The Gates of Winter - Mark Anthony [106]
You have answered my call more quickly than I could have hoped, King Boreas had said.
One of the men bowed before him, then spoke in a richly accented voice. I must confess, Great Man of Vathris, it was not in answer to your call for war that we first set out on the road to the north.
Boreas raised an eyebrow, and another of the men stepped forward.
A vision came to some of us in our dreams, he said. In it, Vathris appeared and told us the Final Battle drew near, and that it would be fought not in the south, but in the icy lands of the north. So we began our journey, and it was only as we were about to set sail across the Summer Sea that your message reached us, and by it we knew our visions were true.
And how many more are behind you? Boreas said.
The man who had first spoken laughed. We are but the first of many. Already they gather at the ports faster than ships can bear them across the sea, and so they build more ships. A great host comes behind us, a host larger than any this world has ever seen. The end of all things comes, and any true man of Vathris would die before he would ignore the call to war. So what if it is our destiny to fail? At least in fighting, we will know a glory greater than any other.
These words filled Aryn with awe and dread, and the amethyst tumbled from her hands, cracking as it struck the floor. It didn't matter; she had heard enough. The prophecies were true. The Warriors of Vathris would come, they would march to the Final Battle. And they would be defeated.
But how can any of this possibly make a difference if they're doomed to lose?
“There you are, sister,” said a warm voice, snapping her back to the present. “I thought I might find you here.”
Aryn looked up to see Mirda walking along the battlement. The witch wore only a light cloak against the cold, and her multihued gown fluttered in the wind. Aryn smiled as the elder witch halted beside her, then her smile faded.
“What is it, sister?” Mirda said.
“I don't know. I think, despite everything that's happened, I still wanted to believe it was all just a story. But it's not a story, is it? The Final Battle is coming, if it hasn't already begun.” Aryn pointed. “Look—more warriors ride to the castle even now.”
Mirda sighed. “You're right, sister. It isn't simply a story, much as you or I might wish it were. There are dark times ahead of us, but there is yet hope that we will find light on the other side.” A smile touched her lips. “And are you so certain it is a group of warriors who rides to the castle now? Your eyes are keen, but you have sharper senses.”
Aryn shut her eyes and reached out with the Touch. Swift as a sparrow, she let her consciousness fly along the threads of the Weirding toward the band of riders. She could see them far more clearly than before, outlined in shimmering green . . .
Aryn gasped as her eyes flew open. “We have to find Lirith at once.”
Mirda nodded, her smile gone.
As it turned out, Lirith found them first, coming upon them as they rushed down a corridor. Aryn met her dark eyes and saw the knowledge in them.
“You already know,” Aryn said. “You've had a vision, haven't you?”
Lirith nodded. “It's Queen Ivalaine. I saw her in my mind. She'll reach the castle in minutes.”
Aryn's chest grew tight. “Do you think she knows about us? About our—?” She didn't dare speak the words shadow coven.
Mirda started down the corridor. “Come, sisters. Let us hope we can meet the queen before she takes an audience with King Boreas.”
When they reached the massive set of doors that led to the great hall, Aryn let out a breath of relief. The doors were open. She picked up the hem of her gown and started toward them.
“Now that's a funny sight,” said a sardonic voice just to Aryn's left. “I thought witches were supposed to be so mysterious and powerful,