by Remi Black
“A trophy.”
“Not so. A power different from what she wields. A weapon. Your life will bind with hers. Since you are Aiwaz Solsken, you will ride with her for a long time.”
What does a knight who lives for centuries call a long time?
“That choice is not possible.”
When Grim spoke, Orielle flinched. She looked around to see him standing just behind her shoulder, like a shield-mate. She wondered how much of this dialogue he’d heard. Volk hadn’t acknowledged him at any point. He didn’t look at the Rho even now. That obsidian focus, deep yet depthless, remained on her.
The encircling riders remained marble-still, their horses also frozen, while Ruddy continued to snort and toss his head.
“This wizard may have the wedge to the heart of the riders, but Lady Bone allowed a Huldra to set a trap,” Grim countered. “Did she intend a feast for her creature? As long as the Lady allows the Wilding creatures to threaten an Enclave wizard, she shows her alliance to Frost Clime.”
“The Lady needs no allies,” the consort knight snapped.
“Frost Clime will court her. They will flatter her. But they will never devote themselves to her. They would bind her to them.”
“No one can bind the Lady. The Rhoghieri knows this.”
Grim stepped a little past Orielle. The knight’s horse tossed its head. The eyes rolled a little, revealing yellowish-white around the black iris that filled the socket. “We do.” He crossed his arms, a weaponless barrier that still stood firm. “We keep the agreement. As for this sorcerer who uses the Lady’s gobbers, when he came to the Lady, what promises did he offer? Has he kept them?”
At the accusation, Orielle clutched his arm. He’d warned her about questions, but he threw two at Volk.
“The sorceress did not come to the Lady.”
“So, a sorceress comes to the Wilding. She twists the gobbers to her use with foul magic. She brings wyre to prey upon the innocent creatures of the forest. She did not disclose her presence here, and she asks no permission for her deeds. She offers no recompense for her misdeeds.”
“This Not-Wizard comes to the Wilding as well.”
“This wizard is with me, and I am Rhoghieri, part of the agreement with the Lady, an agreement I keep. This sorceress has no agreement to keep.”
“Do not think to command the Lady, Rho.”
“I do not. Which of her riders keeps the truth from the Lady? Which rider knew of this sorceress but kept silent?” He aimed the questions like darts and continued firing them. “Which rider reveals their devotion is not to the Lady alone? Which rider creates a second wedge, aimed to Lady Bone’s heart?”
“That rider should be punished,” Orielle hastened to add, “as Sangrior is punished.”
Grim touched her hand, warning her, and she fell silent—.
The riders shifted restlessly. His darts had found homes all around the circle. Grim’s big chestnut began a turn then stood still. He kicked back although nothing stood behind him.
The darts angered Volk. “Lady Bone cannot be killed by the likes of you or by any sorceress. Do not think to threaten her.”
“I do not. A rider does. Tell her.”
“You do not command me.”
“If you do not tell her, these riders will believe you are the traitor to Lady Bone. She fears a wedge. She is right to do so. Let her look among her riders for this wedge that opens the heart of the circle to foul sorcery that allows no limits. Let her use her claws and sharp teeth on that wedge. That rider will deserve her attention.”
Volk bent his head. “You speak true. This rider threatens us all.”
A horse snorted then shied sideways, bumping into another one. Ruddy whirled, ready to face the new threat. A woman rider thrust an arm at her fellow, shoving him off-balance. She brandished a silvery sword. Saircuista echoed in Orielle’s mind. Then the dame dug her spurs into her horse. With a scream of outraged pain, the big horse plunged across the wards, straight at Orielle and Grim.
The chestnut plunged forward as she fell back. The Crygy horse brushed past him, seconds faster than Ruddy’s rush.
But the horse had slowed the rider the bare seconds needed for Grim to draw his sword and brace to meet the attack. As the horse barreled toward the Rho, Volk flowed into position. The horse veered as the Crygy’s sword clashed with the rider’s weapon. The blades clanged together. Then Saircuista’s sword screeched as she wheeled her horse around, retreating before Volk’s defense. The steed sat back on its heels, half-reared, turning in the air. It dropped, hooves thudding into the ground, angled away from Orielle and Grim. The rider swung her sword again, cleaving downward.
