Winged Magic (36 page)

At the top of the road leading up to the citadel, Marron and Nara came to a stop in front of the closed gates. Helmar grunted her exasperation and slid off her mare. Two heavy wooden gates barred with iron hung from high .stone pillars attached to very solid walls. There was no way around the gates or over them. Helmar stalked to the middle and yanked on them. The gates didn’t budge.

“They’ve been sealed with magic,” she called back to Gabria.

Marron sidled up beside her. She stretched out to sniff the gates just as Helmar initiated a spell to break the arcane seals. The mare’s nostrils suddenly flared.
Helmar! No don’t—

She never had a chance to finish her warning.

The gate exploded in their faces.

From the sunlit gardens of the temple, Kelene heard the muffled boom. She cocked her head to listen, hoping the sound meant help was arriving. When nothing more happened, she decided the muffled explosion was probably part of the fighting in the city. She hurried on. She saw several good places to hide in the small groves of trees, heavy clumps of shrubbery, or in sheltered nooks scattered throughout the gardens. But she knew they could be only temporary. Her instincts sought a high place. Somewhere above the grounds where she could watch for Zukhara, or where she could see the city below. Perhaps she could see the fighting in the streets and learn who had attacked the city. Maybe, by the grace of Amara, Demira had brought Sayyed and Rafnir and they were already looking for her.

Kelene took a precious moment and paused just long enough to turn her talent inward on her throbbing head. Her magic eased the pain enough to enable her to see clearly and to run without worrying that her head would split open. As an afterthought, she also took time to change the red dress to pants and tunic, which gave her more freedom of movement. Then she went on quickly, moving through the maze of flowerbeds, vegetable gardens, fruit trees, and shrubbery as fast as she could move. She headed toward the tallest edifice she could see in the citadel complex, the great Temple of Sargun.

The temple was unlike anything Kelene had ever seen. It was built in levels that rose ten stories high around a towering central sanctuary. On the exterior, on every level, were hanging gardens of foliage plants and brilliant flowers. From the ground it looked like a verdant pyramid rising in steps to a crown of reddish stone.

Kelene hurried to the temple’s base. She heard shouts behind her and the furious voice of Zukhara. He had managed to banish the bees and come after her as she had predicted he would. A hot fury surged through her, fed by the days of misery, worry, and anxiety. That man had threatened her, hurt her, poisoned her mother, tried to rape her, and forcibly taken her and Gabria away from their home and loved ones all for his own selfish greed and ambition. He had called the dance for all those days. Now, Kelene thought fiercely, let him pay the piper.

She reached a broad stairway leading up to the first level of the temple and flew up on racing feet. She caught a glimpse of men running toward her through the gardens and ran along the outside walkway to the stairs going up to the second storey. The steps were broad and solid and easy to navigate, but they were staggered along the side of the temple rather than climbing in a straight line up to the top.

A sudden blast of the Trymian force exploded on the steps beside her. Kelene stumbled up to the next level, turned, and stared down the stairs.

Zukhara stood on the level below, glaring up at her. His hand was raised to fire again. “Come down, my lady. There is no escape.”

Kelene did the only thing she knew he could not tolerate. She laughed at him.

His eyes ablaze, he fired a sphere of the Trymian force directly at her. This time a red shield of defensive energy crackled into existence in front of her. The blue sphere ricocheted off into a wall. The sorceress turned and ran to the next set of stairs, her shield still intact and hovering close behind. Zukhara hurried after her. Temple guards came up behind him, but he waved them back. The sorceress was
his
prey.

The hunt continued up the side of the temple, like a crackling, booming thunderstorm. Kelene led Zukhara on, taunting him into using his power. Zukhara was strong, Kelene knew, virtually invincible as long as he wore the ward. On the other hand, he was arrogant and inexperienced. His ward would be little protection against his own magic if he lost control of his spells.

