The Gates Of Winter Part 22

Tarus and Paladus gaped as one.

"Your Majesty?" Tarus said, confusion writ across his face.

"I said no." Fear crystallized into hard resolve. She was only a doctor, but this was just another sort of operation, and she knew with the certainty of a correct diagnosis that what Tarus and Paladus had decided to do was wrong.

There was no way they could fight the wraithlings, not directly; even a single pale one was enough to lay waste to an entire host, and there were two of the things coming. Grace knew they had to find another tactic, and it was Paladus's own words that had shown it to her. Her mind raced, fitting the last pieces into place.

"We won't stand here. Instead, we'll ride over the top of the ridge and down the other side."

Tarus's eyes went wide. "Your Majesty, we must not do such a thing. Higher ground is our only advantage."

Grace waved his words away. There was no time to explain. "Master Graedin," she said, turning toward the young runespeaker, "how skilled are you and your brothers at speaking the runes of stone and light?"

The hardness of her words seemed to snap him out of his fear. He sat up straight. "Those are two of our very best runes, Your Majesty. Speaking together, we can cast a bright light and command even a large stone."

"You're going to have to command more than one." Grace turned to summon the others she needed, but twelve women clad in brown and gray already rode toward her.

"We are here, sister," Lursa said, resolve on her plain face. "What would you have us do?"

"You must weave a spell," Grace said. "A spell of illusion." Words were too slow. She gathered up all of her thoughts and sent them humming along the strands of the Weirding.

Senrael let out a cackle. "And a fine spell that will be, sister. But our coven must be complete in order to weave it. You must join us as Matron."

"I will." She glanced at Tarus and Paladus. "Gather all the men and go a hundred yards down the other side of the ridge. You must get them all, mounted and foot, to stand in as tight a circle as possible."

"But that is no proper formation," Paladus said, sputtering. "We'll be flanked in moments."

Tarus shook his head. "Your Majesty, I-"

"You heard the queen," Durge growled, maneuvering Blackalock between Grace and the two soldiers. "Carry out her orders. Now."

Tarus and Paladus stared at Durge, then at her, then at one another. For a terrified moment Grace thought they would defy her. Then both whirled their horses around and began barking orders.

"Down the other side of the ridge!" Tarus shouted.

"Keep close together!" came Paladus's stern voice. "I don't care if you have to stand on top of each other-let there be not s.p.a.ce enough to slide the blade of a knife between you."

Grace wavered in the saddle, but a strong hand steadied her. "Durge," she said, her voice thick with grat.i.tude.

"What are my orders, Your Majesty?"

"Keep Tira safe." She slipped from the saddle, took the small girl, and held her up toward Durge, who caught her in his arms.

"I will guard her with my life," Durge said.

He placed Tira in the saddle before him and caught Shandis's reins, then Blackalock pounded down the far side of the ridge, Shandis following. Grace found herself atop the ridge with only twenty runespeakers and twelve witches, all of them on foot.

"I must admit, this seems an interesting tactic, Your Majesty," Oragien said, leaning on his staff. He surveyed the small band of men and women-some elderly like himself, others woefully young.

"We're not going to fight them, All-master." Grace drew in a breath. "At least, not with swords."

Snarls rose on the air, along with a metallic humming. Grace saw a gleam of light to the north, coming up the line of the ridge. They had mere moments.

"Follow me, everyone," she said, moving just over the top of the ridge to a bare patch of granite.

"What are we to do, Your Majesty?" Graedin said, panting.

Grace touched his shoulder with one hand and rested the other hand on Oragien's arm. Words flowed from her, along the threads of the Weirding. By their startled eyes, both runespeakers-young and old-heard her.

"Instruct your brothers," she said. They turned to murmur swift words to the other gray-robed men.

What of us, sister? asked Lursa's voice in her mind. asked Lursa's voice in her mind.

Weave with me, Grace said. Grace said.

She shut her eyes, and twelve glimmering threads entwined with her own. There was no time to explain what to do, and nor was there need. Grace began weaving the threads of the Weirding into a new pattern, and as if they were extensions of her own body, twelve pairs of s.h.i.+ning hands followed suit.

For a moment, the sense of closeness, of connection, was almost overwhelming. Grace had woven spells with Aryn and Lirith before, but never with an entire coven. An intoxicating warmth filled her. . . .

