Skull Gate (29 page)

And her witch-mother's last prophecy.
 

 

From Esgaria fair to Etai Calan
 

She rode through a sorcerous storm.
 

There, a Tool of Light brought her safe through the night
 

To witness his death on the morn.
 

 

But she took up his task, an old book that he stole,
 

Called the Last Battle ‘Twixt Light and Dark,
 

And she rode like the wind on his great unicorn
 

O'er a landscape turned barren and stark.
 

 

Through fire and trial she came to a land,
 

By legends, a dark evil place,
 

To seek for a sorcerer, Kregan by name,
 

A lord of the cruel Chondite race.
 

 

But she found there a people to help with her quest
 

And a love to fill her young heart.
 

With an army to guide, they swept like a tide,
 

Bearing weapons of sorcerous art.
 

 

So they rode like the wind to Demonium Gate
 

Where their magical power would be strong.
 

Every stone glowed bright with the colors of fire
 

In a night supernaturally long.
 

 

And the eye of their foe, Zarad-Krul he was called,
 

Appeared with a cold, rheumy stare
 

To demand the book for the dark gods he served,
 

Or his magic and armies beware!
 

 

Well, that child with a sword and her sorcerous love
 

And her army prepared to make war,
 

And they met Zarad-Krul on the edge of a field
 

Till the night reeked of carnage and gore.
 

 

Oh, they battled each other with magic and sword
 

Till the dark gods themselves took a hand.
 

And three sent thousands to hell with a shrug,
 

And three shadows fell long on the land.
 

 

But next to her heart the child had the book,
 

And by witchcraft she opened it wide,
 

And there found a spell that would triumph o'er hell
 

If the lords of light fought at her side.
 

 

So she sang out the words and a whirlwind appeared
 

Bearing gods from the heavens to earth,
 

And they forced back the night with the power of their light,
 

Driving evil's three sons from the earth.
 

 

But when it was over and victory won,
 

Kregan, her lover, lay dead,
 

Lifted high by that whirlwind and smashed on a stone —
 

And her mother's words rang in her head:
 

(Prophecy from the lips of the dead!)
 

 

'Oh, you are a creature of fire and frost,
 

So Frost shall your name ever be,
 

And you'll never give your heart to a man
 

Unless death is his quick destiny.'”

 

He finished and looked to her for approval. When she said nothing after long moments, he reached for her hand and squeezed. “Well?” he prodded.

She licked her lips. “Very fanciful,” she conceded softly, unwilling to meet his eyes. “Mark well that last verse. Sing it often. Each time you think you love me.” She tugged on Ashur's mane, turned the unicorn about, and rode to Tras Sur'tian's side.

“You had no right to tell him so much,” she whispered.

He frowned. “I told him almost nothing, woman. Your secrets have never been as secret as you think. I've heard a similar song before, a score of versions in as many taverns."

The sun descended the afternoon sky.

Frost mopped the sweat from her brow and folded one leg over Ashur's withers. The insides of her thighs were saturated with the unicorn's lather. She rode with an easy rocking motion, in no danger of falling, but idly she wished for a saddle.

A word from Tras Sur'tian snapped her out of her quiet reverie. The wagon creaked to a halt. They looked where the Korkyran pointed.

A dozen men rode down a long slope on the left. She shot a look behind. They'd passed through the woodland country without her notice. There was no immediate shelter. She returned her attention to the riders. Bandits, she figured. No hope of outrunning them with the wagon. Her hand fell to the hilt of her sword.

Tras Sur'tian recognized them first: not bandits, but a squad of Korkyran regulars on patrol. “We've got trouble,” he murmured, and loosened his own blade in its sheath. Frost, Kimon, Tras, and Gel fanned out before the wagon. Onokratos sat nervously on the hard wooden seat and watched.

The soldiers cut across their course, blocking the road.

Frost remembered the distinctive livery Tras Sur'tian wore sewn to his tunic. Surreptitiously, she tapped her chest. “Maybe you'd better take charge,” she whispered.

