"Perhaps you did not hear my mention of honor," Duras said angrily.
"Or perhaps I did. Honor may leave them in peace, but peace by its very nature is temporary," Anilya said. "We've already left plenty of bodies in our wake that could be used against us."
Thaena strode forward, ending the argument before it could continue. Approaching the bodies she held out her hands, feeling for the cold aura of the bleakborn reaching out for her warmth. The durthans words echoed in her mind as she neared the dead warriors. She wondered why those in the entrance hall had not been raised in such a manner. A chill in her fingertips interrupted the thought. It began to travel up her arms, and she backed away as the first of the two leaned forward from the wall, ice cracking as its frozen braid split, stuck to the stone.
Duras pulled her behind him, clapped two warriors of the fang on the shoulders, and raised his sword.
"As one," he said and made a downward stabbing motion with his weapon, waving the others toward the left while he angled toward the right. "Now!"
Before the bleakborn could gain their feet, Rashemi steel pinned them to the wall. Duras held one alone. The other was pinned at the shoulders. Both grew stronger from the attack, feeding on the warriors' body heat. Duras looked to Thaena as frost crawled up his blade.
Anilya acted quickly. Grabbing a torch from one of the Rashemi scouts she tossed it into the lap of the bleakborn on the left. The two warriors holding the undead stared at the durthan as if she'd gone mad. Even before the torch landed she was whispering a spell, her hands tracing the guttering flames in intricate movements. The undead grew flush and more lifelike, trying to reach for the blades in his shoulder.
Thaena followed Anilya's lead. The torch's flame changed from bright yellow and scarlet to shades of white and blue. The bleakborn groaned and thrashed as the heat became cold.
The ethran scooped a handful of snow in her palm and tossed it across the undead. Every place the snow fell it sparkled and spread, becoming a second skin of ice and frost. The bleak-borns' movements slowed, and the two women stepped aside. Thaena waved more of the fang onto the landing.
"Destroy them now," she commanded. "Quickly!"
They rushed in, hacking at the frozen bodies, dismembering them into piles of icy parts. Shivering, Duras freed his sword and fell back.
Thaena placed a hand on his shoulder as they waited for the fang's work to be done. She winced as the once recognizable bodies disappeared in a flurry of flashing steel and cursing oaths. As Duras's breathing became more measured she caught his eye.
"Are you well?" she said.
Taking a last cleansing breath, he nodded.
"I thought you liked the cold," she added playfully, trying to hide her greater concerns for a moment.
"As ever, my lady." He smiled, then added, "But death remains a cold season I have no wish to experience. At least not in this place, gods willing."
Thaena did not reply, didn't have to. She had no idea why the wychlaren had claimed such an outpost in the first place. Its position along the Lake Ashane notwithstanding, Thaena could imagine many spots better suited to the defense of Rashemen than a cursed city and the citadel that had failed in its defense. With all its dangers, she felt there must be something more to the Shield, a secret she was not privy to as an ethran. Secrets were common among the sisterhood, but the price paid to keep this one seemed far too high. She hoped the mystery was worth the sacrifice. Knowing her sisters, it probably was.
Anilya walked by them to stand at the base of the next flight of stairs, looking impatiently between them and the frozen bits that had once been living men. As distasteful as Anilya's presence was to her, Thaena agreed with the durthans sense of haste.
Taking her hand from Duras's shoulder, Thaena took the silent cue. The procession filed past the scene, their moods at once strengthened by the scent of fresh cold wind and darkened by the ruined bodies of their fellow Rashemi. Anilya's sellswords gave both bodies barely a second glance, keeping weapons ready and cloaks pulled tight.
As Thaena rejoined the marching order, it suddenly struck her to wonder how much the sellswords were actually being paid to take on such a mission… and to what end.
Chapter Eleven
The storm howled through tall windows at the tower's top, and a high ceiling arched to a conical dome overhead. The rang took up positions at the two visible exits: one to the west, the wall beyond invisible through the blizzard, the other out onto the bridge that connected with the Shield's larger central tower. It wasn't long before even the stoic warriors of the Ice Wolf pulled furred cloaks tight against the bitter cold.
Duras and Syrolf patrolled the area, looking for signs of recent activity by the Creel. Thaena looked to the west, trying to make out the northwest tower, but quickly gave up. Anilya approached, also staring hard toward where their quarry might be encamped.
"The blizzard will cover their tracks," Thaena said, loud enough to be heard over the wind.
"True," the durthan replied, "and the Creel are as accustomed to the season as we are."
"Why are they here? Why this place?" Thaena eyed the durthan, studying her ornate mask and posture, looking for any sign of deception. Though the masks hid their faces, she had grown accustomed to reading body language while learning with the wychlaren. Signs like fidgeting hands or shifting feet could reveal much, even when the face was hidden and the eyes unreadable.
"Who can know?" Anilya answered. "I suspect they are pawns for the power that I followed here. Though for all we know, this leader is Creel as well. A powerful shaman or wizard."
The tone of her voice was too flat, too conversational in Thaena's ears.
"You don't believe that, do you?" she asked.
Anilya hesitated before answering, as if gauging her own thoughts on the subject, but Thaena suspected she could also be deciding how to keep hidden something she already knew.
"No, I don't," the durthan finally said. "The Creel are known to be dangerous, rumored to be ambitious, but are rarely considered a real threat. The power that I sensed was a threat."
Clever answer, Thaena thought. Informative and still evasive.
There was conviction in the durthans voice, but Thaena wondered at the depths of that conviction. Many among the wychlaren were quite adept at controlling what honesties their bodies lent to their voices. Thaena imagined the power-hungry durthan were even greater masters of their own secrets.
"You realize," Thaena said, "when this is over, you will be the threat once again."
Anilya's head lowered and tilted away from the ethran. Thaena could imagine the condescending smile behind the mask.
"The only true threat to Rashemen," Anilya began, raising her head to meet Thaena's stare, "is having the power to destroy its enemies and not using it."
The ethran narrowed her eyes and returned her attention to the winter storm. The answer was essentially a summation of the durthan sisterhood's philosophy, but it seemed far too pointedly said to be a mere statement of opposition. Alarmed by the tone in Anilya's voice, Thaena glanced at her warriors, noting the size of the fang against the durthans sellswords. The groups were evenly numbered, but not so evenly matched.
The berserkers had shown themselves to be much more vicious in battle. Returning her stare to the western wall, she wondered what Anilya could be planning-or if she was truly planning anything at all.
"Light!" Syrolf s voice called from the bridge to the central tower.
Thaena turned and rushed to Duras's side, following his gaze to Syrolf on the bridge. Mist swirled across the span and snow flew sideways in the whipping wind, obscuring the runescarred warrior. He stood pointing toward the tower with his drawn sword.