Part 6 (1/2)

Within its light he felt safe and secure, although he knew they could not linger here much longer. With the children snuggled asleep against him like puppies, Tobeszijian breathed in the scent of them and caressed the tender skin of their faces. He knew he could not keep them with him in the days to come. For he was facing war, and civil war was always the worst and bloodiest kind. On the morrow he would have to ride to the northernmost reaches of Nether, to seek out the hold of Prince Volvn, his best general and the wiliest strategist in the realm. Volvn's loyalty was sure. Or was it? Only yesterday Tobeszijian had planned to enlist the support of Prince Spirin, but the man was a prisoner of Muncel's and in need of rescue himself.

Groaning a little, Tobeszijian clutched his hair in his hands and tried to battle away the overwhelming blackness of his grief. In the past two days he had lost his best friend and his beloved wife. His world had been turned upside down. Tobeszijian wanted to howl like a wounded animal, but as a man he knew he must control the maelstrom of emotions that made his chest ache. He could not think of what had happened, could not remember his dear Nereisse's face, so still and white in death. Instead, he must think of the future, of tomorrow and the next day. He must plan, for to dwell on his loss was to fall into a pit he might not be able to escape.

He had only one more use of the Ring, only one more journey he could take with its magical powers. He must use it wisely and flee to the north. Up by the World's Rim, where the old ways were still honored,he believed he could raise his army. While he would not count on Volvn's loyalty until he stood face-to-face with the valiant warrior, Tobeszijian did not believe that Volvn could be corrupted by Muncel's lies.

From Volvn's stronghold, he would call on the fealty oaths of his n.o.bles and knights, testing to see who was loyal and who had gone over to Muncel. He realized that Cardinal Pernal would try to twist this whole affair into a vicious holy war. With their souls inflamed, men might tend to forget the true issue at stake, which was that Muncel had no rightful claim to the throne he sought.

Tobeszijian reminded himself that he would have to test the eastern holds for treachery. Someone was letting Believers cross into Nether from Gant. If the border fell, Nether would be overrun quickly.

But for now, where to put his young, motherless children? What place held safety for them? Mandria, yes, but it was too far away. Among the eldin, they would have sanctuary, but Tobeszijian understood that if his son spent more than a few months among his mother's people he would be forever changed by their ways and be rendered unacceptable to his future subjects.

Yet perhaps he was already unacceptable. Bowing his head, Tobeszijian recalled days of argument with his counselors, who'd opposed his marriage to Nereisse. It was traditional for the royal family to have a drop of eldin blood in its lineage, but now it seemed there was too much. Faldain was more eld than human. Tobeszijian clenched his fists. That did not matter. The throne was his by birth and by right.

Someday it would be Faldain's. Nothing else was acceptable. But what if this conflict took more than a few months to resolve? He wondered if he should foster the children with a n.o.ble. Yet who could he trust? Then again, it would be madness to keep the children near him, for if his enemies struck again they must not find him and Faldain together, two targets for the taking. Over and over his mind worried at the problem. Nereisse would have known what to do. How he missed her wise advice already. Tobeszijian sighed. Give him an enemy to charge and Mirengard in his hand, and he was fearless and perhaps invincible. Give him shadows and intrigue and betrayal, and he needed guidance to know where and at whom to strike.

He rolled over onto his side, too weary to sleep on the hard ground. The cold sank into his bones and made them ache. He had hidden the Chalice in a safe place. His foremost duty as king had been performed. Now he must think about himself and his future. In the morning, he would use the Ring to take him and the children straight to Prince Volvn. There, he would receive counsel. There, he could make decisions as to what to do next.

A noise awakened Tobeszijian in the dead of night. He awoke with a start, his heart pounding and his senses straining. At first he heard only the soft rumbling of Faldain's snores and Thiatereika's rhythmic breathing. He glanced at the Chalice, and saw it glowing softly within its circle of honor. The noise came again, m.u.f.fled and from outside. This time he recognized the darsteed's grumbling snort.

Astonished, Tobeszijian sat upright. He had not called the darsteed back. For it to return on its own was unbelievable. It wouldn't.

Which meant...

He flung off his cloak and reached for his sword, kneeling hastily before the Chalice. ”Show me my path,” he prayed, ”and I will take it.” For a moment there was only silence around him, then a voice came into his mind, very clearly and distinctly: ”The children will not be safe in Nether.” He blinked, astonished by this communication, and felt sweat beading along his temples. Thod had heard his prayer and answered him. Swiftly Tobeszijian prostrated himself on the ground.

”Great One, I obey,” he murmured, then rose. Dry-mouthed and trembling with awe, he shoved aside his spinning thoughts, telling himself he could not think about the ramifications of this warning now. If the children weren't safe in their own land, that meant the treachery was more widespread than he'd believed possible. Civil war was usually long and b.l.o.o.d.y. He might find it difficult to regain his throne. But right now he must act quickly, for danger had come.

He could feel it, waiting somewhere out there in the night. It was not close yet, not as close as the darsteed trampling about in the ravine. But it was coming, as though the Nonkind had been set on his trail again. By whom?

