The Gates of Winter Page 7

  He moved closer to her. “You have to tell them I’m here, don’t you? Ivalaine and the Witches. They think I’m going to destroy Eldh, that I’m Runebreaker—the one they’ve been looking for—and now you have to tell them you’ve found me.”

  Her face was an ivory mask of determination, but she was trembling, and something told him it was not only because of the cold.

  “So you aren’t going to tell them about me.” His words fogged on the air. “The dragon was right. He said you would betray your sisters.”

  “Maybe I already have.” She crossed her arms, hunching her shoulders. “Did not Falken say dragons always speak truth?”

  Yes, and the dragon had also said Travis was doomed to destroy the world.

  “I heard Grace and Lirith talking yesterday,” he said after a moment. “I heard them say you’re powerful. Maybe more powerful than any other witch alive.”

  “What does that mean?” she murmured, and he had the feeling the question was not for him.

  He started to reach out, to touch her shoulder, then pulled his hand back. “Neither of us asked for this. This power. We’re not really all that different, you and I.”

  She turned around, her eyes startled. “No, I don’t believe we are.”

  “It’s good not to want it, Aryn. That’s the one thing I’ve learned. Because if you want the power, then there’s nothing to stop you from becoming like them.”

  She nodded. “Except sometimes I do want it.”

  “You’re right,” he said, shivering. “We should go inside.”

  The next few days were strangely empty. It was too cold to venture outside the castle, and inside there was little for Travis to do. Grace and Beltan spent much of the time in conference with King Boreas, as did Melia and Falken, Durge and Sir Tarus, and the Spider Aldeth. Aryn was often busy with Lord Farvel, who was planning her wedding to Teravian, though the prince himself was usually as scarce as shadows at noon.

  Vani was scarce herself. Travis knew she was busy patrolling the castle and the surrounding lands, watching for feydrim and other intruders. All the same, he would have liked to see her, to talk to her. Or to Beltan. However, both continued to avoid him.

  When he wasn’t alone, Travis most often spent his time with Lirith and Sareth, who were keeping an eye on Tira while Grace was in council with the king. Unlike the rest of them, the dark-eyed witch and the Mournish man rarely spoke of the coming storm. Instead they seemed content to dwell in the fragile peace of the moment. The laws of the Mournish people forbid him to marry Lirith, but except for his sister Vani, Sareth’s people were a hundred leagues away. For a time, at least, he and Lirith could be together.

  Given that, it was strange and tender how fleeting their expressions of love for one another were. They did not share a chamber at night, and Travis had never seen them kiss. However, their emotion was clear when they gazed at one another, though there was often a sadness in their eyes as well.

  They frequently spent afternoons in Lirith’s chamber. The witch would work on her embroidery, and Tira would play quietly with a doll Sareth had carved for her from a fir branch, while Sareth and Travis played a Mournish game using T’hot cards. To Travis’s surprise, he usually won.

  “I should know better than to play An’hot with one of the Fateless,” Sareth grumbled one day, scooping up the cards. Hard crystals of snow scoured the chamber’s window, and they all huddled close to the fire. All except Tira, who padded about barefoot, clad only in her simple shift.

  Travis rubbed the palm of his hand. The skin was still smooth—burned away and re-formed in the fires of Krondisar—but lines were beginning to appear again. Were they his fate, forming anew? He was aware of Lirith’s eyes on him.

  “I’m sorry, Travis,” Sareth said, concern in his coppery eyes. “I wasn’t thinking. You know I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s only a card game.”

  He shrugged. “I just hope it’s true. I hope I don’t have a fate.” He couldn’t help glancing at Lirith. Was the witch of the same mind as Aryn? Or had she already penned a missive to Queen Ivalaine saying he was here in Calavere?

  “I think I’ll send to the kitchens for some maddok,” she said, setting down her embroidery.

  Tira laughed and danced before the fire. Travis touched the iron box tucked inside his tunic. He could sense them, nestled in the box, quiescent but craving release. He didn’t dare. If he opened the box, wraithlings would see the glow of their magic; they would know where he was.

