City of Sorcerers (17 page)

"Speed," she answered glumly. "There isn't enough of it. By the time we reach Moy Tura and go back to the gathering, they'll all be dead."

"If any of us make it back, there will be some still alive," he said, sounding more hopeful than certain.

"But not Gehlyn, or Lord Koshyn, or Lymira!"

Rafnir blanched. "Lymira is sick?"

"She's going to die, too. Just like Tam and Coren." Kelene pounded her fist into the tree, her helplessness burning. "What good is all of this magic if we can't save them? Why didn't the gods just keep their power?"

At the sound of her rider's voice, Demira raised her head to listen. Silently she came over to stand at Kelene's side.

Rafnir grunted. "You're a fine one to be talking about magic. You won't use it!"

he said, uncrossing his arms. "You have a talent that could be used for so much good, and you waste it! You won't even try."

Stung, Kelene turned on him, her face reddened by anger and shame. “I’ve tried to use magic! I just can't control it," she snapped before she realized what she was saying.

Rafnir pounced on Kelene's words. "When did you ever try to use magic?" He pushed his face closer to hers to see her better in the fading light and was astonished to see tears trickling down her cheeks. Her eyes were enormous dark pools, and her jaw was clenched hard as rock.

In a voice that was very quiet she replied, "About five summers ago."

He studied her, trying to remember what had happened when they were thirteen, then his gaze dropped to her crippled foot.

"That's right," she answered before he could ask. "I wanted to help Father gentle that wild stallion he had caught. I thought I could do it, but he said no."

Rafnir shook his head at the memory of that horse. "So you did it anyway."

She nodded. She couldn't believe she was telling this to Rafnir of all people! She had never told anyone the truth. Without realizing she was doing it, she wrapped her hand into Demira's mane and held on for comfort and support. "I thought if I could use a spell to help calm the horse, I could train him faster and impress Father. But I couldn't do it. I lost control of the spell when I was on his back, and he panicked.

He reared and fell over backward on me, just because I couldn't handle a little magic."

"And you've been afraid to try it again ever since," he finished.

She made a swipe at her face with her sleeve and said, "What's the use? You know as well as I do that the talent is strong in some, weaker in others. Savaron and Coren have the best ability in my family. Let them use it."

"Coren is dead," Rafnir reminded her softly.

"Yes," Kelene said into the darkness. Overhead, the pine trees swayed in the growing wind, and a faint flicker of lightning flashed to the north.

"You know, I heard Coren tell Father once that he thought you had the stronger talent."

Startled, Kelene asked, "Coren said that? Why?"

"I don't know. Children can be perceptive sometimes." He reached out and scratched Demira's shoulder. "You could try again, you know. Just because you failed once doesn't mean your talent is worthless."

The young woman shook her head. "Next time I could kill myself---or hurt someone else."

"Not if you start slowly. When you used that spell on the stallion you were too young and inexperienced."

"Now I'm too old and inexperienced."

He scratched his chin, exasperated. "If you'd just decide to channel some of that stubbornness into action, you would be unstoppable."

"Ha!"

"Try it. Think of one thing that you want to do and work toward that goal."

The girl hesitated while she debated the wisdom of revealing her dream to Rafnir.

Would he laugh or would he see the depth of desire in her words? "I want to make Demira fly," she said at last.

"I'll help you," he responded immediately.

She was startled by his serious and quick response. "You don't think that's ridiculous?"

"If it works, she'll be able to travel faster. Maybe she could save a few lives."

"But what if I can't?" Kelene asked.

"You won't know until you try."

Kelene thought quietly for a moment then lifted her chin and said, "You won't pull out any more crops?"

Rafnir laughed. That was the first time she had said anything about their accident in the Induran. It seemed like a year since then, not fifteen days. "No crops." He was going to add something else when all seven Hunnuli raised their heads in alarm.

Someone is coming.
Demira told Kelene.

"The wraith?"

No. This is human. But not clan.

In one group, the other six Hunnuli left their grazing and hurried to join their riders. Kelene and Rafnir quickly followed, and the whole party gathered in the clearing by their tents. The night was almost complete by that time, broken only by distant flashes of lightning. The sky was overcast, and the wind roared through the pines. Thunder grumbled in the distance.

