The Born Queen - J. Gregory Keyes [148]
Alis had brought a lantern, which she unshuttered to reveal three rickety chairs and rotting tapestries on the walls.
“Down,” Brinna said.
They had to cross the next room to continue, and there they were greeted by a skeleton in a rotted gown looking very relaxed in an armchair.
“My great-grandmother,” Brinna informed them. “When we die, our rooms are sealed off, and we remain in them.”
That seal was their next obstacle; a wall obstructed the stairs; fortunately, it was of rather desiccated wood rather than brick or stone. Neil was able to smash through it with the hilt of the broadsword he had chosen, and they continued down through the crypt until they reached the lowest level, which was sealed by an iron portal that, also fortunately, was not locked.
The northern wall of Kaithbaurg loomed a few kingsyards away, casting a permanent shadow on the bases of the cluster of fifteen towers that formed the heart of the shadow city. Moss was thick and springy underfoot, jeweled with colorful mushrooms.
“Quickly,” Brinna whispered.
They set off north on a path paved in lead brick, through the mansions of the dead that crowded up to the Hellrune towers, into the meaner dwellings beyond, and finally to the tombs of the poor, mass graves with nothing more than dilapidated wooden huts to act as shrines. It began to rain, and the path, no longer paved, quickly turned to viscous mud.
They came at last to a large iron gate flanked by stone towers in a wall that enclosed the necropolis and went around to join the one guarding Kaithbaurg.
A man in lord’s plate stepped from the gatehouse, raising his visor so that Neil could see the aged features within. His breastplate bore the hammer of Saint Under, marking him as a Scathoman, a guardian of the dead.
“Majesty,” the knight said, his voice formal and quavered by the rain. “What brings you here?”
“Sir Safrax,” Brinna said. “It’s raining. I’m cold. Open the gate.”
“You know I can’t do that,” he said apologetically.
“I know you will,” she replied.
He shook his head. “Princess you may be, but my holy task is to see to the dead and keep you where you belong.”
Neil drew his sword. It was heavier than Battlehound.
He didn’t insult the older knight by saying anything. He just took a stance.
“Alarm!” the knight shouted, then drew his weapon and came at Neil.
They circled for a moment before Neil took the first swing, stepping in and cutting hard toward the juncture of neck and shoulder. Safrax turned so that the blow glanced from his armored shoulder and cut back. Neil ducked that and went under his arm and behind him. His arms already were aching, so he spun and hammered the blade into the back of the other knight’s helm, sending him down to his knees. Two more strokes ended it.
But by then three more knights had come clattering out of the tower, and he heard a horn blowing to broaden the alarm.
Robert smiled and gestured toward an armchair.
“Have a seat, my dear,” he said. “We should chat, you and I.”
Muriele took a step back, then another.
“I don’t believe I will,” she said. Every fiber of her wanted to run, but she knew that she would only sacrifice her dignity if she did so. Robert would catch her.
She tightened her belly and stood her ground.
“I don’t know how Hansa has put up with you this long,” she said, “but now you’ve killed your host’s men. I think you’ve worn out your welcome.”
“I’m going to sit,” Robert said. “Join me if you wish.”
He folded his lean frame into a second armchair. “There are a few things wrong with your supposition,” he said. “The first is that anyone will ever find these bodies. The whole point of this place is that it is secret, yes? And if Berimund returns—and that is itself a very large if because his father is quite mad with rage at him—there is no reason for him to suspect my hand in this. But a much more profound trouble with your reasoning is the fact that I’m leaving Hansa anyway. It proved