I blinked—partly at the doyen assuming that there was such a thing as fae solidarity and partly at the thought that any of the nonhuman Border races would consider me one of theirs. But mostly my startlement was at Dyfrig’s casual repudiation of my belonging to Iversterre. Apparently five years of sitting through his sermons hadn’t made me one of his flock.
“I don’t know about that, Your Reverence,” Beollan said. “But even if we did, his loss would still be disastrous. As His Majesty said earlier, without ibn Chause we don’t have anybody to counter other kingdoms’ wizards—”
“Yes, you do,” Wyln said. “His Grace Loran the Fyrst has declared Jusson Iver’son to be of his lineage. Your king has all the resources of His Grace at his disposal.”
“Even you, elf?” Beollan asked.
“Especially me, Beollan of Fellmark,” Wyln said. “But there would be those who, if Iver’s throne suddenly became empty, would demand that it return to the lineage—and to His Grace to whom it originally belonged. Just as there would be others who’d claim the parts of the human kingdom that originally belonged to them.”
Listening to Wyln, my vision abruptly shifted. I was standing on one of the mountaintops surrounding Freston, staring down into the valley. Flames appeared, little flickers at first, but then they suddenly exploded into a conflagration that swiftly raced down the length of Iversterre, jumping off from the ports to other lands until all the world was engulfed.
“Rabbit!”
I shook my head, stumbling a bit on the cobblestone street. Great. Another vision. “I’m all right,” I said, my voice hoarse.
“What is it, cousin?” Jusson said. “Is it your wound?”
“He had a vision,” Laurel said, his paw tight on my arm. “What did you see, Rabbit?”
I rubbed my brow, my head aching. “The world dying,” I said before I thought.
Though—or possibly because—of the unnatural hush, the noise we made had swelled as our numbers increased. But at my words, those around us fell silent, and the silence spread out in ripples with folks repeating what I’d said over and over, with disturbing accuracy. Not moving all that fast to begin with, the crowd slowed down, then came to a rambling halt.
“That’s just wonderful, Rabbit,” Jeff said, scowling.
Aware of his precarious position, Arlis said nothing. But his look could’ve cut stone.
Jusson aimed his disapproval at Laurel. “You had to ask him, didn’t you?”
“The Lady spoke to him in the last vision he had,” Laurel protested, “and I thought perhaps She did once more, perhaps even giving him wisdom on how to defeat the demon. I certainly didn’t expect him to blurt out that he’d seen our deaths.”
“Not our deaths,” I corrected, my face flushing. My rune gave a weak tingle and I hurriedly added, “Not as a given. Only if we fail here.”
“Oh,” Thadro said. “That’s different. If we fail. No worries there.”
At that most opportune moment Chadde reappeared with some of her Watch, slipping through the ranks towards us. I gave a silent sigh of relief at the distraction.
“Well, here comes my Keeper of the Peace,” Jusson said. “Perhaps she has better news than that we’re all going to die.”
“We’ve scouted ahead, Your Majesty,” Chadde said as she joined us. “Helto and his band are in the town hall.” The peacemaker frowned, looking more disturbed than I’d ever seen her. “Sire, the square looks as though it is in the middle of winter. Everything is frozen.”
Jusson sighed aloud. “Then again, perhaps not.”
Looking around at the halted army, the king took Chadde’s arm and moved to the front again. “Come walk with me, Peacekeeper. Tell me everything you saw.” Thadro and Wyln immediately followed after them, as did I, the King’s Own, the nobles and their armsmen. After a moment’s hesitation, everyone else starting walking again— and if their eyes drifted wistfully to side streets and alleys, at least they were moving in the right direction. Reaching the main avenue, we turned and came into view of the square. A gasp went up and eyes that had been lingering on avenues of escape were now rounded as they stared ahead.
“Like an ice cave in some bloody children’s tale,” Jeff whispered.
“Yeah,” Arlis whispered back. “And we’re about to face off with the witch of winter.”
There was a sharp line of demarcation—on one side was the mellow gold of autumn and on the other was the glittering white of deep winter. Icicles sparkled as they dripped off eaves, ledges and windowsills, while rime formed patterns on windowpanes and gave the trees a silver sheen. The water in the fountain was frozen solid, with ice droplets from the fountain’s spray spread about on the ground, and our boots crunched through them as we walked past, leaving behind powdery crystals on the paving stones.
And burning above it all was the column of fire from the charnel house, the flames spearing up into sky.
“Cyhn?” I asked, my hand going to my side.
“I’ve noticed,” Wyln said, pulling my hand away from the quarrel wound. “And no, I don’t know what it means.”
It’s not winter yet.
I turned to Laurel. The Faena’s head was tipped back as he considered the column, his face thoughtful. “What?” I asked.
Laurel lowered his gaze to me. “What what?” he asked back.
“Rebels and horse thieves,” Jusson said, before I could respond. I faced forward again to see a makeshift corral beside the town hall steps, containing what did look like all the king’s horses. Of the royal groomers there was no sign. I frowned at the corral’s light guard, and the skin at the back of my neck prickled as I thought on how easily we had gotten this far.
“They’re bait, sire,” I said to Jusson. “To lure us in.” My eyes went up to the town hall rooftop; though steeply sloped like the others to discourage snow accumulation, some forward thinker included a crenelated parapet, just in case folks decided to storm the hall. As we were doing now. However, the parapet was empty.
“So it seems,” Jusson said. “But as someone once said, it is better to spring the trap at our choosing, than have it sprung on us at theirs.”
Nothing like having your words tossed back at you. My gloved hand crept back to my side, and this time Laurel pulled it away.
“Kenelm,” Jeff said, scowling at one of the two corral guards. “Now we know where he went. Turncoat.”
So we did. I glanced around to see the peacekeeper’s reaction at the desertion of her man, but Chadde had slipped off once more.
“Who?” Ranulf asked, turning his head to follow Jeff’s gaze.
“The watchman who disappeared after discovering the beaten guards in the charnel house courtyard,” Beollan said. He nodded at the corral. “He has now reappeared as one of Helto’s men.”
“Are you surprised?” Thadro asked. “The guards’ beating was a warning to those who had been involved in Helto’s schemes and then thought that they could just walk away when it was no longer convenient. Right, Guardsman Arlis?”
Arlis remained silent, though Jeff did mutter something under his breath about goateed idiots. I also said nothing, looking at my sometimes drinking partner from the Watch. Kenelm gave me a flat stare back, his mouth tight.
“If so, it doesn’t seem to have made that big of an impression,” an aristo said. “Whoever might have joined Helto, it seems that many more have joined us.”
“That remains to be seen,” Jusson murmured.
I jerked my head around to stare at the king in horror, the thought of the throngs behind us rising up in a surprise attack streaking across my mind. But before I could say anything, the door to the town hall opened and a small crowd stepped outside, all dressed in warm winter clothes. Some were Menck’s cronies and other bottom feeders. However, the rest were those prominent citizens and town officials who hadn’t come with us to the king’s residence. Apparently they hadn’t been as impressed with the defeat of the revenant as they had been with whatever hold Helto had over them.