"Where are our visitors?" Sayyed softly asked Afer.

"Here, Clansman!" came a voice from the darkness.

The travelers drew closer, their eyes searching the night for the source of the voice. They saw nothing but the shapes of trees until a figure moved cautiously out from behind a pine only ten paces away from where they stood. More forms eased from the shadows all around them, and the clanspeople realized they were surrounded.

The Hunnuli snorted menacingly. Savaron immediately shaped a spell to form a glowing sphere of light high above their heads that cast the entire clearing into stark relief.

No one tried to move, for they all recognized the black-clad figures illuminated by the silver light-men with whips at their belts instead of swords. They were the Oathbreakers, the men of the Cult of Krath who worshiped their dark goddess with secrecy and blood. The clanspeople knew that if the cultists had wanted to kill them, they would be dead by now, murdered in silence and without mercy.

"To what do we owe the honor of a visit from the Men of the Lash?" Sayyed called over the wind. The white cat crouched at his feet and growled.

The strangers made no move to come closer. They simply watched from within their black hoods, their faces completely obscured in shadow.

"We came to seek the truth," the first man said.

The clanspeople shivered at the dry, harsh pitch of his voice. "What truth is that?"

demanded Sayyed.

"We have seen many strange and evil visions. Is it true there is a contagion in the clans of Valorian?"

Sayyed answered wearily, "Yes. We have been struck by a plague that seems to have no cure. Many have died and more are dying." There was no point hiding that truth. The men who joined the Cult of Krath forswore any oaths, loyalties, or kinship from their pasts. They lived only for their bloodthirsty goddess. What was happening to the clans would not matter to them.

But the speaker surprised him by inquiring, "Is Lord Athlone still well?" Kelene moved a step forward. "He was this afternoon, High Priest Seth." Her companions murmured in surprise. All of the Oathbreakers were identical in their plain black robes and hoods, and no one had seen the high priest face-to-face for many years.

"How do you know?" whispered Savaron.

Kelene hissed back, "I guessed." Almost arrogantly, the Oathbreaker pushed back his hood to reveal the face of an old man. Yet even aged by years and the rigors of his life as a cultist, there was still an incredible strength in his dark, lean features, a toughness like that of an oak root grown gnarled and enduring with time. Although none of the clanspeople there had known Lord Savaric, they felt certain they were facing his brother, Seth.

"Who are you?" The priest spoke, his voice deadpan and his eyes hooded above his hawk nose and iron-gray beard.

"I am Kelene, daughter of Lady Gabria and Lord Athlone. Granddaughter of Savaric, your brother. I have the Watcher, so I can see what is happening to my parents."

Seth did not reply right away. He stared down at Kelene, surveying her from head to boot. It was said the followers of Krath could look into men's hearts and reveal the deepest fears and evils hidden there. They pried into secrets and opened guarded hatreds that were buried behind facades. Because of this, few men dared to look an Oath breaker in the eye for fear of having their souls laid bare.

But Kelene was too used to challenging authority. The dark visage of her great uncle brought a chill to her skin, yet she stiffened her neck and assumed the empty, indifferent expression that always irritated her mother.

To her surprise, Seth gave a short, dry chuckle. "You are indeed the child of Gabria and the blood of Savaric." He turned his basilisk stare from her to Sayyed again. "Tell me why you are here."

Sayyed did not look away either. "We're going to Moy Tura."

Seth showed no reaction other than a short nod of understanding. "The healers'

records. That is a possibility."

"Is there anything in your library that could help us?" Savaron asked.

"No," the high priest said with a voice like granite.

Savaron curled his lip. "Would you have offered it if there were?"

"I will tell you this: beware of the spirit that follows you. It is stealing your life-force as you sleep. Especially yours." He pointed to Sayyed. "Your soul is dangerously weak. If it can, the wraith will kill you to gain your strength."

"What life-force? Who is this wraith?" Rafnir demanded.

"We do not know who it is. Somehow it has evaded the realm of the dead and remains here to poison this world with its evil. This spirit must be sent to Lord Sorh soon, before it finds a way to stay in this world permanently."

