Black Kerthon's Doom (24 page)

"Oh yes, his grandmother was a servant or something."

"I thought it might have been something like that. You could have told me."

"I was not apprised of the development of your relationship. Had I known you were already discussing trivial family history I might have shared the great wealth of knowledge about Macelan that I store in my head."

"You might have been more sensitive."

"Me? Daura, you should know me better. Did he say anything at all about Kerthon?"

"No. I did not ask him. He seems quite different. Weary, beaten. I didn't want to upset him."

"I will have to talk to him at some point," said Prosty. He watched the figure up the beach. Prosty's eyes were bright and intense.

"Can it wait until we reach Moorld?" asked Gareth.

"I believe so." He did not take his eyes off Macelan.

"Did you have any problem leaving Nantitet?" asked Daura.

"No. There were only soldiers at the gate. Prosty felt the risk of discovery was small enough to allow him to use a small spell to affect the guards' eyesight. We walked right past without being seen."

"Why is he here?" Daura whispered. "I didn't think you were serious about including him. He's not to be trusted."

"So Chraset told me. Time will tell. It is possible he will help us quite a bit. We are not in a position to deny help no matter the price."

Macelan slowed his pace, Daura caught up with him and put her arm through his, and Gareth could see Macelan's smile. Gareth bit at his lip and marched on.

They camped outside Mayse, Brice scouted the sentry locations, and they felt safe from discovery for the night. They did not light a fire and the wind off the beach was cold. Daura pressed against Macelan for warmth, he passed the longest part of the night watching the stars and listening to the surf, much of his former self returned to him, and he slept.

The next morning they started southward away from the sea to find a river crossing below Mayse. There was no way past the city along the coast and Gareth wanted to avoid the eyes of the soldiers who patrolled the docks. Brice led the small group and Macelan brought up the rear. Daura walked with him and they talked softly to themselves. Prosty tried to engage Macelan in conversation but Daura would not allow it.

They reached the river in late afternoon. The place Gareth chose was wooded and green and they all rested before the crossing. The river was not deep but it was cold and the far bank was shaded and they ran over it into the trees to search for a patch of sunshine.

Brice stopped suddenly and held up his arm. Several hundred yards ahead of them were two Amogrihens picking through dried bones. One of them looked up, saw the rebels, and leapt forward to catch them. The rebels scattered and each of the Amogrihens picked out a victim but Prosty was quicker and raised his arms, gestured, and one Amogrihen found itself in pitch darkness and could no longer see or smell its prey. It moved around and around and lunged out for anything but it could not find its mark. Brice circled it looking for an opening for his sword. He had to be careful because of the speed of the Amogrihen. If he got too close, it might sense his presence and grab for him. He tossed a rock behind the Amogrihen and it turned toward the sound.

Brice could see the shape of the Amogrihen but he was not immune to the fog spell. The mist swirled in his vision and the Amogrihen vanished from his sight. Suddenly, it was in front of him. He did not have enough time to raise his sword and the Amogrihen leapt for him. Brice dropped to the ground, dove into the fog, and rolled out of the mist but the Amogrihen was closing on him. Prosty thickened the mist, centered it on the Amogrihen, and kept it tight on the creature. Brice swung his sword. It bit into flesh even as he was backing away, moving constantly, not allowing the Amogrihen to find him. Again and again he struck. His sword was heavy. He paused to rest, but Prosty urged him onward lest the spell weaken. Then at last Brice's sword bit deeply into its back and it died.

The other Amogrihen had sought Daura and was nearly upon her when Macelan threw himself into it and they tumbled in the long grass. Macelan was on his feet and drew his short sword. The Amogrihen watched him and stepped slowly toward him. Apparently, the creature recognized what the sword was and moved cautiously to avoid it.

Suddenly, it jumped forward but Macelan was ready and dodged the talons but one claw dug deep into his shoulder and he gritted his teeth and jabbed with the sword. The Amogrihen cried in anger and sunk its teeth into Macelan's leg and he screamed in pain and then his mind seemed to fade away and he heard a rumbling of colors and a sudden release. When he opened his eyes, the Amogrihen was dead.

