Frostflower and Windbourne (Frostflower & Thorn)

by Phyllis Ann Karr

  “I will not leave you, Lady Reverence,” said Windbourne.

  “It is your choice, sorcerer,” she replied. “I will not attempt to command any one of your people. Frostflower? Will you escape now?”

  The sorceress was trembling, but she shook her head. “To be caught and trapped alone in the woods? I would rather trust in your protection, Lady, and be caught with all the rest if it comes to that.”

  Thorn shook her head. “Take to the woods, Frost. That’s your best chance.”

  Eleva had never explored the old tunnels as far as she would have liked. But in every farm the warriors had long used ancient priestly escape routes to slip out of the farm and enjoy nights in the nearest taverns. “Starstroke,” she demanded, “you warriors have a tunnel that comes out beyond the walls?”

  The young warrior flushed. “Lady Reverence, I have never—”

  “I did not ask whether you have ever used it yourself.”

  Starstroke touched fist to lips. “Yes, Lady, there are some tunnels that come up outside the walls.”

  “Good. Explain to Frostflower how she can find these tunnels and where they will bring her up. They can be reached from the ones immediately below this hall?”

  Starstroke nodded.

  Eleva turned to the sorceress. “You can wait in the tunnel behind the dais. If you hear the conflict going against us, follow Starstroke’s instructions and find your way out of the farm through the tunnels. If we lose, we may still manage to join you and escape together. Now, Windbourne, if you will not leave me, where will you stay?”

  He hesitated. “It has long been my intention, Lady Reverence, to purge myself by proclaiming my innocence openly, in the face of my accusers.”

  “I admire that. Unfortunately, if you stand in plain sight beside my dais and help me confront your chief accusers, you may complicate my work.”

  “I…have no wish to do that, Lady Reverence. Let me wait in the tunnel with Frostflower. I can at least block pursuit if the need arises.”

  CHAPTER 16

  From her position just inside the arch, Thorn could see Eleva seated in her chair on the dais, Starstroke waiting behind the arch directly across from Thorn’s, and part of this end of the long hall. The priestess had no weapon except her thin ceremonial silver dagger, which she held in her lap, its tip just visible above her knee. She was breathing deeply, but her profile was calm and she sat motionless. She looked as if she had been trained for years to know when to give a battle call. Bloodrastor! thought Thorn. What a warrior she would have made…if only she’d been a little larger boned! She should have lived in the ancient days when ruling priests and priestesses sometimes led their warrior-priestesses in raid and defense!

  Starstroke had retreated too far into the shadow of her arch for Thorn to see her expression, but the lines of her body looked a little too tense to please the older swordswoman. A warrior could take the edge off her strength and agility by waiting too long at too great a tension. Well, you could hardly expect a youth like Starstroke, who had probably never even lost a length of skin in a Truth Grove, to await the moment of sacrilege as coolly as an old hand at priestess-mauling like Thorn.

  Frostflower was down in the tunnel, as safe as possible and presumably hugging Dowl. Windbourne would be nearer the top of the stairs, maybe just far enough behind the doorcurtain to see a little without being seen—so long as he didn’t cause the linen to move, or let go of his blasted cat. (Thorn had insisted that for once the sorceri hold their animals in the tunnel, by force if necessary.) The runner Swiftcurrent was still bolted safe and snug in his alcove. They should have the long hall to themselves.

  The day must be bright outside. Though the sun could not be very high yet, the skyshine coming through the roof vents already gave the hall plenty of light. Eleva had lit incense-candles at either side of the dais only for priestly effect.

  Eleva’s runner Dart had brought word about three ballad-lengths ago that Rondasu’s party was in sight: two in priests’ white, one in warrior’s tunic and trousers, and one in worker’s garb. The priests and warrior rode horses, the worker a fast mule, and they were coming at a good pace. Thorn guessed that Youngwise had not sent Rondasu full details of last night’s events. If Rondasu and Shara knew that Eleva had both sorceri and a desperate outlaw with her, they would surely have brought more than a single warrior of their own. But why that single warrior? Maybe they intended to seize Eleva as she intended to seize them.

