Skull Gate (4 page)

He leaned forward again. “However, mercy is not foolishness. There are still questions to be asked before this affair is solved."

There it was. He intended to
solve
it. She calculated the time that had passed. Tras Sur'tian would be waiting at the eastern gate.

“So you are not to leave the palace for a few days,” Thogrin went on. “When this is cleared up, then we may negotiate your continued enlistment in the service of Korkyra.” He paused, pursed his lips. “But certainly not as a soldier. Trousers just don't become you.” The serving girl leaned forward and whispered in his ear. Thogrin barked a short laugh and waved her away. “Not pretty enough,” he said over his shoulder. Then, back to Frost, “You may keep your quarters for now, but you have no status in court. You are my guest."

He dismissed her with a gesture.

She backed up a few steps, then turned and walked away. There was a fine film of sweat on her palms. She wiped her hands on her tunic, feeling Demonfang beneath. Tras Sur'tian was right. Thogrin Sin'tell was not a man to trifle with. His ambition made him dangerous.

But had he, in fact, arranged Aki's disappearance?

If she had any doubts, they vanished when, at the door, she turned for a final look at the man she'd already begun to think of as foe.

In the shadows behind the throne a figure stirred and came forward into the light. He was dark-robed, hooded. She could see no face. For a brief instant she thought it was last night's intruder. But this man was shorter, and the way he slouched spoke of age or infirmity.

He saw her then, stopped in mid-step, and drew himself erect. They regarded each other across the hall. Still she could not see a face. Then the figure walked to the throne, took up a position behind Thogrin, and laid a withered hand on the emerald seat.

She nodded and left the hall.

Thogrin Sin'tell was not the sole possessor of Korkyra's crown. The old man had admitted it with his gesture. There was challenge in that gesture, and warning.

“Wizard,” she muttered to herself, “or sorcerer or witch.” Well, she'd known from a first glance at Aki's strangely scorched sheets that magic was involved. Yet her own witch-powers were gone forever. What could she do?

She took a deep breath. Whatever she had to do, she vowed. She had failed Aki once. If the little queen lived, it was her responsibility to find her. If she was dead, then the blood was on her hands.

She looked closely at her palms and rubbed them together, not liking the thought. Still, if it proved true, then only blood could wash away blood.

She started down the corridor at a casual pace that hid her real purpose. There was no safe for her in the palace, nor in all of Mirashai. She could do Aki no good at all if she were imprisoned. Nor was Thogrin her real enemy, she suspected. If that old man was truly a wizard, the eyes watching her might not be detectable.

She went to the kitchens and sampled the morning's fare with an approving nod. In the quarters of the palace guard, she inspected weapons and chastised an improperly clad sentry, all with barely concealed haste. In the courtyard, she sniffed the flowers. Two guards stood watch at a gate in the wall. She knew them and stopped to chat. Apparently, word of her confinement had not yet spread. They made no attempt to stop her when she wished them a good day and passed out into the street.

Beyond the wall, she dropped her pretense and headed at a brisk walk to where Tras Sur'tian was waiting. With each step she thanked her Esgarian gods that no guard accosted her. Her sharp ears were alert for a cry of “Halt!” or the marching bootsteps of an armored patrol.

The streets were full of people, merchants spreading their wares for the day's trade, beggars and urchins, the rare noble out for a morning's stroll. She pushed her way through them, making no apologies, speaking to no one.

She spied the eastern gate and looked around for sentries, saw none.

Just beyond it, an old man waited clad in the dirtiest of rags. A patch covered one eye. The disguise was good, but she knew Tras Sur'tian at once by the size and shape of his body and by the beautiful black beast that stood at his side.

The creature's name was Ashur, and Frost smiled when she saw him. His mane was thick and lustrous. His proud tail brushed the earth. But to Frost, his most beautiful features were the two eyes which were not eyes at all, but pools of unnatural flame that burned hotter according to the animal's temper, and the glistening horn, long as a man's arm, that sprouted from his forelock.

Ashur was a gift from the same wizard who had given her Demonfang. There was no other such creature on all the earth. To normal eyes Ashur appeared just a horse, although a big and unusually strong horse. Though his speed was no greater, no earthly steed could match his endurance.

