Skull Gate (27 page)

Onokratos would have continued the argument, but she broke in. “Explain why your powers are failing."

Gel's face darkened; wrinkles lined his brow, and he looked pensive. “I believe thee are corrupting me,” he answered thickly. “The longer I walk this mortal plane, the more I experience human emotion.” His gaze did not waver from hers. “I lust for thee,” he admitted, then pointed to Onokratos, “and I am learning disgust for this one.” The wizard raised a threatening fist, but the demon ignored him. “The more I feel these emotions, and the stronger they grow, the weaker my powers become."

Tras Sur'tian crept closer. “Is that why you collapsed in the sanctum?"

Gel nodded. “The effect seems cumulative. Each passing day I am weaker, and if I use my magic, I grow weaker still. The Kimon-human nearly died before I found strength to heal his wound."

Frost sagged against the table's edge and hung her head. “Nothing can be done to stop it?"

He shrugged. “I am infected already. The longer I am around thee, the more I share human emotion, and the weaker I grow."

She pondered her options while Tras Sur'tian questioned Gel nearly to distraction. Onokratos slumped onto a bench and spoke no more, but glared sullenly at all three.

Finally, she drew erect. “We've got to move fast.” She pointed to the meats. “Eat while I explain. You won't like what you hear, but don't interrupt.” When Onokratos didn't move, she snapped, “That means you. No telling when you'll feed again. You're going to need your strength."

When she finished her tale they stared, aghast.

Onokratos spat out a mouthful and shouted, “You mean the five of us must fight an equal number of Orchos's demons?” He slammed a fist on the board. “Was that the best bargain you could drive?"

Tras Sur'tian kept his voice calm, yet could not hide his doubt. “If we win, Death himself will fight for the children's souls.” He pursed his lips, jerked a thumb at Gel. “Even weakened, he may have some chance”—he looked around—“but what weapons have you and I against champions from hell?"

“My powers are fast diminishing,” Gel insisted.

“But not yet gone,” Frost answered quickly. “And we've got this”—she clapped Demonfang's hilt—“and this.” She removed the jewel talisman Oona had given her.

Onokratos sneered at the jewel. “That offers you some protection, but you need an offensive weapon. A draw will not be good enough. You have to win the contest."

“You're a sorcerer as well as a wizard,” she countered. “You must have some skills to call on.” She returned to Tras. “And we also have these.” She gripped the hilt of her sword. “Orchos's demons must take solid form to harm us, and whatever is solid can be harmed in kind."

Onokratos turned up his nose and barked a short, contemptuous laugh.

“You're forgetting the mathematics, woman.” Tras leaned his chin on a fist. “You've sworn for five of us. I'll go for Aki's sake. They, of course, for Kalynda's. But what about Kimon? If he should die or decide not to fight, what of that?"

“If Kimon is able, he will fight. For me, if no other reason.” She looked to the demon. “And you will not let him die.” It was not a question.

Gel blinked. “I can keep him alive, but I cannot animate his limbs."

“He'll come around!” she cried. “If we must bear him to Skull Gate on our backs, he'll be ready when we need him. He must be.” She was startled by her own intensity and rued it for its obvious effect on her companions. She sought to lighten the mood somewhat. “Speaking of Skull Gate,” she said with a roll of the eyes, “who knows where it lies?"

 

The evening passed in a wash of amethyst and mauve. Frost watched the last of the sun's rays as she scattered straw and soft blankets over the wagon bed. A low whinny drew her attention from the shading sky. Tras Sur'tian groomed and fed his horse and Kimon's. Gel worked beside him, readying Onokratos's big bay mare and the pair of matched ash-colored palfreys that would pull the wagon. She returned to her task, preparing the place where Kimon and the girls would ride, making it plush. Near the front behind the driver's seat she stored waterskins and salted rations. Everything had to be ready for the morning's departure.

It was dark when they returned to the manor house with torches to light the way. Onokratos had excused himself earlier, they had not seen him since. Frost went straight to her room, and Tras Sur'tian followed. She lit candles and turned to face him. Her shadow engulfed him, swelled upon the wall.

“Our work is not yet done.” She spoke softly, almost in a whisper.

He made a face. “Food is packed, horses ready, weapons clean and sharp. What remains?"

