Sara Douglass – The Serpent Bride – DarkGlass Mountain Book 1

They had found a spot relatively isolated from the campfires and people, but one with

enough light cast from the many fires that they could see each other”s faces.

Maximilian looked at her, noting the hollowed cheeks, the overly bright eyes. She looked

very tense and nervous, but she also looked more open and honest than he”d ever seen her.

He wished she could have found that honesty far sooner. He wished he could have been

the kind of man she could have been honest with.

“You never gave me a chance to tell you,” he said.

“What I said, in the woodsman”s hut…”

She couldn”t go on, but both of them heard her words echo through their minds.

I hate him. Over the years I”ve had visions of him, and always I know that if ever he

catches me, then he will wrap my life in unbearable pain and sorrow, for pain and sorrow trail in

the darkness at his shoulders like a miasma. I know he will ruin my life. He will ruin the world.

“Do you still feel that way, Ishbel?”

She hung her head, fiddling with her hands.

“Do you still dream of me, Ishbel?”

Her head came up again, her eyes bright with tears. She nodded.

“And are they still the same?”

“Worse,” she whispered.

Maximilian sighed. “What did you want to say to me tonight, Ishbel?”

“Just…just that…that I was sorry. I wish…”

“Don”t get started on the apologies and the wishes, Ishbel. It is far too late for that.”

“There is something else.”

“Yes?”

“What I learned today—that you had been kept in the Veins for seventeen years—made

me feel ill. I find it difficult to believe that someone could do that to you.”

“I don”t want to talk about it, Ishbel. It does no good. Besides, they also put you through

the horror of your parents” deaths.”

“But seventeen years, Maxel!”

He noted the use of the familiar, but was too tired to correct it.

“It is over and past now, Ishbel.”

“No,” she said, “I don”t think it is.” She paused, deliberating what to say next, knowing it

could drive a further wedge between them, but wanting quite desperately to let him know she did

know what it had been like for him.

“A long time ago,” Ishbel said, “when we were almost happy, that night in the

woodsman”s hut, when we made love…Maxel, one of my skills is to uncoil memories. When

you slept, I lay my hand on that scar on your left hip, and uncoiled—”

“I don”t want to hear this, Ishbel!”

She was crying now, silent tears that slid down her cheeks. “I know what it was like for

you, Maxel.”

He half turned away, moving a hand slightly as if to wave away her words.

“What do they want of us?” she said after a lengthy silence.

“To save this land from Kanubai.”

“I have no idea how.”

He gave a small smile at that. “Neither do I. I fear it is a great mistake choosing me to try

to save the world.”

“I could not think of anyone better to choose,” Ishbel said softly, but Maximilian did not

hear it, for he had turned and walked away.

Five days later, Isaiah”s invasion force moved into the Outlands.

They met with some minor resistance from small bands of men, but they were quelled

within hours.

There was nothing between Isaiah and the north.

Nothing between Maximilian and Elcho Falling.

CHAPTER FIVE

Pelemere, the Northern Kingdoms

Look,” said Sirus, “if we attack from his left flank, we”ll—”

“That”s shit-talk and well you know it,” said Fulmer, King of Hosea. “That”s all you can

talk, yes? You couldn”t fight your way out of a brothel, let alone—”

“Shut up,” said Malat, weariness evident in voice and posture and haggard expression.

“Just shut up, Fulmer. You do not help the situation at all.”

“And you can?” Fulmer said, his voice rising a little, betraying his youth and

inexperience.

Malat sighed, moving away from the other two kings and pouring himself a cup of

warmed wine, buying time before he had to answer. The past few months had been stupidity

personified as the three kings of the Central Kingdoms pitted their armies against that of the

Outlanders, whose forces were led by Chief Alm Georgdi, who had replaced the murdered Rilm

Evenor as the war leader of the Outlander tribes.

In theory, the armies of the Central Kingdoms should have destroyed the Outlanders.

