City of Sorcerers (40 page)

All that remained was to bless the mass grave and fill it in. Before the priests began their chants, however, Ordan climbed to the top of the big pile of excavated earth and raised his hands to the crowd. "We have finished counting the grievous toll of our losses," he said in a voice that filled the meadow. "Of our clan chieftains, Lords Morbiar, Koshyn, Maxin, Dormar, and Gerrand have died. The healers and the magic-wielders who worked so hard to help our people lost half of their numbers---ten healers and fifteen magic-wielders."

A sad, angry silence filled the meadow as the dreadful list went on. Ordan read the numbers of visiting merchants who had died, of the clanspeople who had secretly fled and were missing, and of the members of each clan that had succumbed to the dreadful pestilence. When he was through, the total rang like a clap of thunder in their ears. Over three thousand warriors, sorcerers, midwives, healers, mothers, children, priests, herdsmen, weavers, elders, people of every age and rank were gone.

And for what reason?

That question pounded in the mind of every person who watched Priest Ordan lift his arms high and begin the songs for the dead. The daily give-and-take of life and death, the constant competition between Amara and Sorh, was something every clansperson accepted. Life on the plains was never easy, but its risks had a certain familiarity. Wars, weather, accidents, age, and common illness were all faced and taken for granted.

But this plague was an unknown, unseen adversary that had struck three thousand people while the clans had stood by and helplessly watched.

Three thousand! Almost as many as killed in the Corin massacre, the war with Lord Medb, and the last twenty years combined. Not since the fall of Moy Tura had so many people died all at once, and even in that horrible slaughter there had been a visible enemy wielding very real swords.

A slow rage began to kindle in the grieving survivors. The dying had stopped, thanks to the magic-wielders, and life was returning to some semblance of normality.

But the anger ran deep, and the clanspeople wanted to strike out at someone, or something, for all the pain and loss and despair they had suffered.

Lord Athlone understood that reaction well. He had lost his youngest son, his daughter, two very dear friends, and more kin and clansfolk than he cared to think about. Still weak and barely upright, he climbed the mound to stand beside Priest Ordan.

The white-haired priest bowed low in respect to the Khulinin lord. "Between the two of us, we unleashed a great wrong on our people," Ordan said very quietly.

Athlone, his face and neck stiff with healing sores, returned the bow and replied,

"Then together we must put it right."

They stood side by side, the priest and the sorcerer, and faced their people.

Loudly, and hiding nothing, Athlone and Ordan gave the clanspeople an enemy to blame. They told the gathered clans everything about the sealed burial mound and its undead occupant, how he had been released, and how the plague had sprung from his cruelty.

Just as they were finishing their speech, Athlone saw a large shadow pass over the heads of the people, and he smiled. She was right on time.

Someone shouted and everyone looked up to see a black Hunnuli wing gracefully over the meadow. Voices burst out in surprised cries and fingers pointed. No one had seen Demira since her arrival two days before. Rumors of her altered appearance had run rife through the gathering, but this was the first time everyone had been able to observe her.

Shouting and pushing for a better look, the people stared as Demira glided down and made an easy landing at the foot of the dirt mound. Only then did the crowd notice Kelene on the filly's back.

Two nights and days of rest had worked wonders on the filly. Her coat was shining, and her wings gleamed in the sunlight. Well aware of the effect she was having on the crowd, she arched her ebony neck proudly and lifted her wings in a gentle curve for all to see.

Kelene sat quietly. As soon as the crowd had calmed a little, she urged the Hunnuli to climb halfway up the mound of dirt. From that vantage point, Kelene took up where her father had left off. She described the journey to Moy Tura and the attacks of the wraith. She spoke of the Korg, the healing stones, and Demira's wings.

And last of all she warned of the dead priest's history, his power, and his terrible danger.

The telling was long, but the clanspeople were so enraptured by the story they did not seem to mind the heat, the flies, or the passage of time. As Athlone had hoped, the presence of Demira gave added credence to Kelene's story, and his daughter's firm, serious voice, a voice so many people had heard and come to trust lately, brought the truth home more effectively than anything he could have said or done.

