The Gate of Bones (29 page)

He would not lose her again. Not to anything less than death itself, and even that he was not certain would keep them apart.

On the other hand, dying was something he'd rather avoid. Gavan took a long slow breath. He could see her if he Crystaled in. A whisper of power from this distance, little more. He had skills honed by years of playing hide and seek with his abilities. Sometimes those games had meant his own hide, literally. He wanted to see her. He had to know how she fared. If she could wait till they played their game out with the trading caravan.

He rubbed his crystal out of habit, concentrated on her essence, and with a movement like a silken wind barely stirring the air was
inside.

His eyelids fluttered as stink and dank air struck him, and he staggered back a step. Chains and moans and a soft wailing greeted him. He pushed at his Crystal and brought the lantern light up, and then saw where he had landed.

A sea of Leucator flesh surrounded him. He was nowhere even close to his beloved Eleanora.

A ghoulish hand locked about his ankle and began to tug at him, icy fingers tightening.

G
AVAN FOUGHT A MOMENT of panic as he backed up farther and the Leucator crawled along with him, mewling softly, its hand curling ever tighter upon his ankle. Picking his way among the graying flesh of the other creatures, he found a clear spot where none of the others could get to him, but this one seemed to have a longer lead on its chain than most and began to get up on its knees, free hand clawing the air at him.

It was not his own Leucator or it would have been on his throat in a flash, desperate to meld their bodies and souls and be whole again, although it would kill them both in the effort. Gavan felt a moment of shame that he could not identify this creature. If it had ever resembled a Magicker at one time, he either had never known the person or had forgotten who it could have been. It might have recognized him, for it cooed as it grew closer, but perhaps it just craved contact, warmth, fuel, of a sort. He could not even have said if it were meant to be male or female.

The others only seemed a little aware of him, thankfully. When aroused, they would set off a keening, a wailing, that would alert everyone to his presence in the stronghold, something he most certainly did not wish to give away. Foiled for now, when he returned, he intended it to be a surprise.

He shook his leg, hoping to deter the Leucator. It tilted its head, a few strands of stringy black hair flying into its eyes as it did, its clothing mere scraps of moldy fabric about its gaunt body. Its red gash of a mouth opened and closed. Its fingers kneaded his leg like a cat kneading a favorite blanket. He felt a moment of pity for the construct.

The moment fled as the Leucator struck, snakelike, angling its mouth to his leg, where its grasping hand had forced up his trouser, baring a patch of skin above his boot top. Like a sucker it fastened and he could feel it bite deep into the warmth of his flesh. Blood spurted as the Leucator gave a moan of happiness and latched onto him. He muted a scream of pain and shook with it. He raised his cane like a great sword.

Gavan gestured, brilliant white light from his crystal wavering, then dying out altogether, and with it he felt the total absence of power as the focus went black. Panic chilled him. Then he lowered his cane across the back of the creature, hitting hard, with all the strength he could muster.

The Leucator let out a muffled shriek of pain and fell back. Loose, Gavan lunged back out of its reach, his back to the dungeon wall, pain shooting through his leg. Hot blood trickled down into the boot. The other Leucators would smell it and begin their wailing. Injured and well and truly trapped, he stood in a sea of undead flesh and pondered his options.

 

Jason stayed around the corner, pressed to the outside of the academy and wondered whether to blunder in or sneak away. Long moments stretched by the campfire, with Tomaz immobile, then he stood and stretched with an impatient mutter. The elder Magicker stared into the evening sky as if he could trace the route Gavan had taken, his shoulders squared back. Jason decided to back away as quietly as he could, knowing that Tomaz and his bottomless barrel of patience could stand and wait all night if he had to.

He made no sound, he swore he did not, but Tomaz spoke quietly.

“Stay, Jason, I think I will need your help.”

He swallowed at being caught and moved toward the fire sheepishly. “I . . . I . . .”

Tomaz waved a hand. “It doesn't matter. I remember your days in camp, when you were often about at night, curious.” Without turning around, he took the map tube, opened it, and shook the map out. “He's been gone far too long for a quick look, and yet I know he arrived safely, because I felt him. So . . . like you . . . he's gotten curious.”

