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CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Winning, yet losing at the same time, left Frost feeling utterly dissatisfied, and nearly drained. The burnt-black carcass of the beast lay crumbling and silent. A hazy smoke that smelled of sulphur, wood and flesh drifted from its gigantic remains. All that it was, all that had been a part of it—Tasche, Shassel, perhaps others as well—was gone.

Sharryl and Rosivok stood beside Frost, waiting patiently and keeping the surviving soldiers away while Frost got to his feet and stood there, teetering, collecting his thoughts. Shassel's death was too big a thing to think about right now, out here in a Grenarii forest. He had always known this day would come, but he had only just found her again, had only begun to make up for the mistakes he had made and the years they had cost him, the life.

"We are riding on to the old castle," Kolhol said, from as near as the Subartans would allow him to get. Frost looked up and saw that the king was already on horseback, as were most of his surviving soldiers. Even now they were assembling behind him.

"You will find no one there, I think," Frost said. "No one alive."

"Then we have burials to tend to."

Frost took a breath, and nodded. "Your son . . ." he began.

"Was still my son, no matter the rest, and I made him a promise, once. I will not leave his remains to be picked at. You owe your aunt that much as well."

"There are no remains, not of Shassel, I am certain of it. Nothing of her is left in this world, save that which exists in memory."

Kolhol seemed to contemplate this for a moment, wheels turning behind eyes just keen enough. "Suit yourself," he said at last, turning in his saddle and looking over what remained of his troops. "I will leave a few men with you as escort. You will go to my castle and be well taken care of, each of you, until I return. Then we can talk. We have much to talk about."

"Take your men," Frost said. "Leave good horses."

"As you wish," Kolhol huffed, clearly frustrated, though he did not delay in saying it. "Promise me you will return and not leave again for Worlish until I have had my say," he asked, before turning his mount to go.

"We will talk again, Lord Kolhol," Frost said. "Be sure of that."

Kolhol kept turning, though he paused once to glance over his shoulder at Frost as if some thought had caught him by the ear and was tugging at him. Then he turned away again, and his men started up the road with him, heading east. In a moment they were gone from sight, leaving Frost, Rosivok and Sharryl alone beside the colossal smoking, reeking corpse of the vanquished demon beast. Frost closed his eyes and breathed a great sigh, but before he could open them a new voice called from behind him, "Ho, Frost!"

A voice Frost thought he recognized, but he had trouble focussing on such things—on anything, in fact, just now. He shook himself from his daze as best he could and turned as he heard the man call his name again. He saw Rosivok moving to the right and eyeing a group coming toward them through the trees, and not the road.

As though they had been there, waiting for Kolhol and his soldiers to leave, Frost thought. Waiting to scavenge the beast or those who may have fallen while fighting it, perhaps. Waiting for their chance. 

They kept coming, though now it was clear they held their hands in the open to show they had no weapons drawn. Then Frost recognized the man in the lead, a big man dressed in fine blue and white robes and sporting jewelry that hung around his neck in ridiculous amounts. The men and horses that walked behind him numbered a dozen and looked as if they were on their way to an audience with royalty, rather than trudging about in the wilderness. Each was dressed in brightly colored matching tunics, skirts, and the most ornate armor, with tall helmets topped by red plumes, and heavily engraved breast plates and embroidered surcoats.

The leader waved.

Weakly, Frost waved back. "Cantor."

"Yes, Frost!" the merchant said as he drew up in front of Frost and extended both hands to greet him. Frost accepted the gesture. Cantor's men all drew up short behind him save one, a soldier carrying a fair-sized leather satchel who hurried up to Cantor's side.

"Most impressive," Cantor said. "You know, I have never seen the like. No sorcerer I have ever known could have destroyed such a beast, and so swiftly."

"There was but one," Frost said heavily.

"Who?"

"It no longer matters."

"As you say, no matter. You are remarkable enough."

Frost said nothing else, but Cantor let the silence endure for only a moment. He nodded at some thought of his own and showed Frost a fiendish grin. "I have a gift for you, one I went to great trouble to obtain," he said. "But I will know no sorrow if you choose to throw it away."

Cantor hadn't changed, though Frost had expected that. A riddle was as good a beginning as any, and kinder than some. Frost nodded. "Very well," he said.

