She cast a final look around the village murmuring a quiet farewell to Ali and the Children of Dasur. Despite their manners there was something appealing in their primitive existence. Then, she patted the Book of the Last Battle in its now familiar place inside her tunic and turned Ashur.
They took a slow pace until the forest concealed them from the camp, but when the distance was great enough and the trees were thick enough to muffle the sound of their flight, she touched heels to the unicorn's flanks. Late afternoon found them safe at the foot of the Creel Mountains.
“We part company here,” Frost announced.
Obediently, Telric slid to the ground. “You killed my brothers,” he reminded, but there was no hatred in his voice now.
“And I saved you,” she countered. “Tell your father that when next he's a mind to tally scores."
“It will make no difference. There's a blood-feud between you and all my family, and when we meet again I'll kill you."
“You'll try.” She tossed the young nobleman's dagger at his feet, making him jump to avoid the point. “No man should be alone and weaponless in this country. Use that well, son of Rholf, if you dream of meeting me again."
Telric retrieved the blade and balanced it in his hand. For a moment, she thought he meant to throw it, and her fingers curled around her sword-hilt. But the dagger slipped into an empty sheath on his hip.
“May I know your name?” he asked. “I've never met a woman like you, and I would honor your memory when you are dead."
There was a time when her name was something soft and pretty on the tongue, but that was long past, and she put the memory behind her. Many things had changed, and murderers did not deserve soft, pretty names.
“Frost."
Telric smiled. “We're about the same age,” he observed. “Under better circumstances, I'd enjoy trying to melt you."
She watched from Ashur's back as he walked away. The caravan route would see him safely around the mountains if he had sense enough to stick to it. He might even find a ride with merchants or travelers.
A cool wind blew down from the Creel. A low moan echoed on the peaks. The Breath of Dasur, Ali called it, and the Song of Dasur. From somewhere in the mountains came a cry—an animal probably, sad and low and disappointed.
When the sound faded she turned toward Chondos.
Chapter Eight
A long line of darkness crept across the northern sky where, for many days, clouds had gathered, turning black, evil looking. Each morning brought that line closer as dark vapors boiled up on the far horizon and blew down from wizard-cursed Shardaha and filled the air with wretched odors.
For three mornings, since her return from the Creel, she watched from the high parapet of Erebus. Today, wild lightnings filled those clouds, streaking the sky with veins of savage crimson. Rolling thunder echoed faintly in the distance.
“They advance swiftly,” she said for the hundredth time to Kregan who only nodded. “Already, the sun seems dimmer."
A violent flash rippled through the clouds; thunder boomed. Then, all was quiet again, but only for a moment. Suddenly, the stones trembled beneath her feet, and the ground gave a rumble. The walls shook. A piece of the parapet crumbled, plunged earthward taking with it one of the gigantic sculptures that rose from every battlement in Erebus. She lost her balance, stumbled and grabbed for support.
Then, Kregan cried out. Far beyond the city gates the plain heaved and twisted. When the dust and smoke settled, a gaping fissure rent the land.
The Chondite paled. “Zarad-Krul has successfully conjured a Dark One into this worldly plane."
“No!” she cursed. “How can you be sure?"
“I can sense his presence. A minor god, but a dangerous one: his name is Nugaril. From across the infinite void the Dark Gods have been feeding knowledge to Zarad-Krul. Now his lessons will come much faster and be of a more dreadful nature. With Nugaril's aid, other Dark Ones will be summoned, and Chaos will rule the earth.” Then, despite his grim pronouncement, a wry smile flickered on his face as he measured the fissure's length. “He always did have a flair for ostentatious entrances ... so the grimoires claim."
She grabbed his arm, spun him around to face her. “We have to tell your Council. They've spent too much time examining the Book. Now we have to fight!"
He pressed her hand. “They already know, just as I knew. But how they'll interpret the news,” he shrugged, “that, I can't guess. The Brothers of the Black Arrow will fight because I stand with you. As for the others? Well, Chondos is not a united land. Our sorcerous pursuits have made us independent of each other, and though most agree that we must fight there's still a lot of quibbling over the methods."
