Oathen (38 page)

“Let’s get a horse; two if we can find them.”
They ran toward the camp, and he drew his sword, intent on
protecting Sanych.

Until he saw her palms light up, holding her
magic in readiness. Ruefully, Geret realized it was much more
likely that she’d end up protecting him.

Closer to camp, they could hear the clash of
swords. Geret stepped in front of Sanych, searching through the
trees and magicked shelters, alert for approaching
threats.

She shoved him aside and held her hands up to
frame a large circle, shaping the light between them and turning
from side to side. The world at a distance suddenly leaped into
close focus between her hands, and Geret stared at the magnified
image.

“There,” Sanych said, nodding.

The image showed Geret several loose horses
among the trees on the far side of the camp. He and Sanych made
their way through the camp, managing to avoid notice, and reached
the area where the horses stood.

Geret sheathed his sword and eased up to one
of the spooked creatures, wooing it into complacency with his
soothing voice. “There we go, sweets. There we go.” He slid his
hand onto her dangling reins. “Here, Sanych, you take this
girl.”

Sanych had a foot in the stirrup when they
both heard a whistling sound approaching them from the side. Geret
looked up in time to see Sanych gasp and fling a hand out. He
winced as a fiery whoosh sucked the air away from them, and when he
opened his eyes, several trees to his immediate left had burst into
flame. The free horses whinnied and kicked in fear, then galloped
away, and only Geret’s weight on their mare’s reins prevented her
from running off with Sanych as well.

“What was that?” Geret called, digging his
heels into the needle-strewn ground as the horse tried to drag him
away.

“I don’t know, but she threw it,” Sanych said,
hopping down from the stirrup and pointing.

Geret looked past her to see a woman with wild
black hair stalking through the trees toward them. Between her
hands she was forming a pulsing yellow ball with red flickers. She
didn’t seem pleased.

“Maybe you’ve stolen her horse,” Geret said,
watching in trepidation as the woman’s fireball got
larger.

“Me?
” Sanych demanded.

“Tell me you’re not going to wait for her to
throw that one at us,” Geret said in desperation.

With a grimace, the black-haired woman drew
back her arm, ready to hurl her magic firebomb. Sanych gritted her
teeth and shot a wide, horizontal pulse of solid light at the
woman.

Geret, not knowing what Sanych’s magic would
do, had a lovely view of the cultist’s severed head tumbling to the
ground. The woman hadn’t even had time to flinch.

“Folly,” he muttered. The headless body
crumpled, and its magic dissipated. The mare jerked her head,
tugging on the rein in Geret’s hand, and he snapped back to the
moment. “Get on,” he said roughly, turning the horse for Sanych to
mount, “we have to go.”

Sanych settled into the saddle. Geret mounted
behind her, taking the reins from her hands, his arms passing her
waist.

“What are you doing?” she snapped.

“You need your hands free; I don’t.” He urged
the horse into a trot. Sanych grasped the pommel to steady herself.
As they rode deeper into the forest, the snowfall lessened
considerably, improving visibility.

“I don’t really need my hands,” Sanych
confessed. “Master Curzon says I just think I do.”

“What does that mean?”

“I still need practice.”

Whether she needed to or not, Sanych kept her
hands full of white power as they rode. Clouds of steam marked a
small clearing to their left, and Geret angled the horse in that
direction. Water vapor curled up from a wide blue pool, edged in
bare rock rimmed with snow. Geret didn’t see tracks anywhere,
either Meena’s or the shadow horse’s, although he had to admit he
wasn’t sure if a shadow horse left tracks. They pressed onward into
the forest again, angling toward the river, searching for Meena’s
trail.

The snow fell softly. The natural peace of the
forest surrounded them, lulling the edges of Geret’s awareness. He
became aware of his arms resting against Sanych’s waist, of her
back against his chest.

“There.” Sanych pointed, her finger shooting
out a beam of light. In the thin layer of snow beneath a towering
fir lay a trail of hoof prints, made more visible by the long
shadows of Sanych’s light. Geret wheeled the mare around and they
galloped up a long, slow rise.