The threads-they're slipping through my fingers! said the frightened voice of one of the younger witches, snapping Grace back to herself. said the frightened voice of one of the younger witches, snapping Grace back to herself.

Be strong, sisters, came Senrael's wise, rasping voice. came Senrael's wise, rasping voice. The presence of the Pale King's servants befouls the Weirding and tangles its threads, but even the wraithlings are not so strong as the magic of life. The Weirding will remain true, if only you weave without fear. The presence of the Pale King's servants befouls the Weirding and tangles its threads, but even the wraithlings are not so strong as the magic of life. The Weirding will remain true, if only you weave without fear.

Grace wove with renewed swiftness and certainty, and she felt the other witches do the same. Then a tone like a bell sounded in her mind. The new pattern shone on the air, s.h.i.+mmering and perfect. Grace opened her eyes.

Twenty yards away, the first of the feydrim feydrim were just cresting the ridge, prowling over the stones on spindly limbs. The twisted creatures hissed, their yellow eyes flas.h.i.+ng, as they caught sight of their prey. Grace risked a glance over her shoulder. A hundred yards down the slope, where the army had gathered moments ago, there now stood a dense grove of trees, bare branches gleaming in the half-light. were just cresting the ridge, prowling over the stones on spindly limbs. The twisted creatures hissed, their yellow eyes flas.h.i.+ng, as they caught sight of their prey. Grace risked a glance over her shoulder. A hundred yards down the slope, where the army had gathered moments ago, there now stood a dense grove of trees, bare branches gleaming in the half-light.

Our spell of illusion is complete! Lursa wove the words over the Weirding. Lursa wove the words over the Weirding. The creatures do not see the army. The creatures do not see the army.

But they see us, Grace wove. Keep back. Keep back.

She drew Fellring in one hand, then stooped and grabbed two pebbles from the ground with the other. With a thought, she wove one last illusion. The pebbles on her hand began to glow-one fiery red and one silver as the fading twilight. Grace moved in front of the witches and runespeakers and held the two glowing stones before her.

The feydrim feydrim hissed with glee and started to lunge for her. Grace beat back the first wave with a swing of Fellring, but more of them came behind. The rest of the creatures had reached the top of the ridge. Carefully this time, avoiding her sword, the hissed with glee and started to lunge for her. Grace beat back the first wave with a swing of Fellring, but more of them came behind. The rest of the creatures had reached the top of the ridge. Carefully this time, avoiding her sword, the feydrim feydrim began to close in- began to close in- -then squealed and fell back, cowering and p.i.s.sing on the ground. A pair of ghostly lights crested the summit and drifted toward Grace. Spindly figures moved within the lights, gazing at the stones on Grace's hand with lidless eyes, reaching out with slender fingers.

"That's right, you b.a.s.t.a.r.ds," Grace said through clenched teeth. "Come get your precious Stones. That's what you think they are, don't you? The two Great Stones your master seeks. But I've got another kind of stone in store for you."

The metallic hum rose to a whine, and the scent of lightning filled Grace's nostrils. All instincts told her to throw down the stones, to turn and run. However, she could still sense the twelve threads that were entwined with her own, lending hers strength. The wraithlings drifted past the sniveling feydrim feydrim, heading straight for Grace.

"Now," she whispered.

Twenty male voices chanted a single word, blending together in deep and perfect harmony. "Sar!" "Sar!"

Grace felt the rush of magic as a gust of wind. There was a sound like thunder, and a crack ten feet long and five wide opened in the granite beneath the two wraithlings. Focused as they were on the pebbles in Grace's hand, the beings did not see what was happening until too late. The stone vanished beneath their feet, and like a great maw the crack swallowed the Pale Ones. Two high-pitched shrieks pierced the air-then were cut short as the runespeakers ceased their chant. With a grinding noise, the crack snapped shut.

Snarls and grunts of confusion rose from the feydrim feydrim. They milled about, pawing at the ground. Then their hungry eyes fell upon Grace and the others. Now that the Pale Ones they feared were gone, their hunger ruled them again.

Grace threw down the pebbles-dull and lifeless now. "Now, Oragien!"

"Lir!" the runespeakers chanted, and a half dozen spheres of light burst into being behind the the runespeakers chanted, and a half dozen spheres of light burst into being behind the feydrim feydrim. The spheres were large and silvery-just like the orbs of lights in which the wraithlings always came.

