Our Lady of the Snow Page 28

  Marine slammed her mental shutters on that thought and concentrated on the task in hand. As they passed the catafalque Nanta tried to hang back. Turning and staring at it she said, “Osiv…” and Marine saw tears spring to her eyes.

  “No, my dear, no; I told you. Osiv is not dead. You shall see him soon.”

  “Not dead…” Nanta repeated vaguely. Hurrying her forward again, Marine offered a silent plea to the Lady that something, somehow, could break through this miasma. If they needed the frost sprites” help and Nanta did not have the wit to call on them, everything could be imperiled.

  “Come, my dear, come!” So little time, she thought frantically. The cryptic message from Kodor had told her only that the sleigh was waiting and the driver would offer her a password to prove his identity. Kodor would by now be in the throne room, waiting for Mother Beck and Father Urss. Were Beck and Urss there yet? Would they stay there? If they suspected what was afoot, would Kodor be able to command them?.

  With the questions boiling in her mind, Marine at last steered Nanta out of the door and away along the passage. They passed three servants, all of whom stood back and bowed to the Dowager; with a pallid nod of acknowledgement Marine hastened on. Down a flight of stairs; not the main way but a lesser route, more convoluted but safer. It was snowing more heavily outside, she had seen through a window. Almost a blizzard. Would that work for them or against them? The tears of the Lady are the blessing of the snow… Let it be a blessing; oh, let it, today, be a blessing!

  Strengthening her grip on the faltering, failing Nanta, Marine ran onwards.

  ****

  Kodor paced the chamber, his eyes never leaving the dumpy figure of Mother Beck, who stood resolutely where he had commanded her to stand, beside the throne. At last he stopped and pivoted to face her.

  “Well, Grand Mother?” His voice was ferocious. “How much longer do you think we are to wait, before Exalted Father Urss deigns to grace us with his presence?”

  Beck’s face was expressionless. “I’m sure I don’t know, sire. I was not even aware that Father Urss was to attend.”

  “You are a liar,” said Kodor.

  Beck was visibly shaken. “Sire, I—” she started to protest.

  “Save your breath. I no longer believe a word you say to me.” Which was why he had sent a steward to escort Urss to this room. Only the man had not yet returned.

  “You see, Grand Mother,” Kodor began to walk in a slow circle around her, “I know about your involvement in the murder of my brother. I also believe that you have been Father Urss’ accomplice in a number of other deeds. The supposedly natural illness of the Dowager, for example. And the planned accident to Mother Marine.”

  Ah; he had struck the target. Just a flicker of fear in Beck’s eyes, but it was enough.

  “Unfortunately for you both,” he continued, “Nanta has friends and guardians whose scope ranges beyond human abilities. Thanks to them, I have—”

  The door opened, and Kodor broke off. Looking up quickly, expecting to see Urss and his escort, he was both astonished and angered to find himself instead looking at Pola.

  “Husband?” Pola hesitated, then came in. “Oh—good morning, Grand Mother Beck.”

  “Your Majesty…” Beck’s curtsey was perfunctory and her voice shook slightly.

  Kodor said ferociously: “What do you want?”

  Pola’s expression hardened. “It is not what I want, Kodor, but what I have come to tell you. You seem to have forgotten that we were due at a rehearsal for the funeral an hour ago. I have been waiting for you, but you apparently neglected to inform anyone of your change of plan.”

  “If I did, that’s my concern!” Kodor snapped. “Leave me, wife. I’m busy.”

  With a caustic look Pola turned to stalk out; then paused. “Oh, and I encountered your steward outside. For what interest it may be to you, he asked me to inform you that he can’t find Father Urss.”

  “What?” She was leaving; he called, “Pola, wait!”

  Perhaps she perceived the genuine fear in his voice, for she stopped and looked back. “What is it?”

  “Urss can’t be found?”

  Her brow furrowed in puzzlement. “That’s what he said. Why, is—?”

  Kodor didn’t listen to the question. He swung round and in four strides had reached Beck and grabbed her by the shoulders. “Where is he? Where is Urss? You evil harridan, answer me!”

  “Kodor!” cried Pola, horrified. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  He flung her a wild glance over his shoulder. “I’m looking for answers, and I’ll have them!”

