Black Kerthon's Doom (23 page)

"Neheva!" called Mira.

"Not here," said Rakatj. "Be at home. Comfort. Mistress be back soon." The creature went back outside and closed the door.

"What do you make of Rakatj," asked Serada.

"Never seen anything like him."

"Is he real or animated by Neheva's spells?"

"It's a possibility he's real," said Mira. "But we would be wasting time to find out. Where is Neheva? We must decide our course and find a way to help Gareth. Stormridge is far to go for horses and we may be too late for Gareth's sake. Neheva has the power to help us."

"But will she?"

"Good question," said Neheva, who stood at the front door with Rakatj at her heels. "And why should she? There is nothing your Gareth or High King could give me that would be of much use to me."

"Is there anything that could convince you to help us?" asked Serada.

"There might be, but it is up to you to find out. I shall give you no clues and you shall have only three guesses. Proceed." The room darkened and Serada smelled pine needles and felt drowsy.

"Right now?" asked Mira. There was no time to discuss the situation. The answer could be anything.

"Now."

"Kerthon's death?" asked Serada.

"He is already dead. That's one."

"My life?" said Serada. He had thought the first answer had been correct, but now he guessed wildly with the second and who knows what the witch would do if they answered all incorrectly.

"Vain. Not the least interesting. You haven't lived long enough yet to have experienced anything of worth to me. Let Mira use your final guess."

Mira looked at Serada and then at the dark eyes of Neheva. What could she want? What doesn't she have? What is lacking in her magic? Serada said something about Kerthon. The Sorcerer had wanted her for himself and she tried to refuse. If he was dead and still claimed her, then how could she escape him?

"Your death." Mira did not know how the words came to her. Until she spoke, she did not know what she would say.

Neheva laughed. "Oh, very good. I did not expect you to guess correctly."

"Your own death?" asked Serada.

"Yes. But only in a certain time and manner. And now that you have guessed what I want, how will you go about helping me? I will help you if you can help me."

Mira and Serada looked at each other but no coherent thoughts were exchanged.

"Why do you wish your death?" asked Serada.

"I don't. Not always. Not in the spring. But I feel a darkness growing in my heart, the mark of Kerthon. For years, I could resist, having come into my power before the Sorcerer found me, but I am weary and must pass on before his darkness overtakes me. That is the danger. If he still exists, I shall become his when I die, but even now, I am slipping towards him. He must be wiped from existence before I walk through my forest one last time."

"I don't know how to help you," said Mira.

"Pity. I might be able to assist with that, but we shall wait. How am I to help you?"

"Help us reach Gareth."

"Where is he?"

"Don't you know?" asked Serada.

"You presume far too much for a mortal. There are limits to my powers but I do not appreciate it when those limits are exposed. I will not tell you again. Perhaps you can tell me why I should help you. I distinctly remember asking Gareth not to follow me to the tower and when I turn my back, there are Brice and Serada. Now, tell me; where is the honor in that?"

"Gareth didn't know if you would return," said Mira. "And he wanted to learn all he could that might help or hinder him."

"A good answer, despite the fact that we all know that was not Gareth's motive. But it will do. He must have some redeeming qualities to draw such loyalty from his followers." She looked at Serada and arched an eyebrow.

"I will help you if Serada agrees to help me in my death, no matter how it must be done."

"Do you know the specifics?" asked Serada.

"Yes."

"Do I get to know beforehand?"

"No, decide now."

"But he can't agree on your terms!" said Mira.

"Those are the only ones he gets. And if you do not agree, I shall make it very easy for the soldiers to find you. Or you might come to enjoy it here. Rakatj used to be a hunter; now he's adapted very well to my home."

Serada did not waste time.

"I agree."

"Serada! Do you know what you have done?" cried Mira.

"I have saved you and perhaps you shall be the deciding factor in Gareth's battle."

"You don't know that."

"I couldn't take that chance."

