Lynn Flewelling - Shadows Return

“I could talk to him.”

“Don’t.”

“Then you should.”

Seregil gave him a meaningful glare. “Keep on like that and I’ll drop a rock on your head while you sleep.”

After that, Ilar kept his thoughts to himself.

When Alec returned empty-handed, they set off again, looking for better cover. There weren’t even rocks large enough to shelter under, much less trees.

“No wonder the Plenimarans are always trying to take someone else’s land,” Alec muttered, shading his eyes as he scanned the distance.

“I hear it’s like this all the way-”

“Oh hell!” Alec was staring hard at something in the distance ahead of them.

There, not a mile away, a long plume of dust traced a trajectory in their direction, straight as a bowshot. Seregil had been expecting this for so long, it was almost a relief. “Could be nothing, just traders or something. All the same- run !”

“Run where?” Ilar cried.

Seregil knew there was no point in going back the way they’d come, so he struck out west. “Just keep going. Maybe we’ll find something.”

But they didn’t and now they could make out the shapes of horses, coming on at a gallop, and hear the distant baying of hounds.

Seregil cocked his head, listening. “I guess they do keep dogs, after all.”

“Bad luck…to kill…a dog,” Ilar panted.

“I’ll risk it. Sounds like they’ve got a scent.”

“It took them long enough,” Alec muttered, holding Sebrahn’s legs to keep the rhekaro from falling out of the sling as he ran.

They ran for all they were worth, but it was no use. Within minutes, Seregil looked back over his shoulder and saw a pack of riders following the hounds and heard the sound of a hunting horn.

“We might as well save our strength,” said Alec, stopping to watch their pursuers.

“What are you saying?” Ilar quavered. “If they catch us…”

Seregil cast a longing look south. In the distance, the dark blue ocean mocked him, hopelessly beyond reach. He could even make out the tiny white specks of sails on the water.

“Alec…” This was no time for long speeches and explanations. He grabbed Alec and kissed him; their cracked lips tasted of dust and salt. Sebrahn, still in his sling, touched Seregil’s cheek with his cold little fingers, almost as if he could feel the sorrow between them.

Alec buried a hand in Seregil’s hair and rested his forehead against his. “I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for. No one is taking us.” Seregil drew his sword. “Give Ilar your knife. We stand and fight.”

Alec tried to hand Ilar his knife, but the man backed away.

“No!” The color had drained from Ilar’s face, and Seregil recognized the same look of terror and despair he’d seen in Rhania’s face, just before she drove a knife into her own heart. Before Seregil could stop him, Ilar turned and ran, away from the oncoming riders and away from them.

“Let him go,” said Alec, though Seregil had made no move to follow. “He won’t be any help.”

“I suppose not.”

Alec put Sebrahn down and stepped in front of him. “Stay there.” The rhekaro whimpered and clutched at the back of his coat.

“I think you were right, about the oracle and all,” Seregil said, shaking his head.

“Thanks for that, talí.”

“Better late than never, I guess.”

The dogs reached them first, six huge mastiffs. Their hackles were up and their heads low.

“Do the dog thing,” Alec muttered.

Seregil fixed as many of them with his gaze as he could and performed the spell. “Soora thalassi!”

Two of the dogs relaxed, tongues out and tails wagging.

Seregil quickly did it again, and a third time, then sent them running north.

That was certainly going to help, but as the riders closed in on them, Seregil counted at least twenty men, with Yhakobin in the lead. At least half of them were archers. “I sure miss that bow of yours right now.”

“Me, too. I could have pared down the numbers.” Alec paused. “It’s me he wants, and Sebrahn.”

“Don’t even think it. If we go down, we go down together.”

Alec grinned bravely, but his eyes were sad. “Kari always said you’d get me killed. At least we can find the Gate together.”

“We’re not dead yet.”

Yhakobin and his men reined in a few dozen yards off and fanned out to surround them.

“Master, Khenir is getting away,” one of them said to Yhakobin. Ilar was already far off, and dwindling from sight.

“I’ll attend to him later.” The alchemist rested his gloved hands on the pommel of his saddle and raised an eyebrow at Seregil. “You’ve taken what belongs to me.”

Seregil raised the tip of his sword, deadly calm now. “I could say the same.”

“Say what you like. You’ll be dog’s meat soon.” Turning his attention to Alec, he said, “You have stolen from me, too, Alec, and run away, but I am prepared to be somewhat merciful. Drop your sword and bring the rhekaro to me.”

“Kiss my ass, Ilban !”

Yhakobin smiled. “I believe those were the first words you spoke to me. I promise you, you’ll regret them.” He raised his hand. The two archers beside him raised their bows and took aim.

At Seregil.

Things went very clear and shining, the way they often did in a crisis. Seregil could see the sharp edges of the steel broadheads, and count the vanes on the shafts. He could hear the creak of the bowstrings and there was no time to run…

Something struck him from the side, hard, and he fell. He’d been hit by an arrow before; it didn’t feel like this. Before he could figure it out, however, Alec came down on top of him, knocking the wind out of him.

Seregil pushed at him, trying to get up, but he didn’t move. “Alec?”

He was far too limp, and too silent. Seregil pushed himself up on his elbows. Alec lay faceup, arms still thrown wide to protect Seregil, with two arrows protruding from his chest-one near his heart, the other just below his throat.

Mortal wounds.

A faint gurgling sound came from his lips as blood welled there and ran down his chin. His eyes were open and already fixed, reflecting the lowering grey sky.

He was dying.

Alec was dying, and not even Sebrahn could help him now.

With a ragged scream of pure rage, Seregil scrambled to his feet, gripped his sword in both bloody hands, and ran to meet his own death.

Kari was lifting the lid from a kettle when a terrible chill rolled over her. She dropped the lid with a clatter and sank down on the settle.

“What’s wrong?” Illia cried, kneeling beside her and wrapping her arms around her mother to keep her from falling. “Are you sick?”

“No,” Kari said faintly, pressing a hand to her brow. It was wet with cold sweat that hadn’t been there a moment before. “I don’t know. A goose must have stepped on my grave-” She’d meant it lightly, but suddenly she was clutching her daughter to her breast and sobbing. “Oh my heart! Something…Where are the children? Are they safe?”

“They’re in the yard, Mama. Please, don’t cry! They’re safe, I promise. There, you can see them through the doorway.”

Gherin and Luthas heard the commotion and ran to her, terrified.

“Mama, what is it?” Gherin wailed, burying his face in her skirts.

Kari gathered both little boys into her arms with Illia, but the grief was just as strong. Oh blessed Dalna, please! Not when he’s so far from home!

In the deepest recesses of the caverns beneath the Temple at Sarikali, the Dragon Oracle laughed.

Beyond the peaks called Ravensfell by the Tír, a dark-eyed half-breed woke in her hut with tears on her cheeks.

The Plenimaran coastline was a dark line on the horizon sight. Micum was too restless to sit still now, and divided his time between pacing the deck and standing watch at the forward rail. It seemed that no matter how the hours passed, the land remained as far away as ever. Their captain promised that he’d have them ashore somewhere near Riga by midnight, but the winds were changing and Micum could tell that he and the mate were worried.