But for the rare few who possessed the true-sight, the power to see through mere appearance, or for a man on the very brink of death, the illusion dissolved.

Wilder than the winds was Ashur. None but Frost could ride him.

Tras Sur'tian moved like a crippled old man. He stepped forward, waving a dirty bowl. She dropped a coin into it and moved past him to hug Ashur.

“Your sword and a few provisions,” he whispered, “there by the wall. You're late. Trouble?"

She threw back a dusty blanket that covered her sword. She strapped the blade on her right hip. “I think so,” she answered.

Tras Sur'tian frowned.

“There's an old man with Thogrin. Do you know him?"

“No, I saw him this morning for the first time."

She was grim as she fastened a cloak about her. “You may see more of him than you like. I tell you, he's the true power behind Thogrin Sin'tell. Together they're responsible for Aki's disappearance."

“Have you proof?” he whispered.

“I feel it in my heart of hearts,” she answered.

“Not proof."

She shot him a look as he echoed Thogrin Sin'tell's words. Then she looked away and spat in the dust.

A group of merchants approached the gate headed for the city's bazaar. Mindful of his disguise, Tras Sur'tian slumped against the wall, squatted on his haunches, and extended his bowl. No coins came his way.

“May you sleep with diseased women!” he called after them as they passed. Then, to Frost, “If you truly believe that, then your search for Aki should begin here."

Her lips parted in a queer half smile. She shook her head slowly. “Thogrin's got to hang somebody for this, and since I was Aki's guardian that makes me the prime candidate. I'm not sticking around long enough to give him the chance."

He looked up at her with his one eye. “Are you coming back?"

She didn't answer, just swung a blanket over Ashur's back, then the saddle, and cinched it tight. That done, she lifted Tras Sur'tian's bag of provisions on her shoulder and turned to say good-bye.

A squad of guards stood in the gateway. She hadn't even heard them approach, nor had Tras, by his expression of surprise. She quickly counted their number.

Eight soldiers, all strangers to her. Thogrin Sin'tell's personal men, she guessed. Their weapons gleamed naked.

“Hold.” A young lieutenant stepped smartly forward. “You have disobeyed the order of His Highness, Baron Endymia.” A crooked grin suddenly poisoned his youthful features. “By attempting to leave Mirashai, you have proven your guilt in the murder of our beloved Queen Aki.” He called to his men over a shoulder. “Take her sword."

One obedient guard came close and reached for her blade. She counted his steps, then swung the bag of provisions with her full strength. It caught him squarely in the face, knocking him off his feet. On the backswing she hurled it at the startled lieutenant. Apparently, he'd not expected her to resist.

Her sword cleared sheath in one easy motion.

The guards were young, an untrained lot. Instead of trying to surround her, they charged her from the front, further proof they were Thogrin's men and not Korkyran regulars. Experienced soldiers knew better.

She swung, gripping her hilt with both hands, cleaving the nearest man deeply beneath his ribs. She tugged, and her weapon reluctantly came free. Still, the others would have had her had she been alone.

Even as she slew the first one, Tras Sur'tian's booted foot smashed into the groin of another, and his massive fist took still another out of the fight.

Then, a startling, unearthly cry sounded, mingled with the screams and shouts of four young men who suddenly beheld a monster in their midst. With a powerful lunge Ashur thrust his ebony horn through a fear-frozen sentry. He tossed his maned head, and the sentry's body smacked sickeningly against the wall. Ashur reared, and shining black hooves crashed down into the upturned faces of two more. Great, gnashing teeth clamped horribly on the last man's neck and shoulder; he screamed once and no more.

The first guard who had fallen to the provisions bag attempted to rise, but a swing of Frost's foot spared his life, if not his nose. He hit the ground with a grunt, and if he wasn't unconscious, he wisely pretended to be.

“Tras?” She looked around for her old friend as she backed toward Ashur. She caught the unicorn's reins, still reluctant to sheathe her sword.

Tras Sur'tian bent over the body by the wall. His face crinkled as he traced the gaping hole in the dead man's chest.