With that Cantor gestured. The soldier beside him set the satchel on the ground, undid the leather tie and opened it. Then he grabbed the bag on two sides and shook out its contents. The smell preceded the sight. The bag contained a severed head. Frost blinked as he realized whose it was.

"You know this peddler," Cantor stated.

"Yes, Lurey," Frost answered, tipping his head to one side. He looked up again and signaled the soldier that he'd seen enough. The man used the toe of his boot to kick the head back into the bag before he tied it shut once more. Frost narrowed his gaze. "He was a friend of the family."

Cantor chuckled at this, then shook his head. "Not the friend you thought, I assure you. After all you have been through you are still too trusting a soul, Frost."

But he had learned that, hadn't he? Trust no one. Perhaps he could not even trust himself. "I don't trust you," he said.

Cantor grinned. "A good start. Do you remember Taya, the woman who owned the inn where we stayed when we first arrived in Calienn?"

"The one who betrayed me to Andair's soldiers," Frost said. In fact she had come to mind with Cantor's last words.

"Did she?" Cantor said, eyes going wider.

Frost nodded.

"That, I did not know. I know only that she sent her son as a messenger to me with word of rumors she had overheard at her inn. Talk among soldiers and travelers from Ariman, and one young nobleman too fond of ale, all since you were there. I tell you, that woman is very good at gathering such news, and she is not afraid to use it as she sees fit. I have never known her to betray a friend. Her son said you left without so much as a good-bye. Perhaps there is more to this than I guessed?"

"I knew she was talking to soldiers," Frost said. "I thought she was talking to them about me, telling them about the Demon Blade."

"Ah, yes, I see," Cantor said, rubbing his chin a moment. "You didn't trust her."

"No."

"Good work!" Cantor said with a flair, but then he frowned dramatically. "You were wise to do so, but my guess is you were . . . wrong. I correct myself, Frost, you are not too trusting, you are trusting of the wrong people."

Cantor was grinning again. Frost felt the truth of it lay in his gut hard and heavy.

"Perhaps," Frost said, wondering if he would ever pass that way again, if he would have the chance to speak to Taya again, one day, and ask her face to face. To tell her . . .

He shook the thought out of his head; there wasn't time to dwell on it now, and no gain. "The boy," Frost said. "What did he say?"

"That Andair and Gentaff were getting information from someone close to you. This troubled me. As I have told you, I want this matter of you and the Demon Blade cleared up swiftly and at any cost; it can be a terrible, evil thing, as you and I both know, and I will not stand by and see my world and all that I have built be devastated by it."

Frost sighed heavily. "Go on."

Cantor nodded. "I had the rumor looked into. It led me to Lurey, your peddler friend. I had him followed after that. His many journeys would amaze anyone, but they would be of special interest to you. Lurey was loyal to his payments and nothing more. I would wager he was Shassel's friend for all these years because she was the only power in the land, other than Andair, and even the king himself could not do many of the things Shassel was capable of. I am told the twins possess a little talent for magery as well. I am sure Lurey had this, too, in mind.

"After you arrived a good many things changed. Indeed, for a man like Lurey, new opportunities arose almost faster than he could profit by them—though he did an admirable job of trying."

"So he betrayed me, Shassel and the twins?" Frost asked.

"To start with. Lurey has been selling information to everyone. To Tasche and Haggel, to Kolhol, to Andair, and even to you. Quite an ambitious fellow really, and successful, unless lives hang in the balance, and many have. Including, with all due credit to me, his own."

Cantor took a bow.

Frost had no words for this, for the pain and consternation that was nearly strangling him. Then one thought rose to his lips: "Shassel is dead because of him."

"If she is dead, that would be my guess. I believe Lurey sold information about her to Tasche and Haggel. They sought her out and captured her only days after meeting with Lurey in secret. Then they brought her to these woods. Something to do with that hideous thing you killed so grandly." He waved one hand at the still smoldering carcass less than fifty paces away. "But by then Lurey was off to points north and west, and back again."

Frost nodded slowly, feeling even more haggard than he had a moment ago, feeling vanquished, just as he had when the demon prince Tyrr had nearly destroyed him. But even then, though the damage had been far worse, he had not felt the pain of it so deeply, a pain beyond the physical, and much more debilitating. He had failed Shassel in every possible way, and for nothing more than . . .

