The Winter King
Page 177

Kham’s throat tightened a little. Why couldn’t Falcon have been the admirable man he should be? The noble man she’d thought he was? Was it a weakness in the Coruscate blood that made first Verdan, then his son, lose all sense of right and wrong? Though nothing in her mourned the death of her father—the wounds he’d inflicted were too deep, too many, and far too painful—every part of her wept at the realization that the heroic brother she’d adored and idolized her whole life no longer existed. If, indeed, he ever had.
“Kham?” Krysti’s small, white-freckled face looked so earnest. So concerned. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“It’s all right.” She forced a small, reassuring smile and ran a hand over his spiky white hair. “I love you, Krysti. You are the brother to me Falcon should have been.” She bent down to give him a hug and a kiss.
When she pulled back, Krysti’s eyes were suspiciously bright, but the boy merely cleared his throat and declared like a true, gruff Winterman, “Well, come on, then. I see more garm in need of killing.”
Despite everything, she laughed, and a little bit of the heaviness pressing down on her heart lifted. “Lead the way, noble warrior.”
Between Falcon’s Sunfire arrows, the ferocity of the Calbernans, and the power of Roland’s sword, the remaining garm and ice thralls were soon dispatched. In the carnage that remained of the invaders’ camp, the survivors burned the remains of the dead and tended the injured. There weren’t many wounded to speak of. Garm were lethally efficient killing machines, and the freezing wounds inflicted by ice thralls sapped their victims’ strength and speed, making them easier to kill.
Kham didn’t have any idea how many men Falcon and his Calbernan allies had lost, but judging by the grim faces and piles of corpses, the garm had winnowed quite a few.
“We should go,” Krysti whispered. “Now, before they decide they don’t need us anymore.”
“Where would we go?” she asked. “Rorjak has returned. And if the number of garm that just attacked us is any measure, he’s already got a formidable army. There’s no way we can face him on our own.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“I’m suggesting that we convince Falcon and his allies to join forces with us and confront Rorjak.”
Krysti gaped at her. “Are you crazy? They tried to kill us! They came to conquer Wintercraig, not to save us!”
“That was before. Now they’ve seen for themselves what Rorjak can do. He’s not just our enemy. He’s the enemy of every living soul on Mystral. He’s got to be stopped, even if I have to ally with the enemies of Wintercraig to do it.” She pulled up the hem of her skirts and cut off a long strip from her white underskirts. She looped the strip around her neck like a scarf. “Come on. And stay close. If they try to use you against me again, this won’t end well.”
With Krysti at her heels, Kham strode over to a group of Calbernans who were dragging corpses into a pile to be burned. “Take me to your commander. I wish to negotiate with him under the white stole of peace.”
The Calbernans paused in their grim work. Several reached for their tridents. They were an intimidating lot, as tall as Wintermen, their bronze skin covered in iridescent blue tattoos. Their muscular physiques were put on impressive display in the blue-green loincloths that hung down to their knees, with gleaming plates of scale-shaped copper armor strapped to their chests, shins, and forearms. Unlike the Summerlanders, who were bundled up against the cold, the Calbernans appeared quite impervious to ice and snow. Somehow, that made them even more intimidating.
Kham stood her ground and kept her expression calm, her gaze steady. Her fingers, however, tightened around Blazing’s grip. It was just as well the sword’s sheath was still in Falcon’s tent. Not having it with her gave her an excuse to keep her weapon drawn and ready for a fight. For all her brave, reassuring words to Krysti, Khamsin’s heart was pounding like a hammer. She was taking a huge risk. Just because she helped save these men’s lives didn’t mean they would feel any debt of gratitude.
Two Calbernans whispered something to one another. The larger of the two, a warrior with a scar running the length of one cheek, and a large quantity of blue blood spattered across his body, stepped forward and waved her over. “Come. I will take you.”
Girding herself, Khamsin followed the Calbernan. The rest of the islanders abandoned the burial detail, picked up their tridents, and fell into step around her, effectively boxing her in.
Word traveled quickly as the Calbernans escorted her across the remains of the camp. Curious Calbernans and Summerlanders began to follow them. By the time the Calbernans stopped beside a large bonfire on the other side of camp, Khamsin and Krysti were surrounded by the remaining army of invaders. The man leading them gestured for them to wait while he ducked inside a Calbernan tent. A few moments later, he reemerged. Directly behind him came the enormous Calbernan in the golden armor whose life she had saved at the beginning of the attack. Hope stirred in Khamsin’s breast, only to falter when the tent flaps parted again, and her brother Falcon stepped through.
“I told you this was a bad idea,” Krysti muttered.
Kham clutched Blazing so tight, her fingers went numb. “You may be right.” But it was too late to change her mind now.
“Falcon.” Kham acknowledged her brother warily. “I’m glad to see you survived the garm.”