“How?” There was genuine fear in those old eyes when he stared up at her. “No horse..."

She sighed. The illusion held; Tras Sur'tian would live to see another day. But there was no way she could explain, nor time.

A crowd began to gather; she had to leave. But Tras still knelt by the fallen sentry. Imperative he leave, too: he was well known in Mirashai. Someone might penetrate his disguise.

“Run, beggar! Before I skewer you as well!” She raised her sword menacingly above his head.

A chilling mixture of fear and anger filled his gaze. He looked from her to her sword, measuring. For one tense moment she feared, in his confusion, he meant to attack her. But then his vision seemed to clear as he took notice of the mob and realized her intent. He cringed, threw up his hands as if to ward off a blow, ran, and disappeared into the crowd. A rich handful of coins scattered on the earth in his wake.

She smiled grimly as men and women scrambled for the bits of gold and silver, a clever gambit that gave them both time to get away. She swung quickly into the saddle and nudged Ashur's flanks with her bootheels.

Mirashai and its greedy populace receded in her dust.

 

 

 

 

Chapter Three

 

Frost stretched in the saddle. The sun neared noon, and the growl in her stomach reminded her she hadn't eaten. Too bad she'd left that bag of provisions behind. She was thirsty, too, and no waterskin.

Well, there wasn't much farther to go.

Ashur plodded along. She'd given up watching for signs of pursuit. It was clear none was coming. After the fight at the gate she'd run eastward to the rocky hills of the Kithri region, then doubled back to the west. Any followers would have a tough time picking up her trail.

She passed a farm. In the fields, a handful of workers rose over their hoes to watch her go by. They didn't wave. Without the armor and shield that marked her as Aki's champion she was just another stranger. And in these parts, as in all rural parts, strangers were not trusted.

Not far ahead she entered Shadamas, a small village with only a few ramshackle shops, a smithy, and an inn barely worthy of the name. A few pigs wandered the streets in search of garbage. A dirty little boy chased an even dirtier little girl across the only road. A hammer rang on an anvil.

The smith stopped his work as she rode by, and the children stopped playing. She felt the eyes peering out at her from behind the doors and windows. Here and there, someone came to the doorway long enough to watch her pass.

When she was through and the last building was behind her, she let out a sigh. She hadn't realized she'd been holding her breath. It had been tense. Yet word that she was fugitive could not possibly have reached this far. Not that it mattered. Shadamas was too small to warrant a peacekeeping force of its own. Any trouble, and they sent word to the garrison at Kord'Ala, and that was many miles away.

A short distance beyond Shadamas she came to a shack. It stood alone and isolated in the cleft of a low rise of hills. A small garden flourished beside one wall. An old woman bent between the neat rows, carefully pulling weeds from the tender shoots.

“Oona!” Frost hailed her and dismounted.

The old woman looked up and squinted in the hot sunlight. Her face was brown leather, her hair and the tufts of her eyebrows gray as a winter morning. Her small blue eyes seemed to work at focusing. Then a broad, toothy grin brightened her features. “Oh, child!” she cried, rising as quickly as her old joints allowed. “Samidar, my child!” She stretched out her arms as she hurried toward Frost. “You've come to visit!"

Frost met her embrace with a gentle hug, but a frown creased her fine lips. “Please, I've asked you not to call me that."

Oona pushed away and waved a hand between them. “Oh, twaddle! That's your name, and don't bother me with that other foolishness!” A gnarled brown hand reached up and tickled Ashur's nose. He lowered his head closer, appreciatively. “And you've brought your beautiful unicorn! My, this is a special day!"

“No pride!” Frost chided, half scolding her beast. “He'd follow a Shardahani for a scratch on the nose!” She reached out, too, to stroke his neck.

“Shardahanis aren't so bad once you get to know one,” Oona said, quietly serious. “They're just people like us, with a few odd customs.” She grabbed Frost's arm and pulled her toward the shack. “But you must be hungry. It's a long way from Mirashai. Did you leave early?"

Frost nodded and let Oona lead her inside. She was hungry, no doubt of that, and a little saddle sore. She hadn't ridden in some time, and apparently the old calluses had gone away. They'd return soon enough.