On the fifth level she slowed down and shot a few bolts of power at him, which he easily dodged. Sneering, he instantly returned a barrage intended to shatter her shield, Kelene gritted her teeth and intensified her defences, then dashed on ahead of him. She climbed up and up, ever higher along the sides of the temple, past the hanging garden boxes full of ferns, flowers, and tiny trees. She was panting by the time she climbed to the ninth storey. Her legs hurt after so many days of inactivity, and the pain had returned to her head. She hoped Zukhara was as tired as she felt, but when she looked back, he was striding up the stairs at the same relentless pace. Kelene stopped to catch her breath, and she waited at the foot of the last staircase for the Gryphon to reach her level.

He bared his teeth in a wolfish smile when he saw her, “There is nowhere left to go, Clanswoman. Submit to me before I am forced to break you.”

“I’d rather break this,” she retorted and pointed her hand toward him. Instead of firing at him, though, she released a blast at a huge plant box hanging over his head. The wood exploded in a hail of shattered fragments, dirt, and bits of plant. Zukhara was knocked backward by the shock of the blast.

Instantly Kelene lowered her aim and sent a sustained, specific beam of energy toward his chest, where his ward lay concealed. She felt a pressure there, fighting against her power, and she concentrated, forcing her magic deep into the intricate curves of the ward to find the crack and break it open. Blinded by the shower of dirt, Zukhara struggled to regain his balance and fight off her assault with a shield of his own.

Something shifted beneath the pressure of Kelene’s spell. The ivory ward, although designed to resist intense amounts of magical energy, had been weakened by the crack in its surface, and now it wavered in the force of Kelene’s power. The crack widened.

Zukhara hunched over, his arms wrapped around himself to protect his ward as he tried to form the shield. Kelene pushed harder. She imagined her hand closing around the pale white ball, the feel of its delicate weight on her palm, and the satisfying crunch as she crushed it in her fist.

There was an audible pop. In disbelief the Turic pulled the silver chain out of his robes and gaped at the shattered bits that fell out onto his hand.

Kelene stared avidly at the small silver tube that still hung on his chain. She did not want him to take revenge on the loss of his ward by destroying the antidote, so she moved quickly to distract him. “Sorcerer!” she sneered. “Ha! Now we’re even. No false protection. Only our own skills. Try to break me now.” And she dashed up the stairs to the very top, the roof of the temple.

Her ruse worked. Zukhara dropped the broken ward and sprinted after her. They came off the stairs onto the large flat, tiled roof. There were no potted plants growing up here. It was bare and unadorned and open to the vast sky. A small altar faced the east, and several stone benches sat along the low wall that framed the roof placed there for the priests who came to study the stars. The view of the mountains was breathtaking.

Kelene ran to the far end to look for another set of stairs in case she needed an escape. Instead of stairs, she discovered that the end of the temple edged the rim of the rocky pinnacle. From the temple’s lowest floor, the ground fell away in a precipice that dropped nearly a thousand feet to the valley floor. Kelene sucked in a lungful of air and whirled to face Zukhara. He had finally completed his shield and stood across from her, enclosed in a dome of glowing energy.

Kelene pursed her lips. He was showing his inexperience. A full dome of shielding required a great expenditure of strength and concentration to maintain and was hard to move about. Kelene had learned that a simple shield, even one as small as the battle shields carried by warriors, was easier to use and needed less attention to keep intact.

Her thoughts stopped short with a jerk. What was that? Something, a presence, nudged her awareness. Not Demira. Then a high-pitched screeching cry sounded overhead, and a large golden shape wheeled over her. The gryphon. The creature screeched again in a jarring, nerve-racking tone that sounded both angry and annoyed. She curved her wings and gracefully back-winged onto the roof between Zukhara and Kelene. Crouched there, she hissed at them both. Her ears lay flat, and the hairs rose on the back of her neck.

Kelene stared at her, outraged. “What have you done to her?” she cried to Zukhara.

That the gryphon had been abused was obvious. Her ribs poked out of her golden sides; her coat was matted and dirty. Raw wounds encircled her legs where she had fought against her chains, and red, oozing welts covered her face and shoulders. Worst of all were the singed circles on her sides where someone had used the Trymian force against her. Kelene remembered seeing the gryphon earlier, flying over the city wall when the fighting started, but if any sorcerers had been with the attackers, she doubted they had caused the damage to the gryphon. The burn wounds looked several days old and were already crusted over.