Tras Sur'tian rode a little forward to address the patrol's commander. “Ho, Captain! We nearly mistook you for bandits.” He gave the traditional Korkyran salute. “We have met no other travelers on these lonely roads."

A warrior not much less than Tras Sur'tian's years urged his mount a few steps ahead of his troops. He sat his saddle stiffly, no hint of friendliness on his stony features. “You are Captain Tras Sur'tian, commander of the palace guard at Mirashai.” It was not a question, but an identification.

Tras Sur'tian abandoned his amicable approach and adopted the other man's hostile tone. “We're on royal business. You're blocking our way."

The other captain was unruffled. He made a gesture; his soldiers spread out into a semicircle to his left and right. He spoke again. “You are under arrest for complicity in the murders of Aki, High Queen of Korkyra, and of Thogrin Sin'tell. Baron Endymia, heir designate.” He paused, looked past Tras Sur'tian, and glared with hate-filled eyes at Frost. “You are also charged with harboring a convicted criminal and with willful desertion of your duty post.” He rattled off other charges without benefit of a document. “For a month you've eluded us. To my everlasting glory, I have stumbled upon you."

Tras Sur'tian lied coolly, “You have your facts wrong. I've captured the murderess. And I've conscripted these men to help guard her.” He cast a glance over his shoulder. “She's a tricky bitch."

The barest smirk stole over the other captain's face. “The evidence calls you liar, sir. You've not even bothered to take her weapons. And Mirashai lies in the opposite direction, so your falsehood is compounded.” He indicated Kimon, Gel, and Onokratos. “These are most probably co-conspirators. You'll surrender your weapons at once."

Frost could no longer hold her tongue. She rode to Tras Sur'tian's side. “You know me, Captain?"

He nodded. “I saw you once at the declaration of peace between Korkyra and Aleppo. Queen Aki named you her champion."

She played her only card, her last hope of preventing a confrontation. “What if I told you Aki is alive?"

His mouth twitched, but plainly he didn't believe her.

Frost pushed. “She's in the wagon, but she's ill. I'm trying to save her life.” She made a gesture, and Onokratos drew back the cloak he'd draped to shade the children. “Look for yourself,” she offered.

The captain hesitated; then, laying hand to sword's hilt, he rode cautiously past Frost and peered into the wagon. His eyes narrowed. He looked up, then back into the wagon. He leaned down from his saddle and placed a hand on Aki's cheek. Then he resumed his place with his men.

“The first charge may be reduced to abduction,” he announced. “But the other charges stand. You must come with us."

Frost barely kept her temper. “You pompous fool! Get out of our way, or there's no hope at all for Aki. Bring your men, if you must, and join us. But don't delay us longer!"

The captain raised a hand. His men drew their blades. Frost, Kimon, and Tras Sur'tian responded, showing steel. “Don't be stupid,” the captain advised. “You've three swords to twelve."

Onokratos spoke for the first time, rising to stand on the boards, the reins draped lazily in his hands. “You've neglected to count me, sir,” he chided. “Your mistake."

The captain openly scoffed. “My apologies, grandfather. I saw no blade at your belt. Have you some other weapon I should count to your credit?"

A broad, mocking smile spread over the wizard's face; the corners of his mouth strained toward his ears. He pointed to Gel. “Him."

The captain pursed his lips in consideration. “The black brute doesn't wear steel, either, grandfather."

The huge smile disappeared. “He needs no weapon, fool,” he answered darkly. “He is a demon."

Frost studied the effect of his words on the men before her. A few eyes darted nervously to Gel, reevaluating him. A few grinned at what they considered an old man's madness. The captain himself barked a short laugh and spat in the dust.

Gel twisted in his saddle to face his master. “They do not believe thee,” he said.

Once again, that mocking smile returned. “Show them."

