City of Sorcerers (42 page)

She only had a moment or two to sift through the jumbled impressions of his mind before he changed his grip on Demira and began to squeeze tighter. But those precious moments were just enough for her new knowledge to spark an idea. All she had to do was survive long enough to tell her parents.

Desperately Kelene shaped a spell to form a shield around herself and Demira. At her command the red energy coalesced into a skintight shell between the horse and rider and the giant's hand.

Bitorn swore furiously. He brought both hands around his prey and tried to crush them in his fingers. Kelene closed her eyes, gritted her teeth, and held on to her spell with all her might. She and Demira could hardly breathe beneath the shell and the heavy weight of the giant's hand. Kelene gasped for air. She grew dizzy and feared she might black out and lose control of her spell.

Then all at once Bitorn let go of her with one hand and began to swing his staff again. Kelene opened her eyes and saw on the ground below that the clan warriors led by Lord Fiergan and Sha Tajan had renewed their attack on the priest.

Kelene breathed a prayer of thanks for the distraction.

Bitorn still had one hand wrapped around Demira, but he was too busy defending himself to turn his attention back to his prisoners. Kelene rapidly formed another spell. In a flash of motion, she dissolved her shield and sent a white-hot bolt of fire into Bitorn's palm.

The priest yelled in pain. Shocked and furious, he flung the winged horse toward the earth.

Demira never had a chance to right herself. The force of Bitorn's throw tumbled her over upside down. Her shrill neigh and Kelene's scream blended into one cry of terror.

The young sorceress thought she heard a familiar voice call her name, but it was lost in the sickening, tumbling fall toward the earth. She saw the ground below spinning up to crush her, and her heart cried out to the one she loved and would never see again. "Rafnir!"

Incredibly, her plea was answered with a platform of air that formed beneath and caught Demira just before she and Kelene smashed into the ground. She bounced once on the invisible cushion and settled slowly on her side to the earth just a few steps away from the group of magic-wielders.

Demira scrambled to her feet, shaken and ruffled but unhurt, and a hand was thrust out to Kelene to help her stand. It took a heartbeat before she realized the hand was Rafnir's. She was on her feet and in his arms before her heart had a chance to beat again. Savaron was there, too, on his exhausted Hunnuli, and Sayyed, looking wan but alive with his white cat on his shoulder, and Morad, dusty and tired. They had to have ridden like Turic raiders to get there so soon. Kelene hugged them all, happier than she had ever been.

"I learned that spell from you," Rafnir whispered in her ear, and he showed her the diamond splinter under his wrist.

Kelene kissed him delightedly. Still holding his hand, she glanced at Bitorn. The priest was surrounded by archers and warriors who were sending a merciless barrage of arrows, spears, and lances at his lower body. Kelene hoped she had a minute or two to talk before he turned his attention back to the magic-wielders. "I have an idea," she told her parents, explaining about her probe into Bitorn's mind. "The Korg said the life-force is similar to magic. As long as people die, there is all the life-force Bitorn needs. But he can only use so much energy before he starts to tire."

"He's not showing much sign of that," Rafnir said dryly.

"So let's help him along," Kelene cried. "If the life-force is similar enough to magic, maybe we could try drawing his strength
out
of him. Perhaps we could weaken him enough for the warriors to kill his body." Gabria and Athlone looked at one another, their faces bright with understanding.

"Secen!" Athlone called to his old hearthguard nearby. "Tell Priest Ordan we need a distraction that will keep Bitorn's attention for a short time, and have Lord Fiergan pull his men back."

Secen obeyed with alacrity, working his way through the milling clanspeople to the priest of Sorh. The old man listened and nodded once across the space to Lord Athlone. A moment later a horn blew, signaling the warriors attacking Bitorn to fall back. A wide circle opened up around the huge man, and for the space of several moments the gathering fell quiet.

Bitorn stood in the center of the space. He was panting and bleeding from several gashes on his legs. He stared at the surrounding people with utter contempt.

Then, along the edge of the crowd, came the priests of Sorh from every clan.

Robed in dark red and grim in visage, they formed a ring around the giant man. Ordan stood before Bitorn and raised his black staff to the sky. Softly at first and then louder, the priests began to chant a litany no one had heard in years.