  Thorn and Starstroke had made a quick decision that one warrior in Rondasu’s party was not enough to merit summoning another woman to help them. Starstroke proposed that she attack Rondasu’s warrior while Thorn seized both priest and priestess. It might have been a good scheme, but Thorn had no idea how good Starstroke was with her weapons, and no time to test her. She considered taking on Rondasu’s warrior herself, but she did not quite trust Starstroke to seize two farmer-priests at once. “We’ll keep to our original plan,” Thorn had said at last. “If Rondasu’s warrior is stupid enough to attack us when we’ve got both their Reverences in our arms with our blades ready to stick into them, they’ll command her otherwise pretty damn quickly.”

  As for the worker on the mule, he or she must have been brought to hold the riding beasts when their Reverences dismounted—a sign of disrespect to Eleva’s servants, but no fighter to worry about. Eleva had sent Dart back to the gates by a roundabout path with instructions to run and rouse the warriors’ barracks if any more of Rondasu’s women should appear, following at a distance.

  Eleva’s sibs might have reached the farmgates by the time Dart had reached the hall. They might be passing through the east orchard by the time the sorceri were safely in the tunnel with their dog and cat. And then there was nothing to do but wait.

  * * * *

  The incense-candle had burned down about a knuckle’s-length when Rondasu and his party finally entered the hall. Eleva’s only visible reaction was a further straightening of her back and a slight twitching in the muscles of her neck and her lower right arm beneath the elbow-length sleeve. Thorn moved farther from the archway and counted the footsteps that fell on the floor tiles—two sets of stiff-soled priestly sandals and one set of soft leather boots that came down with a heavy, warrior’s stride. As expected, Rondasu’s worker must have stayed outside with the mounts.

  One sandal and the hem of a white robe came into Thorn’s view and she prepared to move yet farther back, but the priests stopped there, about seven strides from the dais. The warrior also stopped. She would be some paces behind the priests.

  Eleva rose, crossing her silver dagger aslant her small chest and covering its tip lightly with her left hand so that she looked like a statue of Maejira the Merciful.

  “Well, sister?” said a man’s voice—Rondasu’s, obviously, and he spoke with a quiver of suppressed rage. “Explain your message.”

  “My message—which you must prize, since you did not return my tablet—was very clear. I demanded the immediate custody of my husband’s son Invaron, his nurse Coddlemeasure, and the body of his mother Intassa, and I advised your immediate preparation for a journey to Center-of-Everywhere.”

  “She’s mad!” said a woman’s voice—must be Shara’s—and the sandal and white hem in Thorn’s line of vision moved half a step forward.

  Eleva turned her head very slightly. “Did you bring me Shara as a pledge for the safety of the child and his nurse, Rondasu? Or did you bring her because you feared she might defile your wife’s body if you left her alone with it?”

  Shara took a full step toward the dais (coming into view so that Thorn had to edge farther back). “Can we continue to ignore her madness, brother?”

  “If I am mad,” said Eleva, still without raising her voice, “come with me to Center and prove it to the High Gathering. But I will bury Intassa in the field with her first husband befor
e we go.”

  This time Rondasu stepped forward—Thorn got a glimpse of his pointing arm. “You will return with us and live bolted inside your old alcove until you recover your reason! I will not expose my sister’s madness to the High Gathering.”

  Eleva turned her head toward him again. Her eyes seemed to narrow and glitter slightly. “I summon you to the Gathering, brother and sister. You do not ask why?” She moved her left fist to her side and turned her right hand to point the dagger at them—Maejira the Merciful changing into Meactira the Threatening. “I charge you with the murders of my husband Deveron and his wife Intassa.”

  Someone coughed—it must be Rondasu’s warrior. The others were silent for a few heartbeats.

  Then Shara laughed. “We need not prove her madness, brother! She will prove it herself!”