  “She is a Mother—”

  “She is a murderer!” Kodor yelled. If Pola already knew, if she was a part of this, he didn’t care. It no longer mattered, for the veils of secrecy were being stripped away now. He shook Beck as a terrier might shake a rat; Beck cried out in pain and protest, and Pola came running across the floor.

  “Kodor, stop! Have you lost your mind?”

  “No! But two people are going to lose their lives unless this crone tells me where Urss has gone!”

  “Sire, I—don’t—know anything—about—” Beck choked out.

  “Liar! Give me the truth, or by the God I’ll smash every bone you possess!”

  “Kodor!” As Kodor’s hands closed on Beck’s throat Pola threw herself into the fray, flailing, lashing out, struggling to drive him off. The three of them swayed together; Beck slipped and fell to the floor, and at the same moment a wild swing from Pola’s arm caught Kodor full in the face. He staggered back, his cheek and jaw stinging—and suddenly reason crashed blindingly in on him. This was what Urss wanted! To waste precious time on Beck; time Urss could use for his own machinations. He was playing into the priest’s hands!

  He took off, racing towards the door. Pola screamed, “Kodor, where are you going? What’s happening?”

  “Ask her!” Skidding to a momentary halt Kodor pointed at Beck, who was still on the floor. “Ask her how she and Urss plan to murder Nanta and Mother Marine! Ask her about the poisoned food! Ask her about Osiv! And tell her—and your vulgar, arrogant, swaggering father—that Osiv is not dead/”

  He vanished, running, leaving her gaping at the empty doorway. Osiv, not dead? Pola didn’t understand, couldn’t believe it. Kodor was insane. It was the only possible explanation

  An awful sound snatched her attention, and she whirled. Beck had tried to get up. But as she did so, an excruciating pain swelled in her chest and exploded through her. She fell back, face reddening, eyes starting in their sockets, and an inchoate plea for help bubbled between her lips.

  “Grand Mother!” Horrified, Pola dropped to her knees. She knew the signs of a heart seizure—Beck was suffocating, unable to breathe, and Pola ripped at the old woman’s constricting wimple, at the neck of the gown beneath, tearing off buttons, trying to give her air. Beck gargled horribly; her tongue was protruding and her face had turned purple now. Her eyes rolled upwards and her arms twitched helplessly. Uttering a Sekolian oath that she had never dared use in the palace before, Pola sprang to her feet again, hitched her heavy skirt and sprinted for the door.

  “Help! “ Her voice rang powerfully down the corridor beyond, and in the distance feet pounded in response. “Help me, quickly!”

  ****

  Kodor had just turned at a fast run into the passage that led to the imperial suite when the frost sprite materialized in his path.

  Kodor slewed, cannoned against the wall and rebounded, gasping. The sprite hovered, its head shaking and its hands moving in wild, quick gestures. But it seemed unable to speak, as though some force outside its control were holding it back.

  “What?” Kodor cried. “What are you trying to tell me?”

  The sprite made a thin, high, whistling sound, but no words came. Then, like a snowflake vaporizing in fire, it vanished.

  Alarm flowered in Kodor. He ran on, reached the door of the suite and hammered on it.

  “Dorca! Dorca
, open this door! Let me in!”

  There was a flurry behind the door, a scrabbling, then the door opened a crack and Dorca peered out.

  “Oh, Your Majesty!” Relief lit her face like a star. “I thought—”

  He neither knew nor cared what she thought, but shoved the door wide and strode in. “Where’s your mistress?”

  “She’s gone, sire!” Dorca wrung her hands. “I only left her for a few minutes, and Mother Marine was here. I don’t know what happened, sire, I truly don’t! And then when Father Urss came—”

  “Urss was here?”

  “Yes, sire. He came asking for madam, and when I said—”

  “You told him she was gone?” Dorca nodded. “What then? What happened?”

  “He—Father Urss—he seemed so angry, Your Majesty. He shouted at me, and then he stormed off. I don’t understand! “

  “Wait, Dorca, wait.” Marine had got Nanta away; she must have done. Kodor prayed that they had reached the sleigh safely. The driver had his orders and would not fail.

