13. Knights of the Keep
13
KNIGHTS OF THE KEEP
Stone blocks glowed yellow in moonlight. The vista could be a landscape print hung in a spare room—if guests didn’t mind a persistent sense of unease, either from the slight alienness of foliage or the eerily flawless silvery orb hanging above. Or maybe it was only current events turning a pretty view into something far more sinister; Ari couldn’t tell.
Jazarl waited for what seemed an eternity, crouched and staring at the road from behind a screen of leather-leaved bushes, before motioning them all forward. Walking helped; Ari was finally able to breathe deeply again, and each lungful of cool clear air put a little more of the terror and uncertainty behind her.
Maybe having other people around helped as well. Humans were tribal creatures, and there was a certain comfort in being part of a group. She’d almost forgotten—for so long her world had been that awful white mansion, the town simply enemy territory she had to navigate with an apologetic smile and quick steps.
That’s Mike Hardison’s wife. Got her in the big city, she don’t talk to anyone. Stuck-up, I guess .
Christ, she would be glad to never see or even think of that shitty whistle-stop burg ever again. Like any wish, though, it carried a terrible price tag. At least big, shiny, murderous robots didn’t pretend to be friendly.
The guys traded off positions, keeping her surrounded—one on either side, one before, one behind, as if she was some kind of VIP to be ushered along Secret Service-style. Unease at being hemmed in warred with cautious relief, especially as the big blank-faced moon sank gently to the horizon.
When the sky was half-full of grey and traces of mist crept between the trees, Jazarl called a halt. Off the road, safe behind a screen of undergrowth, they offered her more water from their oddly shaped canteens.
Ari turned it down as politely as possible, and they were back to hiking shortly afterward. Then, at dawn, came another shock—the daylight here, bright but reddish, turned out to be that way because the sun was a giant exhausted crimson orb.
There were limits even to doubting one’s own perceptions, Ari discovered; the big gold-armored robot was one, and the sun was another. Was it a red giant, on its last hydrogen legs?
Now she had to worry about the sun going out, too. Should’ve gotten a degree in astrophysics instead , she thought, and couldn’t restrain a tired, hiccuping chuckle.
“My lady?” Majan’s forehead wrinkled. He was trooping along on her right again; her arm still remembered his grasp during the wild flight from the robots. The feeling was familiar, a bruise deciding if it wanted to rise to the surface.
She’d had far worse.
“Nothing.” Ari’s fingers tingled; she found out she was picking at her flannel’s buttons. The woods were full of birdsong and the movement of small creatures going about their business, taking no notice of human-shaped interlopers. “Those things. The… the clockworks.”
“The Golden.” He nodded, as if he’d expected her to ask. “Servants of the Bright King. We know not from where he brings them, or if he builds them in his Mirrored City amid the Blight.”
He sounds like a laugh a minute . Now she had other terms to add to her list as well. Were these guys a resistance faction, a sort of fantasy Free French? Maybe they were just garden-variety bandits, she couldn’t assume. She belatedly realized at least a polite noise was required on her part to keep the conversation going. “Oh.”
“He is faithless, and accursed.” Alzarien was on her left now, and his steps landed at exactly the same time as hers, his stride artificially shortened. Maybe he was making a game out of it, like elementary school kids walking in line. “Now that you are returned?—”
“We should not mention that upon the Road.” Jazarl, from behind. “The Grey Lady will explain, in a manner befitting. Our task is different.”
“Hannixe does not speak,” Sarle said quietly. He sped up a little, drawing away in front of them.
That put paid to all further chitchat, but Ari had at least a little more information. Mortal was still the biggest question mark, but returned was also a strange term.
Now, in daylight, she could attempt thinking about the dreams. The nightmares , starring the haggard face of a man wrapped in chains. They came in waves, for as far back as she could remember; even Mom had been puzzled by the strength and duration of her daughter’s night terrors. The shock, three months into dating Mike, that she hadn’t suffered one since meeting him had turned into a source of quiet exhilaration.
The last time Ari visited her mother’s grave, she’d whispered, I think I’ve found the guy, I don’t dream anymore .
Would she ever see her mother’s headstone again? Mike had gone off the last time she suggested a trip up north to visit. Waste of time and gas , he sneered, and when she persisted—oh, very cautiously, in her softest voice—he’d slapped her. A bowl of popcorn had gone flying, and that got her an additional shot to the kidneys. Then she’d endured a lecture the following day from Wanda Lee, who found a kernel Ari had missed.
The road was nice and level, but she was afraid of stumbling anyway. Time wore on, the big red sun mounting, and at least she wasn’t sweating. Her stomach didn’t growl, another blessing.
What was in that water? She wasn’t big on caffeine, but a cup of tea sounded wonderful right now. So did buttered toast, even though she wasn’t truly hungry.