  Did Eleva point her dagger at Shara? “Yesterday at dinner, Rondasu, you offered your wine to our sister. Since you had already drunk too much, you spilled some of it on the table. Sister, you drank from the cup first, then commanded your attending servant, Swiftcurrent, to wipe up the spilled wine. While the others naturally watched him, you poisoned the cup, then passed it on to your brother’s wife.”

  “Mad!” screamed Shara.

  “I suppose you had the poison with you always,” Eleva went on, “waiting your chance. What better chance than when you had a sorceress ready for blamecatch, in the keeping of your unorthodox sister Eleva? But the High Priests in Center-of-Everywhere know there are poisons which produce deaths like those of Intassa and Deveron.”

  “Swiftcurrent?” said Rondasu. “Swiftcurrent could not have told you—he could not have seen—”

  “But you feared he might guess, did you not? And perhaps even speak, despite his timid youth and lifelong loyalty. So you sent him, of all your messengers—the same lad who had already given you his day’s service, rather than a rested servant—you sent him with directions that he offer his body for a power-stripping. Do you not fear to send so many witnesses to the dais of Jehandru, Who listens to all folk alike?—you who love to charge me with heresy and impiety!”

  “Crazy!” said Rondasu’s warrior. (Gods, he had brought that bitch Strongneck!) “Why would Lady Shara kill her own brother’s wife?”

  Thorn tightened her grip on Slicer. If things were at the point where Rondasu’s new raidleader dared break into a priestly interview…

  But Eleva lowered her arms as if to signal that she was purposely avoiding the battlecall. A few moments more and Eleva might hope to confuse her brother’s warrior into neutrality or even make her change sides.

  “I doubt your priest and priestess want me to answer that,” said Eleva, “but I do not like the thought of what my brother might do in my own bedchamber and bed if he were to bring me back into his hall as he desires. How do I know all this? Perhaps from those true dreams the gods send me, that you always mocked. As for my husband’s death, Shara was visiting us at that time. She accomplished his poisoning much as she accomplished Intassa’s. But she had poisoned Deveron on your own instructions, Rondasu!”

  “Seize her!” cried Rondasu. “Didn’t I tell you a mad priestess loses her sanctity? Seize her!”

  Maybe Strongneck would have held off by now with confused loyalties. But before they could find out, Starstroke had jumped into sight, waving her sword and screaming at the priest.

  Thorn cursed and rushed out to join her. Strongneck was raising her spear. “The priest!” Thorn shouted, seizing Shara. “Damn you, grab the priest!”

  Starstroke reached out her left hand—hesitated—jerked it back and just stood pointing her sword at Rondasu. Strongneck threw her spear. Starstroke screamed and fell back with the weapon sticking through her sword arm.

  “Damn!” Thorn hollered. Getting a grapplehold on Shara’s neck with her left arm and trying to ignore her struggles, the swordswoman rushed toward Strongneck.

  Strongneck had more brains in her arms than in her head—she was spearwoman and swordswoman both, and she already had sword and knife in her hands.

  Eleva screamed. Thorn glanced round to see Rondasu on the dais, his own ceremonial dagger in his hand. Each sib was trying to hold back the other’s blade. Starstroke was babbling and trying to pull the spear out of her arm.

  By body weight alone, Rondasu would finally overpower Eleva. The only hope was to slice Strongneck right away—and not let go of Shara to do it! Thorn whirled back, hauling the priestess around with her.

  And caught Shara on Strongneck’s sword.

  The priestess went on struggling, like a warrior who got a wound and didn’t realize it in the heat of battle. In fact, at first Thorn wasn’t quite sure whether the sword had thunked into her own flesh or Shara’s. But Strongneck drew back with a cry of horror at the blood spurting from a tear in the priestess’ white robe, and Thorn used that moment to thrust Slicer into Strongneck’s midgut.

  She yanked Slicer out again, let Strongneck crumple, and turned back toward the dais, still dragging Shara.

  Windbourne had appeared in the doorway to the tunnel. Rondasu had Eleva down, her back pressed to the overturned chair, his blade almost at her neck. Windbourne jumped onto the dais, reached down, and seized Rondasu’s neck.

