Death of a Darklord (3 page)

He wore a white fur cloak, hood thrown back to reveal shoulder-length yellow hair. The hair was the same pale gold as the winter sunshine. He strode through knee-deep snow, surrounded by black, winter-bare trees. Elaine whispered, “Blaine.”

A second man walked with him, wearing a three-cornered hat tied round his head by a multicolored scarf. The grip of a great two-handed sword showed at his coat collar. “Thordin.”

The two men passed under a tall tree. It was the great tree. It towered over the rest of the forest like a giant among dwarves. Lightning had killed it two years ago, but its dead, bare
branches were still a landmark for miles around.

The branches twitched, swaying above the men. A branch began to move downward, a slow creaking effort that had nothing to do with wind. The skeletal bough reached for Blaine, icy twigs like daggers.

Elaine screamed, “Blaine!” She plunged her hands into the flames, as if she could grab him to safety. Flames licked at the sleeves of her robe. Her hands touched the back of the fireplace, flames flaring around her shoulders, her face.

Hands jerked her backward. “Elaine!” A blanket was wrapped around her smoking clothes, smothering the flames. Her skin was untouched, protected by her magic. The cloth was not so lucky. “Elaine, can you see me? Can you hear me?”

She blinked upward; a bearded face came into focus. The smell of stew hung thick and heavy in the air. Fresh-baked bread was cooling nearby. Elaine lay in the familiar clatters and smells of the kitchen and knew she was safe. But others weren’t. “Jonathan, help them.…”

“Help whom?”

“Blaine, Thordin.”

“I saw the vision.” The cook’s oldest son, all of eight, knelt beside them. The other children were huddled at a safe distance.

“What did you see, Alan?”

“The great tree attacked them.”

Jonathan stared down at Elaine. “True?”

“Yes.”

Jonathan did not argue that it was impossible. “Do you think your warning was in time?”

Elaine clutched at him. “I don’t know.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Find Blaine and Thordin.”

“Child, by the time we could reach them by the great tree, the fight will be won or lost.”

Her hand dug into his tunic. Her eyes were wild. “Then bring back the bodies for burial.”

He stared down into her face. He nodded slowly. “That we can do.” Jonathan turned to the boy, Alan. “Find Tereza, tell her what you saw. She will know what to do.”

The boy ran from the kitchen.

“Can you stand if I help you, child?”

Elaine nodded.

Jonathan stood, lifting her to her feet as he moved. The cook, Mala, pushed a straight-backed chair near the fire. Jonathan eased Elaine into the chair, tucking the slightly charred blanket tighter around her. Mala shoved a mug of hot tea in Elaine’s hands.

Elaine cupped her hands around the mug, as if it had no handle, warming her cold hands. She was always cold after a vision. Blankets, hot drinks, bed for an hour or so, then she was as good as new. But today she had seen her brother’s death. No, he wasn’t dead, she’d know that, but he could be hurt, dying, while she sat and sipped tea. She didn’t have time to recover, to be weak. She had to know what had happened to Blaine.

Tereza entered the kitchen bundled against the cold. A second coat was flung over one arm. She held the clothes out to Jonathan without saying a word.

He slipped into the coat and tucked a hat over his bald head.

“I’m going with you,” Elaine said.

Jonathan froze in the middle of pulling on mittens. They both looked at her.

“You haven’t recovered from your vision, Elaine. You aren’t well enough to travel,” Jonathan said. He finished tugging on his mittens.

“He’s my brother, all the family I have. I have to go.”

“You will slow us down,” Tereza said.

“The fight will be over before anyone can help them. Jonathan said so. If that’s true, then it doesn’t matter if I slow you down, does it?”

It was very sensible. A great deal more sensible than Elaine felt. She could taste her pulse in her throat. If Blaine were badly hurt in the cold snow, they couldn’t get to him in time. The cold would finish what the animated tree had started. So why was her stomach tight, her heart pounding? She had to go with them. She couldn’t just wait here in the kitchen, safe.

Tereza looked at her husband. “Jonathan?”

He looked almost embarrassed. “It is the truth.”

“We can’t wait for hours. The wolves might find them, dead or alive.”

“We can go now,” Elaine said.

The look on Tereza’s face said she doubted that, but she didn’t argue. “I will fetch your coat. But you must be ready to go when I get back. We won’t wait on you, Elaine.” She left, back very straight. Tereza did not like waiting on anyone, especially if she thought it was silly.

