Skull Gate

by Robin W Bailey

  She needed a plan, but none came to mind. Nothing to do but ride to Kephalenia, seek out Onokratos, and beat the truth from him. But where in Kephalenia would she find the man? She sat down on the grass. The dew dampness soon penetrated her garment, but she paid no mind. She rested her head on her knees. The stars floated above dark silhouettes of distant hills. Some claimed there were answers in the stars to all the questions men could ask. She regarded them, beautiful, but cold and silent. If they had answers, they said nothing to her. She sighed.

  Suddenly, a bright, cyan ball streaked across the night, trailing sparks and streamers of green and golden fire. Frost leaped up, twisted to keep it in sight as long as she could before it disappeared over the horizon.

  Beautiful! In all her experience she'd seen nothing like it! An omen, surely. Perhaps there were answers in the stars after all. But what did it mean, this strange comet? An omen could be for good as well as evil. Did it foretell failure or success?

  She contemplated that, then shrugged. What did it matter if there were answers in the stars? She didn't speak their language.

  Ashur nuzzled her shoulder, his horn gliding past her cheek, breaking her reverie. She stretched, yawned. Time to return to camp before the men got worried. She reached out and scratched the unicorn's nose; Ashur endured it calmly. “I love you,” she whispered, “and I love Kimon, Tras Sur'tian, and Aki.” She stepped back, regarded the beast wryly, and repeated it. “Why does it sound so foolish when I say it out loud?” Pondering that, she gathered the reins, climbed into the saddle, and rode back down the hill.

  As she retraced her course across the valley, a sudden warm rush of wind set the leaves to rustling. She glanced skyward. Another fireball sizzled through the heavens, brighter and closer than the first. She watched until it was gone from sight, scratched her chin, brushed hair from her eyes, and rode on.

  The hairs rose on her neck when the comet appeared a third time. She watched through the shivering latticework of branches. Its trajectory was different. The first had traversed west to east, the second north to south. This traveled northwest to southeast.

  Sorcery, for sure. Was she under attack? When she'd first glimpsed Onokratos's shrouded figure in Thogrin Sin'tell's grand reception hall, she'd thought he might be a sorcerer. All her instincts screamed it, just as they now screamed that these fireballs were manifestations. She spurred Ashur. The unicorn raced through the darkness, dodging trees and hidden obstacles that would have tripped a common horse. Frost hugged the saddle tightly with her knees and fought to keep her balance, ducking low limbs that threatened to sweep her down. She had to reach Kimon and Tras Sur'tian. Knowing nothing of magic, they were in danger. Only she might protect them.

  Yet without her witch-powers, what could she do?

  Ashur thundered into camp, kicking grass and dirt in the small fire as he slid to a halt. Frost jumped down. Tras Sur'tian hurried to her side, but his stare remained directed through the trees at the sky. Kimon was nowhere in sight.

  “Did you see it?” the old soldier exclaimed. “Incredible!"

  “Where's Kimon?” she demanded.

  “In the woods,” he answered excitedly. “Private business. I wonder if he saw it? Did you see it?"

  “I saw it.” But she didn't share his enthusiasm. She wanted to extinguish the campfire, but would Kimon find his way back without it? She cupped hands to her lips. “Kimon!” she called urgently. “Kimon, get back here!"

  Tras Sur'tian whirled at her shout. The firelight cast patterns of shadow and ruddy glow on his face but couldn't mask the puzzlement she saw there.

  “We're under attack,” she told him before he could ask the question. “I don't know how, but I can guess who. Onokratos, I'll bet the last tooth in my grandmother's head! That's no natural comet. How many times did you see it?"

  “Just once,” he answered. His right hand drifted toward his sword hilt.

  “I saw it three times, traveling a different direction each time."

  “What do we do?"

  “About what?” Kimon hurried into camp, emerging from the shadows. “Did you see that thing in the sky?"

  “We saw!” they answered together.

  Frost scooped dirt as quickly as she could to douse the campfire. Smoke rose, dissipated as it curled in the branches.

  “Hey, it took some effort to get that going!"

  “Shut up!” Tras ordered. “She knows what she's doing."

  “Quiet!” Frost insisted. She listened intently, searching the starlit skies.

