Heart of Light (47 page)

The traitor? Kitwana blinked and indignation swelled in his heart and mind. He wanted to say that he was no traitor, that he had hurt no one and never left behind any of the ideals that Shenta so clearly was betraying. But if they thought him a traitor, he had to keep quiet.

So it was in silence, his heart beating at a deafening pace in his chest, that he approached the encampment and saw tents. Many tents, white and billowing in the early-morning breeze.

The strategist in Kitwana, who had been part of war parties before, noted that the encampment housed no less than twelve men—probably more; he couldn't count any that might be in the tents; and that they seemed so well provided with powersticks and lances that they littered the ground like so many leaves dropped from the trees.

“But,” Shenta said as Kitwana approached, speaking to someone who was hidden behind a tent flap, “if we can't find the ones who have the compass stone, what good is it to—”

“Oh, I didn't say we couldn't find the compass stone,” the well-educated English voice spoke, in measured tones. “Only that Nigel and the woman with him seem to have disappeared. But if I know my brother”—he came fully out of the tent to reveal himself as a ruddy-faced, broad-shouldered man, with blond hair tinged with red where it stood in stiff, rumpled curls—“he would not leave part of his party behind. Softhearted to a fault, Nigel is.”

Kitwana didn't need the heavy sarcasm of those words to feel the man's personality. He had strength and poise and the ability to command. Here stood the sort of man who would attract many to him. The insecure, the lost, the confused. But the sarcasm in his voice gave the whole a different cast. There was no comfort in this man—only stiff-backed pride and self-seeking.

And he was Nigel Oldhall's brother? And what was he to Shenta? He spoke to Shenta as he must speak to all other men, of whatever color, as a man addressing an inferior, a being hardly worth troubling with.

It might not mean anything. He might not know of the Hyena Men. Shenta might, in fact, be doing in this group much what Kitwana had done with Nigel Oldhall.

But if that was true, why wouldn't Shenta have told Kitwana that he intended to go into the jungle also, with his own party? And why wasn't he talking to Kitwana now, instead of sending a spirit-beast to look for him?

“Get one of those rugs aloft,” the Englishman said. “And if you can't find my brother, then find his lovely bride, or the dragon, or the gentleman you so insufficiently bound to our group.”

“Kitwana is sufficiently bound,” Shenta said. “But his power is so odd . . .”

The Englishman raised masterful eyebrows. “Odd?”

“It is not like other magical power. I never know what he can do with it and what he can't,” Shenta said, a hint of impatience in his voice. At the edge of the clearing, a lance that was lying on the ground trembled, like a bird seeking flight. “I'd bet you it's his incompetence more than anything that's stopping us from finding him. Kitwana is undisciplined. But he's smart and he came through the organization very fast.”

“Ah, but Shenta, don't you know better than letting someone like that come through the organization very fast?” the mocking British voice asked.

The lance lifted from the ground. Shenta's levitation and telekinesis powers always increased when he was agitated.

“No, Shenta, drop the lance,” the Englishman said. And like that, the lance dropped. “And get one of those flying carpets aloft, can you? If we can't scout the surroundings and find the missing parties by magic, we must instead find them by looking. If the traitor is so good or so undisciplined that he can't be found, surely he must have left physical tracks, and those we can see from the air.”

It hit Kitwana starkly that if they took rugs up, they would see his group.

He thought of Mrs. Oldhall and Peter, asleep, unknowing, upon the starkly exposed ground of the clearing, and found himself running, half bent, avoiding trees and shrubs and obstacles by instinct. He must get back to the clearing. He must get back and warn Mrs. Oldhall. And Peter Farewell.

ATTACKED

Emily woke to the sound of running feet. Sitting up,
she saw Kitwana come sliding into the camp. “Get up, get up, get up!”

“What?” Emily said.

“They're coming,” Kitwana said. “They're after us.”

“Who is coming?” Emily asked, making sure she was decent and getting up.

“The Hyena Men.” Peter's voice sounded from beside her, in a very matter-of-fact tone. He grabbed Emily's arm with unwonted familiarity.

“Behind the rocks,” Kitwana said.

“Is there some way to stop them seeing us?” Emily asked, as she was forcefully pulled behind some of the tall standing rocks.

Kitwana and Peter were kneeling. Somehow—though she didn't remember either of them going near the weapons cache—they'd gotten all of the power-sticks in a pile between them.

Kitwana shook his head at her question. “Not from above. This is the best we can do. Not enough magic to cover sight of us from the air. They'll know we're here.”

