Cadrach held up his hand. “Pryrates dealt with me harshly for failing with Morgenes. Then he had me send a message to old Jarnauga in the north, asking for information about the Storm King. I suspect that the alchemist was looking for ways to defend himself against his new and very dangerous friend. He made me write it as he watched, then sent it himself with a sparrow he had filched from Morgenes. He let me go free again. He was sure I would not run away when he could so easily locate me.”
“But you did run away,” Miriamele said. “You told me so.”
Cadrach nodded. “Eventually. But not then. My fear was too great. But at the same time I knew that Jarnauga would not respond. The Rimmersman and Morgenes were closer than Pryrates realized, and I had no doubt the doctor would have already written to tell Jarnauga about my unexpected visit. In any case, Jarnauga had been living in Stormspike’s shadow for years and would not have opened his mind to anyone he did not know for certain to be untouched by Ineluki’s long hand. So I knew that the imposture Pryrates had forced me to commit was useless, and that when the red priest discovered it, he would have no use left for me. My only worth was as one who had read Nisses’ book and as a former Scrollbearer. But I had answered all of his questions about the book, and now he would discover that the other Scrollbearers had stopped trusting me years before. …” He broke off, struggling again with powerful emotions.
“Go on.” Miriamele spoke a little more gently than before. Whatever he had done, he seemed to be genuinely suffering.
“I was in terror—stark terror. I knew that I had only a short time before Jarnauga’s inevitably unhelpful reply. I wanted desperately to flee, but Pryrates would know the moment I left Erchester, and by his use of the Art would also know where I had gone. He had marked me in that high chamber of his tower. He would find me anywhere.” Cadrach paused, struggling for self-control. “So I thought, and thought, and thought—but not, to my shame, of a way to escape Pryrates or thwart his plans. No, in my besottedness and my fear, I thought only of ways that I could please this horrid master, that I could convince him to grant me my pathetic life.” He quivered, unable for a moment to continue.
“I had thought much about his questions,” the monk finally resumed. “Especially about the three Great Swords. It was clear that they had some marvelous power, and equally clear that they meant something to the Storm King. What was not clear to anyone but me, I thought, was that the sword Minneyar, one of the three, was in fact Bright-Nail, the sword that had been buried with King John.”
Miriamele gaped. “You knew?”
“Anyone who read the books of history that I had would have suspected it,” Cadrach replied. “I am convinced Morgenes knew, but hid it in his own book about your grandfather so that only those who knew what to look for would find it, thus keeping it from common knowledge.” He had regained a little composure. “In any case, I read the same sources Doctor Morgenes did, and had long held that opinion, although I had never shared it with anyone. And the more I thought about the marketplace gossip that claimed Elias would not handle his father’s sword, that he had, against custom, buried it with his father, the more I felt sure that my guess was not just likely, but true.
“So I decided that if what Du Svardenvyrd seemed to suggest was also true—that the only weapons the Storm King feared were the Three Great Swords—what more pleasing gift could I bring to Pryrates than one of the swords? All three were thought to be lost. Surely if I produced one, I reasoned, Pryrates would find me useful.”
Miriamele gaped at the monk in disgust and astonishment. “You … you traitor! Was it you who took the sword from my grandfather’s barrow? And gave it to Pryrates!? God curse you if it was, Cadrach!”
“You may call curses on me all you like—and you will, with ample reason. But wait until you hear the whole tale.”
I was right to try and drown him in Emettin Bay. I wish he had never been fished out. She waved angrily for him to continue.
“I went to Swertclif, of course,” he said. “But the burial ground was closely guarded by the king’s soldiers. It seemed that Elias meant to keep his father’s grave safe. I waited two nights for a moment when I might get at the barrow, but no such moment came. And then Pryrates sent for me.” He winced, remembering. “He had learned well from his studies. His voice was in my head—you cannot imagine how that feels! He forced me to come to him, come slinking like a disobedient child. …”
“Cadrach, there are Norns who are waiting outside this cavern,” Binabik interrupted. “So far your story is telling us little that will help us.”