  “Listen to me,” he told the distraught Dorca. “Nothing has happened to the Dowager. She is in no danger. She is with Mother Marine, and Marine is acting on my instructions. All right, now; calm down and just tell me: did Father Urss say anything more?”

  A shake of the head. “No, Your Majesty, not that I remember. But he was so angry.”

  He would be, Kodor thought. “Thank you, Dorca. Stay here in the suite and don’t worry. You’ll have news of your mistress soon.”

  He didn’t wait to see if she had taken in his reassurance but turned and started back the way he had come. He realized now that the frost sprite had been trying to tell him Nanta was already gone. But why had it not spoken? Something to do with Urss? Was the creature afraid of the priest?

  The question couldn’t be answered, and it was irrelevant now. There was a short cut to the courtyard, one that Marine probably did not know. If he could reach them before they left, he would ensure that they got out of the city unhindered.

  And then he would deal with Urss.

  ****

  The sleigh was waiting, its bulk only dimly visible through what was now a dense veil of fast-falling snow. The shocking cold of the outside air knocked the breath from Marine’s lungs; Nanta burst out coughing and tried to pull away, back into the shelter of the palace, but Marine hauled her bodily forward. They stumbled through calf-deep whiteness; ahead of them a dog yipped, and then the sleigh-driver, a small, squat man, was ploughing to meet them, arms held out to help Marine with her burden.

  “Who lives at the hunting lodge, Mother?” he asked her.

  Marine had forgotten about the password, and quickly searched her memory. “The arctic bear lives there,” she replied, trying to stop her teeth from chattering.

  The man nodded. “Prince Kodor’s given me my orders, ma’am. Come you, now; there are furs in the sleigh and you’ll soon be warm.”

  He had said “Prince Kodor”, Marine realized. Not “the Imperator” but “Prince Kodor”. Then it was true. Osiv was alive. She had no time to ask questions, though, for the driver was lifting Nanta into the sleigh. Eight dogs, and big ones. They would travel fast. Marine only prayed they would be fast enough to elude Father Urss.

  Nanta was secure in the sleigh. Marine climbed in beside her, unaided, and started to arrange the piled furs around them both. The driver took his seat, picked up his long whip—

  “You, man! Stop!”

  The stentorian roar came from the doorway. Father Urss was there. Shrouded in the whirling snow he looked like a figure from a nightmare, and Marine reached out, clutching at the driver’s coat as she screamed to him, “Go! Move, get away, now!”

  The driver knew enough to obey without an instant’s hesitation, but his reflexes were not fast enough. Urss raised his hand, pointed—and to Marine’s incredulous horror, the driver lurched as if something had struck him a violent physical blow. With a yell he pitched sideways from his seat, landing in the snow and almost disappearing. As he struggled to right himself, Urss came striding towards them. Marine could see his face now, see the demented expression on it. Clutching Nanta to her she screamed again and shrank away as he towered over them.

  “Get out of the sleigh, Mother Marine.” Urss’ voice was as mad as his demeanor. “Obey me, woman. Obey.”

  A compulsion to do as he commanded tugged at Marine’s mind. This was not Father Urss: something else, something unhumanly powerful, had taken him over and was working through him. Marine tried to fight the power, but it was too strong; it was pulling her, dragging her, tearing at her. She began to rise to her feet…

  “No.”

  A small, pale hand darted from beneath the piled furs and clamped on Marine’s arm. Marine’s heart seemed to plunge and turn over under her ribs. And Nanta said again, “NO!”

  She had sat up in the sleigh and was staring at Urss. Her eyes were wide open, wide awake, and they were no longer their familiar blue-green but the hue of sapphires. There was a new light in them, stone-hard and invincible. And on Nanta’s fragile face was an expression of consummate loathing and contempt.

  “We do not obey you.” Her voice seemed to cut tangibly through the snow that clogged the air. “You are nothing. Step back, little man. Step out of our path.”

  The moments that followed burned themselves on Marine’s memory like an insane, frozen tableau. Herself, held rigid, half sitting and half standing; the sleigh-driver on hands and knees in the snow, his mouth open and gaping. And Nanta and Urss, their gazes locked; Urss’ in outrage, Nanta’s in hatred. Nanta’s conscious mind was still swimming with the progressive effect of the poison. On the surface she knew only that here before her was the man, the monster, who had tied her in marriage to an idiot child, and then degraded her and that child, poor Osiv, for his own cold, political reasons. But beneath the surface was something else, something she did not understand and at this moment could not even acknowledge. Strength. Power. Not her own, but drawn from a far, far place, behind the north. wind.

