The Dark Queen by Michael Williams Read Free Book Online Page B

had invented a form of sign
     language nearly everyone could understand, and she had learned how to write in glyphs,
     runes, and common letters. All the while, the magic of her music grew ever more powerful.
     Her song remained loud and clear and perpetually true, and sometimes it seemed to border
     on prophecy when the marveling Plainsmen heard it at the start of a hunt or a battle. When
     her song rose to prophecy, it was as though the desert blossomed, the arroyos filled with
     the waters of the sung rivers, and the stars shifted in the winter sky, Branchala's harp
     brilliant on the northern horizon. It was as though all prophecy resounded in its ancient
     strings. They could not but choose to listen, then, from the most wretched tone-deaf
     bandit to Stormlight himself. Even Fordus would turn to her and stare, with those sea-blue
     desert eyes, and believe completely everything that she sang about him. And wonder if he
     could ever afford to set her free. At the campsite the men were gatheredbandit and
     barbarian and Plainsman, bound by wounds and dirt and exhaustion, their eyes fixed
     restlessly on the heights of the Red Plateau where the Lord
    of the Rebels kept lonely vigil. Larken slipped into the firelight, seating herself
     between Stormlight and her cousin Northstar, the slender young Plainsman who steered the
     Que-Nara across the broad, featureless expanses of the Istarian desert, guided by stars
     and prayers. Northstar regarded her defiantly. At first he had refused to accompany Fordus
     into the grasslands and had matched words unsuccessfully against Larken's battle song.
     Larken liked almost everything about her cousin, from his quiet intelligence and
     resourcefulness to the hawk tattoo on his shoulder. And she loved him in spite of his
     irritating piety, as strict and somber as any Istarian's. She shot him back a crooked
     smile. Northstar turned proudly away, and Stormlight's greeting, as usual, was little more
     than an uneasy nod. With a shrug, Larken settled in between the men and drew forth her
     drum. Lucas alit drowsily on her gloved arm, and she settled him on his ring perch, where
     he fluffed and fell quickly asleep, lulled by the warmth of the fire. Across the circle,
     one of the bandit leaders, her long black hair glinting red from the firelight, was
     speaking loudly. Larken searched for memory. The woman's name was something harsh,
     unpleasant... Gormion. Yes. It fit her. The jumbled Tarsian name, taken when the woman had
     left the Que-Nara seven years ago. She was back now, at the head of a company of Thoradin
     bandits, momentarily allied with the rebels. “He should never have been made Water
     Prophet, Stormlight,” Gormion hissed. “You were there ten years ago. You know it's true.”
     “He prophesied,” Stormlight declared, “and his words drew a map to the water. I would call
     that water prophecy. I would call that true.” “My grandfather should have been . . .”
     Gormion began. It was the same old story of strife and com- plaint. Old Racer had
     considered himself passed over by Fordus's father, and had voiced his com- plaints until
     his dying day. His sons, the oldest of whom was Gormion's father, had left the Que- Nara
     in anger, seeking residence among bandits in the Thoradin foothills. Only in this discord
     did Gormion, granddaughter of Old Racer, acknowledge her Plainsman blood. “Nor is he a
     better general,” she spat, dark hands waving in the glow of the firelight, a dozen stolen
     silver bracelets spangling her wrists. The bandits on either side of her, two rough men
     named Rann and Aeleth, could only nod in agreement since their mouths were stuffed with
     the bread Fordus had provided. “Retreat. What else do you call it,” she continued, “when
     an army goes forward, fights, and falls back?” “Repentance,” Northstar replied, staring
     long into the fire. “We obviously did not win,” Gormion