  “Look!” Tras pointed suddenly.

  A whooshing noise filled their ears. Trees bent under a great gusting wind. It buffeted them, whipped their cloaks. The grasses rolled like waves as another fireball flashed above them, skimming the tallest branches, igniting the darkness with a cerulean radiance, trailing sparks like bright, dying stars. It swerved, soared high, swerved again, and plunged straight downward. They drew steel and shielded their eyes. Frost called on her gods, sure death was upon her. Her right hand closed on Kimon's arm. Her fingers curled in his silken sleeve.

  But no explosion came, no impact. The fireball hovered just above the ground, giving light, but not heat. Disbelieving, Frost shot a hasty glance around. The trees did not scorch and blacken; the grasses did not wither.

  Inside the fireball lurked a dark, vaguely human shape. Its face had no features she could see, but she could feel its dispassionate gaze.

  Then a tingling started deep in her head. The tingling became an itch, unscratchable. She grabbed the side of her head, massaged her temples. Nothing eased it. Dimly, she discerned that Tras Sur'tian and Kimon were experiencing the same queer sensation.

  Words began to form in her brain.

  Thee searches for the child-queen. Well it is thee are close. Make speed and thee may yet save her soul.

  Frost fought back the pain, glared at the fireball and the being within. Magic power of a fantastic order radiated from it. Behind her, Ashur stamped and snorted. The unicorn's flame-eyes blazed with startling intensity, flickering, dancing on his face. This could not be Onokratos. She would have sensed this kind of power when she'd first glimpsed him. She concentrated, sending her thoughts to the creature that confronted them, unaware that she vocalized them.

  “What are you?” she questioned. “How do we find Aki?"

  The pain of mind-speech intensified. Her eyes felt as if they were popping from her head. A muscle began to twitch in her neck.

  Look to the west each evening at dusk. I will guide thee each night until the coming of dawn. The fireball crackled with new energy and shot, sizzling, into the sky.

  “Wait!” she cried, but it was already high above the trees and climbing swiftly. She strained to keep it in sight; the branches were too thick. But through a gap in the leaves she spied a luminous emerald star winking on the horizon.

  “It means for us to follow,” Tras Sur'tian pronounced, plainly shaken, but with a fatalistic strength in his words. He would go anywhere, dare anything to find his queen.

  “What was it?” Kimon exclaimed. The effects of mind-speech seemed to have dampened none of his exuberance. He paced around camp, trying to find the best place to view the sky.

  “I don't know,” she answered. “But if it can lead us to Aki, then we're going to follow it."

  She went to Ashur. The unicorn's eyes still blazed as they did in the presence of magic; she wondered how her friends could fail to see his true nature. She looked for the star again, set a foot in the stirrup, and swung into the saddle.

  “This reeks of a trap,” Kimon warned, “and stinking sorcery."

  Tras Sur'tian went to his horse. “Then go home, Kimon,” he said. “Without clues we could search for weeks and not find Aki. Kephalenia is a big region.” He pointed to the twinkling star where Frost was looking. “Now we've more than a clue, we've an invitation.” He laid a hand on Frost's thigh and gazed up at her. “It said we could save her. That means she's alive!” He bowed his head. “I re
lease you from the vow you made in the Kithri hills and offer my deep apology."

  She smiled gently and nodded, then gazed back at the star that would be their guide. Can we trust it? she wondered. But let Tras keep his hope. “It also said to hurry,” she said to Kimon. “So put that sticker back in its sheath and mount up. It's still dark, so pick your path carefully. A horse with a broken leg means someone gets left behind."

  For two nights they rode. The rough terrain was soon behind them; the ground leveled and they could see some distance in all directions. At night the swelling moon stretched their shadows far before them. By day they slept without shelter while the blistering sun beat down. There was no game to hunt, and they quickly finished the last of Kimon's dried fruit. Their bellies grumbled for real food. Fortunately, the waterskins were full.

  “Doesn't that beast of yours ever tire?” Kimon asked once. His own mount plodded along, head low, lathered, weary. She only shrugged and rode on.

  Each day at twilight they waited, mounted, for the last rays of the sun to fade and the evening gloom to deepen. The green star appeared, flickering, beckoning, brighter than the other stars. While the rest of the heavens rolled across the night sky it held its place fixed in darkness.

