The Oracle's Queen (56 page)

Mahti disappeared into the underbrush for a moment. When he returned, he was wearing his own clothing and the animal-tooth necklace and bracelets. Climbing back onto his horse, he nodded to Tamír. “Now we go.”

The forest closed in around them, tall firs that scented the air and choked out the undergrowth. They saw no one that day or the next. The terrain grew steeper, and the wooded hillsides were strewn with large rocks. Mahti led them to the stream he'd spoken of and reached the small waterfall that afternoon. The faint game track they'd been following seemed to end at the pool beneath it.

“Good water,” Mahti told them.

Tamír called a halt, then dismounted with the others to fill her waterskin.

Mahti drank, then took his oo'lu from its sling and began to play. It was a short, hooting song, but when he was done Tamír saw a well-worn path leading away from the pool's edge that had not been there before. The trees on either side were marked with faded handprints like the markings she'd seen around Lhel's abandoned camp.

“Come!” Mahti set off briskly up the new trail. “You be in Retha'noi place. Keep promise.”

A
s they made camp that night Arkoniel joined Tamír and the others around their fire.

“I've just spoken with Lyan. Korin's fleet tried to land at Ero. Tharin had word from the wizards and coastal lookouts that they were making for the port, and Illardi was waiting for them, with the wizards. He used the few ships you had there, setting them ablaze to trap Korin's ships. The flames spread, and our wizards used their own spells
to help things along. All the enemy vessels were destroyed or captured.”

“That's very good news!” Tamír exclaimed. “But no word of an attack by land?”

“Nevus is bringing a sizable army south. Tharin's already heading out to meet him.”

“Sakor bring him luck,” Ki said, casting a stick onto the fire.

Lying in her blankets that night, watching the branches sway against the stars, Tamír sent up a silent prayer of her own for Tharin, hoping that he wouldn't be taken from her, too.

T
he next day the way grew steeper, and there was still no sign of a village. Just before midday, however, Mahti raised a hand to halt the others.

“There.” He pointed up at a jumble of fallen stones on the right.

Tamír signaled a halt. It took a moment to make out the man squatting on the highest rock. He was staring straight back at her and had an oo'lu pressed to his lips.

Mahti raised his own horn over his head and waited. After a moment the other man lowered his and shouted something to him.

“You stay,” Mahti told her, then climbed nimbly up the rocks to join the stranger.

“We're not alone,” Ki whispered.

“I see them.” At least a dozen more Retha'noi were visible, watching them from either side of the divide. Some had bows, others long horns like Mahti's.

No one moved. Tamír clutched her reins, listening to the low murmur of the two witches talking. Now and then the stranger's voice rose angrily, but presently he and Mahti climbed down from the rocks and stood on the trail.

“He talk to you and oreskiri,” Mahti called out to her. “Others stay.”

“I don't like this,” Ki muttered.

“Don't worry, I'll be with her,” Arkoniel told him.

Tamír dismounted and gave her reins to Ki, then unbuckled her sword belt and handed that to him, too.

She and Arkoniel walked together toward the witches, hands outstretched to show they were unarmed.

This man was older than Mahti and missing most of his teeth. His witch marks showed clearly on his skin, warning that he had some sort of spell in place.

“This Sheksu,” Mahti informed her. “I tell him you come to bring peace. He ask how.”

“Arkoniel, tell him who I am, and that I will tell my people to stop their persecution, as long as the Retha'noi are peaceful toward us. Tell him we only wish to pass safely through his valley. We do not come to conquer or spy.”

Arkoniel relayed this, and Sheksu asked a sharp question.

“He asks why he should believe a southlander girl who hasn't even known a man yet.”

“How did he know that?” Tamír hissed, trying to cover her surprise. “Tell him I will swear by all my gods.”

“I don't think that will convince him. Prick your finger and offer him a drop of blood. That will be proof that you aren't trying to hide anything from him. Use this.” He took Lhel's needle from his purse.

