Tras Sur'tian looked up, his eyebrows knotting quizzically. He hurried toward her, leaving the horses to the wizard's care. Gel and Kimon were also approaching. Before they were within earshot, the Korkyran touched her knee and inquired, “Some problem has arisen?"
She gave no answer but glared at him. After a moment, he just shrugged, used to her moods. Onokratos, leading their mounts, looked about to say something, but a wink and a headshake from Tras warned him to silence. Kimon and Gel climbed into their saddles while the older men quickly harnessed the palfreys.
By mid-afternoon they were through the forest and out of the hill country. A rich green carpet of land stretched before them. The wild grass was not too high to impede the wagon, and they made steady progress. By nightfall they were quite weary, except for the demon, who seemed immune to fatigue.
Trees were scarce; there was lime to use for firewood. Instead, they gathered bunches of the dry, wheatlike stalks that grew among the other grasses and burned that. When the little bit of cooking was done, Frost extinguished the flames entirely with water from the regular skins.
Onokratos complained.
“Ever see a grass fire?” she asked him. “We could die in our sleep if the merest coal remained for the wind to fan."
But as she unrolled her blankets she began to wish for a fire. Korkyran nights were naturally cool, and a slowly rising breeze that rippled the ocean of grass promised to lend a sharp bite to the air before morning. She stretched on her back, cast her cloak over her legs and lower torso.
The stars gleamed above like slivers of ice. Far to the north she spotted the familiar serpent constellation with shining Thubanur in the center of its body. The heavens revolved slowly around that bright star.
For a time, then, she was homesick. Thubanur reminded her of mariners who navigated by its light, and they reminded her of the sea and her home high on the cliffs above the raging Calendi.
Suddenly, she sat upright. She was remembering home, and for the first time in years, the memories were good. She lay back down. Were the nightmares behind her forever?
After a while, the increasing chill convinced her to seek out Kimon. She dragged her bedroll closer to his. He was already fast asleep but stirred and threw an embracing arm across her middle, effectively pinning her. She sighed and snuggled up to his warmth.
The last thing she remembered before sleep claimed her was a falling star trailing scintillant emerald sparks as it cleaved the darkness.
* * * *
She rose with the sun. Kimon had rolled away during the night, and the cold had crept into her bones. She stretched until the stiffness in her muscles eased, then woke the others. Nobody mentioned breakfast: supplies were limited. Gel could conjure food as needed, but that would waste the demon's fading powers, powers that would be needed for the contest at Skull Gate.
The children still slept entranced in the wagon's soft hay bed. They required no food, no water. A strand of hair had strayed over Aki's eyes. Frost brushed it away. On an impulse, she kissed the ball of her thumb and pressed it to the young queen's brow.
The morning passed uneventfully. The sun followed them as it crossed the sky. Conversation flowed more freely than before as they settled into the journey's dull routine. The plain gave way to woodland again. For a while their course paralleled a small river. They took a short rest and watered their horses. Shortly after midday, the woods began to thin, and they discovered a well-cut road.
“The main road, by the look of it,” Tras Sur'tian observed. “Somewhere, we crossed the regional border into Pelentea province."
“Then we've made good time.” Onokratos took advantage of the moment and reached for a waterskin. Frost watched him drink, suddenly aware of the uncomfortable weight of the two special skins she bore. The straps had chafed flesh beneath her tunic. She considered placing them in the wagon but feared someone might drink from them when she was not looking or that they might be confused with the other skins. She unslung them and rubbed her muscles and the tender places. Then, making a decision, she gave the skins to Tras Sur'tian, who tied them to the pommel of his saddle.
“We'll make even better time on a decent road,” Frost commented. They started off again.
Kimon began a song, his voice soaring on the quiet air. Surprisingly, Tras Sur'tian joined him on the chorus. It was a frivolous tune, as bawdy as ever she'd heard. More than once a particular lyric caused Onokratos to raise an eyebrow. Only Gel rode in silence, and his gaze raked the horizons.
