Michelle West - The Sun Sword 03 - The Shining Court (116 page)

The Arianni spilled across the plateau into the mortal world, and the old paths grew
strong
.

Margret of the Arkosa Voyani lifted hand out of water in a clenched fist, and she saw it with two sets of eyes; her own and Andaru's. Her eyes saw her hand, wet, tinted pink with water-thinned blood. But his eyes saw a vein of light, white and glistening, wrapped around the darker core of her flesh. She lifted her hand as if holding it up to inspection by moonlight, and the light flew skyward like an arrow from her palm, but it left a trail that began at the cut she'd made. It stretched out as far as the— well, as far as the mask's eyes—could see. She watched, fascinated by it, and she saw that it did have an end; it met a light in the sky above that was almost a mirror image and together they formed a narrow arch.

And then from the East and the West, light also rose, and when those four trails were joined, branches of light shot out from the center to the ground until the Tor Leonne was engulfed in a cage made of pale-colored light. It was beautiful.

Hold your ground, Matriarch
." Andaru's familiar voice said; she felt the words more than she heard them. "
You have just defined the boundaries of the Hunt, and the Wild Hunt does not like to be contained
.

"And you know this how?" Margret said uneasily.

It is one of the advantages of being dead.

"And not being dead at the same time?"

Yes. I see clearly; I see things that living eyes cannot see. And they, Matriarch, see
me.
Brace yourself. They come
.

"W-what's that?" the old woman on the Fountain, forgotten until now, said.

The earth was shaking. Margret stood up and then stopped. "Remember what I told you: Do not leave this circle no matter what you hear."

Jewel had seen the hunters on the hidden path. At all times, and in all ways, they had deferred to the Winter Queen. She had known that they would come here; her dreams had been very precise.

She had, however, expected some stately procession, some parade, some celebration of the Winter Queen and the fact that she ruled them all. But the minute the eerie and disturbing growth of earth touched the shoreline, the riders burst forward like fire in the hands of a crazed mage. The stags which had been still and silent on the road now stretched their long, fine legs.

Jewel was nearly trampled. Avandar pulled her out of the path of the Hunt. The mounted stags traveled far, far faster than any horse she had ever seen as they raced toward their destination.

"Where's Arianne?" Jewel shouted, over the thunder of hooves that had appeared so delicate in the otherworld.

Avandar shook his head.

Jewel stood. The isle was still in the Lake, but the Winter Queen and her cohort were nowhere to be seen. She
knew
this was bad. Her eyes, lids suddenly heavy, closed—and she could hear the screaming in the city below the plateau. Could
see
in the darkness behind her lids, what the Winter Queen hunted.

Those who were not her prey lived if they left the path the host rode; they died otherwise, but quickly. Cleanly.

But they died,
Kalliaris
, they died. And those who wore the masks—those who, by some unfair ancient rites that had
nothing
to do with humanity…

For just a moment she stopped breathing. And then, smacking her forehead hard enough that it hurt—which given the thickness of her skull at the present moment said something—she fumbled in her satchel and pulled out Yollana's "gift."

"Well?" she said to her domicis.

"If you wind that horn, I can almost guarantee that she will turn back."

"How?"

"Her name is etched in sixteen different languages in circles on the bell of the horn," he said quietly, "and at the moment, twelve of them are glowing."

Jewel nearly dropped the horn. She didn't. And she cursed mildly under her breath because Avandar was right. "What about the other four?"

"I don't know. Perhaps you might summon her and ask her."

Jewel shrugged.

"then she lifted the horn and winded it.

It made a truly pathetic sound.

She lifted it again, but Avandar caught her wrist. "It was heard," he said. "Wind it again and you will only annoy her."

Jewel laughed. "As if she could be any
more
annoyed with me."

But her domicis saw no humor in the words. "She will come, ATerafin, because both she and the horn are bound by the same wild law. But she is the Winter Queen, and when she ruled these lands and she was summoned by such a thing as that horn—and I would advise you to return it to Yollana as soon as this ordeal is finished, should we survive it—she was treated with the deference due her birth and her title."

"I don't know much about her birth, and I don't much care for her title."

"Learn," Avandar said coldly, "because this is not the last that you will see of her."

"But if—"

"You have walked the road, Jewel, and you have claimed— and
held
—a part of it. You will see her again." He looked up. "And soon. Be prepared, ATerafin."

Jewel looked down the road and beneath the eye of the Scarran Moon, at the head of a group of twelve mounted riders, the Winter Queen came. She wore moonlight as if it were silk, and the wind that blew through the white, icy length of her hair made her hair seem sensuous and alive. Seemed desirable, or worse, necessary. She had forgotten how beautiful Arianne was; she faced that truth squarely. Mortal memory—at least not Jewel's— was incapable of preserving the truth of her beauty, her presence.

"Ummm, Avandar?"

"Yes?"

"Isn't she supposed to slow down?"

Avandar's smile was cold. "Learn the first lesson when you deal with the Firstborn. Let me use small, succinct words."

"What a pleasant change," Jewel snapped back, through clenched teeth.

"If you have no plan for surviving what you want to summon, think twice."

