The Gates of Winter - Mark Anthony [84]
It was true. Krondisar had transformed Tira into a goddess. What her purpose was, Grace didn't know, but she had the feeling that, even if she wanted to, she could not prevent Tira from coming. Nor could Grace say she was sorry.
With the guardsman's help, Grace climbed into the saddle behind Tira. The girl snuggled close.
“Grace!” said a hoarse voice.
Beltan stood beside her horse. The knight's green eyes were desperate, questioning. Hastily, Grace reached into the pouch at her side and drew out a wadded piece of cloth. It was blotched with dark brown stains.
“Take this.”
He fumbled with the cloth. “What is it?”
“A bandage. I took it from Travis's arm.”
Shock flickered across his face, then understanding. There was only a small amount of Travis's blood contained in the cloth, but it was enough. And Vani still had the gate artifact.
“Bring him back to us, Beltan. To Eldh.”
The knight looked up at her, his face determined. “I will. We both will.”
“Now, my lady!” Durge said, wheeling Blackalock around.
Grace had done everything she could; it was time to ride. On impulse, she drew Fellring and raised it above her head. The morning sun glinted off the blade, setting it afire.
“To Gravenfist Keep!” called a bold voice, and Grace was amazed to realize it was her own.
Tira laughed. “Blademender,” she said.
And a cheer rose on the bitter air as Grace rode down to meet her army.
22.
They marched east, following the same road Grace had traveled on the way to the Gray Tower last summer. She rode at the head of the small force, Durge to her right and Tarus to her left. Behind came the knights of the Dominions, followed by the Calavaner foot soldiers and the band of runespeakers upon sturdy mules. Last of all came the one Tarrasian company, bronze breastplates gleaming. As for Queen Inara's Spiders, Grace could never be certain where they were, though she had little doubt that they were keeping up—and keeping watch.
The weather was crisp and brilliant. Sunlight splintered into rainbows as it struck prisms of ice, and the jingle of chain mail rose like bells on the frigid air. Despite the cold, Grace was warm in her fur-lined cloak as she rode Shandis. Although she supposed it was neither garment nor horse that accounted for her comfort.
“Thank you,” she said as the castle vanished from sight behind them. She pressed her cheek against Tira's unruly red hair. As always, the girl was warm despite her bare arms and legs. “For keeping me warm.”
Tira ignored Grace as she made her doll dance along Shandis's mane, as if running through fields of wheat.
After that, Grace gave her first order as commander of the army. She told Tarus that if at any time as they traveled, any man—or woman, for there were the two lady Spiders—found the cold too unbearable, he was to come walk or ride near Grace.
Tarus gave her an odd look. “And how will that help, Your Majesty?”
“You haven't been cold riding beside me, have you?”
“Now that you mention it, I haven't.”
She hugged Tira and smiled. “I didn't think so.”
Tarus shot her a puzzled look, then wheeled his horse around to give the order.
Grace knew she shouldn't be enjoying this—they were riding off to war, not a picnic in the countryside—but all the same it was difficult not to feel her spirits soaring. Maybe after they had marched a hundred leagues they would look weary and bedraggled, and things would seem different, but right then she was struck by the grandeur of the army. All of the men looked hard and capable and brave, their helms gleaming in the sun. Bright banners snapped overhead: white on blue for Calavan, gold on green for Toloria, dark violet for Perridon, and russet for the men of Galt. The Tarrasian force carried the standard of the empire—five stars over three trees—and the gray robes of the runespeakers were like their own kind of banner.
Grace let out a foggy breath. “It seems I'm the only one without a flag.”
Durge smacked a hand to his forehead. “Forgive me, Your Majesty, in all the haste to depart I quite forgot to give