Bloodsongs (34 page)

When the final line was drawn she rubbed her back and let go a sigh. “It's done,” she announced. She went to Telric and took the waterskin from his horse's saddle. Before she drank, she scanned the edge of the woods. There was no sign of Riothamus or his men, but she could sense the eyes upon her every movement. “Nothing to do now but wait,” she said to her friend, and upended the skin.

Telric drank when she had had her fill. The liquid dribbled over his chin and into his tunic. He rubbed it over his throat and face, then glanced at the sun. “What do you want me to do?” he asked at last. “We're going to be right in the middle of this thing, you know.”

Of course she knew. She also knew it wasn't fear that prompted his words, but Rholarothan impatience. “Have faith in me,” she answered softly. “And let no man climb those crude stairs, because that's where I must stand.” She pointed to the top of the wall.

Telric gazed at the summit, and his brow crinkled. He shook his head. “Don't be a fool. You'll be too exposed, and Kel has archers.”

“I have to risk it,” she said firmly. “If Riothamus does his part, Kel will be very busy.”

But Telric argued, “A bow shot is a simple thing, woman, and your son outnumbers us two to one.”

“He doesn't know that,” she countered, “and if I do my part, he won't know it.”

His dark eyes narrowed, and he glared at her. “What are you planning?”

She patted his head and smiled hopefully. “Wait and see. You're going to love it.”

He could only shake his head and grumble, “What about your circles? They could be wrecked if the battle gets too close.”

“Oh, it will get close. That's why I want you here. And Ashur will be with us, too. But by the time they get this close, my spell will either have succeeded or failed, and it won't matter what happens to the circles.”

She knew he didn't like it, but at least he kept his worries to himself. He followed her back across the pattern, drew his sword, and laid it upon his lap as he took a seat on the lowest stepping-stone. Frost squeezed his shoulder, glad in her heart for his company. Then she climbed past him and up to the top of the wall. There, she also sat and stared toward the east, where Kel na'Akian would emerge from the woods. There would be no hiding for her or Telric.

What would he think when he saw his tower? She knew her son. He would be angry and vengeful. He would think of his grimoires and the arcane objects he had left behind accumulated over the years. She wondered where in all the rubble those evil things were buried. She hoped they stayed buried.

A motion below caught her eye. It was Telric's horse. Bored, it had begun to wander off, and she cursed herself for the oversight. She should have sent the creature with Riothamus. If it wandered into her pattern . . .

She didn't even finish the thought. Ashur suddenly chased after the horse and nipped its flanks until it sped toward the hidden Keleds. The unicorn herded Telric's steed to the first trees, then turned back toward the circles.

A red cloak appeared briefly to snatch the horse's reins and lead it out of sight.

Frost smiled, wondering what Riothamus had made of that. Not one of his men had reacted strangely to Ashur during their journey. Apparently, not one man among them had noticed his difference or perceived any small part of his uniqueness. How could so many be so blind?

She would never figure it out.

 

 

 

Chapter Fifteen

 

So darkness falls upon us all

And no one, no not one,

Shall walk away when day

Dies and the moon shines on battle lines.

 

See how we die, how our souls fly

On crimson wings to find a morning

Gone, forever gone.

 

How we dance and kick upon the lance!

With steely grace the cold, dark angels race

To tear our hearts apart,

And the last songs we hear are songs of terror,

Songs of fear.

 

“Only two
krohns
!” Telric argued from his position at the bottom of the stair. The waterskin was balanced on his knee. He had not moved for some time for fear of disturbing the pattern. “That man must be a fool.”

“Not a fool,” she answered patiently. “Just naive. He's been a sheltered king. In all his reign he has never ventured far beyond the gates of the capital at Sumari, except to hunt or take a country ride with his court. Riothamus has very little understanding of his own people. It's no real wonder that Kel has been able to strike and elude him so often.” She paused for an instant, remembering. “Now Riothamus's father—there was a hell-raiser.”

Telric only scoffed. “His old man is dead. We're stuck with what we've got.”

