Dark Lady's Chosen (20 page)

“The
vayash moru
managed six missions by air over the last few days since the battle,”

Trefor said. “We never got close enough to strike, although my men were prepared had the opportunity presented itself. Although we weren’t able to do more damage, we did get a look inside the walls. Most of the small structures—homes, storage buildings, shops—are in ruins. Some parts of the town inside the walls seemed completely empty, and we saw corpses in the snow, unburied. The survivors are living in lean-tos or out in the open. There were very few fires

lit, although you know how cold it’s been. The only ones who had fires were the soldiers, and even theirs were small.

“The buildings inside the keep were in better shape, relatively speaking. Those are the barracks and the armory. We have a feeling that any supplies that remain are being hoarded there. The roofs are made of stone and the walls are thick. Those buildings have held up against the bombardment better than the outer walls.

“The outer walls could be breached. But Curane’s men have piled the rubble in tall rows.

Any force that tries to enter through the broken places in the walls will be easy pickings for archers as they try to scale one row of rubble after another. And the inner walls are still solid. Any troops that did manage to get past the archers would be trapped between the inner walls and the rubble. It would be slaughter.”

Tris nodded. “How many
vayash moru
remain?”

A flash of pain crossed Trefor’s features. “Eight. We lost Ilar last night. They caught him with one of the flaming arrows. He was young in the Dark Gift. The flames took him.”

Proportionately, the mages and the
vayash moru
had more casualties than any other group.

Among the rogue mages who had defied the Sisterhood to follow him into battle, Latt and Ana were dead. Two dozen
vayash moru
had begun the battle, with more joining them after the army camped. They had not been completely welcome among the mortal soldiers, who regarded them with a combination of fear and suspicion.

Senne and Soterius had told Tris about the taunts the
vayash moru
had endured from some of the soldiers, conduct the generals hastened to discipline. But even when the cruel words stopped, no authority could remove the suspicion from the eyes of the soldiers who came from villages whose slaughter Jared had blamed on the
vayash moru
. Trefor and his fellows had kept to themselves, asking no favors and going out of their way to avoid incidents. They tended their own goats, assuring a ready supply of suitable blood, and fed from humans only during battle. And now, only eight remained.

“We are honored to serve Margolan and its rightful king,” Trefor said.

“We’re grateful for your sacrifice.” Tris turned to Tabok, and enabled the spirit to appear nearly solid. “And what of your men, within the walls?”

Tabok stepped forward. “After the last battle, Cadoc and his mages couldn’t keep their wardings in place. We were able to get into the tower rooms. There’s a girl and a baby locked in

there, but they’re not Curane’s granddaughter and her child. They’re gone.”

“Damn. How did they get out?”

“I suspect Curane slipped them out of the castle before the army arrived. In the days before your army camped, there were several carriages that left along the southern road under heavy guard.”

“Curane knows how to hedge his bets.” Senne replied. “The question is, if they fled to Trevath, did King Nikolaj know? Curane and Lord Monteith could be hoping to force Nikolaj’s hand. Goddess knows, I don’t trust the Trevath king further than I could throw him, but so far, he’s been content to wait and watch how things unfold. Playing host to Jared’s bastard may be more than he bargained for.”

“We’re hardly in a position to attack Trevath right now, regardless of what Nikolaj thinks of Curane,” Tris said. He turned back to Tabok. “What of Curane himself?”

“We glimpsed him through the arrow slits. He looks like he’s lost weight—even among the troops, food is rationed, but Curane is alive and still inside the walls.” Tabok smiled. “Mohr has the ability to move objects, although he can’t be seen. He played havoc with the mage’s workshop, breaking everything that would shatter when he pushed it off the table. They replaced the wardings the next day, but we think that we can breach them again if you need us to.”

“Hold off until the assault,” Tris said. “If we can, we’ll help you. Tell Mohr he can throw as many pots, pans and candlesticks as he likes once the fighting starts.”

“As far as Curane’s mages go, he has only two left of any strength. Cadoc and Dirmed.

They have some apprentices, but from what we’ve seen, they’re not good for much aside from starting fires without a flint.” Tabok frowned. “There may only be two left, but it’s the worst of the lot. Cadoc and Dirmed were the ones who created the sickness that’s killed so many down in the ginnels. They don’t care who they kill. Alone, they may not be a match for you,” he said with a nod toward Tris. “Together, they are dangerous.”

