Stalking Darkness (63 page)

“We’ve got to get out of here now,” Thero warned, still weak and breathless. “That spell, the attack—We’ve got to go before the guards come back!”

“What about the warding spells he cast on the entrance?” Alec asked, helping the wizard to his feet. Thero was shaky, but determined. “They were dispelled when you killed him.”

“Good.” Vargul Ashnazai was nothing more to him than forgotten carrion now. Turning his back on the body, he extinguished the lantern, then crept to the mouth of the cave.

The guards were still off minding their own business somewhere, leaving their master to his pastimes, but the fire they’d built was still bright. The minute he and Thero stepped out, they’d be visible to anyone lingering nearby.

“Can’t you translocate us or something?” Alec whispered, surveying the scene.

“I’d have done that already if I could!” Thero replied with a welcome hint of his customary brusqueness. “Get me away from here and I may be able to do something else, though.”

“You’d better be praying for Illior’s luck, then.” Alec pointed north into the darkness. “We’re going that way, understand? We’ll have to keep low and follow the ledge below the road until we get away from the main camp.”

Alec left unsaid the fact that any number of guards could be within fifty feet of them and they wouldn’t know it until it was too late; he was trying hard not to think of that himself. With Thero at his side he sent up one last silent prayer and hurried past the fire into the darkness beyond.

There didn’t seem to be anyone around, but peering up over the ledges they could see men hunkered around a campfire less than a hundred feet way.

Their bare feet made no sound as they stole along the rocky shore to the edge of the forest just north of the camp. The open ground between the stunted trees was treacherously laced with exposed roots jutting out of the thin soil. Alec clutched Thero by the arm, pulling him along as he stumbled.

They soon spotted several men on picket duty ahead of them. The guards were watching for trouble coming from outside the camp, however, and Alec skirted around their position with no trouble. Gauging their direction by the moon, he led the way north.

They’d been going for less than half an hour when Thero suddenly pulled Alec to a halt in a small gully. “Look, I’m tired, too, but we can’t afford to rest,” Alec urged. “It’s not that,” Thero whispered. “They know we’re gone. I just felt something, a searching, I think. It won’t take Irtuk Beshar any time to find us.”

“Oh, gods!” Alec gasped, looking back the way they’d come. “We can’t get taken, Thero. They’ll sacrifice you and now that I’ve been bloodied there’s nothing to stop Mardus from—“

“Shut up,” Thero interrupted, giving him an abrupt shake. “Kneel down.”

“You’ve got your magic back!” Alec breathed, relief washing over him. “Can you translocate us now?”

“No, I don’t have the power.” Thero’s lean, bearded face was lost in shadow as he laid cold hands on Alec’s shoulders. “Clear your mind and relax. This spell will only last until sunrise; remember that if you can. Sunrise. You’ll have to run hard, go as far as you can before—“

They both froze as a weird, preternatural howl burst out from the direction of the camp. It rose to a mad, sobbing cackle, fell away, only to erupt again, closer this time.

“Too late!” hissed Alec, then winced as Thero grabbed him by both arms and forced him back to his knees.

“No it’s not!” Thero held him down, speaking urgently. “Clear your mind, Alec, relax. This takes only a moment.”

Another gibbering howl floated to them through the night.

Alec bowed his head, wondering what it was that Thero intended, and why it suddenly seemed so familiar.

“That’s good, very good,” whispered There. “Alec i Amasa Kerry, untir maligista.” It was the unaccustomed sound of his full name that triggered Alec’s memory. He opened his mouth to protest, but the magic had already taken hold.

“Untir maligista kewat, Alec i Amasa Kerry.” There continued, pouring out all his remaining power as he pressed down hard on Alec’s shoulders. Whatever horror Irtuk Beshar had unleashed was crashing through the trees toward them, bellowing its lunatic hunting call.

Throwing back his head, Thero cried out, “Let thy inner symbol be revealed!”

