Frost (24 page)

But when the Shardahanis finally rallied and began to fight back the tide turned once more against the Chondites. The mournful blast from Aecus' horn shocked her from her battle frenzy. She looked around; a black sea of enemy warriors stretched before, and her heart sank. Her comrades were in full rout. The horn blew again. Nothing to do but flee.

This time, though, the enemy gave chase. Shouting war cries they followed hot on the Chondites' heels. Frost cast fearful glances over her shoulder and bent low to Ashur's neck, urging him to greater speed.

Then, her mouth twitched in a cold smile. Far ahead, something rippled over the shining stones: Minos and the advancing second line. Now, by Tak, they could fight with renewed strength. Fresh troops might yet make a difference. A horn sounded the order to regroup. She turned, sword ready, prepared to meet the enemy's rush.

Instead, a cry tore from her lips, and she threw up an arm to guard her eyes. A hot wind scorched her face and hands as a roaring wall of flame shot up from the bare earth. Screams of pain and anguish, the sickly odor of burned flesh rose with the crackling fire.

Slowly, realization dawned on her. Not her Chondite allies, but the Shardahanis were caught in that inferno. She twisted in the saddle. In the far distance a faint azure glow marked the peak of Demonium; Rhadamanthus had regained his strength and interceded again. As she watched the glow began to fade, and the heat from the fiery wall lessened. She wet her lips and swallowed. A horrible way to die, by fire.

But was there a good way to die?

No time to ponder that. As suddenly as they sprang up the flames vanished, leaving a wide, blackened patch of earth littered with the charred, smoking remains of men and horses. Aecus' staff came down again; she grit her teeth and charged.

The enemy ranks were in turmoil, thrown off balance by the magical power of the Black Arrow's elder. Frost spurred her steed into the thickest part and went to work. It was butchery. Again and again her sword fell on men too stunned to defend themselves. Strike hard and fast, without mercy, that was the plan. She shut her ears to the death-cries and struck until her arm was too weary to lift her blade, and she pulled back for the first time from the battle to rest.

A grim scene greeted her. The second line brought new, angry life to the Chondite side. Archers sent their shafts into the deepest part of the Wizard-lord's army; when the arrows were gone the archers drew swords and joined the melee. Pikemen advanced with juggernaut precision in phalanx formation, slaying with ruthless efficiency. A hundred slingmen hurled smooth stones with deadly accuracy; when their missile pouches were empty they used the rocks that gave the Field of Fire its name, and if the rougher missiles were not as accurate they took a greater toll on the enemy's courage as they cut burning streaks across the dark sky.

Chondite fighting skill and Chondite sorcery. Together, they shattered the Shardahanis' confidence until numbers no longer mattered. The dead strewed the field. The minions of Zarad-Krul fell like ripe wheat beneath the swords and mystic staves of Chondos.

A chorus of voices swelled over the din of fighting as the Chondites began to sing. The tunes were eerie, haunting, full of counter-balanced harmonies that made her shiver. They sang of Hell and death and terror, of their brotherhoods and elders, of the guardian of the Book. Yes, they sang of her.

Night's angel, the songs named her, Death's maiden and Reaper of Souls. The sword trembled in her hand; crimson droplets ran down its length and were sucked up by the ground. A sudden numbing fear gripped her heart as she recognized what her own future held. Sweat beaded on her brow. She wiped it away with a blood-soaked sleeve, making a red smear on her face.

“You fool! Why in the Nine Hells did you sound the recall? We could have chased the dogs all the way back to Shardaha!"

Frost stared at the ground, the ceiling, the four walls of the tent, determined to stay out of the argument. But as she listened to Aecus rage at Minos she clenched her fists.

“We had them beaten!” The Elder of the Argent Cup bellowed. “We could have crushed Zarad-Krul's army to the man and finished this thing here and now!"

Minos' eyes went cold. “We are not in the business of slaughter, and this is not a stockyard for your personal pleasure. Our immediate concern is to guard the sacred Gate."

Rhadamanthus sank wearily onto a stool. “We have to hold our line here, friends.” He stressed the last word, attempting to bring peace to a tense situation. “We haven't enough men to guard Demonium
and
pursue stray Shardahanis across the countryside."

