The Gates Of Winter Part 21

Grace lifted a hand to her chest, trying to quell the sudden ache there. "What pattern am I part of, then?"

"That's for you yourself to weave," the old woman said, then she turned the pony around and rode off to join the other witches. Together, the twelve women headed for the leafless grove of trees. However, before they had gone a furlong, the air shimmered around them, and their forms faded away, vanishing into the dun-colored landscape.

"Your Majesty," Durge called, riding toward her. "The queen awaits."

Despite their many previous interactions, Queen Ivalaine greeted Grace coolly, formally-not as one woman or one witch to another, but rather as ruler to ruler. They did not touch and remained always a distance apart. The queen sat in a folding chair of gilded, intricately carved wood, and she indicated that Grace should sit in a chair that was only slightly less ornate. Grace made her request to ride with her army through the queen's lands. After that, servants brought them steaming goblets of spiced wine and stoked the braziers that warmed the pavilion, then retreated, leaving the two women alone. Even Tressa, the queen's closest advisor, was nowhere to be seen.

Maybe she's back in the castle, Grace, keeping an eye on Sister Liendra.

"You must guard your thoughts," Ivalaine said, her ice-colored eyes fixed on Grace. "It is not only words spoken aloud that may be overheard."

Grace clutched her goblet. "And who might hear us?"

"I would give much to know the answer to that question, sister. I simply know I am being watched. The feeling comes and goes, like clouds on a summer day. But the clouds come more often than light now. The storm approaches, and I fear it will wash us all away."

Grace didn't know how to reply to that, though she noted Ivalaine had called her sister sister. Were they no longer speaking as queens, then, but as witches? There was one way to find out.

"You have not asked me why I ride through your lands with an army, sister."

Ivalaine made a dismissive gesture. "Your business is your own."

Grace set down her goblet. "No, this business is all of ours. Everyone I talk to tells me the Final Battle is coming, and I really have no reason to think they're wrong. So I'm riding to Gravenfist Keep, which lies in Shadowsdeep, right at the gates of Imbrifale. Once I'm there, I'll wait for the coming of the Warriors of Vathris, led by King Boreas."

The queen made no exclamation of shock or surprise. She sat motionless in her chair. However, there was a light in her eyes-a glow that in the ED Grace would have taken as a sign of fever-and blotches of color blossomed on her pale cheeks.

"What of my . . . what of Prince Teravian?" Ivalaine said softly. "Will he ride with his father?"

"I believe so."

"But of course he will." Ivalaine muttered the words under her breath, as if speaking to herself rather than Grace. "He has to go, does he not? For it is not the father who will fight this battle, but the son."

Grace frowned. "Sister?"

Ivalaine stood, and her goblet fell to the rushes that strewed the ground. Wine spilled, staining the rushes the color of blood. The queen stared at the crimson pool.

"An omen," Ivalaine said, her words hoa.r.s.e. "Blood will spill. Royal blood. But I will go to him before the end. I will see him before that bull can break him like a sword. I will be queen no longer. Nor will I be Matron. I care not what happens-all is beyond me now. There is but one last role for me to play."

Grace could do nothing to hide the horror on her face. In all the time she had known Ivalaine, the Witch Queen of Toloria had been a figure of authority and cool control. Always Ivalaine had seemed to float above the events that weighed down other mortals, proud and beautiful, untouched by fear or worry. However, the woman who stood before Grace now seemed diminished. She hunched over, her flaxen hair tangled, her beauty shattered by fear, like cracks crazing once-flawless crystal.

"Sister?" Grace said, rising, but still the queen stared at the spilled wine. "Your Majesty?"

Ivalaine's head snapped up. "Go!" she said, her voice a hiss, her eyes wide and shot with red. "This one last thing I will do as queen-you have my permission to ride through my lands. But go quickly, before you and your shadow coven are seen. Their spells of illusion will not hide them for long, not from those who keep watch. And if you are discovered, I can and will do nothing to protect you."

With that, Ivalaine turned her back and vanished through a slit in the canvas wall. Grace stared after her, trying to comprehend what had just happened. There is but one last role for me to play, There is but one last role for me to play, Ivalaine had said. But what role did she mean? And where was it she intended to go? Ivalaine had said. But what role did she mean? And where was it she intended to go?

"Your Majesty?" said a deep voice behind her.

She turned around and let out a breath. "Durge."

The Embarran stood in the entrance of the pavilion. "We spied the queen riding back to the castle with her servants, and we a.s.sumed your audience was over. Do we have her permission to ride through Toloria?"

Grace managed a stiff nod. She staggered a bit and caught the back of the chair for support.

Durge hurried to her side, steadying her with a strong hand. "Are you well, my lady?"

A shard of pain lodged in her chest. He wasn't the one who should be asking her that, not with what worked its way toward his own heart. However, Grace forced herself to stand straight. Like Queen Ivalaine, she had just one role to play.