"She was trapped inside that thing, and helped destroy it," he said. "She is dead." He shook his head, eyes closed, then he focussed on Cantor once again. "The Grenarii king, Kolhol, lied to me as well. He must have known more than he said. He is not the trickster Andair is, but he seems intent on his own destruction nonetheless." Frost turned to Cantor again. "Kolhol wanted my help to rid him of this beast, and with luck Tasche as well—perhaps even his own son in the bargain. He knew enough. He rode on to bury his son's body, though he might have had other reasons for feeling uncomfortable around me."

"That he might," Cantor said. "Especially after seeing what you did here. He will have dreams about this day for many nights to come, I think. But with Tasche gone he will want to retain your services as court wizard, once he gets his confidence back. Knowing his reputation, I do not think that will take him very long."

"He should not get his hopes up," Frost replied bitterly. "I promised to see him again, but only to pay what I owe him for all of this."

"Agreed, he should pay, and probably with his life, but probably not soon."

Frost eyed Cantor again. He looked suddenly grim. "Why not?"

"Because another duty awaits you, one far more pressing and dear. My informants are many, and they go many places. Almost as many as Lurey did! I learned as I was coming here that Dorin and Dara are once again the guests of Lord Andair and the sorcerer Gentaff. Andair's soldiers rode in to Wilmar's village after you left and collected the twins again. Tramet and Wilmar with them. They may be dead, all of them, by now, but if Andair had ordered them killed I think he would have left the bodies behind."

"That was Andair's plan all along," Frost said, forcing the words out through tightly clenched teeth while he turned away from Cantor, away from everyone, and stared at the decimated demon creature, both fists knotted. He had wanted to avenge the wrongs of the past, but now he must add all the wrongs of the present to the list. Far too many. 

I should have hidden them elsewhere myself, he thought, furious at the thickness of his skull. I should have placed layers of warding spells on them, or stayed with them. I should have found a way to protect Shassel, but . . . 

"This was part of Andair's plan, at least, I am sure of that," Cantor agreed. "Lurey must have told him about Shassel, and he used the information to his own ends. He was always a clever sort, but some of what happened was happenstance, which Andair simply adapted to."

"He knew I would leave the twins to search for Shassel. He only had to find them."

Cantor shrugged. "Agreed. Though he might not have guessed you would learn the truth so quickly, and come to Grenarii. By now he must know that. He wants the Demon Blade, as does Gentaff, but they are as worried that you will help Kolhol as Kolhol is that you will not. Still, they can use their hostages for leverage in either case."

"Of course," Frost said, turning, setting off through the dried and crackling underbrush, stomping his way between dead trees until he reached the ash-gray claws of the beast. Several of its talons were shattered like so much dark crystal, and part of the hand and arm had turned to dust. Frost leaned over the mess, holding his nose, and reached out to grasp the hilt of the Demon Blade. It stayed in place on the first pull. He got closer, half-sitting on the burnt and crumbling carcass, and tried again, until it pulled finally from the earth.

The Blade felt good in his hand as he wielded it, careful not to let it draw from him now—not now, not yet, not here. There would come a time, and soon. He still lacked the knowledge he needed to control the Blade completely, to ensure that it would not kill him or do more damage than he intended, perhaps to those he would protect. He knew it was far too dangerous to use the Blade again, especially in anger. But he knew in his heart and in his soul, as he stood in this forest, his hand tight on the hilt and his ears full of the sound of its smooth metal edge whistling through the air as he swung it once over his head—he knew he must.

Gentaff knew who was to have the Blade, but it was a secret he seemed to want to keep. He also knew full well what he was doing by taking the twins hostage again. If he will not tell me what he knows, then he will take that knowledge to the grave, Frost swore in silence. One he will share with Andair. 

"I hear they have quite a reception planned for you in Weldhem," Cantor said, after Frost had turned once more and made his way back. "Though I know no details."

"No doubt," Frost said. "In any case, I must go. He tricked me years ago and he got away with it. He has tricked me again, but I vow this day that it will not stand." Frost realized he was still swiping at the air in front of him with the Demon Blade, punctuating his words. He made an effort to lower the weapon.

