The Gates Of Winter Part 19

"Perhaps," Mirda said. "But tell me, what was she like, this one I remind you of?"

Falken's voice was soft. "She was barely more than a maiden, though her power was deep. Her hair was gold, and her eyes like blue cornflowers."

Mirda smiled. "Well, that doesn't sound much like me."

"No, I suppose it doesn't." He glanced again at the mature, dark-haired witch. "Though I must confess, you're a bit more my style. I never went for the girlish type."

Melia shot the bard an outraged look. "Falken!"

The bard gave her a sheepish grin, then the expression faded. "I never did get a chance to thank her. I think she saved my life."

Mirda touched his gloved hand. "If you wish to thank her, then do not hide the gift she made for you."

"How did you-?" Falken shook his head. "But you're right. I think it's time I stopped trying to hide my past and started living up to it." He stripped off the black glove, and his right hand gleamed in the morning light. "From now on, my name is Falken Silverhand."

Mirda smiled. "She would be glad to know." The witch gazed at Grace. "Remember you are never alone, sister. Look for help on the road-it will find you as you journey."

"Thank you," Grace managed.

Mirda nodded, then, cloak fluttering, she moved to stand by Lirith and Grace.

Melia arched an eyebrow. "That was curious."

Falken said nothing as he flexed his silver hand.

A coldness crept into Grace's chest. So that was it, then. There were no more good-byes to make. Durge spoke to Tarus, and the red-haired knight mounted his horse and rode down the hill. The Spider Aldeth followed on a horse as gray as his mistcloak. Durge climbed into the saddle of his charger, Blackalock, and Melia and Falken mounted their own horses. Nearby, a guardsman held the reins of Shandis, Grace's honey-colored mare. Heart heavy, Grace turned to mount the horse- -and stopped. A small figure sat in Shandis's saddle, the wind tangling her flame-colored hair. She wore only a thin smock, and her feet were bare.

"Tira," Grace gasped. "How did you get there?"

By the guardsman's stunned look, he wondered the same. He nearly dropped Shandis's reins. However, the mare was nonplussed, and she gave a soft whicker as Tira laughed, burying her hands in Shandis's mane.

Falken gave Grace a sharp look. "I think somebody wants to come with you."

Grace thought her heart would shatter. "But she can't. It's too dangerous. She's just a child."

"No," Melia said carefully, "she's not."

It was true. Krondisar had transformed Tira into a G.o.ddess. What her purpose was, Grace didn't know, but she had the feeling that, even if she wanted to, she could not prevent Tira from coming. Nor could Grace say she was sorry.

With the guardsman's help, Grace climbed into the saddle behind Tira. The girl snuggled close.

"Grace!" said a hoa.r.s.e voice.

Beltan stood beside her horse. The knight's green eyes were desperate, questioning. Hastily, Grace reached into the pouch at her side and drew out a wadded piece of cloth. It was blotched with dark brown stains.

"Take this."

He fumbled with the cloth. "What is it?"

"A bandage. I took it from Travis's arm."

Shock flickered across his face, then understanding. There was only a small amount of Travis's blood contained in the cloth, but it was enough. And Vani still had the gate artifact.

"Bring him back to us, Beltan. To Eldh."

The knight looked up at her, his face determined. "I will. We both will."

"Now, my lady!" Durge said, wheeling Blackalock around.

Grace had done everything she could; it was time to ride. On impulse, she drew Fellring and raised it above her head. The morning sun glinted off the blade, setting it afire.

"To Gravenfist Keep!" called a bold voice, and Grace was amazed to realize it was her own.

Tira laughed. "Blademender," she said.

And a cheer rose on the bitter air as Grace rode down to meet her army.

They marched east, following the same road Grace had traveled on the way to the Gray Tower last summer. She rode at the head of the small force, Durge to her right and Tarus to her left. Behind came the knights of the Dominions, followed by the Calavaner foot soldiers and the band of runespeakers upon st.u.r.dy mules. Last of all came the one Tarrasian company, bronze breastplates gleaming. As for Queen Inara's Spiders, Grace could never be certain where they were, though she had little doubt that they were keeping up-and keeping watch.

The weather was crisp and brilliant. Sunlight splintered into rainbows as it struck prisms of ice, and the jingle of chain mail rose like bells on the frigid air. Despite the cold, Grace was warm in her fur-lined cloak as she rode Shandis. Although she supposed it was neither garment nor horse that accounted for her comfort.