"Come on, Durge. Let's get out of here."

They continued to make impossibly good time as they marched eastward over the rolling hills of Toloria. By late afternoon of their second day after crossing the river, the spire of the Gray Tower soared into view. Much as Oragien and the other runespeakers might have liked to see how their brethren fared, the army did not stop. By the evening of the next day, they had reached the edge of the wilderness that lay between Toloria and Perridon.

"Tomorrow we turn north," Tarus said as Grace and her commanders took supper by the fire.

Paladus looked up at the frosty stars. "I have never seen an army march so quickly as this. Surely the G.o.ds must favor us."

Grace gave Tira a hug. "I'm pretty sure there's at least one who does, Commander."

The next morning they left Toloria behind and marched into the wilderness. Last summer, when they had journeyed through this region on the way to Castle Spardis, Falken had called it Dun-Dordurun, which meant In-Between-Land In-Between-Land in the language of the Maugrim. Only the Maugrim had vanished an eon ago, and no one lived here now. in the language of the Maugrim. Only the Maugrim had vanished an eon ago, and no one lived here now.

The landscape was achingly lonely: a series of misty valleys and scrub-covered ridges that stretched as far as the eye could see. The only sound that broke the silence was the occasional call of a hawk, and the army pa.s.sed no human habitations, though a few times Grace glimpsed a ragged circle of stones crowning a distant hill.

The sun was sinking low in the west when they reached the gigantic drawing of Mohg on the side of a hill.

"So it's still there," Grace murmured as Shandis came to a halt on a ridge opposite the drawing. But then, it had been there for centuries. She shivered despite the warmth that radiated from Tira's body.

"What is it?" Master Graedin said. The voluble young runespeaker had been bouncing on his mule alongside Grace for the last few leagues, chatting eagerly in response to her questions concerning what the Runespeakers had learned in their effort to repair the runestone.

"It's Mohg," Grace said, only the cold wind s.n.a.t.c.hed her breath away so that the words were barely a whisper.

Graedin's cheerful expression vanished. "The Lord of Nightfall. Most dreaded of all the Old G.o.ds, and above all in power, save perhaps for Olrig himself."

Tarus let out a low whistle. "He's not a terribly pleasant-looking fellow, is he?"

Grace couldn't take her eyes from the crude but expressive figure outlined in stones on the side of the hill. Jagged teeth filled the open maw, and the single eye seemed to stare straight into her heart. It was at least a hundred feet high.

"It's different than when we saw it last," Durge said, a frown on his face. "Some of the stones have been changed. Do you see? He no longer holds men in his right hand. Instead there are only three large rocks on his palm. And all of the stones that make up the drawing are changed. They used to be white."

Durge was right. Grace remembered the gigantic figure as being outlined in white stones. However, now most of the stones were a rusty color.

"Blood," she said, and by their wide eyes the others had come to the same conclusion. "The stones have been painted with blood. Someone must have-"

A distant cry sounded on the air, and Grace's words fell short. At first she thought it to be the call of a hawk again, but the sky was empty, and the sound was different-it was a cry of suffering. Or perhaps of hunger.

"It's just the call of a beast, Your Majesty," Master Graedin said, giving her a rea.s.suring smile.

"Yes, but what sort of beast?" Durge said, gazing around.

Grace swallowed the lump in her throat. "Let's ride."

"Forgive me, Your Majesty," Tarus said, "but the sun is close to setting. We need to make camp, and there is a spring in this vale. It seems an ideal place."

"No," Grace said, her voice sharp. "We're not staying here. Not in the dark. We have to go-now."

The army marched on as shadows lengthened across the land. They crested another rise, then descended into a rocky valley. As they did, the sun vanished behind the wall of the ridge, casting the valley into premature gloom. The sigh of the wind through dry gra.s.s was the only sound.

"Something is wrong," Durge said in a low voice to Grace. "Night will fall soon. There should be birds singing, but I hear nothing at all."

This was one time Grace didn't think the Embarran was being overly gloomy. Something was was wrong-she could feel it in the Weirding. wrong-she could feel it in the Weirding.

As do we, sister, spoke Senrael's voice in her mind. Grace glanced over her shoulder; not far behind, the old woman rode with Lursa and the other witches. spoke Senrael's voice in her mind. Grace glanced over her shoulder; not far behind, the old woman rode with Lursa and the other witches. It as if the threads of the Weirding recoil in loathing. It as if the threads of the Weirding recoil in loathing.

At that moment another cry pierced the air-shrill, trilling. Hateful.

"Did you hear that?" Tarus said as they brought their nervous horses to a halt. "That is no normal beast."

Master Graedin glanced around. "Then what is it?"

"You mean, what are they they," Aldeth said, casting back his silvery cloak as he stepped from a pool of shadow.