Something else looked different, too. The gryphon wore a new collar, intricately woven in knots. A ward, Kelene decided; Zukhara had sent the gryphon out with a ward.

As if to confirm her suspicions, Zukhara snapped a command in Turic to the gryphon. She snarled, a low menacing sound of fury. He shouted again and raised his fist. The gryphon winced away. She looked at Kelene, and if there was any recognition in her slitted eyes, it died when Zukhara evaporated his dome and fired a blast of magic at the creature.

The gryphon screamed, more from fear than pain since the collar protected her from most of the blast, and she pounced at Kelene, her talons extended and her teeth bared. The sorceress dove out from under her.

“No, girl,” Kelene cried. The sorceress held out her hands to signal peace, but the gryphon jumped toward her again. Kelene swerved sideways too late. The animal’s paw caught her back, and she fell sprawling near a corner of the low wall.

Zukhara laughed, a low sound as full of menace as the gryphon’s growl. He formed spheres of the Trymian force and fired at Kelene to drive her into the corner. She scrambled back until her legs banged into the stone wall. She flicked up a shielding dome against Zukhara’s bombardment and the gryphon’s teeth, and tried desperately to think of some way out of the trap. She could not stand there forever holding up an arcane shield, yet she could not fend off the gryphon and fight Zukhara at the same time. She did not want to hurt the gryphon either, unless she was forced to.

The creature snapped at the red power, then ripped her claws over the length of the small dome. Her breath hissed. Her lips curled back from her long incisors. She paced around, staying well away from Zukhara.

All at once another dark shadow scudded across the roof. Kelene shot a look at the sky and saw Demira silently stretch out her long forelegs and dive directly at the gryphon. The winged beast half turned, startled by the mare’s appearance, and caught a kick on her face from the horse’s back hooves. The kick did not injure her since Demira had no real force behind such a manoeuvre in midair, but it hurt, and it infuriated the already angry gryphon. She sprang off the roof and streaked after Demira.

“Oh, gods,” Kelene panted. She knew the Hunnuli had only a slim chance to evade the flying predator. For one desperate and blind instant she turned her gaze to follow Demira’s escape and forgot about Zukhara.

He lashed out instantly with a spell that did not touch her or even her shield. It landed on the square of tiles beneath her feet and transformed the slate to a sheet of glaring ice. Caught unprepared, Kelene found her feet slipping on the sheer surface. She fell, smashing her head against the low wall.

Two blows in one afternoon were too much, her mind thought through a haze of pain and whirling bits of light. Her shield faltered and went out. She knew she should renew it, but at that moment she could not remember how. Zukhara’s face swam in front of her. It smiled at her with such a gloating smirk that it would have made her queasy if she weren’t already feeling very ill. She felt his hand on her face and sensed her death in the hatred and fury that steamed from his touch.

“Zukhara!”

Kelene blinked in surprise. She hadn’t said anything.

The Turic flinched as if something had struck him. With an oath, he jumped to his feet and faced Gabria. The sorceress stood at the top of the stairs, looking like one of the plague dead. Her hair hung loose, as wild as any hag’s. Her face was ghastly white and streaked with dark rivulets of blood. More blood smeared her torn and tattered skirts.

Zukhara, in his arrogance, rejoiced. Gabria could not fight him; she was too weak, yet she could watch her daughter be crushed beneath his power. He would not kill Kelene’s body; he still wanted that for breeding. He would destroy her personality, the spirit that made her so unique. He leaned over Kelene again and lowered his hand to her face.

The little silver tube hanging loose on its chain dangled forgotten from his neck. It twisted and danced in a gleam of sunlight and shone like a tiny sun in Kelene’s blurry vision. It beckoned to her hand to reach for it. Just as Zukhara’s fingers touched her cheek, Kelene grasped the tube and yanked hard. The chain dug into the man’s neck and broke with a snap.