A blood-chilling yell boiled from the demon's throat, no human sound. Weaponless, he sprang over his horse's head. His massive arms lashed out as he leaped, knocking the two nearest soldiers from their saddles before they could lift swords to defend themselves.

Frost stared open-mouthed. Such a tremendous leap! And right out of the stirrups! But that feat paled beside the demon's next action.

Gel disappeared momentarily beneath one of the riderless mounts. Suddenly, the beast rose into the air, whinnying pitifully, hooves thrashing. The demon heaved; the screaming animal flew through the air, crashing into men and horses. The captain of the patrol saved himself by diving into the dirt. He rose, pale, shaken, but not yet ready to give up.

He snatched his blade from the roadside where it had fallen. “Get him!” he ordered his men. “Get them all!"

Blindly obedient, a young recruit scrambled to his feet and ran at Gel. The demon brushed aside the artless sword thrust. One huge hand closed on the soldier's leather-helmed skull and squeezed. An agonized cry choked, half-uttered, in the man's throat. Frost heard the crack of splintering bone and clenched her eyes shut, forcing down the bile that threatened to rise. When she opened them, fresh crimson stained the demon's hand. He kicked the body aside and laughed.

“Enough!” Onokratos's shout rang over the demon's terrible mirth. All eyes turned to the old wizard. His expression was hard and cruel as he glared down on the unfortunate captain. “Does he have to kill all of you? Or will you leave us alone?"

The captain shook his fist even as the color drained from his face. “I have my duty!” he cried.

“Think of your men!” Onokratos snapped. “What's left of them! Look around, man. See what your
duty
has wrought!"

Of the twelve, Gel had killed three with his bands. The horse he had flung into their midst had claimed another; Frost could see the unmoving form pinned beneath the beast's wriggling, broken bulk. Two more lives were uncertain. They lay on the ground, perhaps merely unconscious. Only now did she see what a young bunch they were. Farmers' sons, probably, products of the local villages. None but the captain, an older and more experienced warrior, seemed willing to fight on.

“Go home,” Onokratos urged with surprising gentleness.

The captain seized his hilt with both hands, gripped it until his knuckles were white and the bone showed through. “There can be no going home!” he cried desperately. “Not while you have my queen!” He sliced the air twice, sunlight rippling along his blade, then leaped for the nearest foe.

Frost brought her sword around.

Gel moved, caught him by the neck before his feet touched the earth. Bone snapped. The demon looked up at Frost, holding the dangling corpse in one hand. A trace of a grin stretched his hideous lips. “Thee owes me thy life,” he said.

“You flatter yourself,” she answered coldly, disturbed by his cruelty and his insult. She'd been in no danger from the captain's clumsy attack.

The demon shrugged, dropped the lifeless hulk, and turned to glare at the remains of the terror-stricken patrol.

“Go home!” Onokratos repeated. There was no captain to halt them this time. Three men, still mounted, spurred for the ridge where they'd first appeared. The rest ran or limped after them on foot.

Tras Sur'tian turned back to the wagon. “Thank you for your mercy,” he said to Onokratos.

The wizard nodded and sat down with a sigh. “They were your people. You would have fought them, I know, for the sake of your queen. But you would not have felt good about it.” He scratched his beardless chin. “It was better my way."

Tras Sur'tian pursed his lips thoughtfully. “We should bury them,” he said. “As men, they deserve that."

“There isn't time,” Onokratos said reasonably. “Some of their comrades will return when their fear lessens. They'll do that work. I've learned that much of Korkyran honor."

“I think we need a drink,” Frost said, reaching into the wagon for the water-skins. They all drank, even Gel. Frost noted that with some concern. Thirst was a human weakness; before, the demon had refused all food or drink.

They decided to abandon the road for fear of another chance encounter. They set off cross-country toward the waning sun. In the early evening they entered yet another woodland. The going was rough for the wagon and they made slow progress. A little way farther they found a clearing and decided to make camp. The first stars winked in the gathering gloom, barely visible through the leaves.