The Gates of Winter - Mark Anthony [178]
Kel gave her a concerned look. “Don't fret now, Your Majesty. We'll send the Pale King running back through his gate with his tail between his legs, just you wait and see.”
“Do you really believe that, Kel?”
The cheerful light faded from his eyes, and his massive shoulders drooped. “No, I can't say that I do. Much as that makes me sound like the doleful Embarran over there.”
Grace turned around. She hadn't noticed before—his gray attire blended with the dreary air—but Durge stood on the far end of the wall, gazing into the distance. Grace didn't know why—she didn't have anything to ask of him—but for some reason she wanted to go to him.
“Excuse me,” she said to King Kel, who gave her a miffed look, then snorted and headed back to the keep.
When she reached the wall, Grace glanced around, hoping a nearby soldier might be able to give her a hand up. However, all of them seemed to be absorbed in their work, so she headed to one of the wooden ladders and pulled herself up. It wasn't easy in her gown, but she made it to the top without getting too tangled up.
Once there, she had to grip the top of the ladder as a wave of dizziness crashed over her. The valley floor, over a hundred feet below, seemed to pull at her. She waited for the vertigo to pass, then edged her way carefully along the wall.
Durge seemed not to hear her approach. He stood as still as a statue, his gaze fixed on darkness to the north, his right hand pressed against his chest. Alarm flooded Grace. Did he know, then, what lay within his chest?
That's impossible, Grace. There's no way he could possibly know about the splinter of iron. You didn't tell anyone about it except for Mirda, and she's still in Calavere.
She reached into her pocket. Next to the rune of hope lay another object she had carried with her from Calavere: the vial of poison Mirda had given her.
Durge turned around. A look of pain etched his craggy face. She reached a hand toward him.
“What is it, Durge?”
“Something is coming,” he said. “I can feel it.”
The sound of a trumpet pierced the cold air, then she and Durge were moving. They didn't bother with a ladder. He lowered her to the ground with strong arms, then leaped down behind her. He landed with a grunt, and his knees creaked as he rose, but he waved away Grace's exclamations of concern.
“We must find Tarus and Paladus.”
They came upon the knight and the commander in front of the keep. Aldeth and Master Graedin were with them.
“What is it?” Grace said, getting the words out between gasps for breath.
“We managed to close it, Your Majesty,” Graedin said, his face pale. “Aldeth drove them back, and I spoke the runes before any of them could enter.”
She gripped his shoulders, hard. “Before who could enter?”
“The feydrim,” Aldeth said. A scratch on his cheek oozed blood. “Thousands of them. We should have seen them coming, but it was so dark from the smoke we couldn't see.”
They weren't making sense. Grace turned on the Spider. “You couldn't see what?”
“The Rune Gate, Your Majesty. It's opened.”
Durge gazed at Grace with solemn brown eyes. “The Pale King comes,” he said.
41.
Deirdre hung up the phone, praying to the Great Spirit she had just done the right thing.
It is, Deirdre. You made a promise—no more secrets.
The mysterious Seeker—the one who had been helping her—had said it was imperative no one learned of their arrival. But Deirdre couldn't do this alone, and while she still didn't know if she could trust Anders, she had to trust someone.
“He's on his way,” she said, glancing at Vani and Beltan.
“This new partner of yours?” Vani said. She stood by the window, keeping watch on the night with gold eyes.
“Yes.” Deirdre forced herself to breathe. “Once Anders is here, you can tell us everything.”
Beltan pounded on the buttons of the television remote control. “By the Blood of the Bull, how do you make this thing work?”
Despite her fear, Deirdre smiled. She sat down on the couch next to Beltan and took the remote. “So you like television, eh?”
Beltan's