The monk stared at him coldly. “Nothing will help us. That is what I am trying to explain—but I will not force you to listen.”
“You will tell us everything,” Miriamele declared, her rage fighting free. “We are fighting for our lives. Speak!”
“Pryrates called me to him again. As I knew he would, he told me that Jarnauga had sent only information of no worth, that it was clear the old Rimmersman did not trust me. ‘You are useless to me, Padreic ec-Crannhyr,’ the alchemist said.
“‘What if I can tell you something that is very useful?’ I asked. No, that is not the right word. I begged. ‘If you will leave me my life, I will serve you faithfully. There are still things I know that might help you!’ He laughed when I said that—laughed!—and told me that if I could give him even a single piece of information that was truly valuable, he would indeed spare me. So I told him that I knew the Great Swords were important to him, that all were lost, but that I knew where one of them was.
“‘Do you think to tell me Sorrow is with the Norns of Stormspike?’ he said scornfully. ‘I know that already,’ I shook my head—in fact, I had not known that myself, but I could guess how he had discovered it. ‘That Thorn did not sink into the ocean with Camaris?’ he continued.
“I hurriedly told him what I had discovered—that Minneyar and Bright-Nail were one and the same, that one of the Great Swords was even now buried less than a league from where we sat. In my eagerness to gain his favor, I even told him that I had tried to get it myself to bring it to him.”
Miriamele scowled. “To think that I saw you as a friend, Cadrach—if you had even an idea of what this could mean to us all …!”
The monk ignored her, grimly followingly her order to finish the tale. “And when I was done … he laughed again. ‘Oh, this is very sad, Padreic,’ he hooted. ‘Is this your great work of spycraft? Is this what you think will save you? I have known what Bright-Nail truly is since before you first entered this tower. And if you had moved it from its resting place, I would have plucked out your eyes and tongue with my own fingers. It will lie there on old John’s rotting breast until the proper time. When the hour is right, the sword will come. All the swords will come.’”
Miriamele’s thoughts suddenly went staggering. “The sword will come? He … he has known all along? Pryrates … wanted it left there?” She turned helplessly to Binabik, but the little man seemed just as amazed as she. “I don’t understand. Elysia, Mother of Mercy, what are you telling us, Cadrach?”
“Pryrates knows all.” A certain black satisfaction crept into the monk’s voice. “He knew what Bright-Nail was, where it lay—and he saw no need to disturb it. I feel sure that everything your uncle and these …” he gestured toward Binabik, “latter-day Scrollbearers plan is already known to him. He is content to see it happen.”
“But how can that be? How can Pryrates not fear the one power that can undo his master?” Miriamele was still astonished. “Binabik, what does this mean?”
The troll had lost his composure. He held up his trembling fingers, begging a moment to think. “It is much for considering. Perhaps Pryrates has a plan of some treachery against the Storm King. Perhaps he thinks to keep Ineluki’s power restrained with the threatening of the swords’ power.” He turned to Cadrach. “He was saying ‘the swords will come’? Those words?”
The monk nodded. “He knows. He wants Bright-Nail and the others br
ought here.”
“But no sense in this am I seeing,” said Binabik anxiously. “Why not then bring Prester John’s blade in and hide it away until the time he waits is arrived?”
Cadrach shrugged. “Who can know? Pryrates has walked strange paths and learned hidden things.”
As her shock lessened a little, Miriamele felt her rage at the monk return, battening on her fear. “How can you sit there so smugly? If you did not betray me and all I care about, it was not for lack of trying. I suppose he set you free then to spy some more? Is that why you arranged to accompany me from Naglimund? I thought you were just using me to further your own greed …” as she thought about it, despair seized her, “but … but you were working for Pryrates!” She turned away, unable to look at Cadrach any longer.
“No, my lady!” Amazingly, he sounded hurt and upset. “No, he did not release me—and I did not serve him again.”
