"We must get out of Ariman as soon as possible," Rosivok insisted. "There are too many of Ferris' soldiers looking for us."
Madia nodded agreement. They had been forced to hide off the road twice since climbing out of the dung wagon the day before. "So what about him?" she asked, indicating Frost. The wizard lay dozing beneath the trees at the edge of the road—as he had been for hours.
"He cannot make such a journey in his weakened condition," Sharryl insisted. "We will need to find some place nearby, with food and shelter, where he can recover. Then we can go on."
"Sounds simple enough," Madia grumbled.
"The master has always seen to such things," Rosivok said. He sighed, a disheartening sound to Madia's ears. Again she felt helplessness, hopelessness, like a sickness that spread though her, a relapse. Not even the peasant villages to the north would provide safe haven now.
Though, perhaps, those further to the south . . .
Why would the peasants here be any different? Why wouldn't such people help her again? She needed no story to tell now other than the truth. Help your princess, she would ask, in a way that would make them understand, and they would, she was almost certain of it. She told the others.
"Some may wish to turn us in, in hopes of getting favors or rewards," Sharryl cautioned, when Madia had finished.
"Then we will pay them first," Madia replied. "Frost has more than deeds with which to pay for aid. There are plenty enough gold coins in his bag to ensure the peasants' loyalties. For a few days, at least, which may be enough to get him back on his feet."
"If he is fed well and left to rest, yes," Rosivok agreed. "A few days, perhaps a week, will do."
"Good." Madia sighed. "I will choose the village, then go in alone and talk to them. I know what to say."
The Subartan nodded, then went to collect Frost. By dusk, Madia had found just the place. A village much like the one she had first stayed in after being sent from Kamrit, with people much like Faith and Rous and Aust. There had been no soldiers by in several days, they said, and they seemed truly glad to find their princess both alive and here among them, bringing gold.
Madia fetched the others and gave each man and woman in the village a few gold coins, then bid them bring the best foods they could find. Within hours, Frost had been sheltered in a hut, where he was given milk and porridge and berries and ale. With prodding, the wizard woke, ate all he could hold, then slept again till dark.
When he finally woke again, both Subartans and Madia were there, ready to feed him once more by candlelight—an idea which seemed to suit him well. By the end of the third day, Frost had gained back a few pounds and a good deal of cognizance. And a physique. In laundered slacks and a short-sleeved tunic, he looked rather comfortable, in fact, and rather . . . impressive.
Madia had never thought of him as a "man" before, though now, seeing him thinned down like this, the way he moved, the way he looked as he pulled in a stretch, she could not help but feel a twinge of attraction. She realized that she was the second woman to do so, though. Sharryl had been remarkably attentive to Frost's needs these past two days, and Madia was not about to fight her for him.
"We are grateful for our stay," he said, finishing his evening meal, seated at a small table just outside the hut were he'd been sleeping. He sat back and belched—a huge sound that carried for yards—to the amusement of a number of villagers just returned from the fields. Frost and the others were a great entertainment for them, and Madia had encouraged this.
Though Frost, so far, had been very little help. He was still drained from his ordeal, more so than anyone, but the damage was more than simply physical, Madia was certain of it. Frost had changed, like a turtle pulling into its shell, a bear changed somehow into a rabbit.
"We are grateful," Rosivok agreed, "though we have already stayed too long."
"I am better now," Frost insisted. "And glad to be away from Kamrit."
"Soldiers are looking for us," Madia said. "But they have yet to come here."
"Then we will leave before they do."
"To Neleva?" Rosivok asked, though he, like Madia, seemed already to have the answer. They needed a good safe haven now, and Frost, after all, had been summoned to Glister by the council itself. That was the obvious choice.
"Neleva, tomorrow," Frost replied to unanimous nods, though he sounded as if the acknowledgment was somehow painful.
More coins were given around at Frost's encouragement, and again the villagers were only too glad to accept them.
"Now, leave me," Frost asked, rising from dinner, turning toward the hut behind him. Everyone began to wander off, except Sharryl. She and Frost stood quietly a moment, just looking at each other, then a strange smile found her lips, finally mirrored on his, and she followed him inside.
