City of Sorcerers (19 page)

Savaron nodded once, his jaw clenched too tightly to answer. When Kelene was finished, she dabbed the salve onto the wound and wrapped strips from one of Tomian's tunics around her brother's shoulder. "Try not to move it too much," she warned him. "I don't want to have to sew you up again."

Pale and cold, but relieved, he turned around again and asked, "Where did you learn how to do that?"

She smiled then, a twinkle of merriment in her black eyes.

"I used to watch Piers. He taught me a lot. And," she chuckled as she helped him put his tunic back on, "I practiced on my horses."

Savaron grinned back at her. "Well, they must have been good patients, because you are very quick and gentle."

Kelene warmed at his praise and was still smiling when he' moved to make a place for Rafnir.

"You ought to smile more often,” the young sorcerer said, holding his injured arm out for her inspection.

Her smile faded, and she dropped her eyes to the torn skin on his arm. A strange nervousness crept into her, an embarrassment that startled and dismayed her. Her hands hovered in midair, hesitant to touch Rafnir. She did not mind touching her brother, for the feelings she sensed in him were familiar. The closeness they shared as brother and sister was something she had always accepted--even when she thought she could ignore it.

But Rafnir was different. He was, really, a stranger. Kelene did not know what he truly thought or felt. It frightened her when she realized suddenly that she cared very much what he was feeling. She wanted to think he was becoming her friend, but what if she touched him and sensed only dislike, dismay, or revulsion?

He regarded her quizzically, his face grubby with dirt and a two-day stubble, his eyebrow slightly arched.

To Kelene's consternation, she felt a warm flush rise up her face. "Blasted hands," she muttered to herself. It was probably her magic talent that gave her the empathic touch, but she had never used the strange ability enough to know what it really was or how to control it. Thank the gods, her empathy did not extend to understanding people's thoughts---their feelings were sometimes more than she wanted! She was glad Sayyed's red light overhead helped mask the blush in her cheeks.

To cover her nervousness, she tore off another piece of Tomian's tunic and used some clean water to rinse the blood and dirt off Rafnir's upper arm. Just looking at it in the light of her little sphere, she could see the tears were mostly superficial. The muscle of his arm had not been damaged, and the bone was intact.

Forcing her mind to concentrate only on keeping her magic light glowing, she leaned forward and grasped the edges of the wound with her thumb and forefinger to pull it together. Rafnir stirred, whether from pain or something else she didn't know, because at that moment the full force of his emotions battered at her concentration.

She tried to block him out, but his feelings were so strong they shot through her mental defenses like a flight of arrows. Confusion, nervousness, surprise, pleasure, and fear were all there in a jumbled swarm that made her gasp. He was as unsettled as she was!

Calm down! It's all right! she told herself over and over until she could stop the trembling in her fingers. To her surprise, he seemed to absorb some of her reassurances. The overwhelming force of his emotions relaxed to a steadier, more accepting calm. Ever so gently she starred stitching, refusing to look up into his face or acknowledge any of what she felt.

When she was finished, Kelene wrapped a torn strip of cloth around his arm and busied herself putting away the salve, the precious needles, and the remains of fabric.

She looked everywhere but at Rafnir.

The young sorcerer did not move for a long moment. "I think Coren was right,"

Rafnir said slowly. "You have more ability than you think you do." He stood up.

"Thank you," he said and hurried away to help with Tomian's grave.

Kelene watched him go, uncertain whether she felt surprised or pleased.

Thoughtfully, she took her medicine bag and went to check the Hunnuli for any injuries that might need tending.

A short time later, the gear and tents were packed, and the bodies of Tomian and his beloved horse were placed in the grave. The magic-wielders laid his weapons beside him and piled the earth into a mound, while the Hunnuli watched with star-filled eyes and Niela sang the prayers of the dead. It was late by the time they finished. The night was still and black; the sky was overcast with thick, rolling clouds.

A wind promising more rain stirred the tops of the pines.