“If you expect me to believe that,” she said with cold hatred, “you are truly mad.”
“Is there more to your tale?” The tentative respect Binabik had earlier shown the monk had curdled into sour practicality. “Because we are still trapped here, still in danger that is most dreadful—although there is little else we can do, I am thinking, until the Norns prove they can force the dwarrows’ door.”
“There is a little more. No, Miriamele, Pryrates did not release me. As I told you, he had proved that I was worthless to him. I told you this much of the truth when we were in the landing boat—I was not even worth more tortures. Someone clubbed me, then I was tossed away like offal dumped behind a rich man’s house. Except I was not left for dead out in the Kynswood as I told you before. Rather, I was dumped into a pit in the catacombs that run beneath Hjeldin’s Tower … and that is where I awoke. In darkness.”
He paused, as though this memory was even more painful than the ghastly things he had already told. Miriamele said nothing. She was furious and yet empty. If Cadrach’s tale was true, then perhaps there really was no hope. If Pryrates was as powerful as this—if he had a strategem to constrain even the Storm King to his will—then should Miriamele somehow find her father and convince him to end the war, the red priest would still find some method to have things his own way.
No hope. It was strange to think about. As unlikely as their chances had seemed, Josua and his allies had always had the slim hope of the swords to cling to. If that was gone … Miriamele felt dizzy. It seemed she had walked through a familiar door only to find a chasm yawning just beyond the threshold.
“I was alive, but wounded and dazed. I was in a terrible place—no living man should have to visit the black, black places beneath Pryrates’ tower. And to go upward would mean escaping through the tower, past Pryrates himself. I could not imagine succeeding at that. The only tiny scrap of luck I had was that he likely thought me dead. So I went … another way. Down.”
Cadrach had to pause for a long moment and wipe the sweat from his pale face. It was not particularly warm in the cavern.
“When we were in the Wran,” he suddenly said to Miriamele, “I could not force myself to go down into the ghants’ nest. That was because it was too much like … like going into the tunnels below Hjeldin’s Tower.”
“You were here before?” She stared at him, her attention unwillingly held. “Here beneath the castle?”
“Yes, but not in the places you have been, the places I have followed you.” He wiped at his forehead again. “Ransomer preserve me, I wish my escape had been through the parts of this vast maze you saw! The way I came was far worse.” He tried to find words but gave up. “Far, far worse.”
“Worse? Why?”
“No.” Cadrach shook his head. “I will not tell you. There are many ways in and out of here, and not all of them are … normal. I will speak no further on it, and if you could glimpse even a piece of what I saw, you would thank me for not telling you.” He shivered. “But it felt like years that I was below the ground, and I saw and heard and felt things … things that …” He stopped, shaking his head again.
“Don’t tell us, then. I don’t believe you, in any case. How could you escape unnoticed? You said that Pryrates could find you, could summon you.”
“I had—I still have—some little smatterings of the Art left to me. I was able to draw a … a sort of fog over me. I have kept it since. That is why you were not summoned to Sesuad’ra as Tiamak and the others were. They could not find us.”
“But why didn’t that shield you from Pryrates before, when he summoned you—when you couldn’t run away and had to spy and sneak for him like the worst sort of traitor in the world?” She was disgusted with herself for being drawn back into a discussion. She was even angrier that she had ever wasted her trust and concern on someone who could do what the monk had done. She had defended him to the world, but it was she who had been the fool. He was a traitor through and through.
“Because he thinks I am dead!” Cadrach almost shouted. “If he knew I lived, he would find me soon enough. He would blow my poor shielding fog away like a strong wind and I would be naked and helpless. By all the gods old and new, Miriamele, why do you think I was so determined to get off Aspitis’ ship? As I slowly came to realize that he was one of Pryrates’ servitors I could think of nothing but that he might tell his master I still lived. Aedon save us, why do you think when we met him again on the Lakelands I begged you to kill him?” He mopped more sweat from his face. “I can only guess that Pryrates did not recognize the name ‘Cadrach,’ although I had used it before. But I have used many names—even that red-robed demon could not know them all.”