“Trouble?”

“I'm not certain. The contact is not quite right. Yet, this is Haven, where many things are not quite right.” Turning, then, he drew both Jason and the map to the last dying light of the fire. “Study that.”

Jason did so, his eyes sweeping the well-inked map, taking in all that he could, most especially the stronghold Trent had picked out. When he knew it well, he lifted his gaze to Tomaz who quickly rolled up and put the map away again. “Now we wait.”

“Till when?”

“Till he returns or calls for aid, or I decide to go get him.” Tomaz threw his head back and faced into the night wind, his broad face set into the nonexpression he often wore, his thoughts unknowable.

Jason fought off a shiver and edged closer into the fading warmth of the fire. He wondered if Gavan had sensed him also, then decided probably not. Still, being busted at all embarrassed him. He shoved his hands into the waistband of his trousers and wished he'd brought a winter cloak down with him. Coats were far more sensible, he thought, duster-length if they could be found, closer to the legs and knees, but capes and cloaks were the style here, even if the wind found its way inside most inconveniently. He'd rather have a good hoodie under a coat any day, and realized those days might be gone forever. Never going back? He couldn't quite comprehend that. There was too much to see here, though! Places the dragon had hinted about that he itched to see, when the time was right. How far did the land of the Warlord's Spirit stretch? What was beyond the emerald sea?

He rubbed his hands together. The fire stirred and sifted down to little more than hot ashes, yet Tomaz did not move to add fuel to it. They never let a fire burn all night without a watch on it. He came from a land of dry hills and wildfires and knew the danger. Still, Jason wished he could be warmer, or at least, inside.

Curiosity had led him there and, he reminded himself, it wasn't keeping him warm. Another reason to think first next time. He wrapped his arms about himself and tried to remember playing soccer in the mud and rain, where sheer body warmth came from the action itself and the joy of playing. If he thought it would warm him, he was wrong as the edges of his ears began to turn cold.

Tomaz made an impatient movement. “I've waited long enough.”

“What can you do?”

“Pull him back whether he wills it or not. If he's trying to find Eleanora,” Tomaz grimaced, “he'll be more than angry, so stand clear.” Tomaz reached out and gripped his hand in his strong one, and Jason could feel the power surging through both of them. Jason had anchored before, so he knew what to do without Tomaz asking him. Tomaz would be going after Gavan, although not quite . . . what the Magicker had planned was even more dangerous, for he would use himself as a bridge in between, neither here nor there, and with only Jason to bring him back safely, if Gavan were in danger.

“Now,” said Tomaz quietly, as he made a gesture and uttered a word of Navajo that Jason thought was probably a blessing because he'd heard it before, though only when Tomaz needed great will or strength. Then, also he held his friend's hand and he felt Tomaz just sort of
go.

The wind gusted wildly, buffeting them, seeming to blow through Tomaz's insubstantial form. Trent should see this, Jason thought. He'd know where the mythology of spirits came from. He shivered and held tight, more with thoughts and hope than by holding hands to nothingness which threatened to fade from his fingers.

He dug in his heels and clung to the essence of Tomaz. Patience as timeless as the sandy land he grew up in, confidence as strong as the sun beating down on the southwest, faith in his friends about him as far-reaching as the never ending bowl of sky overhead . . . these things beat like wings about Jason's head. Then he inched his head back and looked and saw the two crows gliding about, the black-as-black one, and the other with a patch of snowy white upon her chest. He'd called on them, too.

Wherever Gavan was, whatever he was doing, it would take nothing less than all they had to get him back!

He found himself holding his breath, and forced himself to breathe, even as he took his second hand and clasped it over his other, near empty hold on Tomaz. The figure of the Magicker stretched as little more than a mirage, face frowning in intensity, one hand outstretched to the heavens.

“Hold tight,” murmured Tomaz more in his thoughts than aloud. “He is not only somewhere, but somewhen. . . .”

He had only a moment for surprise before gritting his teeth and promising himself that he'd never let go, never, no matter what. No matter if a pack of wolfjackals growled at his back or if . . .

