The old gates of the city stood open. As Frost and his Subartans entered they were greeted by rows of soldiers on either side, an impressive show of force obvious to anyone in the city. One man, a very young soldier for the rank he wore on his vestments, came forward to do the talking. He insisted on escorting the visitors up to the castle for an audience with Andair. Immediately.
"And Gentaff?" Frost asked. "Has he fled?"
"I am not told," the soldier replied. "But that is unlikely."
"Very well," Frost said, and they proceeded through the streets where most of the population of Weldhem waited, lining the way to get a glimpse of them. The crowds vanished as the road reached the castle and crossed over the moat. More soldiers waited in the castle's expansive main courtyard. As was to be expected.
Very little of the damage from Frost's earlier visit remained, the charred and bloodied earth had been cleaned, much of the stone and wood repaired. The memories were fresh in Frost's mind, along with the memory of Gentaff himself, of his powerful aura, sharp and sour. He felt that aura again just now. Gentaff was herein the keep just aheadbut no magical traps were present, at least none that were active or obvious. Frost suspected that might change.
The heavy doors on the raised parapet swung open as the soldiers escorting Frost drew to a sudden halt. A procession emerged onto the high walkway, headed toward the stairs, and began to descend to the courtyard's floor. Gentaff led the way, followed by Andair. After them came a small contingent of soldiersand among them, bound at the hands and closely held but all quite alive, were Wilmar, Tramet, Dorin and Dara. None of them looked well, especially Wilmar who seemed barely able to walk. Even from a distance his bruises were visible. Frost watched as the soldiers helped him down the stairs.
Andair looked splendid in a scarlet-colored cloak trimmed in sliver cloth, and quite in contrast to the dark blue cloak worn by Gentaff. Frost had not laid eyes on Andair for half a lifetime and he almost didn't recognize his old foe. But the resemblance was there beneath the robes of royalty, the same look in the eyes visible even at a distance, a wicked look Frost had not understood once, long ago, but one he was more familiar with these days.
"Lord Andair!" Frost shouted out as the group reached the bottom. "You have seen fit to attend the meeting this time."
Andair acted as if he hadn't heard until he and the others had assembled some fifty paces away, spread out in a line. "And you have come back, just as you were told," the king said, "as your king commands."
Frost made an effort not to bristle at this, to tell himself he had expected nothing less. He needed a clear head, a sharp focus. The clouds of rage would not serve him now. At least not yet.
"Listen to me, Frost, and listen well," Gentaff said, as he stepped out from the others. Without words between them Andair moved forward as well, then he walked to the right, in the direction of the stables on the courtyard's northern wall. A wooden post, waist-high and fat as a man's leg, had been planted in the earth only a few paces from the group. Andair walked past, until the post stood precisely between himself and Gentaff. Then he turned and Frost saw that he held a velvet sack in his hands, one he seemed quite intent about, as he held it up for all to see.
"Andair holds the key to your cooperation," Gentaff went on. "A talisman I made from a bloodstone, a very smooth and perfect one, which I have been saving for years. I have labored over it for days in anticipation of your arrival."
As Gentaff spoke, Andair withdrew the stone from the sack, walked over and placed it on top of the post. Then he stepped away from it, measuring his paces, until he and Gentaff were again precisely ten paces each away from the stone.
"The talisman requires only a single, short phrase to empower it. With that phrase the spell will be released, one prepared especially for you, Frost. It is a physical spell, you know the type. This one cripples a man by making every muscle in his body burn with fatigue, even a sorcerer's muscles. Part illusion, part reality, but altogether effective, and far too complex to defend against quickly enough, even for one such as you."
"We each know the phrase," Lord Andair said with particular glee. "Gentaff has taught me how to use it. If you do not agree to our terms, if you have any tricks in mind, if you try to flee"
"Or if you try to use the Demon Blade," Gentaff interrupted, glancing back at the twins and the others, who remained surrounded by soldiers.
"I can activate the spell, just as Gentaff can," Andair went on. "It can remain activated long enough to stop you forever, I think. Or Gentaff can. He thinks the spell might kill you. It would be interesting to find out."
"In any event, you cannot hope to stop both of us at the same time, thin as you are," Gentaff added, "and you cannot prevail against the talisman, I promise you."
"However, I am assured that you will live long enough to see my guards take care of everyone else you hold dear in this world," Andair said. "That is the only alternative. You will submit. You have no other choice."
