Halfway to Nardalborg, and so far so good. She had made Fellard bring his entire hunt, although that was less than two sixty, and so far they had obeyed him. She had ridden in a chariot at first, and after that on a sled that Fellard had thought to bring, but the men had been run to exhaustion. By the time they had staggered into the shelter, well after sunset, they had been past thinking of mutiny. Huntleader Karrthin, back in Tryfors, had more men, but not many more, and he would not strip the city of Werists. He was much more likely to wait and see what happened than he was to come after her. No, her present escort was the greater danger. In the morning, rested but hungry, they might have a change of loyalty.
But what the Old One had just told her was worrisome. The accursed Dantio had tipped off the rebels! Until now she had not considered the deserters an immediate threat. She knew that the Milky River was only a little way downstream from Tryfors. Curse Therek for not knowing that mutiny was festering practically outside his windows! How many rebels? She had accounted for at least thirty sixty deserters over the last three years or so, and the brass-collared Heroes were so hard to conceal that they could have been concentrated in very few places. Even if all Therek’s host stayed true to their oaths-and she had few illusions about that improbability-they would be outnumbered five to one. The rebels would seize Tryfors, then Nardalborg, close the pass, leave Stralg cut off in Florengia. It might take two years for Eide and Horold to clean them out.
If they ever can, whispered a cold breath of cowardice.
The traitors have enough men to storm Nardalborg and Tryfors at the same time, countered another.
She shivered and opened her eyes. The candles had gone out, but faint chinks of light seeped around the shutters. She sat up, aching and feeling her age. She had forbidden Huntleader Fellard to sleep, ordering him to sit on the only stool in the shelter, keeping watch just outside her barricade. He heard her move and peered around, although he probably could not see her. He looked haggard, twice the age he had seemed just a day ago.
“Is it dawn?” she asked.
“No, lady. That’s the aurora, the Veils of Anziel.”
“But we could travel by its light?”
“Probably, but the men are exhausted. So are the animals.”
“Warbeasts can run.”
“Not as far as Nardalborg, my lady! It would cripple them to go that far without meat.”
“Waken Flankleader Ern. Tell him to rouse his men. I will go on ahead with just his flank as escort. You and the rest will remain here in case Huntleader Karrthin comes after me. Or anyone else, for that matter.”
He took a moment to answer, eyes struggling to stay in focus. He was already close to the end of his usefulness. “Lady, we have no more food. The animals have no fodder.”
“Slaughter the onagers. Throw a couple of haunches on my sled, so my escort can eat as we go. They will pull me.” She glanced at the snoring Guitha and decided just to leave her. There were women at Nardalborg. “You have your orders, Fellard!”
There was no chance of getting lost. They could follow the trail the mammoths had left two days ago, and she would be in Nardalborg before noon if she had to kill the whole of Ern’s flank getting there.
FABIA CELEBRE
had shed a few drops of blood on the cold earth before she lay down to sleep. She had prayed the Old One to send her wisdom, to show her some way she might help rescue Tranquility. “Perhaps,” she had suggested, “you could show me Horold’s sentries exchanging passwords?” Knowing those, Orlad could send his men into the camp.
Suddenly she could hear voices. The dream was dark, but she recognized the cavern, the temple of the Old One under the Skjar pantheon-faint tendrils of light far overhead, shiny rock faces, some moss. This was where she had sworn loyalty to Xaran. She was standing unpleasantly close to the edge of the chasm. Why had she been brought here? Who was talking?
A man loomed out of the dark… very large, very ugly… bald and bloated, yellow-toothed. His face was too long, not improved by the dirty yellow beard dangling to his belly. He was holding the ankles of a naked girl, who must be still alive, because she was moaning as he dragged her behind him. He dropped her at the edge and rolled her closer with a shove of a bare foot.
“Holy Mother of Evil,” he said. “Accept what’s left of her.” Another shove and she went over with a faint cry. He stood staring after her, leering as if he could watch her bounce from ledge to ledge, tooth to tooth, all the way down.
Behind him came Saltaja, equally naked and carrying a slab of rock as if it took all her strength to do so. Her hands were bloody halfway to her elbows.
The man spoke without turning. “You want to do the boys?”
Saltaja said, “Of course.” With a great effort she raised the rock and slammed it against the back of his head.
The blow should have flattened his skull, yet somehow he saved himself from toppling forward into the abyss. He buckled to his knees, began to slide, then twisted and grabbed hold of her ankle. His other hand clawed at the crumbling brink, seeking purchase.
Saltaja staggered. “Take him, Mother!” She dropped the boulder on his head and he was gone. The rock rattled and crashed down into the chasm. The Queen of Shadows did not bother to stare after her handiwork, as he had. She just laughed and began picking her way back to the great altar rock, moving gingerly on bare feet. Two youths were kneeling there, gazing up at the image of the Mother, and apparently in some sort of trance, for they were paying no heed to the slaughter.
“That was Hrag, I suppose,” Fabia said.
Saltaja turned to sneer. “Of course. He is no longer needed.” She was younger than the Saltaja Fabia knew. This was a dream of the past.
“What are you doing?”
“Making sure Stralg wins the bloodlordship tomorrow. A major sacrifice is needed.”
“Will Weru let you interfere in His rituals?”
The Queen of Shadows laughed harshly. “What a sweet innocent you are! Even He cannot resist Death Herself! My boy will find his opponents strangely lethargic.”
“Stralg is both your brother and your son?”
“They all are, dearie.” She limped forward, closing in on Fabia. Smiling.
“And you molded them into warriors from the day they were born?”
“It’s called Shaping. It works best when there are blood ties, but you could have Shaped Cutrath into something bearable. There were sixty-sixty such things I could have taught you!”
Fabia did not want such skills. Paola Apicella had been a Chosen and a fighter, but not a monster wallowing in horrors. “This is happening before I was born.”
“What does that matter? Dreams are no respecters of time. I know who you are, slut.”
“Then you know that my brothers have defeated you. Therek is dead. Horold is trapped and doesn’t know it yet. Stralg will be cut off. You are finished, spawn of Hrag!”
The Queen of Shadows chuckled throatily. She was very close now. “You think so? Let me give you another lesson, child.”
The cavern shimmered and flowed and became somewhere else-a damp jungle in misty gray daylight. High walls enclosed it, but everywhere was damp and rank and neglected, and it stank of evil. Fabia recognized Tryfors stonework. Saltaja was a vague naked wraith at her side.
“Watch!” She pointed a bloody hand at a door in the corner. This was only a dream of course, so it flew open instantly. A line of Werists came trotting in. Even more dreamlike, they were carrying spades and picks. “Your guards from last night.”
“They didn’t guard me very well.”
“No, they didn’t. They are about to suffer for their error.”
Belatedly, Fabia wondered if she had any clothes on and decided it did not matter because this was only a dream. The men could not see her, or her companion. More Heroes came running in, the last one being that rakish huntleader she had met… Fellard. Suddenly dream became nightmare. As he closed the door, yet more men sprang up all over the courtyard and all the Heroes battleformed, so the place was instantly full of fighting warbeasts.