At the crest of the rise, the tracks jinked
away from the direction of the river. Geret reined in, hearing a
continuous, thundering roar. The mare flicked her ears. Through the
sparse trees, Geret spotted a vast waterfall, over a quarter-mile
wide, tumbling down into a great stone cauldron. Giant stone teeth
poked up from the lip of the falls, separating the water into
several narrower curtains. Swirling clouds of mist fumed up along
the walls, disturbing the fall of snow, whirling it in
spirals.

A subtle motion against the white mist at the
very lip of the canyon caught his eyes. Meena skulked behind a
tree, peering around the rough brown bark. Her horse was nowhere to
be seen.

Sanych opened her mouth to call out, but Geret
slapped a hand over it, holding her head against his chest, and
hissed, “You want to give us all away?”

Sanych shook her head. Geret removed his hand,
then they quietly dismounted. For lack of a better plan, Geret drew
his sword, though he felt like he’d brought a pie to a backstreet
dagger duel.

Sanych ghosted closer to Meena, still several
dozen feet away. Geret kept his eyes on the lookout for what she
was hiding from.

A hand grasped his shoulder, and Geret caught
a glimpse of silver claws. A breathy voice perfumed the air. “Ah,
more playthings.”

Geret spun, slashing with his sword, but its
blade merely squealed along the man’s metal palm.

“Geret, duck!” Sanych cried.