  At first, after the attack of the feydrim, he had feared the Pale King’s minions already knew he was here. Only when Beltan had referred to the attack as an assassination attempt had Travis realized the truth. The feydrim hadn’t been after him; they had been after King Boreas. What better way to plunge Calavan into chaos? They must have crept through the gap in the castle walls unseen. It was all part of the plot to sow strife in the Dominions.

  Except it was Duratek who had engineered the destruction of the castle’s towers, not the Pale King.

  “Duratek’s allied with the Pale King,” Grace said that night at supper when Travis voiced these thoughts. “I’ve suspected it for a while now, and this only confirms it.”

  “But they want to get to Eldh to exploit its resources, to make a profit.”

  Grace shook her head. “I think that’s just a happy side effect. The real reason they want to open a gate is to help Mohg get back to Eldh.”

  “I believe you’re right,” Sareth said. He and Lirith sat close by. “The sorcerer who held me captive in Castle City—his kind are ancient enemies of the Mournish, and he could not resist gloating as he held me in thrall. He said the Scirathi were allied with people from the world Earth, that these people wished to open a gate to let their master return to Eldh. While he did not name Mohg, it can only be he.”

  Lirith touched Sareth’s hand. “But why did the sorcerers ally themselves with this Duratek?”

  Sareth closed his hand around hers. “They were promised knowledge of Morindu the Dark. My ancestors destroyed their own city, burying it beneath the sands of Amún, rather than let the Scirathi gain the secrets of their magic. The sorcerer told me their reward for helping Duratek would be the key to finding Morindu the Dark.”

  Lirith shook her head. “But you said before Morindu has been lost for eons. Who could tell them where it was?”

  “Shemal,” Melia said, her small hand clenched into a fist. “All of this bears the mark of her meddling. And I felt her presence near here not long ago.”

  “But would this Shemal person know where to find Morindu the Dark?” Sareth said.

  Melia sighed. “Shemal is a Necromancer, not a person. She was once a goddess of the south, as was I, but Morindu was lost well before our time. I imagine she was simply lying to the sorcerers in order to make them do her bidding.”

  Travis was stunned—not so much by this new knowledge, but rather by the fact that he hadn’t seen it sooner. He gave Grace a shaky grin. “You and your logical mind.”

  “Don’t be too impressed.” She stared into her wine goblet, and she lowered her voice so only he could hear. “If I was that smart, I would be able to figure out a way to keep Falken from asking me to fight the Pale King.”

  Travis glanced at the bard, who sat at the far end of the table. “You think he’ll ask you?”

  “He does with every look. I’m only waiting for him to speak the words. It won’t be long now. Once the army of the Dominions gathers in response to Boreas’s call to muster, Falken will ask me to lead them.”

  “And will you?”

  She looked up, her green-gold eyes frightened. “I can’t. I’m not that strong.”

  Travis took her hands in his. “You are, Grace. You’re stronger than anyone. You’ll do what you have to do to save Eldh.”

  And so would he. Why hadn’t he seen it before? That was why Tira had given him the Stone of Fire.

  “Travis, what is it?”

  He smiled at her. “I love you, Grac
e. More than anyone, I think. I never would have made it this far without you.”

  Questions shone in her eyes, but all she said was, “I love you, too, Travis. No matter what happens.”

  He couldn’t think of any more words, so he nodded.

  “Your wound,” she said, her tone brisk now, a doctor’s voice. “How is it?”

  He lifted his arm. “There’s a little blood still, but it’s healing. Thanks to you.”

  “You should probably let it breathe now,” she said, and before he could protest she deftly removed the dressing from his wound and spirited it away. A long scab was forming on his arm. “It’s going to leave a scar.”

  “Everything does,” he said.

  It was after midnight, and moonlight streamed through high windows, as he made his way through an empty hall, back toward his chamber. He had spent the hours since supper roaming the castle; he had needed time to think, to make sure what he was going to do was the right thing.

  Except it was, and the real reason he had been wandering was in hope he would see one of them. Neither Beltan nor Vani had been at supper. However, which was the one he hoped to find?

  It didn’t matter. He hadn’t found either of them, and maybe that was a good thing. It would only make what he had to do harder. With a sigh, he headed down a corridor.

