Valdemar 05 - [Vows & Honor 02] - Oathbreakers (35 page)

Which was exactly what they were going to get.

As the horses swirled past the Palace door, the Hawks ran to meet them, not bothering to give Tindel the time to bring them to a halt. Instead they mounted on the run, as Tarma had taught them. Even Kethry, the worst rider of all, managed somehow, grabbing pommel and cantle and getting herself in the saddle of the still-cantering gelding she'd singled out without really thinking about what she was doing.

“Where?” Tindel shouted, over the pounding of hooves as they thundered out the gates again, leaving a panting Warrl to collapse behind them. This was no race for
him
and he knew it.

“Temple of Ursa—” Tarma yelled in reply, and Tindel cut anything else she was about to say off with a wave of his hand.

“I know a quicker way,” he bellowed.

He urged his gray into the fore, and led them in a mad stampede down crazy, twisting alleys Kethry had never seen before, a good half of which were just packed dirt. Festival gewgaws and dying flowers were pounded to powder as they careened through; once a tiny hawker's cart—thankfully unattended—was knocked over and kicked aside; reduced to splinters as it hit a wall. Kethry's nose was filled with the stench of back-alley middens and trampled garbage; she was splashed with stale water and other liquids best left nameless. Her eyes were dazzled by sudden torchlight that alternated with the abyssal dark valleys between buildings. She got only vague impressions of walls flying past, half-seen openings as they dashed by cross streets; and the pounding of hooves surrounding her throbbed like the pounding of the power at her fingertips.

Then, a startled shout, a wall that loomed high against the stars, and an invisible wall of cooler air and absolute blackness that they plunged through—still without a pause—

Then they were outside the city walls, continuing the insane gallop along the road that led to a handful of old, mostly deserted temples, and beyond that, to Hielmarsh.

The moon was full; it was nearly as bright as day, without a single cloud to obscure the light. The fields and trees before them were washed with silver, and the horses, able now to see where they were going, increased their pace.

Kethry urged her beast up to the front of the herd, until she rode just behind Tarma and Tindel. She gripped her horse with aching knees and tried to see up the road. The temple couldn't be far—not if it was to be reached by a tunnel.

It wasn't. The white marble of a building that could only be the temple in question stood out clearly against the dark shadows of the trees behind it—at this pace, hardly more than a breath or two away.

Just as they came within shouting distance of the temple, moonlight reflecting from a cloud of dust on the road ahead of them told them without words that Char had already started the next stage of his flight. This road led almost directly to Hielmarsh, Kethry knew. He was heading for his little strong-hold, or perhaps the mazes of the marsh. There would be no pulling him out of there.

But Hielmarsh was hours away, and that dust cloud a few furlongs at most. And
their
horses were Shin‘a'in, not much exhausted by the race they'd run so far, scarcely sweating, and still on their first wind.

The little party ahead of them knew they were coming, though, they had to; they had to hear the rolling thunder of two dozen pairs of hooves. They also had to know there was no escaping—

But the Hawks didn't want a pitched battle if they could help it.

The dust was settling, which meant the quarry had turned at bay. Kethry saw Tarma give the signal to pull up as they came within sight of Char and his men. The knot of fighters ahead of them huddled together on the moon-drenched road, swords glinting silver as they held them at ready. Kethry and the rest of the Hawks obeyed their leader, and slowed their horses to a walk.

The King's party numbered almost forty—putting the Hawks at a two-to-one disadvantage if they fought. Tarma's contingency plan, as Kethry knew, called for no such fight. That was the reason for the magical disguises.

“Majesty!” Tarma called, knowing Char would see the Arton he trusted. “Your brother's stormed and taken the Palace; he's holding the city against you. I got what men I could and tried to guess which way you'd be heading.”

Raschar dug his spurs into his gelding's sides and rode straight to his “faithful retainer.” “Arton!” he cried, panic straining his voice, “Hellfire, I heard you'd gone down at the gates! I have never been so glad to see anybody in my life!”

