Skull Gate by Robin W Bailey Page A

barely visible, seeming unchanged in the month she'd been gone. She'd ridden half the night, skirting Shadamas and all other towns to get here at this particular hour. Her work must be done between midnight and dawn. Certainly it was late enough. Her hand wandered to the cloth pouch that hung from her weapon belt. The outline of the contents showed through the thin material.
    With a gasp, she jerked her hand away.
    â€œNo.” she whispered firmly, getting a mental grip on her reaction. “You know what it is; you helped make it; it can't hurt you.” But she had grown unused to arcane ways and the strains they sometimes demanded. Twice, Oona had nearly fainted at the instructions the younger woman had given her. From the beginning her old face had remained a pale, wrinkled mask of horror. Frost herself had had trouble keeping food down and had nearly quit the making. But once begun it could not be left unfinished.
    She forced herself to touch the pouch again, to feel the outline of the thing inside. Soon she would have to hold it in her own hand. Best get used to it now.
    When she was rested, she urged Ashur down the low ridge and out onto the broad plain that stretched all around the sleeping city. Her gaze combed the darkness, and she was alert for any movement. Nothing, just the quiet.
    She looked up at the sky again. At least there was no moon to give her away to watching eyes. The clouds, so low and oppressive, hid everything.
    Outside the city's wall stood a collection of the dirtiest inns and taverns Frost had ever seen, places that prostitutes and criminals of all nationalities called home; where ancient sailors too old to ride the waves anymore littered the streets with their drunken bodies; where wealthy men with enemies in high places bought quick solutions to their problems. Aki had tried to rid Mirashai of this cesspool and failed. So had her father and his father.
    She touched the pouch at her side, then reconsidered. Not yet , she decided. It must last .
    She passed the first tavern. The hand that had touched the pouch now shifted to her sword. She searched the windows and doorways as she rode by. No light, no noise, no faces peered out. She drew a breath and rode on. Two buildings stood clustered together. She watched them carefully, alert, ready.
    No one stirred. It was late, yes, but would everyone be sleeping? She nudged Ashur on, releasing her sword long enough to wipe the sweat from her palm.
    She might have sneaked in more quietly on foot, but she was going to need the unicorn's height.
    The buildings were closer now, mostly dark. Here and there, a thin light flickered through cracked wooden shutters. She passed by as silently as possible.
    A blast of laughter echoed from a tavern up ahead. She saw the door to the establishment push open. Quickly she turned her mount down a narrow alley and out of sight. She rode on through to the next street.
    Someone stumbled toward her. She stopped. He stopped, too, and stared. A whimsical expression twisted his face. He lurched against a wall suddenly, sank to the ground, and closed his eyes.
    She hesitated. Should she kill him and shut his mouth, too? He might awaken and talk, later. She rode closer, drawing the sword from its sheath. She leaned down and nudged the man with the point. He didn't stir. She nudged him again, gasped, and drew back to thrust, but he merely fell over on his side and started to snore.
    She put her sword away and moved on.
    The next street was lighted with a reddish glow. Frost looked up and down. Candles encased in lanterns of scarlet cloth and paper hung from every door. She heard strange, muffled sounds from the windows above her and blushed. The nighttime is theirs , she thought. No one sleeps on this street . She turned to seek another way.
    At last she came to the great gate in the city's western wall. It was shut, as she knew it would be, and barred on the inside with a mighty beam. But above the gate four posts stuck out