Early the following dawn, the four of them gathered their supplies and slipped away.
I was a fool, Frost thought, again reliving the encounter in his mind, then he tried not to think about it at all, and found it impossible.
The pace was slow in deference to him; he was still a bit weak, still too thin, but he admitted to no other choice and kept going. There was not much talk among the others, not even the usual lessons of battle that Rosivok and Sharryl had taught Madia in the idle time before reaching Kamrit. Frost said almost nothing, preferring the silence. There was much to think about, much to decide.
Nothing, he thought, is the same.
On the eleventh day of travel, they arrived in the mainland half of the twin city of Glister, capital of Neleva, and Frost, getting his bearings, pointed the way toward one of the better inns the city had to offer. Once settled, he thought, once I am ready, perhaps I will send Rosivok to contact the ruling council. For now he was in no condition to fight any sort of mystical beast or indeed to do any magic at all. And in no mood to face anyone, even Madia, much more than necessary.
His powers were there, returning slowly along with his physical strength; they would continue to grow, like his fortitude, along with his waist, but he had not tried even the slightest spell since the battle against the demon prince. Sometimes, thinking about it, he began to feel cold inside, as if he might freeze to death if he touched the magic again. Sometimes, he was not sure he ever would. Ever could.
He had never lost before.
Never. . . .
Nothing is the same.
The city's streets called his attention, bustling with people from many corners of the world, people of color and unusual dress, and as often speaking in different tongues. They came from beyond the Spartooth Mountains and beyond the Kaya Desert, from the Teshcta tribes Rosivok and Sharryl called their own, and from distant shores across the southern seas—the merchants of Kresa and Iquar and Boulisti. Frost had not been in this city for many years, and he was impressed by the way it had grown bigger and richer, and even more diverse. He had long preferred such cities, where the possibilities for interesting employment were multiplied. Where exotic folk and ideas were as common as peasants. A place where a wizard and three companions could pass largely unnoticed. Soon enough, they found the inn.
"Go and buy the best foods and drink you can find," he told Rosivok and Sharryl, once he had taken a room and settled into it. "You will stay here," he told Madia, "for my protection, and yours."
"When will you go to visit the council?" Madia asked, a question Frost knew he must answer soon.
"In a few days, a week, perhaps. You may come if you wish, to introduce yourself as the rightful heir to the throne of Ariman."
"Are you so sure that is a good idea?" Madia asked then. "The councils of Neleva had agreements with my father, but I have no idea what state those affairs are in right now."
"We have heard that there is ongoing trade," Frost said. "But there is as much unrest, perhaps more than in Ariman. You may need this county's goodwill and its arms, Madia. We will see what sort of diplomat you are."
"What would you have me tell them?"
"The truth, I think, and see what that brings us. I need to learn what small task they would ask of me, of course, and you need to make friends. Perhaps, if events favor us, we will soon both know better how to proceed."
He watched the look on her face sour somewhat. Hospitality or protection, there was little difference, and Madia was as aware of this as he. But without open hostility between the two lands, the council would be foolish to do more. Yet she will have to try, he thought. There was no hope of facing the demon again by themselves, especially when he still was not certain why things had gone so wrong the first time. Perhaps this was what he saw in Madia's eyes now.
"What is it?" he asked after a moment. "What is wrong?"
"I—I am no idiot, Frost. I was there. I saw what happened. I too am opposed to getting beaten again, or killed, all without any gain. I don't know what can be done, what anyone can do, even an army. But I do not want to hide, either. I have done too much of that already. I want my father's legacy. I still must bring honor to his name, and to mine."
"Ferris is no mortal man, Madia. You are right to think that none can stand against him. You cannot understand the dimensions of his powers. Armies will be needed, yes, but also the help of wizards from the Kaya to the Spartooths and beyond, to battle him again. Anything less would be the greatest fool's wager, a leap into almost certain oblivion. We have already made . . . fools of ourselves. Learn from this, as I have, so that some small purpose is served."
