The Gates of Winter - Mark Anthony [105]
“Well,” Jay said with a shrug, “since we're not going to talk to Sparky, we might as well go get breakfast.”
27.
Aryn stood atop the battlements of Calavere and watched the band of horsemen ride toward the castle.
She had first spied them when they crested a hill more than a league from Calavere, and now they moved along the road like a dark cloud. She wondered what land they hailed from. One of the Free Cities? The Dominion of Embarr? She would find out soon, and anyway it was a small band—no more than twenty.
Then again, if one was patient, even a large bucket could be filled a drop at a time.
They had begun arriving the day after Grace left Calavere. The first was a band of thirty men who rode shaggy horses across the Darkwine Bridge. They were brutish and half-wild, clad in leather and mismatched armor. However, to Aryn's surprise, when their leader presented himself to Boreas in the lower bailey, he spoke in the well-mannered tones of a nobleman. He was a duke of Eredane, and those who followed him earls and knights. They had been driven from their keeps by the Onyx Knights over a year ago, and had spent the time since living on the edges of the Dominion, hiding from their enemies, and harrying them when they could.
“Things are worse in Eredane than you know,” the duke said after he gripped Boreas's arms in greeting. “The dark knights rule by sword and flame, but even they do not dare stand against the Raven Cult. More fall under the shadow of the Raven each day—entire villages are branded with its sign, and they take to the roads, abandoning field and home, marching I know not where. On some terrible pilgrimage, I fear.”
Each day more men arrived at the castle, some on horses, some on foot. They came alone, or in small bands, or in companies of a hundred or more. A few of them were nobles, like the duke and his men, but many more were farmers and freemen, or merchants and traders and craftsmen. Some, given their rough looks and even rougher manners, were little better than mercenaries and thieves. Boreas welcomed them all.
They hailed from every direction. Some spoke of daring escapes from Brelegond, which—like Eredane—was ruled by the Onyx Knights and plagued by the Raven Cult. Others had abandoned farms and families in Calavan, Galt, Toloria, and Perridon. They had put down hoes and spades and had traded them for old swords that had lain in chests, forgotten for years.
The only Dominion not represented so far was Embarr, which boded ill for that land. However, of all the Dominions, Embarr was farthest from Calavan. Perhaps men would yet come from there. Besides, it was not from the Dominions that most of the men would come. Like all the Mystery Cults, the Cult of Vathris Bullslayer had its origins in the ancient lands of the south, and it was to the south that King Boreas looked.
The first men from Gendarra and the other Free Cities had arrived several days ago. They were equipped with fine armor and swords, for some of the wealthiest merchants in the Free Cities were patrons of Vathris. Men from Tarras had begun to arrive as well, and yesterday the first band of men from Al-Amún had reached the castle, riding white horses with arched necks.
The men were as proud and exotic as the horses they rode. Their hair was long and black, and gold and lapis lazuli gleamed against their dark skin. Aryn thought them as fierce as they were beautiful. They saluted King Boreas with curved swords, and he invited them into the castle to speak.
Women were not welcome in the great hall when the king was meeting with his warriors, and Aryn imagined that was doubly true for witches. Nor did she have Aldeth to spy for her any longer. However, she had other ways to observe. She had cast a spell on a small amethyst, and she had left it in a niche near the king's throne at an opportune moment.
Late last night, when she was certain she wouldn't be seen, she stole back into the great hall to retrieve the gem. Once in her chamber, she held