"You have already had a hand in the death of Shassel," Frost said, letting some of the bitterness he felt flow into his voice.
Andair shook his head. "I have heard something of this already. But how can you blame me for another sovereign's actions? Kolhol is my enemy. Grenarii is as hostile a land to me as to you. If misfortune found Shassel there, it says nothing of me."
"You lied to me," Frost said. "A lie that took time to realize and might have taken much longer, time I could have used to save her. That is enough. You have always lied to me, Andair. Now, I have stopped listening."
"Then listen to me," Gentaff said, taking another step forward. He withdrew a short staff no longer than a man's arm from beneath his dark cloak and waved it at Frost like a club. "The talisman is real. The spell is real. The orders given these soldiers to kill their prisoners and then you is real. I have taken no chances this time, Frost. I heard all about the massacre in Ariman, I know you have command of the Demon Blade, and I know what it is capable of. You have no secrets here, and no leverage. Do as I say, nothing less, nothing more. It is your only hope, and theirs."
"It was my hope that you would tell me who the next Keeper of the Blade might beother than you or Andair, of course," Frost said. "Shassel thought you knew. Perhaps in honor of her memory, and the memory of those who have gone before us, you might now do what you know is right, and tell me after all."
"My memory of her is vague," Gentaff replied.
"And mine bitter," Andair sniffed. "That woman has needed to die for years!"
"You have needed to die for years," Frost said as evenly as he could manage, though that proved most difficult.
Gentaff showed a feeble grin at this. "It is good to see old friends getting along so well. But I think all this chatter can wait until some other time. For now we should move things along." He looked over his shoulder at the prisoners, then turned to Frost again. "I will agree to name the Keeper of the Blade, and agree to turn both the twins and Wilmar and Tramet over to you, as soon as you have handed the Demon Blade to me."
Frost stood silent for a long moment, watching the two men, measuring them. The Demon Blade remained where it was, pressed against Frost's back, wrapped in its scabbard.
"Let me tell you what you do not know," Frost said, turning slightly so as to ignore Andair, addressing Gentaff. "Foremost, you do not know how to use the Demon Blade. Even I have not been fully able to understand it; even I cannot precisely control it. What I have managed has taken a great deal of time to learn, and has come at a great cost to many, and myself."
"You will tell us whatever you know," Andair said. "You have no choice. Then I will worry about the rest."
"I have choices," Frost said. "You will ask what you like, and I will answer, but no matter what I tell you it will not be the truth. I feel I owe you that much."
Now it was Andair who boiled, but Gentaff held up his hand to bring pause to the exchange. "All as it should be, I suspect," he said. "I understand completely, but it does not matter. I already knew more about the Demon Blade than most any man alive, perhaps nearly as much as you, Frost. More importantly, I know the results of your work with it, I know the Blade drew the life energy out of every soldier on the battlefield in Ariman. I know that in turn you managed to use that energy to destroy a demon prince. There lies the secret that has been lost for so long. Once the end is known, the means are easily devised for one such as myself. You of all men should agree; you devised a means without even that knowledge to begin with. You say your means are slipshod, that may be true. Mine will not be."
"You don't know what you are doing," Frost chided, "and you will not. You cannot imagine. There is more to the Blade than even you or I can understand, more than even many of those on the last Council knew, I fear. All the legends ever told about the Blade are true, but there are others untold. A darkness unimagined, perhaps unintended. To use the Blade as I have, as you would, is madness."
"As you yourself have said, anything you tell us today will be a lie," Andair said.
"Anything I tell you," Frost said. "I speak now to Gentaff, and what I say is truth. Do not brush aside my warnings, else you will find yourself a bigger fool than even Tasche was."
"Was?" Andair asked, though Gentaff was also clearly intrigued.
"A victim of his own ambitions and limitations, as were many others. The Grenarii prince among them. Are you so eager to follow on such a path? To destroy yourself and others? You will never be able to use the Blade without bringing disaster. You all know of Cantor of Calienn, the merchant lord. He knows the truth of what I speak, the darkness that waits. You need not take my word for it."
"No!" Gentaff said, showing signs of frustration, evidence that Frost's arguments were having an effect. The sorcerer paused as if considering his next words carefully. "I have given the Blade and its possibilities great thought. The spells needed to activate the Blade are complex, certainly, but above all they must be designed to draw energy from all but he who holds the weapon. That, I think, I have divined; just as you have. I have more knowledge than you, Frost, even you would not deny that. I have the means and desire to make the Blade work, no matter what you think, and it will be secure in my hands. But there is only one way we will ever know. The transaction must proceed."