She put a finger to her lips, warning him to use a lower voice. “Metal weapons aren't enough.” She closed her eyes, dreading what she knew must be done. “We need more."

He began to pace. “If you mean sorcery, say so. I'm not the ignorant One God worshiper I used to be."

She nodded. “All right, then. Sorcery."

He made a curt gesture. “Leave me out of it. That's work for our host and his pet."

“No, it's not!” she hissed stridently. “Would you trust someone else to sharpen your sword?” She moved around the room's small desk and leaned on it. Her shadow hulked on the wall behind her. “We see to our own weapons, you and I. That's how we were trained. Then we know they're ready when we need them."

He regarded her cagily. “You said you weren't a witch anymore, that you couldn't work magic."

She tapped her temple. “My witchcraft is gone, but not my knowledge.” A sly wink. “Remember Mirashai and the Hand of Glory? Well, I instructed Oona in its making. Just as I'll instruct you."

He sat up, interested. “Will the Hand affect Orchos's demons?” He steepled his fingers and touched them to his lips thoughtfully. “That would be a weapon indeed!"

She shook her head; hair lashed her cheeks. “Unfortunately, no. Nor would there be time to create such a complex abomination. I also doubt you would have the stomach for that task."

He frowned. “Then what?"

“Something much simpler, but possibly just as effective for our purposes.” She allowed a small grin. “Your Korkyran priests would call it holy water."

He arched his eyebrows in mild surprise. “Can you make this holy water?” he asked. “The priests say it is sacred, secret."

“Fie on all priests.” She mimed spitting. “I can't, but you can with my instruction."

He hooked thumbs in his sword belt, drew a breath. “If it will help Aki, when do we begin?"

“As soon as we gain entrance to Onokratos's sanctum."

“Won't he object?"

She picked up the candle and opened the door to the darkened hall, peered both ways, and beckoned. “I don't even want him to know,” she whispered.

 

 

 

 

Chapter Fourteen

 

The bright morning sun caused her to blink as she stepped out of the gloomy manor and breathed the fresh clean air. Droplets of dew clung to the clumped, withered grass; the day's warmth would soon evaporate them.

Onokratos waited by the wagon. Three horses stood tethered to one wheel. The wizard shielded his eyes and hailed her. “We have plenty of water already,” he said, pointing to the two waterskins that hung on straps from her shoulders.

Frost feigned disinterest. “A little surplus never hurts,” she remarked, gazing around. “Where are the others?"

She heard the scuffle of boots before he could answer. Gel carried Kalynda in his huge arms. Tras Sur'tian bore Aki. Both children appeared fast asleep. They were placed gingerly on the soft straw pallet in the wagon.

Frost peered over the side at them, then laid a hand on Tras's shoulder. “They look too still,” she said.

The demon answered. “A simple spell to keep them quiet and manageable on the journey. They could not be left behind untended."

She admitted she hadn't thought of sedating them. It made things simpler. She studied the two small reclining forms. “It will be crowded with Kimon,” she said.

“He says he will ride,” Tras Sur'tian informed her, grinning.

She closed her eyes, uttered a short prayer of thanks to her Esgarian gods. “When did he awaken?"

The Korkyran rubbed his bearded chin. “He was sitting up when I checked on him at first light."

She leaned closer, whispered confidentially. “Is he all right?"

Tras Sur'tian's answer was loud, meant for all ears. “Why not ask him?” His gaze flickered beyond her shoulder. She turned.

“Samidar!” Kimon wore a weak grin as he came to her side. He appeared pale yet, and he'd lost weight during his three-day ordeal. Still, he bore himself proudly, lifted her hand and kissed it.

A disturbing tightness gripped her chest. She realized, with some personal consternation, that she still hadn't sorted out her feelings about Kimon. In fact, she'd actively sought other matters to occupy her time. Not that she'd had to seek far.

She looked up into those deep blue eyes, discovering again how easy it was to lose her heart in the warmth of his gaze.

He started to speak, but her fingers stopped his lips. Her arms went around him, pulled his face down. Their cheeks brushed; the warmth of his flesh seemed to ignite her with tingling fire. Then she gave him a hasty kiss and backed away. “There are more important matters right now,” she told him, “but later, we must talk alone."

