Bloodsongs (33 page)

I
loved you once
, she thought of her son.
I'm sorry for what I must do.

Then she kicked herself, bitterly aware of the turn her thoughts had taken. “Think of Kimon and Kirigi,” she said aloud to herself. “Think of Soushane. Think of Lycho and Jemane and Pericant, Oric and Cleomen . . .”

Telric touched her shoulder. “What are you mumbling about?” He leaned down and peered closer at her. His fingertip lifted a drop of moisture from the corner of her eye. “Are you all right?” he said, his voice heavy with concern.

She blinked, then stared down at the broken rock she held in both hands. She drew a deep, weary breath, waited for a soldier to move out of her way, and then heaved the stone onto a growing pile. “Fine, just fine,” she answered unconvincingly, gently rubbing sore palms together.

He took her hands to examine them. “Let the others finish here,” he said. “You'll have work aplenty when they're done.”

“So will they,” she countered. “Fighting's damned hard work, and killing's harder yet. There's no rest for anyone until this is over.”

“There's rest for you right now,” he insisted, taking a waterskin from another soldier. “Here, drink.”

She accepted it gratefully and swallowed a large mouthful. It washed down the dust in her throat, but it also reminded her of the well at Dakariar—and Lycho.

That's right
, she thought angrily.
Embrace that memory and all those other memories. Harden your heart. Use them to block out the fact that it's still your son you're preparing to betray.

But it isn't betrayal
, she argued with herself.

She took another long pull at the waterskin, stoppered it, and handed it back to Telric. She caught his wrist as he took it from her. “Could you do this if he were your son?”

The Rholarothan's eyes narrowed sharply; for a moment she had the chilling feeling that he could see into her very heart. She remembered then that Telric had been Kel's prisoner. It wasn't fair to ask him such a question.

“Do you love Keled-Zaram?” he asked when he found his voice. “Did you love your husband and your younger son?” Telric brushed his fingers over her cheek. The touch was feather soft, yet it communicated much. “It isn't easy for you, is it?”

“It shouldn't be easy,” she answered simply. “He's my firstborn.”

His hand drifted down to her chin, and he tilted her head slightly upward. His finger played at the corner of her mouth. “You love him in spite of everything,” he said, finishing her thought. His voice softened, and he spoke in a bare whisper. “But he'll destroy everything else you love if you don't stop him. He's killed his father and brother, and I know how you bleed inside for Soushane and Dakariar; it shows in your eyes when someone mentions those towns.” He stepped closer and slipped an arm about her. “And how long will it be before he destroys you, too? If not your physical body, then the spirit within you?” He put his face next to hers and embraced her with a warm, protective strength. “I'll stop him myself before I let him do that.”

She freed herself from his arms. He was gentle and comforting, but the war raging in her soul was not so easily ended. “I have a terrible foreboding,” she said quietly, “as if there is so much more to this that we don't understand.”

He tapped her lightly on the temple. “Sometimes, you have to stop thinking,” he told her, “and just act.”

But she shook her head, wrapped her arms about herself as if a cool wind had blown over her. “I can't do that,” she said distantly. “I knew another child once who had killed father and brother.” She looked up until their gazes met. “Also a mother.”

They were interrupted before either could say more. Riothamus stepped between them, his bright garments and once gleaming armor covered with dirt and fine, gray stone powder. He pointed toward the woods. “Company,” he announced.

Telric reached for his sword, but Frost stopped him. The riders all wore scarlet cloaks, and they emerged from the woods by the same path she had led from Kyr. She estimated their number at half a
krohn
. Straight across the field they rode toward the ruins.

Riothamus slapped his thigh. “Damn pup. I told him to stay home.”

“That's the trouble with love,” she quipped. She had already guessed who it was before the king's outburst. It was no great surprise when Sarius jerked his mount to a halt before them and removed his helm. The youth flashed a tight grin and bowed his head to his monarch.

