Mary Herbert - City of Sorcerers

The thudding echo of hoofbeats died away, the light increased, and Kelene looked up to see the mouth of the canyon. Demira sped forward along the trail and up onto the nearest open hill. At the crest she spread her wings and plunged into space. Like a black storm cloud she flew across the valley toward the Tir Samod.

The camps were in plain view when Kelene saw columns of smoke rising from the edge of the Khulinin camp. It was not the yellowish smoke of incense this time, but the blacker, more scattered plumes of smoke from burning tents. The wraith was already there. The outlying camps hadn’t noticed the trouble yet, for the people she could see in the Amnok camp below were going unhurriedly about their business.

But that changed an instant later.

The special blaring call chosen by the chiefs in case of the wraith’s return soared out over the camps, echoed a second later by another frantic horn blast for help from the Khulinin guards across the rivers.

The gathering burst into action. From her vantage point above the valley, Kelene saw people from all the other camps swarm toward the Khulinin tents. Sunlight glinted on weapons of every description, and an angry rumble rose on the air from hundreds of voices. The enemy had come at last, and the rage and grief that had been festering in the clan survivors came to a boiling head.

Kelene’s heart was thudding, and her stomach lurched into her throat as Demira dropped again toward her clan’s camp.

Where were Gabria and the other magic-wielders?

She saw the wraith first—or what had been the wraith. Now the spirit was returned to his body, and the power of the life-force he had stolen from dying clanspeople had rejuvenated his physical form to its previous health and vitality. His body was solid and muscular; his dark red robes swirled about his legs. He looked like any mortal man walking through the camp.

But Kelene would have recognized Bitorn anywhere. His upper body leaned into his furious stride, and his long, black hair tossed like a stallion’s mane around his cruel, arrogant face. Only the red phosphorescent light was gone, replaced by’ the light of a flaming torch he held in one hand. He thrust the torch at every tent he passed, leaving a path of flames, smoke, and screaming people in his wake. In his other hand was a long, black staff of Sorh’s priests, which he wielded against the warriors who were trying to stop him.

So far, there had been no organized effort to attack Bitorn. Kelene could see many of the Khulinin warriors were being distracted by the fires, and the other clans had not yet reached the priest. He was moving directly toward the center of the camp, where the chieftain’s tent stood in its large open circle.

Did Bitorn know about her mother and father, Kelene wondered, or had his choice of camps been random? Somehow she doubted the attack on the heart of the Khulinin camp was coincidence. It was too determined, too deliberate.

Just then, she saw her mother ride Nara out from behind the big tent and canter the mare forward to meet the priest. They came together at the edge of the open space and stopped, the undead priest facing the sorceress. Kelene couldn’t hear what they said to each other. It hardly mattered, though, for the conversation abruptly ended in an explosion of blue energy. Gabria had lost no time launching her own attack.

The priest threw back his head and laughed at blast after blast of magic that exploded against his body.

Many other clanspeople had arrived by that time, and they gathered in ever increasing numbers around the center of the camp, staring at the priest in horrified awe. Two more magic-wielders, Alanar and another young man, ran to Gabria and joined their attack to hers. And still the priest did nothing but laugh his scorn.

So far Bitorn had not seen Kelene, and she took advantage of his distraction to unsheathe her small dagger. Forcing her mind to relax, she formed a transformation spell and used the magic to change her dagger into a spear. Just as she was about to throw it, though, Bitorn dropped his staff and began to grow taller.

Kelene felt her mouth drop open. She had seen him increase his size when he was a wraith, but she didn’t expect him to be able to do that when he was encased in his body. In less time than it had taken her to work her spell, he doubled in size. A few moments later, he doubled his size again and loomed over Gabria, his huge hands reaching for her.

Kelene yelled an oath and launched the spear at Bitorn’s back. To the giant man, the wooden shaft was no more than an arrow thrown by a puny hand, but to Kelene’s surprise the spear point pierced his back and stuck there.

He roared in fury, turned, and saw her. “You!” he bellowed, and his great hand swung out toward Demira. The filly swerved toward him and swooped under his swinging arm, away from his bunched fist. Frantically, Demira darted behind him and soared out of his sight behind the column of smoke from the burning tents.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Kelene risked a glance to the east and saw a party of riders galloping across the valley. Lord Athlone was on the way.

Two more magic-wielders mounted on their Hunnuli had joined Gabria by then, and the small group had retreated to the highest point of the clearing, right beside the chieftain’s tent. Bitorn turned his attention back to them.

He wrapped his hand around a young tree, snapped it off at the ground, and ripped off its foliage. The huge priest’s shadow darkened the ground as he raised his new staff and brought it up over his head. But instead of swinging it at Gabria, he suddenly whirled and sent it crashing down on a young man who was riding a Hunnuli past the tents to reach the sorceress.

The tree crunk smashed the magic-wielder against his horse and crushed them both to che ground, killing them instantly. “That’s one!” he shouted to Gabria.

Nara screamed her rage, and her cry was taken up by all the Hunnuli in the gathering. Every magic-wielder left in the camps mounted cheir horses and came in response to Nara’s challenge.

Some of the Khulinin warriors led by Secen formed a line, raised their bows, and fired a swarm of arrows at Bitorn. He swatted the shafts away like gnats, then reached behind his back and pulled our Kelene’s spear. Already the blood was dry and the wound was healing.

“Puling mortals!” the priest bellowed in a voice that shook the camp. “Down on your knees before me and give thanks that I have come to release you from the evil of sorcery.”

“You’re not our master,” Secen shouted back. “We don’t want you here!”

Bitorn took several menacing steps toward the Khulinin warriors, but the men and clanspeople behind them scrambled out of the way. Bitorn did not press his attack. He sneered and said, “Run while you can. I will deal with you later. Now I must fulfill my sacred vow to the gods.” He bent toward the cluster of magic-wielders, his face gloating. “I have waited long, but the gods at last have called me to my duty.”

It was Gabria who laughed then. “You’re not a servant of the gods, Bitorn, you’re only a vicious, selfish brute who should have died in your own time.”

“Profaner!” he screamed. His staff crashed down, only to ricochet off a dome of shimmering red energy. Gabria and the magic-wielders with her stood together beneath the shield and held it with all of their combined power.

The priest, yelling in rage, tried again and again to smash the dome with his staff. He stamped and roared around the shield, flattening tents and scattering people in all directions, and still the little group beneath the dome withstood his efforts.

Kelene, though, knew how much strength it took to hold a shield like that, and she realized her mother’s group would not be able to endure much longer. She was about to try distracting Bitorn again when a different voice boomed across the trampled space.