Frost dropped back to ride beside him. “You have a hungry look, demon,” she said quietly.
With dreamlike slowness his attention turned to her; his eyes locked with hers. Again, she felt that weird, disconcerting flush, and wondered why. “I am hungry,” he admitted, “to make this world and everything in it mine.” The demon blinked; she'd never seen him do that before. “My pact with Onokratos binds me to him until the Kalynda-child is free from the spider god's grasp. Then shall I fly, no longer slave to hell or Onokratos, finally to exercise my will upon earth.” His huge, taloned hands curled into fists. An angry gleam flickered in his dark pupils, then died. “No, I shall not fly. My power is fading. Soon, all my magic will be gone. What shall it matter then if I am free?"
“Once, I was a witch,” she reminded him, “and I lost my powers. There's life beyond that if you've courage to look. Your life is a bright diamond; every time you turn, a new facet shines—"
A scornful laugh swallowed her next words. “Little fool! So puny and insignificant! Would thee measure us by the same rule? Thee are human. Lose thy witchcraft and only a small part of thee is gone. But I am a creature of magic! If I lose my power, I lose my heart. What shall become of me then?” He barked another laugh, darkly rich with evil. “Human emotion! Hear me shout and rail? See how contact with humans has corrupted me? Emotion! What would thee call this one?"
“Bitterness,” she provided; then, meeting his gaze with a certain smug pleasure, she added, “And fear."
“I could have ruled this miserable world,” he muttered under his breath.
She shrugged. “All dreams are small ones in the end,” she said, and set Ashur to a gallop until she caught up to Kimon at the fore of their party. His mood was much more agreeable. “Sing me a song, sir,” she requested.
He smiled. “I've a song for you indeed, composed of snippets I've heard in taverns and camps, some tidbits Tras Sur'tian let slip, and my own imagination."
“Will you sing it, or just explain it?” she gibed.
He sang.
"From a land where the trees grow tall as they please
And a diamond dew covers the earth;
Where the night wind sings to magical things
That laugh with fantastical mirth
Came a child with a sword all incarnadined, red
With blood of her family,
And she rides from the dreams that torment her sleep
And her witch-mother's last prophecy.
From Esgaria fair to Etai Calan
She rode through a sorcerous storm.
There, a Tool of Light brought her safe through the night
To witness his death on the morn.
But she took up his task, an old book that he stole,
Called the Last Battle ‘Twixt Light and Dark,
And she rode like the wind on his great unicorn
O'er a landscape turned barren and stark.
Through fire and trial she came to a land,
By legends, a dark evil place,
To seek for a sorcerer, Kregan by name,
A lord of the cruel Chondite race.
But she found there a people to help with her quest
And a love to fill her young heart.
With an army to guide, they swept like a tide,
Bearing weapons of sorcerous art.
So they rode like the wind to Demonium Gate
Where their magical power would be strong.
Every stone glowed bright wit
h the colors of fire
In a night supernaturally long.
And the eye of their foe, Zarad-Krul he was called,
Appeared with a cold, rheumy stare
To demand the book for the dark gods he served,
Or his magic and armies beware!
Well, that child with a sword and her sorcerous love
And her army prepared to make war,
And they met Zarad-Krul on the edge of a field
Till the night reeked of carnage and gore.
Oh, they battled each other with magic and sword
Till the dark gods themselves took a hand.
And three sent thousands to hell with a shrug,
And three shadows fell long on the land.
But next to her heart the child had the book,
And by witchcraft she opened it wide,
And there found a spell that would triumph o'er hell
If the lords of light fought at her side.
So she sang out the words and a whirlwind appeared
Bearing gods from the heavens to earth,
And they forced back the night with the power of their light,
Driving evil's three sons from the earth.
But when it was over and victory won,
Kregan, her lover, lay dead,
Lifted high by that whirlwind and smashed on a stone —
And her mother's words rang in her head:
(Prophecy from the lips of the dead!)
