Fire of the Soul (38 page)

“Garit, no! I can’t leave you!”

“Yes, you can!” He seized her around the
waist and tossed her up into his saddle. “Don’t forget what you are
pledged to do, why we are on this journey.”

“Garit, wait!”

“I’ll be right behind you.”

He slapped his horse on its rear. Durand,
already remounted, caught the animal’s bridle and tugged. They
started along the path, but they rode only a short distance before
a ragged, bearded man leapt from a high rock onto Durand’s
back.

Scarcely had Calia realized they were under
attack by outlaws when she was knocked off Garit’s horse and onto
the ground by a man who grabbed the reins of both their remaining
mounts and rode away with them.

She struggled against a second man whose rank
body odor assailed her nose, sickening her. He slapped her, pulled
the long braid of her hair, and banged her head against a rock. Her
senses swam, sound and pain growing dim, until she heard Garit
shouting.

She forced herself to lie quietly, without
resisting the man who knelt above her, not even when he raised a
gleaming knife above her chest. In those precious few moments she
gathered her Power, then loosed it upon him. The knife flew out of
his hands and the man fell backward and lay still.

Released from his weight, Calia scrambled to
her knees, looking to Garit. He wasn’t very far away and the blade
of his sword dripped red. Two of the attackers were down. Both
appeared to be dead, or at least unconscious from their wounds.
Durand was on foot once more, fighting off an outlaw and a pair of
snarling dogs.

“Calia!” Durand stretched one hand toward
her. “Link with me. Hurry! Someone with Power is coming.”

She sidled in his direction, keeping her back
against the solid rock so no one could sneak behind her. She felt
Durand’s hand warm and strong in hers. Immediately, she experienced
the joining of their Power, not as great as when Laisren was with
them, but large enough, strong enough to meet almost any opposing
force. The man Durand had been fighting and the dogs all went
down.

Calia knew in the innermost recesses of her
mind where her Power originated that the approaching enemy was
Mallory, and she realized that Durand knew it, too.

Mallory moved up the trail at an almost
leisurely pace, as if he and his black horse had nowhere special to
go.

Garit had dispatched the last of the outlaws
and now he sprang to Calia’s side, his bloody sword in hand.
Mallory ignored him.

“Greetings, sister.” Mallory’s horse pawed
the rocky ground and snorted. “I thought I’d find you along the
way.”

“How did you come so far from Kerun City, so
fast?” Garit demanded.

“Calia,” Mallory said, still ignoring Garit,
“if you want to continue living, and if you want your friends to
live, hand over the Emerald.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Suddenly, Calia
was fighting off the onslaught of corrupt Power that Mallory aimed
at her. She withstood it firmly, knowing he couldn’t hurt her so
long as Durand was linked with her.

“Defy me,” Mallory threatened, “and I’ll turn
you over to my friends. They are all around you, hiding amongst the
rocks, awaiting my signal to strike.”

“You don’t have any friends,” Garit declared,
lifting his sword. “No one can trust you long enough to become
friends with you. Ahhh!”

Calia winced, feeling how Mallory’s Power
slammed Garit against the rocks and tore the sword from his
grip.

“Leave him alone!” Calia screamed. She would
have rushed to Garit’s side if she weren’t restrained by Durand’s
hold on her. The thought Durand sent to her silenced her protests.
She knew Durand was correct; they must stop Mallory before anything
else.

She could feel Mallory’s Power working on her
mind, making her want to reach into the pocket concealed in her
skirt and pull out the Emerald, to hand it to him.

If you do
, came Durand’s thought,
he will kill all of us, or give us to the outlaws to
kill
.

She fought even harder against Mallory, whose
Power was surprisingly strong considering how thoroughly Laisren
had drained it just a few days ago.

Four days, Durand’s thought reminded her.
Long enough for an evil mage to recover. Now, fight, Calia.
Fight!

She summoned strength she’d not realized she
possessed and directed all of that strength against Mallory, as
Durand was directing his Power.

She was only dimly aware of Garit shaking his
head as if to clear it and she knew Mallory had loosed hold of him.
Garit picked up his sword to engage still more outlaws who were
descending upon them as Mallory had predicted, swarming over rocks
and down from high ledges until Calia and her friends were
surrounded. Then she sensed another entity, a wild, uninhibited
creature.