“What of Tarq?” Although Soterius’s voice was level, he pronounced the name like a curse.

“The traitor is with Curane. He led the catapult assault in the last battle.”

Senne muttered a powerful oath. “Can your ghosts reach him? Tarq knows our weaknesses—and he’s fought alongside Rallan and me long enough to anticipate us. That explains why their strikes caused more damage in the last battle.” Senne leaned forward, looking earnestly from Tabok to Trefor. “Assassinate Tarq, and I’ll pay gold from my own pocket to your

nearest living relative. I want that bastard down.”

“No gold is necessary,” Trefor replied. “We’ll make it our mission.”

“As will we,” Tabok replied, with a bow.

Tris looked to Fallon. “When Curane’s mages pulled me into the Nether, I could feel the Flow. It’s worse than ever. It seemed to be coming apart all around me. I tried to fight without drawing on the Flow, and the drain nearly killed me. Is there any way we can use magic to counter what Cadoc and Dirmed will throw at us—without dying from the Flow or burning ourselves out?”

Fallon exchanged glances with the other mages. “Twice, we’ve felt a surge in the Flow over the last few days. We’ve argued before over whether or not it’s sentient. I believe it is—and it’s searching for something. It’s wilder than I’ve ever seen it. Vira tried a minor working and the energies blacked her out. We tried to combine our power to scry the inside of Lochlanimar, and barely got clear before the ball exploded.”

Tris winced, remembering all too well how much damage an exploding scrying ball could do from his battle with the Obsidian King.

“If we try to harness the Flow as it is right now, we won’t survive. And if we pull from our own reserves, like we did in the last battle, then we’d better have a good plan, because I don’t think we’ll survive that, either. One way or another, magic is likely to fail us.”

Tris looked to Beyral. “What do your runes tell you?”

Beyral nodded, and took a pouch from her belt. Carefully, she spilled out pieces of bone and ivory into her palm. Tris watched as the sigils pulsed with fire. Beyral cupped her hands around the runes and closed her eyes, lifting them to each of the four directions in turn before raising her hands to her lips and breathing onto the pieces in her hands. Then she let the runes fall to the table. The sigils on the ivory pieces landed face down. Blue handfire lines traced a circle and spokes onto the table.

Beyral let out a low hiss as she surveyed the pieces. “Once again, only bone speaks. The ivory is silent. They fall at the cross-quarters, differently this time.
Aneh
and
Tisel
face each other.” Beyral’s finger pointed to the two runes. “The Formless One wars with the Dark Lady.
Aneh
speaks for chaos.
Tisel
lies upside down. You will be betrayed again, by someone very close to you.” She paused. “Two new runes speak.
Sai
is the death rune.

The price of battle will be high. It lies beside
Katen,
the rune of life. Together, they speak of Those Who Walk The Night.” She frowned. “
Dorzhet
is a powerful rune, the symbol of the Lady, and for the powers of the Nether.

When it falls with
Sai
and
Katen
, it speaks of fate and destiny, and of the shadowed places.”

She looked at Tris. “The runes hide as much as they show. At best, it’s a warning.”

“Thank you,” Tris said quietly. He looked at the group around him, mindful of the members they had lost. Every person, living or dead, showed the strain of battle in their features.

“When do we strike?”

Soterius leaned forward. “We can’t allow Curane’s troops to regroup. But right now, we’re not in any shape for another assault. I think we can be ready in two days.”

“Candles Night,” Senne said quietly. “In the old days, it was sacred to the Shrouded Ones—

the blood Aspects who harvested the souls from the battlefields. Fitting, don’t you think?”

Tris found that he could not take his eyes from the
Dorzhet
rune. The fire of the sigil throbbed like a living thing, imprisoned within the bone. “May the Dark Lady protect us.”

“I think you two have totally lost your minds!” Kiara shook her head, hands on hips, as she watched Alle take a piece of charcoal from the fire and smudge a rune on the mantle of the doors and windows of the hunting lodge.

Alle stopped long enough to turn and look at Kiara over her shoulder. “What, Isencroft is too sophisticated for wardings?”

Cerise gave a sharp laugh, and joined them, depositing four small, smooth stones on the window ledge.