The entire group left of Gentaff watched and listened with absolute attention, including the twins, Tramet, and Wilmar, so far as Frost could tell, though Wilmar's eyes were closed more than open. Frost focussed on Dorin and Dara and tried to analyze their expressions. Not bitterness, not now, but he saw other things therefrustration, fear, anger. They had been quick to judge him all along, most often as harshly as possible, and eager to condemn him for the decisions he had made. All rightly so, at least in part. Frost knew that, but if Dorin and Dara had been too hard on him, so perhaps, had he; if Shassel's forgiveness was to mean anything, and if he was ever to have theirs, they must look forward now, not back. All of them.
Frost turned and surveyed the courtyard. At least two hundred men had gathered around the perimeter, their backs to the stone walls, obediently waiting and watching events in the center. Whatever happened, it would take them several moments to reach him, or the others. Not long, but perhaps long enough.
He shouted to the twins, "Tell me, what would you do in my place? You know all that is at stake."
"Frost," Dorin answered, while his sister remained silent. "I have been wondering that very thing. I see no possible solution other than to give them what they want. At least . . . for now."
"Hear the boy, Frost?" Andair said. "Listen to him. If you die defying me, we will have the Blade in any case. The poorer alternative, I think. If you live, there is always hope."
"Yes, try to see the sense in that," Gentaff said jovially.
"But that won't work, because you can never give them the Blade," Dorin added, scowling at Andair. "Never."
"Never!" Dara echoed.
Tramet nodded, apparently unwilling or unable to speak. His father only managed to look up, but his eyes were keen enough, still defiant, even after all he'd been through.
"You are all quite dense," Andair said, shaking his head. "It is no surprise you have fared so badly."
The scowls on the twins' faces said enough.
"A difficult situation," Frost said. "Which will no doubt require a difficult solution."
"The correct decision is not always easy to come by," Dorin said, looking at Frost, eyes hard on him and saying more than words could have.
"So I have learned," Frost said.
"So have we all," Dara added, and Frost found the same depth in her gaze.
He turned again to Gentaff. "Our hosts may be correct, after all. It is hard to argue with their logic, or the reality of this day. Therefore, I yield. I will hand you the Demon Blade, and you will set them free, then set me free with the knowledge of the Keeper. All agreed?"
Andair and Gentaff looked at each other, then both of them said at the same time, "Agreed."
Frost removed his cloak and worked at the harness until he had pulled the Blade's scabbard around, where he began to unwrap it. The twins and Tramet all gasped, and even Wilmar managed to groan in protest. "Don't," Tramet said, speaking at last.
"Don't," Dara echoed.
"Listen to them, Frost," Dorin pleaded. "Don't!"
"I must," Frost said, wearing his most pained expression. "It is the only way. Now, be silent." He pulled the Blade free, then held it up and walked slowly forward, watching as both Gentaff and Andair each held a cautious hand out toward the bloodstone talisman on the post between them. Taking no chances, Frost thought. He stopped less than a dozen paces from Gentaff and laid the Blade carefully on the ground. Gentaff waved him off, and he stepped back. Frost waited patiently for what he knew would come next, the pain and anguish, the soul-wrenching brutality that was the sure and certain result of an adept touching the Demon Blade unawares. Gentaff leaned down and spoke quietly over the weapon at his feet, hands held level above it; then he slowly lowered them, but used only his left hand finally to touch it. He grasped the hilt and lifted the Blade up high. Frost noted a brief wince as it crossed the other's features, then nothing but calm as he lowered the Blade and held it vertically in front of him, eyes closed, and began reciting more spells just beneath the reach of surrounding ears.
He knows, Frost thought. But how much more did he know? How much had he guessed correctly or closely enough to serve his purposes this dayor the next.
As if he had read Frost's mind, Gentaff opened his eyes again, and Frost saw a new and darkening fire burning there.
"This moment has waited decades, but it comes as rightly now as it ever could," the old sorcerer said. "I am not the true Keeper, Frost, I will tell you that, but it will reside in my capable hands and under Lord Andair's protection well enough, and for some time to come. In the meantime you will understand, you of all men, that I cannot allow anything to threaten that. Especially so great a threat as you."
Frost was hearing nothing he hadn't expected. "You have hostages, Andair's army, the Demon Blade, and yet you are afraid of me?" he asked.
