Bloodsongs (32 page)

Frost knew about the Plain of Kings, where all the rulers of Keled-Zaram were entombed. Immense sculptures, accurate to the last living detail, marked the final resting places of the men who slept beneath them. As Riothamus had said—there his father lay, and there he would someday also lie with his own likeness preserved in carven stone for all time.

No, she reminded herself. Not for all time. The oldest of the sculptures was already battered and beaten by the blowing sand and dust. Features had been worn smooth, and a face had been forgotten. Nothing, but nothing, stopped the slow crawl of time.

She rubbed her face with her palm as she spoke. “It would do no good to send men there. Whatever Kel plans, you could never reach him in time. But look closely and take my advice.” She bent over the map again and waited until he Joined her. She listened to his labored, angry breathing. His fists clenched in the bed coverlet until his knuckles turned white.

“After a raid Kel always returns to his tower.” She ran her nail along a stretch of the Lythe River. “Somewhere in here. There's no reason not to assume he'll do so this time.” She glanced over her shoulder at Telric and shot him a knowing glance. “He'll find it somewhat changed and worse for wear, however.”

“But that's nearly a week's ride from Kyr,” the king complained. “About three days for Kel na'Akian. Are we to attack him in a fortified tower?”

Frost shook her head and indicated another area on the map. “We'll be ahead of Kel, waiting for him. You see, he and his men must travel through this narrow pass and through this range of hills. During a storm it would be very dangerous for a man to ride through there. Sure death for a large movement of troops.”

Riothamus nodded in agreement. “Flash floods and mud slides. You're right about sure death, and it's been raining a lot lately.” He straightened, wearing a frown. “But we can't count on a convenient storm in that specific area. Not even the gods would be that cooperative.”

She just shrugged, turned, and winked at Telric. “An hour ago as the candle burns you would have thought it impossible that we'd be standing here without trying to kill each other. But I looked at the sky earlier, and I can almost guarantee there's going to be a big storm there.”

The king still frowned. “It's days away from here. You couldn't possibly . . .”

She squeezed his arm. “Trust me.”

But he was not quite convinced. “At last report, Kel na'Akian had nearly five hundred men. That's twice the force I've got with me. I'd planned to supplement my strength with the garrison stationed here.” He smacked a fist against a palm in frustration. “But they're gone—dead.”

She folded her arms and stepped back to look at him. “Trust me,” she repeated.

He paused, then consciously imitated her posture even to the angle of her head. “Trust you?”

“Trust me.”

Of course, she knew that he didn't trust her. She wouldn't have trusted him, either, if their positions had been reversed. Still, it didn't matter so long as they worked together to stop her son.

She would send a storm to block the passes. Kel would have to wait it out or ride a much longer course around the hills. Either way, she and Telric, Riothamus, and all his army would be between him and his tower.

Between him, she realized coldly, and Esgaria.

 

 

 

Chapter Fourteen

 

“They fear your son's magic,” Riothamus said flatly.

The army waited nervously at the edge of the wood that surrounded the ruins of Kel's tower. Frost had listened to their gossip and silly speculation all along the way, but she had kept her silence. It was up to Riothamus to rule and encourage them, to lift their spirits. He was their king. She was only a stranger who rode at his side, and worse than a stranger to some. More than a few glanced her way with purest hatred in their eyes. Those were the men from Dashrani who had seen her fight with Yorul.

“I've told you,” she said to the king. “Kel will be unprepared. Sorcery can't be done at a whim or a wish. It takes time and preparation. Kel has no reason to suspect a trap. He can be surprised.”

“That doesn't mean he won't be dangerous,” Telric reminded her. “I've seen him fight, and his men are the best money can buy.”

“He may have small personal spells for his own protection, too,” Frost added, trying to sound confident. “But nothing of the magnitude that destroyed Soushane.”

Riothamus frowned and drew a short breath. “I trust you,” he said lightly, almost tauntingly.

