The Arkhel Conundrum (The Tears of Artamon Book 4)

by Ash, Sarah

  “They really love playing with that ball,” Kiukiu said, scooping Larisa up, ignoring her squawk of indignation. “I must ask Gavril to help me make another.” She’d been surprised—but pleased—when Gavril had begun to make little toys for Larisa; at first he’d seemed so much at a loss around the baby that she’d feared he was feeling elbowed out and neglected.

  There came a tap at the door and Sosia came in carrying a laden plate; the delicious scent of freshly-baked poppy seed cakes wafted into the parlor as she offered them to Kiukiu.

  “And how’s Larisa today?” Sosia held out her arms to her grand-niece who smiled broadly at her and let out a little squeal of welcome. “Come to Auntie Sosia, then, and let your mama eat her cake in peace.”

  Kiukiu nodded gratefully to Sosia and bit into the warm cake. “Mm; these are delicious, Auntie.”

  Sosia was too absorbed in talking to Larisa to hear the compliment. “What’s this red cheek? And all this dribble? Are you teething, little one?” She popped her finger in Larisa’s mouth and then hastily withdrew it. “Don’t chew on me; I don’t taste so good!”

  “Teething already?” Kiukiu said, wiping crumbs from her lips. “Trying to catch up to Kion Two-Teeth?”

  “Kion Two-Teeth.” Ninusha giggled.

  “I’ll bake some more rusks for our little ones,” Sosia said, sitting down on the other side of the fire. “Better chewing on a good, hard bread rusk than my rheumaticky old fingers.”

  The wind howled in the chimney again, setting the sparks spinning from the sweet-burning log of old apple wood. Sosia shivered as she dandled Larisa on her knee.

  “It’s a real blizzard out there this evening.”

  “Are the men back yet?” Kiukiu asked, trying not to sound too anxious.

  “Your husband’s in safe hands; Askold knows where the winter shelters are. If the snow’s too fierce, they’ll make for one of the old watchtowers and wait till morning. Don’t you worry; the druzhina won’t let the Snow Spirits come anywhere near Lord Gavril.”

  ***

  The last blood-red streaks were fading from the darkening sky when a biting wind began to blow off the mountains. Suddenly Gavril found himself half-blinded by a blizzard, scarcely able to make out the form of Askold ahead of him as they rode in single file.

  “Your orders, my lord?” Askold turned around in the saddle.

  Gavril reined his roan mare Krasa to a halt. “Abandon the search.” He had to shout to make himself heard above the howling of the wind .

  Why didn’t we turn back sooner? We saw the snow clouds massing over the Kharzhgylls.

  “There’s shelter up ahead!” Askold called. “Follow me.”

  Gavril turned Krasa’s head to go after Askold and Gorian. And then as the blizzard’s first fury began to abate, he realized that they were riding between the thick trunks of tall pines and firs. The branches acted as a filter, although as they swayed in the violent gusts, they occasionally deposited clumps of wet snow onto the bent heads of the horsemen .

  Kerjhenezh Forest.

  “Not much further now,” came back Askold’s voice faintly.

  Gavril could hardly see in front of him for the swirling of the wind-driven snow. His feet and hands were frozen, in spite of the warmth of the thick, fur-lined coat he was wearing (one of his father’s) and his sturdy leather boots. He had lost all sense of direction . I must get Askold to teach me how to find my way in a blizzard.

  The bitter chill was growing stronger, seeping through every pore of his body. He felt as if his blood was freezing in his veins, turning his body to ice.

  He blinked away the snowflakes encrusting his lashes as Krasa slowed to a stop and swiveled around in the saddle to look for the other druzhina who had been riding behind him.

  There was no one there.

  How could we have become separated so easily?

  “Askold!” Gavril shouted but the thickly falling snow soaked up the sound of his voice. “Gorian!” His throat burned with the cold as he drew in another breath to shout again.

  Krasa suddenly gave a shudder and whinnied, baring her teeth.

  “What’s the matter, girl?” Gavril whispered in her ear. “Easy, now.” The mare began to jitter about nervously and he hoped that she hadn’t scented wolves. This is one time when I need the blood-bond between me and my druzhina . Yet since Khezef had left him, he had not once been able to reawaken the link the Drakhaoul had forged between the Drakhaon and his bodyguard.