“Excuse me for interrupting this tender moment.” There was a note of annoyance in the wizard's voice. “Everyone has a mount but you, woman. Do you intend to walk?"

She gave Kimon a last sidelong glance, then turned away and put two fingers to the corners of her mouth. A long, high note whistled on the air.

Onokratos sneered. “I'm impressed,” he said, “but I've never seen a whistle saddled before. Do you mount it on the left side or the right?"

Tras Sur'tian came to her defense. “Shut your mouth and open your eyes, old man."

Onokratos flushed and raised a furious fist to strike. Tras Sur'tian's cold expression silently dared. Then, as quickly as it had flared, the wizard's temper faded. Finally, he looked outward where the Korkyran directed him.

A black speck appeared in the distance, taking recognizable shape as it raced toward them. Frost whistled a second time, a piercing note.

“Ashur,” Tras Sur'tian informed the wizard. “Her mount."

“How could it hear her that far away?” It was Kimon who spoke, awed.

“He hears,” Tras Sur'tian answered. “He always hears."

Frost smiled at her old friend. He was learning. He had performed without qualm or sqeamishness last night, the perfect apprentice, trusting her implicitly, obeying instructions no matter how they contradicted his old philosophies. He was not the same man she had known in Mirashai.

“Onokratos? With your abilities, have you the true-sight?"

He shrugged, not bothering to answer her query. She assumed he didn't.

She wondered about Tras Sur'tian. The Korkyran had learned much in the last weeks. How much had his understanding deepened? “Tras, look carefully. What do you see?"

He squinted as he watched Ashur approach. “I'm not sure,” he answered. “I know your Ashur. I've groomed him myself. But sometimes there's a shadow of something more when I look at him.” He shaded his eyes against the sun's glare. “I keep remembering the hole in that soldier's chest outside Mirashai's gate. It's disconcerting, weird."

She turned to the demon. “Gel, what do you see?"

“I see what I see,” was his cryptic reply. But she noticed his gaze did not waver from her speeding steed, and his lips parted slightly, damp with moisture. So, even demons knew amazement.

“Can you let them see, too?” she asked him, coming to his side.

Those dark, penetrating orbs slid over her. Yet again she experienced a warm rush, now familiar when she stood near him. With some effort, she ignored the sensation and repeated her question.

“It requires an expenditure of power,” he answered slowly.

She considered carefully and reached a decision. “How much of an expenditure?"

The demon shrugged. With a quickness that belied his great bulk, he touched Onokratos's eyes, then Tras Sur'tian's. But Kimon, misunderstanding, ducked lithely under Gel's reach and leaped back. His sword whisked out.

“Kimon!” She stepped between them. He looked from her to the demon hesitantly. She laid a hand on the point of his blade and pushed it down. He didn't resist, realizing he'd embarrassed himself somehow. “Let him touch you,” Frost urged. He nodded. Gel gently placed thumb and forefinger over his lids. “Now, look at Ashur. Most of all, I wanted you to see."

He gasped, stared, just as Tras Sur'tian and Onokratos stared, oblivious to all else. Ashur trotted to her side. The beast nuzzled against her, passing its great horn under her arm, pushing her playfully backward. She smacked him on the nose, a playful rebuke. “Behave!” she ordered. “Show-off!"

“His eyes!” Onokratos exclaimed. “Are they really—"

She waved him to silence. “I wanted you all to see,” she said, “and take hope. There are some small powers on our side. If we use them properly, perhaps we stand a chance against Orchos.” She stroked Ashur's withers. “For now, no more questions. Onokratos, show the way."

The wizard swallowed, regained his composure. He pointed westward. “Skodulac is an island in the waters of Dyre Lake. There, you'll find Skull Gate.” He wiped a trace of spittle from his lips. “I'll tell you no more, but wait for you to see it.” His gaze snapped back to Ashur. “I think you took a special joy from this revelation."

She gave no answer but swung up astride Ashur's bare back.

“What happened to your saddle?” Tras Sur'tian wondered aloud. “And your bridle? He was wearing them last I recall. The cinch might have given way on the saddle. But how did he lose the bit?"

She gave no thought to such things. It was enough to ride the unicorn, to call such a creature hers. She was a proficient rider. The lack of proper tack meant nothing to her. She scratched Ashur between the ears with one hand, tangled the other in his rich, wild mane.