As he pulled up beside Tarma, Kethry could see his skin was pale and he was sweating, and his eyes were hardly more than black holes in his head.

“Rein in, Majesty; I've got you some help. Here—” she called up at the mixed group of guards and common soldiers still milling about uncertainly up ahead. “—you lot! Get back to the temple! Split yourselves up, I don't much care how. Half of you head back down to hold the road for as long as you can, the rest of you lay a false trail off to Lasleric. Come on, move it out, we haven't got all night!”

There hadn't been a single officer among them, and the mixed contingent was obviously only too happy to find someone willing to issue orders that made sense—unlike the frantic babbling of their King.

They obeyed Tarma without a murmur, sending their nervous beasts around the clot of Hawks blocking the road. Within moments they were out of sight, returning back toward the temple and beyond.

Tarma waited until they were completely out of sight before giving Kethry a significant look.

Kethry nodded, and dropped the spell of illusion she'd been holding on their company.

Char stared, his jaw sagging, as what appeared to be his guard was revealed as something else entirely.

Then he paled, his face going whiter than the moonlight, as he recognized Tindel, Tarma and Kethry.

“What—” He started to stutter, then drew himself up and took on a kind of nervous dignity. “Just what is this supposed to mean? Who are you? What do you want?”

“You probably haven't heard of us before, your Majesty,” Tarma drawled, as two of the Hawks closed in on the King from the rear, coming up on either side. “We're just a common mercenary troop. We go by the name of ‘Idra's Sunhawks.' ”

When she spoke the name, he choked, and rowled his horse savagely. Too late; the Hawks were already within grabbing distance of his reins. He tried to throw himself to the ground, but other hands caught him, and held him in his saddle until he could be tied there.

“Should take us about three candlemarks to get him back—” Tindel began.

A growl from the ranked fighters behind Tarma interrupted him, and he stopped, looking startled.

“Stefan promised him to us, my friend,” Tarma said quietly. “He goes back only when we're finished with him.”

“But—”

“We called the Oathbreaking on him,” Kethry pointed out. “He's ours by the code, no matter how you look at it.”

Tindel looked from face to stubbornly set face, and shrugged. “Well, what do we do with him?”

“Huh. Hadn't thought that far—” Tarma began.

“I had,” Kethry said, firmly.

There was still a vast reservoir of anger-energy for her to draw on, and while the coercion of innocent spirits was strictly forbidden a White Winds sorceress, the opening of the gates of the other-world to a ghost that had a debt to collect was not.

And Idra most certainly had a long, bitter debt owed to her.

“We called Oathbreaking on him—that's a spell, partner. I do believe we ought to see that spell completed.”

Tarma looked at her askance; so did the rest of the Hawks. Char, gagged, made choking sounds. “How do you propose to do that? And just what does it mean to see it completed?”

Kethry shifted in her saddle, keeping Char under the tail of her eye. “It only takes the priestess and the mage to complete the spell, and I know how. Jadrek found the rest of it in some of the old histories. As for what it does—it brings all the broken oaths home to roost.”

“Does that mean what I
think
it does?”

Kethry nodded, and Tarma smiled, a bloodthirsty grin that sent a chill even up her partner's backbone.

“All right—where?”

“The temple back there will do, I think; all we need is a bit of sanctified ground.”

With Char's horse between them, they led the mystified mercenaries toward the white shape of the temple on their backtrail. It was, fortunately, deserted. Kethry did not-especially want any witnesses to this besides the principals.

The temple was in a state of extreme disrepair; walls half fallen and crumbling, the pavement beneath their horse's hooves cracked and uneven. Tarma began to look dubious as they penetrated deeper into the complex.

“Are we far enough in, do you think? I don't want to chance one of the horses falling, and maybe breaking a leg if there's any help for it.”

“This will do,” Kethry judged, reining in her mount, and swinging a little stiffly out of the saddle.