Here was a narrow space between giant boulders. Not so much a circle of boulders as a space barely large enough for the three of them to stand between the huge rocks that would hide them, mostly, from sight. Hearing a sound above, Emily looked up. Above her were two small flying rugs. She could see the dark men sitting on them, and hear the excited voices in which they talked to each other. One of them aimed a powerstick down.

Emily started to jump up and found Farewell's hand holding her wrist. “Stay,” he said. “They can't hit you here. I'm shielding.”

“You are?” Kitwana said, sounding surprised.

“I am,” said Peter with a casual look.

Kitwana shrugged and said, “No need for double protection, then.” And Emily felt as if a layer of something had been removed between her and the sun and sky. Allowing her to see the carpet rugs all the more clearly—as if through a suddenly clean window—and the powerstick aimed at her.

She didn't want to run, but still she jumped and would have dived out of the way if Peter hadn't kept a casual hold on her wrist. The powerstick above discharged, the white power flying in a ray straight at her heart. But the power hit an invisible dome above, and spent itself harmlessly in a flash. Emily dropped to her knees and heard herself whimper.

“Don't worry, Mrs. Oldhall,” Kitwana said. “We might not be able to make ourselves invisible, but we won't let them capture us.”

Emily wondered again at the reasoning of men as she heard a noisy party make its way toward them, running. The ones on flying rugs had alerted these Hyena Men, doubtless via mind-talk, and they would be hastening to capture their prey. And Kitwana, Emily and Peter were here in this narrow space between rock and rock. No food. No water. What could Peter mean he wouldn't let the Hyena Men capture them? How could they not?

She opened her mouth to tell them just that, but a ray of white power flew straight between the rocks and spent itself on the barrier. Her words changed, before being pronounced into, “How long can you keep the shield over us, Mr. Farewell?”

Peter glanced over his shoulder—a quick glance, almost furtive. “Usually five hours or so.”

“I should be able to gain us another five hours,” Kitwana said without turning, watching between the boulders, holding a powerstick in his hands.

“And what is your plan for us getting out of here,” Emily said, “before the ten hours run out?”

She thought the two men looked at each other as though it had never occurred to them that they would need a plan. Then Kitwana shrugged. “We have powersticks. We can grind them down and tire them out.”

Emily sighed. She picked up one of the power-sticks from the pile. She knew how to fire it, though her father had disapproved of letting her do so, even in pursuit of foxes or hares.

Peter knelt beside her. He bent to look through an opening between the two boulders at the back. Almost as soon as he looked, power burst in that space, spending itself harmlessly against the barrier. Halfheartedly, Peter reached for a powerstick. Cautiously, he pushed the tip through the barrier, aimed at the two natives firing at them, and moved his finger over the trigger point to release a shot of magic.

The magic flew white hot and true. And met a barrier with a harmless flare. Peter cursed.

Emily sighed. The Hyena Men had a barrier, too. Only there were so many more of them. They'd have magic for a much longer time than Emily and Kitwana and Peter.

They were safe for now, but their shelter was also a prison.

COMPASS AND SACRILEGE

Nigel knelt on the grass with the compass stone in
front of him and felt as if he'd broken in two. Deep inside, there was the Nigel he'd always known—filled with terror and doubt and convinced none of this would work. But surrounding that was something else. Something that had been born of the woods and the terrible moment facing the angel with the sword. Something that had seen itself reflected in an inner mirror, and both had been appalled and risen to the occasion.

He was still Nigel, the Oldhall's youngest, sickly son. He still knew his limitations and his flaws. But part of him, stronger than that, had decided he couldn't be sickly or weak. That he must be stronger than his origins. Stronger than himself.

That part was now telling him he must wake the compass stone. And it was no use at all for the other Nigel to whine and moan and speak of its being impossible. Nigel would try. He
was
trying.

The problem was that all the spells he'd been given to awaken this ancient spell had never met with anything this ancient or powerful. It was said the great Charlemagne himself had set his spell on this stone.

Withdrawing into his mind, Nigel could sense the spell like a coiled creature. In his mind, it was a cat, sleeping in the tall grass. Not a domestic cat, either, but a creature both tame and wild, a thing of jungle and a familiar of men.

Nigel approached it as he had approached such animals in his youth. Warily. Carefully. With bated breath and extended hand, promising love and protection, he extended his magic toward the creature.

He imagined one eye opening and surveying him. He sensed that it was green-golden and full of cunning, not easily bent to man.