“Do you have a better explanation?”
“I haven’t looked yet, have I?” He went to his horse and struggled up into the saddle. “Keep a sharp eye out, and send me one of those little lights if you see anyone coming. I won’t be long.”
Micum’s idea of not being gone long was different than Thero’s. He was about to send a sighting out for him when Micum rode back into camp, looking grim.
“What did you find?” Thero asked, helping him down from the horse.
Micum sat on a large stone and stared down at his hands; they were smeared with dark blood. “There are thirty-one men lying dead back there, and all but three don’t have a scratch on them, except that they’d bled from their eyes and ears.”
“And the other three?”
“One decapitated. One stabbed through the heart. The third one gutted and hacked to pieces.”
“In that vision with Alec, I saw Seregil running at the riders with a sword. I was sure I was seeing his death.”
“It should have been. But I’d say he managed to kill those three. They were close together, and the gutted one was dressed like a noble. Seregil must have cut the other two down to get to him. But the others? Seregil didn’t do that, and neither did Alec.”
“Then you agree that whatever this thing is it’s dangerous.”
“But it didn’t hurt us, not even when we pulled it away from Alec,” Micum pointed out.
They both turned and looked into the shelter, where the strange pale creature was curled up between the two men now, its silvery hair spread across both their chests.
Micum sighed and shook his head. “What have you two gotten yourselves into this time?”
CHAPTER 46
At Bay
THERO SAT WITH the two wounded men that night, while Micum kept watch at the head of the gully. He’d cast a sheltering spell on the little tent to keep the wind and cold out. The heat of their bodies made it comfortable inside, and Thero was dozing when Alec started awake. Looking around in alarm, he found Seregil first and reached across Sebrahn to stroke his talimenios’s sleeping face.
“He’s healing,” Thero assured him quietly.
Alec stared up at him. “I thought it was a dream, seeing you on that ship.”
“No dream. You came to me and I saw you. It was you who guided us here.” A sudden tightness in his throat made the wizard pause a moment. “I thought you were dead, Alec. I thought I was seeing your ghost. What happened?”
“Yhakobin came after us with the slave takers. There were archers. They were aiming at Seregil.” He broke off, and Thero saw his hand tighten around Seregil’s. “Are you sure he’s all right?”
“Yes. This odd little friend of yours is quite the healer.”
“The flowers. I was hit, and when I came around, he was putting them on Seregil.”
“He must have done quite a bit of that before we reached you, and he’s done it a few more times since.”
Alec let out a long, wheezing sigh of relief that turned into a ragged cough. “I really thought we were for the Gate this time,” he whispered when he got his breath back. “Where are we?”
“Still in Plenimar, not far from where you and Seregil were—attacked. Can you tell me any more about how you ended up in Plenimar in the first place?”
“Ambushed by slavers on the road—somewhere.” Alec closed his eyes.
“We tracked you that far. And then they took you to Riga and sold you, right?”
“To an alchemist. Yhakobin.” His eyes stayed shut, but his breathing grew shallow and quick as more memories came to him. “Gave Seregil—to Ilar. I didn’t know—didn’t know who Ilar was—Thought he was friend—”
“Stop, Alec. Get your breath!” Thero urged, pressing a hand to Alec’s brow with a small spell to calm him, then to his chest to heal what he could. When Alec’s breathing grew easier, he asked, “Who is Ilar?”
Alec shook his head. “Long story. Ask Seregil, if he’ll tell you.”
“All right. What about this creature?”
Alec frowned up at him. “Sebrahn. He’s named Sebrahn.” He coughed again and Thero helped him take a sip from the water skin. “He’s my child…of no woman. ’kobin made him.”
“That’s enough, Alec. Stop now.”
But Alec was still struggling to talk through the coughing fit. “A rhekaro—Mine! He can heal.”
“So I’ve seen,” Thero murmured, adding a bit to the spell to quiet him.
“He can do more than that,” Seregil rasped, opening his eyes. “You were dead, Alec. He brought you back.”
