The Gates of Winter (7 page)

Travis glanced at the bard, who sat at the far end of the table. “You think he'll ask you?”

“He does with every look. I'm only waiting for him to speak the words. It won't be long now. Once the army of the Dominions gathers in response to Boreas's call to muster, Falken will ask me to lead them.”

“And will you?”

She looked up, her green-gold eyes frightened. “I can't. I'm not that strong.”

Travis took her hands in his. “You are, Grace. You're stronger than anyone. You'll do what you have to do to save Eldh.”

And so would he. Why hadn't he seen it before? That was why Tira had given him the Stone of Fire.

“Travis, what is it?”

He smiled at her. “I love you, Grace. More than anyone, I think. I never would have made it this far without you.”

Questions shone in her eyes, but all she said was, “I love you, too, Travis. No matter what happens.”

He couldn't think of any more words, so he nodded.

“Your wound,” she said, her tone brisk now, a doctor's voice. “How is it?”

He lifted his arm. “There's a little blood still, but it's healing. Thanks to you.”

“You should probably let it breathe now,” she said, and before he could protest she deftly removed the dressing from his wound and spirited it away. A long scab was forming on his arm. “It's going to leave a scar.”

“Everything does,” he said.

It was after midnight, and moonlight streamed through high windows, as he made his way through an empty hall, back toward his chamber. He had spent the hours since supper roaming the castle; he had needed time to think, to make sure what he was going to do was the right thing.

Except it was, and the real reason he had been wandering was in hope he would see one of them. Neither Beltan nor Vani had been at supper. However, which was the one he hoped to find?

It didn't matter. He hadn't found either of them, and maybe that was a good thing. It would only make what he had to do harder. With a sigh, he headed down a corridor.

He rounded a corner, and a laugh escaped him. Why was it you always found something the moment you stopped looking for it? A tall figure was just turning away from the door to Travis's room.

“Beltan,” he called out softly.

The big knight looked up, and he smiled. As always, the expression transformed his plain face, making him as handsome as his uncle. However, while King Boreas was dark, Beltan's thinning hair was so blond it was almost white, and the scruffy beard on his chin and cheeks was gold. A light shone in his green eyes, but it flickered as his smile vanished.

“I came to be sure you were safe tonight,” Beltan said. “Now that I've seen you're well, I'll go. Be sure to lock your chamber door behind you.”

He started to move away, but Travis caught his arm. He felt Beltan's muscles tense, but he didn't let go. Instead, he pulled the knight closer to him, surprised at his own strength.

“Have I done something wrong?” Travis said.

“There is no ill you are capable of doing.”

Travis felt a pang in his chest. If only that were true. “If that's so, why have you been avoiding me?” He smiled, a bitter expression. “Not that I can really blame you. After all, I am the one who's supposed to destroy the world.”

Beltan did not relax, but nor did he pull away. “I don't care what the prophecies say, Travis. You've saved the world, not harmed it. It's just . . .”

“It's Vani.”

Beltan looked away.

Travis drew in a deep breath. Hadn't he known this was going to happen sooner or later? It was as inevitable as the coming of the Pale King. “You want me to choose, don't you? You want me to choose between you and Vani.”

“No,” Beltan said, still looking away. “I don't.”

“Why?” Travis said, more confused than ever.

The knight looked at him, his eyes stricken. “Because I'm afraid you'll choose her.”

Travis pressed his hand against Beltan's chest, feeling the rhythm of the knight's heart. “I won't lie to you, Beltan. I do love her. And not just because she saved my life, and Grace's. And yours. And not because she's strong or beautiful, though she is.” He shook his head. “I'm not really sure why I love her. Except that maybe it's because she needs love so much, and she doesn't even see it. But I can.”

Beltan nodded. “I'll leave you then.”

“No, you won't.” Travis moved closer, preventing the knight from pulling away. “I love Vani, but I loved you first, Beltan—I loved you when I didn't even know that was something I was capable of, and I won't let you go. If I had to choose, then I'd choose you.”

“You might not, Travis. You might not choose me if you knew.”

“If I knew what?”

