The Black Shriving (Chronicles of the Black Gate Book 2) (19 page)

"Because," said Tharok, pitching his words in his avalanche voice, that deep and booming call that allowed each and every of the seven hundred kragh gathered around them to hear. "I am going to call a Grand Convocation a week from now in the Shattered Temple by the Dragon's Tear. To challenge me before I can issue the call shows that you dare not face the support that will come to me."

"What?" Nakrok clasped his head, as if he thought his skull would split from trying to understand Tharok's words. "You are mad! You? Call a Grand Convocation? Who are you to do such a thing?"

Tharok grinned. "I am Tharok, son of Grakor, warlord of the Red River, and it is my right."

"You are Tharok, one week warlord, who ran to Porloc the moment you had a gift for him to seek his protection! None will come!"

"If they do not, then I shall step down and swear loyalty to you without question. The Red River will be yours. Which is why it is cowardice to challenge me now."

"Cowardice? No, I do you a favor! I would save you from humiliation, but knowing this now, oh no, I will let you make the call. Summon everybody! See who comes! When you stand alone by Dragon's Tear, then and only then will I laugh at you and force you to your knees!"

Nakrok's laughter pealed out as marched back toward his men. "We go to the Dragon's Tear! You have one week to prove to all that you are worthy of summoning them. Then I will crush you, absorb the Red River into the Crokuk without the loss of one Crokuk life, and move on to crush the Tragon. This is too sweet!"

CHAPTER TEN

Asho roused himself by slow degrees from deep slumber. His back was cold, but his inner core was luxuriously warm. He was holding on to something, a lithe and limber form, and holding tight made all the difference in battling the frigid air around him. He made a satisfied rumble in his chest and pressed his face forward into somebody's hair.

He froze and opened his eyes.

Auburn hair. He was holding Kethe, completely cupping her body with his own, her form scrunched up into a ball and pressed against his own for warmth.

She suddenly went tense in his arms, and he realized she was awake as well. Fighting back a cry, he scrambled away from her as if he had been scalded, raking his hair from his face as she did the same, and in the blink of an eye they were crouched facing each other, their eyes wild, both of them babbling.

"How dare you -"

"I didn't -"

"Take advantage -"

"Have no idea how -"

Mæva's laughter cut them both off, and they turned to glare at the witch.

"You have no idea how hard it has been to wait for you both to awaken," she said. "Though it has made us late for today's travels, I had to see what would happen. And I was justly rewarded."

Asho scowled and pulled his hair back into a ponytail, tying it off with a thong. Kethe was studiously avoiding his gaze, moving to roll up her bedding. "Well, I'm glad we amused you," he said to Mæva with as much dignity as he could muster.

"One has to find one's amusements where one can," she replied, and insinuated herself past them. "I'll be awaiting you both on the trail. Don't take too long back here in the dark."

"That woman is insufferable," muttered Kethe as she tightened her pack's straps.

"You were defending her yesterday."

"I was, but this kind of humor is infantile. I'm - I'm deeply disappointed by her."

Asho wanted to laugh, but then Kethe's words came back to him. The cutting anger, the contempt. She might be willing to pretend nothing had happened, but he'd not forget her insults so quickly. He focused on his pack. He didn't want to remember how good it had felt to have Kethe's body pressed against his own. The wonderful blend of soft and hard, muscles and curve, the scent of her hair. He scrubbed at his face. "Just to be clear, I -"

"Don't bother," she said, finishing with the last strap and taking up her blade. She finally looked at him, her gaze hard and flinty. "It was a cold night. There's nothing to explain, and it won't happen again."

"Right," croaked Asho as she left the cave. He sighed and picked up his blade. "Right."

They climbed in silence, and in truth there was soon no room for words. The climb grew ever steeper, and in late morning they finally left the last of the forest behind. Occasionally they had to traverse a wash of small stones that gave way easily underfoot. Mæva climbed the rocks and boulders with enviable ease, and soon Asho was panting and sweating under the bright sunlight. There was no trail to speak of, just Mæva's intuition that led them ever higher, along narrow ledges, up the center of deep cracks in the cliff faces, and far too rarely along small strips of grassy meadows cupped on gentle slopes beneath towering cliffs.

They ate while walking, and by late afternoon had left even the last of the stunted bushes behind. The slopes were mostly bare rock now, and the peaks were visible all around them, no longer hidden in the clouds above.

"We're making good time," said Mæva. "If we keep this up, we should reach Skarpheðinn by tomorrow." She set her pack down and sat on an oval boulder, long legs stretched out before her.

Kethe considered Asho, expression strangely uncertain as if she wanted to talk to him, and then walked away pointedly to stand at an outcrop a good dozen yards away and gaze down into a gulch. Did she mean for him to follow?

"Asho," said Mæva. "Have you given thought to my offer?"

"I - yes." He set his pack down and rolled his shoulder. "But I'm not ready to agree just yet."

"Wise of you. Only a fool accepts an offer without learning all of the conditions."

"So there are conditions?" Asho stepped closer.

Mæva's face was inscrutable, her eyes liquid and dark. "Of course. Or perhaps, more accurately, consequences."

Asho's mouth was dry. "What are you saying?"

"There is no way for you to defend yourself from the corrupting power of magic by yourself. I cannot teach you that level of self-sufficiency. What I can do, however, is pass my gift onto you."

"And leave yourself without it?"