"Thank you," she said as the castle vanished from sight behind them. She pressed her cheek against Tira's unruly red hair. As always, the girl was warm despite her bare arms and legs. "For keeping me warm."

Tira ignored Grace as she made her doll dance along Shandis's mane, as if running through fields of wheat.

After that, Grace gave her first order as commander of the army. She told Tarus that if at any time as they traveled, any man-or woman, for there were the two lady Spiders-found the cold too unbearable, he was to come walk or ride near Grace.

Tarus gave her an odd look. "And how will that help, Your Majesty?"

"You haven't been cold riding beside me, have you?"

"Now that you mention it, I haven't."

She hugged Tira and smiled. "I didn't think so."

Tarus shot her a puzzled look, then wheeled his horse around to give the order.

Grace knew she shouldn't be enjoying this-they were riding off to war, not a picnic in the countryside-but all the same it was difficult not to feel her spirits soaring. Maybe after they had marched a hundred leagues they would look weary and bedraggled, and things would seem different, but right then she was struck by the grandeur of the army. All of the men looked hard and capable and brave, their helms gleaming in the sun. Bright banners snapped overhead: white on blue for Calavan, gold on green for Toloria, dark violet for Perridon, and russet for the men of Galt. The Tarrasian force carried the standard of the empire-five stars over three trees-and the gray robes of the runespeakers were like their own kind of banner.

Grace let out a foggy breath. "It seems I'm the only one without a flag."

Durge smacked a hand to his forehead. "Forgive me, Your Majesty, in all the haste to depart I quite forgot to give you this. Senility must be setting in already."

She gave him a fond smile. "I rather doubt that, Durge."

The Embarran rummaged in a saddlebag and drew out a bundle wrapped in waxed cloth. He handed it to her.

"What is it?"

"A gift from Falken and Melia. They asked me to give it to you once we were on the road."

Grace opened the bundle, and inside was a folded piece of cloth. Grasping two corners, she shook it out.

It was a banner. The colors were like those of Calavan, though the blue was deeper, and the symbol embroidered in silver thread was not the crown and swords of Calavan. Instead it was a star surrounded by a knot with four loops. Grace knew the symbol well. Falken always clasped his cloak with a brooch that bore the same design.

"It's the emblem of Malachor," she said in wonder.

"You must select a man to be your standard-bearer, Your Majesty," Durge said, his brown eyes thoughtful. "He must be a man you trust above all others, one whose heart will never fail you. For if your standard ever falls, then all is lost."

Grace didn't even need to think about it. "You, Durge. I want you to carry it." She held the banner toward him.

His hesitation was visible. "My lady, I can . . . that is, surely there is another better suited."

For a moment an icicle of fear stabbed at Grace's heart. Durge had never avoided any duty she had ever asked of him. Why would he resist this? She thought of his words, how the standard must be carried by one whose heart would never fail . . .

But he can't know about the iron splinter, Grace. He's being modest, that's all.

She nudged Shandis close to Blackalock and pressed the banner into his hands. "Please, Durge. For me."

He drew in a breath, then took the banner from her. "As you wish, Your Majesty. I will guard it with my life."

Durge called for a lance to be brought to him. He fastened the banner to the end, then turned it upright, planting the b.u.t.t of the lance in his stirrup. At that moment a gust of wind raced over the river, and the banner leaped to attention, embroidered star gleaming. Grace heard a murmur rise from the men behind her. She kept her gaze forward, but she knew if she looked back she would see wonder in their eyes. To these men, all their lives, Malachor had been a legend-a story of a golden age long lost. By unfurling this banner, she had just brought the legend to life.

"Don't look now, Your Majesty," Tarus said softly, leaning in his saddle toward her, "but everyone's staring at you."

"Then I'd better not fall off my horse."

It was in the late afternoon of that first day out from the castle when All-master Oragien brought his dun-colored mule close to Shandis.

"Excuse me, Your Majesty, but may I take you up on your offer and ride near you for a time?"

Grace winced at the reverence in his voice. Everyone was taking this whole queen thing far too seriously, but she supposed there was no way around it.

"You may ride with me anytime you wish, All-master."

