here, and when they did they hastened along the road, wary of being forced to camp the night near Pennling Palace. And there, at last, it stood.

  It was just as he remembered it. Like an outcrop of the stony ridge upon which it was built, ancient, crumbling in places, but not at the walls. The forest did not grow near it, though here and there some stunted trees made the attempt. It was a bulky thing, a hulking fortress, the stone of its making massive blocks that only a giant could move. So ran some of the legends, but Brand knew better. Men had built it, and they built it to keep at bay an attacking army.

  Shorty let out a low whistle. “It sure isn’t pretty, but whoever built it knew what they were about. Unferth will grind his teeth when he sees it.”

  “Aye,” Taingern agreed. “But for the moment I’m less interested in Unferth and more in who built it. If it wasn’t the Duthenor, then who are the dead men that are supposed to haunt it? And why?”

  6. Sorcery

  Brand had no answers to Taingern’s questions. He did not know who had built the fortress, or why it might be haunted. But he had guesses that would serve for the moment. Soon enough, he would learn if his guesses were correct.

  “It was probably built by the Letharn, that ancient race that once ruled much of Alithoras. Why? Who can say? It’s a fortress though, and that means it had a military purpose. I was once told that the greatest enemy of the Letharn were a people known as the Kirsch. Legend says that their empire was far, far to the south. I would guess the fortress to be a defense against them.”

  Taingern kept his gaze on the structure ahead. “And what of the dead men said to haunt it?”

  “That may be mere legend,” Brand answered. “Or it may be true. I cannot say.”

  “But you have suspicions, yes?”

  Taingern knew him well, too well it seemed sometimes. “Of course. If it’s true, which remains to be seen, then there was sorcery involved. Whose, and to what purpose, I don’t know.”

  “But to no good purpose,” Taingern replied. It was not a question but rather a statement, and Brand agreed.

  “No, there’s evil behind it, that’s for sure.” He did not bother to pretend anymore that the fortress may not be haunted. He had seen neither ghost nor spirit when he was here as a boy, but he had felt unseen eyes on him and heard noises that could not be accounted for. And the long-dead remains of ancient warriors had been visible, and the relics of the final battle they had fought. No, he had not seen any ghosts, but he had not stayed there more than a day and a night. This time, he would be here longer, and the truth, whatever it was, would come out.

  The army drew closer to the structure. A massive thing of gray stone it was, impenetrable and hopeless to attack. Yet once it had been, and the defenders had lost. That much he could read by the damage done to the defenses. He hoped that he and the Duthenor had more luck than those who last held the walls.

  Behind, the army slowed. Every man looked on those same walls. They knew death
had visited them in past ages, and they hoped to escape the fate, whatever it was, that caused the fortress to be haunted. They did not need the proofs that Brand wanted in order to believe with certainty, they believed as a matter of faith. The legends said it was haunted, and that was that. Yet even so, grim and fearful as they had become, they followed him, and he was proud to be their leader.

  They came to a point where there were signs of an old road branching off from the High Way, and Brand took it. It led directly to the fortress. The path was covered by overgrown grass, and stumpy shrubbery dotted it. Yet it went straight as an arrow shot to the middle section of the wall that faced them.

  The further they went, the more the true size of Pennling Palace was apparent. It was not huge in terms of the ground that it covered, but it had a presence. Brand had no other word for it. Massive stones were laid on massive stones. The walls ran straight and true despite their size, as though it had been mere child’s play to construct them, and the proportions of towers and minarets to walls was beautifully crafted. At least to a military eye. Most of all, it was a construction that dominated. And that was no accident. But there were problems too, brought on by time and the effects of the last battle fought here.

  “These will have to go,” Brand said, sweeping out an arm to indicate the stunted trees that grew in patches close to the walls. “Not an ant should be able to find cover from arrow shot from above.”

  “I’ll organize men to see to it,” Taingern offered.

  They came to a gate in the wall. A gate was always the weakest link in the defense, and so it had proved here in ages past. What remained of it was a thing of buckled metal bars, pitted by rust and covered in lichen. And yet the metal could not have been iron, otherwise Brand doubted it would have survived century after century in the open. No, it was a metal the making of which had likely not survived into the current age. For that reason, perhaps the gate could be salvaged.

  He turned to Shorty. “You’re in charge of the gate. Find whatever men in the army have experience with blacksmithing, and see what they can do with it.” He did not have to say it was the first priority. Shorty knew that as well as he.

  Brand led the army onward. At least the two towers that hulked to each side and allowed men to protect the gate appeared in good shape. From them, men could fire arrows, throw spears and drop stones or heated oil on an enemy.

  The stonework around the gate, or where the gate would have stood if not broken, was a strange shape. Instead of square or rectangular, it was triangular. So too the gate itself, but that part of the twisted metal lay mostly beneath some rubble. He had seen such designs before. It was confirmation that the Letharn had built this place, for the triangle was a pattern they favored. The places where he had seen such workmanship before were all of a likeness to what he saw now. It was a strange design to his eyes, but it gave him comfort too. The Letharn built things to endure.

  They passed along the dark tunnel that led through the wall. It was a creepy place, full of shadows and echoes. It was a killing ground, and slots within the walls allowed room for arrows to be fired and spears thrust. In the last battle, the defenses had served their purpose. Here and there were bits and pieces of rusted metal, likely to be all that was left of weapons and armor, the wooden shafts having rotted away eons ago. White bone glimmered in places too, dug up from beneath the rubble and dirt that lined the floor by scavengers.