"How noble," said Neheva. "I will tend to your wound. Mira, in the kitchen you will find food and packs. Be ready within the hour. We shall find your precious Gareth."

They moved quickly in the darkness, Neheva led them down unseen paths and they crossed the trail several times and when they started down the slope to the river, they could see the lights of Rhath far off in the distance and to the west was the slender dark shadow of the tower.

"We shall not go that way," said Neheva.

The night air was cool and numbed the pain in Serada's leg. Neheva had tended to it but when he shied away she told him her intent was to heal him, not make the pain go away.

The air was fresh and Mira enjoyed walking. For over an hour, no one spoke and noises of the night rose around them and they were part of the night.

"How long have you lived?" asked Serada.

"All my life," said Neheva.

"No, I meant.." he saw the tug of a smile on Neheva's face and suddenly, she did not look so dark, so powerful. Then the lips set hard and there was ice in her voice.

"I have walked this earth since the dark years. I do not remember my birth or how I came to be a witch. I was here when the Sorcerer King was young and I was called to him. But Kerthon perished and I was released and in my woods I have dwelt and until you came to me I had not left it during the long years."

"What's it like to live so long?"

"What's it like to live such a short life, Serada? I would not understand your answer any more than you would mine."

"What did the world look like back when you were young?" asked Mira.

"Ah, that is the type of question that I appreciate." They reached the flat land and moved slowly, careful of branches and twigs to avoid the ringing sound of the wood breaking in the still night.

"When I was very young the earth was flatter and the trees were short and filled with fruit. I do not remember much from this time but the air smelled of blossoms and the sun was very warm. Then the earthquakes and storms came and changed the land and many people were killed. The sun did not reappear for many years, I wandered far in the new hills and mountains, and I found people living there already. These were a strange people and I could not understand their language but they knew mine and I learned much from them; dark secrets no man should know and it changed me although I did not realize it then. I changed slowly over the ten years I spent with them until the sun returned.

"But I could not withstand its gaze for long and I hid deep in the woods where it was cool and no one bothered me. Over the course of time, I learned to change into a young girl again and endure the sunlight, but my natural form is repelled by it.

"Even then the trees were dark green and fragrant and I walked each night through them and talked with them. There were dark creatures abounding in the woods but they fled from me and did not return. I do not know if they still live."

"What about Rakatj?" asked Serada.

"He was carved centuries ago. He watched all who entered Moorld. But he was brought to life and it is an evil thing to have done to him. Of him, I shall tell you another time. His is an unusual tale. Daylight will suit you better to hear his story. In any case, I do not plan to travel at day and there shall be ample time to discuss Rakatj."

When they reached the end of the trail dawn was but an hour away and in their path spread the campfires of the soldiers.

"Some still search for us," whispered Mira.

"Yes," said Neheva. "We must go far to the west to pass safely."

"Won't that get us too close to the tower?" asked Mira.

"Perhaps. But I do not feel his presence as strongly as before. Maybe he has left the tower."

"Left? Where would he have gone?"

"Wherever Macelan might have taken him."

"Macelan?" asked Serada. "What do you mean?"

"I told you the mark of Kerthon was on him. There was a spell wove about your friend. I believe Kerthon knew everything Macelan saw and heard and perhaps Macelan could carry the weight of the dead one with him."

"How?"

"Metaphysically speaking. Your friend has or had, as the case may be, extreme potential for sorcery. He could become a sorcerer himself."

"Macelan? Would Kerthon work through him?"

"Possibly. But I think the experienced wizards who aid the High King would be more to Kerthon's liking. The skills needed are immense and Macelan would require much training. After a thousand years Kerthon's patience must be thin indeed."

Neheva signaled for silence. Voices could be heard to their left. Gruff, and loud, the soldiers were breaking camp.

"We don't have any way to get around them," said Mira. "And dawn is breaking."

"There's little cover here," said Serada.

"It will have to be enough," said Neheva. She drew within herself and they watched the gruesome transformation from witch to young girl. "My power is limited in daylight."

