The Gates of Winter - Mark Anthony [194]
However, all he said was, “There, child.” Then he kissed her brow and gently pushed her away. He climbed back onto his horse. “You'll take good care of her,” he said, gazing at Lirith and Sareth.
“With all our might,” Sareth said.
One of the knights guided his horse close to the king's. “Any sign of the prince yet?”
Aryn's sorrow receded in the wake of new fear. So they had not seen Teravian either. What did it mean? Before she could wonder more, the sound of trumpets shattered the brittle air. At the same moment, the sun crested the horizon, and the clouds changed from copper to fiery crimson.
“There,” the king said, pointing across the field to the east. “Here he comes now, along with Petryen and Ajhir. They were keeping track of him.”
The knight grinned. “Perhaps he was a bit groggy this morning after his adventures last night.”
Lirith's cheeks darkened, and she turned away. Sareth cast a puzzled look at her. Aryn started to reach for the witch, then murmured oaths rose from the men all around.
“By Vathris,” Boreas growled, “what's that they're carrying?”
Something was wrong, but Aryn couldn't see for all the horsemen. She spied a squire holding a horse, probably for a lord who had gone to use the privy trench one last time. Ignoring the boy's protest, she grabbed the saddle and pulled herself up.
The light of the dawning sun tinged countless shields and spears with the color of blood. Aryn shaded her eyes with her left hand and saw three riders approaching from the east. Two of the men rode dark horses; she recognized them as Duke Petryen and Sai'el Ajhir. Between them, on a white horse, rode Teravian. The prince was clad in a red cloak over black armor. A sword was belted at his side, and resting on his brow was a circlet wrought of silver.
Ajhir carried a banner, staff braced in his stirrup, and a breeze caught the cloth, unfurling it. It was a mirror to the banner of Calavan—a crown over crossed swords—only rather than silver on blue, it was gold on green. Petryen carried a second banner, red on white: the shape of a charging bull.
“What does he mean by this?” Boreas roared. “By all the Seven, he had better have a good explanation, or I will have him thrown in the dungeon, prince though he is.”
The army fell silent as the prince and the two men rode closer. The air behind them seemed to shimmer with ruby light; the clouds blazed in the sky. The three riders came to a halt, opposite the king and his captains, thirty paces away.
“Hear us, men of Vathris!” Ajhir called out. “Hear us, true followers of the Bullslayer!” His words rang out over the field, impossibly loud, so that every man could easily hear them. Aryn cast a startled glance at Lirith.
It's a spell, Lirith mouthed the words, weaving her fingers together.
With a jolt, Aryn understood. In a way it was like the enchantment that allowed them to speak across the Weirding. Only this magic made it so anyone could hear Ajhir's words. But where were the witches who were casting the spell?
“You have been betrayed, men of Vathris!” Ajhir called out. “You have been lied to by the very man who you now follow—by King Boreas himself.”
Murmurs of anger and dismay rose from the army. Men cast shocked looks at the king. Boreas's visage went white, and Aryn knew it was from rage rather than fear. His hand tightened around the hilt of his sword.
Petryen moved his horse forward; his voice rang out like Ajhir's. “He has told you it was the witch Ivalaine who tried to murder Prince Teravian. What he did not tell you was that it was he himself who convinced her to do the deed, using spells to twist her mind—dark magics no true man of Vathris would have dealings with. It was Boreas who did this, so that he might usurp his son's place in prophecy. For it is not King Boreas upon whom Vathris has shone his holy light, but rather upon his son. The prophecies are clear: It is Teravian who is to lead us in the battle against the darkness of the north, not the traitor