With Sayyed in the lead, the small party rode from the copse and headed north by northeast, away from the mountains, for the final leg of their journey. If all went well and the weary Hunnuli could maintain their pace, Sayyed estimated that, even if they rode straight through, they would reach the high plateau of Moy Tura only by sunset the next day. He hoped, perhaps, the ruins of the city would offer them some protection from the wraith. If not, he doubted they could stay in Moy Tura long enough to search for anything. The deadly spirit and the Korg, the ferocious guardian of the city, were more than his little band could handle at one time. He had already lost one of his companions; he did not want to lose any more.

The Hunnuli moved out at a jog trot, a steady, ground-eating pace that soon left the tree-clad slopes of the Himachals behind. The rolling grasslands opened out before them in a vast black emptiness. Only an occasional flash of lightning broke up the immense dark spaces that surrounded the travelers. Fortunately the ground was good and fairly level, so the Hunnuli had no trouble finding their way.

Rain began to full again in scattered showers that came and went with annoying frequency. The clanspeople and horses were soaked, miserable, and tired to the point of exhaustion. The riders dozed intermittently, but the bad dreams clung to their minds, and fear rode by their side when they awoke. Everyone kept an anxious eye on the trail behind them, yet they saw no sign of the apparition in the heavy darkness.

When dawn came, the light was slow and grudging. The Storm clouds hung tenaciously overhead, blocking the radiance of Amara's sun behind a low, threatening roof. The magic-wielders studied the sky and felt their spirits drop as low as the clouds. The Hunnuli were miserable, too. The horses had been traveling at a hard pace for three days with little sleep or food, and even their iron endurance was beginning to flag.

Then the wind veered to the east and strengthened to a strong gusting force. In what seemed only a few minutes, the winds ripped the clouds to shreds and opened the sky for the glorious morning light. The grasslands came to life under the warming sun. Insects shook off the wet and began to rustle in the tall grass. Birds soared on the wind, and the small wild antelope came out of sheltered gullies to feed.

Shortly Sayyed began to look for a place to stop. He wanted a place sheltered from the wind and the view of any passersby, but the grasslands were virtually treeless, gently rolling, and wide open. There wasn't any real cover as far as he could see. He settled at last for a depression at the bottom of three hills and led his small parry down. The Hunnuli came to a grateful stop. The riders sighed and slumped on their horses' backs. No one tried to move.

Sayyed was about to dismount when he saw the birds. There were two of them, long, lanky, bald-headed death birds that were soaring in lazy circles overhead.

Disquieted, Sayyed glanced around and saw nothing obvious that would attract carrion eaters. The other clanspeople didn't remark on anything strange. They were still sitting on the Hunnuli, too weary to move.

Are you well?
Afer inquired quizzically.

"Yes, but look at those birds! What are the ugly things searching for?"

Afer lifted his muzzle.
What birds?

Sayyed jabbed a finger at the sky. "Those birds. Can't you see them?" he demanded in disbelief.

No.

Sayyed's eyes narrowed. He could see the birds clearly, yet the Hunnuli did not, and now that he noticed, the other clanspeople did not seem to see the birds, either. In fact, his companions were looking rather strange. They were stiff and glassy-eyed and motionless on their horses. Kelene had drawn her dagger and was staring at her leg, Niela seemed asleep, and the three young men were gazing toward a far horizon as if an enemy troop were about to appear. What was going on?

Sayyed glanced back at the sky.

The birds were still there. Three more joined the circle, then another five. The sky seemed filled with the black, silent birds slowly spiraling down, closer and closer.

Sayyed ducked as one bird swooped by his shoulder, so close he could smell the odor of rotten meat clinging to its feathers. He slid off Afer and pressed his back close to the big stallion's side.

What is wrong?
Afer snorted. Alarmed, he tossed his head in agitation.

"Birds," hissed Sayyed. "Everywhere." He looked up to see the carrion birds still floating above. "They're waiting for us to die." His voice grew louder and his hand crept toward his sword hilt.

There was a sudden bloodcurdling war cry behind him, and Sayyed whirled to see Savaron and Rafnir fling themselves from their startled mounts and come charging coward him, brandishing their swords.

The two young warriors were fast as lightning, and their murderous blades slashed toward Sayyed before he had time to react. Savaron's sword would have taken his head off if Afer hadn't plunged into the young man's path. Savaron rammed into the Hunnuli's bulk and fell flat on his back. At the same time, the white cat leaped from the stallion's shoulder to Rafnir's head and clung like a spitting, scratching cap.