The horse!
she signaled to Durand.
That’s why he’s so strong. Mallory is using his horse
.

So he is.
Durand’s thought was calm
and reassuring.
Let us discover how long he can control that
beast
.

As Calia felt Durand reach deeper to draw up
still more of his well-trained Power, she tried to do the same.

For a long, awful, truly dreadful time they
struggled against Mallory and his fearsome horse until the animal
reared up onto its hind legs, screeching and pawing at the air as
if it was in pain. Mallory had remained mounted all this time and
now he fought to stay in the saddle.

Durand sent a blast of Power directly at the
horse’s head, making it stand almost straight up, until Mallory had
to slide off its back or fall off.

The horse went back on all fours again, but
when one of the outlaws tried to snatch the reins and move it out
of the way, the beast began to bite and to slash with its
hooves.

Meanwhile, one of the outlaws made a grab at
Calia, trying to seize her arm. When Durand kicked at him, the
outlaw slashed hard with his knife, laying open Durand’s shoulder.
In a scream of primal pain the connection with Durand was
severed.

Calia sagged against the nearest rock,
feeling weak and dizzy in reaction. Around them the outlaws yelled
and waved their weapons, but they did not continue their attack,
for Mallory was approaching on foot. He loomed over Calia, tall and
dark and more menacing than she had ever seen him.

“Give me the Emerald,” Mallory commanded.

“No!” Calia knew she was doomed. Durand lay
beside her, his Power all but useless while he was in such severe
pain. Her own Power was weakened by her first efforts against
Mallory.

The outlaws surrounded them, swords and
knives and wooden clubs in hand, their eyes reddened with battle
frenzy, barely restrained by Mallory’s corrupt Power.

“The Emerald,” Mallory said again, letting
Calia feel the cold edge of his Power.

At that touch, revulsion surged through her.
She could not allow Mallory to have the jewel. It held too much
Power; with it, Mallory would destroy all the good in the known
world. But how could she hope to overcome him?

They all stood poised on the slippery path,
Mallory and his outlaws again Calia, Garit, and the wounded Durand.
Mallory’s corrupt Power against Calia’s recently reawakened Power.
And the Emerald, with its rumored Power.

Mallory glared at her, using his Power to
urge her hand toward the Emerald. Carefully, cautiously, Calia
blocked her mind to him while she put her left hand into the folds
of her skirt, into the pocket, and touched the smooth silver of the
tiny casket. Hoping Mallory would not notice the motion, she
pressed the clasp and opened the lid just far enough to lay one
finger on the stone.

Then, knowing what she was about to do might
well kill her, or destroy her mind if she misused the Emerald, she
released her Power in Mallory’s direction, and at the same instant
she linked herself with the Emerald.

She saw Mallory reaching toward her, clearly
expecting to receive the jewel he craved. Calia’s left hand began
to tingle and then to burn. A green haze enveloped her.

Mallory fell to his knees, then fell facedown
onto the ground, where he lay immobilized.

The searing, burning sensation in Calia’s
left hand became so unbearable that she could only react
instinctively. She snapped the silver casket closed, cutting off
the effulgence of green light, and withdrew her red, swollen hand
from her pocket. The pain diminished only slightly.

With Mallory unconscious, the outlaws were
released from the hold he had maintained over them. They moved
closer.

“Go!” Garit shouted at her. “Calia, take
Durand away. Ride for Tannaris. Ride to Ultan.”

Durand was struggling to his feet with one
hand pressed against his bleeding shoulder. Garit had placed
himself squarely between his companions and the outlaws. Calia knew
she had only a moment or two before the next attack began.

She grabbed Durand’s arm and hustled him down
the path, both of them stumbling and tripping along the way.
Hearing the clash of steel upon steel, Calia tried to turn back,
thinking to help Garit.

“Come on!” Durand exerted his waning Power to
make her do what she knew in her heart must be done, though leaving
Garit came close to destroying her.

“Here,” Durand gasped. “Horses. Not ours, but
who cares! Help me up, Calia, and don’t you dare try to ride back
to Garit. Trust him to come safely out of that fight.”