  “Why are you trespassing in my domain, Drakhaon?” The voice throbbed through him, piercing as the whine of the wintry blast around the peaks of the Kharzhgylls.

  “Your domain?” Gavril peered through the blizzard. A cloaked woman was standing before him, staring challengingly at him from silvery eyes as cold as shards of translucent ice . Eyes like the Magus’s . . . or the Drakhaoul Za’afiel, the Spinner of Winds. But there the resemblance ended; she was tall, with long white-blond locks that sparkled dully as if they had been dusted with hoarfrost. Her hooded cloak was the color of snow clouds.

  “Drakhaon was the title I inherited from Volkh, my father.” Gavril found his voice and was ashamed to hear how weak it sounded against the whine of the wind. “But I have a new title now: High Steward of Azhkendir.”

  The woman let out a scornful laugh that made the snow-laden branches shiver. “All the new titles in the world won’t bring back your dragon-daemon familiar, Drakhaon.”

  Gavril began to feel the stirrings of a dark and visceral fear as he stared into the woman’s ice-silvered eyes. She knows I’ve lost my powers. She knows I’m defenseless. His instincts told him that he was in the presence of some ancient, implacable force of nature and he had no idea how he could escape her clutches.

  “Who are you?” he demanded, trying to control the tremor in his voice. “And what do you want with me?”

  “My name is Morozhka.”

  Krasa’s ears went back as she gave a whicker of fear.

  “I was here long before the Drakhaoul. And now the Drakhaoul is gone from this world, I’m here to make a pact with you.”

  Morozhka? I’ve heard that name before. She must be one of the Elder Ones. “A pact?”

  “Strangers. They’ve entered the old sacred places in the mountains: my sanctuary and my refuge. Did you let them in? Are they here with your permission?”

  “N-no.” Gavril’s teeth had begun to chatter. The bitter chill was slowing his brain. “I’m just searching for two of my men.”

  Morozhka made a sweeping gesture toward the sky, the snow stopped falling and the clouds parted to reveal a crescent moon. By its pale light, Gavril saw, frozen in the act of crying out in surprise, the two youngest druzhina: Radakh and Tarakh, Gorian’s twin sons. There was no sign of their horses.

  “What have you done to them?” Were they under some kind of enchantment? Or had Morozhka turned them to ice? The anguished look on their contorted faces made him feel sick with guilt. “Release them at once!” And if she’s turned them to ice, will they die? How long can a man stay frozen until his heart stops?

  “Lend these boys to me.”

  “ Lend them to you?” Gorian’s face, distorted with fury, arose in Gavril’s mind. I have to protect them. He dismounted, stumbling through the snow toward the twins to see for himself if they showed any sign of life.

  But Morozhka placed herself in front of the frozen druzhina and Gavril felt the air grow colder still as she approached, as if her slender body was exuding a shimmer of frost.

  “I’ll set your men free, Drakhaon, if you agree to lend them to me to guard the mountain.”

  “I don’t know that I can—”

  “The longer you hesitate, the harder it’ll be to revive them.”

  Gavril knew he was outmanoeuvred. “Name your price.”

  “A pact between us. Sealed in blood.”

  “In b-blood?”he managed to stammer through frozen lips.

  The woman drew a knife from her belt; its slender curved bla
de was as translucent as glass. “Your blood for their lives. Just a drop or two to seal the pact.”

  “You give me your word that they’ll be set free? Unharmed?”

  Morozhka suddenly pounced, seizing Gavril’s left arm. Gavril tried to twist free but the Elder One’s grip was so powerful that he found himself unable to move. With one swift slash, the ice-glass knife sliced through the thick sleeve of Gavril’s coat, the woolen jacket and linen shirt beneath, and punctured his skin beneath, leaving a thin, dark line of blood welling up. Gavril was so cold that he felt no pain, only shock that he had been attacked so swiftly that he had been unable to defend himself. Before he could recover, his attacker lowered her white head and, to Gavril’s revulsion, licked the wound with an ice-cold tongue.

  “For God’s sake—” Gavril cried out, jerking his arm away. The silvered eyes stared piercingly at him as Morozhka licked her lips.

  “Your blood still burns,” she said. “It must be his legacy.”

