Frost

by Mark A. Garland

  He motioned his men to him. "The two we want have gone back inside the cottage," he said, as they gathered closely about, careful not to batter one another or the many tree trunks with their swords and armor, so as not to clank. Trellish turned two men out of the ranks and stood them aside. "You two follow Frost and the others," he said. "If they turn back, you must get here ahead of them, so that we will be warned. When they meet with Jons, you are to stay close by. If the meeting goes badly, you will lend your swords, but only if you are needed."

  The pair nodded and saluted their captain, right arm extended downwards, then back, and rushed off through the brush as quietly as possible.

  "The rest of you will circle with me," Trellish went on. He pointed. "That way, until we are behind the cottage." Now is as good a time as any, he thought. They could not wait for dark, but most of the villagers were in the fields right now. If he and his men were quick they would not be noticed. If they were noticed . . . "You are to kill anyone who comes near."

  Trellish received their silent nods, then he gave the word, and led the way.

  * * *

  The fields Jons had chosen were part of one of the largest fiefs in Briarlea. Rows of barley mixed with weeds and wildflowers stretched away over rolling hills to small, distant clumps of woods and greater tree lines. The villages that were home to those who tended the grain lay well beyond the hills to the south. Today, no one was about.

  "The baron of this manor, Greldon, is devoted to Andair," Shassel said as they walked. "We might expect anything at all."

  Frost made no reply other than to nod. The sun was lower in the sky now, making long pools of shadows on the eastern sides of the trees. Frost did not trouble himself with peering into them in search of movement; he left that task to his Subartans and concentrated instead on preparing a handful of minor spells that might prove useful, should anything go wrong. He expected something would, and so did Shassel. She hadn't said anything more on the subject since they had taken to the road, but Frost knew her mind, and that look in her eye, as she constantly assessed the way ahead.

  "There," Rosivok said, pointing toward a field that became fully visible as the four of them topped a long, low rise. Only a few hundred paces ahead five figures stood along the side of the road near a stand of young pines. Their horses waited in the shade. All five began walking out onto the road as soon as they saw they had visitors.

  "I sense nothing wrong," Frost said. "Yet."

  "Nor do I," Shassel answered. "But that is not enough."

  "I know." Frost started forward again, whispering to himself as he went. Shassel did the same beside him, helping him build a layered warding spell that would protect his Subartans against at least one assault, and perhaps another before it collapsed. For Rosivok and Sharryl this had often proved more than enough of an edge. Shassel finished her work just as Frost did—as they drew within earshot of the others. Quickly they each went about building one more warding spell, intended to protect one another. Shassel's wardings were thinner and more frail than Frost's, much as she was, but probably sufficient all the same. Frost went forward with confidence enough.

  "Jons, isn't it?" Frost asked, coming to rest some twenty paces from the others. All four soldiers were well armored considering how far they had traveled. Each had their crossbows held at the ready. Jons himself carried only a sword, and that still in its hilt.

  "Yes," Jons said. "You are Frost."

  "And this is Shassel," Frost said with a nod in her direction.

  "Good to meet you at last," Jons told her.

  "No, it is not," she replied. "It is a troublesome thing at best, and likely a waste of everyone's time."

  Jons smiled haughtily. "No need to raise your hackles, old woman," he said. "I come directly from the throne in Weldhem, and I have good news. You should be glad I am here."

  "That will depend on the news," Shassel replied.

  Frost planted his walking stick in front of him with a thud. "Which you will be kind enough to render," he said. "At once. But heed this warning: do not let your tongue get ahead of your backside while speaking to Shassel again."

  "Is she so in need of a protector?" Jons asked, grinning and glancing back at his soldiers.

  "I am not trying to protect her," Frost said. "I am trying to protect you."

  Jons studied his opponents a moment. Weighing as much as he can comprehend, Frost thought. In fact it was more of an effort than Frost would have given him credit for.