Mæva nodded. "It has served me well, all these many years. But I grow tired. I now know enough that if I give up casting magic altogether, I could live a score of years in solitude." There was something inexpressibly weary in her tone, and a haggard bleakness has entered her expression. "I have no more need or even desire for my power. It is yours. I would give it to you. Now, if you wished it. All you need do is ask."

Asho shook his head sharply. "I'm not asking. I don't understand. What is this gift? It's what you learned up by the Black Gate?"

"Think of it, Asho. The ability to wield your power - and you are more powerful, more gifted than I ever was - without suffering for it. Without pouring your corruption into Kethe." Mæva stepped off her rock and approached him, taking his hand, her grip tight. "Freedom. Power. Vitality. Yours. Take it. You will need it in your battles to come. This is your chance."

Asho pulled his hand free. There was a wild, almost desperate gleam in her dark eyes that scared him, that made him step back. "No. Thank you. I - not yet."

Mæva bit her lower lip and then forced a smile. "Of course. I only pressed because soon we may be running afoul of demons. It's of no matter." She reached down and scooped up Ashurina, who had been staring fixedly at him all this while. "Come. Let us continue. Kethe! We proceed."

Asho picked up his pack. His pulse was racing. What had that been about? He wiped his hand on the side of his breeches. Had Mæva been pleading with him?

Kethe strode up, ignoring him completely as she brushed past him to continue up the path. She fairly radiated disdain.

On they went, till Asho's legs felt shaky and scorched, as if hot coals had been thumbed under the soles of his feet. He cut himself a walking stick, which he used to good advantage, and after an hour Kethe cut herself one as well.

Climbing and bouldering filled up his mind and washed away his thoughts. He fell into an easy trance, always looking for the next handhold, the next ridge on which to place his foot, following Kethe's narrow form and allowing time to slip by. Occasionally he'd pause to turn, blowing hard, and gaze at the stunning vista that grew ever more expansive below them. He thought he could make out Mythgræfen Lake far below and over a lower range of mountains, but he wasn't sure. This high up, the sun hurt his eyes, and the far peaks were hidden in burnished clouds of gold that he knew the others didn't see, his Bythian eyes unable to handle the brightness.

Darkness was starting to fall when Mæva crested yet another false peak and then raised her hand for silence. Kethe and Asho, both half-stunned and in a trance, nearly collided into her back.

"What is it?" Kethe's voice was a harsh whisper.

Asho took the chance to dig out his water skin and take a gulp. It was nearly empty, and the water tasted brackish and oily.

"Shh," whispered Mæva, and there was a tension in her voice that put Asho immediately on edge.

A trail left the path that they'd been following around the outside the mountainside and ran deep into a wide cleft that was cloaked already in evening shadow. Asho stowed his water skin and gazed into its depths. Looking into shadow felt like pressing a cool compress to his brow. The cleft was ragged and deep, a yard across at the base and widening to ten or fifteen up above before pulling away suddenly at the very top. It was as if a mighty ax had swung down and cut into the very bones of the mountain. The longer he looked into it, however, the stranger he felt, until he tore his eyes away, a sense of vertigo passing through him.

"Come," whispered Mæva, then she backed away and led them down the broken trail they'd been following. They slipped and scrambled down a rough rock face, then out along a ledge and down a winding series of switchbacks , until finally Mæva deemed the distance sufficient.

"What is it?" Asho felt invigorated by the tension, his aches and pains forgotten.

"Skarpheðinn," said Mæva, releasing her hair from its leather binding and then scooping it back once more. "It has spread."

"Spread?" Kethe whirled to look back above them. "You mean - that? That was part of it?"

The witch nodded and smoothed down her leather skirt. "Indeed. Could you not feel it?"

Asho nodded reluctantly. "I did feel something. And my water tasted strange."

"The taint has spread far indeed since last I was there." Mæva's tone was grave. "Many miles father. But then, it has been almost two decades since last I trod these paths."

"So, what does that mean?" Kethe sounded excited and nervous both. "Do we push on? Stop here for the night?"

"We shouldn't push on," said Asho. "It's near dark. We should enter Skarpheðinn with as much daylight before us as possible."

"The boy speaks true," said Mæva. "Let us return to the hollow we passed half an hour ago. It was shielded from the winds and sufficiently far from that crevice that we should be safe. Tonight, however, we shall have to post a watch."

Asho spent a sleepless night. For part of it he sat in the shadow of a sloping slab of rock that had tumbled down from the heights, watching the ways to the higher passes. Kethe came halfway through the night to take her turn, and he could tell from her hesitant manner that she wished to speak with him, but he was too tired and it felt at once petty and satisfying to simply nod coldly to her and make his way down to their shelter. Once wrapped in his blanket though he found that he still couldn't sleep, and lay instead curled within his bedding thinking of that dark gash in the mountain and that special darkness within that had beguiled his eyes. What lay beyond it? The thought haunted him and his dreams when they finally came, so that he awoke stiff and unrefreshed.

They had a quiet breakfast, forcing themselves to eat, and then made sure their weapons could be easily drawn and were not blocked by their packs or straps. It was still dark in the valleys below, the sunlight blocked by the peaks, but Mæva insisted on an early start.

"My magic will shield us as we pass through Skarpheðinn, but we must still take all precautions. There are powers within those ranges that would laugh at my talents, so we must move silently and with the utmost stealth. If we are attacked, we must turn and flee. Is that clear?"