  Shortly after dawn of the third day they arrived at the bank of a great river. Their celestial guide had vanished, but they continued on in the direction it had led them. Frost smelled water, heard its rushing, and remembered her hunger.

  “Do either of you fish?” she asked. “I'm ravenous."

  Tras Sur'tian paid her no attention but rose in his stirrups, looked out. “This must be the Skamandi River,” he reported. “On the other side lies Endymia."

  “Thogrin Sin'tell's baronial holdings?"

  He nodded. “As far as you can see."

  “Then there will be a town or village close where we can eat and find a good bed for a change,” Kimon suggested hopefully.

  “We'll sleep out here,” Frost corrected him. “Then, in the afternoon you can scout alone for a village and, maybe, bring back a few supplies."

  “Why alone?” Kimon said with thinly disguised suspicion.

  “Why not me?” Tras Sur'tian put in. “I don't know this region well, but these are still my people. They respect a royal uniform."

  Frost slid from the saddle. “I'm wanted for Aki's murder, remember? And though we've wasted little time on the trail, there's the chance Thogrin's subjects might know of his death. They certainly have my description for the first charge, in any case.” She winked at Tras Sur'tian. “And you're too well known across the kingdom, old friend. If someone should see you in these parts, they'd surely guess you were following me. It's much better if nobody has a clue where I am. I'll be no good to Aki at the end of a rope."

  “Then let's avoid the towns and just keep riding,” Tras said.

  She shook her head vigorously. “I'm too hungry,” she insisted, rubbing her stomach. “Let Kimon bring back food for a good meal, and maybe some real wine; gods, I'm tired of water.” She wiped sweat from her face. “If I remember, Endymia is not a very wide land."

  “Long, but not wide,” Tras agreed. “We should reach Kephalenia tomorrow night."

  She sighed. “Let's get some sleep. I'm so tired I can't tell the difference between my saddle and the calluses it's worn on my rump.” She patted her backside.

  “I can,” Kimon said, grinning, as he got down.

  They unsaddled their mounts. The two men pulled hobbles from saddlebags and fitted them to the horses’ legs. There was plenty of grass for grazing, so Ashur was allowed to wander.

  They spread their bedrolls in the shade of the large trees that grew along the Skamandi's banks. Tras Sur'tian quickly fell asleep. Frost stretched on her back and shut her eyes, feeling the delicious warm sun on her lids. But sleep never came easily to her, and this time was no different. Finally, she cracked one eye, pleased to find that Kimon was also awake. She rolled over next to him and curled in the crook of his arm. His body was warm like sunshine, firm and secure. She felt good lying next to him.

  For a long time they said nothing. Then Kimon spoke, but softly, so as not to disturb their companion. “I've been wondering why the old woman called you Samidar.” His fingers crawled slowly up her spine, his breath blew gently on her cheek.

  She stiffened, but the nearness of him and the comfort of his arms, the gentleness of his voice, made her relax again. She looked into his eyes, those blue eyes that seemed to swallow her. “Because it's my name,” she confessed in a tight whisper. She squeezed her eyes shut. Oona knew only because it was impossible to lie to someone with true-sight. Now Kimon knew, too. Frost had not spoken that name for a long time. Samidar. Her father had given her that name. She had always liked the sound of it.

  “I thought Frost was your name."

  How much could she tell him? Would he still want her if he knew her past, what she'd done? Perhaps she had suffered enough penance. It would be good to share the secret with someone she cared for. Oona knew the truth, and Oona hadn't rejected her. Yet Oona was old and lonely, the kind who took in anyone. Kimon was a proud man. He might leave if he knew her shame.

  “You're right,” she answered after a long silence. She blinked back threatening tears. “My name is Frost."

  “But it wasn't always?"

  She rolled over so her back was against his chest. His arm draped over her breasts, and she could feel his breathing sweet on her neck. “Another time for those stories,” she told him wistfully. “Now I want to sleep."

  He kissed the back of her head and moved still closer against her. Shortly, he began to snore. Only then did she release the tears she had fought to hold in check.

  She awoke with a start, grabbed for her sword.