  "Very well," Jons said, pressing on. "You sent your messenger to Gentaff to ask for a meeting of some kind. Andair has sent me on his and Gentaff's behalf. They act as one, and want first that you understand that much. Next, they remain interested in the Demon Blade and are willing to hear any reasonable offer. Perhaps even an unreasonable one, depending on the circumstances. They also have many questions for you, I think. Not enough is known about the Blade . . . apparently."

  Jons had added this last on his own, but he'd gotten the idea somewhere, Frost was sure of that.

  "Go on," Frost said.

  "Andair says he bears you no ill will, Frost, you or Shassel. If you come with me to Weldhem it will be under Andair's full protection, and only to talk."

  "A day in the castle," Frost said loftily.

  "Exactly," Jons said.

  "I will not go," Frost said, losing his smile abruptly. "As my messenger no doubt told your king, I will meet with Gentaff, and Gentaff alone, and only as we are meeting now, somewhere in the open—here, or further west if he likes. A place where no traps can be set and no tricks can be played."

  "I was told you would say as much, and told how to answer thus: They do not trust you. The king will not risk such a meeting. He doesn't know your mind these days, or Shassel's. No, you must go to them. And I must take you."

  "Still the same self-serving coward he always was, eh?" Frost said, and heard Shassel snort her approval from just behind him.

  Jons seemed displeased.

  "Ah, you are actually fond of him?" Frost asked.

  "So it would seem," Shassel said, scowling at Jons.

  "Fortunately, I had a low opinion of you in the first place."

  Jons boiled a little hotter. "I will have your answer, and your regard!" he snapped, grasping the hilt of his sword tightly enough to turn his knuckles white—though he did not draw the weapon. The soldiers with him held their places as well, each with a firm two-handed grip on their crossbows. Nervousness showed in their eyes, the kind Frost had seen often, and taken advantage of nearly as much.

  Sharryl and Rosivok remained where they had positioned themselves, just forward and to either side of Frost and Shassel, their subartas held ready, their eyes and senses utterly keen.

  "You have my answer," said Frost. "I will not set foot inside Weldhem, so you may as well run along. Go back and tell your lord and that old and wretched sorcerer of his that you have returned as you left—empty-handed as well as empty-headed."

  "But be sure you remember to tell him of Frost's offer," Shassel said, "to meet as we are now. It is the only way."

  "You are the fools here," Jons snarled, clearly wounded by the words pelting him.

  "And just how would you know?" Shassel asked.

  Jons looked about to explode. "Listen, old woman . . ."

  "Go, or regret what happens!" Frost said, fixing Jons with a hard glare. "Enough is enough. Go before your pride is not the only thing wounded."

  Jons drew his sword at this, which prompted the guard nearest him to loose an arrow from his crossbow. Too quickly to follow, Rosivok's subarta flashed in the late day sunlight, deflecting the arrow before it could do harm. He'd read the soldiers correctly—and so had Sharryl, who leaned away from the shot to give Rosivok the room he needed. Then she bobbed forward. She stood directly between both groups now, subarta raised, legs spread apart, eyes locked on Jons'. Waiting for him to stir while Rosivok watched the others.

  No one moved.

  "We will go," Jons muttered, tu
rning slowly only halfway around as he began backing away toward the horses. "No one was supposed to die here today, and we have our mission to complete. I have said all there was." He kept backing up and his men slowly followed, one eye over their shoulders as they put distance between themselves and Frost.

  "I thought they'd never leave," Shassel said, watching the others reach the trees.

  Frost looked to her and found her grinning. She'd enjoyed this, and quite a bit, judging from the naughty little-girl look on her beautiful old face. Frost smiled back. "It is time we did the same," he said, and they turned to head toward home.

  He hadn't accomplished very much; in fact he'd succeeded primarily in learning that Shassel had been right about Andair and Gentaff all along. But that was something in itself; he knew where he stood. So he knew better how he must proceed.

  The walk back was a slow and silent one, leaving Frost with a good deal of time to think. It wasn't until they were nearly there and walking in darkness that Frost suddenly began to wonder at Jons' last words, and to worry that the fears spreading through his mind might be all too real.

  "Again, we are followed," Rosivok said evenly, and kept walking steadily, calmly.