Alec looked over at him, then up at Thero again. “That’s impossible. I was just hurt. Right?”
“I know what death looks like. I know what a dead body feels like…” Seregil’s voice cracked. “Alec, you died. You saved my life doing it, and you died!”
“I’m afraid that’s probably true, Alec,” Thero told him.
“It is.” Seregil wiped his eyes on one bare arm. “They killed Alec. I killed Yhakobin. His archers shot me. Then Sebrahn, he—He sang.”
“Sang?” Alec touched the sleeping creature’s shoulder. “I don’t remember.”
Seregil let out a ragged laugh. “You were still dead then. He killed the rest of them with his song. Then he spoke your name, Alec, and he brought you back with his tears.”
“Yhakobin used my tears—to make him.”
Thero patted his shoulder. “That’s enough for now. Sleep, both of you. I’d like to examine the rhekaro.”
Alec’s eyes flew open and he clutched at Thero’s arm. “Don’t you hurt him!”
“I won’t, I promise.” Thero held out his hand to the creature and forced a smile. “Just come out by the fire, won’t you, so I can have a better look?”
Sebrahn looked to Alec, who gave Thero another warning look, then nodded. “It’s all right, Sebrahn. Go with Thero.”
Only then did the rhekaro let Thero lead him out into the firelight. As soon as Thero stopped, Sebrahn hunkered down and stared back into the lean-to where Alec lay.
Thero sat down beside him, letting himself feel the weird energy coming off the rhekaro like heat. It was obvious that the others did not see what Thero saw when they looked at this created thing. They all spoke of a child and seemed to think he was helpless and fragile.
But Thero saw the jagged aura of scintillating white light that surrounded that little body. It shifted and danced like winter sky fire, as if it was trying to take on some larger shape. Hesitant to attempt any direct magic, Thero closed his eyes and did a sighting instead, but the image remained the same.
Despite everything he’d seen so far, however, he sensed no evil in it, or any immediate threat. The energy that surrounded it was strong, but at the same time felt somehow empty. If he hadn’t seen the splayed, lifeless corpses still lying out there on the plain, he’d have guessed that Sebrahn was harmless. Seregil spoke of a song, but Thero doubted that’s what it had really been.
He sat quietly with the creature until the rhekaro grew used to him and studied him in return. It was unnerving, having those strange eyes watching him so intently. There was some degree of intelligence there, but it was nothing human or ’faie.
He heard the crunch of footsteps nearby, and the rattle of falling pebbles.
“Hello in the camp,” Micum called softly, letting Thero know it was him. He sat down by the fire and looked at the two of them. “How are you getting along?”
“Fine, so far. Now that you’re here, though, I want to try something. Pour a cup of water, would you? Set it down where Sebrahn can reach it.”
When Micum had done so, Thero stuck a finger into the fire and pressed it briefly against a hot coal.
Micum grabbed his wrist and yanked his hand away from the fire. “What are you doing?”
“It’s all right.” Gritting his teeth against the pain, Thero held the blistered finger out for Sebrahn to see. “Will you heal me?”
The rhekaro looked around, then pi
cked up a small sharp stone and used it to cut the end of its forefinger. A drop of white blood oozed out and fell into the cup, making another dark flower. He scooped it out and pressed it to Thero’s burn. As soon as it touched him, the wizard felt a wonderful coolness. The magical flower disappeared like mist against his skin, leaving that same sweet fragrance on the air. The burn was completely healed, except for a bit of shiny skin where it had been. Thero inspected it closely. “Amazing. And Seregil claims he brought Alec back from the dead with his tears.”
“Do you believe him?”
Thero gazed at the rhekaro, watching the nimbus of light around it shift and swirl. “Yes, I do.”
Micum lifted the rhekaro into his lap and wrapped a clean bit of rag around its cut finger. “Thank you, little one, whatever you are, for helping my friends.”
Sebrahn gazed up into Micum’s face for a moment, then curled up against his broad chest and closed its silver eyes. Micum cradled it gently, stroking its long hair as if it was one of his own children.
