He watched this second soldier die and was struck by the irony, by how strange it was to ride against these men, to spill the blood of those who wore the crest of Kamrit—Andarys' crest, though it had been altered slightly, some of the colors painted over, the whites at the center done in gold and black, the "A" already replaced with an "F."
Fresh cries of another charge rang out from somewhere far ahead. Hoke looked up to find the battle being joined by riders from the castle, followed by several hundred foot soldiers. All around him now, the armies of the great fiefs were slaying the siege forces. Outnumbered and out-willed, the bodies of the mercenaries began to litter the ground. As the castle guard reached them, the remaining attackers tried desperately to flee but found no route for their escape.
Lord Ivran's legions swept onto the battlefield, and in minutes the last of Ariman's attacking forces had surrendered or been cut down. The blood of their enemies flowed at the feet of the defenders of Lencia.
* * *
"I had no idea Frost was involved in all of this," the great lord Jurdef Ivran exclaimed, breaking bread at the head of the table and tightening the many wrinkles around his dark eyes with his stare. "Or that the rumors about Grand Chamberlain Ferris were smaller than the truth about him."
"Then you agree he must be stopped," Hoke said.
"Of course! His attacks will resume on all of us in time. But the very thought of that brazen little wench Madia as queen—well, to me, this lacks any appeal."
"You know her reputation, but you do not know her," Hoke said, ready for this. All three of the other great Lords had already expressed a similar concern, and he had expected this from Jurdef as well. "She is no longer the same girl. Her journey from Kamrit has had a great effect on her, as did her long stay with me, I can assure you."
"Oh, well, of course!" Lord Ivran snorted, looking to the other lords around the table. "I failed to consider the certain effect a stay with the great Hoke would have on the girl. Surely, every woman you have known is fit to rule this realm!" Ivran's muffled laughter was joined by the others at the table. Hoke waited for the noise to die down, then he looked at Lord Ivran with a steady, crucial eye. "Most," he said.
Laughter broke out at this. Hoke waited again, watching faces, especially that of his host. Jurdef was the greatest of the northern lords and would hold sway over many, both here and in Ariman. His support was necessary, Hoke thought, there was no question.
"I ask all of you to consider carefully the task before us," Hoke began again. "I ask that you ride with me to Kamrit to rally the people of Ariman and take back the throne from the creature that has claimed it. We must save the realm; we must save ourselves.
"As to who will come to rule in Ferris' place, that is a matter to be decided afterward, with the rightful heir to that throne present to properly defend herself, and the council of lords assembled. All shall have their say when the time comes."
Silence fell about the room as Lord Ivran slowly rose and moved away from the table. He stood with his back to the others, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully as he looked out through the arches of the hall's main window. Finally Jurdef took a deep breath and turned. "I have your word on all of this?"
Hoke bowed his head. "You do."
"Will two hundred men be enough? That is all I feel I can spare."
Hoke let a smile find his lips. He snatched his flagon from the table, then waited while Jurdef came to the table again and took up his. Hoke stood up with all the others, and they lifted their cups. "Yes, my lord, enough indeed," he said, and joined in a toast.
Chapter XXIII
"We are too near Kopeth," Madia said, squatting amid a stand of thick brush, peering through leaves tinged with the first colors of autumn. She was reminded of another time, many months ago, when she had hidden herself this way. Her haunches ached from several days' riding, and they protested as she leaned forward to lift a bothersome branch. Still, she took grim comfort from the fact that Frost could barely walk.
The wizard knelt beside her, following her gaze. "I would go there," he said.
"Why?"
"To visit once more with the old wizard, Aphan. Without the proper spells to command the Blade, I am left to sorceries of my own devising, and they are not enough. Aphan may be able to help me improve on what I have learned. And," Frost added, giving Madia a nearly apologetic look, "he knows more of demons than any other; he remembers the stories. I must learn whatever I can."
"Ferris' men will be there," Madia reminded him.