  “What do you mean?” How could Khezef have left any kind of legacy? Gavril had seen him pass into another dimension, through a gateway so bright it had seared his eyes, leaving him dazzled for days afterward.

  “Once you’ve been possessed by a daemon of such tremendous aethyrial power, you can never return to being wholly human. As you will find out, Drakhaon.”

  “Not wholly human?” Gavril repeated, his mind churning with disturbing possibilities. “But there’re no outward signs left. My hair, my eyes, even my nails—”

  “No outward signs, true. But your blood, your mind, your soul . . . Have you been having strange dreams?” One frosted eyebrow quirked inquiringly.

  Strange dreams . . .

  Morozhka reached out, pressing one hand to Gavril’s brow. The Elder One’s fingertips sent icy splinters into his mind, spreading like frost flowers to penetrate the deepest recesses of his brain. The sudden invasion caught him off-guard and, as she let him go, he dropped to his knees in the snow, his head filled with a swirl of incoherent images.

  “I thought as much,” she murmured. “Your Drakhaoul has left you a trail to follow. But only you can decipher the clues.”

  “Clues?” The frosty filaments began to thaw and with them the snowmist clouding his brain.

  “So that you can be reunited.”

  Then that wasn’t the final farewell on Ty Nagar? Khezef left me a trail to follow so we could meet again? The realization stirred up so many unresolved feelings Gavril had tried to ignore: love and loss; anger at abandonment . . .

  “Now that I’ve unlocked those memories, your task is to make sense of them.” The Elder One reached down to pull him to his feet. Gavril felt her preternatural strength resonating through his whole body. “And now our pact is sealed. Drakhaon. Sealed with your burning blood.”

  “Pact?” Gavril pressed one hand to his frozen temples, still dizzied by the images Morozhka had stirred up from the clouded sediment of his memories. “I never—”

  “We’ll meet again, Drakhaon. Soon.” Morozhka turned on her heel and as she began to walk away, the snow started drifting down again, as if the pale disc of the moon was shedding soft white petals.

  “What about my druzhina?” Gavril cried. “Set them free! You gave me your word.”

  “Give them what you gave me.” Her voice floated back to him. “But do it now—or they’ll die.”

  Gavril hurried over to the two frozen figures. The moon’s light was rapidly disappearing behind a veil of fresh-falling snow and he could barely make out the faces of the young druzhina in the darkness.

  “Hang in there, Radakh.” He lifted his left arm and, steeling himself, pressed the edges of the fresh wound to try to squeeze out some more blood. In his desperation, he tore off his gloves and forced himself to touch the raw wound with his forefinger, smearing some of the blood onto Radakh’s icy lips, and then Tarakh’s.

  “Radakh,” he said urgently, gripping the young man’s shoulder. The icy leather burned his hand. But he heard Radakh take a long, wheezing indrawn breath and what had been a frozen statue shuddered back into life. Beside him, Tarakh began to cough and then to shiver, as life brought colour flooding back into his blue face.

  “Lord Gavril?” whispered Radakh.

  “Thank God.” Gavril put out his arms to hug both young men to him. “You’re still alive.”

  “Where—where are the horses?” asked Tarakh, staring around him dazedly.

  If my blood still burns, does that mean the blood-bond still works too?

  “Bogatyr Askold said there’s shelter nearby.”

  Radakh sank to his knees in the snow. “What’s the matter with me? I can hardly put one foot in front of the other.”

  “Call the horses, brother,” urged Tarakh, heaving him to his feet. “Lean on me.”

  Radakh put two fingers to his lips and blew. But the piercing whistle made Krasa shake her head and jitter around in the snow; before Gavril could grab the bridle and try to calm her, she set off like a crazed creature into the darkness between the trees.

  “Krasa!” Gavril yelled, setting off after her. Suddenly weak and light-headed, he found himself losing his balance.

  Loss of blood? he wondered as he pitched forward into a snowdrift. Or did Morozhka lay some kind of enchantment on me too?

  Chapter 16

  “Your Drakhaoul has left you a trail to follow. But only you can decipher the clues.”

  As Gavril pushed himself to his feet, Morozhka’s words still echoed through his mind.

