Frost (23 page)

“We freed your astral form from your mortal shell. Any sorcerer can release his own spirit, but to free someone else's required the combined talents of our most powerful brothers."

“But to what purpose?"

He looked to Rhadamanthus, silently asking the old man's permission to continue, receiving it with a nod. “Every living thing from the smallest leaf to the mightiest god possesses an aura that is distinctly its own. Of course, you know that—you were a witch."

That earned him a hard look.

He continued, undaunted. “I don't know if Zarad-Krul knew your aura before you left Etai Calan with the Book, but somehow he was able to follow us across Rholaroth. Maybe he found your shield in Shazad and just divined your location; that would be within his power. But, in any case, once his Eye entrapped us on the plain it was certain he knew both our auras. That's how he found you by the horses. In fact, he could find either of us anywhere, anytime."

“Okay, so where's this long-winded explanation heading?"

Rhadamanthus answered. “We can't allow Zarad-Krul to keep such a power once the battle begins. It would be too easy for him to strike at you from a distance or direct his servants to do it for him. By always knowing your location he would know where to concentrate his attacks. So we've made subtle changes in your personal aura by mingling it with elements of our own. That was the ritual's purpose. Now you wear part of each of our auras, and we wear part of yours. Zarad-Krul will be thoroughly confused."

“And there's an added benefit,” Kregan said. “Every elder and master is now intimately acquainted with your true aura. If you're captured we can follow you anywhere, even beyond Chondite borders where most of our powers fail. We could attempt a rescue."

His grip tightened on her arm; his eyes bored into her.

She spared him saying it. “Or if I die in the fighting you'll know that, too, and come after the Book."

“If we can,” affirmed Rhadamanthus with uncharacteristic bluntness.

She shrugged. “Well, I don't know about you, but I could use some wine."

The old man smiled and took her hand, stepping between her and Kregan. “A supper is being prepared in our tent. You'll have wine and good fare once more before any trouble starts.” He looked away toward where the Shardahanis camped out of view. “That won't be long, now."

A table was set with hot meats, grains and dried fruit. A loaf of bread was split and soaked in honey. The smell of it made her mouth water, but she waited until Minos, who played host, invited her to sit.

Halfway through the meal, Hafid dashed into the tent. “Birds!” he exclaimed. “At least, we think they're birds. They're frightening the horses, and the men are getting jumpy. You'd better come have a look."

Frost grabbed a last bite of meat, gulped a mouthful of wine and followed the Chondites out. The sound of mighty pinions beat the air; the darkness was full of swooping, half-glimpsed shapes. Hollow, bird-like cries echoed in the night.

“The bird-things we saw at Cundalacontir,” Kregan shouted excitedly. “I'm sure of it."

She agreed. “But a lot more of them. You were right, then. They're spies for Zarad-Krul. See how they circle like vultures over carrion?"

Then, without warning, Rhadamanthus called out. “To arms! Prepare! The enemy comes!"

The camp came alive with furious activity as soldiers scurried for armor and weapons. Dust and sparks flew as fires were extinguished. Horses whinnied as they were harnessed to the great chariots, or as apprentices led them to waiting masters. Aecus barked orders, and two young men buckled on his greaves. Only then did the scouting team come rushing breathless and gasping into camp to shout the news.

Frost turned to Kregan in all the confusion. “How did Rhadamanthus know,” she cried, “even before the scouts arrived?"

“He's a Chondite elder,” he answered as if that explained everything. “Now hurry! Arm yourself or be left behind."

She made her way through the darkness with familiar ease, recalling the days when she had crept through the bowels of her father's castle for a chance to practice with her weapons-master. Well, it wasn't practice now. And nothing Burdrak had taught her could ease the growing tightness in her gut.

To her surprise, she found all her armor laid out neatly on her pallet. Natira sat in the dirt close by. Seeing Frost, she rose with leather vambraces and laces in hand.

She didn't really need any help, for she wore so little armor: vambraces for her arms, thigh protection and greaves, some leather gauntlets and the strangely carved cuirass Kregan had given her in Erebus. But Natira was eager to help. Smiling queerly, she fastened the buckles and straps, and when she looked up from her work her eyes sparkled.