The knight only shook his head. Travis could feel Beltan trembling. It seemed strange and amazing that one so brave, so strong, could need comfort. All the same, Travis circled his arms around the knight and pulled him close. Beltan resisted, but only for a moment. Then he let his head rest against Travis's shoulder. A sigh escaped him.

Travis was suddenly, keenly aware of the clean smell that rose from Beltan, of the warmth and hardness of his body. Never in his life had he needed someone as he needed Beltan at that moment. Maybe, until then, he had never been ready. Before he even thought about it, they kissed, pressing close together.

Beltan pulled away. Travis stared, too stunned for words.

“I'm sorry, Travis.” Beltan's face was anguished. “I promised Vani I'd help her keep watch over the castle. I've got to go find her. I'm sorry.”

Before Travis could speak, Beltan turned and hurried down the corridor, disappearing around a corner.

Sweat evaporated from Travis's skin, leaving him feeling clammy and sick. Was he really so horrible that Beltan would rather help Vani than stay with him? Only that couldn't be right. Beltan had said he was afraid Travis would choose Vani. And Travis had felt Beltan's passion when they kissed; there was no mistaking that.

You might not choose me if you knew. . . .

What had Beltan meant by those words?

It didn't matter. Beltan had made his own choice, and cruel as it was, it made Travis's choice that much easier to bear. He opened the door and stepped into his room. It was cold and dank, but he didn't bother to stir up the fire. Instead he pulled the iron box from his tunic. He could feel it like a hum: the Stones wanted to be released from their prison, only he couldn't open the box, not yet. He didn't want to draw the wraithlings to Calavere. But once he was a world away . . .

For so long Travis had run from his power, afraid of it, but he was done running. Aryn had said that sometimes she wanted power, and maybe that wasn't so wrong. He knew now why Tira had brought him Krondisar: because the time for guarding it was over. It was time to use it—to use all his power. Duratek Corporation had sent its agents to Eldh to sow chaos and destruction. Travis intended to return the favor. In the past, Sinfathisar had granted him the power to speak runes on Earth. What might two of the Great Stones enable him to do there? He didn't know, but he was going to find out.

And so was Duratek.

And if you manage to destroy Duratek and their gate, then what will you do?
spoke Jack Graystone's familiar voice in his mind.
Your magic is needed here on Eldh, Travis, and so is the magic of the Great Stones.

Travis ignored the voice. It was still dim, but the spark of another idea had begun to smolder in his mind. Even on Earth, the Great Stones weren't safe from the Pale King. But what if there was a way to make sure neither Berash nor Mohg ever gained control of Sinfathisar and Krondisar?

Some things ought to be broken. . . .

It was time. He tucked his stiletto into his belt, along with a small money purse. He would have liked to raid Melia's stash for more gold, but he had enough to last him a while, and asking Melia for money might have aroused her suspicion. The others would want to search for him, of course. He had to let them know there was no use. There was no parchment to write on, so he scribbled a note on the smooth surface of the hearthstone with a piece of charcoal, then rose.

He picked up the iron box in his left hand, and with his right he fished into a pocket and pulled out the silver half-coin Brother Cy had given him what seemed an age ago. At the Black Tower, he had gathered the slivers of the coin he had given to Lirith, Durge, and Sareth on Earth. When he spoke
Eru
, the rune of binding, the slivers had joined back together without visible seam.

Travis turned the half-coin in his hand, looking at the fragmentary runes on each side: Eldh and Earth. The coin was a bound rune, he knew that now, and a powerful one, for its magic functioned even when it was fragmented. He wouldn't have been surprised if Olrig himself had created this rune.

He tightened his fingers around the half-coin.
What if Grace uses her piece of the coin to follow you?

She wouldn't. As much as she feared what Falken was going to ask her to do, Travis knew she wouldn't refuse the bard. Besides, Travis was certain now that the half-coin wouldn't work for her as it did for him. It had the power to return you to your world. Eldh
was
Grace's world. But not Travis's.

He made sure he had a good grip on the iron box, then he raised the hand with the half-coin before him.

“Good-bye, everyone,” he whispered.

Silver light welled between Travis's fingers, and the world faded away.

8.