Thero stared into the fire for a long time, absently rubbing a thumb over the healed burn.
Micum and Thero kept watch by turns over the next two days and watched their friends grow stronger faster than they had any business doing. Alec fed the rhekaro several times a day, and now and then it would insist on making another of its flowers for him or Seregil.
During that time Micum had the story from both of them, and more than once, trying to piece together the series of events.
“So because you’ve got the northern ’faie blood in you, you were the only one this alchemist could use to make these rhekaro things?” asked Micum.
“That’s what Yhakobin said,” Alec replied, huddled in his blankets by the fire wtih Seregil.
“Ilar told me the same,” Seregil told them.
“And what about him? It sounds like he had a hand in all this, too, but I’ve never heard you speak of anyone by that name before.”
“I don’t speak of him,” Seregil muttered, looking away.
Alec caught Micum’s eye and shook his head slightly.
Now that they were stronger and alert, Thero told them what they’d learned in Virésse of Ulan í Sathil’s role in their kidnapping.
“Not Phoria?” asked Seregil, looking more disappointed than surprised.
“So it would seem.”
“Well, I don’t suppose he has any great love for me, considering. And he knows that since I’ve been cut off from my own people, they have no standing to take revenge against him for it. How much did you tell my sister, Thero?”
“Only that you and Alec have been found, and that you’re safe.”
Seregil glanced around the gully and gave him a wry look. “I don’t call this safe. Yhakobin is an important man, and claimed he was making the rhekaros for the Overlord himself. Sooner or later, someone else is going to come looking for us.”
Unfortunately, Seregil was soon proven right.
Thero was at the edge of the gully the following morning, watching the vultures circle, when he caught the distant jingle of harness and the muffled thud of galloping hooves. He sent out a wizard eye and discovered twoscore or more riders coming from the north, making straight for where they lay hidden. As they came closer, he saw for certain that they were soldiers, and that several men dressed in black were leading them. One of them drew Thero’s attention more than the others; even through the spell he could feel the cold, nasty energy of a necromancer.
He hurried back to the lean-to and smothered their small cooking fire with a spell.
“What’s going on?” asked Micum. Seregil crawled to the front of the lean-to, poniard in hand.
“Soldiers,” Thero told them.
“How many?”
“Too many.” Thero drew his wand and reinforced the obscuration spell he’d woven over the gully. To anyone outside it would look like level ground. “We should be safe unless someone accidentally falls down here.” Or unless their necromancer notices my magic, he thought, but chose not to worry the others for now. Seregil probably knew, anyway.
Alec joined Seregil at the mouth of the tent, one arm around Sebrahn, the other hand grasping his black dagger.
“Neither of you is strong enough to fight yet,” Micum warned.
“We’re not going to just sit here and let them take us,” Seregil replied. His eyes and Alec’s were haunted and dark with purpose.
“No one’s taking you,” Micum promised. “Stay here and save your strength until it’s needed.”
“Wait!” Alec pushed the rhekaro forward. “Go with them, Sebrahn. Protect my friends.”
The rhekaro went at once to Micum’s side.
“I’ll take all the help I can get,” Micum said, shouldering his bow and taking Sebrahn’s little hand in his.
Thero followed Micum back to the lip of the gully and watched the search begin.
“They have a necromancer with them.”
“I’d be more surprised if they didn’t.”
Some men dismounted to inspect what remained of the corpses while others, trackers most likely, fanned out in all directions. Micum had covered their tracks, but they still held their breath as several men started in their direction.
Micum reached for his quiver, but Thero stopped him. Then, forking two fingers at the men, he whispered a spell. A moment later, they wandered off in the opposite direction.
“What did you do?” whispered Micum.
“Just planted a thought or two. They’ll report that there’s nothing of interest in this direction.”