Volk’s blow shattered the woman’s sword.
Saircuista cursed and flung the useless hilt at Orielle who danced backward to safety. Then the rider drove her horse forward. The bone-white steed leaped the dying campfire. It crossed the other side of the wards. She collided with another rider. A half-breath more, and Saircuista disappeared into the night-cloaked forest.
Volk swung an arm. Several riders whirled their mounts and followed.
He wasn’t finished with them. He advanced on Orielle and only Grim’s stepping between kept the Crygy knight from reaching her. “You know her name?”
“Saircuista,” she repeated. She didn’t remember shouting it, but she must have. Volk acted offended by her knowledge.
“How?” he demanded.
“I don’t know. I know several of the riders’ names. I know yours.”
He grimaced. His finger stabbed toward her. “You are a wedge. Sangrior is a fool who deserves his punishment.”
Grim barred Volk’s further advance with a blocking arm. “This lady does not seek harm to any of you, least of all to Lady Bone. She only wants to defeat Frost Clime.”
Orielle met those black eyes, bright with firelight, and tried to breathe. Long seconds beat off, then he sheathed his sword. The pommel glowed, deeply purple where Sangrior’s was a glacier’s light. “Lady Bone did not send the Huldra,” he allowed. “Your escape pleased her, but she did not care if you were eaten. The sorceress and Saircuista’s disloyalty, these will anger my Lady. Be grateful you have not offended her.”
“I am”
“We are.”
“I am not the fool that Sangrior is,” Volk warned. “I am not tempted by a Solsken. Get you to the Haven, Lady Wizard.”
“And Sangrior?” The question burst out without her planning.
“For him, Saircuista’s defection will be a welcome distraction.”
He strode to his waiting horse. As he mounted, the remnant riders streamed around the camp, outside the wards as they followed the other riders into the dark forest. Earlier their pace was stately; this ride was swift, thundering.
In the silence after, Grim went to his horse, standing on shaky legs beside the campfire.
~ 13 ~
Grim listened mutely to her recounting of the Crygy. “This knight, the one who had kept the wight leashed, his name is Volk.”
“Shared that with you, did he?”
Orielle sidestepped that answer. “What do you think that wedge is? Did Sangrior cause it when he gave me his name? Or when he came after I called him to me?”
“Names are powerful. I’ve never heard of them creating a weakness in a group.”
“They are all bound to Lady Bone.”
He scanned the trees around them. “I don’t like talking about this out here. Too many ears.”
She wanted to discuss the wedge created by Saircuista’s alliance with the sorcerer. Sorceress, she corrected herself.
Grim kept his comments few. Last night he’d told her sharply to get to sleep while he tended to his horse. Ruddy trailed behind them, no longer limping but moving cautiously down the steep trail. The collision with the Crygy horse hadn’t dealt a physical injury, but Grim had refused to ride the horse, slowing their approach to the Haven.
On waking this morning, she had peppered him with questions.
He’d only shrugged and pushed her to get on the trail faster than usual. He remained reticent still.
Maybe he wanted to mull over last night’s encounter. The quick logic of his sharply aimed questions had impressed Volk and the other riders. She hoped the Crygy knight repeated every word to Lady Bone.
“Saircuista—.”
He interrupted. “That knight shared a lot with you, didn’t he?” His stride lengthened, and Orielle had to pick up speed to stay ahead of the trailing horse.
“Not really that much.”
“More than the Lady intended.”
She huffed. “Why would that rider ally with a sorceress? Maybe she tires of her time as a Crygy rider. What will happen to her when she breaks the binding to Lady Bone?”
“She will age.”
Orielle hoped her mouth to ask not Death? and then how quickly will she age? Then she choked down the questions, for Grim wasn’t interested in a conversation. Her mind twisted around the problem of a binding to a Crygy. The binding prevented death, yet it also stilled life. Then another question popped up and then out before she could stop it. “Is the wedge that Vol—the wedge that the leash knight spoke of, does it work in reverse? I mean, does it open me to Lady Bone? Does it open the sorceress to the Lady?”