“So you were making your way to freedom through the tunnels,” Binabik prompted. “Kikkasut! This place is indeed like our Mintahoq cave-city—most that is important happens beneath the rock.”
“Freedom?” Cadrach almost sneered. “How could anyone be free who lived with the knowledge I did? Yes, I finally made my way up from the very deepest depths; I think I was quite mad by then. I headed north, away from Pryrates and the Hayholt, although at the time I had no idea of where I would go. I wound up finally in Naglimund, thinking that I would be safest in a place sworn to oppose Elias and his chief counselor. But it was soon apparent that Naglimund, too, would be attacked and thrown down, so I took up the Lady Vorzheva’s offer to accompany Miriamele south.”
“You said you were not free because of the knowledge you had,” said Miriamele slowly. “But you did not share that knowledge with anyone. That is perhaps the most wretched deed of all you have done, Cadrach. Fear of Pryrates might make you do terrible things, but to be free of him and still say nothing—while the rest of us have pondered and struggled and suffered and died …” She shook her head, trying to make her words reflect the chilly contempt she felt. “That I cannot forgive.”
He looked at her without flinching. “Now you truly know me, Princess Miriamele.”
A long silence fell, broken only by the faint singsong of the dwarrows muttering among themselves. Binabik was the one who ended it. “We have talked enough of these things. And I need time for pondering on what Cadrach has said. But something there is that is clear: Josua and the others search for Bright-Nail, and they have Thorn already. They plan to bring them here if they can, but they are knowing nothing of what this one says of Pryrates. If we were having no other reason for surviving and escaping, we now have one that is large.” He made a close-fisted gesture. “But what is outside our door is the first thing that will prevent us. How will we be making an escape?”
“Or have we already lost the chance listening to Brother Cadrach’s tale of treachery?” Miriamele took a breath. “There were a handful of Norns before—how long before there is an army?”
Binabik looked at Cadrach, but the monk had lowered his face into his hands.
“We must make an attempt at escaping. If only one of us can survive to bear the tale, then still it will be a victory.”
“And even if all is lost,” Miriamele said, “there will be some Norns who
will not be around to see it. I would settle for even a victory like that.” She meant it, she realized—and with that realization, a part of her seemed to turn cold and lifeless.
53
Hammer of Pain
“Prince Jiriki. At last we meet.” Josua bowed, then extended his left hand; the manacle he wore as a remembrance of imprisonment was a shadow on his wrist. The Sitha made a strangely-jointed bow of his own, then reached out his hand to clasp Josua’s. Isgrimnur could not help marveling at such a strange scene.
“Prince Josua.” The new-risen sun turned both Jiriki’s white hair and the snow faintly golden. “Young Seoman told me much about you. Is he here?”
Josua frowned. “He is not, to my regret. There is much to say—much to tell you, and much we hope you can tell us.” He looked up at the looming walls of the Hayholt, falsely welcoming in the dawn light. “I am not sure which of us should say to the other: ‘Welcome home.’”
The Sitha smiled coldly. “This is not our home any more, Prince Josua.”
“And I am not sure it is mine, either. But come, it is foolish to stand in the snow. Will you come and break your fast with us?”
Jiriki shook his head. “Thanks to you for your courtesy, but I think not yet.” He looked back at the milling Sithi, who had fanned out across the hillside and were rapidly setting up camp, the first colorful tents blooming like snowflowers. “My mother Likimeya, I think, speaks with my sister; I, too, would like to spend a short time with Aditu. If you would be kind enough to come to my mother’s tent by the time the sun is above the treeline, bringing those of your household you deem necessary, we will begin to talk. There is, as you said, much to tell.”
The Sitha gave a sort of graceful salute, bowed again, then turned and moved away across the snow.
“That’s cheek,” Isgrimnur muttered. “Making you come to them.”
“It was their castle first.” Josua laughed quietly. “Even if they do not wish to reclaim it.”