The change was nearly instantaneous. One moment Alec was kneeling before him, the next a young stag was shaking the remains of the tattered tunic from its antlers. Nostrils flaring, it leapt away from Thero, then looked back in confusion. A ghostly residue of magic still glimmered faintly around it, but that would soon fade.

Thero took a tentative step toward it, though he knew Alec was probably past understanding human speech.

“I didn’t intentionally betray the Oreska,” he told him. “Let this be the atonement for my blindness. Go on. Run!”

The stag lowered its head, lashing its antlers from side to side as if refusing to leave him. “No, Alec, go.” A greedy snarl from the shadows settled the issue; the stag turned and bolted.

The last thing Thero saw was the white flash of its tail.

T
hey’d had time now to learn the pattern of the Plenimaran camp. Pickets were stationed along the landward perimeter a quarter mile out, with a second line closer in. It made a tight net but, like any net, it was also a pattern of holes.

Silent and deadly as true urgazhi, Beka and her raiders quietly killed four pickets, stripped them of their tunics and weapons, then worked their way toward the mass of sleeping prisoners.

The clearness of the night was against them. The moon was nearing full and by its light they could make out the details of each other’s faces as they gathered for the raid. By that same betraying light, they also saw that Gilly and Mirn had again managed to keep themselves as close as possible to the outside edge of the group. Stripped to the waist, they lay on their backs, heads resting on the plank.

Just then, angry shouts burst out somewhere on the far side of the camp. Whatever was going on, it was attracting the attention of the whole camp. Several of the sentries stationed among the prisoners moved off in the direction of the noise. From somewhere nearby came the snort and bellow of a bull.

“By Sakor, we’ll never have a better chance than this!” Beka whispered.

Her plan was simple, direct, and fraught with the possibility for complete disaster. The others understood this, but had been unanimously in favor of the rescue.

Bows at the ready, Beka and the others watched from the cover of the trees while Steb, Rhylin, Nikides, and Kallas pulled on the stolen enemy tunics and strode casually out in the direction of the prisoners.

Still focused on the outcry, none of the sentries challenged the four raiders as they quickly lifted the planked prisoners and rushed them into the shelter of the trees. The whole act was accomplished in a moment’s time.

The raiding party ghosted back the way they’d come until they reached Jareel and Ariani, who’d been left behind to guard the horses well outside the Plenimaran perimeter.

“Knew you’d come,” Gilly said faintly as Kallas and Nikides lowered him gently to the ground on his back beside Mini.

Their hands were swollen and purple where the long spikes pierced their palms. Their shoulders had rubbed raw against the rough planks. Looking more closely at them now, Beka saw from the numerous other bruises and abrasions that covered both men that they must have often stumbled and fallen beneath their awkward burdens.

“Rest easy, riders,” she said, kneeling next to them. At her nod, several of the others held their legs and shoulders. Nikides bent to cut the ropes lashing their arms to the wood, but Sergeant Braknil stopped him.

“Best leave those on ’til we’re done,” he cautioned. “Give them both a belt to bite down on and let’s get this over with.”

Using a pair of farrier’s pliers, he set his foot against the plank and wrenched the first spike from Gilly’s hand.

It was an excruciating process. The flesh had swollen and festered badly around the spikes and Braknil had to dig into the skin to get a proper grip. Gilly fainted as the first spike pulled free. Mirn gnawed doggedly at the belt between his teeth while tears of pain streamed down into his ears.

“Easy now,” Beka murmured, trying not to let the rage and revulsion she felt show in her voice as she pressed her hands down on his shoulders. “It’ll be over soon.”

When it was over, Braknil bathed their wounds with seawater and bandaged them with strips of sweat-stained linen and wool each rider had cut from their clothing.

“Neither of them is in any condition to ride,” said Beka. “Rhylin, you and Kallas are the strongest riders so you’ll take them. Nikides, see that those planks come with us, and the spikes. Don’t leave the bastards any more sign than we can help.”

