City of Sorcerers (29 page)

After that, the warriors of all three clans poured into the city and slaughtered
every magic-wielder they could find. Without guards to warn us, we had no chance.

Kelene shifted unhappily.
How did you escape?

Once again she saw Kelyra, this time leaning dreamily against the frame of an open bedroom window in the moonlight. Kelene watched the woman try to turn with a warning on her lips and suddenly clutch at her side where an arrow protruded beneath her left breast. Her dying agony sent grief and rage crashing through the Korg. He leaped from the bed and caught her as she fell to the floor. Through the Korg's eyes, Kelene saw the blood on his hands and the dead face of his beloved.

A warrior sprang through the window with a strung bow in One hand and a battle club in the other. As silent as an assassin, he swung the heavy club at the Korg's head.

The weapon would have smashed the sorcerer's skull if the Korg hadn't frantically lunged sideways to avoid it. The club caught him with a glancing blow that was enough to knock him senseless and splatter blood on the club's head. The warrior ran out, thinking he had killed both the man and the woman.

The image faded, and the Korg was very still, his thoughts lost to Kelene. She was content to let him be until he was ready to continue.

When I awoke I was crazy with pain and fear. The room around me was brightly lit, but the light came from a fire across the square.

They were burning the Sorcerers' Hall. Somehow I staggered to my feet. . . .
The Korg opened his memories again, and Kelene reeled under the sharp impact of his pain, dizziness, and confusion. The blow to the head had disoriented the man, she realized. Even his memories at this point were blurred and unsteady. .

The old sorcerer gave a groan and added,
I made it to the window and looked
outside.

Kelene gave a mental gasp. The vision she saw was worse than anything she had imagined in the ruins. The magnificent Sorcerers' Hall was a conflagration of cowering flames that lit the square with a lurid glow and illuminated the ghastly piles of bodies heaped around the burning building. There were hundreds of them---men, women, and children of all ageslying in bloody stacks. The scene reminded Kelene too much of the bodies of the plague victims and the pyres at the gathering. It was all she could do to force herself to keep watching the images unfold.

Warriors by the dozen hauled in more bodies from around the city and casually tossed them into the gigantic fire. A few pitiful people were herded into the square, still alive, but Kelene saw Lord Gordak himself draw his sword and behead them all.

The Korg fell back away from the window. He had to hide. They would find him and kill him. He had to hide. The thought became a chant in his mind.

They were coming to search,
he told Kelene. I
could see them with their swords
in their hands and their clothes stained with blood. I stumbled from my room and into
my workshop. I didn't know what to do or where to go. I could hardly remember who I
was or what was
happening to me. All I knew was I had to hide. Warriors came into
my house. I heard them find Kelyra's body and throw her outside as I ran out into my
garden. There were men out there, too, beyond the walls. I could go no farther
without being seen, so I did the only thing I
could think of at that moment, the only
thing I remembered how to do. I changed my shape.

He showed Kelene a scene of his garden, bordered by a low stone wall and filled with flowers. Then his vision moved down, and she saw the bare feet of the man had been transformed to the stone paws of a lion. The paws remained fixed in place, one raised in a posture of defiance.

The sorcerer had become a statue in his own garden.

I had to stand there and listen,
he thought miserably,
while they slaughtered the
rest of the people. They killed everyone in Moy Tura, even those who could not wield
magic. Then they looted and burned and plundered until there was nothing left but
bloody stone.

The lion was trembling in mind and in body.

I watched the warriors leave, but I did not move. Not for many years. I think my
mind was in such shock, it could not accept what had happened. When I finally came
to, I was alone and frightened. There was nothing here but these ruins. I wanted to
leave, but I thought if I stayed here in this shape, I would be safe. I knew Lord Gordak
would not stop with Moy Tura. He would kill every magic-wielder on the
plains.

He almost did,
Kelene told him,
but a few escaped.

The Korg surprised her with a faint, dry chuckle.
So I finally realized when you
trapped me in this warehouse. It was a revelation.