Geret threw himself to the side. A white shock
wave blasted through his eyelids. He felt himself strike the
ground, and the white faded to black.

~~~

Sanych cried out in horror. Her flare of light
had simply bounced off of Oolat and rebounded onto Geret, knocking
him out, or worse.
All that training, and I’m still hurting the
wrong people!

Oolat chuckled, and it echoed through his
half-mask. “You have a strong gift, child,” he said. “But the key
to the
Great
Tome
’s prison will be mine. Not even one
with your talents can stop me.”

“Sanych, you foolish girl,” Meena called,
running closer. “Did you switch sides when I wasn’t looking? Get
out of here!”

“But I’m helping you destroy this pain in the
arse,” Sanych replied over her shoulder, letting her power flare
her palms into incandescent whiteness.

“Fine help you were to Geret,” Meena spat.
“Oolat will take—”

“Oolat is here to die!” Sanych interrupted,
anger heating her blood. She loosed a rod of solid light at his
torso, intent on evaporating it. Just before it would have struck
him, he vanished. Her magic beam sliced through several trees
before dissipating. “Where did—” Sanych began.

Meena gripped her shoulders and spun her
around. “Sanych, please,” she whispered. “You must flee! If he
learns how important you are to me—”

Suddenly Meena screamed, staggering from a
rush of black fire that struck her from behind. The fire curled
around her and dragged her away, scrabbling and writhing, across
the snow.

“Sanych! Run!” Meena cried.

“Folly, no!” Sanych gasped, leaping over roots
and fallen logs, trying to get line of sight on him.
Where is
he?

She finally spotted the black-robed man at the
cliff’s edge, half-obscured in swirls of snow-laden mist. His
outstretched arm directed Meena’s body to stop at his feet. He held
her to the ground with the black fire, which licked thickly over
her torso, and rested a boot on her chest. She struggled, crying
out and cursing him, but could not best the grasp of the man’s
supernatural power.

Sanych flung rod after rod of killing white
light at him, yet they all bounced off, shattering trees and
sublimating snow into gouts of steam. “Stop!” she cried, feet
stumbling over roots and stones hidden by the snow. “Please,
stop!”

The man ignored her. He stared down at Meena,
torso pinned, legs thrashing, and removed his mask. “Know me,
thief. I am Onix Oolat, Dzur i’Oth Hand of Power, and I am your
destruction.” He knelt in the snow at the edge of the cliff,
resting his silvery claw against her chest.

As she began an enraged denial, he plunged his
claws down into her torso. She screamed in agony. Sanych skidded to
a horrified stop, unable to look away. She thought she could hear
his claws clicking against the glassy key.

A moment later, Oolat grasped his prize and
yanked it into the light. Long, trailing drizzles of Meena’s blood
spattered the snow, marring its pristine whiteness, and she cried
out weakly, a last protest, before her head lolled to the
side.

Oolat turned toward Sanych and held aloft his
gory, dripping prize.

Sickened, stunned, she could only stare for a
moment. Then her rage returned. She screamed, throwing every ounce
of energy she had at him. A continuous beam of deadly light shot
forth, and she willed it to erase her enemy from the surface of the
earth.

She was spectacularly unsuccessful. His magic
deflected it into twirling motes that spun back at her, a thousand
shards of light. She cried out in defeat and rage, throwing herself
behind a rotting log.

As she raised her head again, Oolat lifted
Meena’s limp body with his black fire and hurled her off the cliff.
Her body spun lazily through the mist until it was lost from
view.

“Meena!” Sanych’s horror left scorched
finger-marks in the dead tree that sheltered her.

Oolat took a step toward her.

Sanych suddenly realized she was alone on a
canyon rim with a madman she couldn’t harm in the slightest. Geret
lay unconscious, possibly dead, up the hill, and Meena was down in
the river. She decided it was time she followed Meena’s
instructions.

She fled, hoping to lead him away from
Geret.

He popped into existence a few feet ahead of
her, and she cried out, skidding to a halt. With a swipe of his
claws, he drew a long, shallow slice along her jaw. She stumbled
back, falling to the forest floor.

She scrambled to her feet and fled again, her
cloak streaming behind her.
He’s mirroring! Curzon mentioned it,
but I haven’t learned it yet. I’m going to die unless I can think
of a way around his shield!

She leaped over a fallen log and ran up a
slope. He met her again at the top, grasping her by the torso and
lifting her into the air. His wicked claws penetrated her flesh
with a fiery agony, and Sanych arched her back and shrieked,
slashing at his arms with her twin axes of light. He raised a black
barrier between the two of them, and the blades vanished into it as
if ceasing to exist.

In agony, she kicked out with her feet and
connected with his chest. He dropped her to the snow, stepping away
with a mocking chuckle.

She staggered to her feet, aching, gasping.
Pressing a hand to her bleeding side, she stumbled away, trying to
keep him in sight. Then her foot stepped into thin air, and she
caught one glorious, panoramic glimpse of waterfall, canyon, river
and falling snow, before she toppled over the edge of the
cliff.

Her trailing scream echoed around the
waterfall’s cauldron, despite the muffling mist and
snow.

“Pity. Her gift was worthy,” Oolat murmured,
before he and his bloody prize winked out of existence.

Salvor reined in his nervous mount near Rhona and
Ruel. “Have you seen Geret?” he called over the shouting
Scions.

Ruel shook his head.

A blast of wind rushed past their feet, and
they all turned toward the open area near Curzon’s
ladder.

“Gods above!” Ruel swore, seeing the sudden
appearance of dozens of cultists and their mounted
leader.

Salvor saw the black-clad man turn his head
and point, then glimpsed Meena at the treeline. She fled. Then the
cultists rushed toward the Scion camp, shrieking and brandishing
their serrated swords. Salvor glanced over his shoulder; many of
the Scions had ridden down the hill; those that remained would
likely be overcome. He clenched his jaw, looking down at
Rhona.

He dismounted and slapped the reins into
Ruel’s palm. “Mount up, both of you, and ride that way.” He pointed
perpendicular to the Enforcers’ approaching onslaught. “Maybe they
won’t catch you.”

“But what about you?” Rhona asked, as Ruel
shoved her up onto the saddle and clambered on behind her. “We
should fight them!”

“Just go!” he shouted, slapping the horse on
the rump. They galloped off into the trees. Salvor drew his sword,
darting behind a shelter in a fighting crouch. He could feel the
odds tapping him on the shoulder, saying he wasn’t going to come
out of this one alive, and he smiled bitterly.
Wisdom hates me.
Just like Sanych. At least Rhona only pretends last night didn’t
happen.