"You did it," said Daura. She looked at him as if she did not recognize him. "Your power, did it come from Kerthon?"

"Power? I don't understand."

Gareth stood over him as Daura wrapped his leg.

"That was sorcery. Why didn't you tell us?"

"I don't know sorcery!"

"Interesting," said Prosty. "I need to understand this, Macelan." Prosty's eyes gleamed.

"Was it sorcery?" asked Gareth. He looked at Macelan and felt the distrust rising again.

"Perhaps," said Prosty. "But it wasn't a conscious choice. That seems clear. He could have residual talent from Kerthon's spell. It has happened before."

"He is distantly related," said Gareth.

"He is?" asked Daura.

"Very distant, but related nonetheless."

"Could have a bearing," said Prosty. "Daura do you have any talent in sorcery?"

"None."

Prosty pursed his lips.

"We best be moving," said Brice. "That last Amogrihen screamed awful loud."

"You're right. Macelan, can you walk?"

"I think so." He got to his feet and bit his lip as he put weight on his leg.

"It wasn't deep," said Daura. "He killed the Amogrihen before it could do real damage."

"I don't want to feel real damage," said Macelan as his breath hissed through his teeth. He almost passed out but Daura steadied him and he was grateful and leaned on her.

They reached the hills, which began the coast range, and Gareth kept them south of the road. There was not any traffic between Mayse and Moorld and had not been for generations but Gareth had only a dozen rebels still with him and he would not take needless chances with those who remained. The road was barren with no overgrowth and it was straight which allowed for good visibility for miles. Anything moving on the road would be seen if there were watchers.

Macelan kept up and his leg bled rarely but the pain was still sharp and the swelling was uncomfortable. Gareth allowed him several rest stops but grew impatient.

"We must start climbing. Macelan, how will you keep up?"

"I will help him," said Daura. "Do not worry about us. We shall do fine."

Gareth nodded and then shook his head. He conferred with Brice. They would enter the mountains on the next morning.

"Is it worse?" asked Daura.

"No, but it isn't better."

"Won't be until you can rest. Once we stop at Moorld, you should have plenty of time."

"If I stop at Moorld."

"What do you mean?"

"Moorld is halfway home. Perhaps I'll keep going."

"I will stop at Moorld," said Daura. She looked off in the direction of the others and then looked at Macelan. He did not speak immediately.

"Don't make me choose."

"You will do what you must." Her voice was cool. "I thought you had become one of us."

"You don't understand. Moorld was Kerthon's home. I would not willingly go there. His power is terrible and there is not a moment when I do not see him in the shadows. I hear his breath and feel the heat from his eyes boring into me."

Daura leaned over and kissed him.

"Perhaps I spoke in haste," he said.

Daura kissed him again.

They kept within sight of Gareth who looked back every few hundred yards. If he had to he would stop and wait for them but it had never been his policy to wait for stragglers. But Daura was his sister. He would wait for her, not Macelan. Yet, if Macelan does possess sorcery then Gareth's own decision on sorcery may be postponed. There may be a chance to avoid his father's fate.

They camped in a cave away from the wind, which had increased as the sun began to set. It came over the bare mountainsides with a vengeance and the loose dirt and sand bit at them. Shortly after, Daura and Macelan joined them and Macelan sat down exhausted, fresh and dried blood soaked through his trousers.

"Whatever is in these mountains will smell that blood for sure," said Brice.

"But the wind will confuse them," said Gareth.

"If they're hungry enough, they'll find us."

"Have you ever been in these mountains?" asked Macelan.

"Once," replied Brice. The big man sat down next to Macelan and helped Daura dress the wound.

"It was several years ago, just before I joined Gareth. I made my living in various ways. I was a trader, hunter, and prospector but I found no valuables in this barren place."

"Any animals?"

"That is a curious thing. I heard plenty and I smelled them. I felt their breath on the back of my neck but I never saw one. It was as if ghosts of animals from Kerthon's time were the only inhabitants and they too waited for their master to return."