It wasn’t silly, but Elaine knew she couldn’t explain that to Tereza. Or to Jonathan. Blaine would have understood, but he was out in the snow, bleeding, hurt, or worse. Elaine tried to convince herself she would know if her twin brother were dead, but somehow she didn’t believe it. She wasn’t sure. Once the vision was past, she didn’t trust her feelings. Feelings lied; they could
tell you what you wanted to believe, not what was true.

“She doesn’t mean to be harsh with you.” Jonathan took off his knit cap, a sheen of sweat already glistening on his forehead.

“I have to go, Jonathan.” She gulped the last of the tea. It was too hot and burned the roof of her mouth, but she needed the warmth. She really didn’t feel well enough to go. Tereza was right, but it didn’t matter. Elaine would go. She had to go.

Tereza returned with a white fur cloak that was the twin of the one Blaine had worn in the vision. Elaine glanced up. She wasn’t completely sure she could stand, but the look on Tereza’s face was plain. Either Elaine got up now, or she didn’t go.

Mala appeared, lifting the tea mug from her hand. Her face was neutral, but her eyes held concern. She was always on the side of the children, everybody’s children.

Elaine gripped the chair arms and levered herself upward. The muscles in her arms quivered. The blanket slipped to the floor. Her hands stayed on the chair arms for a moment, then she pushed free. She was forced to grab the back of the chair to keep from falling. Her legs shook underneath the long skirts. It took all her resolve just to remain standing, one hand hooked onto the heavy back of the chair. She wasn’t sure she could walk, let alone ride to the great tree.

Tereza held the white cloak out, at least three strides from the chair. She made no move to step closer.

Jonathan stood uncomfortably between them. “We have no time for games, Tereza.”

“No time at all,” she said.

Elaine took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She drew two more deep breaths, trying to calm the jerking muscles, willing the weakness away. She let go of the chair back, fingers lingering
on the wood. Tereza sighed. Elaine dropped her hand to her side. Her legs were braced, and she hoped no one could see how they shook, but she was standing alone.

Tereza held the heavy coat at arm’s length, arm steady as if the coat weighed nothing.

Elaine took a step forward on her shaking legs. She didn’t fall down. She took one step, then another, then another. Her hand gripped the fur. Tereza laid the coat gently across Elaine’s arms. She smiled at the girl, a smile that made her dark eyes shine.

“If you want to go that badly, we can throw you over a horse. No need to wait.”

Elaine smiled. “Thank you.”

“Bravery should always be rewarded.”

Jonathan smiled broadly. “Virtue is its own reward.”

Tereza slapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t you believe that.”

Konrad came into the kitchen, bundled to the eyes against the winter cold. “Are we ready to go?”

Tereza helped Elaine on with the heavy cloak. She tucked Elaine’s pale yellow hair into the hood. “Let’s go find Blaine and Thordin.”

Elaine felt the smile fade from her face.

“You did your best, Elaine. You warned them.”

“I went to the fire as soon as I felt the call.”

“I know you did.”

Konrad shrugged a small pack over his cloak. It held the healing herbs and bandages.

Tereza wound a multicolored scarf around her black hair. It was very similar to the one Thordin wore. Elaine and Blaine had learned how to knit last year. They had made gifts for everyone.

She had made Tereza’s scarf of red and black stripes. Blaine had made Thordin’s of every color yarn he could find, perhaps thinking the warrior wouldn’t wear it, but he wore it proudly. The joke had ended up on Blaine. He had made matching mittens as a sort of apology, though the mittens were the same awful colors as the scarf.

“Let us be on our way,” Jonathan said. His plain knit cap, in his preferred shade of brown, had been Elaine’s handiwork. The scarlet cap Blaine had fashioned for Konrad had been eaten by a monster, or so Konrad claimed. He wore a fur hat with a thick, striped tail that curved over his collar.

Mala held out a small pack to Tereza. “Something warm for them. Good food’s better than medicine sometimes.”

She took the pack with a smile. “Your food, anyway.”

Mala blushed at the compliment, and turned back to her stove. The smell of vegetable stew filled the kitchen as she raised the lid and stirred the pot. The back of her neck was still red with the compliment.

The kitchen door opened; snow swirled inward. A gust of icy wind sent the herbs in the rafters swinging. The fire flared, sparks dashing up the chimney. The stableman stumbled in and shook snow from his boots.