  There weren’t any flashes, noises, or wasps. But Eleva gave a gasp that wasn’t for her own sake. And Rondasu let the knife slip from his fingers, looked down at his hand, uttered a shrill scream, and slumped forward, burying his head in his arms.

  Within a few heartbeats, his hair had gone white and he had shriveled like a raisin.

  CHAPTER 17

  Windbourne pulled his hands from the earth at last, sat back against one of the orchard trees, and shook his head. “It is gone.”

  Frostflower released her breath slowly, wondering if the attempt had cost her more than it had him. They sat alone on the edge of a footpath between the orchard and a field of barley. “Perhaps if you tried outside the farmwalls?” she suggested.

  He opened his eyes, looked at her, and began to brush the soil from his hands. “The ‘where’ makes no difference. My last burst of power came within the priests’ very hall, did it not?”

  “In moments of great emotion, much is possible—even folk never trained in our skills sometimes find unguessed strength. But now, in your calm mind…Windbourne, you’ve often said the skills never came easily to you?”

  “Frostflower, Frostflower!” He sighed, put his head back against the peach tree, and smiled a little. “Do you find it so hard to believe that God’s rules for the world still hold true in other cases than yours? I harmed a man. None of us may keep the power after using it to harm another.”

  The sorceress felt a tear in her left eye. “But your purpose was not so much to harm the priest as to save Eleva—it was an unselfish use of power.”

  “Was my first purpose to save her Reverence? Or to rage against the priest who would harm her?” Windbourne rubbed Dowl’s head; Coyclaws had apparently chosen to accompany Eleva and Thorn to the burial of Lady Intassa’s body in the same field with her first husband. “Frostflower,” Windbourne went on, “I’m tired of constantly pricking at my soul. I don’t regret what I have done.…It’s almost as if a great weight had fallen from me along with my power.”

  She wiped her eye. “Perhaps if it ever comes again to saving a life…”

  “I pray it does not.” Again he shook his head. “Sorceress, I think the skills never meant to me what they mean to you. To you, they seem to be a pleasure and consolation in themselves. To me they were always somehow…a test, duties I must practice to prove my innocence, my worth.” He smiled. “And in that last moment…I’d never thought the power could come so easily to me, so unthinkingly—that I should be able to wither a man to such an age in a few heartbeats! It was as if the efforts of my entire life had all been preparation for that one instant. No, I
do not think I could ever again have found so much satisfaction in the power.” He glanced at her, lowered his gaze again, and fondled Dowl with especial gentleness. “So perhaps it’s best that my power is gone.” He looked at her once more. “Believe me, this present rest…peace, almost…is a fair purchase for the price I paid.”

  This time Frostflower looked away. If Windbourne had retained his power, might his faith not have been shattered like hers? Perhaps God—or the gods—are more gentle than we imagine, thought the sorceress; perhaps I survived the loss of my certitude more easily than I would have the loss of my power, and perhaps Windbourne has the greater need of his faith.

  “It has its own kind of comfort, this burial practice of the farmers,” Windbourne remarked. “To be returned to the earth…in a way, this soil god and goddess of the farmer-priests seem not too different from the Father and Mother aspects of our God, ever producing their offspring. So buried priests are taken into their own godhead.”

  Frostflower glanced at him and shivered. What he said might be a holy insight, a pick to unravel one of the knots in her own doubt and confusion…but that Windbourne should be the one to give it to her seemed ominous. She herself had explained the priestly doctrine of Aomu and Voma to him—had her doubt planted doubt in Windbourne?

  Coyclaws suddenly sprang from the tree onto Dowl’s back, beginning one of their mock spats. The funeral was over—Eleva had come through the orchard with the cat, and the sorceress had not heard them.

  “Is it truly gone?” said the priestess.

  Frostflower nodded. “It seems to be, Lady.”

  Eleva sat on her knees beside Frostflower and looked at Windbourne. “What will happen to him now? Thorn says that when you lose your power, you must either marry, or grow stale and embittered. Can he find…a sorceress to marry him?”