Bloodsongs (24 page)

Lightning crackled wildly, fracturing the darkness.

Kel stared in utter confusion at the beast, the lightning, at his own magic. “Stop that animal!” he ordered his troops, recovering himself. “Don't let it close. Kill it!”

But panic swelled quickly among the soldiers. Frost couldn't move, yet the turmoil around her was easy to see. Kel's men tried to ring the unicorn. They jabbed at him with spears and swords. But those who ventured too close died beneath vengeful hooves, were bitten to the bone or pierced by that fatal spike. Ashur slammed into horses, knocking riders from the saddle to be trampled by their own comrades.

Still, they harried him, and the unicorn could not reach her side.

Kel turned his back to the turbulence. Once more he called on the goddess of wisdoms. Then, he thrust his hand deep into the blazing pillar. It did not burn him, and when he pulled his hand out again he held an immense, dazzling emerald. Nearly the size of a human hand, it cast reflections of the fire like stars upon the earth.

The pillar of flame subsided and died. The well's wall. scorched and weakened by the intense heat, collapsed inward, leaving nothing but a hole before the temple's charred entrance. Frost listened to the multiple splashes of the stones with a deep regret.

Kel rushed to her, holding his treasure. His black hair was plastered to his head and rainwater streamed from his lashes and nose and chin, lending him a hellish countenance. “The second of the Three Aspects,” he told her proudly, “and this will lead me to the final Aspect.” He beckoned to the guard who seemed always near his elbow. “Get my horse,” he ordered, “and find one for my mother. Hurry!” He stared toward Ashur and his embattled warriors with just a hint of fear. “I've never seen such a horse. They don't seem to be hurting it much, and I haven't time to see to it myself.”

His servant brought their steeds. The screams of men dying and the enraged cries of her unicorn overwhelmed his next words, but she felt herself compelled to mount beside her son. With the greatest effort she strained to turn her head, to catch the barest glimpse of Ashur. She caught him just in the corner of her eye. His hide shone thick with blood. But was it his? Or was it the blood of Kel's soldiers?

“Now ride!” Kel shouted, gripping his amulet, leaning close to her ear. “And you'll do nothing but what I tell you, Mother.”

He put the reins in her unresisting hands. With another shout he forced his way through the confused ranks of his men, clearing a path for her. “Ride!” he called back.

Obediently, she nudged the horse's flanks with her bootheels. Because she couldn't turn her head, she didn't know how many of the rebels followed. But when Ashur tried to chase them her son gave orders.

“If it takes every one of your lives, keep that beast away!”

As they left the city behind, she glimpsed the fires that still raged in the fields. Smoke sailed high into the air, thick and black, growing thicker as the rain fell. Perhaps some of the crops would be spared.

Then she realized also that Kel had not taken time to burn the town. A sense of relief stole over her for that. Kel rode swiftly, pushing his horse to the utmost. She followed, watching as from time to time he cast glances back over his shoulder.
Almost in fear
, she thought.
Fear of Ashur?

And what of the unicorn? There had been blood on his coat. . .
 

She sighed, unable to do more.

Perhaps Lycho's spirit and those of me other priests would rest easier. She couldn't take much credit for it, but Dakariar, at least, had survived her son.

If only she could wipe the damnable rain from her eyes. . . .

 

 

 

Chapter Eleven

 

Frost stared sullenly from the high window of her prison. On the plain below, Ashur paced angrily, stamping the muddy earth. The flames of his eyes sizzled and flared, casting pools of rich amber light in the supernatural darkness. A half score of bodies lay scattered on the wet, cold ground, men who had tried to drive the unicorn away. Their screams still echoed in her ears.

A large piece of wind-driven fabric flapped across the plain, one of the many ruined tents the storm had flattened. She watched until it disappeared in the distant wood that surrounded Kel's tower.

The sky flashed again, momentarily blinding her. Her vision danced with afterimages. For three days since Dakariar, the lightning and thunder had raged. Not even Kel's sorceries had been able to halt the rain. They had ridden in sodden garments and slept—or tried to sleep—in high places that were not likely to flood.