  "I have seen them, too," Sharryl said.

  "How many?" Frost asked, hearing the harshness in his voice only after he'd spoken. It wasn't Rosivok or Sharryl; he was annoyed that anyone could be so coarse as to trouble him while he already had so much to concentrate on, so many grim possibilities to consider.

  "Not many, one or two," Rosivok replied.

  "I will circle," Sharryl offered.

  She would kill them, whoever they were, and catch up in a little while. Frost did not want even that distraction just now. "No," he said. "Keep notice of them and let me know if they draw near. I may need them." Both Subartans nodded, and continued walking.

  "What's wrong?" Shassel asked him, and he knew she sensed his mood completely.

  "I'll say nothing yet, but we should walk more quickly, I think."

  He saw her eyes. She'd guessed it, too, just then, but did not say more. The pace picked up considerably. It was dark when they arrived back at the village; Frost had considered going on ahead or sending one of his Subartans, but he was going on nothing more than a hunch, and he didn't want to worry Shassel if there wasn't a need, or add vulnerability by splitting everyone up.

  As they approached Shassel's cottage, Frost could sense something wrong—not a function of magic or anything he could see—just a feeling, a hunch. The glow of light from within the cottage was always visible against the woods surrounding it, but this night the window that faced the road was dark.

  "Go," Frost said, sending Rosivok at a jog into the village to collect torches while he waited, silent, with the others. Her hand reached out and gripped his wrist, and she held it tightly until the Subartan rejoined them holding one lit torch in each hand; Frost took one and handed the other to Shassel.

  "It is too quiet," Shassel said thinly, haltingly. "I know," Frost said, and started forward.

  "The door is open," Rosivok said as they neared. He stood peering into the darkness past the fluttering light of the torches. Sharryl joined him and they flanked the doorway.

  Shassel started after them. Frost quickly leaned one arm in front of her. "Wait," he said. "Let them."

  She nodded, and remained with Frost.

  Cool moonlight blended with the light from the torches, highlighting the heads and shoulders of the two Subartans and reflecting off the polished flat metal of their half-raised subartas. With no detectable word or glance between them, they suddenly rushed into the dark interior, one after the other. A silent moment later Sharryl poked her head back out. "Come, look," she said.

  Shassel went rushing past her. Frost found Rosivok lighting the oil lamp as he looked in. The room was a mess. Stew had spilled from the kettle, which lay on the floor near the darkened hearth. One leg of the table had been broken off leaving the table down on its corner. Two of the chairs lay splintered nearby. The chest where Dorin had kept his sword was open, empty. As for the twins themselves there was no sign.

  "Frost," Rosivok said, kneeling near one of the beds. As Frost came to his side he held the torch low, illuminating the floor. Frost dabbed his finger in the pool of dark liquid there. He knew it was blood even before he raised the finger to his nose and took a whiff.

  "I know of no way to tell whose blood it is," Shassel said, and Frost realized she was standing over his shoulder.

  "I knew a mage of limited wits once, an enormous woman whose girth nearly prevented her from walking, but she had a spell useful on such occasions. A number of dyes were involved, as I recall, with the result that a sample of blood could be matched to its owner, provided one had a known sample to match it with. She also claimed ingesting the dyes and blood brought her visions."

  "I am fresh out of twins' blood," Shassel grumbled. "And appetite."

  Frost nodded, then he stood and turned to Sharryl. "What of the ones that have been following us?" he asked.

  "They are there no longer," Sharryl replied.

  "Soldiers," Rosivok said. "I saw a glimpse of armor as the sun was setting."

  Keeping an eye on me, Frost thought. But why? And whose soldiers were they? Andair's, probably, but if not his then whose? The answer would wait. Or it was already here, somewhere.

  "Sharryl, go into the village and ask anyone you find if they saw anything, if they know anything," he said. "Rosivok, take a torch and search the woods and rows for any sort of sign. Shassel and I have work to do here, until you both return."

  The two Subartans nodded and disappeared out the door. Frost gathered two of the remaining chairs and got Shassel to sit on one of them while he settled on the other.

