Frost (15 page)

The Children of Dasur were true to Ali's word. Telric swung by his wrists between two tall trees, his head lolling on his chest, seeming unconscious. A guard dozed by the dangling feet of the captured noblemen.

There was no movement in the village.

My people sleep
, Ali said.

“No matter,” Frost responded, heading for Telric. “My business is with him."

Ali ran before her and kicked the guard to alertness. He bowed respectfully to Frost and took a step back.

Telric came awake before she finished patting his garments. A dull light of pain shone in his eyes as he regarded her, and there was a deep rope-burn around his throat. Ali's people had caught him as they promised, but they hadn't been too kind about it.

Recognition was slow. Telric blinked. “You!” he blurted. “How did..."

She slapped his mouth hard to shut him up. It wouldn't do to let him talk too much and possibly betray that she was no goddess at all, but a trespasser like himself. The guard, following her example, lashed him with a coil of rope. The young lord gasped, but refused to cry out though his face was screwed with anguish.

No time though to think about his pain. Telric had something she needed.

Seizing his hair, she bent his face close to hers. “The Book. I must have it back."

Telric stared with hate-filled eyes. Weakly, he tried to spit, but managed only to dribble on his chin. “You murdered my brothers!” he croaked through dry lips.

“They tried to kill me,” she answered in Rholarothan, hoping that Ali would not understand her meaning. “But I was quicker. Now tell me what you've done with the Book."

Telric shook his head.

Ali spoke to the guard in the language of the leaves. There was a brief exchange before she turned back to Frost.
All his possessions have been taken to my dwelling. Perhaps, you will find what you seek there
.

She gave her back to Lord Rholf's son and indicated with a nod for Ali to lead.

Ali's dwelling was a crude hut of thatch and mud construction. An animal hide covered the low entrance. As soon as she stepped through the small door she spied the object of her quest. The old Book lay unceremoniously in the dirt of the earthen floor beside a sword and mercy-dagger, a money pouch, saddlebags and bedroll. She recovered it with a relieved sigh.

It is very important to you
, observed Ali.

She returned the little girl's stare. “Should the wrong hands hold this Book neither you, nor I, nor all the people on the mountain would feel the Breath of Dasur ever again."

Ali's eyes darted from Frost to the Book and back again. Her little smile faded, and she turned pale as ash and thrust her knuckles into her mouth. For a moment, she was a child again, frightened of something she did not understand. She trembled, and Frost was moved to try to calm her fear.

She placed a gentle hand on Ali's shoulder, but the young priestess slipped adroitly away and regarded her from the farthest side of the hut.

There was much celebrating last night when the trespasser was captured
. Though her bearing regained its dignity, the fear-light still gleamed in her eyes.
The people will sleep late into the day, and we should rest, too
. She curled up in a corner on a bed of woven grass and turned her face to the wall. But before she fell asleep she spoke one last time.
Now that you have what you came for, no doubt you will soon be leaving. Good night, Goddess
.

Frost settled in another corner, but sleep was far away. Her poor choice of words had scared Ali who was now eager to see her leave. And why not? The Book of the Last Battle was back in her possession, and Kregan was waiting in Chondos, hopefully with an army of sorcerers. The final battle with Zarad-Krul was fast approaching.

Yet, something else nagged her. Her gaze kept straying to the weapons on the floor, and visions of the bone-pits filled her thoughts. Telric would be punished, Ali said, and when the villagers had feasted on his flesh the bones would be cast into the wells for the spiders to gnaw on. She shut her mind to it, but the images would not be banished.

Ali's slow, measured breathing was the only sound she heard. A peek beyond the hide flap told her no one stirred outside, either. She lifted Telric's dagger.

It was foolish. A blood feud stood between them. Saving him now would not end that, and Telric would threaten her again someday. It made no sense. Let Ali and her people finish him.

She weighed the merits of the idea. Yet, the sight of those pits would not leave her. The Children of Dasur were flesh-eaters, and the very thought made her stomach churn. Whatever danger the man might be later, he deserved a better fate.

Curse me for a fool
, she thought, sticking the dagger in her belt and rising.