“Here, now, you’re getting snow all over my clean floor.” Mala stalked forward, shaking a spoon that dripped stew.

The stableman gave a loud, braying laugh. “Now, Mala, you know I can’t come in through the front door. Where else am I suppose to shake the snow off me boots?”

She pointed the spoon at him, stopping the gravy-covered tip a finger’s breadth from his nose. “Harry Fidel, you don’t know your place.”

“Me place is in this sweet-smelling kitchen as often as I can manage it.”

Tereza interrupted, “Are the horses ready, Harry?”

He grinned at her, bringing his nose perilously close to the spoon. “Aye, that’s what I come to tell ye.”

“Then we can go,” Konrad said. They all moved toward the door. The cold air pushed at them like an invisible wall. Elaine drew her cloak as tight about her as she could, shivering in the frigid air. She glanced back as Jonathan closed the door. Harry the stableman was sitting in the straight-backed chair, snowy boots stretched out before the fire.

Mala was dipping out a bowl of stew, her anger apparently gone. She had been widowed for nearly two years. Blaine said the two would be married before the end of the year. Elaine wasn’t so sure, but then Blaine was better at guessing about people. He always joked that his hunches were better than her visions about matters of the heart. Her visions tended to be more violent than romantic.

The wind whistled just outside the door, picking up the crystalline snow, flinging it into the air. The icy crystals stung Elaine’s face. She jerked away from the wind. The movement threw her hood back, and her hair streamed across her face, blinding her. The cold wind made her gasp. She struggled to pull her hood back in place. Strands of hair clung to her suddenly icy skin.

What warmth the tea and blanket had put back into her body the wind stole. Elaine stood in the snow-swept courtyard, swaying on her feet.

Tereza was suddenly beside her, taking her arm. She didn’t ask if Elaine was all right. She just began to lead her toward the stables.

Elaine stumbled; only Tereza’s hands kept her upright. “You need to go back inside, Elaine.”

She tried to say, no, but no sound came out. She finally shook her head.

Tereza pulled her inside the warmth of the stable and leaned her against the wooden wall. “You can’t go like this.”

“You said … you could throw me … over a horse.”

Tereza frowned. “I didn’t mean it literally.”

Elaine just looked at her, too shaky to do much else.

“What’s wrong with her?” Konrad asked. He was already checking the horse’s harness. Konrad always checked the horses, even though Harry was never careless. Konrad trusted nothing and no one.

Elaine remembered him before the death of his wife. He had smiled, even laughed. He had trusted others to do their jobs. Now he was a dour man who seemed to believe in nothing. His wife had been killed by an ambush, by betrayal. They never knew who had betrayed them. Blaine said that was what bothered Konrad the most, that someone they had trusted had betrayed them.

Elaine wasn’t sure, but she knew something had died in Konrad. Some spark of warmth had gone to the grave with his wife.

Elaine’s mare was a large, broad-hipped gray horse. Blaine said the mare looked like a plow horse, but Elaine was not the rider her brother was, so she was glad of the docile mare. A horse that would walk quietly all day, her broad hooves surefooted, her patience endless. It was on her broad back that all the children first rode.

Tereza helped Elaine mount the mare. She leaned over, hands grasping the stiff mane, cheek pressed against the smooth hair of the neck.

Tereza smoothed back the hood, touching her cheek. “Your skin is cold.”

Elaine stayed slumped against the horse. She was so cold. The only warm parts were her eyes, where hot tears were forming. “Lead the horse.”

Tereza shook her head but didn’t argue. She slipped the reins over the horse’s neck and mounted her own horse, reins trailing between.

“Is she well enough to go?” Jonathan asked.

“No,” Tereza said, “but she’s going.”

Konrad made some negative sound, but not too loud. Arguing with Tereza was a time-wasting thing. The outer doors opened, and the horses moved forward. Elaine felt the horse move under her, but the cloak had fallen forward, forming a dim cave round her face. She saw nothing but a small sliver of ground. She closed her eyes, and even that vanished.

The wind slapped against the heavy cloak. Tiny tendrils of frigid air snaked under the fur, icy fingers searching her clothing, seeking her skin. Elaine knew it wasn’t that cold. Winter, yes, but not a blizzard, not a killing cold. Even so the cold touched her everywhere and her skin seemed to freeze. Tears froze on her cheeks. It was as if the vision had leeched away all warmth, all protection from the chill. The cold seemed to know and to be hungry for the touch of her skin. Each breath was a painful pull of air.