"Is there no hope that once you restore yourself, you will find the right spell to use against him?"
"You are not listening! Your heart leads your mind, Madia. Not a quality one desires in a prospective monarch."
"Neither is cowardice!"
Frost felt the word buffet him, felt its force combine with something sharp already twisting deep inside him. He was not a coward, he thought, not anything of the sort. He simply wasn't going to be made a fool again! That was the way of looking at it. He had not weighed all the odds, had not properly considered the omens, had not remained sensible! Never give everything, he reminded himself. Never risk all that you have on a single chance! He had ignored his own best advice.
He had never lost before.
Never. . . .
"Prudence, not cowardice, Madia. The lack of failure is itself a success."
"It is death," Madia snapped, teeth held together.
"I must rest," Frost said. "You must stand guard."
"It is true, is it not?" Madia said evenly. "You are terrified of Ferris, scared out of your wits."
Frost weighed his reply. "You do not fear him?"
"I do, but not as you. You could go back and face him, but you are afraid to try, afraid even to think about it. He did not beat you, Frost, he destroyed you!"
Not true! Frost thought again. She doesn't understand. She has no idea. . . .
"Say something!" Madia demanded. "Tell me the truth!"
"You have a great deal to learn," Frost said, lying back on the bed, closing his eyes.
"I have learned I was a fool to rely on you."
"That you are a fool, I will not argue with." Frost took a deep breath, then held still, allowing no movement, calming his mind. This was a conversation he no longer wished to continue. He listened to Madia move about the room, heard her find a chair and sit on it. His thoughts soon found their way back to the battle at Kamrit—thoughts that had not left him in days, and followed him into his dreams.
They fought furiously in the little street, blades clanging and pinging, two well-healed bodies leaping, spinning and dodging, displaying reflexes to be admired even by the uninitiated. Frost watched the street, guarding against interruption. Then Sharryl showed her prowess in a sudden combination of movements, flashing steel high and close to Madia's face, then a leg thrusting out at Madia's feet, and the princess found herself sprawled on her buttocks with Sharryl standing over her, grinning. It was not an expression a Subartan wore lightly.
"I know," Madia said wearily. "I am too easy."
"Untrue," Sharryl told her. "You become more adept each time we practice. You had a great natural talent, and good training, but now you have more—a level of skill that can truly serve you."
"You and Rosivok always win," Madia said.
"We are born to it," she said. "We are one with the subarta."
Madia got up and looked at Sharryl. "You will always be better," she said.
"Yes." Sharryl grinned again.
"But she will never be more than she is," Frost said, speaking to her now, though he did not look at her. Madia put her sword away, then all of them grew distracted as two women came up the street, glancing over their shoulders at the tall dark-skinned warrior figure looming just behind them. They looked ahead again and busied themselves with minding the rough stone and errant sewage, obviously nervous. Frost greeted the ladies as they passed. They hurried on. Rosivok came to rest at Frost's side.
"The council awaits you," Rosivok said. "They are eager to talk."
"Was there any word of their . . . problem?" Frost asked.
"They made no mention of it."
Frost examined the other man's look: subtle but troubled. "You believe that something may be wrong?"
"No, only that they seem to have much on their minds."
Frost had a number of things on his mind as well, which he wished to talk over with Neleva's powerful ruling council: what was the precise nature of their needs; how much were they were willing to pay; and how indefinite, should he choose, were they willing to make his stay? But he was also aware that the council members would know much about goings-on in Ariman, perhaps more than anyone—and he needed to learn what they knew, especially about Ferris.
The more he learned, he thought, the better he might be able to deal with what had happened, with fear—his, and others'.
Fear was something Frost had almost no experience with; a gruesome garment that fit poorly and pulled at the seams with every movement, dragging him down like rain-soaked wool; he wanted to shrug it off, but all his knowledge and prowess seemed useless against it now—strength without leverage.
He was getting better in other ways, nearly forty pounds heavier than when he had entered Glister four weeks earlier, and many dreams removed from the fitful nights that had followed his visit to Kamrit. But he was not "well." The world did not seem the same place anymore, and he still had no stomach for magic. There seemed to be no need, really, as he saw it now. What good did it do? Or you are afraid of that, too?
