The Gates of Winter - Mark Anthony [171]
The gate is starting to open, Grace. The rune Travis bound into it at Midwinter over a year ago is weakening. The Pale King will ride soon.
The thought sent a shiver through her, but at least it seemed they would have only one enemy to fight, for King Kel had brought strange news about the Onyx Knights. Grace had spoken with the chieftain until long after midnight. As the bonfire burned low, she listened as he spoke of affairs in the northlands, across which he had traveled these last months.
Much of it Grace knew in part: how the Pale King's pylons had awakened, and how his ravens flew the skies, spying on the lands below. However, there was much that was news to her. Kel described how the pilgrims who marched north in answer to the call of the Raven Cult were amassing in the port town of Omberfell in northern Embarr, as well as in Kelcior, the ancient Malachorian keep north of Eredane in which Kel and his people had made their home until the Onyx Knights drove them out.
“Why?” Sir Tarus had asked. “For what purpose are the followers of the Raven gathering in those places?”
It was Durge who answered. “They're waiting for their master the Pale King to be freed of his prison, so they may serve him.”
King Kel let out a massive sigh. “I hate to sound like a gloomy Embarran myself, but I believe you're right in that.”
Grace tried to comprehend what this news meant. Last they knew, the Onyx Knights had held Kelcior. Though deluded by Kelephon, the knights of Eversea still believed they worked against the Pale King. They would never have willingly given up their keep to Berash's minions.
When she voiced her confusion about this, King Kel related his most astonishing news. Over the last several months, the Onyx Knights had been preparing for an all-out assault on the remaining Dominions: Perridon, Galt, Toloria, and Calavan. Kelephon would conquer the Dominions under the pretense of serving the Pale King, only at the last moment he intended to betray Berash, seize the Great Stones for himself, and set himself up as the king of Malachor reborn.
Then a fortnight ago, according to Kel, everything changed. The Onyx Knights had fallen into sudden disarray. They had abandoned Kelcior to the pilgrims of the Raven Cult, and they had withdrawn from the borders of Perridon and Galt. Hundreds of the knights had even been seen riding back west along the River Farwander, as if returning to Eversea. What was Kelephon up to?
“Maybe he's gotten distracted,” Aldeth had said. “I'm far better at sneaking than fighting, but from what I know wars don't wage themselves. They take a good deal of concentration.” The Spider shrugged. “Maybe his mind is elsewhere.”
There was no way to be certain, but it was hard to argue with the logic of Aldeth's conclusion. Yet if that was the case, what was distracting Kelephon?
“Perhaps the end comes sooner than he believed,” croaked a harsh voice behind her. “Perhaps he was forced to return to his master lest his treachery be discovered.”
Grace turned around to see a shapeless figure clad in gray rags shamble toward her across the battlement.
“Grisla,” she said, her breath white on the air. She shook her head. “Or is it Vayla?”
The hag batted the air with a bony hand. “Haven't you gotten over that one yet, daughter? It's time you quit asking questions and started finding answers.”
Grace reached into the pocket inside her cloak and drew out the rune of hope. “Do you know what I need to do with this?”
Grisla scowled at her. “And why should I know about a thing like that?”
“I saw you.” Grace brushed a thumb over the stone disk. “That time in King Kel's camp, I saw you work an augury with runes. Only it didn't make sense. Kel called you his witch. So which are you—a runespeaker or witch?”
Grisla rolled her one eye. “And why are people always so bent on choosing? This or that, left or right, one thing or the other. Don't you see? In the end, we're all just two sides of the same coin.”
Quicker than Grace could react, Grisla reached out and snatched the rune of hope. She twirled it