Kelene heard Gabria gasp, "They're stripping him of his priesthood!"

"They can do that?" Kelene asked, startled. A person's holy calling was granted by the gods and was not usually taken away by men.

"Sometimes," her mother replied. "In extreme cases."

Bitorn recognized the ancient chant, too, and he stood still, scarcely believing what he was hearing. "No!" he bellowed. "You won't do this to me!"

Athlone nodded to his family. Around them, the magic-wielders were all together at last. There were only sixteen left, and half of them were not fully trained. But they all knew how to attract power, and their determination made up for their lack of skill.

As one, they focused their inherent talents on the priest and began to pull out his energy.

Bitorn did not recognize their ploy at first; he was too intent on the ring of priests and their inexorable chant. He raised his staff like a club and took a step toward Ordan. Suddenly he staggered. Only then did he realize what the magic-wielders were doing. Furiously he struggled to fight the drain on his power before he lost all control.

He was successful at first and was able to back away from the group of magic-wielders. But he hadn't gone more than a few steps when he put his hands to his head and swayed. He bellowed his fury, his angular face red and ugly with twisted hate.

Still the magic-wielders pulled at him, stripping him of the energy he had stolen from their own dying people. His gigantic body started to shrink.

Lord Fiergan, Lord Sha Tajan, and the other chiefs and warriors saw his growing weakness. They edged into the circle and sprang in to attack. A handful of Khulinin men feinted to the priest's right. As he swung around to drive them off, Fiergan charged under his shadow. There was a bright flash of a sword, and Bitorn's left knee collapsed under his weight.

The priest screamed, almost desperately, and struggled away from the Reidhar chief only to be blocked by Dangari spearmen. Archers crowded on his right, more swordwielding warriors charged in behind him, and a solid mass of incensed clanspeople cut off any hope of escape.

Bitorn was almost back to his normal height when he turned to see Priest Ordan.

Their eyes met, and the mask of hate and arrogance fell away from Bitorn's face, leaving only terror behind. He stared in appeal at Ordan's implacable expression, but the old Priest of Sorh only lifted a hand to his priests. The circle of men shouted in unison and pointed their staffs to the sky.

"Your priesthood is finished, Bitorn!" Ordan shouted. "You are no longer a servant of Lord Sorh. Prepare to meet your master. "

A wail rose from Bitorn's lips, and from the group of magic-wielders, Lord Athlone shouted, "Now!"

The clanspeople struck with a terrible vengeance. The warriors within striking distance swatmed over Bitorn's body, hacking, slashing, and stabbing the priest to bloody shreds. He screamed once before his voice was cut off to a gagging wheeze and then to silence. His body sagged to the ground.

Satisfied, the men drew back from the corpse, but they had barely lowered their weapons when a red phosphorescence began to glow just above the priest's remains.

Kelene's fingers tightened over Rafnir's arm, and the clanspeople stopped in midmotion. It was as the Korg had warned---they had killed Bitorn's physical body, but they still had to control his soul. The wraith coalesced before their eyes, his tall form glowing with the sickly red light.

"You cannot be rid of me that easily," he hissed.

At that moment the Hunnuli horses raised their heads, their ears pricked forward.

Riders come!
Eurus neighed.

The magic-wielders were startled. Riders?

A tremor shook the wraith, and he wavered as if blasted by a powerful gust of wind.

The young clanspeople heard it next---a muted pounding of hoofbeats from some far distance. The sound grew louder and more distinct, and soon everyone heard it.

Heads turned, eyes searched, yet the noise had no direction or obvious source.

Ordan saw them first, five riders on pale horses coming out of a curtain of mist in the blue afternoon sky. "They come! They come!" he cried and flung himself prostrate to the ground.

The wraith screeched in terror.

Every face turned to the sky, and even though no living mortal had ever seen their forms, every single person there recognized the five riders. They had been described once by Valorian, who had ridden in their midst and returned to life.

They were the Harbingers, the messengers of Sorh who came to escort souls to the realm of the dead.

The clanspeople froze in their places. There was no sound in the camp except for a dull clang when Fiergan's sword fell from his nerveless fingers.