Leucators!

Jason's mouth dropped open in revulsion and he fought not to jerk back in utter terror. They sensed him even though he was not really there and he heard their screeching begin deep inside his skull. They clawed at his thoughts, their own as slimy as the touch of their decaying flesh and he jerked and twitched as if he could dance away from them, but he fought to hold onto Tomaz. Don't let go! No matter what!

They wanted him. They wailed for the chance to devour him, body and soul, till nothing remained of him, not a thought or memory or drop of blood. He would be as gone as if he'd never existed! No!

Jason clenched his hands tighter to that which he knew was Tomaz. His spine bowed with the effort not to run screaming to save himself. Don't let go!

Tomaz gasped. His spirit image shivered on the air, then began to grow solid, and Jason pulled. He fell back on his butt, pulling slow and steady as if he needed to uproot a stubborn tree from the earth, his arms aching and his ears filled with the crying of the Leucators.

Suddenly, the noise stopped, and he felt weight in his hands. As he yanked, two heavy bodies hurtled out of the night and dog-piled onto him. Jason lay panting for air, flattened, Gavan's gasping in one ear, and Tomaz's deep rumbling chuckle in the other.

They sorted themselves out and sat up, Gavan leaning on Tomaz. He peered at Jason through the night, his rainwater-blue eyes narrowed.

“Up past bedtime, are we?”

Jason flashed a grin. “And you'd better thank your booty I am!”

“Indeed, indeed.” Gavan started to get to his feet and fell back, and decided to stay sitting in the ashes of the fire, looking a bit like Cinderella as the soot drifted around him. He rolled up his pants leg over one boot, exposing a nasty looking bite.

“Someone was hungry,” Tomaz remarked. “I'll get a paste on that. Looks bad, we don't want infection.”

Gavan winced as he poked a finger at it, then nodded. “The wages of curiosity.” He glanced at Jason to see if he was listening.

“Find her?”

He shook his head. “Her Leucator called to me, so I found myself in Isabella's dungeon. Unpleasant surprise, all around. But she's there, upstairs I'd say, and she lives.” He smiled ruefully. “At least I've that much.”

Tomaz stood and put a hand out, and drew Gavan to his feet. “Now the only question I have is . . . were you there yesterday morning or tomorrow morning?”

Gavan's face twisted a little as he put weight on his leg. “Noticed that, did you?”

“I could hardly not. We've no anchoring through time, Gavan. At least, I wouldn't have said so until tonight.”

The other nodded. He pointed at Jason. “This is definitely not for you to try. It nearly killed me.” He palmed his cane, and the absence of any response from the crystal Herkimer diamond held there shocked Jason. “If not for the two of you, I would be dead. Or worse.”

As the dragon had said, there were worse things than death. Jason thought he might have just glimpsed them, although he wasn't sure. He shivered. He didn't want to know.

D
AWN CAME WITH A FLASH of lightning, long before he was ready for it. Jason sat bolt upright in his bed, the cot creaking dangerously under him as if it might collapse . . . as Stef's already had, under the bulk of his weight, so he slept on the floor in a nearby room. Trent let out a muffled curse as he came awake, already on his feet, shrugging off blankets. He pulled on his jeans, torn and ragged but still mostly in one piece, and cursed again as Jason threw a shirt at him.

Boots, pants, shirts on but otherwise unready for the cold morning, they raced down the stairs as thunder shook the academy, its wooden sides booming and reverberating like the bass on the loudest boom box in the world, and they all collided into one another in the kitchen. Rich's pale face stood out as everyone reached for their crystals, but before a single Lantern spell could be focused, the inside of the kitchen lit with a brilliant flash. They all stood revealed in white-hot light. Outside the windows, black shapes on horseback flew by in silhouette.

“That's no storm,” Jason cried out. “We're under attack!” He threw the door open, his body illuminated by glaring light, and they could all hear the beat of horses' hooves and the whistles of raiders as they circled the building. The smell of crystal Lightning stung their nostrils and the academy flickered with tongues of flame.