"You are a most powerful, potential adversary."
"That has always been true," Frost replied.
"But only so long as you live."
"A problem you would ease, I suppose?"
"I have no choice."
"Nor regrets, I think. How fortunate for you."
"How unfortunate for you, and me," Andair said.
Then Frost saw it, a flicker in Gentaff's eyes, a nervousness in his free hand. Andair continued to steep himself in his gloating, but Gentaff had begun to doubt, as he noticed the depth of Frost's glib mood. Still not enough to stop what was about to happen, Frost guessed, but he needed to be sure. . . .
"I worry little over your threats," Frost said. "I worry most that I will survive to reclaim the Blade, that any in Weldhem might survive, after you have bungled the attempt to use it."
Gentaff glared at Frost, but then he changed that expression willfully and laughed insteada small, barely audible chuckle like someone who couldn't quite remember the joke. Frost knew the truth, knew that Gentaff was already saying the spells he had so carefully assembled for so long, saying them over and over and adding one to the string each time until he reached the final phrase, when he would add his own binding phrase. The laughter was a show.
Frost could not hear the spells clearly, but with only a bit of unnoticeable enhancement his ears picked up enough to be impressed with how accurate they were, how eruditenot quite like his own but nearly adequate nonetheless.
"You are indeed talented, old mage," Frost said, watching Gentaff's eyes blaze with a mix of exhilaration and triumph as the Blade began to glow, as he felt the surge, and the pull. Gentaff added spells, keeping control, until the Blade grew suddenly brighter than the late day sun.
"You have done everything right, guessed what you needed to guess," Frost added. "Had you only known of the reversal spell I was able to impress upon the Blade last night . . . But how could you?"
Frost glanced at the twins and saw the look of recognition in their eyes and the words hanging just the other side of the moment in their open mouths. To their credit they only watched as Gentaff's jaw went rigid, followed by every muscle in his body.
Then the ancient sorcerer began to scream. The sound rolled from his open mouth and rose higher than Frost might have thought possible, then it fell as Gentaff's body shook in violent spasms. The Blade continued to glow while the sorcerer that held it darkened. Frost knew something of how it felt, though even he had not experienced the depths which the Blade was taking from Gentaff now. The screams went on but grew shrill as the Blade brightened still further, went on even when Gentaff's lungs had long since run out of air. Not an earthly scream any longer. Abruptly the screaming stopped.
Gentaff crumpled to the ground, gasping, his body still trying to let go of the Demon Blade but unable to make the fingers obey. Unable to break the chain of events his spells had set in motion. The Blade had done exactly as he had so expertly commandedbut reflected back in the opposite direction he had intendedback at him.
Gentaff's eyes met Frost's as what remained of him lay on the ground, slowly curling like fresh-cut plants left drying in the sun. The look Frost saw frozen on the dying sorcerer's face was not wisdom or confidence, not gall or anger; it was not even surpriseit was fear. Gentaff knew.
He knew everything. He knew the whole truth of what Frost had said and still more that he had not, and he knew it had been his end.
His sword hand let go. Gentaff lay motionless on the ground, robes draped too loosely about the dried, pallid husk that was all that remained of him. The courtyard was utterly silent.
"What did you do?" Andair blurted out, sounding suddenly hysterical, each word rising one note. His head twitched about, but his eyes did not seem to focus on anything much. "What did you do?" he repeated. "What have you done?"
"I have destroyed the only path I knew to the truth, the only hope I had of ridding myself of the Demon Blade," Frost said, feeling the fatigue of his body and his mind meld together and weigh him down.
"You have also chosen to face the talisman!" Andair howled, his voice cracking with the strain. The soldiers holding the prisoners tightened their ranks as Andair's panic sent him scrambling, but their king seemed to have forgotten them. He reached the post in two awkward bounds and grasped the bloodstone in both hands, then he fell to the ground as he clutched it, obsessed with it, already repeating the chant Gentaff had taught him.
"Sharryl, Rosivok, free the others!" Frost shouted as he lunged after Gentaff's body and seized the Demon Blade.
The Subartans charged the men holding the hostages, moving with a swiftness that caught their two well-chosen first targets fatally unprepared, and surprised most of the rest. Two more soldiers fell an instant later in a clatter of iron and shouting, which caused the others to pull at their prisoners in order to re-form in their own defense.