Tamír pricked her forefinger and held it out to Sheksu. The witch caught the droplet and rubbed it between his thumb and finger. He shot a surprised look at Mahti and asked him something.

“He said you have two shadows,” Arkoniel murmured.

“Brother?”

“Yes.”

Sheksu and Mahti spoke again.

“He's explaining about Lhel,” Arkoniel whispered.

“He say to see mark,” Mahti said at last.

“The scar? I'll have to take off my armor. Tell him I need his word that this is not a trick.”

“He say no trick, by Mother.”

“Very well, then. Arkoniel, can you help me?”

The wizard managed to get one side of her cuirass undone and held it while she pulled off her tabard.

“What the hell are you doing?” Ki called, starting forward.

Sheksu raised a hand at Ki.

“Ki, stop! Stay where you are,” Arkoniel ordered.

“Do as he says,” Tamír told him calmly.

Ki stayed put, scowling. Behind him, the other Companions remained tense and alert.

Tamír took off her hauberk and pulled down the neck of the padded shirt and the linen undershirt underneath to show Sheksu the scar between her breasts. He ran a finger over the faded white stitch marks, then looked deeply into her eyes. He smelled of grease and rotten teeth, but his black eyes were sharp as a hawk's and just as wary.

“Tell him that Lhel helped me so that our people could make peace,” Tamír said.

Sheksu stepped back, still eyeing her closely.

“It might help if Brother made an appearance,” Arkoniel whispered.

“You know I can't make him come and go as I please—”

But suddenly Brother was there. It was only for an instant, long enough for him to let out a low, mocking hiss that stood the hair up on her neck and arms; but for that instant she thought she felt another presence with him, and the scent of freshly crushed leaves lingered on the air. She looked around quickly, hoping for a glimpse of Lhel, but there was only the feeling of her, and the scent.

Sheksu appeared satisfied as he spoke to Mahti and Arkoniel.

“He believes you, because no Orëska wizard could
make that kind of magic,” said Arkoniel. “Brother just did you a great service.”

“Not Brother. Lhel,” she replied softly. “I wonder if he saw her.”

“He see,” Mahti told her. “She speak for you.”

Sheksu spoke to Mahti again, gesturing at his people still standing overhead, then down the trail in the direction they meant to go.

“He say you can pass with your people, but you must go quick,” Mahti explained. “He will send song about you to next village and they send to next. He say he not—” He frowned and looked to Arkoniel to clarify.

“You've been granted safe passage, and Sheksu will relay your story on, but he can't promise you will be welcome, only that he has spoken for you.”

Sheksu said something else and Arkoniel bowed to him. “He was impressed that you offered your blood, and by what he read from it. He says you have favor with his goddess. If you keep your word, you should be safe.”

“I am honored by his trust.” She took a gold sester from her purse and presented it to him. The coin was stamped with Illior's crescent moon and the flame of Sakor. “Tell him that these are the symbols of my people. Tell him that I call him friend.”

Sheksu accepted the coin and rubbed it between his fingers, then said something that sounded friendly.

“He is impressed,” Arkoniel murmured. “Gold is very scarce here, and highly prized.”

In return Sheksu gave her one of his bracelets, made with the teeth and claws of a bear.

“It will give you strength against your enemies and mark you as a friend of the hill folk,” Arkoniel interpreted.

“Tell him I am honored to wear it.”

Sheksu bade her farewell and quickly disappeared among the rocks.

“Go quick now,” Mahti told her.

Tamír put her armor back on and strode back to the Companions.

“That seemed to go well,” Ki murmured, handing her sword back to her.

“We're not over the mountains yet.”

N
iryn's death and the manner of it cast a pall over Korin's heart. As he led his army east, he could not shake off a sense of foreboding.

Nalia had killed Niryn; of that he had no doubt, despite her stammering assertion that he had only fallen. “Are all the women of the royal line cursed with madness?” he'd ranted to Alben as Niryn's broken body was carried away. Moriel had followed the litter, wailing like a woman over his former master.

“Mad or not, she bears your child. What are you going to do with her?” Alben asked.