Silently, she crept from the hut, pleased to see Ashur close by. The camp still slept; not even a cookfire burned. Imperious as the goddess they believed her, she strode through the village to the place where Telric was bound. Flame-eyed, the unicorn walked at her side.

Awake this time, the guard grinned in welcome and made a slight bow at her approach. She returned his smile, then sank her fist with soundless fury into his soft middle. He folded with a grunt, and her elbow sent him sprawling.

Telric watched the short fight with interest. When it ended he started to speak, but her hand clamped tightly on his mouth.

“If you want out of here with your worthless life, then keep it shut.” She cut his ropes with the mercy-dagger, and when he was free he held out a hand to take possession of it. She smacked his knuckles with the flat of the blade.

“I may be a fool,” she admitted, “but not that big a fool."

The dagger returned to her belt, and she pointed to Ashur. “Now mount up. I want to be far away when everyone discovers their dinner is missing."

“What are you mumbling about?"

“If you're lucky, maybe I won't tell you about it. You'll sleep easier.” She swung up to the unicorn's back. “Now get on."

“One horse won't carry us both,” he protested. “The mountain trails are too steep, and mine was lost when these damned
dwarves
captured me."

So Telric thought Ashur was just a horse. What did it mean? What rules governed who saw a unicorn and who saw a horse? Who saw truth and who saw illusion?

No time to ponder it now.

“Get on. We'll manage, unless you prefer to stay."

Telric accepted her hand-up and settled himself behind her. “And I warn you,” she added, “if you reach for my weapons I'll cut your fingers off and leave you for the dwarves. They have a taste for your company."

She cast a final look around the village murmuring a quiet farewell to Ali and the Children of Dasur. Despite their manners there was something appealing in their primitive existence. Then, she patted the Book of the Last Battle in its now familiar place inside her tunic and turned Ashur.

They took a slow pace until the forest concealed them from the camp, but when the distance was great enough and the trees were thick enough to muffle the sound of their flight, she touched heels to the unicorn's flanks. Late afternoon found them safe at the foot of the Creel Mountains.

“We part company here,” Frost announced.

Obediently, Telric slid to the ground. “You killed my brothers,” he reminded, but there was no hatred in his voice now.

“And I saved you,” she countered. “Tell your father that when next he's a mind to tally scores."

“It will make no difference. There's a blood-feud between you and all my family, and when we meet again I'll kill you."

“You'll try.” She tossed the young nobleman's dagger at his feet, making him jump to avoid the point. “No man should be alone and weaponless in this country. Use that well, son of Rholf, if you dream of meeting me again."

Telric retrieved the blade and balanced it in his hand. For a moment, she thought he meant to throw it, and her fingers curled around her sword-hilt. But the dagger slipped into an empty sheath on his hip.

“May I know your name?” he asked. “I've never met a woman like you, and I would honor your memory when you are dead."

There was a time when her name was something soft and pretty on the tongue, but that was long past, and she put the memory behind her. Many things had changed, and murderers did not deserve soft, pretty names.

“Frost."

Telric smiled. “We're about the same age,” he observed. “Under better circumstances, I'd enjoy trying to melt you."

She watched from Ashur's back as he walked away. The caravan route would see him safely around the mountains if he had sense enough to stick to it. He might even find a ride with merchants or travelers.

A cool wind blew down from the Creel. A low moan echoed on the peaks. The Breath of Dasur, Ali called it, and the Song of Dasur. From somewhere in the mountains came a cry—an animal probably, sad and low and disappointed.

When the sound faded she turned toward Chondos.

 

 

 

 

Chapter Eight

 

A long line of darkness crept across the northern sky where, for many days, clouds had gathered, turning black, evil looking. Each morning brought that line closer as dark vapors boiled up on the far horizon and blew down from wizard-cursed Shardaha and filled the air with wretched odors.

For three mornings, since her return from the Creel, she watched from the high parapet of Erebus. Today, wild lightnings filled those clouds, streaking the sky with veins of savage crimson. Rolling thunder echoed faintly in the distance.