"He has cost me a part of myself and far too much of my life, cost the twins their father and Wilmar and his son nearly everything they had. Now, by whatever measure, he has cost the world a most precious life, and even more lives hang in the balance. For all my travels and years I had thought myself a wiser man, but mistakes have been made on both sides. Andair will not run away this time, and I will not leave."

"The Demon Blade will be the price for the twins' lives, and the others," Cantor said. "But you cannot give it to them."

"I know," Frost replied.

"Then I would tell you one more thing. You can only blame yourself for just so much in life, Frost. No one man is responsible for everything. It is more complicated than that. As you must know."

"I know," Frost said. "But that is not enough." He wrapped the Blade, then put it on his back again and covered it with his cloak.

"We will go as soon as you are ready," Sharryl said, and Frost looked up to find his two Subartans staring at him. Rosivok added a silent nod.

"We'll need to better use our heads this time, I think," Frost told them, trying to add a little bit of smile. It wasn't necessary. They understood.

"When I am through with my tasks in Worlish, I will return to pay Lord Kolhol a visit," Frost said then, speaking so only Cantor could hear. "But what of you?" he asked. "You who has served us all so well?"

"I will wait, and watch, and trust my best interests will be served."

"I could make good use of an army," Frost said.

"I can field a small one," Cantor answered, "but not one large enough to march on Andair at Weldhem. You will need other means, if you have them."

Frost nodded.

"What of fresh horses?" Cantor asked.

"We have these," Rosivok said, nodding toward the mounts Kolhol had left them.

Cantor tipped his head to examine them, then he shook his head, grinned, and slapped Frost twice on the shoulder. "I say no." He gestured to Rosivok to follow him. "My friends," Cantor said, "you will have the swiftest horses in the land. It is the very least I can do."

* * *

Frost slowed to let the horses feed and rest only as often as he thought he must. He passed nowhere near the village Shassel had called home for so long, but rode due south into Worlish, then west again, toward Weldhem. He finally admitted to himself that he felt ill, a convergence of factors, fatigue and trepidation among them, frustration and frenzy, and a bit of fever brought on by his poor condition. His mind boiled in the soup created by all of this, and he had no choice but to let it. Fighting how his body felt or the thoughts that swirled in his head would only tire him more, would only stall the inevitable.

Sharryl and Rosivok allowed him his isolation as they all rode out of Grenarii and traveled along the roads of Worlish. On the third day, not far from Weldhem, they came within sight of a small, familiar village at a crossroad, where they turned north and headed toward Wilmar's lands. He had to be sure all of it was true, and he had to know if Wilmar, Tramet and the twins had been taken alive. He was sure someone would know.

Before they had gotten started a pair of young boys approached them and fell in step, running along beside their horses. "We are sent to tell you that someone is waiting for you at the inn," the nearest one said, as he had no doubt been paid to do. "He has important words for you. He said to tell you his name is Jons."

The village had only one inn. Frost found Jons seated at a table in front of it along with his usual four soldiers. One of six tables, though all the others were empty. Frost dismounted. Sharryl and Rosivok did the same, then walked with him, letting the horses wander as they willed. Jons had a cocky smirk on his face. Frost had an overwhelming urge to remove it at the neck.

"You have a message for me?" Frost asked.

"I do, from my king, Lord Andair, as you have guessed. You are to deliver the Demon Blade to him, or your young cousins will die, along with those who have helped you."

Frost held steady. "Who would they be?"

"Surely you know Wilmar and his son, Tramet. At least Andair is sure you do. He has them as well, and he would have me warn you that this time he and Gentaff have gone to great lengths to prepare for your visit. It will not be like before, storm or no storm. Any attempt to turn the situation to your advantage will be met swiftly and will bring a grim result."

Frost had expected every word. He turned to his Subartans and shrugged, matter of fact. "How grim?"

"And in whose mind?" Rosivok asked.

"He cannot answer questions," Sharryl said. "He has no mind."

Frost saw the fire in his Subartans' eyes. They had suffered enough at the hands of their enemies—Frost's enemies—and were more than eager to purchase a share of vengeance. Jons seemed determined to hold himself up as a ready target.

But Frost was not through with him yet.