“Zarad-Krul will show himself soon enough,” Minos said. “To face him will require all our united strength."

Hafid stirred from his place beside Kregan. “Then we're a living wall between Demonium and Shardaha. If the enemy comes no closer we go no farther. That's bitter."

Minos shook his head, frowning. “The Shardahanis are only men. It's not important if they keep their distance. The real enemy is the wizard and the Dark Ones he called into our world. A victory over men means nothing if we lose the greater battle to them."

“I'm sick of this!” Aecus shouted. “Where in damnation is Zarad-Krul?"

“Why should he show himself now?” She barely recognized her own low, carefully restrained voice. “When he can sit back and let us fight among ourselves like this."

Minos folded hands over his stomach, a smug look on his face.

Silent until now, Kregan spoke up. “Elder-brother, I wanted to chase them, too, but now I see Minos was right. Zarad-Krul allowed his forces to be broken.
He allowed it!
He knew that no force of men, no matter how large, could stand long against the elders and Krilar on Chondite soil. Either his presence or one of his Dark Allies might have turned the tide, but he chose not to intervene. I don't know why, yet he must have had a reason."

A bowl of liquid rested on a pedestal at Rhadamanthus' right hand. For some time the old man leaned over it, stared into the still water. “It's no use,” he announced finally. “I can't see him in the scrying waters. The Dark Ones shield him from my power."

“Maybe you can't see him because he's dead,” Aecus snorted. “That's a frequent fate for one who reaches too far beyond the limits of his control. Maybe the Dark Ones killed him."

Frost was openly contemptuous. “How many lives will you bet on it?"

The elder's eyes flashed with anger, but Rhadamanthus interceded before he could respond. “Zarad-Krul lives, make no mistake about that. Though I can't see him in the waters I can feel his presence.” He shut his eyes, his lips parted slightly. “Yes, surely you can feel him, too. You're an elder."

Minos nodded.

Aecus kicked the table, spilling wine and utensils. “All I feel is that you are fools! This interminable waiting eats at a man's mind! We should strike now while we have the momentum of a fresh victory. Chase the Shardahanis from our soil and carry this war over the border to Shardaha—to Zarad-Krul's very doorstep!"

A deep silence fell on the tent; all eyes turned on the enraged elder, disbelief on every face. Then, Rhadamanthus rose slowly, pointed a shaky finger. “Your thirst for vengeance has unhinged you, Aecus. Remember who you are! Remember
what
you are!"

Aecus' face screwed in pain and confusion; he clapped the old man's shoulders, his eyes misting. “I've lost my family, friends, my city! I'm a man, Rhadamanthus, a man!"

“I know,” Rhadamanthus answered gently, “and it hurts..."

“No.” There was nothing gentle in Minos' voice. It was cold—cold as edged steel. “You forsook family and city and friends, all that long ago when you became the eldest of a Chondite brotherhood. Now your loyalty is to the men and women who follow you under the banner of the Argent Cup. They look to you for leadership and guidance in the mysteries. I'm beginning to wonder if you can provide it."

Frost had not seen Minos so stern before. It was a side of him that startled and chilled her. Why didn't somebody end this damnable arguing?

Aecus responded with a torrent of curses. Hafid, then Kregan, tried to calm him, but he insisted on a plan to invade Shardaha. He drew a map on the dirt floor, began to outline strategies. Rhadamanthus patiently tried to point out the flaws. Minos' replies were less polite. The elders bickered in loud voices.

Frost felt her own temper rising. All the camp could hear the dispute. That wasn't good for morale. Each elder was sole commander of his brotherhood; if they continued bickering how long before dissent rose among their followers? It had to stop now.

Her sword hissed out. With any angry curse she plunged it into the center of Aecus' crude map. Startled out of their feuding, the elders jumped back and turned to glare at her.

“Why not fight it out with steel?” she stormed. “There's my sword. Someone bring lend us two more. One of you will surely kill another, then the surviving two can repent, mourn, fall tearfully into each other's arms, and all our ears will be spared anymore of this vile mouth-fencing!"

Kregan, Hafid, and the elders all looked at each other, too stunned to move or speak.