* * *
"Of course. That cannot be helped. I will leave that problem in the capable hands of my Subartans."
Frost grinned at Madia, an evil sort of grin, or a perfectly satisfying one—Madia still considered herself Frost's third Subartan, at least whenever the need arose, and this was his way of reminding her that he agreed. But having earned the title of warrior did not matter to her quite as much anymore, no more than any other part of who and what she was supposed to be. No single part of anything mattered now, only the whole.
"We still must talk, all of us," Madia said, "of a plan for when we reach Kamrit again. You act as though you have ideas in mind and confidence enough, but you say nothing we can count on. I am beginning to know you, Frost. As with any man, such confidence is easily feigned."
Frost shrugged his shoulders, then let his hands rest upon the satisfying bulge of his abdomen. "I do not have a plan, at least not a good one," he said. "And you may be right to worry—with the omens calling me 'fool' at every turn, my confidence may be undue. Yet, you'll recall, you had no plan when I followed you to Kamrit."
"So you've said, and we were nearly destroyed."
Frost chuckled, more or less.
"I am glad you find this amusing," Madia replied.
"Humor can't hurt. The future looks to be a very sad thing. Even at Kamrit I had two good plans or we would not be here, yet now I have not even one. I've never felt so foolish before. In fact, prudence requires that I change my mind and simply disappear somewhere between here and Kamrit."
"You would not do that."
"I'm glad you are so convinced."
Madia frowned—as severe an expression as she could muster. "What of Jaran's question? Why did you not stir a pond and show us the way?"
"All spells, including mine, are limited, and by many things. The talent I used in Golemesk is useful for showing a possible future, but usually one that reflects what I want it to. I do not possess a gift like Aphan's. In his fires, he creates a window that looks on truths."
"Then what you showed the leshys and Tiesh was not real?"
"Possibly."
Madia considered him a moment, then she let her gaze wander. "A pity," she said.
"Truly," Frost remarked. "You have seen enough of my limitations, and still I must show you more."
"As usual, your concern centers on yourself."
"Not entirely," Frost answered.
"There must be a way to get to Ferris without fighting his entire army," Madia said, trying her best to move on. "Or some way to trick him into placing himself at our mercy, perhaps—a way to flush him out?"
"And then what?" Frost asked. "What do I do with him once I have him? Again we need two plans, and we have not one."
"But you spoke of attacking him with a single blow, using the Blade."
Another shrug, less cavalier. "I intend to try."
"Then you do not think such an attack will defeat him?"
"I have no idea, and that is the problem. I would enjoy a few years' practice with the Blade, time to learn more of its ways and how best to control them. And time to consult with others like Aphan about the weaknesses of demons, but we don't have that kind of time."
Frost turned to Jaran and his men, then Rosivok and Sharryl, who stood patiently waiting together behind him, holding the horses. No one said a word. "Come closer," he told the Subartans, then went about building false glamours for both of them, as well as for Madia and himself. When he was finishe
d, they each took to their mounts and started toward the road.
"Strange," Jaran said, nudging his own horse in between Frost's and Madia's as they began. He looked at Madia from several angles. "Somehow, you seem easier to take when you look like this. My compliments, sir," he said, grinning at Frost.
"Accepted," Frost replied with a graceful bow.
Madia kicked at her horse and rode on ahead.
* * *
The streets of Kopeth were not so busy as they had been in spring, and merchants were not as plentiful. Many market stalls stood empty or nearly so, though a few, Frost noticed, were brimming with wares. Like the shops they had seen, some thrived, while others languished. In one of the market squares, he observed that soldiers, as they passed, only stopped to hassle certain traders, generally the poorest ones. Merchandise was insulted, merchants were taken aside for questioning. Yet other stalls, those best supplied, seemed to go unmolested. Fair trade, it was obvious, was another casualty of Lord Ferris' new realm.
Which would benefit a few for now and no one in time, Frost thought, once Ferris' greed exceeded the bounty of these lands and people.