If she had a voice
, thought Frost,
I think she'd be singing!

There was a bronze helm, but she cast it aside. Too heavy, and it seriously restricted her vision. Kregan wouldn't approve, but then he didn't have to fight in it, either. Natira held a roundshield while she slipped her arm through its straps. Then, the unlikely squire belted her sword in place. Frost watched her carefully, for the swordbelt's buckle rested just above Demonfang's hilt, and she had not forgotten Natira's unusual fascination for the dagger. But, though her gaze lingered on it, the woman made no attempt to touch it.

Frost covered the dagger with a fold of her cloak, and the light seemed to leave Natira's eyes. She made a short curtsey, and without waiting for thanks turned and ran away, disappearing among the tents. Frost watched until she could see her no more, puzzled, biting her lips, fighting the uncomfortable feeling that her fate or the fate of this battle was somehow bound to the mute woman.

She would talk to Rhadamanthus about it later. Now, there was no time to waste.

She called Ashur's name, and all the camp heard the unicorn's answering cry as he rushed between the tents, kicking up stones and dust, narrowly avoiding soldiers who ventured into his path. Streamers of flame boiled from his eyes, and the twisted ebony spike of his brow shone in their terrifying light. A wild, unholy beast he looked as his mane flayed the air and the ground shook beneath his black hooves.

Like the horses, he was still saddled; the reins hung loosely about his neck. She afforded him a welcoming pat, swung up and rode off to find Kregan.

The Chondite force assembled on the north side of Demonium. At the fore, Kregan spotted her first and waved. He wore a sword this time, and his staff was slung over his back. In fact, all the Krilar wore steel.

“But this is only half the army!"

“The first line,” Kregan explained. “Chariots, mounted archers and cavalry. Aecus commands us. Minos will follow with a second, larger force of footmen."

“And Rhadamanthus?"

Kregan pointed to the top of Demonium. “My elder-brother waits there. He possesses the far-sight; nothing will escape his notice. His power and magic make up our third line of defense,"

“Alone?"

Kregan gave her a grimly reassuring look that didn't quite mask his own concern.

But there was no time for more talk. Aecus rode to the forefront and raised his staff. The silver-bound tips burned with a soft azure radiance. All eyes watched it; every man waited for the signal to charge.

Suddenly, the air above erupted with shrill screeching as the circling bird-things swooped at the army. A few men threw up their arms to guard their faces from razor-sharp talons; some fell clumsily from their saddles in panic. It was a brief attack, however. The creatures rose high and circled thrice more, then flew northward disappearing in the darkness.

Aecus growled a curse, and his staff plunged.

Her bones jerked as Ashur leaped forward with the first line. The shield banged on her arm and against her thigh. The sword slapped her leg. Over the Field of Fire the army raced, churning dust and glowing stones, and Kregan kept pace beside her, sword in hand. With a deadly smile she drew her own blade.

Ahead, the Shardahanis waited, a shouting sea of foemen.

At Aecus' signal, the horsemen parted ranks, letting the chariots surge to the fore. They were the first to engage. Protruding from the axles, great spinning war-blades cut bloody swaths through horseflesh and footmen with equal ease. Men fell like wheat before scythes, or were trampled by the teams, crushed beneath ironbound wheels. There was no retreat for the chariots. When the mighty vehicles lost their terrible momentum the drivers whipped out swords and began to hack.

Close behind the chariots, the archer fired two volleys deep into the enemy's ranks, then split to left and right to harry the vulnerable flanks. In the wizard-spawned darkness their shafts were invisible death.

Frost abandoned her reins and hugged the saddle with her knees. Ashur knew what to do. She raised her shield, took a tighter grip on her sword. A horrible battlecry raged suddenly in her throat as the cavalry crashed through Shardaha's broken front line.

Metal clanged on metal. Flesh tore; bone crunched. Battle shouts and death cries mingled in a raucous clamor. Horses screamed in torment, glassy-eyed, beneath luckless riders. Swords and axes whined.

Aided by the momentum of her charge, Frost's first blow split a shield. Her second severed the head from its bearer. Something rang on her shield and she looked down into fierce, burning eyes half-masked under a bronze helm. Her sword met his once, twice, then bit deeply beneath his ribs. Knees buckling, he slid free of her blade, his blood gushing on her garments.