Grace stood on the ramparts, huddled inside her fur-lined cape, and watched the Tarrasian soldiers march in rigid formation toward the castle. Sunlight glinted off spears and breastplates; black horses pranced, tails and heads held high. Grace's heart soared. Perhaps they really would stand against the Pale King. She gazed past the first company of soldiers and saw . . .

. . . empty road stretching as far as she could see.

“One company,” Sir Tarus said beside her, his words a growl of disgust. “He calls himself an emperor, yet all he sends is one single company.”

Trumpets blared. The castle gates opened, and the soldiers passed through—eighty on foot, twenty mounted. All too soon the gates closed behind them.

Grace sighed, her breath white on the air. It was the tenth of Durdath, what common folk called Iron Month. Three weeks had passed since their return to Calavere, and over a month since Boreas had called for a muster. The Tarrasians were the last to come, but they were hardly the least.

“We should go down and see him,” Grace said, not relishing the idea.

Tarus stamped his boots. “He's not going to be happy.”

“No,” Grace said, her smile as wan as the late-afternoon light, “I don't suppose he is.”

It turned out
not-happy
was something of an understatement. They heard the king's bellowing three halls away. As they neared his chamber, they crossed paths with the captain of the Tarrasian company. He was a short, powerful man with black eyes and a smooth-shaven face set in lines so hard it seemed cast of bronze. His red cloak snapped as he strode past them.

“I'd say he's fairly
not-happy
as well,” Grace said. “Just in case you were wondering.”

Tarus took her elbow. “Come, my lady. We've already got one hole in the castle wall. We don't need him opening another with his bare fists. Perhaps you can calm him down.”

Grace tried to tell Tarus that it was Lirith who had a way with wild beasts, but by then it was too late. They had already crossed the threshold into the king's chamber.

“What is the meaning of this, my lady?” Boreas said, advancing on her before she could draw a breath, shaking a wadded-up parchment in his hand.

Melia glided from the corner of the room. “Perhaps if you stopped waving it at her and let her read it, she might be able to tell you, Your Majesty.”

The king grunted and held the paper out. Grace took it and smoothed it out so she could read the words penned in a flowery hand. She scanned the missive.

“Does that say what I think it does?” the king said in a dangerous voice.

Grace nodded. “As long as you think it says that this one company is all Tarras can spare. Emperor Ephesian offers his regrets, but he says that the present state of affairs in the empire do not allow him to send more.”

“I don't need regrets, I need men!” Boreas snatched the parchment from Grace and tossed it into the fire.

Falken glanced at Melia. “The ‘present state of affairs.' What does that mean?”

“The usual, I imagine,” Melia said, coiling a hand beneath her chin. “If Ephesian were to send a large portion of his army north to the Dominions, his position would be greatly weakened, and his enemies wouldn't be able to resist taking the opportunity to depose and execute him.”

Falken scratched his beard. “If you can never do anything with your army, what good is being emperor?”

“I'll have to get back to you on that one, dear.”

Grace glanced around the room, but there was no sign of Beltan. That was unfortunate. He had a deft manner with his uncle, and she could have used his assistance. However, she had seen little of Beltan these last few weeks. She knew he still blamed himself. Beltan was the last one to see Travis, and the knight believed he could have done something to stop Travis from leaving.

Only there was nothing any of them could have done. Grace had learned over the course of this last year that Travis could be as stubborn as he was kind. She had read his message—badly scrawled in charcoal on the hearth in his room—through the tears in her eyes.

Dear Everyone,

I've gone to stop Duratek. You can't follow me, but even if you could, promise me you won't. This is something I have to do alone. I love you all.

—Travis

It was so foolish, and so selfless and brave. Just like Travis. If he could face such an impossible task, Grace could face this.

She stepped forward and laid a hand on Boreas's arm. “Your Majesty, we must work with the tools we have been given.”

“And what will we be able to forge with such poor tools as these, my lady? I need to build a wall to defend the Dominions, and in answer to my call I am sent a handful of sticks and stones.”