  “The dreams again?” Tras Sur'tian regarded her from nearby, where he sat against a tree. He rubbed the edge of his blade with the whetstone he kept in his saddlebag. For the first time in days he was out of that hot armor.

  “Where's Kimon?"

  “Do you love him very much?"

  She leaned back on her elbows. “I don't know,” she said truthfully. “What do I know about love?"

  The old warrior shrugged. “He rode out to find a village. We decided to let you sleep; you seemed tired."

  She patted her stomach in anticipation. “I hope he gets back soon."

  Tras Sur'tian measured the sun's journey in the sky. “It's only midafternoon. It may be a while. No telling how far he'll have to go. But Endymia is a populous land. He'll find something."

  She got to her feet and stretched. Her skin felt clammy; the nightmares always brought a cold sweat. Her hair was filthy with road dust, too. She could smell herself. Tras Sur'tian had already bathed, she could tell by the damp ringlets in his beard that hadn't quite dried.

  “I'm going down to the river,” she announced. “Could you do that for my sword, too?” He nodded. She unbuckled her belt, tossed him the blade in its scabbard. “Water's cold,” he warned, returning to his work. A fine gray powder covered his hands as he slid the’ stone up the weapon's length.

  She walked down to the bank, out onto a broad sandbar. She pulled off her boots, laid them aside, and removed the rest of her clothing. The sand toasted her toes and the soles of her feet. A light breeze blew her hair, caressed her skin. She waded in until the water reached her knees.

  Tras had told her. The water was frigid, no doubt fed by underground springs. The Skamandi flowed with moderate swiftness; the water churned around her legs. She shivered despite the sun on her shoulders and gritted her teeth as she walked farther in. When the water touched her waist, she stopped. The sand underfoot had turned to mud. She could feel the tug of the current; it could be dangerous to stray farther from the shore.

  She scrubbed as quickly as she could, immersing herself and rubbing until her flesh turned ruddy. Her hair hung in wet ropes plastered to her skin, shining with sunlight as droplets ran down her back.

  A peculiar cry from the bank made
her turn. She grinned. Other men mistook that sound for a horse's whinny; she knew better.

  Ashur watched from the shore. She called to him, “Come on in, coward!” The unicorn tossed his head, then came down to the sandbar, dipped a front leg up to the fetlock joint, and cautiously drank. His long, shaggy mane floated on the surface, but he ventured no deeper. “Coward!” she repeated, and used her hand to launch a curtain of water. The huge animal danced lithely away, avoiding her attack, then returned calmly to drink again.

  She smiled, full of pride and affection for the creature. She waded toward him. Too late, she saw Ashur's horn dip and jerk upward. A pitiful attempt, but she laughed at the few drops that actually splashed her. “If that's the best you can do with that thing, we'd better saw it off, make you a common horse,” she chided, “maybe a gelding, too. How'd you like that?"

  Ashur nodded his great head excitedly as she approached.

  “Oh, you think you'd like it?” She reached out to put her arms around his neck, but the unicorn stepped aside and suddenly shook himself vigorously. The wet mane lashed out, showering her.

  She leaped back, open-mouthed. “I'll get you for that!” she shouted. But Ashur turned and fled over the sandbar, up the bank, and out of sight. “Sooner or later,” she added, grinning.

  She climbed out of the water, shook the sand from her clothes, and pulled them over wet flesh. Tras Sur'tian had worked a bright, shining edge on her blade by the time she returned from her bath. He continued with an oil-soaked cloth, polishing the length of steel to a fine gleam, working with a professional's respect for a good tool. He hefted it in one hand. Sunlight rippled along the metal.

  He nodded approvingly. “It's as heavy as mine,” he said.

  She found a leather thong in her saddlebag and tied back her hair. Her moonstone circlet lay in the bottom of the bag; she set it on her head also to hold back her long hair.

  “I trained with a heavier one,” she told him, recalling long nights in the dark lower levels of her father's castle, and a man as dear to her as kin. “My teacher taught me two-handed techniques seldom seen in this part of the world, how to use speed and momentum to make up for what I lack in sheer muscle.” She bit her lip. Her weapons master was dead now. “Just before his death he had that one made specially for me."