"I wanted to tell you all of this today," Kelene finished, "so you would know the full story of this disaster that stole so many lives. It is my belief that the wraith will be returning to finish what he began. He is obsessed with destroying every magic-wielder in the clans; he does not care who has to die to achieve that end. His pestilence killed magic-wielders, yes, but it struck mercilessly into our people, destroying everyone it touched. This is not just a problem for magic-wielders to solve, it is a crisis for all of us."

Lord Athlone looked out over the crowd and saw by the darkening expressions that the warning had not been lost. Satisfied, he, Ordan, Kelene, and Demira withdrew from their places and bega'n the final burial.

The clanspeople were pensive while they piled the earth back over the grave and shaped it into an oblong mound. The Plague Mound, as it was always called thereafter, was crowned with a ring of spears and seeded with wildflowers to make a fitting tribute to the dead. Afterward the clanspeople returned to their many tasks, but what they had heard at the burial stuck in their thoughts and stoked their anger like a hot wind. Everywhere, in all eleven clans, people were talking of little but the wraith and his return. There was no mention of leaving the gathering, only of vengeance.

Later that evening, while the clans settled down for the night, Gabria and Kelene slowly walked through the council grove on their way back to the Khulinin camp.

Kelene was so weary her crippled foot would barely hold her weight, and she had to lean on her mother's arm. Never had Kelene worked so hard for such a long time and never had she expended so much strength wielding magic. The days of struggling to save the clanspeople had paid off, but the effort had left her totally drained. When Gabria finally insisted that she go home to sleep, Kelene had to agree.

Gratefully, she leaned on her mother's support and drew a long breath of the evening air. The fires and the smoke of the burning incense were gone, the stench of the council grove had virtually dissipated, and a fresh breeze blew from the west. The air smelled of familiar things again: dust, animals, dry grass, the rivers. It was a combination Kelene savored as never before.

She was still enjoying the breeze when she felt her mother stiffen. Kelene stopped. "What is it?" she asked.

Gabria was frowning. "I don't know. I felt something odd."

"Like what?"

"I'm not sure. This happened when you and the others left for May Tura. I felt a lightening, as if a dread had left me. But this time. . . a feeling of dread has come back. It's very vague, but," she said, shivering, "I feel so cold."

"Could it be the presence of the wraith?"

"Maybe." Gabria looked around at the gathering shadows. "No one has reported seeing him, but that doesn't mean he hasn't returned."

Kelene groaned. "I hope your feeling is something else."

"I know. The clans are hardly ready to fight him. Perhaps I am only tired from today's burial. I finally had a chance to say good-bye to Coren and Lymira."

Kelene's grip tightened around her mother's arm. The day had been traumatic for both her parents and herself. Maybe tomorrow---after a good night's sleep---they would all feel stronger. Then, Kelene decided, she would take Demira on a few flights to see if she could find any sign of the wraith or Sayyed's party. She had a sense that Gabria's feeling of dread was more than exhausted grief.

* * * * *

"Father'" Kelene's excited voice floated over the council grove, catching everyone's attention. Lord Athlone and the men with him watched in wonder while Demira and her rider circled over the grove and dropped down for a landing outside the trees.

Lord Athlone still could not quite believe what his daughter had wrought, or the new cloak of maturity she wore with such aplomb. He watched in ill-concealed pride as she slid off her horse and came limping into the grove.

"I found them," she called eagerly even before she acknowledged the priests and chieftains with her father. "They're about a day's ride away!" Only then did she remember her manners and properly greet Lord Athlone's companions.

They were a worn, tired-looking group, yet the changes in the grove about them were evidence of the changes that had been taking place all over the gathering. It had only been one day since the mass burial, but in that time the tents, trash, and debris had been cleared away and burned, and the remaining sick were recuperating in their camps or in the council tent.

Kelene barely finished her greetings to the chieftains and turned back to her father. "Sayyed and Rafnir are almost recovered. They left Moy Tura two days ago."