"Dorin, Dara!" Frost called out next, as he stood with the Blade in hand and turned to them. They already knew, they were already waving hands about and reciting the same phrase in precise unison. Frost felt a twinge of admiration as he watched. Any number of simple spells would have worked, but the one they chose was impressive. An augmentation of the dust kicked up by the ensuing scuffle, it instantly engulfed everyone. Most of the guards began to choke and squint as they waved at dust clouds, and Dorin, Dara and Tramet turned on the guards holding them. The two holding Wilmar let go, joining the battle, but not before one of them put a dagger in him, and left him to collapse on the ground.
Tramet dropped and scurried toward one of the fallen soldier's swords. He came up armed and helped the twins and their two Subartan rescuers. Frost saw Dorin and Dara each collect a sword, but then he knew he could watch their battle no longer. He was about to engage in another of his own.
He looked about, verifying the positions of the guards all around them. Most were staying where they were along the perimeter of the courtyard, no doubt ordered to do so to prevent an escape. Andair could change those orders, but he was still too busy babbling in frustration at the bloodstone in his hand, apparently not getting something about the spell just right. Though he might still get lucky, and he might call in reinforcements at any instant.
Frost had not planned for the talisman, but he had expected plenty of soldiers. He had prepared a warding spell that would keep Andair's men back for a few moments at least. He erected the warding now, using as little of his strength as possible, saving the rest for what he must do next.
He pressed the Blade's hilt firmly into his left hand, careful not to fall prey to it, and began reciting the required spells, weaving them together, adjusting them yet again in his ongoing attempt to find the means to use the Blade safely and effectively. He had heard a part of Gentaff's spells as well, especially the controlling spells, a slight variation he would not have come by on his own. It felt right as he added this extra piece into the others, and began the final phrase.
Then the talisman took hold.
The sensation pulled him instantly from his task. It was much different than that brought on by the Demon Bladenot a draining of all that was flesh and bone and spiritthis was pure exhaustion. The sort that too much physical effort could bring, or too much magic, though this was as thorough as anything Frost had experienced. His body felt suddenly, terribly heavy. His arms and legs began to burn as if he had run for miles full out and lifted barrels for hours. The big frame and powerful muscles he carried under his extra weight became crippling burdens to him now, and his lungs ached with the effort of drawing each breath.
Even in death, Frost saw that Gentaff was a formidable opponent, and he had taught Andair well.
Frost set about trying to interrupt the spell using an incantation he had tucked away in his memory, one designed to give enhanced physical endurance to athletes or soldiers, when necessary. It did little good. Gentaff's spell was too well constructed, too complete, and had already taken too firm a hold. Another wave of fatigue swept him, and Frost fell.
As he tumbled to the earth and stone of the courtyard floor he tried to get an elbow under him, but managed only a half roll instead that ended with him lying down, mostly faceup and gasping, nearly paralyzed with the relentlessly increasing pain of inspired exertion.
He tried to focus but found he couldn't concentrate on magic at all. Part of Gentaff's intent, he guessed, giving the dead sorcerer one last nod of tribute.
His hand still held the Demon Blade. Using both hands now he managed to haul the weapon up onto his abdomen until it rested flat across his chest, where he could at least see it, and he realized it must look as if he was trying to use it to shield himself from his enemy. Which was a foolish thought . . .
He looked up to find Andair's face staring down at him. The panic was mostly gone, replaced by what might have passed for strained amusement at Frost's predicament. Frost tried to speak, to serve Andair with a warning he hoped might at least give the other pause. But calling out was out of the question. Perhaps, he thought, something less ambitious.
"I have you, Frost," Andair said, grinning, fully enjoying the moment as he drew nearer and bent over slightly. He held the talisman out before him like a shield, a weapon, and watched closely for any reaction. Frost writhed about, but the movements were feeble and slow, less than threatening; he opened his mouth again but managed nothing more than a sickly wheeze.
Frost rolled his eyes at the sound, and even that hurt.
Andair leaned over Frost and shook his head disparagingly. "The great sorcerer, laid out on your back and waiting to die. Powerless. Useless. I am upset about Gentaff, he was an asset. Now I will have to find another who can learn the Blade's ways, and that may take some time." He grinned, though the corners of his mouth twitched with the effort. "But I have time, and no matter what else, I can always sell it if need be, or trade it for . . . well, I think a kingdom or two, at the very least." The smile disappeared and he narrowed his gaze as he leaned still closer. "I would have needed to rid myself of Gentaff eventually, I think. Despite his knowledge, he was much too difficult at times, too smart for my own good. Not so witless as you, Frost. No, you are an incredible fool, just like Shassel. You both wasted your lives. Such that they were. Though it has worked out well for me."