Beside her, Kregan leaned from his saddle, swinging furiously, reaping a ripe crop of Shardahani lives with his double-edged sword. For just a moment she dared to watch and found a prayer on her lips for the Chondite's safety.

On left and right she struck at the enemy, and at first the battle favored the Chondites. But for every one she slew three more seemed to take his place. They came at her, a relentless wave of flesh. Her shield was dented, her arm half-numb from warding off the heavy blows of men twice her strength. Though her blade proved quicker again and again she began to fear as her grip weakened.

Suddenly, a familiar horn sounded:
retreat.
With a desperate thrust she dispatched her nearest foe and turned her mount, cursing as the bitter note sounded again. An unwary footman bounced off Ashur's massive shoulder as she spurred the unicorn. Everywhere, she saw the Chondites fleeing, their numbers nearly halved. Ahead, she spotted Aecus, horn raised to his lips for yet another blast.

“Get clear!” he called when she reined up beside him, and he slapped Ashur's rump. “Get away!"

A mighty cheer swelled from the Shardahani ranks, then laughter. Though it filled her heart with shame and anger, she obeyed the elder's command. “Laugh, you witless pigs!” she heard him bawl. “It isn't over yet!"

They didn't run far before Aecus' horn sounded a new note. The Chondites regrouped. Frost surveyed them a grim dismay. The superior numbers of the enemy told a heavy tale. Only four chariots of the original twenty-four had survived that first onslaught. The survival rate was only a little better for the rest of the force.

“Where in the Nine Hells is Minos?” she shouted as Aecus rode past her.

“Get down, and take a tight rein on that beast of yours!"

His tone brooked no argument, but before she could obey Kregan jerked his mount to a stop beside her and swung from the saddle. “What? Where's Minos? We can't engage that number again without help!"

“Get down, damn it!” Kregan nearly pulled her from Ashur's back.

Cursing, she slapped his hands away and straightened herself. No one, not even Kregan, manhandled her. But, looking around she saw everyone else had dismounted.

“Stupid, god-cursed way to fight a war ... !"

“We don't need Minos yet,” Kregan shouted. “Just watch!"

A rumbling grew deep in the earth.

“Rhadamanthus?” she whispered, incredulous.

He nodded, pointing.

Far across the field, the Shardahanis' wild cheers turned to shouts of fear and confusion as the ground shivered and splintered beneath them. Warriors tumbled helplessly, unable to keep their footing. Horses reared in fright, throwing hapless riders. Then, in their very midst, a great gaping fissure opened; from that dark crack slithered three monstrous gray worms, thick as houses, many times longer than the fissure itself. With serpentine swiftness they moved among the astonished enemy, crushing entire companies with their horrible girth. Hundreds more were swallowed by the hideous black maws that sucked up anything within reach.

Frost watched with sickening fascination as a few pitifully brave men attacked the things with spears and swords and died for the effort. She had not considered that Shardahanis might possess such a thing as courage. A sobering realization to know that her foes were as human as she was with all the human failings and all the human virtues.

“What are those things?"

“Creatures from the bowels of the world,” Kregan answered. “Rhadamanthus summoned them when he saw we were losing. But the effort will leave him weak. See, even now he yields control over them."

It was true. Without the old man's guiding will the grisly worms crawled back to the fissure that spawned them and slithered into its black recess. When they were gone the earth trembled once more and the mighty crack sealed itself.

But the enemy force was in chaos. Aecus was quick to seize the advantage. With a wave of his staff the Chondites charged over the distance, screaming at their foes. “Laugh, you whoreson pigs!” she heard the elder call. “Laugh now!"

With sword, axe and lance they assailed the confused and frightened Shardahanis. Bodies dotted the plain. Crimson wakes followed the remaining chariots as they pushed deep into the enemy's heart. Men died spilling their blood into the uncaring dust.

Frost's sword was a singing messenger of doom. She slashed to right and left, cutting through any who dared challenge or approach her, any who fell within her sword's reach. No fatigue now, but a red haze settled over her eyes as she did vicious, deadly work.