She smiled to herself. In the lion's den even a king's courage could fray. But Riothamus sat his steed proudly, looking resplendent in his finely crafted leather armor and the voluminous scarlet cloak.

She twisted in her saddle and gazed over the rest of the army. Every last man wore a cloak of red as she had ordered. There were fewer of them than she had hoped. She recalled that morning after Soushane's last rites when she had spied the patrol in her path. She had envisioned a huge army following, but fatigue had worked its will with her imagination. There had never been a large force—only two
krohns
of one hundred men each. More than enough, Riothamus had thought, to hunt down a band of outlaw rebels.

He hadn't realized how the band had grown, how swiftly the smell of money and the clink of gold coins could swell ranks. The promise of plunder and booty—or even battle itself—was enough to attract some breeds of men.

Well, no matter. Two
krohns
would be enough. She would make them enough.

“I need a high place,” she told Telric.

“There,” her comrade said, pointing to a high hill on the far side of the Lythe.

She raised an eyebrow. It was the highest point visible, but it was in Esgaria. She chose another, closer hill on the Keled side. “That might serve,” she said, frowning. “I can't be sure from here.” She turned to Riothamus, touching his arm. “Disperse your men as I told you, and remember: surprise is our greatest advantage. Keep them quiet.”

He nodded. “What about you?” The Keled ruler looked down his nose. In his clothes, armored, and with an army at his back, he sometimes walked a borderline of belligerence with her. Or perhaps, she reminded herself, he was just tired from the long ride.

The gods knew she was. She patted Ashur's sleek neck and drew her hand away, startled by how thickly lathered the unicorn had become. It seemed even he was tired.

“Up there, I think,” she answered Riothamus, indicating the peak of the hill she had chosen.

“Is it far enough?” he said with false gentility. “Are you sure you'll be safe?”

She winked at him, not bothering to hide her amusement or her scorn. “Safe enough to save your ass,” she answered, “when my son comes to thrash it.”

With Telric beside her, she rode across the field, past the ruins of Kel's tower, and into the woods beyond. The ground had dried since the day when they were last here, but a cloying dampness still hung in the air. The odor of rotting verdure crept thickly up her nostrils.

They rode without speaking until they reached the foot of their destination. Frost rose slowly in the stirrups, stretched, and muttered a low curse. Telric watched her, expressionless.

“It won't do,” she said, settling back into the saddle. “I didn't think the trees were so thick.” She ran a hand over the stiff muscles in her neck. “I need an unobstructed view of the entire field where the two forces will meet. This is no good at all.” She sighed and tugged the reins, wheeling Ashur around.

Telric caught her hand. “Then where else? What are you up to, woman?”

“Tipping the scale,” she said wearily, mysteriously. “And I think there's only one place I can go.”

They wound their way back among the trunks and knotty bushes. Periodically, Frost glanced up through the leaves to measure the sun's progress across the sky. She didn't know precisely the time of her son's coming. She knew only that he would come.

But doubt began to eat a hole in her heart, and she feared her plan had been too nastily conceived. Riothamus's men were all fine fighters and cavalrymen. They would fight well on the open field. But what if the battle spread into the woods? What if their fear of Kel's magic undid them entirely? Had she made a mistake in her choice of battlegrounds? Was she about to make a far worse error? So many questions without answers: she tried to force them out of her head.

“I'll make my circle here,” she announced when they had regained the ruins. Telric stared at her, uncomprehending, but he didn't question her intention.

She wished that he would question, though. Perhaps in trying to answer him, her own thoughts would crystallize and her doubts would vanish. He only waited, though, puzzled but patient, and the only answer she could find to give him was, “You'll understand soon enough.”

Frost eased herself from the saddle and paced among the shattered stones and broken rubble. Her lightning barrage had done devastating work, but a scorched section of a wall yet stood as high as she could reach. “Here,” she said. “Come and give me a hand.”