Muncel might be a traitor, but Tobeszijian could not believe his half-brother would embrace the darkness. Something else was at work here, something that Tobeszijian did not as yet understand.

A s.h.i.+ver pa.s.sed through him. Nereisse's vision of him surrounded by a Nonkind horde might yet come true.

But, no, he would not frighten himself with visions and imaginings. He scooped up the children, neither of whom awakened. Going outside, he found the night air bitterly cold. The wind was blowing strongly.

Now and then he felt a spit of moisture on his face, though whether it was rain or sleet he could not tell.

He did not see the darsteed, but he could smell its hot, sulfur stink. When he heard it rustling among the nearby trees, he called it. Reluctantly it came, looming suddenly out of the darkness. With its red eyes glowing in the pitch black, it hissed and blew smoke. Its tail lashed viciously, almost hitting him, and he noticed that the saddle was askew and the armor cloth torn, as though the darsteed had been trying to rid itself of both. Putting the children out of harm's way, Tobeszijian struggled to right the saddle. He had to strike the darsteed's snout twice to keep it from biting him. The stink of its hot breath filled the air, and it snapped and slung its head about as he tightened the cinch.

Breathlessly, Tobeszijian jumped back out of reach, slapping aside another attempted bite. He scooped up the sleeping children without waking them, and started to mount.

A noise in the distance startled Tobeszijian. He froze momentarily in place and strained his ears to listen.

Hissing, the darsteed raised its head and stared intently in the same direction. The king's heart thumped hard beneath his breastplate. Hearing the distant sounds growing louder as they approached, he frowned and turned his face into the wind, squinting against the sleet now falling. It was not hoofbeats he heard, but something quieter, a rhythmic pad-pad-pad, a progressive rustling through thick undergrowth.

Then he saw a flicker of light in the distant trees. Suddenly there came many pinpoints of light, dancing and glimmering through the sleet-torn darkness. Eldin were coming. Relief eased the tension in his shoulders. The darsteed lifted its narrow head and bugled an eager greeting. Frowning, Tobeszijian stepped back from the creature and sent it galloping into the forest, snorting and grumbling, the empty stirrups bouncing against its sides. Turning on his heel, Tobeszijian reentered the little cave, wrapped the sleeping children in his cloak, and left them snuggled beneath the pale white glow of the Chalice's power.

By the time he emerged, the eldin had arrived. Shadowy and only half-visible in the sleet-stung darkness, they filled the bottom of the ravine. Some rode astride beyar mounts, with saddles of crimson leather; most were afoot. A few held their left hands aloft like torches. The flames burning from their fingertips created what was known as fairlight. It should have illuminated the stream and the cave's bramble-s.h.i.+elded mouth, but it seemed dimmer now than when he'd first glimpsed it. He could barely seeany of them. Cautiously, Tobeszijian walked downhill to meet their leader. This eld sat astride a ghostly white beyar with a stripe of gray at its throat. Tobeszijian did not recognize him, but clearly he was an individual of importance. He wore mail made of gold links and a sleeveless tunic of velvet lined with lyng fur. Within the hood of his cloak, a thin gold circlet very similar to Tobeszijian's own crown gleamed on his brow.

Tobeszijian bowed to him in courtesy. ”Welcome to my camp,” he said, using the old tongue.

The eld's eyes were as pale as stone. They studied Tobeszijian coldly. His face was handsome in the way of his people, lacking a beard, with deep lines grooving either side of his mouth. When he pushed back the hood of his cloak, his ears were revealed to be small and elegant, barely pointed at the tips. He wore a heavy gold ring in the lobe of his right ear. It winked now and then, reflecting the dim fairlight around him.

”I am Asterlain, king of these mountains,” the eld said. His voice was clear and musical, with the pure ringing tones of bard crystal. But no lilt or laughter filled that voice. He spoke the old tongue with an accent strange to Tobeszijian, who had learned the language from his eldin mother. ”I come seeking Tobeszijian, human king of Nether.”

”I am Tobeszijian.”

Out in the thicket beyond the small clearing, the darsteed stamped and suddenly bugled.

Its loud voice made Tobeszijian jump, and Asterlain's beyar roared in response, rearing up on its hindquarters and swiping the air with its enormous claws before Asterlain brought it back under control.

Asterlain looked at Tobeszijian. ”Why have you brought the Chalice of Eternal Life here?”

Ice encased Tobeszijian's heart. If the eldin knew the Chalice was here, who else had been watching his movements? He sensed evil out there in the dark forest, slinking ever closer, and perhaps listening.

Suddenly he trusted nothing, not even these eldin who had appeared so unexpectedly and oddly just as he was leaving.

”I am here to hunt,” he lied warily. He moved his hand casually to his sword hilt. ”It is autumn. All who know me know of my custom to range far in search of game and sport.”

”Nether has prospered long,” Asterlain said, apparently ignoring the lie.

”Without the Chalice, its prosperity will end.”