He had lately begun to look for signs, for omens; at the moment he was quite content to stay out of harm's way.
He looked closely at the others: the street clothes and leather protection they wore, the weathering their apparel had taken. "We will stop at the market square on the way back to the inn and buy new clothes, so that we do not go before the council clothed like beggars!" Everyone else glanced self-consciously at themselves, except Madia, whom Frost found staring at him. They had barely spoken since arguing on the day they arrived in the city. More often than not, he was grateful for it. He owed her nothing by any rational assessment, and it was obvious that she blamed him, at least in part, for their failures at Kamrit. She wanted more from him, much more than he could possibly think about giving to her. To anyone, now.
"What is it?" he asked her.
"I wasn't sure you would even go," she said.
His fears were something Madia had tried to use against him like a weapon, but he had also seen the trepidation in her, different than his own but very real, no matter how she sought to suppress it. This last was not meant as a barb, he decided; she was simply asking.
Neither was I, he wanted to say. "I know," he said.
He set off toward the palace.
The Kresaians, olive-skinned people who had arrived in ships and settled, establishing trade long ago, made up the bulk of the ruling council of Glister. They had brought with them many rare and wonderful items and skills which the lands to the north had seldom or never seen. They excelled at ornamentation, weavings, and pottery, their artists created the most exquisitely detailed paintings, their metal-smiths crafted the finest swords and tools that were known, and they built structures the like of which no nobleman of Ariman had ever imagined—similar to the cities of the desert tribes but on a far grander scale.
Here stood high walls and towers detailed with engravings and set with sculptures, and domes covered with shining metals that topped every dwelling of importance, including the homes of the rich—and in Glister, there were many rich. The palace itself was tall and grand, glittering and ornate, as were the members of the ruling council.
Frost allowed himself an inward smile as he and his three companions, dressed now in the finest boots and tunics the market and Frost's dwindling supply of gold coins would offer, entered the council's chambers. They would do, he mused; just. The memory of recent days of struggle on the road was fading rapidly.
The reception hall was warm with the soft colors of richly textured tapestries. A table filled the center of the hall, surrounded by high-backed chairs, each covered in soft leather. Bowls of fresh fruit decorated the center of the table, and flagons of water and wine stood beside them. The six council members were dressed mostly in Curien linens and silks trimmed in gold lace. They sat at the far end of the table, four Kresaians, another man who was obviously a desert tribesman. The sixth, who was a very dark-skinned, large-boned fellow, greeted everyone as they entered and seemed inclined to speak for the rest.
"We have waited a very long time for your arrival," he said, extending a hand to indicate the table's empty chairs. Frost sat between Rosivok and Sharryl at the table's near end, while Madia sat along the right side, between the two groups. Frost watched her as she acknowledged each council member, calm and respectful yet completely alert, even accomplished, and he decided her choice of seats had been intentional.
Madia, after all, was here because none of her own plans had worked out, more than anything else, and because tagging along after a bag-of-wind mage was all that was left her, for now.
Of course, he had no plans beyond Glister, either. He had thought at first to simply go to a land where they had never heard of him, there to stay until he felt . . . differently. But if he did, he might never be able to show his face in this realm again. Still, he reflected, such an exile was a price he might yet be willing to pay.
"I am Andala, First Counselor," the big, dark man said. He introduced the others, Tienken, Basmur, Basonj, Ghastan, and Javal. Frost introduced himself, the two Subartans, then Madia. A distinct flicker of surprise touched each of the councilmen's eyes.
"You have raised her spirit?" Andala asked, eyes wide.
"She has not yet died," Frost explained. "There are many lies about in these lands today. Now, we begin with truths."
He watched Madia weather their stares. They asked no immediate questions, and Frost decided this was probably all for the best. He decided to proceed.
"Why have you requested my presence?" he began, but the man nearest Madia, Javal, ignored Frost completely. "If what you say of her is true," he asked, "why do you bring her to this council?"
