The Gates of Winter - Mark Anthony [224]
“By the Blood of the Bull,” Paladus swore. The Tarrasian commander stood beside her now, along with Tarus, Vedarr, and several other knights, though there was no sign of Durge. The army was close now, its vanguard no more than a hundred paces away. The horses tossed their heads, and the foot soldiers marched with swift precision, as if none of them felt the burden of the long journey north.
“Where is the king?” Tarus said, squinting.
They had dwelled so long in the darkness that the sunlight dazzled Grace. She lifted a hand, shading her eyes. Two figures rode beneath the banner of Calavan, but both were too slight of build to be the bullish king. One rode a white horse, while the other's mount was jet-black. Then the riders drew closer, and Grace staggered.
This was impossible. She couldn't be here. Only she was, and now Grace did feel joy—true, boundless joy.
“Aryn,” she gasped. Then louder, her voice ringing out over the valley. “Aryn!”
The young baroness urged her mount into a gallop. She was clad in royal blue, and she looked proud and regal astride the white horse. Strapped to her right shoulder was a shield, and in her left hand, a sword. She raised the sword, and its tip caught fire as the sunlight struck it. At that moment a roar rose up from the army behind her, echoing off the walls of the valley. Queen Aryn the Fair! Queen Aryn the Fair!
Grace's mind spun. What did that chant mean? And where was King Boreas? The figure on the black horse was riding hard after Aryn, and Grace saw it was Prince Teravian. None of this made any sense. Both Aryn and Teravian should be in Calavere, not here—not at the end of all things.
Aryn brought her horse to a halt a few paces away. She sheathed the sword and slipped out of the saddle with an easy motion before any of the knights could hurry forward to help her. Grace tried to say something, to find words to express what she was feeling, but Aryn was faster. She rushed forward and threw her good left arm around Grace, catching her in a fierce embrace. The shield made the gesture awkward, but no less warm. Grace returned the embrace with all her strength, holding on tight to the young baroness.
Or was she still a baroness? Queen Aryn, the men of Vathris had called her, and there was no sign of King Boreas. An edge of fear cut through Grace's joy.
Gently, firmly, she pushed the younger woman away. “Aryn, what's happening? How can you be here? And why have you brought the prince instead of the king?”
Aryn's blue eyes were solemn. “I have brought the king, Grace. The king of Calavan.”
Teravian had caught up to them now. The prince climbed down from his horse. His face was graver than Grace remembered it, and he was clad all in black and silver, just like his father always wore.
Just like his father . . .
Grace took a staggering step back. She looked at Aryn, at the prince, then at Aryn again. It felt as if someone had jabbed a needle into her heart. In the sky, the gap in the clouds closed; gloom settled back over the world.
“Boreas is dead,” Grace said.
Aryn nodded, and gasps of dismay rose from Tarus, Paladus, and the other men around Grace.
“How?” Grace clutched Aryn's arm. “You have to tell me how.”
Aryn shook her head. “There's so much, Grace. I don't know where to begin.”
“Then you might want to save this little chat for later,” Samatha said, flicking her mistcloak back over her shoulders. “I've just come from the wall. It looks as if the enemy is preparing to advance again.”
Grace felt so cold. “Was Durge there, Sam? Did you see him at the wall?”
The Spider shook her head. “He wasn't in the barracks either.”
“We have to find him,” Aryn said. “We have to find Durge right away.”
Grace stared at her. “Why?”
“Because Tira spoke his name to me.”
Grace's heart was too frail to bear this. “Tira?”
“She appeared to us three days ago. It was just after Lirith had a vision