Tess wondered if Anahar would sing again, for it seemed they were about to march again, this time toward Bozandar.
The chill that passed through her then had nothing to do with the weather. She could not imagine that the remains of the Anari army, even allied with the remnants of Tuzza’s legion, could withstand the might of Bozandar, be it only one fresh legion strong.
Yet march they must, for more than their own lives hung in the balance. It was a somber, sober burden, one which weighed more heavily with each step toward the city.
Again the snatch of music danced across her mind, as if trying to tell her something, but before she could reach for its meaning, it was gone again.
Perhaps Anahar was calling her, telling her it was time. Even as the thought crossed her mind, she realized this was not Anahar calling her. No, this was something else, something far darker than Anahar could ever be, even in the silence of the blackest night.
Yes, Tess. You will come. But not for their sake. You will come for me!
Tess slammed down the walls within her mind, even as she began to run toward the city. Blisters bedamned. She knew she had not the strength to withstand this attack alone. She needed her sisters.
She needed them now.
Archer had been looking for Tess, to confer with her about the army’s departure. She was, whether she knew it or not, the only true unifying point for the two groups who would march toward Bozandar. Not even his own birthright, Firstborn Son to Firstborn King, would unify in the way the Lady Tess’s mere presence seemed to.
Nor did he begrudge her that, though he still wondered about her origins. For his part, he had no desire to be the rallying point for what was to come. He would simply do his duty and use his expertise as needed. Having once heard his name used as a rallying cry, and having seen what followed, he never wanted to hear it that way again.
’Twas then that he spied Tess hurrying out of the wood at the far end of town. The way she was racing and stumbling concerned him, and he spurred his mount toward her, his heart suddenly hammering.
When he reached her, he saw terror on her face. He slipped at once from his saddle and reached for her, swinging his cloak around her to cover her even as he assumed a protective stance, hand on his sword hilt.
“Are you pursued?” he demanded roughly. “Has someone hurt you?”
“No…no…”
He relaxed, but only a little, as he felt a shudder rip through her.
“It’s him,” she whispered hoarsely. “It’s him.”
“Him?” In the deepest part of his heart he knew who she meant, but he didn’t want to accept it.
“Him,” she whispered again, as if afraid to speak his name. “I feel him again. He is near in my thoughts, his touch so cold…colder than ice. He wants me.”
At once he wrapped his other arm around her, as if he could shield her from the assault. As if anything could. “Tess,” he said. “Tess…” It was all he could say. He had no idea how an Ilduin might fight such an assault on her mind. No idea how to protect her. All he could do was give her the sound of his voice and the touch of his arms for her to cling to lest she be swept away.
She shuddered against him, as if from great cold or great effort. “He knows,” she said, her voice trembling.
“Knows what?”
“He knows you are here. He knows we are coming. And he wants me.”
He hesitated only a moment, then with one easy movement lifted her onto his saddle. An instant later he was behind her and they galloped toward the city.
“Take me to my sisters,” Tess begged. “He wants all of the Ilduin! And none of us can withstand him alone.”
I could have, Archer thought grimly as his mount devoured the distance in hungry strides. He had had countless opportunities to deal with Ardred, when they were children or even young men, before the evil had taken root and transformed his brother into his enemy. He had missed them all. But not again. I could have, and this time, I will.
Chapter Eight
Ratha looked at Cilla, uncertain of what to say. She had been with him for two days now, though she had yet to speak a word beyond their brief opening greeting. Nor had he. The initial stage of the telzehten was observed in silence, apart from the customary prayers, and in silence they had remained. But now they had completed that stage, and were supposed to move on to the celebration of a life well lived. And while Ratha knew his brother had lived life well, he also knew that in the end of Giri’s days, an awful bloodlust had consumed him.
Worse, Ratha knew that he, too, had fallen victim to that bloodlust before his sojourn in the desert, and now was perilously close to succumbing again. To openly discuss these things risked falling into the pit that yawned beneath him like a gaping maw. And yet he knew he must face his demons eventually whether alone or not.
Even so, his tongue felt leaden in his mouth, and the concerns he most needed to share were the very things of which he must not speak.
Still, as the closest blood relative, it fell upon Ratha to speak first. At last the silence grew too oppressive to bear, and he drew a breath. “Giri was a man of honor.”
“Aye, cousin,” Cilla said quietly.
“More than once did he risk his life for those whom he loved, and in the end he gave his life for the freedom of the Anari,” Ratha continued.
Cilla nodded. “He spared nothing.”
“Not even his own soul,” Ratha said, tears forming in his eyes. “I have prayed that the gods will forgive him for what he became.”
“He became hardened,” Cilla said gently. “War is a cruel undertaking, cousin.”
“That it is,” Ratha said. “Perhaps if we Anari had been more suited for it…”
“I fear that no one can be truly suited for it,” she replied. “Or perhaps that no one should. I fear that any people truly suited to war would be too cruel and horrible to bear imagining.”
“Perhaps that is true.”
Cilla let a moment pass before speaking. “Giri was a man of laughter.”
“Oh, yes,” Ratha said. “And some of the stories he told…I could not repeat in the presence of a woman, not even my cousin.”
Cilla smiled. “Of that I am certain. There was nothing about which Giri could not laugh, even those things at which most of us would blush.”
Ratha closed his eyes, recalling the long days riding with Archer, when he and Giri had often passed the time with jokes and songs.
“He liked to tell a story of a woman who was out in the field gathering wheat when she came upon a red desert adder. The woman asked of the adder, ‘Why do you have fangs, and venom that kills?’ The adder replied, ‘It is only to defend myself, or to kill prey that I may eat.’ The woman was unconvinced, and
