Sara Douglass – The Serpent Bride – DarkGlass Mountain Book 1

Salome was all efficiency, poking life into the coals, setting a kettle to steep, fetching

mugs from a corner.

Ishbel sat down cross-legged before the hearth, watching her with some admiration. For a

woman who had so recently grown her wings, Salome moved with a lovely grace. Ishbel was

sure that had it been her, she would have carelessly dragged a wingtip through the coals well

before now.

“I”m sorry,” she said to StarDrifter, who was yawning to one side.

He gave a small shrug. “No one can resist Salome. It will be she who rules the Icarii

nation, when we discover it, not I.”

Ishbel saw Salome look at StarDrifter, saw them smile slightly at each other, and felt a

pang of such envy she actually felt physically ill.

Salome sat down herself, checked the kettle, pursed her lips in annoyance to see it not yet

begun to steam, then looked at Ishbel. “Tell us about the dream.”

Ishbel thought about trying to squirm her way out of it, but almost instantly decided

resistance was useless. Besides, she trusted both StarDrifter and Salome, and perhaps they could

offer some advice.

“It is about Maximilian,” Ishbel said, and StarDrifter grunted.

“How surprising,” he said.

“StarDrifter!” Salome hissed. “Go on,” she said to Ishbel. “We need to do something

while waiting for this damned kettle to boil.”

So Ishbel told them: about her experiences as a child, locked in the house with her

family”s corpses; about what the corpses had whispered to her; about the dreams of the Lord of

Elcho Falling that had continued throughout her life; what she had said to Maximilian in the

woodsman”s hut (at which both StarDrifter and Salome winced); about her horror when she

realized that Maximilian was the Lord of Elcho Falling.

“I love him—” Ishbel said.

“Well, I”m glad you can finally admit that,” Salome muttered, stirring a handful of tea

leaves into the kettle.

“—but I have put such a distance between us and I don”t know how to close it.”

“Do you actually want to?” said StarDrifter.

Ishbel opened her mouth, then closed it, not knowing how to answer.

Salome waved a hand over the kettle, dissipating some of the steam that trickled from its

spout. “All this talk of sadness and despair trailing about Maxel”s shoulders,” she said. “Very

dramatic. I commend your imagination. But what do you know of this sadness and despair? I

don”t doubt that you can see and feel it, but how do you know its origins, or purpose? It could

just as well represent Ravenna”s desperate clutching at Maxel”s shoulders.”

StarDrifter laughed, and Ishbel managed a smile.

“The despair reaches out to envelop my life,” she said. “It comes from Maximilian. Is

caused by him. I wish it didn”t. I wish it wasn”t there, but…” Her voice trailed off, and she

gestured helplessly.

“I have no idea what this miasma of despair means, Ishbel,” Salome said, “but I see that

you love the man, and he you.”

“Ravenna—” Ishbel said.

“He doesn”t love her,” Salome said. “He is irritated by her. He feels bound to her by guilt

and by the stars alone know what else, but he doesn”t love her. You. Only you.”

She took a deep breath. “For all the gods” sakes, girl, none of us can have any idea what

that vision you have of Maximilian means, but this I do know. You have to live your life, and

you need to take the risk. You need to clear the air between Maximilian and yourself. You need

to make it perfectly plain to him that, despite all this talk of a nasty miasma, you want to share

your life with him. Damn it, you must. Are you not bound by blood and destiny? Do you not

both love each other? Yes, yes, I know both of you have made mistakes, and said and done

things that perhaps you shouldn”t have. But if you don”t take the chance, Ishbel, you will shrivel

up and die, and Maximilian with you, and everyone else with the tragic pair of you. Ishbel, this is

the selfish Salome speaking here! I want to live. Sort it out with Maxel.”

Both StarDrifter and Ishbel were staring at Salome by this stage, then StarDrifter gave a

short laugh.

“I can add no more to my wife”s wisdom, Ishbel. Sort it out with Maximilian. You must.”