  He rounded a corner, and a laugh escaped him. Why was it you always found something the moment you stopped looking for it? A tall figure was just turning away from the door to Travis’s room.

  “Beltan,” he called out softly.

  The big knight looked up, and he smiled. As always, the expression transformed his plain face, making him as handsome as his uncle. However, while King Boreas was dark, Beltan’s thinning hair was so blond it was almost white, and the scruffy beard on his chin and cheeks was gold. A light shone in his green eyes, but it flickered as his smile vanished.

  “I came to be sure you were safe tonight,” Beltan said. “Now that I’ve seen you’re well, I’ll go. Be sure to lock your chamber door behind you.”

  He started to move away, but Travis caught his arm. He felt Beltan’s muscles tense, but he didn’t let go. Instead, he pulled the knight closer to him, surprised at his own strength.

  “Have I done something wrong?” Travis said.

  “There is no ill you are capable of doing.”

  Travis felt a pang in his chest. If only that were true. “If that’s so, why have you been avoiding me?” He smiled, a bitter expression. “Not that I can really blame you. After all, I am the one who’s supposed to destroy the world.”

  Beltan did not relax, but nor did he pull away. “I don’t care what the prophecies say, Travis. You’ve saved the world, not harmed it. It’s just . . .”

  “It’s Vani.”

  Beltan looked away.

  Travis drew in a deep breath. Hadn’t he known this was going to happen sooner or later? It was as inevitable as the coming of the Pale King. “You want me to choose, don’t you? You want me to choose between you and Vani.”

  “No,” Beltan said, still looking away. “I don’t.”

  “Why?” Travis said, more confused than ever.

  The knight looked at him, his eyes stricken. “Because I’m afraid you’ll choose her.”

  Travis pressed his hand against Beltan’s chest, feeling the rhythm of the knight’s heart. “I won’t lie to you, Beltan. I do love her. And not just because she saved my life, and Grace’s. And yours. And not because she’s strong or beautiful, though she is.” He shook his head. “I’m not really sure why I love her. Except that maybe it’s because she needs love so much, and she doesn’t even see it. But I can.”

  Beltan nodded. “I’ll leave you then.”

  “No, you won’t.” Travis moved closer, preventing the knight from pulling away. “I love Vani, but I loved you first, Beltan—I loved you when I didn’t even know that was something I was capable of, and I won’t let you go. If I had to choose, then I’d choose you.”

  “You might not, Travis. You might not choose me if you knew.”

  “If I knew what?”

  The knight only shook his head. Travis could feel Beltan trembling. It seemed strange and amazing that one so brave, so strong, could need comfort. All the same, Travis circled his arms around the knight and pulled him close. Beltan resisted, but only for a moment. Then he let his head rest against Travis’s shoulder. A sigh escaped him.

  Travis was suddenly, keenly aware of the clean smell that rose from Beltan, of the warmth and hardness of his body. Never in his life had he needed someone as he needed Beltan at that moment. Maybe, until then, he had never been ready. Before he even thought about it, they kissed, pressing close together.

  Beltan pulled away. Travis stared, too stunned for words.

  “I’m sorry, Travis.” Beltan’s face was anguished. “I promised Vani I’d help her keep watch over the castle. I’ve got to go find her. I’m sorry.”

  Before Travis could speak, Beltan turned and hurried down the corridor, disappearing around a corner.

  Sweat evaporated from Travis’s skin, leaving him feeling clammy and sick. Was he really so horrible that Beltan would rather help Vani than stay with him? Only that couldn’t be right. Beltan had said he was afraid Travis would choose Vani. And Travis had felt Beltan’s passion when they kissed; there was no mistaking that.

  You might not choose me if you knew. . . .

  What had Beltan meant by those words?

  It didn’t matter. Beltan had made his own choice, and cruel as it was, it made Travis’s choice that much easier to bear. He opened the door and stepped into his room. It was cold and dank, but he didn’t bother to stir up the fire. Instead he pulled the iron box from his tunic. He could feel it like a hum: the Stones wanted to be released from their prison, only he couldn’t open the box, not yet. He didn’t want to draw the wraithlings to Calavere. But once he was a world away . . .