“Not just a child. A girl. A new queen. I've sworn before the altar of the Lightbearer that she will be my heir. Why am I still cursed?”

He'd questioned the priests about it before they marched, but there were no Illiorans left in Cirna, and the others were too frightened of him to offer anything more than hollow assurances. The Dalnan priest assured him that some women went mad while they were pregnant, but grew calm again after the birth, and gave him charms to heal her mind. Korin sent them up to the tower with Tomara.

Thoughts of Aliya and the monstrous thing she'd died giving birth to came to haunt his dreams again, as well. Sometimes he was back in that birthing chamber with her; other nights it was Nalia in the bed, her marred face twisted in agony as she pushed out another abomination.

Tanil and Caliel used to calm him after such nightmares.
Alben and Urmanis did their best, bringing him wine when they heard him wake.

And then there was Moriel. The farther Korin got from Cirna, the more he found himself wondering again why he'd finally agreed to give the Toad a commission, knowing he'd been Orun's creature and Niryn's lackey.

D
espite all these concerns, he felt increasingly lighter as the days passed. He'd been lax with himself since Ero, he realized with some chagrin. He'd let sorrow and doubt unman him, and depended too much on Niryn. His body was still hard, his sword arm strong, but his spirit had grown weak with lack of use. These past months seemed very dark, as if the sun had never shone on the fortress.

He turned in the saddle and looked back over the thousands of men at his back.

“It's a brave sight, isn't it?” he said to Master Porion and the others, looking proudly at the ranks of cavalry and foot.

Thanks to Duke Wethring and Lord Nevus, almost every noble between there and Ilear was either with him, dead, or under edict of execution. He would deal with the latter as soon as he'd taken care of Tobin and seized Atyion.

Tobin
. Korin's hands tightened on the reins. It was past time to be finished with him, once and for all.

Korin was too honorable in his own mind to recognize the jealousy that lay behind his anger—a bitter, corrosive undercurrent fed by the memory of his own failures, thrown into stark contrast by his little cousin's natural valor. No, he wouldn't allow himself to think of that. He'd put those days behind him, as errors of his youth. He would not falter this time.

T
hey left the isthmus and struck north and east toward Colath. The rains came, but spirits remained high among the ranks, and the Companions, as well. In a few days they
would be in sight of Atyion, within striking distance of all the fine resources there—horses and granaries, and the wealth of the treasuries. He'd had little more than promises to hold his lords; now they had great spoils nearly at hand. He would raze Atyion and use her great wealth to rebuild Ero in greater glory.

That afternoon, however, one of his advance scouts came riding back at a gallop on a lathered horse, with another rider close behind.

“Boraeus, isn't it?” Korin said, recognizing him as one of Niryn's chief spies.

“Majesty, I bring you word of Prince Tobin. He's on the march!”

“How many with him?”

“Five thousand, perhaps? I'm not sure. But he isn't coming along the coast. He's sending another force to meet you, under the command of Lord Tharin—”

“Tharin?” Porion murmured, frowning.

Alben chuckled. “So Tobin sends his nursemaid after us. He must have learned to wipe his own nose at last.”

“Tharin served in your father's Companions, Majesty,” Porion reminded him, shooting Alben a warning glance. “He was Duke Rhius' bravest captain. It won't do to underestimate him.”

“It's only a feint, Majesty,” the spy explained. “The prince is taking a secret route through the mountains, to outflank you from the west.”

“We'll see about that,” Korin growled.

He called a halt and summoned his other generals, then made the messenger repeat his news before them.

“That's excellent news! We'll overwhelm that paltry advance force like a storm tide and take the city in your name, Majesty!” Nevus exclaimed, eager to avenge his father's death.

Looking around, Korin read the same hungry, vengeful gleam in every eye. They were already counting the spoils.

Korin went very still inside as he listened to all their
arguments, and his mind grew ever clearer. “Lord Nevus, you will take five companies of cavalry and meet the eastern force. Catch them between Duke Morus' forces and crush them. Bring me Lord Tharin or his head.”

“Majesty?”