The rest dismounted as well, with several of them swarming the King's mount to pull him roughly to the ground. The horses, eased of their burdens, sighed and stamped a little, pawing at the weathered stone.

“Now what?” Tarma asked.

“Tindel—you and Beaker and Jodi stand here; you three hold Char.” She indicated a spot on the pavement in the center of a roughly circular area that was relatively free from debris. “Tarma, you stand South, I'll stand North. The rest of you form a circle with us as the ends.”

The Hawks obeyed, still mystified, but willing to trust the judgment of the mage they'd worked so closely with for three years.

“All right—Tarma, just—be Kal‘enedral. That's all you need to do. And hold in mind what this bastard has done to our sister and Captain.”

“That won't be hard,” came the icy voice from across the circle.

Kethry took a deep breath and brought stillness within herself, for everything depended now on creating a channel from herself for the anger of the others. If she let it affect her—it would consume her.

When she thought she was ready, she took a second deep breath, raised her arms, and began.

“Oathbreaker, he stands judged; Oathbreaker to priestess, Oathbreaker to mage, Oathbreaker to true man of his people. Oathbreaker, we found him; Oathbreaker in soul, Oathbreaker in power, Oathbreaker in duty. Oathbreaker, we brought him; Oathbreaker in thought, Oathbreaker in word, Oathbreaker in deed. Oathbreaker, he stands, judged, and condemned—”

She called upon the power she had not yet exhausted, and the rising power within the circle.

“Let the wall of Strength stand between this place and the world—”

As the barrier had been built between herself and the dark mage for the magic duel, so a similar barrier sprang up now; one pole beginning from where she stood, the other from where Tarma was poised. This wall was of a colorless, milky white; it glowed only faintly.

“Let the Pillars of Wisdom stand between this world and the next—”

Mist swirled up out of the ground, just in front of Char and his captors. Kethry could see his eyes bulging in fear, for the mist held a light of its own that augmented the moonlight. The mist formed itself into a column, which then split slowly into two. The two columns moved slowly apart, then solidified into glowing pillars.

“Let the Gate of Judgment open—”

More mist, this time of a strange, bluish cast, billowed in the space between the two Pillars. Kethry felt the energy coursing through her; it was a very strange, almost unnerving feeling. She could see why even an Adept rarely performed this spell more than once in a lifetime—it wasn't just the
amount
of power needed, it was that the mage became only the vessel for the power. It, in a very real sense, was controlling
her.
She spoke aloud the final Word of Opening, then called with thought alone to the mist-shape within the Pillars, and fed it all the last of the Hawks united anger in a great burst of unleashed power.

The mist swirled, billowed—grew dark, then bright, then dark again. It glowed from within, the color a strange silver-blue. Then the mist condensed around the glow, forming a suggestion of a long road, a road under sunlight—and out of the center of the glowing cloud rode Idra.

Char gave a strangled cry, and fell to his knees before the rider. But for the moment she was not looking at
him.

She was colorless as moonlight, and as solidly real as any of Tarma's
leshya‘e-Kal'enedral.
When Kethry had decided to open the Gate, she had faced this moment of seeing Idra's face with a tinge of fear, wondering what she would see there. She feared no longer. The long, lingering gazes Idra bestowed upon each of her “children” were warm, and full of peace. This was no spirit suffering torment—

But the face she turned upon her brother was full of something colder than hate, and more implacable than anger.

“Hello, Char,” she said, her voice echoing as from across a vast canyon. “You have a very great deal to answer for.”

 

Tarma led two dozen bone-weary Hawks back into Petras that morning; they made no attempt to conceal themselves, and word that they were coming—and word of what they carried—preceeded them. The streets of Petras cleared before their horses ever set hoof upon them, and they rode through a town that might well have been emptied by some mysterious plague. But eyes were watching them behind closed curtains and sealed shutters ; eyes that they could feel on the backs of their necks. There was fear echoing along with the sounds of hoofbeats along those streets. Fear of what the Hawks had done; fear of what else they might do—