"They too?" asked Gareth.

"There was a group, a tribe might be a better word, of hunters who lived here and I traded with them. Small and dark. I never saw them during the day but the night sure brought them out. Must have been fifty of them. My size helped in dealing with them. Apparently Kerthon was huge and they assumed I was another sorcerer and treated me with respect although I sensed they never trusted me."

"Smart," said Gareth.

"Anyway, they were covered with mystic symbols, tattooed on them and the chief wore a gold crown wrought by skilled craftsmen from some forgotten age. It was apparent that the people I met could not have crafted the crown.

"But that was years ago and they may not be so bold with a large group."

"Still, we will double the watch," said Gareth. "We can't afford those night people finding us vulnerable."

Later, Macelan woke up chilled. Daura and Metra had the first watch and Macelan found the blanket to be too thin. Daura was near the fire, tending to it and Metra, a young man of twenty roamed the far reaches of the firelight. Macelan watched him move in and out of view and then he waited but Metra did not come into sight again. Macelan sat up suddenly and his movement alerted the senses of Brice who opened his eyes and looked to Macelan. He did not appear sleepy.

"What is it?"

"Metra has been out of sight too long. He had been weaving in and out of the trees but now I can't see him."

"Did you hear anything?"

"No, but I wasn't trying to."

"Keep still but keep your sword handy. I'll whistle if I want you to wake Gareth."

Brice slowly rose and moved away from the light and disappeared in the darkness. He made one trip around the edge of the light and found no other tracks but Metra's. He ventured further from the cave, found several tracks, small, and made by moccasins. The little people he thought. He followed Metra's tracks and found the boy hanging upside down from a branch, his throat cut. He put his fingers to his mouth and whistled long and loud. The night was still.

"We cannot take this lightly," said Gareth, after the camp was aroused and the boy was cut down. "We do not know if they will be content to catch us singly or if they will attack the camp. According to Brice, there were fifty of them and if only half remained, they still have the advantage. Plus, this is their home."

"In daylight we should be fine," said Macelan. "Isn't that right?"

"Yes," said Brice. "But we cannot cross the entire range in a day. We shall spend two more nights in these mountains before we reach Moorld."

"Exactly," said Gareth. "And that is why we must be prepared for every eventuality."

"How far is the sea?" asked Macelan.

"Too far. And the higher mountains are between us. A good idea but we wouldn't be able to do it any quicker than continuing to Moorld."

Morning came slowly and sleep eluded them.

They sat and talked while they ate breakfast and Brice scouted ahead for a couple miles and returned when everyone was ready to go and had paid their respects to the grave of Metra.

Macelan's leg was very sore but most of the bleeding had stopped completely and he did not rely on Daura to assist him although she was not out of reach and after he would turn to see her smile at him, he walked with renewed vigor.

In his mind walked dark shadows of things he did not recall. There were momentary flashes of images that seemed to pop out of a mist and then vanish before he could recognize them for what they were. He first experienced them the night after his release by Kerthon and he knew they were images of the sorcerer's life. He felt the horror of the other side of the sorcerer's power; the dark abyss from which nameless shapes squirmed and rolled and he knew the fear of falling down into the blackness. If there was something there, which could help them against the sorcerer, some secret of Kerthon's past, Macelan did not know about it and he did not want to find it. He did not trust himself to the dark thoughts, which lay, below his conscious mind and he would not bring them out into the light of day. They were best kept hidden.

The day passed slowly as each slope, incline seemed like the previous one, and the wind did not die down in the afternoon as expected. When they were ready to camp, they did not have a secure place. Gareth picked a high location to eliminate the possibility of a rockslide, either natural or caused by the tribe of the mountains. He did not doubt that they would see them before morning. The watch was in groups of four, everyone slept near the fire, and the watch stood with their backs to the fire and faced the darkness with weapons at hand.

Sunrise came without a sign of the dark people although their tracks were found just outside the camp.

"They will attack tonight," said Brice. "They saw how we would defend ourselves and now they will plan to defeat us."