Tobeszijian frowned. ”My kingdom is not yet lost,” he said sternly. ”Perhaps you have heard of my half-brother's ambitions. They are rumors only. Would I go out sporting if aught were amiss with my throne and kingdom?” Asterlain closed his eyes and tilted back his face to sniff the air. Tobeszijian felt pressure pus.h.i.+ng against his mind, but he held his thoughts closed. Anger burned in his throat and started throbbing in his temples. Never before had any eld dared to force his mind. The insult tightened his fingers on his sword hilt. After a moment, Asterlain opened his eyes and looked at Tobeszijian once again. His gaze was harsh with frustration. ”You lack the skill to protect the Chalice properly. We have come to help you with your preparations.” Asterlain is guessing about the Chalice's being here, Tobeszijian thought. He is trying to trick me into confirming his suspicions. Tobeszijian stood frozen, determined to keep every emotion from his face. He no longer believed he was actually facing real eldin.Whoever, whatever Asterlain and his party were, they could not be what they seemed. Although he sensed no taint upon Asterlain, no evil, he could not stop his thoughts from leaping to the next logical suspicion. Shapes.h.i.+fters, he thought, his heart racing. Yet were they? Unsure, he swallowed hard. ”It is unwise to doubt my word, King Asterlain,” he replied at last. ”I am here to hunt, nothing more.”

The eld king tilted his head to one side, causing fairlight to glint off his gold earring. ”You are far from your lands and kingdom. Your rights to hunt here do not exist, save by my leave.”

”Then do I ask your pardon,” Tobeszijian said. ”I have offered you a discourtesy, which was not meant.”

”Where is the Chalice?” Asterlain asked impatiently. ”Nearby surely, for we sense it. Yet where?”

Tobeszijian frowned, and managed to keep his gaze from s.h.i.+fting involuntarily toward the cave's mouth.

Could Asterlain not see the cave? It was not concealed. The briars which grew over it were not thick enough to act as a s.h.i.+eld. Had Asterlain not seen Tobeszijian emerge from it in full view? Yet the eld kept on staring at Tobeszijian, his pale eyes intense with frustration. Tobeszijian remembered how as a boy he'd had an ancient, much-beloved hound that went blind in its old age. Tobeszijian would sometimes play a game of standing absolutely still and silent while the dog sniffed and searched for him. Sometimes the old dog would come right to him, but sometimes he would stand only a few feet away, whining in frustration and unable to find his master.

That's the way Asterlain was acting, as though he were somehow blind to the cave's whereabouts.

Obviously he could sense the Chalice's presence, but he could not locate it.

Perhaps, Tobeszijian thought in amazement, the Chalice's own power was concealing it.

From the corner of his eye Tobeszijian gazed warily at the mounted eldin on their beyars. When he did not look directly at them, they seemed indistinct, not quite real. His thoughts brushed toward them, and encountered nothing. They were phantoms only. Illusions. He blinked, his eyes burning, and let his thoughts spin rapidly through several options. He had to find a way to lead Asterlain away from this place. But how?

”Why do you not answer?” Asterlain asked impatiently. ”King Tobeszijian, I bid you respond to my questions.”

A strange roaring filled Tobeszijian's ears. He could feel the Ring of Solder glowing hotter and hotter on his finger. His heart began to hammer very hard, but some instinct made him keep absolutely still. He said nothing, almost holding his breath, and watched alarm fill Asterlain's eyes. The eldin king looked around as though he could no longer see Tobeszijian. ”King Tobeszijian!” he called again, his voice even louder now. The air s.h.i.+mmered around him, and the fairlight burning from his fingertips went out. In that instant Tobeszijian smelled the sickly sweet, decayed stench of the Nonkind. He knew then for certain that he was standing in front of a shapes.h.i.+fter, the most skilled and powerful one he'd ever encountered. His blood ran cold, and he almost drew his sword to attack the creature. But he stayed motionless, telling himself that to hide this way was sensible, not cowardly. He was outnumbered and on foot. He had his children and the Chalice to protect. It was important to get out of here safely, not fight a battle he was certain to lose. If the Chalice's power was s.h.i.+elding him now, he must work with it as best he could.

Breathing hard, Asterlain hunched atop his beyar. Rage purpled his face and filled his pale eyes with such heat and intensity that Tobeszijian was certain they could drill right through his concealment. Yet as long as he did not move, Asterlain could not see him. Tobeszijian slowed his breathing as much as he could, feeling the seconds drawing out slower and slower until they were agonizing.

”Ashnod curse this place!” Asterlain said furiously, pounding his fist on his thigh. His voice had changed pitch, deepening and growing rougher in tone. No longer did he speak in the old tongue of the eldin, but instead in Gantese. Death stench filled the clearing, polluting the air so heavily that Tobeszijian had to swallow hard several times to keep himself from gagging. Cursing, Asterlain spurred his beyar straight at Tobeszijian, who stood there rooted, his mind spinning with worry. Should he let the beyar ride straight into him? Should he spring aside at the last moment?