"Madia expressed a desire to replace the Subartan guard I recently lost. Her cousin, in fact; the young Duke Jaffic Andarys. She is presently in my employ."
"Jaffic is dead?" Javal asked in surprise.
"He is," Frost replied.
"Another reason to ask why she is not in Kamrit, assuming her duties," Andala said, leaning forward, more intense. "Here with you she may as well be dead, for all the good she does Ariman or Neleva."
"You speak of telling truths," Ghastan said, staring at Madia from the table's other corner. "Do you know all that has happened since your strange, temporary death?"
"In Neleva, or Ariman?" Frost asked.
Andala frowned. "Both."
"We were going to ask what you knew," Frost added quickly. "But yes, we have been to Kamrit quite recently. Perhaps we can share our thoughts on these matters."
He had no idea what their thoughts were, in fact. Neleva might be partially allied with Ferris, even though Frost doubted this. Or the council might be indifferent, which Frost had largely assumed . . . until just now.
"Let me ask," Basmur said, "how was your visit to that city? What were your impressions? And you will let the girl answer, so that we will know she is more than spirit."
"I was not pleased," Madia said rather tersely; Frost did not see this as perhaps the best response. He waited for Madia to add something, realized she was letting him lead again—trusting him again, he thought, or beginning to. . . .
"Yes, most unfavorable," he replied.
"You met with Grand Chamberlain Ferris?"
"You . . . you could say that," Madia answered.
"And he did not welcome you?" Andala asked, and Frost noticed that all six council members attended closely to the answer.
"We disapproved of each other," she replied clearly, apparently unwilling to give Ferris even the slightest endorsement.
"And do you also feel this way?" Andala asked, addressing Frost, who found Madia turning now, watching him, eyes set. There was no going back.
"Yes," Frost said.
The council members glanced at one another. Most of them nodded.
"May we speak in confidence?" Andala asked.
Frost nodded. "Please!"
"The rise to power of Lord Ferris and his subsequent activities present a great danger," Andala said. "We believe he intends to control all lands from the southern seas north to the Spartooths. His troops haunt our borders and abuse our hospitality when they visit our lands. They grow more provocative each day, and our officers fear a confrontation is inevitable."
"They also see little chance of a victory against the forces Lord Ferris has amassed," Basonj added grimly.
"Continues to amass," Basmur corrected. "And the new tariffs he has imposed now affect all goods that leave or enter Ariman. Trade has suffered, and the profits of our merchants and tradesman have suffered as well."
"He uses the money not only to sweeten his treasury but to pay for the killers he hires," Basonj said, speaking to Madia. "We have enjoyed a prosperous peace for many decades. Lord Ferris now threatens to destroy all that, to bring bloodshed to our people and an end to the progress made by your father and your grandfather, and this council."
"The great lords of Bouren and Jasnok, Vardale and Thorun are also concerned," Frost said. "They have problems with Ferris' troops similar to your own."
"We have recent reports from the northern fiefs," Andala disclosed. "It seems their problems have already grown worse than our own."
"We believe that soon, Ferris will attempt to bring those lands completely under his control," Basonj added, now to Frost. "This may occupy his considerable energies for a time, but eventually he will concentrate on us. That is why we called upon you. Ferris has made diplomatic gestures to indicate that such troubles are strictly an internal affair and nothing for Neleva to worry about, but his actions say otherwise."
Frost sat back, carefully examining each council member. "There is no sea monster," he said, as much to himself as to them. "Is there?"
"Sea?" Andala asked. "No, but there is a human monster in Kamrit, a far greater threat."
"He is a poison," Javal said, a vital look on his face. "A man unlike you or me. He is without compassion or reason, it seems, and without limits to his ambitions. You, Frost, must help us stop him. And you," he said, looking to Madia now, "do you intend to take your place as ruler of Ariman?"
"Yes, I do," Madia answered, then she turned to Frost, waiting.
"He is not a man," Frost said, sighing, ignoring the knot in his gut. "Ferris is not human at all."