"Anyone's opinion would do," Jons answered coldly, then, "Have no doubt, it is true. You were lucky the last time, I know that, but luck will not go with you again. As Lord Andair has proven many times already, none of you is bright enough even to learn from your mistakes."

Frost bit his lip, then raised his arm and waved to either side, halting Rosivok and Sharryl as each took a step forward. He tasted blood, then closed his eyes and took a breath before going on. "That, good Jons, is a mistake in itself. But I won't belabor the issue. I would know more important things. Are the captives unharmed?"

"The twins are well," Jons answered freely. "I was there when they and the others were captured and taken away. Wilmar and his son put up a fight. I am afraid they each suffered a beating before they relented. Wilmar was nearly beaten to death, but that is why you all get along so well, isn't it? Fools keeping company with fools."

"Perhaps," Frost said, fists going white as he tightened them.

"What else would you know?" Jons asked, waving at the world around him. "The day? The season?" He grinned again, snide. "The length of the tear in Dara's dress? Or the shape of the mole on her left breast?"

Frost nodded once, and his Subartans leaped forward.

The soldiers at the table were on their feet, swords drawn as Sharryl and Rosivok reached them, but two of them fell in a spray of gore before they could wield their blades. Jons jumped back from the table and pressed his back against the inn's thin daub and wattle wall as he drew his own sword. He began inching his way toward the inn's open door while Rosivok engaged another soldier, deflecting three, then four sharp parries. Sharryl met the fourth soldier from a height advantage as she sprang onto the tabletop. The table wobbled, worrying her balance, but she managed to avoid the thrust when the soldier tried to take advantage, then she swung her subarta across, left to right, and forced the soldier's blade aside just far enough to leave him open. But now a polished, black-handled dagger appeared in his left hand. He tried to slash with it, but in the midst of the effort Sharryl's left leg shot out. Her boot caught the soldier square in the face as the dagger's blade was deflected. The crack of fracturing bone was followed by a groan as the man dropped the dagger and reached to cover his eyes and nose. Sharryl squatted and drove her subarta forward, ending the duel.

Frost moved past Rosivok as his subarta came across to catch the fingers and knuckles of his opponent's sword hand where they wrapped around his weapon's hilt. His sword fell away and the man started to scream as chunks of his digits fell after the weapon. He kept screaming as Rosivok stepped in and drove his subarta through him, then pulled it back.

Frost dodged right, out of the way, as the soldier's body spun and collapsed, then he stepped past.

Jons reached the door just as Frost got to Jons. He swung his blade but Frost stopped short, just out of reach. Frost raised his staff, more than twice the length of Jons' weapon, reached out and touched Jons with the tip. Jons yelped like an animal as he jumped to one side. Frost caught him again, and Jons yelped even louder.

"Leave me unharmed or you will pay a dear price!" Jons shouted, gulping a breath and leaping again to avoid a third jolt from Frost's staff. "I—I am Andair's personal—"

He leaped again. "His personal . . ."

He gasped suddenly, eyes going wide, and looked down. A black-handled dagger protruded from his abdomen, its blade fully embedded.

"No longer," Sharryl said.

Jons let a thin, strained breath slip out. Blood followed it to his lips. He fell to his knees, then he drooped down and lay on his side as the life flowed out of him.

Frost looked at Sharryl.

"It belonged to a friend of his," she said.

"Only fitting," Frost replied, then he raised his eyes to Rosivok as he appeared just behind Sharrly. "Have the innkeeper bring us food and ale, and tell him I will pay him for this mess."

Rosivok went inside, and soon a small feast sat before them. When they had had their fill, Frost walked to the edge of the village and found a spot where rocks had been taken from the fields nearby and piled for use in building. He sat on the pile and stared up at the stars, thinking of the day to come. He could only imagine what precautions Gentaff had taken, what Andair might be planning to do. He imagined nothing good, but he was not without his own resources. He would not trust, he would not be fooled, and he would not hold anything back. He needed to know all that, needed to believe it. Most of all, he needed to use his wits more than ever before. It was possible that a lifetime spent wandering, learning, atoning, becoming all that he was, had not been in vain. He could not change the past, only the present, and the future.

He spent most of the night bent over the Demon Blade, adapting a spell, a very old and simple one, hoping it would work. . . .

 

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