"Thank you, Your Majesty. I fear the cold makes a cruel companion to these old bones, despite young Master Graedin's diligence in speaking the rune of fire. Have you met him? I have not seen such a promising student in all my years at the Gray Tower. Except for Master Wilder, of course."

"I look forward to meeting him," Grace said.

Oragien laughed. "Then you are in luck, Your Majesty, for here comes Master Graedin now. I imagine he's thrilled at the prospect of meeting you, and no doubt he saw my riding beside you as an opportunity. He's nothing if not bold."

"Then he'll go far, I'm sure." If I don't get him killed first, that is, If I don't get him killed first, that is, Grace added to herself. Grace added to herself.

The man who bounced on the back of a mule toward them was so young-looking that on Earth Grace would hardly have taken him for a college student. His beard was no more than a light fuzz on his cheeks, and his gangly legs and arms flapped wildly as he rode. For a moment Grace feared his mule would crash into her and Shandis, but at the last second the young man managed to slow the beast down.

"I do trust you have better control over runes than you do over beasts, Master Graedin," she said, her voice sharp, though she couldn't help smiling as his boyish face turned red.

"Forgive me, Your Majesty," he said, his tone one of chagrin. "I've just learned today there is no rune for mule mule. And now I know why. This beast is completely uncontrollable."

Actually, now that Graedin was no longer yanking at its reins, Grace thought the mule looked placid, even relieved. "I find it's usually best to let Shandis decide where to go and how fast to get there. You might try the same, Master Graedin."

The young runespeaker grinned. "A remarkable idea, Your Majesty. You are wise indeed."

"No, I just prefer to worry about the things I can control rather than the things I can't."

"That's a lesson Master Graedin would be wise to heed," Oragien said, giving the young runespeaker a pointed look. "He has a tendency to try for runes that are beyond his reach."

"But how do you know they're beyond your reach unless you try?" Graedin said.

Grace bit her lip but couldn't stifle a laugh. "I'm afraid he has you there, All-master."

Oragien shook his head. It was clear the elder runespeaker was very fond of his student.

"I wish we had more time, Your Majesty," Oragien said. "We've learned much since you and Master Wilder left us last summer-more than I ever would have believed we could. We've managed to reunite several shards of the runestone, thanks in large part to the efforts of Master Graedin here. Yet there's so much we still don't know."

"We'll just have to keep learning as we go," the young runespeaker said.

Grace smiled at him. "I like that idea. I think we're all going to be learning on this trip."

They rode in silence for a time as their shadows lengthened before them.

"So, are you truly a witch, Your Majesty?" Graedin said without warning as they pa.s.sed through a stand of leafless trees.

"Master Graedin!" Oragien exclaimed, blue eyes flashing.

Grace held up a hand. "It's all right." She imagined many of the men in her army had been whispering about her power. She might as well set the rumors to rest. "I suppose you could say I'm a witch, though not a terribly good one, I'm afraid."

"I doubt that, Your Majesty," Graedin said, eyes gleaming. "Could you do a spell? I've always been curious about the magic of witches, and if there are any similarities between it and runespeaking. You see, I have a theory about-"

"That's quite enough, Master Graedin," Oragien said sternly. "It's time we returned to our brethren. We thank you for your indulgence, Your Majesty."

The All-master shot Graedin a meaningful look, then turned his mule around and started back toward the other runespeakers. Graedin waved at Grace, then kicked his mule, so that the beast gave a buck before starting after the All-master. Grace was sorry to see him go. She liked the young runespeaker, and she was intrigued to know about his theory concerning rune magic and witch magic. She had thought the two irreconcilable, only then she had seen the hag Grisla-who was surely a witch-work a spell with runes in King Kel's camp.

"By Jorus, I thought those two would never leave."

Grace nearly jumped from the saddle at the sound of a man's voice to her right. She glanced that direction. The tangle of bare branches overhead wove a premature gloom on the air, and it was a moment before she saw Aldeth riding not six feet away. His horse was as gray as his mistcloak, causing them both to blend into the twilight, and bits of soft felt were wrapped around every buckle and ring, so that the horse made hardly a sound as it walked over the mossy turf.

"Aldeth, I didn't see you there."

"That was sort of the point, Your Majesty."

She gave him what she hoped was a piercing look. "You're my spy, Aldeth. You don't have to hide from me, just everyone else."

"I find it's best not to make exceptions. That way I'm always covered."

Grace gave up. "What's going on? Is something wrong?"