She felt the effort he was making to bring his feelings back under control. The grief and misery that preyed on his mind were forced back away from her, and the trembling of his body eased. At last the lion rose and stretched. He shook his great head, breaking the mental link, sending Kelene tumbling back into her own mind. She blinked in surprise.

"We will talk again later, young one." His gravelly voice spoke wearily. "I need rest from my thoughts."

The clanswoman pulled herself stiffly to her feet and hobbled out of the doorway.

Rafnir caught her as her weak ankle gave way under her weight, and she tumbled toward the ground. Morad quickly snapped a command and the shield popped back into place.

With Rafnir's arm to help her, Kelene sank down on a chunk of masonry. Her breath came out in a ragged sigh.

"What happened?" Savaron blurted, kneeling down beside her. "You've been sitting there with him for most of the morning!"

"He can use his mind like the Hunnuli," Kelene said in a voice so soft they could hardly hear her. "He showed me his memories of the city and the slaughter." The images of the bloodbath were still so vivid she shuddered, and Rafnir gathered her close in his arms. There was a pause before she went on. "He went half crazy from pain, grief, fear, and the solitude of this place," she tried to explain. "But he knows now that he is not alone. I think he'll help us."

"Did you ask him about healers?" Rafnir wanted to know.

"I didn't have a chance. I will try when he is willing to talk to me again."

Morad said in a voice hard as stone, "If he is so friendly, why did he attack Niela?"

Kelene frowned. "Habit, I think. He's been protecting himself and this city for two hundred years, and he thought all the magic-wielders were dead. He has seen so few people in Moy Tura, he forgot about Hunnuli. Even Mother's journey through here was too brief to jolt him from his nightmare." She shifted her weight and leaned closer to Rafnir. "I think that's why he was showing me his past, so I would understand why he killed Niela, and so he could recall himself."

"What next?" asked Savaron.

"Rest. I'm tired," Kelene admitted. She made her way to
her feet and waved off Rafnir's offer to help. "I'm all right. I just want to find Demira." After one last look at the Korg still lying by the blocked doorway, she limped away to look for her Hunnuli.

She is in the courtyard,
Tibor called to her.

Kelene bobbed her head in acknowledgment and felt the rising pang of a headache in her temples. By Amara's crown, she was drained; weary to the last bone and muscle. She could hardly keep her eyes open as she made her way through the ruins to the old court where they had found the eagle.

The images of the Korg's memory weighed heavily in her mind like a bad dream that would not fade. The details she remembered gave the old city around her a new dimension of reality. She could picture now what it had really looked like and how its people had lived. Moy Tura had been a grand idea: a place separate from the individual clans where magic-wielders could study and teach. There was much she and the present day magic-wielders could learn from this city.

Sluggish with fatigue and her own thoughts, Kelene hobbled into the sun-drenched courtyard and stopped in her tracks. Her mouth dropped open and a cry of delight escaped her lips at the sight of Demira standing in the sunlight. She had tried to picture what the filly would look like with wings, but the truth was much more spectacular than she had imagined.

Demira had already been a magnificent horse, tall, well muscled, and graceful.

Her new wings only enhanced her beauty.

The wings were larger than Kelene had expected, with primary feathers almost as long as her arm, yet they fit the horse's sleek proportions perfectly, tucking neatly against her sides. The black feathers gleamed in the noon sun and matched her dark coat like a shadow on shining ebony.

It was only when Kelene walked closer that she noticed the droop in Demira's head and the sweat lathering the filly's chest and neck. Demira lifted her muzzle, dejection in her deep eyes.
They will not work! I cannot fly,
she groaned in Kelen's mind.
They feel so strange, I do not know what to do with
them,
She raised the offending wings, then pulled them disgustedly back to ber sides.

The young woman hid her own dismay in an encouraging smile and pressed against the filly’s neck. "They're too new, Demira," she tried to explain. "You're not used to them yet." She ran a hand along the long, powerful inner wing to the velvety soft pinions. "They're so beautiful."