Riothamus strode forward and seized the young governor's reins. “I told you to stay in Kyr.” He couldn't hide the anger in his words, though he kept his voice low.

“No, you didn't.” Sarius swung a leg over his horse's head and slid lightly to the ground. He didn't smile, but there was thinly veiled amusement in his reply. “You said I couldn't come with you.” He looked over his king's shoulder at the working men and gestured for his own escort to dismount. “So I came on my own.”

“Leaving Kyr undefended!” Riothamus snapped.

The fifty men were all that Riothamus had spared to man the garrison. At that, they were only a token force, insufficient for a city the size of Kyr.

Sarius was unconcerned. “The safety of the king is more important than the safety of any one city,” the younger man countered with equal crispness. “Even my own.” His voice dropped, and he continued as if he thought no one else could hear, “I came to fight beside you. Don't send me away. Don't shame me.”

The two men regarded one another, and Frost felt the silent communication that passed between them like a spark. They were lovers, she reminded herself, and she wondered which would win this private struggle. It would be easy to side with Sarius this time. Fifty extra men would only make her task that much simpler.

So, she was relieved when Riothamus placed his arms around the youth and hugged him. It brought to mind how good it had felt when Telric had embraced her moments before. She had neglected to tell him so.

“Stay then, but keep close to my side.” The king backed a step and clapped Sarius proudly on the shoulder. “If we fight, then it must be together.” He put on a sudden grin. “That also means you get to help me lift that big stone over there, so take off your cloak and get to it.”

Sarius paled. “Manual labor?”

Riothamus nodded sternly. “Right by my side.” He beat his sleeves, making sure the dust spread to his lover. Then, for good measure, he brushed a finger over Sarius's cheek, making a dirty smear. With a laugh he turned and headed for the stone while a very puzzled young governor followed.

With fifty additional backs, the job was quickly finished. Frost told them all to stand away while she paced around the isolated section of wall. The cleared space was large enough for her purposes and free of rubble. She only hoped the damned wall didn't collapse when she climbed up on it.

“Give me that lance,” she said to a soldier who stood closest to the horses. He obeyed instantly, sliding one of the long shafts from a carrier on one beast's saddle.

“Now,” she said to Riothamus, “take all your men into the woods. Position them as we discussed and wait.”

Sarius spoke up. “How long?”

The king answered before she could, “As long as we must.”

“But those woods are full of mosquitoes and bugs!” Sarius protested glumly, but he added before anyone admonished him, “If you say wait, we wait.”

“My hero.” Riothamus grabbed the youth's neck and shook him playfully as a cat might its kitten.

“One last thing,” she said as they began to mount their steeds. “If you think you see something strange happening when the fighting begins”—she fixed king and governor with a hard stare—“you must ignore it. Your part is to fight anything or anyone that doesn't wear a red cloak. Nothing else is important to you. Make sure your soldiers understand that.”

Riothamus nodded. His next remark took her by surprise. “We'll try to take Kel na'Akian alive if we can.”

She lowered her eyes and swallowed hard. She hadn't expected that from him, had not even allowed herself to think about it. It was certainly more generosity than Kel deserved from the king whose land he had ravaged.

“Can you forget so easily what my son has done?” she asked uncertainly.

Riothamus's face hardened. “I said I would
try
to take him alive, woman. I promise no more.”

She stared, openmouthed, speechless.

“I've had time to think, Samidar,” Riothamus continued, again startling her. She had forgotten that was the name he knew her by. It was the first time in the long ride he had used it. “I think Yorul must have acted rashly at Dashrani. Kel na'Akian was the enemy he was ordered to capture. There was no need to kill young Kirigi or to burn your tavern.”

It was too late for such apologies, yet she was grateful. She closed her eyes and permitted one sweet, unblemished memory of that last morning with her adopted son. He had been naked; they had walked down the road and talked of so many things. “I'll never leave you, Mother,” he'd said innocently.

But of course he had. He had been too young to know that life was a series of good-byes.