The runespeakers continued their chant, and the spheres of light drifted closer. Fresh squeals of terror rose from the feydrim feydrim. The creatures scrambled away from the lights, coursing on all fours down the hill, running past Grace and the witches. Still the lights followed, driving them on, though Grace saw that the spheres were starting to flicker.

"Don't stop!" she called to the runespeakers, and despite their haggard faces they kept up their harmony, chanting the rune of light.

The s.h.i.+ning spheres drove the terrified feydrim feydrim on, down the slope and past the grove of trees. Grace waited until the last of the creatures had pa.s.sed the grove, then she gave the signal. The runespeakers ceased their chant at the same time the witches plucked apart the threads of the spell they had woven. The illusion unraveled, and the trees vanished, replaced by an army of nearly five hundred men. on, down the slope and past the grove of trees. Grace waited until the last of the creatures had pa.s.sed the grove, then she gave the signal. The runespeakers ceased their chant at the same time the witches plucked apart the threads of the spell they had woven. The illusion unraveled, and the trees vanished, replaced by an army of nearly five hundred men.

Grace was so tired, she had no more strength to shout. Instead, she sent a single word spinning along the Weirding, hoping it would be enough. Attack! Attack!

With the call of trumpets, the army rushed forward, attacking the fleeing feydrim feydrim from behind. Scattered and terrified as they were, the creatures had no chance. Warhorses pounded over them, trampling them into the ground. Others fell with arrows in their humped backs, and more squealed on the ends of pikes. from behind. Scattered and terrified as they were, the creatures had no chance. Warhorses pounded over them, trampling them into the ground. Others fell with arrows in their humped backs, and more squealed on the ends of pikes.

It was over in moments-fifty feydrim feydrim lay dead and broken on the ground, their bodies gray as ghosts in the twilight. Grace shut her eyes, probing along the Weirding, then opened her eyes again. A feeling of elation rose within her, and she gave a satisfied nod. Not only had her army not lost a single man, none bore a wound greater than a scratch. lay dead and broken on the ground, their bodies gray as ghosts in the twilight. Grace shut her eyes, probing along the Weirding, then opened her eyes again. A feeling of elation rose within her, and she gave a satisfied nod. Not only had her army not lost a single man, none bore a wound greater than a scratch.

Below, the men let out cheers. Tarus raised his sword in the air, and Paladus let out a victory call on his trumpet. A black charger pounded up the slope toward Grace. It was Durge, Tira on the saddle before him. Shandis pounded behind.

"That was well-done, Your Majesty," the Embarran said as he reined Blackalock to a halt before her, and to her astonishment, the consistently solemn knight grinned. "Well-done indeed. These men will follow you anywhere now, even into the dark gates of Imbrifale itself."

His words sent a chill through Grace, but they couldn't completely counter the jubilant feeling of victory. True, this had been but a small force, but they had faced it, and they had survived.

Grace sheathed Fellring and swung herself up into Shandis's saddle. The stars were bright, and she was not ready to stop for the night.

"Come on, Durge," she said, returning his grin. "Let's ride to Shadowsdeep."

[image]

The next morning, for her official first act as a newly reinstated Seeker, Deirdre was late to work.

She s.h.i.+elded her eyes from the glare of the fluorescent lights and glanced at the wall clock as she stepped out of the elevator-9:32 A.M. A.M. That wasn't so bad, especially given the scotch-induced headache she had awakened with. After all, it wasn't as if anyone would be expecting her. That wasn't so bad, especially given the scotch-induced headache she had awakened with. After all, it wasn't as if anyone would be expecting her.

"Director Nakamura is expecting you," Madeleine said, peering over the top of her computer. "Didn't you say you'd be in by nine?"

Deirdre worked her face into what she hoped was a jaunty smile. "My train was hijacked by tube gnomes."

"I thought as much." Madeleine picked up a pencil that looked sharp enough to pierce Kevlar and made a precise tick on a sheet of paper.

"What are you doing?" Deirdre said.

"Putting you on my list."

The receptionist turned her attention to her computer and began typing as if she were trying to start a fire by generating friction with the keyboard. Deirdre slung her satchel over her shoulder and hurried down the corridor to Nakamura's office. Why did he want to see her again? He had given her an a.s.signment just yesterday. She found him behind his desk, face furrowed in concentration as he tried to make a wooden puppet walk across the blotter. However, the strings tangled, and the puppet collapsed as if it had suffered a seizure.