  "We will call to them," he said. He took her hands in his and they began to chant, slowly, melodically, sharing their strength, building a spell that grew ever larger with each repetition. They used both their binding phrases, but nothing came of the effort. Such spells were limited no matter what—by time, by distance, by the condition of those being sought. Wherever the twins had gone, they would not be found by mind and magic alone.

  "Frost."

  Rosivok stood once more inside the doorway. "Come with me," he said. "I have found something."

  They cleared their heads and followed. Rosivok led them around back of the cottage and into the woods, not very far, going just slowly enough to keep the torches from flickering out. Even in the dark it was clear that some of the underbrush and saplings had been recently trampled. The trail weaved its way through the trees until, just over a hundred paces out, Rosivok stopped and held the torch at arm's length. A body lay facedown on the ground in front of him, a soldier, one of Andair's "tailwaggers," Frost saw. Blood covered his left hand and forearm, which stuck out and back at an awkward angle. More blood had pooled beside the body on the mat of dead leaves and moss that covered the ground.

  "Dead a while," Rosivok said.

  "Unfortunate," Frost said.

  "Yes," Shassel agreed. "He might have told us something."

  "The other one," Rosivok said, stepping over the man's body and waving his torch at a thicket of berry bushes just a few paces further ahead, "the one that crawled in there, is still alive."

  Frost could see him now, a shape too dense to be part of the bushes. The figure was hunched low to the ground, and wasn't moving.

  "I will get him," Rosivok said. "He bleeds from the head and arms. He can go no further."

  Frost nodded as a rustle from behind told Frost that Sharryl had joined them. She helped Rosivok fetch the dying soldier. They left a trail of blood as they pulled the man near and laid him out on the ground beside his fallen comrade. Even now blood ran down his nose, cheeks and neck, and soaked into his clothing. The damage was extensive. His flesh had been peeled away in bits and chunks from his head, his arms, anywhere his armor did not cover. The look on his young, ravaged face was one of horror and shock, and it only worsened when he
saw the other soldier.

  "We cannot save you, you are dead already," Frost said. "But you can help us. If you do, I will ease your pain. And you have your place in the afterlife to think of. Tell us what has happened here."

  The man stuttered, then gurgled, then swallowed as if he'd had something enormous in his throat; none of which seemed to help. Frost closed his eyes and touched the soldier with his fingers, then he spoke over him, choosing the words that would give him the precise control he needed over his own body, and the others'. He felt energy being drawn from himself, being metabolized, drained—enough to make the magic work, though such spells as this required more than most. He could not heal the soldier, there was no power known that could do that, but as the man's pain began to ease he could see the terror draining from his face. After a moment Frost withdrew, and asked his questions again.

  "Ravens," the man said, closing his eyes. "So many . . . so many of them."

  "Birds is what did this to you?" Shassel asked, perking up just a bit.

  The man nodded. Then he glanced at his comrade's butchered stomach. "That is from the boy's sword. We should have killed him, but—but we could not."

  It wasn't anger but regret that fueled these last words, Frost saw, watching the soldier's eyes. Orders, he guessed.

  "I taught them that," Shassel said. "Dorin and Dara are both good with creatures, especially certain ones. The ravens of course, dogs as well, and there's the hawk that frequents the cottonwood tree in front of the cottage. I don't know what else, but they have been practicing."

  She went suddenly silent and stood staring at her feet. Thinking about the twins, certainly, just as Frost was. Though she had known them all their lives . . .

  "Dorin's sword arm is not to be overlooked either, it seems," Rosivok noted.

  To which Frost nodded. Then he turned his attentions back to the soldier. "What have you done with them?"

  This, the soldier would not say, but now Shassel came forward and knelt with him, and spoke to him. She began to tell him about Dara and Dorin, what they were like, how hard it had been for them, growing up without their father, and how much they meant to her; then how the Greater Gods, she was certain, were as fond of them as she, and would likely show true kindness to anyone who helped right the awful wrong that was the taking of them. While she spoke he began fading in and out now, not enough blood left in him.