“Safely?” she cried, tears streaming down her
face as she obeyed him, pushing him upward with her right hand.
“Against how many outlaws?”

“I didn’t bother to count them. Get on that
other horse,” Durand ordered, “before I throw you across the saddle
and let you hang face down all the way to Tannaris.”

“I can’t leave Garit. And you aren’t strong
enough to force me.”

“Do as I say. We must reach Tannaris.”

Calia knew he was right. Her promise to
return the Emerald to Ultan must take precedence over her heart’s
deepest yearning.

Protecting her injured hand as best she
could, she mounted the strange horse that stood oddly quiet near
the animal Durand had taken. Then they were galloping down an
ever-widening path, through thick fog and drizzle until they
reached level ground. She could not see more than a short distance
ahead and could not see the mountains when she looked back.

“The fog will protect us,” Durand said. “I
believe Tannaris is a full day’s ride ahead of us.”

“How can you tell?” Calia asked, wondering if
his Power was so strong and so finely honed that he’d never lose
his way and always know exactly where he was, even when he was
injured and exhausted. She felt dazed, aching, and longing for
sleep.

“Trust me,” Durand said. “I’ve been this way
before.”

She heard laughter in his voice and knew he
meant to encourage her, but she had never before felt so distant
from him. She didn’t know where Garit was; she couldn’t sense him,
so she feared he was dead or, worse, lying unconscious among the
rocks like the outlaws he’d been fighting against. When Mallory
awakened and found him, he would torture Garit before killing
him.

“I can’t go on,” she said. “Please, Durand,
you take the Emerald to Tannaris and give it to Ultan. I have to go
back. I have to find Garit.”

“You,” Durand informed her with surprising
strength in his voice, “will do as I instruct you. I wish you’d
have a little faith in the man you think you love.”

Ordinarily, Garit would have paused to be
certain his opponents were beyond help, to bind up the wounds of
any who might live and promise to send someone to tend them, and
he’d have buried the dead, all of which were deeds required of an
honest knight. After this battle he did not delay. Those few who
hadn’t yet died soon would, and he could see that the stony ground
offered no possible place to dig a grave. More importantly, Mallory
had vanished.

Garit was worried that Mallory would somehow
recover enough of his corrupt Power to return to the scene or,
worse, that he’d track Calia and try to work some further evil
against her. So he sheathed his sword, keeping only his eating
knife in hand as a weapon, and rushed down the path in the
direction Calia and Durand had taken.

“I don’t
think
I love Garit!” Calia
screamed. “I
do
love him. I will love him until I die and if
he is already dead, then I don’t want to live.”

“While those words are sweet to hear,” said a
familiar voice, “you disappoint me, my love. I believed you were
stronger than that.”

“Garit?
Garit!
”

He was riding one of the outlaws’ horses and
she remained mounted, so she couldn’t fling herself into his arms.
Still, she did the best she could to welcome him. She grabbed his
hand and kissed it, washing off some of the bloodstains with her
tears.

“Ouch,” Garit said. “I’ve a scratch on that
hand and your tears are salty.”

“I am not weeping!” She dropped his hand.

“Good. I’m glad to hear it.” Garit sent a
broad smile in her direction, then he looked at Durand. “I suggest
we depart from this place before the fog lifts and we can be seen.
I expected you to be farther along the way by now.”

“
I
would be,” Durand responded, “if
Calia hadn’t insisted on returning to find you.”

“Well, here I am, so there’s no need to
backtrack.” Garit sounded as if the desperate battle they had just
fought were a friendly skirmish. “Come along, Calia. Don’t
dawdle.”

She wanted to shout at him, to tell him how
angry and how frightened she had been. She wanted him to hold her
close and reassure her. Instead, she silently kneed the horse she
was riding and followed the two most infuriating men she had ever
known.

“You promised us riches beyond countin’,”
said the outlaw leader. He scowled fiercely at Mallory, then kicked
him in the ribs to punctuate his displeasure. “Ten of my men are
dead, which’d be no problem if we had the treasure, because there’d
be fewer to divide it with. Not to mention, we’ve lost three
horses. Now, what are ye goin’ to do to repay us fer our
trouble?”