Tarus lowered his sword. "May I suggest you not sneak up on us again-at least not if you don't want a sword in your gut."

The Spider glared up at him. "Don't sheathe that blade just yet, Knight of Calavan. You may yet need it."

Grace swallowed the scream rising in her throat. "What's out there, Aldeth?"

"Feydrim, Your Majesty. I'm not sure how many, but they're coming up the ridge behind us."

Grace could see nothing in the gathering twilight, but another cry sounded, and it was echoed by several more, some farther, some nearer. In the saddle in front of her, Tira let out a whimper.

"Why aren't they attacking?" Grace said, holding on to the girl.

Aldeth shook his head. "I'm not sure. It's almost as if they're waiting for something."

"But for what?" Master Graedin said, face pale in the gloom.

Even as he spoke, a light crested the ridge behind them, cold as moonlight. Only the moon would not rise for hours, and when it did it would be in the east, not the west.

"Wraithlings," Grace said.

They gazed at each other for a moment, the whites of their eyes showing in the dimness. Then they were riding.

"We must make for the summit," Durge shouted over the pounding of hooves. "We cannot let them surround us in this lowland."

Tarus fell back, shouting orders. The army fell into precise formation as it marched double time across the valley floor and up the far ridge. Grace clung to the saddle as Shandis cantered up the rocky slope.

By the time they reached the top of the ridge, the sun had slipped beneath the rim of the world, and purple twilight fell from the sky. Grace turned Shandis around and gazed into the shadowed valley. Dozens of yellow sparks wove back and forth. They looked like a swarm of fireflies, but Grace knew they were the glowing eyes of feydrim feydrim.

"Look," Aldeth said, his voice a hoa.r.s.e whisper.

The sea of yellow sparks parted as a ghostly light drifted over the valley floor. Grace could just make out the spindly figure moving in the center of the pale globe. On his horse, Durge clutched a hand to his chest, his face lined in pain.

Grace started to reach toward him, but at that moment Sir Tarus spurred his charger forward. "Your Majesty, we have little time. What do you wish to do?"

She opened her mouth, but no words came out. In that moment Grace realized what folly this was, pretending to be a queen. She was a doctor, not a military commander; she had no idea what to do.

"How many are there?" she managed to croak.

"There are at least thirty of the maltheru maltheru down there," Commander Paladus said as he brought his elegant Tarrasian horse to a halt beside her. down there," Commander Paladus said as he brought his elegant Tarrasian horse to a halt beside her.

"Make that fifty," said Samatha, stepping out of a nearby shadow. The Spider's silvery cloak shimmered as if it were woven of starlight. "And that's not all, either."

Aldeth stalked toward her. "What have you seen, Sam?"

"It was Leris. He reports that another twenty feydrim feydrim approach from the north. And I hate to say it, but it sounds like they've got another wraithling with them." approach from the north. And I hate to say it, but it sounds like they've got another wraithling with them."

Paladus clenched a fist. "We could fight fifty maltheru maltheru without loss of our own were it not for the without loss of our own were it not for the siltheri siltheri. I have read the ancient accounts of the battles in the north. The touch of the Pale Ones means death, cold and swift."

Master Graedin trembled visibly aback his mule. "But why are they here at all, so far into the Dominions?"

"It's not a large force," Samatha said, stroking her pointed jaw. "My guess is they came south through the Fal Erenn, picking their way along the mountains."

"Your Majesty," Durge said, moving Blackalock close to Shandis, "you must give us your commands. What would you have us do?"

Either the pain in his chest had pa.s.sed, or he was doing a good job of hiding it. Below, the pale lights moved closer, the yellow sparks close behind.

"My lady," Durge said, his brown eyes intent upon her. "Your orders."

A rushing sound filled Grace's head. She tried to speak, but words escaped her.

"We must stand and fight," Paladus said. "There is no way we can outpace them, not with half our force on foot, and we cannot hope they'll miss us in the dark. What say you, Your Majesty?"

Grace held a hand to her forehead. It was so hard to think.

Tarus whirled his horse around. "We're at the highest point of the ridge. That should give us some advantage. We'll place the foot soldiers with pikes in the center, the mounted on either flank, and the archers above. At all costs, we must protect the queen." He looked to Grace. "You have only to say the word, Your Majesty, and it will be done."

She tried to speak the word, yes yes. They were military men; they knew what to do. However, even this one word seemed beyond her.

Tarus's horse pranced nervously. "Your Majesty, there is no more time. Give us your a.s.sent so we may proceed."

The lights, pale silver and yellow, began to weave up the near slope.

"Surely the queen sees the reason of this plan," Paladus said. "Her silence is her a.s.sent. Let it be so."

Tarus nodded. "Give the commands to your company, Paladus. I'll take the orders to the knights of the Dominions. We'll take up the positions as-"

"No," a commanding voice spoke. Grace's voice.