The young man was thrown off balance. The cat made an agile jump from his head and landed in the grass as Rafnir swerved, made a wild swing at Sayyed, tripped, and fell. Only Sayyed's quick parry kept the blade from slashing deep into his thigh.

All at once the six Hunnuli trumpeted a furious warning. The sound seemed to shatter the morning. To Sayyed, the scene shifted slightly out of focus, then snapped back into startling clarity. The birds were gone, his party was huddled in a sunny dale, and his son was looking up at him, white-faced and appalled.

"Father! I thought you were a Turic raider! I was going to kill you," Rafnir choked out.

Savaron, too, was stunned. "We both thought you were. I saw a mask, a black burnoose, and a Tulwark blade!"

"And I saw death birds." Sayyed leaned over and pulled his son to his feet.

"Thank Afer that I did not become carrion for real birds."

"But what caused us to see these strange things?" Kelene cried. "They seemed so real. I thought a viper was on my leg. I was about to stab it when the Hunnuli neighed."

"I think our old friend is back, trying a new way to kill us," Sayyed said, slamming his blade back into its scabbard.

"But it's daylight," Kelene pointed out worriedly. "The wraith has never bothered us in the day before."

There was a muffled, choking cry, and everyone turned toward Niela. "Look,"

she said, pointing toward the brow of the nearest hill.

This time even the light of the sun could not hide the glowing outline of the apparition's shape. It stood above them, its face gloating and its robes perfectly still even in the strong wind. It lifted its head and howled in glee.

"It's getting stronger," Sayyed noted with apprehension.

"I don't think I want to wait around to see what he's going to throw at us next,"

said Savaron, jumping for his stallion's back. Rafnir and Sayyed followed his example. Weary as they were, the Hunnuli hastily abandoned the hill and broke into a canter away from the glowing wraith.

"Why doesn't it attack us directly?" Rafnir asked his father when they had returned to their northern heading.

Sayyed looked back. They seemed to be outdistancing the apparition, but how could he trust his eyes anymore? "I guess it's not strong enough yet. Maybe with each life it takes, it becomes more powerful. Besides," he growled, "why should it bother?

It's defeating us now."

Conversation died out after that, and the little party continued on in silence, full of misgivings and fear. They rode fast across the sunlit grasslands with the wind at their backs and the wraith at their heels. The strange spirit did not try to waylay them again with more hallucinations. Instead it seemed content to simply follow them and bide its time.

By noon the cool dampness of morning had burned off to a dry, crackling heat.

The wind blew away any extra moisture left from the rain. It tossed the long grass and kicked up the dust in stinging clouds.

Niela suddenly broke the long stretch of quiet. "Why doesn't the wraith attack us again?" she cried.

The others jumped at the sound of her voice. Sayyed answered, "It's probably waiting for us to stop. We're easier to reach then."

"We're going to have to stop sometime. The Hunnuli can't keep going without water," Kelene said worriedly. She had her hand pressed to Demira's sweaty neck; it was obvious that the smaller filly was tiring.

Rafnir thought about the magic shield he had used to guard his father the night before. That one had failed because he had fallen asleep. Perhaps a shield was still a useful idea.

"What if we find a water hole and put up a defense shield around us while the horses rest? Between the six of us we should be able to hold the spell long enough for a break," he proposed.

"That wraith didn't react to my magic bolt," Morad grumbled. "What makes you think it will respect a shield?"

"Maybe it won't, but we have to try something!" Rafnir shot back.

Sayyed rubbed his gritty eyes. They were all getting short-tempered from fatigue and the heat, and most of the water in the water bags was gone. Kelene was right, they had to stop, if only long enough to water the horses. "Can you find a water hole, Afer?"

The big stallion slung his head in answer and veered off toward the right with the others close behind. They cantered along the slope of a long hill, over another wide, treeless swell, and down into a shallow valley. A dry creek bed meandered along the valley floor, its gravel bars still damp from the night's rain. A few sparse willows and cottonwoods lined the banks.