Though that would not be the end of it. Such a creature as Ferris would only usurp new lands, whatever the cost. Finally no land would go untouched; nowhere Frost went would he be free of the demon, of what it had done to him, of what he would always fear it would still do. The choices before him were maddeningly few, and none of them allowed for sanity. Though in a way, that made an impossible decision just slightly more possible.
They reached the narrow streets of the city's western section, moving on foot, having left the horses outside the town. The buildings above hung out over the streets at perilous angles, and the sewage, for lack of rain, lay deep in the gutters and scattered onto the walk. As Frost led the others through a small intersection, a handful of soldiers wandered by at the end of the street, and one of them paused to peer down the way. After a moment, he moved on.
Since entering the city they had stayed mostly out of sight, and no one had yet taken them to task. As they continued, Frost felt a nagging at the back of his neck. A few houses more and he turned—to catch just a glimpse of someone taking to the cover of a doorway several houses back. He called to Rosivok and explained, and the warrior nodded.
Just beyond a small inn, they turned a corner and kept walking while Rosivok pressed his back to the inn's wall. Frost led the others a few feet further and paused, signaling them to prepare for trouble. There was no need.
Two soldiers, guards from Kamrit Castle, darted around the corner a moment later only to find Rosivok suddenly between them. Their eyes widened as he raised his subarta blade, then both men tried to draw their weapons as they stepped back. Rosivok was already driving forward, his powerful arm moving much too swiftly to allow a proper defense. In an instant both men lay mortally wounded, bleeding at Rosivok's feet. Sharryl and two of Jaran's men rushed up to help drag the soldiers from the street.
"There will be more," Jaran said. "Bouren soldiers walking the streets of Kopeth do nothing but invite trouble."
"We will make our stay a brief one," Frost replied. They moved quickly on, making their way to the tiny home of Aphan, where Frost asked the others to wait outside.
"You can't change the way we look, too?" Jaran asked.
"It would take time and energy, and I have very few glamours that work well. If you all looked alike, would that not draw attention as well?"
"Then see if he'll mind the lot of us in there," Jaran asked, moving nearer Frost, nearer the door. He glanced up and down the worn, cobbled way. "We'll be better off."
"That's one opinion," Madia remarked, batting her eyes at the prince when he looked. Jaran's jaw tensed, but to his credit he made no reply, simply shook his head. Their constant dueling seemed to lack the intensity it had, Frost thought, and the venom. Too much had been shared between them now.
"Aphan will not mind," Frost said, nodding to the prince. He didn't particularly want an audience, since he wasn't sure the old wizard could help him, and he wasn't even sure what questions he would ask. But Jaran was right.
He turned and knocked, but no one answered. He pressed the door open and peered inside. The hearth fire was cold and only one lamp remained lit. Aphan sat at his table, his head down, his body still.
"Too late?" Jaran whispered, leaning in.
Frost opened the door a bit further and stepped inside. "I don't think so. I sense something of his presence."
With that Frost went to the table and put his hands on the old man, then began a quiet chant, reciting a whispered phrase several times until the body began to stir. Soon enough, Aphan raised his head and took a deep breath, then let it out and opened his eyes. Frost examined the other man's face and decided he looked rather well, considering.
Aphan blinked blind eyes several times, then reached out with a timid hand and touched Frost's tunic. "My friend," Aphan said, "one day you must show me how you do that."
"There is much you must teach me as well." Frost opened his cloak and retrieved the Demon Blade, then laid it on the table. Aphan shivered momentarily, a chill that raked his wiry frame. He reached out, moving his fingers until they rested just over the Blade, then a sigh passed his lips. "You have it," Aphan said, a breathy voice, old vocal cords growing weak. "The Blade is yours!" He continued to shake. Frost leaned across the table and placed his hands on the old man's arms, calming him. "Yes," he said.
"You were meant to have it, Frost, at least for a time. I have seen this in the flames. All this was shown."
"One can only hope," Frost said.