Their combined forces were four times the size of Georgdi”s, they had considerably more

resources, they fought on their own territory, which meant they did not have the long supply

lines that Georgdi did, and their armies were better equipped.

Unfortunately, superiority in theory did not translate to success on the battlefield.

They had fought Georgdi up and down the plains between Pelemere and Hosea and,

while Georgdi had enjoyed no major victories, he had suffered no defeats, either. His army was

well disciplined, highly motivated, and battle-skilled.

And it enjoyed the supreme advantage of having but one leader.

On the other hand, the Central Kingdoms” armies suffered from lack of coordination, lack

of cohesion, and three supreme commanders who bickered constantly among themselves and

who could barely agree on the day of the week, let alone a coherent battle strategy.

“Georgdi is in danger of surrounding us,” Malat said, turning back to the other two, his

wine untasted. “We”ve managed to get ourselves stuck in this…” He caught himself just before

he said nightmare of an indefensible city. “Stuck here in Pelemere. Our supplies are low to the

point of nonexistence. Winter settled in a month early. We don”t have soldiers used to fighting

on starvation rations in the middle of snowdrifts…and Georgdi does. Gods, my friends, they”ve

fought the Skraelings in Viland for decades. Fulmer, have you heard anything from the supply

train that was leaving Hosea two weeks ago? We need those supplies, man. Badly.”

“I”ve heard nothing,” said Fulmer. “None of the scouts have yet returned.”

Malat and Sirus exchanged a worried look. No one had heard anything from the north for

at least ten days. The entire area had been blanketed by snowstorms, yes, but they should have

heard something.

“I think—” began Sirus, when he was interrupted by the door opening and one of his

captains entering.

The captain bowed, excusing himself for the interruption.

“Sire,” he said, “Chief Georgdi sits his horse outside the city gates, requesting a parley.”

“What?” said Fulmer. “He has come to surrender?”

“No,” said the captain, “he says he has come to warn of the approach of a tide of death.”

BroadWing EvenBeat fought his way through the gusts of snow, his wings barely able to

hold him aloft.

He was terrified.

He”d never encountered a storm like this. It wasn”t its ferocity so much as what it was.

Not just wind.

Not just snow.

There was something else in the air about him.

BroadWing couldn”t see the creatures, but he could hear them, and he could feel them.

Whispers, cold, soft fingers brushing his face, his arms, his belly.

And sometimes, so fleeting he thought he”d imagined it, a face, an Icarii face, floating

before him.

A cold smile lighting its features.

Then it would be gone, and BroadWing would be left to fight his way through the storm

once more, desperate to get to Pelemere, desperate to warn the northern kings of what

approached.

“Tell Georgdi he has our word,” said Malat. “He enjoys safe harbor while in Pelemere.”

As the captain left, Malat looked significantly at Fulmer. “He does enjoy safe harbor

while under the parley flag, Fulmer.”

“Perhaps he wants to surrender,” said Fulmer.

“And perhaps you”re nothing but a young fool,” said Sirus, sitting down in a chair. “It

might be better to allow Malat and myself to talk to Georgdi.”

“If it wasn”t for my forces and my supplies—” Fulmer began.

“Yes,” said Malat, “and we”re more than grateful, Fulmer. I don”t know what we would

have done without you. But I think it is important to hear what Georgdi has to say. He has fought

with nothing but honor, and I don”t expect anything else from him now.”

Fulmer grunted, but he said no more, and joined Malat at the table with Sirus.

He hoped they would make Georgdi stand.

Chief Alm Georgdi was nothing like what any of the three men had expected. Somehow,

Malat thought, as the Outlander entered the room accompanied by three of his men, all unarmed

(and one looking as though he”d come straight from the battlefield, given his grubby clothing and

exhausted features), they”d always imagined Georgdi as an enormous bear of a man. A hulk,

rippling with muscle, and probably bristling with a full beard and curling mustachios as well.

Instead, Georgdi proved to be a trim man of good height, short of hair and clean-shaven,

who looked as if he should be a scholar rather than a far-too-successful warlord. His attire was