  She whispered, “Come to me, my sprites. Come to me.”

  The air shuddered. Marine saw their shapes materializing, forming a circle around the sleigh. She shut her eyes, overwhelmed and feeling that her own sanity was about to crumble. In her mind she sent a frantic prayer to the Lady.

  Nanta’s head snapped round. She gave Marine one look, and glacial reason flooded into Marine’s brain, eclipsing the terror and wiping it out.

  “Driver!” She yelled at the full pitch of her lungs. “Driver, go! Get us away, NOW!”

  There was a scrabbling and a flurrying as the small man leaped for his seat. Marine heard the dogs give voice, saw Urss’ eyes widen in fury, as if he had snapped out of a dream to find himself besieged. Belatedly he lunged at the sleigh, and Marine shrieked, “GO!”

  The driver cracked his whip, powering the dogs into their traces, and with a tremendous lurch the sleigh began to move. Through a bow-wave of snow Marine had one last glimpse of Urss’ gaunt figure as he tried to catch on to the sleigh’s high stem, but the dogs were swerving for the gate and Urss was flung aside, rolling over and left behind. The gate rushed to meet them; they were gathering speed, the driver yodelling encouragement to his team as the whip sang a shrill counterpoint. In a barreling, rocking, yelping storm of energy the sleigh hurtled out of the courtyard, out of the palace, and away towards the Metropolis and the lonely forest road beyond.

  ****

  Kodor reached the courtyard just in time to witness the sleigh’s headlong departure—and to see Urss, covered in snow, clambering to his feet. Urss in turn saw him, and they both stopped, standing rigid and motionless as they faced each other.

  “Exalted Father Urss.” Years of loathing, and something newer and far more personal, suffused Kodor’s voice. “You will come with me, Father. You will come now.”

  Urss did not move. His face and figure were a blur in the snowstorm, but Kodor sensed an aura about him, an emanation of something dar
k and bleak and dangerous, and not quite human.

  “Do as I command you, Father.” But suddenly Kodor was unsure of himself. This was not the Urss he knew. It was as if the man he addressed was merely a body, an empty shell usurped and inhabited by an alien intelligence.

  Then Urss’ lips moved, and a voice that was not his spoke hugely in Kodor’s mind.

  “You cannot command your Father.” The priest began to stalk towards him. “I will have my way, Kodor Imperator. I will have the fair child’s life.”

  This was not Urss. The face was clear now, and it was deranged. Kodor did not even believe that the eyes in the narrow skull were seeing him. He took a pace back, felt his heel come up hard against the stone step behind him.

  “You will not oppose me. You will not thwart me. The son obeys the Father.” Urss was looming out of the snow, and Kodor felt a vast, paralyzing coldness knifing into his bones. Then the priest raised his hands as though to proffer a benediction.

  A small tornado of blind energy picked Kodor up and hurled him across the courtyard. He fell with bone-shaking force into the snow, and as the energy spun away and he dizzily raised his head, he had a last glimpse of Urss fleeing into the palace, his robe billowing like dark wings around him.

  “Urss!” But it was useless; Urss—or the thing Urss had become—did not hear and would not have heeded if he had. Kodor scrambled upright. The snow had softened his fall and his body would suffer no more than a few bruises from it. He started to run after the priest, then recoiled with a startled shout as the driving snow in his path suddenly whirled into a maelstrom and a figure formed from it..

  “No, Kodor, no, Kodor, no!” The frost sprite had found its voice and it danced in the air before him, a fantastic, twisting gyration. “The tears of the Lady—in the snow, Kodor, in the snow! Help your sister! Brother and sister! He will kill, he will destroy! Help her, Kodor, you must help her!”

  The sprite’s frantic plea went home like a knife-blade. For a bare second Kodor stared at it, and in that second the last of his giddiness cleared and a terrible insight sheared through his mind. Urss no longer counted. This was nothing to do with Urss. It was something far greater.