Before she could answer, slender fingers sealed her lips, a paternal gesture that only increased her growing agitation. “I know,” he continued softly, “time is short. Our main hope lies in Rhadamanthus. The old man is the only voice of reason amid a hundred arguing fools."
A second thunderous blast shattered the sky; lightning raged. Angry bolts licked the earth like tongues of colossal, unseen serpents. The land smoked. Kregan's hands squeezed her shoulders painfully, turning her toward where he pointed.
Beyond the city's eastern wall the Cocytus River leaped its banks and spilled over the countryside and through the open, unattended gates of dead Zondu. The same rushing waters beat the gates of Erebus, and only sorcery-strengthened walls saved the Chondite city from a similar fate.
“What is it?” she shouted over still another thunderous roll and a sudden wind that tried to force her words back into her throat.
Kregan's eyes clenched in concentration. The corners of his mouth hinted of pain. “Mentes!” he gasped. “His entrance—nearly overwhelmed me.” He shook his head to clear it. “Mentes and Nugaril: two great evils now walk the earth."
Frost slammed a fist against hard stone. With a bitter resolve, she left the Chondite and sought her own quarters a level below. She pushed open the door, kicked it shut. Her weapons hung on wooden pegs above the bed. Her riding boots waited at the foot of it. Casting off the soft velvet slippers her hosts had provided, she began dressing.
“What are you doing?” Kregan stood in the doorway, frowning. She hadn't heard the door open. For that matter, she hadn't heard him knock.
“If I wait for a decision from your damned Council we'll die without ever striking a blow in defense.” She stamped her foot into a boot and looked up, meeting his fierce gaze unflinchingly. “For all the vaunted Chondite power and knowledge you're no more than bickering children."
“So you're going to rush out and whip the whole of Zarad-Krul's army single-handedly,” he snapped. “After all, what possible hope can a couple of mere gods hold against you and your almighty sword?"
“Well, I'm not going to just sit here on my butt and wring my hands like the rest of you whining old men!"
She knew by his silence how that hurt him. She threw up her hands and sagged onto the bed. “I'm sorry,” she admitted and shut her eyes. “You're right—I'm being foolish. I know you've tried, but this waiting wears on my nerves."
A narrow slash of a window shed light into her room; its northern view showed the same sky she had watched from the parapet. Crossing to it, she stared out and measured again the speed of the advancing ridge of darkness.
“The time for talk is past, Kregan. If your Council fails to move against Zarad-Krul, Chondos will be swept away like a leaf in floodwaters. And the world will come soon behind."
“There are many things to consider,” Kregan responded.
She shook her head. “No more time for consideration."
The Chondite sank heavily into a chair; deep lines etched his face. “There are things you don't understand,” he repeated. “Do you know why I was helpless against the Eye of Zarad-Krul?"
She had wondered. Yet, with all that had occurred since then she had not thought to ask.
His face was grim. “What I'm going to tell you is known only to the
Krilar—the master sorcerers of the Brotherhoods—and to the Elders. If they ever learn that an outsider shares our secret, they'll kill you. And me, for telling you."
She nodded, moved by his solemnity.
“Beyond the borders of Chondos we have no power."
She blinked, not sure she had heard correctly, but his serious expression warned that she had. Her mouth fell open, then closed. A deeper gloom seemed to fill the room, and she sagged under the weight of a terrible understanding. Her lips formed a slow curse.
“The land itself is the source of our power,” he explained. “There is a place we call Demonium..."
At the heart of Chondos stretched the Field of Fire, a rocky plain where every stone and pebble glowed with an eerie luminescence that set the darkest night ablaze with bizarre colors. At the heart of that stood Demonium. A high, steep butte rising abruptly from the flat terrain, three towering monolithic stones loomed on its crest. Rune-carved, pale as milk they rose in triangle formation, and no man living knew their age.