“You worry too much. I said he was naive. But he's not stupid, and he learns quickly.” She yawned and stretched to ease the stiff muscles in her back. “Bring me some of that water before you guzzle it all.”

He climbed high enough to hand her the skin. She took it, unstoppered it, and tossed back a mouthful. It tasted good and cooled her parched throat. If only she were not growing hungry as well. She gave the skin back, and Telric returned to his place.

The Rholarothan's grumbling had taken her mind from her doubts and fears. The conversation had even lifted her spirits somewhat. It didn't matter to her that he had planned to do just that. He was probably smiling secretly to himself and thinking how clever he was to have directed her concerns to other matters. She looked down upon his dark head, bared to the weltering sun. Fine streaks of gray shimmered silvery when he turned a certain way.
Old dog
, she thought, suddenly aware of the growing fondness she felt for him,
what am I to do with you?

“What are you doing here?” she asked impulsively, putting her chin on her palm and leaning forward. “Just who are you, Telric?”

He twisted on the stone step where he sat and gazed at her. His face remained impassive. A soft wind rustled his hair and stirred the red cloak on his shoulder. She waited for him to say something. She bit her lip; a strange constriction squeezed her chest, and she felt for an instant as if she were folding in on herself.

“Talk to me,” she urged him. “Make me know you.”

He turned away and stared into the distance, unmoving. What ghosts had she disturbed to make him react so? Even through the cloak the tension in his body showed. He drew a long, slow breath; his head drooped between his shoulders. Frost wanted suddenly to run down the steps and throw her arms around him. The thought startled her, but it didn't lessen the sorrow she felt for bringing such a mood upon him.

Yet she remained where she was, unable to take that step. She stared at his broad back. Finally he rose, turned, and faced her.

“Frost,” he said thickly, “Samidar, is it in you ever to love me? Is there any hope that you might ever call me husband? Or even lover? I would settle for that.”

She gaped, caught off guard by the intensity of his speech. She, too, rose and descended the steps to stand just above him. Such pain in those upturned eyes! They stabbed into her heart.

She laid a hand on his cheek and caressed it. His questions rolled over and over in her head, thrilling and tormenting her, bringing joy and grief at the same time. And the answers rolled there, too, jumbled and broken and uncertain.

Her hand slid up into his raven locks. She had never dared to touch his hair before; it was silky smooth, as she had known it would be. She studied the lines that time had etched into his brow, stared into eyes that seemed unbearably familiar, deep as the Calendi Sea, eyes that haunted her dreams.

Her hand drifted down his shoulder, down his arm. Their fingers met and interlocked and squeezed fiercely. She thought she could answer him honestly if she searched her heart. The answer was there, yet it frightened and mystified her.

It was Telric's hand she held—but it was Kimon's face she looked upon.

She started to speak, but he reached out and pressed one finger to her lips. “You think I look like him, don't you?” he said.

She blinked. It was as if he had read her thoughts. “I loved my husband,” she told him needlessly. Even as she said it, she discovered that no pain or grief remained in her memories of Kimon. There was only a sweet, encompassing warmth. “Even in death I love him deeply. I can't forget him.” She descended one more step, and they stood eye to eye. “I could sleep with you, if that was what you meant by lovers. But we both know it wasn't.”

His face filled with sadness. “No, it wasn't.” He looked away, then his gaze came back to her. The light of the sun reflected in his moist eyes.

“It's unnatural how much you look like him,” she said in an awed half whisper.

She saw the truth, then, where it had always been, unconcealable in those eyes. She let go of his hand and thrust her knuckles into her mouth.

“It's very natural,” he admitted with barely controlled emotion. “I think you've already guessed it. Kimon was my brother.”

She stumbled, caught herself, and sat down heavily on the step. Her mouth worked, but words eluded her.

“My half brother,” he corrected, kneeling so they faced each other once more. He took her hands again and pressed them between his own. She closed her eyes, unable to meet that ghostly gaze.