Rafnir threw up his arms with the frustration they all felt. "How do we do that?"

he asked angrily.

"Look for your answers in Moy Tura," Seth replied. Then, with an almost imperceptible nod to his men, the high priest glided back into the darkness and vanished. The clanspeople gaped in surprise at where the other cultists, too, had disappeared without a sound. Lightning cracked overhead, banishing the shadows and brightening the entire area. The copse was empty.

Niela's Hunnuli snorted and flattened her ears. "I agree!" Niela said. "Those men give me the creeps."

Rafnir put his hand on his father's shoulder. "Why don't we set a watch tonight?

Maybe if some of us are on guard, the wraith will not be as likely to approach us."

"Is it still following us?" Tomian wanted to know.

It is.
Afer told them all. He lifted his muzzle to the wind.
It is waiting not far
away. In truth, we would like the company of other watchers. We are very weary
tonight.

"Then set a watch of two," Sayyed ordered. "Tomian, you and I will be first.

Then Savaron and Kelene, and Rafnir and Morad. Niela, you'll get your turn tomorrow night."

Rafnir shook his head. "Father, you sleep tonight. I will take the first watch."

Sayyed wanted to argue, but in truth he knew his son was right. He was so weary he was lightheaded and numb; he barely had the strength to stand upright. He would be a worthless guard if he could not keep his eyes open. With a nod of acceptance, he scooped up the white cat and made his way to the nearest tent. He crawled in and was asleep before the cat had time to stretch out by his arm.

Outside, Savaron evaporated his ball of light while the others made ready for the night. Kelene and Niela took one tent, Savaron and Morad the other. Tomian stayed with Rafnir to keep watch in the black, storm-tossed darkness.

As soon as the others were settled, Rafnir went to his father's tent. Quickly he spoke the words of a spell, raised his hands in a small arch, and formed the magic into an opaque dome of red energy that surrounded the small tent. The dome was a protective shield that allowed only air to enter; it would remain in place as long as one of the magic-wielders maintained the spell.

"Do you think that will keep the wraith away from him?" Tomian asked dubiously.

Rafnir studied the red shield. "I hope so! Priest Seth said Father was in the worst danger. I have to try something to help him." The young Geldring nodded his approval. While Rafnir held the shield in place, Tomian rigged a small shelter close to the tents. The two men settled under the roof just as the first drops of rain heralded the downpour to come.

There was a tremendous crack of lightning, and the rain began to fall in windblown sheets. The Hunnuli huddled together, their heads turned away from the pelting rain.

Under the shelter, Rafnir peered into the darkness so hard it made his head hurt.

Keeping the magic shield intact was taking more energy than he'd imagined. He was getting very tired. His eyelids were heavy weights; his body felt leaden. He shook his head to clear the sleep from his mind, but that didn't help. Slowly he leaned back against the shelter wall.

Beside him, Tomian was already dozing, his face slack with fatigue. The wind eased a little, and the rainfall steadied to a heavy drone on the tents and trees.

Rafnir's eyes slid closed. As his consciousness slipped into sleep, his concentration on the magic shield around Sayyed's tent wavered. The spell weakened, allowing the magic to dissipate. By the time Rafnir was fully asleep, the shield was gone. Sayyed's tent lay open to the night.

CHAPTER SEVEN

“Sayyed."

He heard Tam's voice, soft and enticing in the darkness, and his heart leaped with joy. He knew her death had been a dreadful mistake. Now she was somewhere close by, calling for him. He was still weak and groggy, but he managed to stagger to his feet and look around. The tent and the camp and his companions had vanished, leaving him alone in a dank, enveloping fog. He was not sure where he was, for even the trees and sky were hidden by the dreary pall of mist. The silence was so absolute he could almost listen to it.

"Sayyed," the voice called again from somewhere closer.

He turned on his heel, looking frantically for her. "I'm here!" he cried. She had to be there!

He turned again, and there she was, coming out of the mist as alive and lovely as always. Her face was alight with love; bright ribbons gleamed in her dark hair. She smiled at him with that heart-melting dimple in her cheek and merriment in her eyes, and held out her hands to him.