As the rest of the turma mounted for the retreat, a new cry came from the direction of the camp, one that brought gooseflesh up on every arm.

The mad, unnatural howl rose and fell, then burst out again, quavering as if some monstrous throat was about to burst with the effort. The horses tossed their heads, nervously scenting the wind.

“Bilairy’s Balls! What was that, Lieutenant?” gasped Tealah.

“Let’s hope we don’t find out,” Beka muttered. The awful cry came again. “No, it’s headed away from us. Let’s move on before it changes its mind.”

“Which way?” Rhylin asked, shifting his hold around Mirn, who’d finally fainted. “Inland, out of their path,” Beka replied as another faint howl floated back to them through the trees. “And away from whatever that is!” someone muttered as they spurred away.

Alec?

Nysander’s brow creased as he stared unseeingly into the darkness. It had been Thero’s essence he felt first; now there was only Alec’s, glimmering in his mind like a distant beacon.

It took no expenditure of power to sense it—the energy was clear, perhaps due to the strong magic fused with it. Nysander recognized the familiar imprint of the spell.

Well done, Thero!

But why had the young wizard’s own essence disappeared so suddenly?

Feeling Alec’s fleeting tremor again, he focused the slightest burst of magic on it, silently mouthing, Come to us, Alec. We need you.

They’d taken shelter beneath an old salt pine in the forest above the temple site. The tips of the tree’s lower limbs swept nearly to the ground, forming a low, tentlike space inside.

Stretched out on the thick fragrant bed of fallen needles, Micum snored softly. Beside him, Seregil tossed restlessly, muttering in Aurenfaie.

The wizard had felt little need for sleep since his arrival in Plenimar. The quiet hours of the night were too precious to waste. Instead, he kept watch and wove his meditations, nurturing his returning strength. He only hoped it would be enough when the time came.

Seregil shifted again, uttering a low moan.

Nysander considered waking him, sharing this first sign of hope, but it was too soon; if Seregil believed Alec was nearby, then he would strike off on his own after him. Alec was still too far away.

Leaning back against the pine’s knobby trunk, he resumed his lonely vigil. The Four was whole again; they would find each other.

Beka’s raiders pushed due east until the moon set. At dawn they found themselves on a rocky highland overlooking the misty blue sea in the distance.

Mim’s and Gilly’s hands looked like bloated gloves, mottled with angry shades of purple, red, and yellow. When Braknil had finished with the new dressings, Beka drew him a little apart from the others.

“You’ve seen this before. What do you think?” she asked, keeping her voice low.

“I’d give a year’s bounty for a drysian.” The sergeant was careful to keep his back to the others. “Even then I don’t know if the hands could be saved. As it is here, field dressing’s the best I can do and I’ve got no simples to work with but brine. That might be enough to draw the pus off, but if they take the blood poisoning—” He gave a small, expressive shrug. “Well, it’d be kinder to speed them on.”

Looking back to the others, Beka watched Tare coaxing the wounded men to drink.

“Thirty-four of us rode out of Rhiminee together, a green lieutenant and green troops, except for you,” Beka said grimly. “Now look at us.”

“It was that attack on the regiment that cleaned us out,” Braknil reminded her. “You led us well there. What happened wasn’t your fault. Every one of us that fell went down with honor. We’ve fared damn well with all the raiding we’ve done since and that is your doing. All that counts now is getting back to our own lines with what we’ve learned.”

Beka gave her sergeant a weary half smile. “So you keep telling me. Let’s see if Mirn and Gilly have anything to add.”

“Some of the other prisoners spoke some Skalan,” Mim told them weakly, his head resting on Steb’s leg. “One of them said the general’s name is Mardus, a lord of some degree. He’s got necromancers with him, too.”

“Necromancers,” snorted Gilly, staring down at his useless hands. “One of them looked more demon than wizard. Black as something raked out of the fire, but alive as you or me! No one knew where we were headed, but everyone knew what was going on at night and it was her doing it!”