  Brand estimated the tunnel to be some thirty feet long when he emerged out the other end. That meant walls thirty feet thick, assuming they were the same all around the fortress. Let Unferth crack his head against that. It was a grim thought, but he liked it. Whatever frustrated his enemy was a thing of glory.

  His grim humor was short-lived. Unferth would send men to their deaths here, but he would likely not fight himself. But time would tell on that point. If he did not though, he would have more and more trouble sending the men. They would dislike it, and morale would deteriorate swiftly.

  He walked into a courtyard. This too was a killing ground, and many had died here. The remnants of ancient battle were still visible, but on a far vaster scale than in the tunnel.

  “This will all need to be cleared,” Shorty said.

  It was a graveyard, of sorts, and Brand was mindful of that. “Yes, but ensure that whatever bones are found receive an honorable burial outside the walls.”

  It was not much, but it was the best he could do. He felt a kinship with the men who had died defending this place. He and his army would soon face the same.

  He swung to Sighern. “For a while, this fortress is the heart of the Duthgar. Climb the stairs yonder,” he pointed to one of the gate towers that would provide access to the battlement, “and secure the flag somewhere at the top. It will be visible to the countryside about and let new recruits know that Duthenor warriors occupy this place.”

  Sighern flashed him a grin and ran into the tower.

  “The energy of youth,” Shorty muttered. “The time will come when he’ll wish that he conserved his strength.”

  “But it’s good to see anyway,” Taingern said. “He takes his role with the banner seriously, and well he might. Time enough in the days to come to learn the hardships of war.”

  Brand did not comment. His mind was busy, for it was his job to ensure that whatever hardships came were minimized. He could not stop them, but if he played his role well, he could lessen the tragedy to come.

  He opened his senses to the courtyard and the ancient battle that had been fought here. In response, he felt the magic within him stir. It sent out tendrils, seeking, questing, discovering.

  The battle was ancient, but this much he knew already. Death abounded, and the stone paving of the courtyard had run red with blood. This much he had already discerned. Yet there was betrayal too. He swung to the gate tunnel, and realized that it stank with treachery. This was good to know. The enemy had not overthrown the gate, but rather some small number of defenders had arranged … had allowed … the enemy to enter and destroy it. No. That was not it. Not enemy warriors. They would not have needed to bend and buckle the gate as Brand himself had seen just moments ago. No. If they were allowed in by treachery, the gate would not have been damaged.

  Sorcery. That was it. Brand’s magic flared to life. It felt the touch of ancient magic, both within the gate and from without that had been used to destroy it. It was not constructed of some strange metal, rather it had been infused with defensive magic. And the betrayers had allowed the sorcerer to work his spells unobstructed. After that, the tide of the battle had turned and death washed over the fortress in a mighty wave, unstoppable.

  Brand swayed. This was a use of the magic that he had never attempted before, had not even known was possible. But the magic had a life of its own. Sometimes it prompted him, rose as though by instinct as it did now. Yet he had the disconcerting feeling of being in two places at once, and the world spun slowly around him, filled with shadows. He must learn whatever else he could quickly.

  More than one type of magic had been used here. The one was unfamiliar, the other he had sensed in different places and times. It reminded him of Aranloth, and he knew then that this was not only a Letharn stronghold but one guarded by soldiers and a wizard of great power. There had been a battle here of enormous scope, and not just men against men and sword against sword but wizardry against sorcery. The memory of it lingered still, after all these years.

  And there was more than memory. Somewhere, sorcery still lived. As his senses sharpened, he felt it all the more strongly. Black. Evil. A blight upon the Duthgar. He could not tell exactly where its origin was, but it was within the heart of the fortress, and down deep, deep in the earth.

  He swayed again, and felt Taingern’s hand on his shoulder, supporting him. The earth seemed to rush toward him, but his friend caught him and held him up.

  “What is it?” Taingern hissed. He seemed to think they were under some sort of attack, for his sword was drawn in his other hand and his g
aze darted to and fro, seeking some enemy but finding none.

  Brand straightened. The magic faded away, and he felt strength return to his legs. But the memory of evil left a cold sensation in his very bones, and a dread chill settled into the pit of his stomach.

  “All is well,” he said. “At least with us.”

  Taingern looked uncertain, but sheathed his sword.

  Shorty had drawn close too, a concerned look on his face. “Something just happened then. What was it?”

  “First things first,” Brand answered. He called over some of the lords and gave instructions.

  “The foundations of all we need are here, but we must work hard to bring it all into the best shape possible. And we don’t have much time.”

  He told them what he wanted done. Scouts must be sent out far and wide to discover what was happening in the Duthgar. The battlements were to be checked, cleared of rubble and manned. The trees before the walls were to be cleared, and they would report to Taingern on progress. The gate was to be looked at and seen if it would serve again. Shorty would supervise that. He also instructed that the fortress be explored, and that barracks for the men to sleep in and kitchens were to be found. Facilities for this would exist in the fortress. And water was to be located and checked. There would be wells here.

  “In short,” he said, “make this place fit to live in and defend, perhaps for weeks. But do it quickly. Unferth may be upon us in mere days.”

  The lords hastened away. Brand had given them much to do, and they knew he expected results. If they failed in their tasks, others would replace them as leaders.

  “And what of us?” Taingern asked, meaning both himself and Shorty. “Someone needs to keep an eye on the lords. They’ve no experience of what it takes to secure a fortress.”

  Brand sighed. “No, but they’ll manage for a little while by themselves. I gave them clear enough instructions.”

  “Then you want us for something else?”