“Not you, too!”

Cerise dusted off her hands and shrugged. “Your mother said an Eastmark warding over your crib every night. Viata disguised a Markian holy woman and spirited her into the palace to say the elements over you when you were born.” She chuckled. “Your father and mother rarely fought—at least where I could hear them, but Lady True! What a row they had over that. Donelan was hardly devout, but he didn’t want the gossips to get a hold of anything they could use against your mother. Viata wouldn’t be moved. She knew she had to give you up to making offerings to Chenne in public, but at home, in a hundred little ways you never realized, she taught you the ways of the Lover.”

Kiara raised her hands in a gesture of surrender. “All right, you fish wives. Tell me what I need to do so we can get back inside before we catch our deaths from cold.”

“It’s pretty simple, really,” Macaria replied. “Everyone in my village made wardings around their house on the bright quarters, and strengthened them at the cross quarters.”

Alle laughed. “I learned more from my year in exile then I ever learned at court about blessing and cursing! Between the whores at the inn and the hedge witch in the village, they could curse an unfaithful man a dozen ways—and that was before they really got going!”

“Something from each of the elements, for each of the Aspects, my dear,” Cerise replied.

“Pine boughs to keep away ill humours, and rock to anchor our souls. Those are from the land. Charcoal from the fire, to banish the dark spirits. Pine in the fire works for that as well, and the pine smoke clears away bad air. Water, four times blessed, dripped from a leather bucket to circle

the house.”

“If you knew these things, why didn’t you work them around our rooms at Shekerishet?”

Cerise shrugged. “We tried. But we couldn’t ward the whole palace—it was much too large.

And as you’ve said yourself, the king warned you that Jared left dark energies behind.”

Kiara helped Macaria gather up fresh pine branches while Alle finished marking the windows. They watched in silence as Cerise made a slow circle around the lodge, lips moving with the blessing, dipping her hand into a small leather bucket and splashing water out of her palm as if sowing seed.

“Can we go inside now? I’m frozen through!” Kiara said, rubbing her hands up and down her arms underneath her thick cloak. Inside, Macaria placed four boughs of pine in the fireplace, and a smaller sprig on the inside sill of every window. Alle withdrew a rough piece of rose quartz from her satchel and placed it on the mantel, and another piece over the door.

“And these will keep us safe?” Kiara asked skeptically as the scent of fresh pine filled the room.

Cerise made the sign of the Lady facing the four quarters and drew a deep breath. “It can’t hurt. They say that, properly warded, the only evil that can enter is what is carried within or invited inside.”

“I shudder to think what Hothan and Ammond made of all this,” Kiara said. Down the lane, she could see her guards on patrol.

“Ha! Who do you think found me the rose quartz?” Alle said triumphantly. “And before you start to worry that the servants will think we’ve gone dotty, I spotted them not half a candlemark ago making bakers’ wardings over the wine and the flour.”

“Since I seem to be outvoted, I surrender,” Kiara laughed. The trip to Bricen’s old hunting lodge lifted her spirits more than she dared to hope. Although the candlemark-long trip by sleigh was cold, it was the first time since Tris left for war that she had felt her spirits rise.

“
Skrivven
for your thoughts,” Alle said, seeing Kiara’s expression.

Kiara smiled. “I was just thinking about how happy Tris was when he brought me here after the wedding. This was one place Jared left untouched. The dogs stayed safe here, and I think they’re glad to be back. Although it’s hardly the ‘small country place’ that Tris described to me!” As if on cue, Tris’s dogs came loping up. Jae flew behind them, landing on Kiara’s shoulder. The wolfhounds bumped Kiara’s hand shamelessly, begging for attention. Jae hissed and kneaded her

shoulder with his scaled feet before settling down. The large black mastiff eyed the others and then circled to lie down at her feet.

Bricen’s lodge was built of stone, a one-story building with high oak beams and walls covered with the skins of bear and deer. It was small only in comparison with Shekerishet, but larger by far than the homes of all but the nobility. There were three guest bedrooms and a servants’ room, with a large common room for feasting and relaxing by the fire after a long day’s hunt. Outside was the kitchen and pantry, and cut out of the ground beneath the servants’ room was a cellar for keeping roots and wine. A few paces outside the door sat a small stone building that served both as gatehouse and guards’ quarters.