  “I’m sorry, my lord,” Tarakh gasped out. “Krasa’s not easily spooked. I never thought she’d bolt—”

  “Lord Gavril . . .”

  Gavril’s head jerked up a distant voice called his name. “Did you hear that?”

  “I can’t hear anything but the wind, my lord.”

  “Where are you, my lord?’ ”The distant voice came again.

  The blood-bond between me and my druzhina. Gavril began to realize that only he could hear the reply. Has Morozhka reawakened the link between us? “We have to keep moving.” He pressed on the fresh wound with frozen fingers . “I’m here. Gorian’s boys are with me. Tell me where you are.”

  “At the old watchtower on the edge of the ridge. Your horses have found their way here.” The reply was clearer this time; he recognized Askold . “Can you follow the sound of my voice?”

  “This way.” Gavril set off, gesturing to the twins to follow.

  ***

  “More logs for the fire, my lady.” Dunai limped in, and the flames leapt higher in the grate as another gust swept in.

  “For heaven’s sakes, don’t leave the door wide open,” scolded Sosia, “the babies’ll catch cold in that draught!”

  “I’ll help you, Dunai.” Ninusha hurried to help the young steward whose face, Kiukiu noticed, had flushed a dark red at Sosia’s tart reprimand. “You pass me the logs; I’ll put them on the hearth.”

  That was an act of kindness that would never even have occurred to the old, air-headed Ninusha. Kiukiu nodded her silent approval as Ninusha knelt down by the fireside and piled the logs neatly one by one as Dunai handed them to her. She knows that the damp snow air must be making Dunai’s legs ache. And even though his crushed bones had set better than anyone could have hoped, Dunai had been pronounced lame for life. Gavril made him steward of the kastel, hoping that the dashing young warrior would heal faster if he had plenty to occupy his mind. But sometimes she caught a sad, hopeless look dulling Dunai’s clear blue eyes—and she knew that there could be no easy or swift recovery from such terrible injuries.

  And it must be especially hard for him to stay behind with the women while his brother and Sem are out with Lord Gavril.

  “Any word from the Bogatyr, Dunai?” she asked, trying not to sound too anxious.

  “No, my lady,” he said and then added swiftly, “but I’m sure that he’s taken Lord Gavril to shelter till the storm blows o—” He broke off, his eyes losing focus.

  “Dunai?�
� Kiukiu leapt up, alarmed. “What is it?” He stood still, as though listening intently to some distant voice. Ninusha stood up, dusting the bark from her hands, and laid one hand on his arm. He started, as though waking from a trance.

  “I heard him,” he said. “I heard Lord Gavril calling.”

  “You heard him? Have you lost your wits, Dunai?” said Sosia.

  “The blood-bond.”

  Kiukiu’s heart skipped a beat; she pressed a hand to her chest to calm its sudden pounding. “But—but the blood-bond was destroyed when the Drakhaoul passed into the Ways Beyond.”

  “It was Lord Gavril,” said Dunai stubbornly. “I heard him here,” he touched his forehead, “and here.” His hand moved smartly to his left breast as if he were saluting his master.

  “Is he in danger?” Kiukiu was not just worried now; she was genuinely frightened, wondering what this unexpected reawakening could mean. “Dunai—was he calling for help?”

  ***

  Mustn’t leave Kiukiu alone for too long . . . she’ll be worried. And I promised I’d be home by nightfall . . .

  Gavril stumbled doggedly on through the darkness, guided only by the distant voices of his druzhina.

  It took all his willpower to lift one booted foot out of the knee-high snowdrifts and put it down in front of the other. But the thought of Kiukiu furious with him for being so foolish gave him new energy . “Whatever possessed you to go out in such weather?” he could hear her saying, her voice throbbing with fury . “Have you forgotten you have a daughter to look after now?”

  Behind him, Radakh was supporting his flagging brother, one arm around his waist, both following in Gavril’s wake.

  “Where is she?” Gavril heard Tarakh mumble. “That lady. We can’t leave her out here alone . . . in the snow.”

  “What lady?” Gavril stopped, turning around. The frail silver light of the crescent moon shone though once more as the snow clouds drifted apart.

  “So pretty.” Tarakh’s words came out muzzily as if he was drunk or feverish. “Said she was . . . lost.”

  “What did she look like?”