Shining white in the sun, the Harbingers rode their shimmering steeds down the sky and came to a stop on the mortal earth just in front of Bitorn. They were huge, clothed like warriors in polished mail and armor. Brilliant helms covered their faces.

Bitorn quailed before the riders' silent scrutiny.

"Know this!" one Harbinger spoke in a masculine voice that was rich and powerful. "The days of enmity are over. The gorthling's curse that brought down Valorian's children is finished!"

"No!" shrieked Bitorn in one last attempt to have his way. "They are evil. They are a profanity. They must not be allowed to live!"

The Harbinger lifted a finger. "Come. This time you cannot escape Lord Sorh."

"No!" Bitorn screamed. He rose up to flee, but the white rider raised his hand. A bolt of shining energy flew from his palm and caught the wraith. The power wrapped around him like a rope and trapped his sickly red glow within a bond of white light.

The five riders swiftly surrounded him. They cantered their steeds up into the sky, dragging the soul in their midst.

The clanspeople watched them go until the last flicker of light faded from sight and the Harbingers vanished into the curtain of mist that bordered the mortal realm and the realm of the dead. Only then did the clans know the ordeal was over.

Out of the group of magic-wielders Lord Athlone made his way across the shambles of the clearing to help Priest Ordan to his feet. "That was incredible,"

Athlone said. "Did you know the Harbingers were coming?"

Ordan's mouth jerked up in an odd smile. "I hoped they would, but I never expected to see them." He was about to add more when Fiergan and Sha Tajan hurried over to meet them.

"What happened?" Sha Tajan cried. "I thought Bitorn was too strong to submit to the Harbingers."

"He had no choice this time," Ordan told him. "When the priests, the magic-wielders, and the c1anspeople turned against him, he lost everything."

Fiergan shook his head, his big, irascible face full of wonder. "Those Harbingers were magnificent! But why did we see them?"

"Did you hear what the one rider said?" Ordan said quietly. "The days of enmity are over." He looked pointedly at the three chiefs. "The gods have spoken that all may hear."

Lord Fiergan slowly turned. He looked at the dead bodies, the trampled and burning clan tents, and the bloody remains of Bitorn. He watched Kelene hug Sayyed and Savaron and return to Rafnir's embrace; he saw Gabria and the surviving magic-wielders bending over the crushed bodies of the Hunnuli and his rider; and last of all he studied Lord Athlone from head to boot and everything in between that he had once loathed.

Deliberately the Reidhar chief stuck out his fist to Lord Athlone in the salute of one chieftain to another. "Looks like we have a lot of work to do," he said to the sorcerer lord.

EPILOGUE

A cool, windy day in the ninth month of the clan calendar brought a party of riders to the ruins of Moy Tura. A gold banner flew at their head, signifying that the Khulinin lord was in their midst. Overhead soared a black Hunnuli on long, broad wings who glided ahead of the party and came down to land just outside the city's southern gate.

The Korg walked out to greet her and to welcome her rider with a glad cry. They waited for the other riders, and in a few minutes Kelene was introducing her parents to the sorcerer who had once chased them from his domain.

Eyes twinkling, he bowed low to them. "It is an honor, Lord Athlone and Lady Gabria, to welcome you to Moy Tura." He took his visitors on a tour of the ruins, including his house that he was rebuilding and the beautiful grave mound he had made for Niela and her Hunnuli. They talked for hours of magic and the city and life before the Purge.

When they were settled in his garden, sipping wine and relaxing in the late-day peace, the Korg smiled at Rafnir and Kelene. "I do not need to ask if you two have made your betrothal vows. It is written all over you."

Kelene's face warmed with pleasure. "We will be joined during the Birthright next spring." She paused and put her hand in Rafnir's. "If it is all right, we'd like to come back here for a while. I want to study the healers' room and learn all I can."

"Of course, you are welcome! Anyone is welcome."

The young sorceress glanced at her betrothed, and he nodded. "Do you mean that?" she asked the Korg.

Gabria sensed something was coming up. "Why do you ask?"

"Mother," Kelene said, both excited and a little wary. "What do you think about rebuilding the city?"

Gabria could only stare, and Athlone's mouth went slack. "Rebuild Moy Tura?