'Oh, you are a creature of fire and frost,
So Frost shall your name ever be,
And you'll never give your heart to a man
Unless death is his quick destiny.’”
He finished and looked to her for approval. When she said nothing after long moments, he reached for her hand and squeezed. “Well?” he prodded.
She licked her lips. “Very fanciful,” she conceded softly, unwilling to meet his eyes. “Mark well that last verse. Sing it often. Each time you think you love me.” She tugged on Ashur's mane, turned the unicorn about, and rode to Tras Sur'tian's side.
“You had no right to tell him so much,” she whispered.
He frowned. “I told him almost nothing, woman. Your secrets have never been as secret as you think. I've heard a similar song before, a score of versions in as many taverns."
The sun descended the afternoon sky.
Frost mopped the sweat from her brow and folded one leg over Ashur's withers. The insides of her thighs were saturated with the unicorn's lather. She rode with an easy rocking motion, in no danger of falling, but idly she wished for a saddle.
A word from Tras Sur'tian snapped her out of her quiet reverie. The wagon creaked to a halt. They looked where the Korkyran pointed.
A dozen men rode down a long slope on the left. She shot a look behind. They'd passed through the woodland country without her notice. There was no immediate shelter. She returned her attention to the riders. Bandits, she figured. No hope of outrunning them with the wagon. Her hand fell to the hilt of her sword.
Tras Sur'tian recognized them first: not bandits, but a squad of Korkyran regulars on patrol. “We've got trouble,” he murmured, and loosened his own blade in its sheath. Frost, Kimon, Tras, and Gel fanned out before the wagon. Onokratos sat nervously on the hard wooden seat and watched.
The soldiers cut across their course, blocking the road.
Frost remembered the distinctive livery Tras Sur'tian wore sewn to his tunic. Surreptitiously, she tapped her chest. “Maybe you'd better take charge,” she whispered.
Tras Sur'tian rode a little forward to address the patrol's commander. “Ho, Captain! We nearly mistook you for bandits.” He gave the traditional Korkyran salute. “We have met no other travelers on these lonely roads."
A warrior not much less than Tras Sur'tian's years urged his mount a few steps ahead of his troops. He sat his saddle stiffly, no hint of friendliness on his stony features. “You are Captain Tras Sur'tian, commander of the palace guard at Mirashai.” It was not a question, but an identification.
Tras Sur'tian abandoned his amicable approach and adopted the other man's hostile tone. “We're on royal business. You're blocking our way."
The other captain was unruffled. He made a gesture; his soldiers spread out into a semicircle to his left and right. He spoke again. “You are under arrest for complicity in the murders of Aki, High Queen of Korkyra, and of Thogrin Sin'tell. Baron Endymia, heir designate.” He paused, looked past Tras Sur'tian, and glared with hate-filled eyes at Frost. “You are also charged with harboring a convicted criminal and with willful desertion of your duty post.” He rattled off other charges without benefit of a document. “For a month you've eluded us. To my everlasting glory, I have stumbled upon you."
Tras Sur'tian lied coolly, “You have your facts wrong. I've captured the murderess. And I've conscripted these men to help guard her.” He cast a glance over his shoulder. “She's a tricky bitch."
The barest smirk stole over the other captain's face. “The evidence calls you liar, sir. You've not even bothered to take her weapons. And Mirashai lies in the opposite direction, so your falsehood is compounded.” He indicated Kimon, Gel, and Onokratos. “These are most probably co-conspirators. You'll surrender your weapons at once."
Frost could no longer hold her tongue. She rode to Tras Sur'tian's side. “You know me, Captain?"
He nodded. “I saw you once at the declaration of peace between Korkyra and Aleppo. Queen Aki named you her champion."
She played her only card, her last hope of preventing a confrontation. “What if I told you Aki is alive?"