Silence fell about the table for a moment. Frost took a breath, folded his hands on the table in front of himself. "I confronted him in Kamrit and I felt his powers. He is a creature of the darkness, a demon more powerful than any of you can imagine—or I, had I not encountered him myself."
"There have been many stories," Tienken said. "Dark mages in the city, dark magic at the castle, it is said; we have heard that misfortune befalls those who—"
"We also have heard," Madia said. "It seems the stories are true."
"Then why does Ferris seek the Demon Blade?" Andala asked. "Such a creature should fear the Blade above all else, yet even now his men search for it in Golemesk Swamp."
"He may fear that others might find it," Frost explained. "As long as he has the Blade, it cannot be used against him. And he may simply be curious, as demons often are. If he were to discover the Blade's secrets, he might also find a way to use its powers for his own ends."
"All the more reason to stop him now, before something like that can happen," Andala insisted. "Skirmishes have broken out already in the northern fiefs, most near the swamp, and there have been losses. We hear that Ferris' men have enjoyed a number of recent victories."
"Many believe the Blade is there," Javal added. "The body of a wizard known as Ramins has been found, and—"
"We know," Madia said. Frost found her looking at him again, no reservations at all, a look that made him feel even more uneasy than he had before. There were always rumors of Ramins death, of the Blade.
Always. . . .
"You say you encountered Lord Ferris," Basonj said. "Can you tell us what happened?"
Frost stared at the other man, intensely aware that, despite all his rationalizing, he could not bring himself to admit fully to his errors, to the defeat he had suffered. He tried to find other words, but they were not at hand.
"We lost," Madia said for him, her voice low and heavy. "The creature Ferris nearly destroyed all of us."
Again, silence.
"We had heard," Andala said to Frost, slowly, "that you were a mage of . . . considerable talents."
"I was not prepared," Frost said, unwilling to let things stand as they were. "It became clear that to make another attempt under more advantageous circumstances might be wise. So we retreated."
"We certainly did," Madia said, briefly rolling her eyes. "And it seems there will be no other attempt."
"You've given up?" Basmur asked, voicing the question that was obvious on the faces of the others.
Frost found all six councilmen staring at him, found Rosivok and Sharryl doing the same—and Madia bearing the harshest eyes among them. The omens, those he had been able to read, were bad, all of them. And logic spoke even less kindly of trying again. His best magic, after all, had not been enough. What was there to prepare? How could any single mage, perhaps even an army of them, face the powers the demon Ferris possessed?
"The Blade must be found," Rosivok said. "By allies."
Everyone turned and looked at him.
"Yes," Madia addel coldly. "If we can find the Demon Blade before Ferris, and then learn its secrets, Frost can use it to destroy him. Is that right, Frost?"
"Of course he can!" Andala said. "And we will help!"
"Thank you so much," Frost muttered, placing one hand flat over one closed eye, half-hiding his expression. They do not understand, he thought. Or they choose not to.
"But how can we find this weapon when an army has so far been unable to?" Madia asked.
"Frost can sense such things," Sharryl said. "He has a spell that can bring him to it."
"And thank you, as well, Sharryl, so very much." Frost furnished her with a dire glare. Sharryl nodded graciously.
My Subartans are attacking, kidnapping me, he thought. They have already loaded me onto a boat and set sail for the swamps!
"We will supply you with anything you need," Andala said. "Men, horses, ships, weapons, gold. You will require a large enough force to—"
"Not a large force," Frost corrected, looking at his hands now. His head felt as if it had grown much too large and might well fall off if nothing was done about it. Still, a part of him seemed to want to go, seemed to hope that—foolish and complex though the idea truly was—there might be some hope, some way to turn the odds.
"A ship, then, and gold to buy men along the way if we need them," Madia suggested.
"Must there be a ship?" Frost moaned.
"It would be unsafe for you to travel by land, of course," Andala replied.
"Yes," Basmur said. "This is a marvelous plan. Let us see to it at once!"
Frost eyed his Subartans, then Madia, and found all three of them looking at him as if he were about to change colors, each one wearing an unmistakable smile.