"Deirdre, there you are," Nakamura said, looking up.

She couldn't take her eyes off the crumpled puppet.

The a.s.sistant director sighed. "The man in the store made it look so easy. But I suppose controlling another person-even one made out of wood-isn't a simple affair."

Deirdre sank into one of the chairs in front of the desk. "Is that supposed to be a lesson?"

"Everything's a lesson, Miss Falling Hawk, if we look hard enough. However, this is merely a plaything. I can put it away when I grow tired of it." He opened a drawer, scooped up the tangled puppet, and dropped it in.

Deirdre sank deeper into the chair and mulled over these words. Were they meant to comfort or caution her? Maybe Nakamura was telling her not to worry, that the Seekers wouldn't try to control her as Farr feared they would. Or maybe Nakamura was just a curious and eccentric elderly gentleman who had bought a new toy. Either way, he was right. You could find a message in anything if you looked hard enough, even if there wasn't really one there.

Except there is a message. It's on Glinda's ring, and it's on that old keystone taken from a building that centuries later housed Surrender Dorothy.

Whoever the stranger was last night-the one who had stood outside her window and communicated through her computer-he knew what the message was. Or at least had an idea how to find out. But who was the other? And why did he-or she-want to interfere in the first place?

One thing was certain-this person was a Seeker, and high up in the order. How else would the other be able to send messages to her computer? What's more, the fact that contact had been made so soon after she was granted Echelon 7 clearance couldn't be a coincidence. Perhaps the shadowy Seeker was the same one who had deleted the file she had found. Except that didn't make sense. Why delete the file to avoid discovery, only to approach her the next day?

Deirdre considered telling Nakamura about it. The a.s.sistant director knew far more about the workings of the Seekers than she did. He might have an idea who would make contact with her in such a peculiar way. However, even as she opened her mouth, she found herself unable to speak the words.

"What was that, Deirdre? I didn't quite catch you."

"I met Anders last night," she said, blurting the first words that came to mind.

Nakamura smiled. "Yes, Agent Anders. I ran into him first thing this morning. That's why I asked Madeleine to send you my way when you came in."

Deirdre clenched her jaw. Anders's visit last night had been brief-and unbearably upbeat. He had pumped her arm, crus.h.i.+ng her fingers in his grip, had said repeatedly how much he was looking forward to working with her, and managed to use the word crikey crikey on at least two occasions. After he left, it had taken an entire tumbler of scotch to stop her nerves from buzzing. on at least two occasions. After he left, it had taken an entire tumbler of scotch to stop her nerves from buzzing.

"He's no Hadrian Farr, of course," Nakamura went on. "But I think he could learn a great deal from you. I do hope you'll give him a chance."

"Of course," she said, feeling suddenly guilty. Why was she so quick to d.a.m.n someone she had just met? No doubt Anders was a good man who was just a bit overeager. Still, it was hard not to think of the words that had flashed on the computer screen just before the knock sounded on her door.

He's coming. . . .

Not, Someone's coming Someone's coming, or even, A man is coming A man is coming. But rather, He's coming He's coming. It was as if the shadowy one had specifically meant Anders.

"Deirdre?"

She sat up straight in the chair. "I'm sorry. My head's a bit cloudy this morning, that's all."

"Not to worry. We'll start you off slow. You can forget that a.s.signment I gave you yesterday. Anders already started on it this morning. Take this instead, and let me know if you need anything. Good day, Miss Falling Hawk."

She stared at the folder Nakamura placed in her hand, then with all the grace and self-determination of the a.s.sistant director's puppet, she rose and tottered out the door.

When she reached her office, Anders sat at one of the desks, typing on a notebook computer so hard she wondered that the keys didn't fly off. He looked up as she entered, his blue eyes as jolting as before, then smiled, an action that deepened the pits in his cheeks.

"Good morning, Deirdre."

He p.r.o.nounced her name DEER-dree DEER-dree. She might have found it slightly charming if there had been any caffeine in her system; there wasn't.

"h.e.l.lo, Anders."

She slung her briefcase onto her desk and shrugged her leather jacket off, then looked down at the baggy sweater and faded jeans she had donned in a mad rush to get out the door. Anders wore another dark, elegant suit that could barely contain his shoulders.