Would she ever eat again? Nobody had mentioned breakfast, lunch, dinner. Maybe it wasn’t polite to ask, as in certain cultures used to food instability. The only thing saving her from making some kind of giant faux pas was keeping her mouth shut, always the best strategy no matter one’s surroundings, but…
“Hist.” Majan halted—he was in front now, the bow strapped to his back bobbing. He held up a hand. “Alzar?”
“I hear it,” the crimson-haired man replied from Ari’s left.
Jazarl hustled them into the underbrush. A few days ago—Ari’s sense of time had grown slippery, which she supposed was only to be expected—she’d been obsessively re-tidying the Hardison mansion after the housekeeper left each day, smiling fixedly as Wanda Lee spewed her venom, waiting for Mike to come back later and later each night reeking of liquor.
Now she was a murderess crouching in weird flora with a group of strange men, trying not to breathe too loudly and hoping whatever approached wasn’t big shiny armor-clad robots.
It turned out to be Darjeth and Naithor, both nearly breathless. The pale-skinned blond took a long swallow from Sarle’s leather canteen; his companion leaned against a tree nearby, eyes half-closed and hand locked around a rapier hilt, his ribs flaring with deep soundless gasps.
Darjeth exhaled hard, lowering the canteen. “The Keep is dark,” he said, as if reporting on the passing of a foreign monarch. “The sword is gone, the fetters broken. I went inside.”
“I cautioned against it,” Naithor hurried to add, as Jazarl’s blue-tipped eyebrows rose nearly to the hairline. “But he was determined; I could not let him do so alone.”
“And?” Sarle prompted, shifting in his crouch. He glanced at Majan, who was busy watching the road through a screen of foliage.
“There were Golden inside, and… other things.” Darjeth took another hit from the canteen. “All dead,” he continued. “Savaged. They will trouble the Underdark no more.”
Stay here. I would not have you see this . Ari decided she could be glad the chained man had made that particular call. The big heavy sword, handled so effortlessly—far different from these guys’ rapiers, and he probably had a lot of feelings to work out. Plus, the word Underdark carried some interesting connotations, if she had any energy or mental horsepower to spare for figuring them out. Just another term added to her list, which was achieving Santa Claus checking-it-twice proportions.
Did this place have a Father Christmas? Now there was a question.
Ari was back to hugging herself, elbows digging into her palms. Dusk in the forest was pretty. She probably would have enjoyed it from a hotel window, or even a nice RV with a reasonably clean bathroom.
Not that she’d needed the restroom since she arrived, but that was almost beside the point. Right now she was more concerned with keeping quiet and not letting these guys know she’d gotten the chained guy out of hock. It didn’t seem like they’d be angry at her over the event, but it wasn’t worth the risk.
Her instincts appeared to be working just fine now that she had a reasonable theory of what-the-hell, and they were telling her to be as quiet as possible. Maybe these woodland bandits or resistance fighters would even forget her presence.
Fat chance, since every man in the group except Majan was now studying Ari intently. Naithor’s breathing slowed; he was no longer chalky under his deep coppery tan.
“So,” Jazarl said, after a long pause. “ He is free, and perhaps… My lady Ari, you said you heard hoofbeats?”
Oh, Christ, don’t ask me anything right now . She nodded. Hopefully they thought her a dimwit, a stupid mortal without two brain cells to rub together, and maybe she could… what? Pick a moment to run off into the woods?
Well, if hypothermia wasn’t a danger and pondwater was capable of keeping her alive, why not? The only problem with the plan was those giant shiny medieval-armor robots. If she came across those on her own, it wouldn’t end well.
Plus, she didn’t know how long the water would work. What if it was some kind of drug or appetite suppressant, with unpleasant side effects on continued use?
They were waiting for her to say something, not just make an affirmative headwiggle. Ari swallowed, hard, and wished she hadn’t turned down a shot from the canteens. “I heard a group of horses, I think. Then a little while later, a single one.”
The men exchanged meaningful glances. Nobody asked how she could be sure, or questioned her ability to differentiate how many were on the road.
“ He must have seen the Moon arisen.” Sarle shifted again; Ari realized he wasn’t fidgeting but moving so his legs didn’t go numb. The others did the same at intervals. All in all, they seemed very comfortable with hiking.
“The traitor, too. And the Golden speak to their master somehow, that much we know.” Jazarl rubbed callused palms together, thoughtfully. “They were already after her.”
So this Bright King was some sort of traitor, or usurper? Well, these guys were dressed like Robin Hood illustrations; she could assume a King John with little trouble. Was he a mad scientist building robots in some castle like the Keep? It wouldn’t put a dent in her theory, but it was certainly an interesting fillip.
None of that answered why the robots would be after Ari. Had she heard that bit correctly?
“We hunted at least half a dozen near the Keep before finding your trail.” Darjeth looked a lot perkier after some hydration; the blond man handed the canteen back to Sarle. “Each alone, and moving in search-pattern. They will serve the faithless and his Law no more.”