  For so long Travis had run from his power, afraid of it, but he was done running. Aryn had said that sometimes she wanted power, and maybe that wasn’t so wrong. He knew now why Tira had brought him Krondisar: because the time for guarding it was over. It was time to use it—to use all his power. Duratek Corporation had sent its agents to Eldh to sow chaos and destruction. Travis intended to return the favor. In the past, Sinfathisar had granted him the power to speak runes on Earth. What might two of the Great Stones enable him to do there? He didn’t know, but he was going to find out.

  And so was Duratek.

  And if you manage to destroy Duratek and their gate, then what will you do? spoke Jack Graystone’s familiar voice in his mind. Your magic is needed here on Eldh, Travis, and so is the magic of the Great Stones.

  Travis ignored the voice. It was still dim, but the spark of another idea had begun to smolder in his mind. Even on Earth, the Great Stones weren’t safe from the Pale King. But what if there was a way to make sure neither Berash nor Mohg ever gained control of Sinfathisar and Krondisar?

  Some things ought to be broken. . . .

  It was time. He tucked his stiletto into his belt, along with a small money purse. He would have liked to raid Melia’s stash for more gold, but he had enough to last him a while, and asking Melia for money might have aroused her suspicion. The others would want to search for him, of course. He had to let them know there was no use. There was no parchment to write on, so he scribbled a note on the smooth surface of the hearthstone with a piece of charcoal, then rose.

  He picked up the iron box in his left hand, and with his right he fished into a pocket and pulled out the silver half-coin Brother Cy had given him what seemed an age ago. At the Black Tower, he had gathered the slivers of the coin he had given to Lirith, Durge, and Sareth on Earth. When he spoke Eru, the rune of binding, the slivers had joined back together without visible seam.

  Travis turned the half-coin in his hand, looking at the fragmentary runes on each side: Eldh and Earth. The coin was a bound rune, he knew that now, and a powerful one, for its m
agic functioned even when it was fragmented. He wouldn’t have been surprised if Olrig himself had created this rune.

  He tightened his fingers around the half-coin. What if Grace uses her piece of the coin to follow you?

  She wouldn’t. As much as she feared what Falken was going to ask her to do, Travis knew she wouldn’t refuse the bard. Besides, Travis was certain now that the half-coin wouldn’t work for her as it did for him. It had the power to return you to your world. Eldh was Grace’s world. But not Travis’s.

  He made sure he had a good grip on the iron box, then he raised the hand with the half-coin before him.

  “Good-bye, everyone,” he whispered.

  Silver light welled between Travis’s fingers, and the world faded away.

  8.

  Grace stood on the ramparts, huddled inside her fur-lined cape, and watched the Tarrasian soldiers march in rigid formation toward the castle. Sunlight glinted off spears and breastplates; black horses pranced, tails and heads held high. Grace’s heart soared. Perhaps they really would stand against the Pale King. She gazed past the first company of soldiers and saw . . .

  . . . empty road stretching as far as she could see.

  “One company,” Sir Tarus said beside her, his words a growl of disgust. “He calls himself an emperor, yet all he sends is one single company.”

  Trumpets blared. The castle gates opened, and the soldiers passed through—eighty on foot, twenty mounted. All too soon the gates closed behind them.

  Grace sighed, her breath white on the air. It was the tenth of Durdath, what common folk called Iron Month. Three weeks had passed since their return to Calavere, and over a month since Boreas had called for a muster. The Tarrasians were the last to come, but they were hardly the least.

  “We should go down and see him,” Grace said, not relishing the idea.

  Tarus stamped his boots. “He’s not going to be happy.”

  “No,” Grace said, her smile as wan as the late-afternoon light, “I don’t suppose he is.”

  It turned out not-happy was something of an understatement. They heard the king’s bellowing three halls away. As they neared his chamber, they crossed paths with the captain of the Tarrasian company. He was a short, powerful man with black eyes and a smooth-shaven face set in lines so hard it seemed cast of bronze. His red cloak snapped as he strode past them.