Grace sighed. She hated to admit it, but Boreas was right; his call to muster had yielded only an army of disappointments. The Order of Malachor, founded just over a year ago at the Council of Kings, was in shambles. King Sorrin of Embarr had recalled his knights from the Order months ago. The knights from Brelegond had vanished without word not long after, and now that Dominion had become as silent as Eredane.

Some knights had come from Toloria, sent by Queen Ivalaine, and Grace wasn't certain whether to be surprised or not. From what Lirith and Aryn had told her, the Witches intended to work against the Warriors of Vathris. However, Ivalaine was a queen as well as a witch, and Toloria was Calavan's most ancient ally. Surely she had had no choice but to send some of her knights—though their number was few, only thirty.

Galt had sent a similar number of knights.
We are hard-pressed to guard the passes through the highlands
, King Kylar wrote in his missive to the king.
The dark knights of Eredane grow restless, and they seek a way south. Would that we could spare more men for you, but to speak the truth, we cannot spare even these I do send.

Queen Inara's news was just as bleak. She wrote of dark clouds gathering to the north in Embarr, and of unrest in her own Dominion. As a result, she had sent just twenty knights, though she also granted Boreas five of her Spiders in addition to Aldeth.
May they help you in ways a warrior cannot
, Inara wrote.

Grace appreciated Queen Inara's gesture, but she wondered if it was really a good idea to have so many spies in one castle; there was no telling what they were up to. The Spiders were as hard to pin down and bring together as drops from a spilled bottle of mercury.

Then again, if the Spiders could discover the location of the Duratek agents who had destroyed the castle's towers, then Inara's gift would be great indeed. Except one of Inara's own keeps had blown up, and the Spiders hadn't been able to stop it.

Then maybe Travis will, Grace. If anyone has the power to keep Duratek from reaching Eldh, he does.

But even if Travis succeeded, Duratek was hardly the only peril facing the Dominions. The Raven Cult had been reborn stronger than before. The Onyx Knights still controlled Brelegond and Eredane, and surely they would make their move on Embarr soon.
Feydrim
and wraithlings stalked the land. All the signs pointed to one thing: The Pale King would soon ride again.

Amid all this cold and gloom, one spark of unexpected hope had come a few days ago, when a band of twenty men in gray robes arrived at the gates of the castle. They were runespeakers from the Gray Tower, and while they seemed either woefully young or overly wizened, they were led by All-master Oragien himself.

Oragien was a tall and surprisingly hale man despite being well into his eighth decade. His blue eyes were keen beneath shaggy white brows as he greeted King Boreas in the great hall.

“We are not what we once were,” Oragien had said in his resonant voice. “But we have been learning since Master Wilder left us. Our forebears created the Rune Gate that bound the Pale King in Imbrifale. It is only right that we stand in Shadowsdeep when that gate opens once more.”

“I welcome you and your runespeakers, Oragien,” Boreas had said in a gruff voice. “Would that more remembered their call to duty as you do.”

Even with the addition of the runespeakers, it was a small and motley force that had gathered in answer to Boreas's call to war: some eighty knights, the single Tarrasian company, plus the handful of Spiders and the twenty runespeakers. As she watched the missive from the emperor burn, Grace searched for something, anything cheerful she could say.

“What of your own men, Your Majesty?” she said, hitting on the first topic that came to mind. “How many men has Calavan been able to raise?”

Once again, she had miscalculated. Boreas's visage darkened, and his hands became fists. “It seems even my own barons grow stingy these days. They think they can fulfill their oaths of fealty by sending me but seventy knights and two hundred foot. All the more reason my son and Lady Aryn must wed quickly. I would have at least one baron who is loyal to me.”

Grace had at least hoped for good news from Calavan. Even with these new forces, that gave them fewer than five hundred men. Five hundred to stand against the entire army of the Pale King. It was like throwing a pebble at a river in an effort to dam it.

Her thoughts must have been plain to see, for Boreas moved close and touched her cheek. His hand was rough and warm.

“Do not despair yet, my lady.” His voice was low, rumbling through her chest. “The muster I called as king has yielded us little, but I have sent out another call to war, one I believe will be heeded by far many more.”