“You seem confused,” she said to Rhadamanthus and Minos. “Your precious Gate isn't the object of Zarad-Krul's quest.” She patted the Book of the Last Battle in the pouch at her side. “This is. You chose Demonium as the battleground because you thought you had the best chance of defending it here. But if I rode away with the Book, Zarad-Krul wouldn't look twice at your pathetic pile of stones. He's already proven he needs no Gate to summon the Dark Gods.

“And as for your feeble-minded plan,” she drew her foot through Aecus' map, erasing it, “let me assure you I've no intention of going to Shardaha—with or without the Book. I'd sooner walk naked through a snake pit than fight Zarad-Krul in his own courtyard. Hell man, let him come to us. We'll be waiting with hot food in our bellies and raw steel in our hands. Why should I exhaust myself chasing him when he has to come to me to get what he wants?"

Aecus trembled visibly with rage. His lips quivered, his hands clenched, unclenched. He tried to meet her unrelenting glare, and when he couldn't he kicked over her sword, muttering, and stalked from the tent.

“This was not foreseen,” Minos said.

“I'm deeply worried,” Rhadamanthus agreed.

Frost sighed, picked up her blade and wished for a jug of wine. She settled instead for the quiet semi-solitude of her own small camp and a few hours sleep. As always, she dreamed of home and her last days in Esgaria. But this time the memories were gentle and filled her with a dull, soulful ache. She awoke damp with her own soft tears.

Not a nightmare
, she admitted,
but in its own way just as bad
.

She stretched, yawned, massaged the stiffness from her limbs and lay back again, staring at the sky. No stars, no moon, nothing but heavy black clouds and darkness.

Then, a bird. Two more birds. Suddenly, the sky was filled with fluttering; a familiar, evil cry shattered the stillness. Zarad-Krul's bird-things!

She leaped up, grabbing her sword-hilt. The black shapes circled and swooped, climbed high in the night, plummeted earthward and climbed again.

A war horn's reverberating blast drowned the birds' shrill screeching. Warriors sprang up from their sleeping pallets, reaching for armor and weapons. The quiet camp became a flurry of activity. She wasted no time, but began buckling on her own armor.

Before she was finished Kregan appeared at her side, breathless. “Shardahanis,” he called. “Another army as large as the last."

“Zarad-Krul?"

“No sign of him."

She cursed, completed her armoring and started for the horses where Ashur would be. Kregan caught her arm before she got far. “Rhadamanthus wants to see you first."

She shrugged, annoyed. “At the tent?"

“There.” He pointed to Demonium and a path that led to the summit. “He's waiting at the foot of it."

She ran wondering what the old man could want. Sure enough, he was where Kregan said, but when she called he answered nothing, only beckoned.

Together, they ascended a steep trail that zigzagged up the almost sheer rock face. In places there was no trail at all, just hand and toe holds carved into the stone. Rhadamanthus, old as he was, mastered them with surprising ease and agility, but her sword and the free-swinging leather pouch that contained the Book hampered her movements. By the time she reached the end her garments were damp with perspiration.

Three ancient stones loomed, the monoliths she had seen only from a distance. She sucked in a breath as she regarded them. Whether natural stones or sculpted, she was unsure; but carved deeply into each were symbols and runes whose meanings she could not even guess at. They sent a shiver up her spine. Of course, they were arranged in a triangle. At the center, a flat, triangular-shaped stone lay upon the ground.

An altar.

“Why did you bring me here?” Impatience in her voice. “My place is below with the warriors."

“I don't deny it.” Rhadamanthus folded his arms and regarded her with weary eyes. “The brothers have come to rely on you as a rallying figure. I think some would follow you even against an elder's wishes. They respect you; some of the younger apprentices even worship you."

She arched her eyebrows at that. Chondites were an unusually reserved lot. If the common soldiers felt anything for her she hadn't known it. “So?"

“You belong down there, yes. But not the Book—not this time."

She clapped a hand on the pouch, frowning.

The old man made an apologetic motion. “Sometimes we can see the future. When you first brought the Book to us we looked into the scrying waters and foresaw the events of this war until the time when the Dark Gods took an active part. We saw the battle at Tekaf Pass; we saw the battle just fought against the Shardahanis. All in generalities, no details. But we knew you were not fated to fall in either, so we let you carry the Book into the conflicts. Indeed, you were meant to do so."