"No . . ." Frost finally managed to gasp. He could still hear the fight raging nearby, the clash of steel on steel, the shouts of men in battle. He guessed many more of the soldiers around the perimeter of the courtyard were trying to get to him by now, but if they were, his wardings must be keeping them away. At least for the moment. He couldn't feed the warding any more energy, his magic and the strength to power it were beyond him now, taken by the stone. Soon, he guessed, the talisman would take the energy he needed simply to survive. Soon afterward the twins, and Wilmar and Tramet, would die along with Sharryl and Rosivok.
"I know what you are thinking, Frost, but there is nothing you can do, nothing."
"I . . . will . . ."
Andair shook his head. "No, you will not. Not even the magic Blade you hide behind will heed you anymore. It is as useless as you are." Andair straightened up and kicked, a good plant that dug the toe of his boot into Frost's ribs. Then he kicked the same spot again. Frost moaned and closed his heavy eyes, grimacing at the pain in his side and the more unbearable pain being brought by the talisman. Andair held the stone even closer, grinning sharply, mouth twitching again as he saw Frost begin to feel the pain more intensely. Then the king's look turned serious again, and he slowly, cautiously moved the stone even closer, until he touched it to the cloth covering Frost's thigh, just below his hip.
The smell of burning fabric, then roasting flesh rose amidst a dull sizzling sound as Andair watched Frost suffer without protest. He was convinced now that Frost could do nothing, that he was dying. Frost all but believed it himself. Gentaff's magic burned through every fiber of his being, but it was magic after allthe pain, the fatigueand that was something Frost knew much about. The stone would change him tangibly, it would likely kill him, but that would take time and perhaps more energy than the stone contained; for now it only made him suffer, made him want to die.
He struggled to remind himself who he was and what he was, as his mind whirled in agony and sank, inexorably, toward a creeping darkness that was all too near. Toward relief. He tried to recall the great strength and stamina he had found within himself when he'd battled the demon prince Tyrr. Could that have been the same Frost?
Part of him knew he was still that man, but an equally determined part sought to embrace the fatigue and let it have its way until it let him go completely.
He drew a deep breath as Andair gently put his own sword down, freeing one hand, and reached to take the Demon Blade from Frost. As he did, their eyes met once more.
Frost focussed his mind enough to remember what manner of man lived behind those eyes, to remember the treachery and deceit that had fooled a younger Frost so completely, then fooled him all over again, and again after that. To remember Wilmar's suffering, the twins, Shassel . . .
Frost felt a different kind of pain inside him, the pain of frustration, of crushing sorrow and regret. But this was a pain he could use. He could not muster the strength to use his magic to defend himself, but he needed to make Andair pay for all he had done, and keep him from doing it all over again. He needed that more than life itself.
His mind no longer functioned in any proper manner, it swirled in a darkness filled with agony and rage, searching for focus, then focussing on vengeance. Frost used all of it to fuel the will to make his body obey just one last command.
As Andair's fingers touched the Blade and wrapped around it, Frost tightened what he thought must be both his fists, then cried out as he willed the muscles in his arms to pull, and heave. He saw the steel flash as the Demon Blade ascended toward the face of his enemy. Andair's eyes went wide as the edge caught his cheek. Blood ran from the wound as Andair jerked back and brushed the Blade aside. He spotted his own sword on the ground beside his enemy, but as he bent to snatch it up Frost leaned right and heaved again, and felt the satisfying push of resistance as the tip of the sword broke through Andair's flesh, then penetrated deep into his side.
"If it is the Blade you want," Frost whispered, "then you shall have it."
Andair let the bloodstone talisman fall from his fingers as he came almost fully erect again. The Blade's hilt pulled free of Frost's hand. Frost watched the look on the other's face for clues as to what would come next. Andair wrapped both hands around the steel of the Blade, half-buried in his abdomen. Then his mouth fell open and his eyes filled with fright, with disbelief, and then, understanding.
Frost could not be certain Andair had heard his words. He knew he would never get the chance to tell him more. Already Andair's eyes were going dim. Frost heard him wheeze, moist and straining, then he collapsed, the life gone out of him, and Frost was suddenly free.