“...a gate where all astral planes once met,” continued Kregan, “a doorway to worlds beyond imagining. Though it closed long ago, a trace of otherworldly energy continues to seep through, a mystic influence that spreads right through the soil. Chondos is a land alive, pulsing with that power.
“Then, generations ago our ancestors discovered that the energy followed certain flow-lines. They built a network of stone triangles at special points to relay and amplify the emanations from Demonium. Our country became an arcane well of magic, itself shaped like a natural triangle bordered on its three sides by three mighty rivers."
He poured two goblets of wine and passed one to her. He took a long pull before continuing.
Strange creatures wandered freely through Chondos in those early days, denizens of other worlds who passed to earth when the gate was open. “Their off-spring are the monsters that haunt our land today. Usually, they were contained by the natures of the rivers that surround us: the Cocytus and Phlegathone Rivers at east and west have special qualities that prevented their crossing, but the Acheron River in the north between Chondos and Shardaha had no such power, and a few demons migrated to other lands by that route."
Frost tilted her cup. Kregan refilled it. “I've heard it said that Chondites are not truly human.” She sipped her wine and regarded him over the cup's rim. “What of that?"
“It could be true,” he admitted. “We're not completely sure of our origins."
She took another drink and wiped her mouth, setting the half-full cup aside. “What all this means is that you can't launch an attack against Shardaha?"
The Chondite's jaw muscles twitched. “If we cross the Acheron we lose our magic. What good then will be all the sorcerers in Chondos? You see why the Council hesitates?"
She rose, then kicked a stool. It shattered gratifyingly against the wall.
“Blood and iron!” she swore. “I think I hear the gods laughing. To come so far and find no help at the journey's end. My sword is red with the blood of those who barred our way—and all for nothing!"
Kregan came and laid a hand on her shoulder. But though there was comfort in the touch she shook it off.
Beyond the window, the approaching darkness grinned.
“It's not hopeless."
She whirled, driving a fist into her palm. “Not hopeless? Must you strike bottom before you know you've fallen in a pit? There's a pit yawning now, my friend, and we're all about to tumble in."
The Chondite dashed his winecup after the broken stool. A deep crimson colored his cheeks. “We're not cowards, woman! The Council knows the dangers we face, and they're working on a plan."
“Then what's the delay?” she snapped. “Why don't we move?"
“You still don't see, you silly child!" The table shook under his pounding fist. “To have any hope of victory we must lure Zarad-Krul into Chondos. The battle must be fought in the very shadow of Demonium where our powers will be strongest. And even then, we harbor little hope of winning if Nugaril and Mentes take an active role in the fighting."
“You mean, you'll let the wizard invade?"
Kregan glowered as he leaned heavily on the table. Slowly, his head bobbed.
She arched an eyebrow and sucked her lower lip thoughtfully. “I'm sorry,” she confessed. “You're certainly not cowards if that's your plan."
The angry flush left his face, replaced by lines of weariness. “Don't mistake our motives, Frost. Chondites care little for the outside world; but as you observed, we're all standing on the brink of a pit."
A knock, and the door opened. A woman stepped reverently in, bearing a scroll of parchment. Her hair was the color of morning sunlight and her white dress swirled around her ankles when she moved. Her fair blue eyes raked over Frost and Kregan, then lowered shyly.
Natira, Frost recalled her name. There was an oddness about her, especially her azure gaze that was so hard to meet. The woman's presence disturbed her, evoked certain emotions, feelings of grief and loneliness that stirred her own tormenting memories.
Three steps into the room, Natira made a slow half-turn and stopped. Her eyes fastened on Demonfang where it hung on the wall in its silver sheath. She glided toward it, reaching out to grasp the hilt.
Frost caught her hand.
“Wait,” whispered Kregan, suddenly excited. “She's taken an interest in nothing at all since I found her wandering on the field near Demonium. And yet, from the moment of your arrival in Erebus that dagger has held an unexplained attraction for her."
“She mustn't draw it! You know the danger."
“I don't think she will,” he answered. “Watch."
Natira ran her fingers along the hilt, the sheath and belt. Then, she licked her fingers carefully as if tasting. A faint trace of a smile creased her mouth.
