Free Frost by Robin W Bailey Page A

subtle difference in the air. Population, industry, the smell of the forge, cook-fires and garbage. The odors lingered on the edge of her senses, becoming a distasteful reek as they drew nearer.
    Then a new smell, water.
    â€œThe Cocytus,” Kregan said, pointing again. She could barely see the dark ribbon that cut through the land. “You can't see the causeway or Erebus beyond. Zondu sits directly in our way."
    She sat up straight, straining for a better view of the river. But the night was too thick. Chondos was near; that knowledge sent a shiver up her spine.
    She stopped, suddenly nervous, afraid. Zarad-Krul behind her, Chondos before. Her hands trembled and she hid them before Kregan could notice. Between two such forces her own sword seemed small indeed.
    She bit her lip, swallowed, then urged Ashur forward.
    The wall of Zondu rose over them, tall and broad, scarred with age and by the angry dust storms that seasonally swept the Zondaur. In places, the mortar was crumbled. The huge blocks of stone were chipped and cracked, worn smooth at the corners. The wall's shadow fell over them, deep and brooding and silent.
    The great steel-banded gates were closed; no sentry stood guard to open them.
    â€œYou said the eastern gates were always open."
    Kregan scratched his chin. “They usually are.” He looked behind, all around. “I don't like this."
    â€œNeither do I.” She turned the unicorn aside, paced him back and forth before the gate. “Can we reach the causeway by skirting the walls?"
    The Chondite shook his head. “The walls reach to the water's edge. The causeway proceeds from inside the city."
    She took Ashur back a few paces, looked up at the high parapet.
    â€œHo, up there!” she called, spying no sentry. “Open the gates if you're awake."
    The gleam of a helmet above the bastion, of a spear point. “Who are you? What do you want in Zondu this time of night?” The voice was gruff, uncivil.
    â€œHonest travelers in need of food and rest,” she answered, wishing she could see better.
    â€œBy Gath, a woman by the sound of you!” Laughter and muttering—so there were others up there. “I have good eyes, though!” the voice continued with a more menacing tone, “and I see your companion wears Chondite garb."
    Kregan bristled, snarled. “Then a Chondite I must be, fool.” Then smugly, tauntingly, “Now will you open the gate, or shall I pull the wall from under your shiftless feet?” He raised his hand, made a clawing gesture, and laughed softly.
    Her mouth twisted in a frown. The Chondite's haughty words could as easily have brought a hail of arrows down on them. It was not wise to offend when offense served no purpose.
    Scrambling sounds above. Antique chains and pulleys groaned; the gate creaked slowly open.
    Kregan turned then, met her stare, coldly aloof. “He swears by Gath,” he said of the sentry, “the spider-god of chaos, but it is Chondite sorcery he truly fears."
    She had not thought him so arrogant. A curious smile etched his lips; he sat straight, stiff in the saddle. Was it fatigue or the nearness of his homeland that wrought this change in him? She averted her eyes, no answer in his face.
    â€œDon't stop,” he whispered when the gate was wide. “Make straight for the causeway on the far side of the city. We'll find rest and food in Erebus."
    A slow fire smoldered in her breast; a darkening mood damped it. The same commanding, insolent tone he had used with the sentry. She resented it, felt the heat rise again in her cheeks, but said nothing. He knew she had never planned to stop in Zondu when Chondos lay just over the river.
    She pushed through the gate first, obstinately denying Kregan the lead.
    Too late, she heard the rasp of steel, the rustle of clothing. A shadow fell across her path—someone on a roof top.
    She reached for her sword as Kregan shouted a warning, freed the blade as