His mouth twitched, but plainly he didn't believe her.
Frost pushed. “She's in the wagon, but she's ill. I'm trying to save her life.” She made a gesture, and Onokratos drew back the cloak he'd draped to shade the children. “Look for yourself,” she offered.
The captain hesitated; then, laying hand to sword's hilt, he rode cautiously past Frost and peered into the wagon. His eyes narrowed. He looked up, then back into the wagon. He leaned down from his saddle and placed a hand on Aki's cheek. Then he resumed his place with his men.
“The first charge may be reduced to abduction,” he announced. “But the other charges stand. You must come with us."
Frost barely kept her temper. “You pompous fool! Get out of our way, or there's no hope at all for Aki. Bring your men, if you must, and join us. But don't delay us longer!"
The captain raised a hand. His men drew their blades. Frost, Kimon, and Tras Sur'tian responded, showing steel. “Don't be stupid,” the captain advised. “You've three swords to twelve."
Onokratos spoke for the first time, rising to stand on the boards, the reins draped lazily in his hands. “You've neglected to count me, sir,” he chided. “Your mistake."
The captain openly scoffed. “My apologies, grandfather. I saw no blade at your belt. Have you some other weapon I should count to your credit?"
A broad, mocking smile spread over the wizard's face; the corners of his mouth strained toward his ears. He pointed to Gel. “Him."
The captain pursed his lips in consideration. “The black brute doesn't wear steel, either, grandfather."
The huge smile disappeared. “He needs no weapon, fool,” he answered darkly. “He is a demon."
Frost studied the effect of his words on the men before her. A few eyes darted nervously to Gel, reevaluating him. A few grinned at what they considered an old man's madness. The captain himself barked a short laugh and spat in the dust.
Gel twisted in his saddle to face his master. “They do not believe thee,” he said.
Once again, that mocking smile returned. “Show them."
A blood-chilling yell boiled from the demon's throat, no human sound. Weaponless, he sprang over his horse's head. His massive arms lashed out as he leaped, knocking the two nearest soldiers from their saddles before they could lift swords to defend themselves.
Frost stared open-mouthed. Such a tremendous leap! And r
ight out of the stirrups! But that feat paled beside the demon's next action.
Gel disappeared momentarily beneath one of the riderless mounts. Suddenly, the beast rose into the air, whinnying pitifully, hooves thrashing. The demon heaved; the screaming animal flew through the air, crashing into men and horses. The captain of the patrol saved himself by diving into the dirt. He rose, pale, shaken, but not yet ready to give up.
He snatched his blade from the roadside where it had fallen. “Get him!” he ordered his men. “Get them all!"
Blindly obedient, a young recruit scrambled to his feet and ran at Gel. The demon brushed aside the artless sword thrust. One huge hand closed on the soldier's leather-helmed skull and squeezed. An agonized cry choked, half-uttered, in the man's throat. Frost heard the crack of splintering bone and clenched her eyes shut, forcing down the bile that threatened to rise. When she opened them, fresh crimson stained the demon's hand. He kicked the body aside and laughed.
“Enough!” Onokratos's shout rang over the demon's terrible mirth. All eyes turned to the old wizard. His expression was hard and cruel as he glared down on the unfortunate captain. “Does he have to kill all of you? Or will you leave us alone?"
The captain shook his fist even as the color drained from his face. “I have my duty!” he cried.
“Think of your men!” Onokratos snapped. “What's left of them! Look around, man. See what your duty has wrought!"
Of the twelve, Gel had killed three with his bands. The horse he had flung into their midst had claimed another; Frost could see the unmoving form pinned beneath the beast's wriggling, broken bulk. Two more lives were uncertain. They lay on the ground, perhaps merely unconscious. Only now did she see what a young bunch they were. Farmers’ sons, probably, products of the local villages. None but the captain, an older and more experienced warrior, seemed willing to fight on.
“Go home,” Onokratos urged with surprising gentleness.
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