They may be pretty, but I cannot get them to lift me up!
Demira complained.

Something in the word "lift" triggered a thought in Kelene's imagination. "How have you been trying?" she asked.

The Hunnuli backed up a few paces until she was clear of her rider and the piles of rubble. Then she fanned out the long, broad wings and began to flap them as hard as she could. The force of her effort set up a breeze that blew dust and leaves in all directions, but it only lifted her forequarters off the ground a mere foot or two. She sank slowly back to earth, weary and disappointed.

Kelene studied her closely before she inquired, "Have you ever watched a goose take off?"

I have seen geese on the river.

"Do you remember how they leave the water?"

The filly's ears perked forward and her head came up a little.
They have to run as
they fly to get airborne.

"Exactly, and whenever possible they ron into the wind to give themselves extra lift. With your speed on the ground, that might give you enough momentum to overcome your weight. "

Demira shook herself and carefully folded her wings into place.
I will try that,
she told Kelene in a tone lighter with new hope.

"Rest first," Kelene suggested. "We both need it." They found a pool of shade by a section of the wall, and while Demira relaxed, Kelene began to rob the filly's tired legs and wing muscles.

* * * * *

Kelene left the temple courtyard shortly after mid-afternoon. She and Demira had napped long enough to regain their strength, then Demira left, determined to test her new idea for takeoff. Kelene was hot, thirsty, and ravenously hungry. It had been a long time since her last meal. She walked back to the shelter, stretching her arms and legs as she went until she felt more energetic.

Sayyed was still on his blankets when she stepped into the shadowy room.

Although he seemed to be sleeping, he flinched when she knelt beside him. Rafnir was sitting close by, his demeanor tense and worried.

Kelene picked up a cloth from a bowl of cool water and wiped the perspiration off Sayyed's flushed face. The man shuddered at her touch and tossed on his bed in the delirium of a high fever. Without deliberate forethought, Kelene laid her hand on his forehead and began to hum so softly that Rafnir could barely hear her. Sayyed's eyes flickered open for a second, and a weak smile flitted over his face. Then he eased back into a quieter, more restful sleep.

"How do you do that?" Rafnir asked wonderingly.

Kelene looked up in surprise. "I didn't do anything but try to calm him a little."

The young clansman came around to her side, took her hands in his, and turned them over, palms up. "Long, gentle fingers, strong palms, a wide space between thumb and forefinger." He looked into her face. "You have the hands of a healer."

Kelene snorted, suddenly self-conscious in the face of Rafnir's intensity. People had always been so aware of her foot, they had never paid attention to her hands. She pulled her fingers from his grasp. "A healer," she said lightly. "Don't be ridiculous.

Piers was a healer. Gehlyn was a healer. I have no training and no interest!"

"No interest?" he retorted, his brown eyes glowing. "Look how well you treated Savaron and me." He held up his arm to show her the tear in his muscle was healing nicely. "Look at what you just did for Father. You have an incredible touch w at eases people's emotions. Think how invaluable that would be to a healer."

Kelene made no reply. She was so taken aback by his observations that she didn't know what to say. She had never thought about being a healer---that profession was usually reserved for men in the clans. Except for midwives, women were not encouraged to pursue the training.

She folded her arms thoughtfully. Despite what she said aloud, Rafnir was right about her interest. The healer Piers had seen that before anyone else. Why else would he have talked to a small girl like an equal and allowed her to follow him everywhere?

Perhaps if he hadn't died so soon, he would have encouraged her further. But Piers was gone. The Khulinin healer Gehlyn was dead, too, and the gods only knew how many more healers had succumbed to the plague. The clans would need new people to practice the arts of healing. Why not a sorceress?

Kelene looked down into the face of her parents' dying friend and felt her hope begin to rise. The more she considered Rafnir's suggestion, the more convinced she became that he was right. She jumped to her feet. If she was going to live to be a healer, she and her companions had to find a weapon against the plague, and the only one who might know where that weapon could be lay within the old warehouse.