“I've never seen her smile,” the Chondite remarked. “If only she could speak ... I'd like to know what significance that cursed blade has for her."
Finally, Natira turned away from Demonfang, gave the scroll to Kregan and floated from the room. The sorcerer opened the parchment and read,
“They want us at Council,” he announced.
In the crowded council chamber, Rhadamanthus, Minos and Aecus, the eldest members of the three Chondite Brotherhoods, looked down dispassionately from high seats. Behind each hung the banners of their respective orders: a black arrow, a golden star, an argent cup. One hundred pairs of eyes peered from dark, concealing hoods at Frost and Kregan as they walked to the center of the chamber.
Rhadamanthus of the Black Arrow spoke first. Though his hair was white with age, his voice was strong and carried to all corners of the hall. He held the Book of the Last Battle.
“Kregan, Brother, a Privileged Council is no place for your outsider friend."
Her companion met the old man's unwavering gaze. “Elder Brother,” he answered firmly. “No one has more right to be here; the Book was entrusted to her keeping, and she has brought it safely from the forests of Esgaria despite all Zarad-Krul's efforts to stop her. She has earned the right to know what decision you have reached."
The old man raised a hand for silence, and the Elders conferred briefly. “So be it, then,” Rhadamanthus proclaimed, “she may stay. But you must vouch for her behavior."
Kregan nodded.
Aecus leaned forward as he addressed the Council. “All efforts have failed. The Book of the Last Battle remains closed. Its secrets are still secret."
“Only one course remains for us,” Minos announced. “We must lure Zarad-Krul to the Field of Fire. At Demonium we may hope for victory over his minions. A little hope, but all we have. This is the decision of the Krilar and the Elders."
“Wait,” said Frost. All eyes turned to her. On the nearest faces she read surprise, consternation, disapproval. Only Rhadamanthus smiled indulgently. “It's a fundamental axiom that Light must oppose Darkness; any sorcerer or witch knows that.” Her gaze swept the chamber. No reaction from the Chondite masters.
“Why not call upon the powers of Light to fight this battle?"
“We've tried what you suggest.” Minos shook his wizened head sadly. “Though it was against our very natures, we called on the Names of Light, but the conjurations went unheeded."
Rhadamanthus unsteepled his fingers and frowned. “You see, my child, a Chondite sorcerer taps the interplanar energies that seep through the Demonium Gate for most of his machinations. Beyond that, the Krilar learn to manipulate certain symbols and words of power. But we serve no god. Why, then, should the Light-Lords answer us?"
Aecus smashed a fist on the arm of his great chair; a fierce determination burned in the black pits of his eyes. “We'll meet the Shardahani alone—our skills pitted against the Dark Ones he serves. It will be hard, but we can win!"
Her own arcane experience made her doubtful. Whatever might the Chondites possessed, two forces were supreme: Light and Dark. Only a very few of the Neutral gods could equal such omnipotence. Her one hope was that Zarad-Krul still controlled the Dark Allies. As long as that remained true the enemy was only a man—and men made mistakes.
Battle plans were detailed, assignments made. Then, Rhadamanthus stepped down from his seat and bowed before Frost. The Book of the Last Battle rested in his outstretched hand. “Our brother has told how you blinded the Eye of Zarad-Krul while he stood helpless in its gaze.” He nodded respectfully to Kregan. “Though you are an outsider and only a woman, we ask you to carry this Book a while longer. Fate seems to have chosen you as its guardian—not a task I envy you, for when the fighting begins you will be the target of every attack."
Despite the solemnity of the occasion, she grinned. “I'm only a woman, of course, but I accept.” To her great surprise the old man leaped forward and kissed her cheek. Making another deep bow, he said, “May your gods be with you, then."
A tremendous cheer went up in the chamber. Hooded robes were thrown off; each man revealed himself girt in sword and curiously worked leather armor carved with runes and the devices of their brotherhoods. They streamed from the hall amid tumultuous shouting to rally the brethren and the armies.
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