The soldiers were moving now and the trio waited. They had time but Kerthon's long shadow fell on Serada and he shuddered. Neheva looked at him with sympathy.

"He marks us all. You should not have gone to the tower. It is not a pain that will go away."

Brice and Gareth led Chraset back to the inn. Daura was not there. No one had seen her.

"She was with us and then she disappeared," said Gareth. "We assumed she would return here."

"She did not," said Freida. "We saw no one."

"Are we going to the palace?" asked Nayda.

"No," said Gareth. "Things have changed. It appears Kerthon has returned in the flesh." There were shouts of amazement. "It's true."

"We must go to Moorld," he continued. "We shall find the answers we need with the help of Prosty. He has thrown his lot with us."

"He has?" said Chraset, astonished. "I don't think that is a wise idea for us. There is much more to him than meets the eye."

"And I could say the same about the High King's gardener," said Prosty, who had silently entered the room. "Kerthon is the danger. I will help as I may and then go my separate way." Prosty stared at Chraset who shrugged his shoulders.

"Why do we go to Moorld?" asked Nayda.

"I may find the answers we need," replied Prosty. "To end the threat of the Sorcerer."

"Nantitet is too dangerous for us now," said Gareth. "It would be impossible to tell who is under Kerthon's sway."

"We must go soon." Brice laid a hand on Gareth's shoulder.

"But Daura?"

"I think I saw her with a tall man," said Prosty. "But I can't be sure."

"Do you think she's found Macelan? Is that too much to hope?" asked Brice.

Gareth looked at the faces before him. He had never had to make this choice before. He always watched after her. Now he could not. His mouth was dry. Chraset handed him a bottle of wine and he drank long and deep.

"We must hope so. It's time to leave here."

They could see the small group following their path down the rocky slopes to the beach. The size of Brice made him easy to recognize and Gareth's gait was painful to watch in the best of times. His ankle had been broken and never set properly and he always knew when the weather was about to change. Macelan and Daura decided to slow down to allow the remainder of the rebels to catch up with them.

Macelan and Daura had walked by the soldiers posted at the city gates but were not challenged. The smell of liquor was strong from the guardhouse and they did not loiter. There was a large crowd of people fleeing the city, some with their belongings and others who did not take the time to bring anything with them. They would not risk staying under the rule of the sorcerer. Macelan and Daura mixed in with the crowd and the single guard who paid attention to those leaving did not take notice of Daura but then she was not dressed in her court costume. They passed out of Nantitet.

When Macelan and Daura reached the beach, they began to walk slower although it had not been a conscious decision by either party. Finally, the others appeared and then they waited for them.

"When did the High King go bad?" asked Macelan.

"Bad?"

"Why did he start to abuse his power?"

"I don't understand," said Daura. "He's always abused his power. The wizards just helped him focus it, that is all. Gareth has been trying to depose him for years."

"But when I was young I remember meeting a soft spoken polite High King who cared very much for his aged maid."

"Maybe he did. Yet, from the time, he assumed the throne he has ruled as he saw fit and disregarded all the promises his father had made to the people. It was even whispered that he had his father killed."

"I can't believe that," said Macelan.

"There is no reason for me to lie to you, Macelan. I don't think I would be involved if it was only due to the wizards."

"I didn't mean.."

"But I must make it clear to you. High King Michak has never been a good High King and has refused all pleas for reforms. The wizards have been only a recent problem."

Macelan did not say anything for a while and his lips were pressed to together. He started to walk away. Daura touched his arm and he pulled it away. She followed but he picked up speed and when Gareth had caught up with Daura, Macelan was fifty yards ahead. Gareth embraced Daura briefly and they led the others in Macelan's wake.

"Is he still mad at us?" asked Brice.

"No, he's mad at me," said Daura.

"That's all?" asked Gareth with a grin, relieved to have found Daura.

"It isn't what you think. He's had some idea that the High King was a good ruler and I dashed it."