Grim stopped and turned on her. “I don’t know these answers, Orielle. I doubt the Lady knows. I’ve never heard of this wedge, but then, I’ve never heard of a Crygy rider not being absolutely loyal to the Lady.” His head cocked. “I know what draws me to you. I doubt the knights have the same lure. But something drew him, the sword knight, as you called him. The Lady recognized it, that first night.”
“She accused me of luring him into a courtship. Because he named me Aiwaz Solsken. That displeased her.”
“Aye, when he should have only given you the sign that would forge a link from you to her. I thought—is it a prophecy?” he muttered, turning away with the words. “Come on. We should reach the Haven by mid-afternoon if we don’t keep stopping.”
“And then we’re safe.”
His abrupt laugh was like Volk’s, without humor. He looked over his shoulder and quirked an eyebrow. “That depends on your definition of safety.”
She stretched her stride to gain his side. “What will I find at the Haven?”
“I don’t know. I left after my father died. The elder who replaced him, he and I never got along.”
The simple statement opened up a wealth of trouble. “Your father was an elder?”
“One elder. A chieftain.” He stopped so abruptly that she strode past. He grabbed her arm and towed her back, and she saw that his left hand rested on his sword hilt, pushing it forward to speed its withdrawal from the Fae-scrolled scabbard. Ruddy braced his iron hooves on either side of the trail, but his head hung down, tired as she was.
She scanned ahead and behind. Like the deer trail they had used to shake the wyre off their heels, this faint trail meandered up and down the slope, steeper as it dropped toward the river. She wished she had a clear road, like the one she had taken from the Lowlands into the Wilding, to that copse at the rocky escarp where the prime wyre had set his trap.
Grim shifted his shoulders and started walking again—although he kept his dual grip on the sword and her arm. “I’m seeing ghosts where there’s nothing. Come on. Never good to linger in the Wilding.”
Ghosts reminded her of the wight which reminded her of Sangrior . . . which turned her thoughts back to Saircuista and the sorceress and the wyre.
Did something track them? Now she remembered the camp attack and the thin rope tightening around her neck. “Gobbers hiding?” she whispered the suggestion.
The trail dropped sharply. Trees crowded the path. On the switchback below, she saw the tangle of laurel, the trail keeping above the leafy maze. She teetered on a rocky slab jutting from the ground. The trail crossed it without leaving a trace on the granite, just the thready beaten ground on one side then the other.
“With all we’ve faced, I keep expecting a troll or an ogre. Or a gryph. Grim, have you ever seen a gryph?”
“Once.” His glance held amusement mixed with resignation, for clearly she struggled to stay quiet. “At distance.”
“Fighting for Frost Clime?” The only worse thing would be a dragon on the wing. “Do ogres and trolls fight at Iscleft? My brother wrote once that he fought more than sorcerers and wyre, but he didn’t say more than that brief line. I always wondered. The sorcerers could terrorize the Lowlands if they drove the Wilding creatures into the plains. Do you think they’ll do that?”
“That’s three questions.” He offered her a hand over another rock slab. Ruddy’s hooves rang as he picked his way across. “You could let me answer one question before you jump to the next.”
“Well?”
“What jumped into you this morning? You haven’t chattered like this before.”
“That could be the reason the sorceress came into the Wilding. She wants an alliance with Lady Bone. She wants to use the Wilding creatures in the Lowlands.”
He hadn’t given her hand back. She let him steady her progress, for it kept him from striding along at full speed. “Maybe the sorceress thinks she can control the Wilding creatures the way that Frost Clime controls the wyre. And that gryph you saw.”
“The wyre are allied to the sorcerers. They’re not really controlled. The gryph—I don’t know why it helped them. Ogres and trolls would be hard to control; they can’t keep a single thought in their pebble-sized brains. Trolls, especially. If you can hide, they’ll get distracted. We teased them, as boys.”
