“Unless it was the sound of us in the other room and the king’s guards leaving.”
“That’s possible, Peri.” The man frowned. “Elves and Vilwanese would have taken credit for saving the Norrington. Wanting to keep the work secret would suggest someone who worked for Chytrine.”
“Not Nefrai-kesh.” Will shook his head adamantly. He refused to believe his grandfather would have saved him. He thought for a moment and realized it was more complicated than that. He was afraid his grandfather might have saved him just so he could recruit him to Chytrine’s service. That idea sent a chill through him, so he drank more soup.
Peri shook her head. “Unlikely. He seems to like to make his presence known and having you die would advance Chytrine’s cause. Dranae, your explanation for why they did not remain to take credit makes sense. That means there is someone in Chytrine’s camp who opposes her.”
Dranae frowned. “It’s not as simple as that, Peri. Assume, for a moment, that the sullanciri are scheming against one another to gather power. The arachnomorph could have decided to kill Will to win approval for itself. Another sullanciri might want Will alive as a potential rival for his grandfather and father.”
He looked down at Will. “You called her Lady Snowflake. Could it have been Myrall’mara? She can heal, and she is very white.”
Will thought about that for a moment. Myrall’mara had once been a Vorquelf, and certainly was beautiful and slender and even glowed with light. Lady Snowflake had been similar in form, but had a real quality to her that MyralPmara never had. And Will recalled very well the hateful expression the sullanciri wore when she made an abortive attempt to kill him in Yslin.
“No. Not her.” He swallowed more soup, then licked his lips. “She was not a sullanciri. Even with the poison, I know that.”
“So, another player.” Dranae intertwined his fingers, then hooked his hands over the back of his neck. “We don’t know who. We don’t know if she represents a faction or not. We do know she wanted her work hidden.”
Peri nodded. “And we know she is very powerful.”
Will tipped the tankard up and drained the last of the soup from it. He smiled and wiped his mouth on the back of his left hand. “Thanks, Lombo.”
The hulking Panqui nodded solemnly.
Will threw back the bedclothes, catching Qwc in a woolen tidal wave, then swung his legs off the edge of the bed. He’d have slid off it and onto his feet, but Peri firmly planted a hand in the middle of his chest. “Where do you think you are going?”
“I’m fine now.” Will tried to keep his voice light, but a bit of rawness still came through. “I am.”
“That wasn’t the question Peri asked, Will.” Dranae settled a hand on his right shoulder and drew him back around. “Soup and sleep will help you recover, and you need that. We don’t know what the poison did, or how well you have been healed.”
Will rubbed at the scars on his neck. “There are things that need to be done. The fragment…”
The Gyrkyme shook her head. “Scrainwood’s mages cut that section of the rafter out and have conveyed it to the palace. Tomorrow there will be one final formal hearing before Crow is released. There is nothing for you to do.”
“Well, there must be things you need to be doing. I am fine here. You don’t have to worry about that.”
Dranae lifted up the corner of the blanket and let Qwc free himself. “Will, we are concerned for you, but that is only part of the reason we’re here.”
Lombo stretched, flashing claws. “Kerrigan missing. Will stays found”
The thief blinked. “You’re here guarding me?”
“Not needed. Told them no help needed.” Qwc shrugged wearily. “Not listening, not listening at all.”
Will laughed. “Thank you, I guess.”
“No guessing about it, Will. You are the Norrington. You were very nearly killed.” Peri reached down and stroked a downy finger against his right cheek. “You are the hope of the world. Hope can’t die.”
He rubbed his throat again. “I wish Chytrine shared that opinion.”
Dranae laughed. “She will, eventually. For her, though, it will just come too late to save her.”
27
Though he sat astride his horse alone, Adrogans could feel the Mistress of Pain clinging to him. She hugged his back to her chest, her claws raking down his chest. Her jagged teeth gnawed at his shoulder and neck. Though her distraction was mighty, Adrogans’ concentration was greater. As she used him, he used her, and he got the better of the bargain.
Around him swirled an early-morning blizzard, and the flakes fell thick and fast. Fading into the distance on either side of the Svar River’s western shore was the forest through which his troops had moved. Below his position, the land sloped down for five hundred yards to the river’s northern ford. The water appeared as a dim black snake, and beyond it lay vague grey-and-white mounds that had once been a small stronghold guarding this important crossing.
Though he could not actually see any movement down there, the yrun allowed him to feel the presence of the enemy. Adrogans could not determine how many there were, for he was too young in his power to do so. All he could tell was that there were a lot of them and that both hunger and cold assailed them.
He glanced left at Phfas. The diminutive Zhusk sat the back of a shaggy brown mountain pony. “Your impressions, Uncle?”
Phfas sniffed at the air. “They will not smell worse dead. Gibberkin, vylaens, hoargoun, and something else.”
“Something else?” Adrogans focused his perception and Pain lanced a hand deep into his side. He blinked, then refocused, using the clarity that pain gave him. He nodded. There, deep in the knot of bodies that were hungry and shivering, there were others.
“I have them, but do not know them.”
The little shaman tightened his grip on the thin woolen blanket he wore over his shoulders. The dark blue and green plaid seemed out of place, though the Guarnin family who gave it to him had been proud he’d carried it with him. Phfas hunched forward in his saddle, as if he were going to whisper to his mount, then slowly shook his head.
“New. A surprise.”
“In one sense, yes.” Adrogans had taken pains to deploy his light units against the raiders that the Aurolani were sending into the highlands. He would have been content, as his troops trained, to do nothing more than deal with the raiders. When Nefrai-kesh showed up in Meredo, however, his plans changed. He learned instantly of the sullanciri’s presence in the Oriosan capital via arcanslata and decided to strike fast—before Chytrine’s general could return to direct his soldiers.
Adrogans raised his right hand and felt his mistress slip her fingers through his to rake agony down into his armpit. When he let his arm fall again, a mounted trumpeter on his right sounded a call. The Jeranese Horse Guards, resplendent in their brown tabards over ringmail, emerged from the forest and began the descent to the river valley. Off to his right the Jeranese Light Horse came down the hills in a column two abreast and on the left the elite Valician White Mane cavalry rode into position. The three cavalry units gave him three hundred mounted troopers and a force that would sweep swiftly over the ford.
Their ride had not been easy because Guraskya lay nearly sixty miles from the ford. They moved out quickly and changed mounts several times on the journey. The cavalry had not enjoyed pushing their horses so hard in the winter, but they were less inclined to squander an opportunity to strike at the enemy.
While Adrogans could not get an accurate count of the enemy via the yrun’s senses, he could tell that the garrison was not that big. He estimated that his forces had a two-to-one advantage, which would have boded well were he not fighting across a river in the midst of a blizzard and attacking a fortified position.