“I've loved you just as I've said, and I've searched for you for years,” he told her earnestly. “I didn't lie about that. I love you, woman, and I never would have told you this—I'd have kept it secret forever—but I hear how you speak of him.” He swallowed, paused, and hung his head. “I see how you look at me, and I know it's him you're thinking of.” He placed his hands on her knees. His voice took on a softer tone. “At those times I despair, because I know I'll never have your heart.”

She opened her eyes. Shivers ran up her spine as she regarded his face. It was so familiar, yet so different. “How . . .?”

He tilted his head quizzically, then pursed his lips. “Father was very good to his bastards,” Telric began sarcastically. “At least, the ones he knew about. Kimon's mother was a barmaid in Shazad. There were lots of barmaids, if you know what I mean.” He waited to make sure she did. “Of course, they all fell out of favor with Father sooner or later. Sometimes, I think he only tolerated my mother—his legal wife—because her bloodline was older than his, and her fortune was a damn sight larger.

“The legitimate sons were never allowed to mix with the bastards, but Father kept a close watch on them all. Kimon quickly caught his eye. When his mother lost her job one winter, Lord Rholf gave him work to earn their support.” He hesitated and looked thoughtful. “I think Kimon was nine, then. Rholf gave him a knife and taught him to skin and gut the catch from the day's hunting. That was his single chore all winter. Later, there were other jobs, and Rholf began to train him. He gave the boy his first bow, then his first sword.

“Let me tell you, I was as jealous as all my brothers. Father spent more time with his bastard than he did with us.” He paused again. Frost didn't say anything but waited for him to continue. Kimon had never talked much about his past; she had always assumed it was because of some deep, personal hurt, some memory he refused to touch upon. She herself had been acquainted with such pain, so she had never pried.

Telric took up his tale again. “Kimon began to disappear for days and weeks at a time. Sometimes, he was gone for months. His mother had died of some illness, and my brothers and I thought it was that melancholy that had turned him so sullen and caused his absences. But one night, he was summoned very late by my father.” He stopped and smiled suddenly, an ironic and self-condemning smile. “By accident—no, it wasn't accident—my brothers and I were up late, too. We hid behind the arras in Rholf's room to hear what they discussed. That night, we learned he had become my father's personal—“

“Assassin,” she interrupted, finishing his sentence. “I know that part.”

Telric's lips drew into a thin line, and he patted her knee. “Of course you do.” He rose and stretched to ease the cramps in his legs. “If I have any skill with a sword today, it is because of Kimon. After that night, I redoubled my efforts at training in the hopes of recapturing my father's attentions.” He smiled again. “In some ways, it worked. Kimon disappeared for longer and longer periods of time, and when he was home he and father always quarreled. Rholf began to spend more time with his true sons when Kimon was around—I think to put Kimon in his proper place, to remind him he was only a bastard.” He kneeled before her again and tried to put on a grin. “Father used us all. It was no surprise to me when Kimon didn't come back from a mission. If only I'd known it was you Father had sent him after, I'd have followed. I loved you even then, Samidar.”

She tried to see the young man he had been. “I saved your life in the Creel Mountains.”

“And left me in the desert.”

“We were enemies.”

His smile was genuine. “It only took me one night to realize we weren't.” The smile broadened, chasing the sadness from his eyes. “Oh, the dreams that came to me that night!
 
The desert air was cold, but those dreams kept me warm.
 
“

A silence rose between them, and their fingers intertwined once more. They regarded each other, and she saw in his face the years of hope he had nurtured. “Did you never marry?” she asked.

He shook his head.

“But there were women?”

He considered a moment, then began to tick them off on his fingers, counting soundlessly. She slapped his hands before he got far, then tangled a hand in his hair and tugged sharply.

“Faithless, disloyal . . .” She stopped. Though he joked and smiled, she knew the pain he carried. It was still easy to remember the touch of Kimon's arms around her when she was lonely or hurt, easy to recall waking curled around him when the sun streamed through their window. How could she ever have lived without that? How had Telric lived without it?