She put the memory away and opened her eyes. That had been another lifetime and another world. There was the present to deal with now, and the future to prepare for. “No matter what you have to do,” she said grimly, regarding the king without flinching, “you stop Kel from crossing the Lythe River. No matter what it takes.”

Riothamus looked as if he would say more, then thought better of it. He wheeled his horse and led his men into the woods. Frost watched as they fanned out in a semicircle and disappeared among the trees. There they would wait, a living barrier between the ruined tower and the river.

Telric stood by the wall, holding the reins of his mount with those of Ashur. He carried two red cloaks over one arm, and he held a waterskin.

She glanced at the sun. It was midday or a little after. When would Kel come?

“Don't think,” the Rholarothan had told her.
Act when you must.
Maybe he was right. Maybe she could cling to that philosophy and make it through this day.

She spun around as if someone had called her name. Westward, there was Esgaria, where she was born. Only a narrow patch of woods and a river separated her from it. Was it her homeland that called to her? She listened, waiting to hear if the sound would come again. But the silence mocked her.

She remembered the sorceress Oroladian, and she remembered the gifts that Kel was bringing for her. Was it the wind she had heard blowing from Esgaria? Or was it Oroladian who called her name?

You'll never get them
, Frost swore as if the sorceress could hear her thoughts.
Whatever these aspects are you've tricked my son into stealing, you'll never hold them in your hands. By all the dark gods, I swear it.

 

Five paces from the wall section, Frost used the point of her lance to scrape a symbol in the hard-packed ground. “What's that?” Telric asked, coming near to see the glyph better.

“It would take too long to explain all its meanings,” she answered. “And you still might not understand. Take your horse away from here. He mustn't disturb these.”

He led his mount away and watched her work. She scratched a circle around the wall. At each of the cardinal points, she made the same symbol as the first. Then she scraped a second circle inside that, so that her markings were ringed and sealed.

Inside the second circle she carved new symbols at the eight major compass points. This time the glyph was more elaborate, and the hard earth made the work difficult. She cursed repeatedly as she erased portions of the patterns and made them again correctly. The lance point quickly dulled. She leaned harder on the haft and dug her scratchings as deeply as possible.

When the second ring with its eight markings was completed, she began a third.

“Sixteen of those things?” Telric exclaimed doubtfully. “There won't be room.”

She didn't answer. There would be room, but just barely. It was the time she worried about. The final set of glyphs was yet more elaborate, and she didn't know when Kel would come. Would she have time?

“I thought you said a witch didn't need such things,” the Rholarothan said. He moved as she worked, stepping carefully among the eldritch characters until he reached her side.

“I don't draw power from them,” she explained. “There is no innate magic in this pattern. To Kel or any other sorcerer they would be useless.”

Her comrade scratched his head. “Then why all this work?”

“Useless to a sorcerer, but not to a witch. The design will help me to focus my own raw power for a special purpose.” The point of her lance suddenly snapped, nearly pitching her forward, but she caught her balance and continued with the jagged edge.

“You didn't need anything like this when you leveled the tower,” Telric observed.

Frost straightened and leaned on her tool. She regarded him quietly for a moment. “It's far easier to pull lightning from the sky,” she told him, “than to affect the mind of a man with magic.” She gazed around at the ruins. “When I did this I was full of rage. Nothing makes magic stronger than rage and hatred, and destructive magic is always the easiest.” She returned to her work. There were still three glyphs to finish. “Now, I still have that anger,” she added without looking at him, “but there's also doubt and fear and trepidation.”

There was little else to say after that, and she was grateful when he left her in peace and went to stand with his horse. She watched as he departed, assuring herself that he disturbed no marking, broke no part of the circle.

She completed the last glyph. There was only one remaining element to her pattern. After a pause to wipe the sweat from her brow, she moved outside the circles. From each of the cardinal points she drew spokes five paces in length radiating outward toward the edges of the field. Between those four lines she scratched four shorter ones, then eight more shorter than the second set.