CHAPTER NINE

Entrance to the Sky Peak Pass, the Outlands

They had set out as usual in the morning. Up before dawn, striking camp, trudging

forward, foot after foot—most of the horses had been eaten weeks ago. They had long since

ceased sending out scouts, for the Icarii were exhausted, and as sick at heart as everyone else,

and neither Georgdi nor Malat cared to hear whatever bad news they might bring.

Eventually, they knew, they would meet up with the Tyrant of Isembaard”s forces.

Georgdi and Malat had discussed briefly what they would do once they met: unconditional

surrender and pray that Isaiah would feed them. There was not a man or woman among them in

any fit state to fight, and fifteen thousand starving, exhausted, tottering excuses for soldiers and

citizens would be no match for what they”d heard Isaiah commanded.

They had also discussed the possibility of retreating—to Pelemere, or Kyros, or

wherever. But neither man had wanted to turn back west. For all they knew, the Central

Kingdoms were utterly destroyed. West lay only rotting flesh and ruins. East lay…something

else. They just had to pray that the something else was better than the rotting flesh and ruins.

It was, as always, BroadWing who brought them the news.

There had been some words among the Icarii traveling in a group just behind and to one

side of Georgdi and Malat, and then BroadWing had taken off, lurching a little in his tiredness as

he rose into the sky.

Malat supposed that with their superior sight the Icarii had spotted something ahead.

BroadWing returned within minutes, landing a few paces away from Georgdi and Malat.

“Do I want to hear it?” Georgdi asked.

“An army, massive,” BroadWing said. “Stretching as far east as my eye could see.”

And that was far enough, Malat thought glumly.

“Before it,” said BroadWing, still unable to believe what his eyes had shown him, “sit a

line of kings on their horses. Waiting for us.”

A line of kings, BroadWing had said, and Malat thought it true enough. Four men sat

their horses a few paces before the mightiest army Malat had ever seen, or even dreamed of.

One of them he knew, Maximilian of Escator (gods, how had Maxel joined up with this

invasion?), and the others BroadWing identified to Malat and Georgdi.

“Stars,” BroadWing said, “I can hardly believe it. There, that man, that is Axis SunSoar,

once StarMan of Tencendor. Then Maximilian of Escator, who you know. Next to him is

StarDrifter SunSoar, Axis” father, and now Talon of the Icarii. My king. And the final man must

be Isaiah of Isembaard.”

Malat agreed with BroadWing on that point. He could think of no one else save the

Tyrant of Isembaard who would wear such a magnificent collar of gold, or sit a horse with such

innate arrogance and power.

Malat and Georgdi stepped forward, and a moment later Isaiah pushed his horse into a

walk toward them.

They had closed half the distance between them when suddenly there was a movement

behind Isaiah.

It was time.

Maximilian sat his horse, watching Isaiah ride out to meet Malat and Georgdi, and he

knew it was time. From the moment he”d received news of the offer of Ishbel as a bride, events

had pushed and pummeled him toward this moment. Everything appeared absolutely clear,

totally straightforward. The air hung cold and frosted about him, the snow crisp and solid

beneath his horse”s hooves.

All was so lucid, so crisp, so clean.

Maximilian took a deep breath, leaned very close to Axis, whispering, “Back me up!”

Then he pushed his own horse after Isaiah, kicking it into a canter.

Behind him, the entire army stirred in surprise, and Isaiah”s five generals laid hand to

their swords and narrowed their eyes.

“What the fuck…?” Armat murmured.

Isaiah heard him coming, knew precisely who it was.

He smiled a little, glad, and reined his own horse back.

As Maximilian rode past him he pulled his horse to one side, bowing his head in

deference.

Malat and Georgdi halted, surprised but not particularly alarmed as Maximilian pulled his

horse to a halt in a flurry of snow before them.

“Welcome to the ancient past, my friends,” Maximilian said, his voice clear and strong,

carrying back to those who waited behind him. “Welcome to Elcho Falling.” His mouth gave an

ironic twist, and he nodded over his shoulder, indicating the forces stretched out behind him.

“You are Maximilian of Escator?” Georgdi said, a note of puzzlement in his voice.

Maximilian glanced at Malat as he spoke. “No. I am Maximilian Persimius, Lord of