The Gates of Winter - Mark Anthony [90]
So that explained how they knew who Grace was. But that didn't explain how the witches had known to find Grace on the road outside Calavere, or where she was going. Only they had known. Which meant one among them had the Sight.
Senrael had confirmed it last night, when she and Lursa paid a visit to Grace's tent. The two explained how, after the High Coven allied with the witch Liendra and those who sought to destroy Runebreaker, they had formed a shadow coven and had searched for a role they might play in the Final Battle, something they could do to aid Runebreaker in fulfilling his destiny. Then, a fortnight ago, it had come to Lursa as she gazed at a candle.
“I didn't even know I had the Sight,” the young Embarran woman said. She was soft-spoken and unassuming, but there was intelligence and humor in her brown eyes.
“Sometimes power only reveals itself in times of great need,” Senrael said. “And I'd say these times certainly qualify.” The toothless old woman was at once feisty and grandmotherly. Grace liked her instantly.
Lursa nodded. “It wasn't at all like a dream—it was clear, as if I was living it. I knew we would join you, and that we would travel with you to Shadowsdeep.”
Grace gave the young woman a wan smile. “You didn't happen to see how things would go once we got there, did you?”
Lursa shook her head and smiled back. “Magic never seems to be that convenient, does it?”
“No,” Grace said, “it doesn't.”
Before the two women left the tent, they had asked if Grace would accept the role of Matron in their coven.
“I'm the oldest and crabbiest,” Senrael said, “so I get to be Crone. And Lursa has made for a fine Maiden.”
Lursa frowned. “I'm too old for the role, you know. I'm four-and-twenty winters.”
“Yet you were the best choice, and you know it,” Senrael said. “And fear not for your status as Maiden. I'll make certain none of the men in this army dare lay a hand on you. If one does, he'll discover his private bits have shriveled up like raisins.”
Grace doubted untoward advances would be a problem. She had seen the dark glances the men cast at the witches, as well as the signs they made with their hands behind their backs. Durge was not the only one who was suspicious.
“I'll do it, if you need me to,” Grace said, then grimaced. “But I don't really know what being Matron involves. I'm afraid I'm not much of a mother figure.”
“And aren't you?” Senrael said, casting a glance at the cot where Tira lay curled up, one of her half-burnt dolls tucked under her arm.
Now Grace watched as the last of her army marched across the bridge. Sir Tarus shouted orders, as did Commander Paladus, and camp was quickly set up near the banks of the river. Night fell, clear and cold, and Master Graedin and the other runespeakers moved through the camp, touching stones and speaking the rune of fire. Dawn seemed to come mere moments after Grace lay down on her cot, and it was time to rise and continue the journey.
It was midmorning when the seven towers of Ar-tolor hove into view, green banners snapping. Grace imagined she would have to enter the castle in order to meet with Ivalaine, but as they approached she saw a pavilion had been set up outside the castle walls. The canvas of the pavilion was striped green and gold, and atop the center post flew the royal banner of Toloria. So the queen had come to meet her. But why?
Perhaps to avoid prying eyes and ears, Grace. Isn't Sister Liendra still in Ar-tolor?
A pony trotted toward Grace, a drab bundle on its back which, a moment later, Grace realized was Senrael.
“The queen must not see my sisters and me,” the old witch said. She pointed to a distant knot of trees. “We will wait