Grace gazed into his eyes, then a gasp escaped her. “The Warriors—the followers of Vathris Bullslayer. You're summoning them here.”

She saw the king and Sir Tarus exchange a fleeting look. So Tarus already knew. No doubt Beltan did as well.

“Can you really expect them to come?” Falken said. “What if their kings and queens command them otherwise?”

Boreas gave the bard a sharp look. “There are powers even higher than kings and queens, Falken Blackhand. And there are vows that bind more tightly than vows of fealty. Throughout the centuries, the followers of Vathris have waited for one day to come. For one thing.”

“The Final Battle,” Grace murmured.

Boreas bared his teeth. “Can the war that comes be any other? The men of Vathris will heed the call. If they believe, then they must.”

“Forgive me, Your Majesty,” Melia said, smoothing her blue kirtle, “but I know something of the temple of Vathris in Tarras. I do not imagine the high priests will appreciate a call to war issuing from the north. And while there are many worshippers of Vathris in the Dominions, surely there are ten times that number in the lands of the south.”

Boreas let out a grunt of disgust. “The high priests of Tarras are fanatics and fools. They have forgotten their true purpose and do naught but scheme to find ways to bring men under their power, and to use that power for their own ends.”

“Is it true,” Tarus said, a pained expression on his face, “that the priests in Tarras are forced to offer up the jewels of their manhood in a golden bowl on the altar of Vathris?”

“That and their sanity,” Boreas rumbled. “I doubt an army of eunuchs is what Vathris had in mind when he foretold the coming of the Final Battle.” He stalked toward Melia. “The priests may have forgotten the legends, but the men of Vathris have not. It may take some time for the men of Tarras to come, and even longer for the men of Al-Amún across the Summer Sea. But they will come.”

Melia's amber eyes were thoughtful. “Yes, I believe they will.”

Grace felt hot; she had been standing too close to the fire. Dizzying visions of warriors and
feydrim
and iron gates swirled in her mind, and she herself stood at the center of it all, holding a shining sword. She had to get out of here, away from the fire, and talk to Lirith and Aryn.

But to talk to them of what? The Witches, and how they sought to stop the Warriors, who they feared would fight on the side of Runebreaker in the Final Battle? Grace wasn't sure. One thing she
was
sure of was that Aryn was still hiding something—not just from her, but from Lirith as well.

Grace had hardly had a chance to speak to Aryn these last weeks, occupied as the baroness was by Lord Farvel's endless questions regarding her coming wedding. Grace wished the young woman was here now. Or perhaps it was better she wasn't, with all this discussion of the Warriors and the Final Battle.

You don't really believe Aryn would betray Boreas, do you, Grace? She loves him like a father.

And what of herself? She was a witch, too. Not so powerful as Aryn, nor so experienced as Lirith, but a witch all the same. Was she bound to betray Boreas as well?

She struggled for something to say, something that would distract Boreas from the guilt she was certain shone on her face. However, before she could speak, Falken moved to her.

“It's time, Grace,” he said in a soft voice.

She wanted to believe she didn't know what he was talking about, but she did. Slowly, she drew Fellring from the scabbard at her side and held the blade before her. The runes on its flat caught the firelight, gleaming red as if writ in fire.

Falken's eyes were locked on her. “The Warriors of Vathris gather, but it will take time for them to come together. Time we may not have. The Rune Gate could open any day. We need to take what men we have and march north to Gravenfist Keep.”

“Gravenfist Keep?”

“It is an ancient fortress, the greatest ever raised by Malachor. The keep sits atop a narrow pass, guarding the only way out of Shadowsdeep—and out of Imbrifale. If the Rune Gate opens, Gravenfist Keep is all that stands between the Pale King and the rest of Falengarth.”

No, it wasn't nearly enough. What good was a ruined keep manned by five hundred men and one skinny woman with a too-big sword against all the vast hordes at the Pale King's command?

“I can't do it,” she croaked.

Falken actually laughed. “Yes you can, Grace. You're Ulther's heir. Everyone knows it. You don't see the light in the eyes of the men when they see you holding that sword, but the rest of us have.”

Boreas, Tarus, and Melia all nodded, and Grace felt her knees go weak.