His pain began to vanish, and his mental fog along with it. He sat up and blinked the dizziness from his head. The twins and Tramet had done well for themselves, all three were still standing, still fighting and serving to complicate the battle enough so that Sharryl and Rosivok could strike more decisive blows. Only four of their guards remained standing, and those had formed a defensive line against the onslaught from the othersa line that was backing slowly toward the wall and the stairs behind them.
But all around, just beyond the edge of the warding Frost had placed about the center of the courtyard, a ring of soldiers five and six deep pressed toward them. And the warding was failing.
Frost watched one man slip through, then another. A flood would follow, and there was no time to build another warding now. He looked down at Andair's corpse and felt a fleeting surge of pleasure at the sight, but he could not allow himself to savor the moment. He and Andair had not finished their business together.
Frost stepped forward, bent over Andair, wrapped both hands around the hilt of the Demon Blade and pulled it loose. As he turned away into the clear he swung the weapon once, flinging most of the blood and gore from it. "Behind me!" Frost yelled to the others as soldiers began to swarm toward him from every side, their shouts joined by others on the parapets above as more soldiers emerged from the open doorways. The twins and Tramet collected Wilmar off the ground while the Subartans protected their flank. Then all of them were runningrunning toward Frost.
He braced himself, finished the last locution of the Demon Blade spells and raised the weapon up before him. Then he added his binding phrase, and the Blade ignited.
Frost's mind stayed focussed, but his body flinched reflexively, anticipating the fiery pain that had so often accompanied past attempts, but now he realized that he had gotten the spells more nearly right this time than ever before, that for the moment at least, he was master.
He drew the Blade slowly across and swept the field before him, and an army began to die as the life, substance and essence that comprised them was violently extracted. The Demon Blade's infinite appetite consumed all it touched in a spectrum of blazing, fiery streams that fed into one and rushed to it. But it was the color Frost noticed as he watched these "enemies" dying behind the torrent of crackling fire. The life energies of these men were a mix of blues, oranges, yellows, even bright white. The goodness in them, Frost decided, more goodness among some of them at least than had been inside most others he'd slain in the past.
He kept slowly turning, keeping his Subartans and the others behind him, taking all of Andair's army into account until most of the survivors turned and began running for their lives. Frost wavered, thinking of these men, the pained deliberations that must have taken place in their mind between duty and desirebetween staying, and going.
Then he felt the pain and ethereal heat of the Blade begin to torture him, or it was something inside him, some part of his soul. He spoke the words and broke off the attack. Then he turned and dropped to his knees. He pointed the Blade and gave one last command. In the space of the beat of a human heart the Demon Blade released the energy it had just consumed. A blinding, raging torrent of blue-white fire crossed the yard and impacted the castle walls, and every stone it touched exploded from within. Frost lowered the Blade and waited, bracing himself as the shock wave reached him and squinting through the dust and debris that blew into him and the others.
He nodded to himself, satisfied, as he saw that the main gates and surrounding structures had been nearly obliterated.
Dozens of soldiers lay scattered on the ground all around. Some were still moving, more would eventually. For others it had been too late. Frost turned around and saw the troubled look on Tramet's face.
He quickly realized the concern; Wilmar lay motionless, barely breathing. Tramet pointed to a spot where blood soaked his tunic on the right side. Frost went to him and knelt beside him. He pulled the tunic up and saw the damage, a sharp wound from the knife blade that cut across several ribs, but it did not appear to go deep. Wilmar must have moved at just the right time, Frost thought.
He worried over the wound for a moment, chanting the words of the spell that would help the blood turn sticky and thick, so as to seal the wound. He breathed a great sigh as he felt his efforts finally begin to take hold.
"Thank you," Wilmar said, reaching out to Frost, touching his arm.
"And you, my friend," Frost said. Frost got to his feet, shaking and feeling suddenly very cold. He nearly blacked out, but stayed on his feet somehow until his vision and balance started to return. "And all of you," he added, looking from one to the other. He realized Rosivok's arms were supporting him, were the reason he had not managed to fall again, and gave the big Subartan a special nod.
"How is he?" Tramet asked of Wilmar.
"He will live," Frost said. "The worst is over."
"We owe you our lives, as do so many," Dorin said. He stood side by side with Dara only two paces away, holding Frost in his gaze. The look on his face was like a smile, only deeper, more sincere. Frost felt something tug at his insides, something that made his eyes sting. Both twins moved to embrace him, and Frost did not protest.