Mary Herbert - City of Sorcerers

“Could it be the presence of the wraith?”

“Maybe.” Gabria looked around at the gathering shadows. “No one has reported seeing him, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t returned.”

Kelene groaned. “I hope your feeling is something else.”

“I know. The clans are hardly ready to fight him. Perhaps I am only tired from today’s burial. I finally had a chance to say good-bye to Coren and Lymira.”

Kelene’s grip tightened around her mother’s arm. The day had been traumatic for both her parents and herself. Maybe tomorrow—after a good night’s sleep—they would all feel stronger. Then, Kelene decided, she would take Demira on a few flights to see if she could find any sign of the wraith or Sayyed’s party. She had a sense that Gabria’s feeling of dread was more than exhausted grief.

“Father’” Kelene’s excited voice floated over the council grove, catching everyone’s attention. Lord Athlone and the men with him watched in wonder while Demira and her rider circled over the grove and dropped down for a landing outside the trees.

Lord Athlone still could not quite believe what his daughter had wrought, or the new cloak of maturity she wore with such aplomb. He watched in ill-concealed pride as she slid off her horse and came limping into the grove.

“I found them,” she called eagerly even before she acknowledged the priests and chieftains with her father. “They’re about a day’s ride away!” Only then did she remember her manners and properly greet Lord Athlone’s companions.

They were a worn, tired-looking group, yet the changes in the grove about them were evidence of the changes that had been taking place all over the gathering. It had only been one day since the mass burial, but in that time the tents, trash, and debris had been cleared away and burned, and the remaining sick were recuperating in their camps or in the council tent.

Kelene barely finished her greetings to the chieftains and turned back to her father. “Sayyed and Rafnir are almost recovered. They left Moy Tura two days ago.” She was smiling, still warm from the pleasure of seeing Rafnir and the others. She and Demira had been making reconnaissance flights all day to look for the wraith, missing clanspeople, or Sayyed’s party. She had found the men late that afternoon cantering south along the Isin River.

“There is some bad news, though,” she continued. “Savaron told me Bitorn left the city six days ago. He may be here already.”

Lord Terod paled. The young chief of Clan Amnok was still weak from his bout of the plague and he wanted no part of any more trouble. “Well, we haven’t seen him,” he declared. “And we have beaten his plague. He’s not coming back here.”

Kelene shook her head forcefully. “Bitorn followed us all the way to Moy Tura just because we were magic-wielders and were looking for ways to stop his plague. His hatred is fanatical. He will be back if only to reclaim his body.” She snapped her fingers. “That was something Sayyed suggested, Father. Take Bitorn’s body out of the mound and find a way to destroy it. A few people are still dying, so the wraith may be able to steal enough life-force to return to his body.”

“Remove the corpse?” Terod interrupted again. “What if we go in there and bring out the disease all over again?”

“There is a chance of that,” Athlone agreed, “but this time we have the healers’ stones to fight it. Killing Bitorn is worth any risk.”

Lord Fiergan shook his head in disgust, whether at Terod or at the prospect of entering the mound again Kelene didn’t know. “I’ll go with you,” he said. “I want to see the end of that gorthling spawn once and for all.”

Kelene turned her head so the Reidhar chief would not see her grin. She didn’t know of any time in her life that Lord Fiergan had willingly volunteered to help her father with anything.

“I will go, too,” said Priest Ordan. The venerable priest glanced at Lord Athlone, then transferred his gaze out past the trees to the far meadow where the burial mound lay. His eyes were transfixed on some image only he could see; his voice was low and angry. “It took a plague to prove to me that we need each other, and now I see that we will have to use that cooperation in fighting the wraith, or we are the ones who will be destroyed.”

Even Lord Fiergan did not argue with that statement.

Although Lord Athlone was ready to go that afternoon, the day was too advanced to-warrant a journey to the box canyon. It would have been night by the time the party entered the mound, and no one was willing to risk facing the wraith in the black confines of his burial chamber. Athlone didn’t mind putting off the trip until the next day. He was not completely recovered from the debilitating fever, and he wanted to be rested and strong when he began his offensive against the killer of his children and his clan.

As it turned out, it was just after noon by the time the party of chieftains, priests, and warriors were able to leave. Athlone, Fiergan, and Sha Tajan brought several hearthguard warriors each, and Ordan came with two assistants, an incense burner, and a jar of quicklime.

Kelene decided to ride with them, since she had not gone the last time. They rode from the gathering heading due east, found the faint Induran trail, and followed it into the hills where they soon rode between the towering walls of the narrow defile.

Demira had to tuck her wings very close to her sides to pass through the tighter sections of the rock faces. Looking ahead, Kelene recognized the widening passage into the end of the blind canyon where the mound lay, and an involuntary shudder ran down her back. She wished Rafnir were beside her with his humor and his steady courage to keep her company. She half-expected to see Bitorn standing by his grave ready to welcome them, but the mound and the box canyon were empty.

The party of riders halted in a tight cluster by the mound and sat staring at it, half afraid to dismount. The grave looked much the same.as it had that day so long ago when the young clansmen came to restore the dirt. Its earthen walls looked innocuous; there was nothing in the shape or composition of the mound to warn against its deadly contents.

The men reluctantly dismounted, bracing themselves to face an unpleasant task. Kelene stayed on her horse. She was very cold in spite of the sun’s warmth, and the hairs began to rise on the back of her neck. There was nothing that she could see to cause her fear, and yet she suddenly wished she had not come. Trembling, she watched Lord Athlone and the others walk around to the other end of the mound to the entrance.

“I thought they were going to close and rebury the door,” she heard Sha Tajan say. Nervousness made his voice loud enough for Kelene to hear him clearly.

“They said they did,” Athlone replied.

Kelene could not see the men or the entrance from where she was sitting on Demira; she could only hear their voices grow muffled and some thuds and a grinding noise from the doorway. There was the sound of footsteps, a crash, and silence.

Kelene strained upward on the filly’s back, every sense taut with tension. “Father?” she called worriedly.

Almost at once Lord Athlone came bolting around the side of the mound, the other men fast on his heels. His face was white under the healing sores, and his expression was a twist of fear and fury.

“The body’s gone’” he shouted to Kelene. “The wraith was already here. Go back to the gathering. Warn your mother.”

Demira turned on her heels at his last words and galloped out of the canyon into the defile. Kelene clung tightly to her back, letting the filly find her own way over the rocky, uneven ground. She didn’t hear the pounding of Demira’s hooves echoing around her or see the high rock walls and the strip of blue overhead. All Kelene heard over and over in her mind was Athlone’s warning, “The wraith was already here!” All she could see in her mind was an image of Bitorn gloating over her mother’s dead body.