She was smiling, still warm from the pleasure of seeing Rafnir and the others. She and Demira had been making reconnaissance flights all day to look for the wraith, missing clanspeople, or Sayyed's party. She had found the men late that afternoon cantering south along the Isin River.

"There is some bad news, though," she continued. "Savaron told me Bitorn left the city six days ago. He may be here already."

Lord Terod paled. The young chief of Clan Amnok was still weak from his bout of the plague and he wanted no part of any more trouble. "Well, we haven't seen him,"

he declared. "And we have beaten his plague. He's not coming back here."

Kelene shook her head forcefully. "Bitorn followed us all the way to Moy Tura just because we were magic-wielders and were looking for ways to stop his plague.

His hatred is fanatical. He will be back if only to reclaim his body." She snapped her fingers. "That was something Sayyed suggested, Father. Take Bitorn's body out of the mound and find a way to destroy it. A few people are still dying, so the wraith may be able to steal enough life-force to return to his body."

"Remove the corpse?" Terod interrupted again. "What if we go in there and bring out the disease all over again?"

"There is a chance of that," Athlone agreed, "but this time we have the healers'

stones to fight it. Killing Bitorn is worth any risk."

Lord Fiergan shook his head in disgust, whether at Terod or at the prospect of entering the mound again Kelene didn't know. "I'll go with you," he said. "I want to see the end of that gorthling spawn once and for all."

Kelene turned her head so the Reidhar chief would not see her grin. She didn't know of any time in her life that Lord Fiergan had willingly volunteered to help her father with anything.

"I will go, too," said Priest Ordan. The venerable priest glanced at Lord Athlone, then transferred his gaze out past the trees to the far meadow where the burial mound lay. His eyes were transfixed on some image only he could see; his voice was low and angry. "It took a plague to prove to me that we need each other, and now I see that we will have to use that cooperation in fighting the wraith, or we are the ones who will be destroyed."

Even Lord Fiergan did not argue with that statement.

Although Lord Athlone was ready to go that afternoon, the day was too advanced to-warrant a journey to the box canyon. It would have been night by the time the party entered the mound, and no one was willing to risk facing the wraith in the black confines of his burial chamber. Athlone didn't mind putting off the trip until the next day. He was not completely recovered from the debilitating fever, and he wanted to be rested and strong when he began his offensive against the killer of his children and his clan.

As it turned out, it was just after noon by the time the party of chieftains, priests, and warriors were able to leave. Athlone, Fiergan, and Sha Tajan brought several hearthguard warriors each, and Ordan came with two assistants, an incense burner, and a jar of quicklime.

Kelene decided to ride with them, since she had not gone the last time. They rode from the gathering heading due east, found the faint Induran trail, and followed it into the hills where they soon rode between the towering walls of the narrow defile.

Demira had to tuck her wings very close to her sides to pass through the tighter sections of the rock faces. Looking ahead, Kelene recognized the widening passage into the end of the blind canyon where the mound lay, and an involuntary shudder ran down her back. She wished Rafnir were beside her with his humor and his steady courage to keep her company. She halfexpected to see Bitorn standing by his grave ready to welcome them, but the mound and the box canyon were empty.

The party of riders halted in a tight cluster by the mound and sat staring at it, half afraid to dismount. The grave looked much the same.as it had that day so long ago when the young clansmen came to restore the dirt. Its earthen walls looked innocuous; there was nothing in the shape or composition of the mound to warn against its deadly contents.

The men reluctantly dismounted, bracing themselves to face an unpleasant task.

Kelene stayed on her horse. She was very cold in spite of the sun's warmth, and the hairs began to rise on the back of her neck. There was nothing that she could see to cause her fear, and yet she suddenly wished she had not come. Trembling, she watched Lord Athlone and the others walk around to the other end of the mound to the entrance.

"I thought they were going to close and rebury the door," she heard Sha Tajan say. Nervousness made his voice loud enough for Kelene to hear him clearly.

"They said they did," Athlone replied.