The Gates of Winter - Mark Anthony [132]
Grace glanced down at the Spiders. “Sam, Aldeth—go tell Commander Paladus what's happening. Tell him to be ready.”
“Ready for what?” Samatha said.
Grace's mouth was so dry she could hardly speak the word. “Battle.”
The two Spiders wrapped their gray cloaks about themselves and vanished, blending into the dull colors of the landscape.
Lursa looked at Grace, a brave expression on her plain face. “Might we perhaps weave a spell of illusion, sister? Or is there some rune magic Master Graedin might perform to conceal us?”
“It's too late to hide,” Grace said. “But hold that thought, Lursa. We may well need magic before this is over.”
The knights were closer now. She could see their steel helms and the swords at their sides.
Tarus swore a low oath. “According to Aldeth, we're over twenty leagues from Barrsunder. What is a troop of Onyx Knights doing so far out?”
“They are not Onyx Knights,” Durge said in his rumbling voice.
Grace reached out to grip his arm. “Are you sure?”
Durge nodded. “Their armor is dark, but it does not bear the crown and tower of Eversea, and I can see they are Embarrans by the way they ride. All the same, there is something strange about them. There is a crest on their shields I do not recognize, though I can't make out what it is.”
“Skulls,” Graedin said, shading his eyes with a hand. “By Olrig, I can see them clearly now. They have white skulls painted on their shields.”
Tarus glanced over his shoulder. “Commander Paladus had better hurry up. I think we're going to have to fight. Thank Vathris, at least there's only a hundred of them.”
“You know little of the knights of Embarr,” Durge said, worry shadowing on his brow. “We are over five hundred. It is possible we would win against them. But we would have few men left alive and uninjured if we did.”
No, that was one outcome they couldn't afford—it would leave them with too small a force to man Gravenfist Keep. Grace had to find another way out. However, as the knights neared the top of the slope, her mind remained blank.
The main body of knights came to a halt, and a band of six split off, riding up the last yards and stopping before Grace. She knew none of them would stand taller than Durge, but they looked enormous on their chargers, clad in their heavy armor. They wore helms, and visors covered their faces, so that they looked more like machines than men.
“Identify yourselves,” said the foremost of the knights, his voice echoing inside his helm.
Here went nothing. Grace nudged Shandis forward. “I am Grace, Queen of Malachor, Lady of the Shining Tower, and Mistress of the Winter Wood.” She spoke with all the authority she could muster. Just pretend you're back in the ED, Grace, and that he's Morty Underwood or one of the other residents asking a stupid question. It's not like that didn't happen often enough. “You are delaying my journey north. You will remove your men from my path and that of my army at once.”
Grace didn't glance over her shoulder, but she imagined Paladus and the rest of her force were in view by now. She was right, given the reaction of the knights. They shifted in their saddles, hands on the hilts of their swords.
“Your words are curious,” their leader said. “For we have seen only servants of evil drawn northward these days. And there is another who lays claim to the throne of Malachor.”
Grace allowed herself a sharp smile. “I bet he doesn't have this.”
With a smooth motion—and silently thanking Beltan and Durge for their lessons in swordsmanship—she drew Fellring from its scabbard and held it aloft. The blade caught the morning light, and the many runes shone as if molten.
Audible gasps escaped the visors of the knights.
“So the tales are true,” the leader said. “Fellring has been forged anew.”
Grace sheathed the sword again. “You'd better believe it. And I'm heading north not to serve evil, but to destroy it.”
“Those are strong words. But if King Ulther's sword is whole once more, then perhaps the other tales I have heard of it are true as well.