like a vise on my wrist as he forced it closer to the stone. “But it must be done. It will buy time, send them back to their torpor. We can gather strength to oppose him . . .”
His words were interrupted by a hard wet thud from behind us. Jerking me around, the priest let out a plaintive whimper at the sight that confronted us. The tall lesser priest who had summoned me slid slowly down the rough rock of the chamber wall, entrails spilling from a wound that had sundered him from shoulder to groin. By some whim of chance he was still alive, sunken eyes bright now as he stared at the Mestra-Dirhmar with abject contrition, a dying man begging for forgiveness.
“Best let her go, you old fuck,” Obvar said, stepping from the shadows, his outsize sabre dripping blood as he twirled it with casual skill. “It’s going to get ugly enough for you as it is. It’ll get uglier still if he notices any bruises on his sister.”
Behind him more figures resolved from the shadows, Stahlhast of the Cova Skeld dragging priests across the floor, each one bound and gagged. Some wept, some pleaded, but most were silent, kneeling with heads bowed as Kehlbrand strode from the stairwell. The Mestra-Dirhmar’s grip slipped away as my brother came fully into the torchlight. The old man staggered back, his features a curious mix of defiance and terror, bony chest heaving as he dragged in one ragged breath after another.
I went quickly to Eresa and Varij, both crouched on their knees and blinking in confusion. Checking their eyes I saw whatever control the priest had exerted gone, though they both remained pale and trembling.
“Before we get started,” Kehlbrand said to the Mestra-Dirhmar, “I believe you have a question for me.”
The old man’s features twitched as he fought to master himself, resolve eventually winning the struggle against fear as he set his jaw and stared back at Kehlbrand in silence.
“Disembowel one of these,” Kehlbrand told Obvar, waving a hand at the bound lesser priests. “Doesn’t matter which.”
“Stop!” the Mestra-Dirhmar said as Obvar hefted his sabre. The priest took a shuddering breath and straightened, speaking to Kehlbrand in the formal tones of ancient ritual. “Kehlbrand Reyerik, called the Darkblade, do you wish to gain the blessing of the Unseen and be named Mestra-Skeltir of the Stahlhast?”
“Mmmmm.” Kehlbrand rubbed his chin in mock contemplation that drew a deep-throated chuckle from Obvar. “After due consideration,” my brother said, “I believe I do.”
“Then touch the stone,” the old man said, a sneer creeping into his tone and defiance still shining in his gaze. His finger stabbed at the stone, shrill and desperate triumph in his voice as he spoke on. “You were born to one of the Divine Blood, but you have no gift. There is no power in your veins. You are merely mortal, and throughout all the ages any mortal who touched the stone has received only a swift death. That is the purpose of the third question, the question that, even if one who pretended to lead the Stahlhast had a chance to answer it, ensures there will never be a Mestra-Skeltir.”
“You’re a fool,” I told the priest, rising to my feet and advancing towards him. “You and these others will die here. As far as our people will ever know, my brother answered the third question, for who would ever claim otherwise?”
I allowed myself a laugh at the abject frustration on his face and turned to Kehlbrand. “I’d prefer you make it quick. Have done and let’s be gone from here.”
He wasn’t looking at me, his gaze instead focused on the stone. The faux calculation from moments before was gone now, replaced by deep and grave consideration.
“You can’t be thinking it,” I said, laying a hand on his arm when he failed to answer, gaze still locked on the stone. “Kehlbrand. You heard what he said . . .”
“Yes.” He clasped my hand and smiled before stepping away. “I heard him. Obvar, take my sister and her companions away from this place. I wish to commune with the Unseen alone for a time. Oh, and leave me your knife.”
* * *
◆ ◆ ◆
So we come at last, honoured reader, to the decisive event that would in time earn me my most famous soubriquet as the Darkblade’s Betrayer. Were I a less honest soul I would ascribe my change of heart to Kehlbrand’s bloody vengeance upon the priests. It is true