She leaned her weight against a large chunk of blackened stone and attempted to move it. Telric was quickly there, his shoulder next to hers. “Where?” he grunted, straining. The stone rolled over a squared edge and fell heavily sideways. Frost bent and dug her fingers under the sharp edge. “Next to the wall,” she answered, groaning as she tried to lift it again.

The sound of horses' hooves made her straighten. Riothamus and two of his soldiers came around the wall. He looked down at them impatiently. “What are you doing? I thought you went to hide in the woods.”

She was growing tired of his attitude. “And you saw me ride out again. Get your two lackeys down here and call up more of your men.” A hint of anger flared in his eyes, but she ignored it. “Hurry up. There are preparations I've got to make, or any surprise we see this day is going to be on us.” She bent to the stone again.

“Your Majesty,” he said.

She looked up. “What?”

“It's how I am addressed,” he told her sternly.

She hadn't come so close to a true laugh for some days, and she bit her lip hard to choke back the sound. It wouldn't do, she realized, to embarrass a king, even Riothamus, before his soldiers. He had to keep their respect to command them. After all, she had asked him to cooperate. Could she do less?

She stifled her mirth with an effort. Instead, tight-lipped, she bowed her head to do him honor. In return, he granted her an imperious nod.

Their eyes met and locked. He knew how she truly felt, and she knew he knew. Yet his dignity was preserved before his men. He nodded again in secret acknowledgment of their new, tacit agreement. For now, he asked no more of her but the pretense of respect.

“By the wall,” she instructed the two soldiers, who dropped from horseback and came to her aid. The four of them managed the stone handily and placed it where she directed by the standing remains of the tower. “Now another on top of it.”

Quickly a series of uneven steps was erected to the wall's summit. By the time they had finished that task, ten more men had joined them, called forward by a gesture from their king. They dismounted and flung their cloaks over their saddles.

“We've got to work fast,” she told them. “Clear the stones from around this wall. I need a circle, and not so much as a pebble within it except what we've erected here.”

The Keleds fell to work at once. They labored without complaint in the hot sun until their hands were scraped and filthy and their sharp, neat uniforms were covered with dust. Another ten men joined them, and even Riothamus climbed down and lent his hands to the hard work. That surprised her; she wondered if he did it because he truly felt her urgency or to reinforce his image with his men.

The air grew thick with dust and the smell of sweat. Stones flew and bounced and cracked. Teams of men worried at the larger chunks of the once mighty structure, using them to fill gaping holes in the earth where the tower's basement levels had collapsed.

Once, Riothamus stopped and brushed his hands. He looked about to see what work remained and started to send for yet more of his warriors to come and help.

“We'll do with these,” Frost said in quiet warning. “This is one-tenth of your force. Leave the rest fresh and rested for the battle.”

He looked as if he would argue, then thought better of it. “You don't know when Kel will get here,” he said. “It could be days. We may all have time to rest.”

She shook her head. “It will be today. Only the hour is in question.”

“By what witchcraft can you know that?”

She regarded him patiently, then wiped her chafed hands on her tunic and turned away. There was still work to do, stones to remove. There were her own special preparations to make. There was no time at all for his foolishness.

It took no magic to know when Kel would come. She knew her son, had seen the mad determinations that fired him. She had also studied his map over and over. She knew the distances and the time it took to travel them.

Days ago Kel had attempted a sorcerous assault on her storm. In her mind and heart she had felt the echoes of his efforts. Abruptly those resonances had ceased, though, and she knew he had failed to disperse the rains and the lightnings.

She was equally sure that, given his past behavior, he had turned his men and taken the longer route around the hills. Her son was too impatient to wait out such a storm as she had raised. He was not given to waiting; he was driven to act. Such was her son's nature. Kel would push himself and his men relentlessly, resting little, forgoing food or sleep, and he would reach his tower today.

She knew it.

In fact, she counted on it. Kel would arrive with an exhausted fighting force, and he would ride unsuspecting into her surprise.