Sarle unfolded, shaking dark hair out of his eyes with a quick flicking movement, and offered Naithor another drink. “There is plenty,” he said, quietly. “Our lady purified a spring surrounded by naryin as the Moon rose.”
More significant looks. Darjeth was still studying Ari as if he expected her to grow another head or make some kind of embarrassing bodily noise. “Then I ask her pardon for my words upon our meeting,” he said, finally. “We are bound for Gesthel, I presume? The Grey Lady will be overjoyed.”
I hear the words, and the translator seems to still be working. And I really don’t like where this is going . The robots couldn’t be after her, she’d just gotten here, for Chrissake.
Maybe it was time to speak up, despite the danger. “Excuse me.” It was a variety of their I ask your pardon , but her accent was different than theirs; she could write whole papers on this language back home.
Too bad she wasn’t in school anymore. Naithor accepted the canteen and began quaffing, but his green gaze rested on her as his Adam’s-apple bobbed.
“It seems like you have a lot going on,” she continued, squeezing her arms more tightly. Would she bruise? And if she did would pondwater cure the wound, like it seemed to have helped her throat and scraped hands? “I don’t want to be in the way, so maybe I should just…”
Five pairs of eyes stared at her; Majan still didn’t turn from watching the road. The set of his shoulders said he perhaps wanted to—a subtle movement, but one she was used to decoding. Sometimes the only warning a woman got was a twitch, half an irritated breath, a flicker in peripheral vision.
“I do not quite understand.” Now Jazarl’s blue eyebrows were drawing together, his forehead puckering. “What are you suggesting, my lady?”
“Well…” She tried her softest, most reasonable tone; it sometimes worked on Mike. Not often, but a girl used what she had. “You’ll travel faster to this Gesthel without me. I’m a stranger here, and there’s no reason why those things should be?—”
“A stranger?” Darjeth glanced at Jazarl, as if his own invisible translator was on the fritz. Were they all speaking different languages, a reverse Babel? “By silver, my lady, what do you think will happen if he finds us and learns we were so craven as to let you wander alone?”
“I don’t know who he is.” It was easy to lay the same stress on the pronoun, she found out. And it wasn’t a lie—they could be talking about someone other than the chained man.
Right. You don’t even believe that yourself . Ari longed for a sketchbook, a few pencils, and some uninterrupted time to think about all this absurdity. But she was miserably certain she’d find herself attempting to draw a strong-jawed face with burning dark eyes, the picture unreeling from her fingers without conscious volition.
Mom had been so proud of her sketches, and thought Ari should go to art school instead. But exposing that part of herself to strangers for grades seemed like the worst thing in the world, at least until she got married. She hadn’t really had time to draw since just before her wedding, and she missed it.
A lot.
“A mortal, newly arrived…” Alzarien made a helpless gesture. “You must remember something.”
Whatever they were expecting, it wasn’t happening. “All I remember is the storm.” It wasn’t really a lie, she only had a series of half-baked assumptions and a working theory. “And I mean it. You should just go on without me.”
The big shining robots couldn’t truly be after her . If they were simply chasing whoever happened to be with resistance fighters, though, she was a liability. Her urge to escape, to get away from strangers and find a quiet corner to curl up in, was overwhelming.
It was like attempting to politely exit a frat party right before its voice mutated from the roar of simple drunken fun to the subliminal buzzing of predatory intent. Ari had just hit the limit of her ability to deal with current events. A hole or a handy fallen log to cower behind while the rest of this brave new world ignored her sounded downright fantastic .
“We cannot leave you unguarded, in woods hunted by the Bright King’s servants,” Jazarl said, stiffly. “We may not look it now, my lady Ari, but we are knights of the Keep. Such a thing would not be fitting.”
So the huge dark spiny castle was indeed their home. A lot more made sense now, but unfortunately she’d probably pissed them off with what was meant to be a helpful suggestion. An uncomfortable silence reigned for several long, excruciating seconds.
“Night comes,” Majan said, without turning. “Are we making camp so our lady may rest, or continuing onward? We may reach Gesthel by sunhigh day after tomorrow, if we do not linger.”
“We move.” Jazarl said. “My lady, we will not abandon you. Should you falter we will carry you, and ask forgiveness later. Majan, Sarle, you will be our lady’s close-guard for now. Alzarien, give Darjeth a fresh quiver; his is almost empty. Take heart, my friends. If he is free, all else will follow.”
At least she’d found out they weren’t going to let her go, though that didn’t answer the question of why on earth—or wherever this was—the Golden robot-things would be after her specifically.
She had the distinct idea she wouldn’t like the answer, whenever it happened to trundle ’round the mountain. So Ari put on a facsimile of an accommodating smile, and tried to think of what to do next.
Unfortunately, absolutely nothing sprang to mind.