The ruse seemed to have done the trick, until a darkly clad figure broke from the group and strode in their direction, accompanied by several swordsmen. It was the necromancer, and he knew they were there. Thero could feel the man’s mocking gaze on him already. “It’s the rhekaro. It’s like a beacon to him! My magic can’t hide it. Stay down.”
Thero stood and cupped his hand in front of him. He spoke the spell for thunder and released it, feeling the magic leave his body in a great rush as a shock wave made the air in front of him ripple like water.
The spell struck down the swordsmen, but the necromancer was still standing, coat whipping around his legs.
“Orëska!” he called out. “Is that the best you have for me?”
Micum drew his bow and let fly. The arrow sped true, but shattered before it could find its mark.
“Save those for the soldiers. This one’s too powerful,” Thero snapped. He took a deep breath and summoned a fire spell. This one took an even greater toll; he would not be able to keep this up much longer, but he didn’t have much choice at this point. At his command, a wall of fire roared out, scorching a broad swath of ground as it went. This one was more far-reaching and was greeted with screams of pain and the terrified cries of horses.
But still more men came on, and the necromancer with them, flicking tongues of flame from his fingertips. He was close enough for Thero to see that he was grinning as he pointed a hand at the ground beside him.
A huge, dark, misshapen form rose from the blackened earth, like a waking nightmare. It had the body of a huge boar, but a man’s face with jutting tusks, twisted in agony.
“What in Bilairy’s name is that?” gasped Micum.
“I have no idea, but it’s bad,” Thero whispered, terrified. Behind the necromancer, more armed men ran forward over the bodies of their fallen comrades.
“I make that about forty men,” Seregil gasped, one arm around Alec as they staggered up to join them, still clutching their knives. “I say we split ’em, and leave the ugly pig for Thero.”
Micum caught them as Seregil stumbled. “You damn fools!”
Alec sank to his knees, one hand pressed to his chest, but grinning. “Might as well die here as there.”
“Suit yourselves.” Micum drew his bow again and concentrated on bringing down as many soldiers as he could. Their archers were shooting back now.
The necromancer gave some command and the nightmarish
creature bore down on them.
“Tell me you can stop that,” Seregil demanded.
Thero raised both hands, clutching his wand, and shouted the strongest protection spell he knew. Throwing out every last ounce of power he possessed, he imagined a limitless stone wall and projected it at the creature.
It didn’t even slow down. Leaping into the air, it came down on them like a storm, knocking Micum and Thero backward down the gully. As Thero threw up his arms, trying to ward off the fetid darkness closing in around him, he caught a flash of white against the sky overhead, and suddenly the air was filled with a single crystal note. It made his skull throb and his teeth ache, but he hardly noticed as he watched the monster halt, then throw back its hideous head and dissolve in a cloud of stench and flies.
Micum was on his feet again, bleeding from several wounds and shouting something that Thero could not hear over the continuous deafening sound. He was pointing up at the edge of the gully.
Seregil and Alec lay sprawled halfway down the slope, bodies tumbled together by the force of the monster’s charge. But Sebrahn stood facing the enemy for them, singing that one clear note as his silver-white hair coiled wildly about his head.
Micum grabbed Thero by the shoulder and together they scrambled up to help the others. The rhekaro’s song ended just as they reached Seregil and silence covered them like snow.
Micum dropped to his knees beside their comrades, but Thero took Alec’s fallen dagger and climbed up to see what Sebrahn had done.
Every man lay dead, and foremost among them was the necromancer. Thero approached him slowly to make sure.
The man lay on his back, wide-open eyes reflecting the vultures that were already heading this way. Blood had burst from his ears, nose, eyes, and mouth, just as Micum had described. Thero nudged him with his foot, but the body was limp and empty, its power gone.
Satisfied, he went back to the others. Seregil was leaning against Micum’s shoulder. Alec sat holding the rhekaro. It lay limply in his arms with its eyes shut. Its skin had gone from pale to grey, and it had a frail, starved look about it. Its closed eyes were deeply sunk in their sockets, and its arms and legs looked thinner than ever. Thero could hardly see the aura that had been so strong before.