"You will use it to destroy the thing that masquerades as Ferris?"
"I will try."
"You know it is a left-handed blade," Aphan said, not a question, more a spontaneous review.
"I know."
"You can feel its pull?"
"Yes."
Aphan shook again. "Then you have learned its powers? You know how to use the Blade to destroy the demon?"
"I am not sure," Frost replied, and he felt Aphan's body settle. "That is why I came here," he went on. "I have learned to use the Blade to direct my own power, to use all my energies in great concentration, but I am sure there is more—something that escapes me, no matter how I try—though perhaps it is only valor."
"I have so few words for you, my friend," Aphan said, his voice heavier now, losing its slight energy. "I am sorry."
"You knew Ramins."
"For a time, years ago. I have not seen him since he came to be the keeper of the Blade. Since that time he was intent on living in isolation; he even lived without guardsmen of any kind. To limit attempts to take the Blade from him, I've always thought, though surely one so powerful as he had little to fear from ordinary men. I would have kept a small, carefully groomed army about me."
"He may simply have preferred solitude," Frost suggested. Aphan only shrugged. Frost sat motionless, the silence of the room filling the air about him. He could still sense Madia and the Subartans behind him, as well as Jaran and his men. They made no sound, intent on allowing Frost every courtesy; intently hopeful, too, that Frost would gather from Aphan the knowledge he had come for.
"What do the flames tell you of the battle to come? Of my ways with the Blade?" Frost asked.
"What I have seen makes little sense. My eyes have faded these past few weeks, as have the flames I would conjure. I've lost the talent since last you were here. I cannot help you."
"Then tell me who was named Ramins' successor by the last council."
"There are few who know. Ramins knew, of course, as it was told to him. I know of no one else, though I'm sure they exist. The council members had protegés, and some had descendants, of course, who may have been told. But Ramins himself learned that he had been chosen only when an ailing Wentesh sought him out and gave it to him."
"Of course," Frost replied. "I will find no comfort, I'm afraid. From the omens, I should have known."
For a t
ime he simply sat, arms across the table, still touching the aged sorcerer. Then he turned to Rosivok and motioned toward the door. "Check outside," he said. "I think we will go."
Rosivok opened the door to find a group of local soldiers, perhaps a dozen or more, running by in the little street with their swords drawn and their voices raised in shouts of panic. They continued down the way, never pausing, never looking back. Madia stood with the others as they gathered at the door.
"They act like frightened game," Rosivok remarked.
Madia leaned out, looking about. "What would frighten such men?"
Frost rose to join them. "Quiet, and listen," he said. In the distance now they could hear the sounds of many more men shouting, a ragged chorus that rose over the clatter of steel against steel. The sounds of battle.
* * *
"We outnumber them at least three to one," Hoke told the great lords, his voice bouncing as his horse began to trot. They rode through the wall and into the city flanked by cavalry and archers and soldiers on foot. A squad of men on armored mounts, wearing the crest of Lord Ferris, broke lines at a hard gallop and came straight for them. Hoke rode out to meet them, drawing his sword, reining in his horse just as the first of the opponents came within striking distance. He moved quickly, relying again on old instincts still well remembered, and avoided the first blow. He countered with a sound wallop to the back that swept the other man off his horse as he turned.
The other lords showed their spirit as well, wading into the fray and cutting down two other men. Then the five of them found themselves bystanders as the main body of their attack force, some five hundred men, flowed past all around them. Hoke watched at least thirty of the city's guard rush in from a nearby square to meet them, saw them butchered almost at once.
Two hundred additional cavalry waited in reserve beyond the city's walls, but already Hoke saw they would not be needed. He rode forward again with the others, watching smaller groups of the city's guard attack from adjoining streets only to die in brief battles, or turn and run the other way. The lords of the great fiefs toured the second greatest city in all Ariman, the key to trade north of the wide waters, in triumph. The victory was largely one of commerce, but it was symbolic as well, and something this new and valiant army could take pride in.
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