She was sure some of the horses would die of sickness, and more than a few of the rebels were coughing and spitting.

She hugged a blanket around herself for warmth and leaned outward. Rain pelted her face and wind blew her hair into her eyes. The river Lythe cut a wide, silver-gray scar on the dark landscape. If she leaned just a little farther, she could gaze across it into Esgaria. She shivered to know her homeland was so close.

Below, Ashur let out a cry as if he had seen her. The unicorn pranced beneath her window, then charged the huge wooden gates. His hooves smashed uselessly at the iron-banded beams. A rain of arrows filled the air in response, and he wheeled about on his hind legs and raced away out of range.

Frost bit her lip. A crackling bolt ignited the sky, revealing a shaft that jutted from Ashur's right flank. Perhaps it was not embedded too deeply, though, for the creature stamped and pranced as ferociously as ever, kicking up sprays of mud and water, venting his frustrated war cry.

A key grated in the lock at her door. She didn't need to glance over her shoulder to know it was Kel. The door opened. A ray of light poured in before the door closed again. The light remained to brighten the room.

“If you promise not to burn us down, I'll leave the lamp,” her son said gently.

She said nothing, just continued to stare beyond the window. The rain upon her skin seemed the only piece of reality she could cling to.

“You wouldn't think of jumping, would you?”

Was that sarcasm in his voice or genuine concern? She couldn't tell anymore, and dimly she realized she didn't care. She didn't know this Kel at all.

“You're such a fool, son.” She turned and leaned heavily on the cool stone wall, regarding him as she hugged the blanket closer around her nakedness. “You won't be rid of me that easily.”

He went to the window and looked down. “What in the nine hells is that beast? It doesn't quit. It runs around out there as if it were waiting to kill us all!”

She smirked, recalling the bodies below. “I'd say he's made a pretty good start.” Then she fixed her son with a mocking gaze. “What do you think he is? What do you see when you look at him, mighty sorcerer?”

Kel leaned outward, bracing his hands on either side of the window for support. “A horse, you stupid woman!” But he licked his lips. “Sometimes, though, I almost see more. As if there were another shadow laid over its shape.” He shook his head and continued to stare.

“He frightens you, too,” she said, voicing her suspicion. Kel didn't tremble or blanch or betray any outward sign, but she could taste the fear he exuded. “What do you really see, son? Do you see your death?”

He moved back to the center of the room. “Don't you wish it was,” he scoffed.

“With all my heart,” she answered, meeting his accusing gaze unflinchingly. “If it's true that you killed your father, yes, then I wish it. And because your cowardly action caused Kirigi's murder, yes, I wish it.” She watched him pace the room. By the look on his face she knew that her words hurt him. She wanted them to hurt. “You're my firstborn child, and you've made me hate you. Can you feel my hate, Kel?”

He stopped in midstep. “You're a cold bitch,” he said softly. “You chose your name well, Mother.
Frost
. There was never anything motherly about you. You're nothing but a creature of frost.
 
Frost and fire.”

She started. Years ago, someone else had spoken similar words to her. But her mother was long dead; strange to hear them again from her son's mouth.

A series of jagged bolts split open the darkness beyond her window. The thunder that followed shook the tower to its foundation. The wind abruptly changed direction and blew the rain into the room. A puddle quickly formed on the floor.

Kel moved to close the shutters. “Damned storm,” he muttered.

“Leave them!” Frost ordered. She edged him aside and stood at the window, welcoming the storm's fury. Another cobalt flash silhouetted her in brief glory. The rising gale whipped the corners of her blanket, and the rain swiftly drenched her. She opened her wrap to feel the storm upon her bare skin.

“You'll die of sickness.” Kel warned.

“We all die,” she answered. “But some die with honor, some like beaten curs that just roll over in the ditch and give up.” She made no effort to hide her scorn. “Can you guess how you will you die, mighty sorcerer?”

His bootheels rang on the floor stones as he came up behind her. She could feel the warmth of him, his breath on her neck as he spoke. “Did you ever wonder,” he said bitterly, “in all those five years, where I had gone, what I was doing, if I was alive or dead?”