She waited to hear more, but he didn’t continue.
The only people more arrogant than wizards were the sorcerers. They likely thought they could control trolls and ogres. “That sorceress controlled the gobbers who attacked us.” She remembered the green-tinged silver that filled their round eyes.
“Manipulated them. But she might think she can control them. The sorcerers think they can control dragons. No one controls a dragon.”
“The Fae did, once.”
“Until the dragons rebelled and nearly destroyed the mundane world during Dragon Dark.”
“Could the Crygy control dragons?”
He stopped. He looked struck. She’d finally said something his quick reasoning hadn’t raced over.
“You did say the Crygy are like the Fae even though they have left Faeron.”
“A few remained,” he countered, the words slow as his mind tracked through her question. “Still as dangerous there as they are here in the Wilding.”
“But Lady Bone and the other Crygy left Faeron. When?” She teetered on a precipice of knowledge. If she plunged over, she would find an answer—if she didn’t die when the knowledge moved up to meet her. “When the dragons rebelled?” she whispered, fearing the words spoken louder.
He didn’t answer. He didn’t seem to see her, standing before him, the dappled light shifting as a wind blew through the evergreen branches overhead.
“Two questions,” he murmured. “Were the Crygy part of banishing the dragons to the Shifting Lands? Or did they leave Faeron because they refused to banish the dragons?” He started walking, so quickly that she stumbled and would have fallen without his tight grip. “You’ll need to read the records for those answers.”
“I studied history. Dragon Dark and the formation of the Enclave and the Riven Peace. Nothing about the Crygy and dragons.”
“You studied Enclave history. The Fae will have more records.”
“I don’t like reading. Maybe you should read them.”
“Maybe I should. We’d have to go to the Maorketh’s court.”
Orielle liked that we.
She managed to stay silent until they reached the narrow valley between the mountains. The steep slopes with their exposed boulders and rampant laurel funneled the swift river, a broader cousin to the one they had crossed before. Under the trees the moss grew thick on the ground and the half-rotted fallen trees, downe
d long ago. Green stained the rocks beside the water, slick near the waterline. Rains in the eastern Wild must have fallen to swell the river. The water looked deep and cold.
After searching for a crossing, Grim turned north. “We’ll go upstream to the ford. We cross quickly enough.”
What would wait for them at the expected crossing?
But she didn’t point out the danger, merely followed him. And the big chestnut trailed them.
The ford had a wide shoreline, just like the one where they’d fought two days before. The mountains tucked in their feet, letting the river broaden. The banks were lower, dropping gently to the shore. In places, the laurel tipped waxy leaves into the swift water.
The expanse from bank to bank allowed a view of the sun-drenched sky. Light glistened on the water. It dried the rocks to a dull grey. Densely growing evergreens crowded the lower slopes. Then the leafy trees began, their riot of colors slowing dying as the mountain climbed. Where the leaves were already gone, snow dusted the ground, softening the harsh lines of the steep incline, undulating along the flanks.
They crossed where the water streamed over the pebbled riverbed. Grim hoisted her onto the horse. Ruddy tossed his head but accepted her in the saddle. He swung up behind her and urged the horse into the cold water.
On the far side the mountain towered, the slope brushing against the single drapery of evergreens.
The opposing shore wasn’t as wide as it had appeared. Grim lowered her to the cobble-covered beach then jumped down. Ruddy shook like a dog casting off rainwater.
Since they couldn’t climb the steep slope, they followed the curving shore, moving ever upstream.
They rounded one bend after another. The mountain kept rising. Gradually, it stepped back to the river, narrowing the watery expanse, gentling its slope as they rounded its flank. On the far side, the one they had left, the mountain’s shoulder plunged to a narrow gully. Muddy water gushed out, pouring into the river, the silty color gradually mixing with the clear. The next mountain climbed just as steeply, an impenetrable wall they couldn’t have descended.
Up ahead, the shore narrowed, but a wooded island split the river. Riverside, the water rolled along. Mountain side, it swirled and eddied, catching storm wrack in its undulating banks.