“They advance swiftly,” she said for the hundredth time to Kregan who only nodded. “Already, the sun seems dimmer."

A violent flash rippled through the clouds; thunder boomed. Then, all was quiet again, but only for a moment. Suddenly, the stones trembled beneath her feet, and the ground gave a rumble. The walls shook. A piece of the parapet crumbled, plunged earthward taking with it one of the gigantic sculptures that rose from every battlement in Erebus. She lost her balance, stumbled and grabbed for support.

Then, Kregan cried out. Far beyond the city gates the plain heaved and twisted. When the dust and smoke settled, a gaping fissure rent the land.

The Chondite paled. “Zarad-Krul has successfully conjured a Dark One into this worldly plane."

“No!” she cursed. “How can you be sure?"

“I can sense his presence. A minor god, but a dangerous one: his name is
Nugaril.
From across the infinite void the Dark Gods have been feeding knowledge to Zarad-Krul. Now his lessons will come much faster and be of a more dreadful nature. With Nugaril's aid, other Dark Ones will be summoned, and Chaos will rule the earth.” Then, despite his grim pronouncement, a wry smile flickered on his face as he measured the fissure's length. “He always did have a flair for ostentatious entrances ... so the grimoires claim."

She grabbed his arm, spun him around to face her. “We have to tell your Council. They've spent too much time examining the Book. Now we have to fight!"

He pressed her hand. “They already know, just as I knew. But how they'll interpret the news,” he shrugged, “that, I can't guess. The Brothers of the Black Arrow will fight because I stand with you. As for the others? Well, Chondos is not a united land. Our sorcerous pursuits have made us independent of each other, and though most agree that we must fight there's still a lot of quibbling over the methods."

Before she could answer, slender fingers sealed her lips, a paternal gesture that only increased her growing agitation. “I know,” he continued softly, “time is short. Our main hope lies in
Rhadamanthus.
The old man is the only voice of reason amid a hundred arguing fools."

A second thunderous blast shattered the sky; lightning raged. Angry bolts licked the earth like tongues of colossal, unseen serpents. The land smoked. Kregan's hands squeezed her shoulders painfully, turning her toward where he pointed.

Beyond the city's eastern wall the Cocytus River leaped its banks and spilled over the countryside and through the open, unattended gates of dead Zondu. The same rushing waters beat the gates of Erebus, and only sorcery-strengthened walls saved the Chondite city from a similar fate.

“What is it?” she shouted over still another thunderous roll and a sudden wind that tried to force her words back into her throat.

Kregan's eyes clenched in concentration. The corners of his mouth hinted of pain. “Mentes!” he gasped. “His entrance—nearly overwhelmed me.” He shook his head to clear it. “Mentes and Nugaril: two great evils now walk the earth."

Frost slammed a fist against hard stone. With a bitter resolve, she left the Chondite and sought her own quarters a level below. She pushed open the door, kicked it shut. Her weapons hung on wooden pegs above the bed. Her riding boots waited at the foot of it. Casting off the soft velvet slippers her hosts had provided, she began dressing.

“What are you doing?” Kregan stood in the doorway, frowning. She hadn't heard the door open. For that matter, she hadn't heard him knock.

“If I wait for a decision from your damned Council we'll die without ever striking a blow in defense.” She stamped her foot into a boot and looked up, meeting his fierce gaze unflinchingly. “For all the vaunted Chondite power and knowledge you're no more than bickering children."

“So you're going to rush out and whip the whole of Zarad-Krul's army single-handedly,” he snapped. “After all, what possible hope can a couple of mere gods hold against you and your almighty sword?"

“Well, I'm not going to just sit here on my butt and wring my hands like the rest of you whining old men!"

She knew by his silence how that hurt him. She threw up her hands and sagged onto the bed. “I'm sorry,” she admitted and shut her eyes. “You're right—I'm being foolish. I know you've tried, but this waiting wears on my nerves."

A narrow slash of a window shed light into her room; its northern view showed the same sky she had watched from the parapet. Crossing to it, she stared out and measured again the speed of the advancing ridge of darkness.