“Every day that passed I thought of you,” she answered truthfully, folding the blanket about her body again. “So did your father. He hunted everywhere for you at first. Your leaving nearly killed him. Apparently, your homecoming did.”

“He shoved me aside!” Kel shouted. “He brought home that brat!”

Frost moved away, unable to bear his nearness. “We've sung this song before, Kel,” she said dully. “No more verses about your jealousies. Your father loved you.” She rubbed her eyes with thumb and forefinger. “Gods, how can you stand there and confess you murdered him without ripping out your own tongue?”

“What should his death mean to me?” he snapped, anger coloring his cheeks. His eyes seemed to glow, or was that a trick of the lamplight? “You say you wondered about me? Maybe you did. With Kirigi to keep you happy, though, I doubt it.”

He wore a thin green robe with two large pockets. He extracted something from the left one, but his fist remained clenched tight. “You told me tales, Mother. Remember those wondrous stories of magical deeds, of gods and fantastic adventures?” He waited as if expecting her to nod. When she did nothing he went on, “Well, I found no adventure—at least, not at first—but I did find knowledge.”

A cruel smile blossomed on his lips. “Watch, and see what I learned.”

He held his fist out and shut his eyes to concentrate. A soft incantation issued from his throat, so low she couldn't hear the precise words. Pale wisps of smoke began to waft between his fingers, tenuous vapors that drifted a few paces away and began to congeal. At first, the form was a mere shadow. But the shadow thickened.

It stepped forward into the lamplight.

“Kimon!” She caught her breath. Then, she leaped to embrace her husband.

“Stop!” Kel's arms locked around her, lifting her off her feet, pulling her back. “If you touch him, he will return instantly to whatever hell he dwells in. Nothing will ever call him back.” He set her down again. “No living human may touch a spirit.”

Kimon regarded her. There was a chilling depth to those blue eyes, a fearful wisdom that had never been there when he lived. She found it difficult to look at any other part of him. Yet her arms reached out of their own will, powered by her longing, as if to embrace him from across the room.

Sadly, he answered with a shake of his head.

“Necromant!” Though she whispered, the word echoed around the room, both curse and accusation.

“I confess it,” Kel said with quiet pride. “Necromancy. Death magic. I met an old man in Rhianoth; he taught me the rudiments. That was my sixteenth summer, and not long after I left home. In my seventeenth, he died.” He looked at her and at the ghost of his father. “But I had his skills by then, and I knew how to seek out others to help me hone them. You see, I had a talent for this blackest of the black arts. Perhaps I inherited it from you, Mother. I know the stories about you were true—that once you were a witch.”

She walked carefully to her husband's side and stood as close to him as she dared. Deep inside she cried to hold him, touch him, kiss him. Yet she dared not. “You're my beloved,” she told him thickly. “Still and forever, my only beloved.”

Kimon made no answer, and she could no longer read the messages in those piercing eyes.

“He can say nothing on his own,” Kel explained, “but only answer one question when I ask it. One finger, one question.”

“You hold your father's spirit prisoner.” There was no disguising the grief and contempt that mingled in her voice. “And though you're my son, I'll curse your name forever for it. Open your fist; I know what you hold.”

His hand uncurled. On his palm rested one of Kimon's severed fingers. “I hate you,” she whispered again. In her heart where once she had kept Kel's name, she imagined a gulf that grew ever wider. “I'll hate you forever and ever, time without end, and when damnation claims us both I'll still go on hating you.” She stared from the mutilated digit to her husband's hand, noting with small satisfaction that he had regained two fingers.

“Ask your third question,” she said to her son. “and let him go.
 
I doubt he can abide a moment more of your company than I can.”

Kel came to her side. “Four fingers, four questions. For the first, I asked if the stories of Demonfang were true. For the second—after you denied my request—I asked where the dagger was hidden.” He laid a hand on her shoulder.

She moved away from him again. “Why? What made it so important?” She could not peel her eyes away from her husband. She feared that if she looked away for even an instant, he might be gone when she turned back. Then she would be once more alone with her monster son.