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Anyone confronted by sixty men at arms could be expected to show distress, but
the only tension visible about this woman was in the hand she held clenched at
her throat.
Revelation struck the Kielmark between one stride and the next. Arrogance on
that scale accompanied none but an en-chanter's power; if the woman had slain
last night's watch with sorcery, even an armed company could well prove no
match for her. Fearful for the lives under his command, the Kielmark sprinted
up the beach. Whoever the woman was, she came for Anskiere, but not as his
ally; any friend of the Stormwarden's would never have done murder.
"Back!" shouted the Kielmark. He waved his arm at the cliff. "Withdraw from
the ice."
The troop captain glanced around, stupidly surprised. Irate, the Kielmark
shouted again with an edge to his tone no officer under him dared
disobey."Pull those men back!"
White with alarm, the captain barked an order. The for-mation coalesced,
initiated an orderly retreat. And the Kielmark cursed and regarded the woman
once again, his great corded fist clenched in frustration around the hilt of
his sword.
The jangle of weapons and linkmail echoed and bounded off the ice, threaded
through by the rapid beat of hooves. Riders approached, the archers the
Kielmark had sent for earlier. He spun to meet them, planted his massive frame
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squarely in their path. To avoid riding him down, the lead horseman reined
back from a gallop with a violence that yanked his rawboned mount onto its
haunches. The animal scrambled down the steep side of the dune, and sand
showered over the Kielmark's leather leggings as it plunged to a halt scarcely
a yard away. The Kielmark sprang forward, snatched the bow from the scabbard
at the saddlebow. He grabbed for an arrow while the two score archers summoned
from the east station thundered to a standstill around him. Without pause for
explanation, the Kielmark shouldered clear of the press, bent the bow, raised
it to the woman on the ledge. He aimed for the triangle of bare flesh framed
by her black wool collar, and the drift of her fine silver hair.
His target made no move in defense. Her lips parted with amusement, and she
laughed aloud at the notched threat of the arrow. A gust eddied her cloak hem.
The Kielmark released. His shaft hissed skyward, described a flawless arc
across the morning sky. The woman's smile dissolved. She lifted her hand. The
arrow deflected, cracked harmlessly into rock, and rebounded in slivers.
"Sorcery!" shouted the captain. "She's a witch!" He raised crossed wrists in
the traditional sign against evil, just as the woman touched both hands to the
gold which encircled her neck.
Her gesture overturned the elements. Air howled suddenly overhead, as if a
dragon had appeared out of legend and inhaled a piece of sky. With a crackle
like tearing fabric, the woman and boy vanished as if they had never existed,
transferred elsewhere by forces wrenched from the framework of Anskiere's
geas. The Kielmark cursed with savage eloquence and flung down the bow.
Backlash struck an instant later as the powers the woman tapped to execute
her escape ripped all else out of equilibrium.
Wind screamed off the sea, whined over cliff and dune and beach head. Sucked
into a whirling tornado of force, the gale spiraled across the ice cliffs,
bashing men and horses from their feet and uprooting trees like twigs.
Hammered to his knees, blinded by a maelstrom of driven sand, the Kielmark
buried his face in his hands. Somewhere to his right a horse thrashed and a
wounded man screamed in agony; but the sounds seemed strangely overpowered. A
second later the Kielmark divined the reason. Driven to towering heights by
the wind, breakers raged shoreward, crests frayed into spindrift. Icy spray
dashed the Kielmark's cheek, proof his shores were presently being ravaged by
forces none but a weather mage could subdue. Every man ordered to duty beneath
the ice cliffs stood in peril of drowning.
Determined to prevent losses, the Kielmark tore off the sash which bound his
tunic and flung it over his face to protect his eyes. The gale harried the
cloth, snapped it out of his fingers as he tried to tie a knot. He struggled,
too stubborn to quit. At last, protected by his makeshift blindfold, he leaned [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]