"You couldn't have said that before, right?"

He laughed. "I merely wished to illustrate a point. You are in no danger." He smiled.

"They don't seem to be stopping."

Avandar lifted his hands; Jewel saw blue light follow the mound of his palms. But before it left him, something else occurred: A mounted hunter came out of the bush and took up his position in the road.

In front of Jewel ATerafin and her domicis.

"Celleriant?" Jewel said, the last syllable uncomfortably close to a squeak.

The hunter turned to look over his slender shoulder; he offered her a nod, no more. "But your mount—"

The stag turned. He dug dirt with his hooves and snorted.

"And that's animal talk for 'How dare you insult me?' right?"

"I believe," Avandar said quietly, "that Celleriant and the stag have reached an accommodation for your sake. Consider yourself honored, ATerafin." There was no humor in his voice.

"I thought—"

"You thought—"

"They didn't come with us. I thought they were—I don't know, like the rocks or the mountain pass or the falling asleep and never remembering it."

"Oh, no," he said softly. "They are quite real. But the path that the Oracle made for you and me was facilitated by our lives in
this
world, and neither Celleriant nor the Stag who has condescended— for your sake, I believe—to bear him, can claim that."

"And when the Hunt is over?"

"When the Hunt is over, they will remain."

"What am I going to do with a stag that size in Averalaan?"

"May I suggest that you wait to see if you survive to reach Averalaan before you worry about that?"

"Good suggestion. Is she going to ride him down?"

"No. Celleriant is powerful enough, even without her gifts, that she could not be guaranteed to ride him down and retain her mount or her composure. She will not lose face here; she gave him the order that protects you now."

Jewel held her breath until it did nothing but make her lungs ache. The Winter Queen and her escort came charging down the road at full speed.

"Where are the others?" she asked.

"The others?"

"The other hunters. There were a lot more than this."

He stared at her as if she had lost her mind. "Jewel, this is the night of the Wild Hunt; it has been called. Where do you think they are?"

"I don't know." She said it. She lied.

"They are hunting and killing anyone who wears one of the
Kialli
masks."

The woman who held the boy in her arms bit her lip to stop her- , self from screaming. She held her grandchild who had fallen, inexplicably, asleep. Better to let him sleep than to wake him for what she was certain would follow. She backed up into the Fountain's lip, and she looked wildly from side to side.

There was only one way out of the deserted yard that held the Lady's Southern Fount: the gates.

And in the gates, long and dark as shadows, eyes glinting, with an unnatural brilliance, were men mounted on great, horned beasts, the like of which she had never seen.

Margret lowered her fist and looked to the hunters through the mask. She reached for the flippant words that had momentarily decided to evade her, but when she spoke, she didn't recognize anything that came out of her mouth because
none
of it was hers.

"I am Andaru of the Arkosa Voyani," the man whose face she literally wore said. "And the Hunt has not been called which can catch me. The mounts that you have are heavy and slow, and the horns that you wind are of little concern. You call yourself hunters? Then
hunt
."

Spears and the tines of great antlers tore at the gates, until, with the angry toss of antlered head, the great brass gates were uprooted. Into the hollow created by Voyani art and the willing sacrifice of Arkosan kin, the Wild Hunt came. They knew their quarry, although what they saw when they gazed upon Margret's masked face, she couldn't say. And was glad of the inability.

They circled, but their spears did not pass the circle that was etched—and glowing—in the stone. The old woman had closed her eyes. Margret wanted to offer her some comfort, because she understood that the source of her fear was the child she now held.

But she had no control over what she said.

"Come out, come out, little human," one of the tallest and most beautiful men she had ever seen said. "If you are so brave that you have just given us your name, why do you hide behind that pathetic, mortal circle? The Hunt will not wait once it has been called."

"Then leave, mighty hunters, and step on mice and rodents."

She expected fury and there was a tightening of that gorgeous face, but there was also a flicker of something in the eyes that was akin to hunger—or starvation. The man who had spoken reached down to his belt and unhooked a long, slender horn. He lifted it to his lips and just before the mouthpiece touched his skin, Margret felt a shudder take her whole body.

Lady's grace go with you, Matriarch. Protect my child.

I will, Margret said. I'm the Matriarch. All of the children are mine.

She felt something touch her forehead, light as breeze, and then it pushed off; she stumbled, lost her footing, flailed—and was caught an inch from the circle by the iron grip of a frail arm.

The mask—and Andaru's presence—were both suddenly gone. She was alone. When she looked up and met the face of the hunter, his eyes widened in surprise and then in very real anger. "Get back," he cried to the others who had crowded into the courtyard. "Mount up! He's gone!" He winded the horn, then, and the shock of the sound drove her to her knees.

But it did not bring her close to the circle's edge.

The old woman said, "I did not recognize you, Wanderer. But you have done the Lady's work here this eve. I know that your kin and ours are not always… friendly… but I have heard it said that you do not kill our children. Or sell them."

Margret returned the grip around the old woman's arms. "And I have heard it said," she replied ruefully, "that the clansmen love their children and their families as fiercely as we love our own. And that the women seem frail but…" she gazed at the hand that gripped her arm.