Lynn Flewelling - Shadows Return

He heard the crunch of footsteps nearby, and the rattle of falling pebbles.

“Hello in the camp,” Micum called softly, letting Thero know it was him. He sat down by the fire and looked at the two of them. “How are you getting along?”

“Fine, so far. Now that you’re here, though, I want to try something. Pour a cup of water, would you? Set it down where Sebrahn can reach it.”

When Micum had done so, Thero stuck a finger into the fire and pressed it briefly against a hot coal.

Micum grabbed his wrist and yanked his hand away from the fire. “What are you doing?”

“It’s all right.” Gritting his teeth against the pain, Thero held the blistered finger out for Sebrahn to see. “Will you heal me?”

The rhekaro looked around, then picked up a small sharp stone and used it to cut the end of its forefinger. A drop of white blood oozed out and fell into the cup, making another dark flower. He scooped it out and pressed it to Thero’s burn. As soon as it touched him, the wizard felt a wonderful coolness. The magical flower disappeared like mist against his skin, leaving that same sweet fragrance on the air. The burn was completely healed, except for a bit of shiny skin where it had been. Thero inspected it closely. “Amazing. And Seregil claims he brought Alec back from the dead with his tears.”

“Do you believe him?”

Thero gazed at the rhekaro, watching the nimbus of light around it shift and swirl. “Yes, I do.”

Micum lifted the rhekaro into his lap and wrapped a clean bit of rag around its cut finger. “Thank you, little one, whatever you are, for helping my friends.”

Sebrahn gazed up into Micum’s face for a moment, then curled up against his broad chest and closed its silver eyes. Micum cradled it gently, stroking its long hair as if it was one of his own children.

Thero stared into the fire for a long time, absently rubbing a thumb over the healed burn.

Micum and Thero kept watch by turns over the next two days and watched their friends grow stronger faster than they had any business doing. Alec fed the rhekaro several times a day, and now and then it would insist on making another of its flowers for him or Seregil.

During that time Micum had the story from both of them, and more than once, trying to piece together the series of events.

“So because you’ve got the northern ’faie blood in you, you were the only one this alchemist could use to make these rhekaro things?” asked Micum.

“That’s what Yhakobin said,” Alec replied, huddled in his blankets by the fire wtih Seregil.

“Ilar told me the same,” Seregil told them.

“And what about him? It sounds like he had a hand in all this, too, but I’ve never heard you speak of anyone by that name before.”

“I don’t speak of him,” Seregil muttered, looking away.

Alec caught Micum’s eye and shook his head slightly.

Now that they were stronger and alert, Thero told them what they’d learned in Virésse of Ulan í Sathil’s role in their kidnapping.

“Not Phoria?” asked Seregil, looking more disappointed than surprised.

“So it would seem.”

“Well, I don’t suppose he has any great love for me, considering. And he knows that since I’ve been cut off from my own people, they have no standing to take revenge against him for it. How much did you tell my sister, Thero?”

“Only that you and Alec have been found, and that you’re safe.”

Seregil glanced around the gully and gave him a wry look. “I don’t call this safe. Yhakobin is an important man, and claimed he was making the rhekaros for the Overlord himself. Sooner or later, someone else is going to come looking for us.”

Unfortunately, Seregil was soon proven right.

Thero was at the edge of the gully the following morning, watching the vultures circle, when he caught the distant jingle of harness and the muffled thud of galloping hooves. He sent out a wizard eye and discovered twoscore or more riders coming from the north, making straight for where they lay hidden. As they came closer, he saw for certain that they were soldiers, and that several men dressed in black were leading them. One of them drew Thero’s attention more than the others; even through the spell he could feel the cold, nasty energy of a necromancer.

He hurried back to the lean-to and smothered their small cooking fire with a spell.

“What’s going on?” asked Micum. Seregil crawled to the front of the lean-to, poniard in hand.

“Soldiers,” Thero told them.

“How many?”

“Too many.” Thero drew his wand and reinforced the obscuration spell he’d woven over the gully. To anyone outside it would look like level ground. “We should be safe unless someone accidentally falls down here.” Or unless their necromancer notices my magic, he thought, but chose not to worry the others for now. Seregil probably knew, anyway.

Alec joined Seregil at the mouth of the tent, one arm around Sebrahn, the other hand grasping his black dagger.

“Neither of you is strong enough to fight yet,” Micum warned.

“We’re not going to just sit here and let them take us,” Seregil replied. His eyes and Alec’s were haunted and dark with purpose.

“No one’s taking you,” Micum promised. “Stay here and save your strength until it’s needed.”

“Wait!” Alec pushed the rhekaro forward. “Go with them, Sebrahn. Protect my friends.”

The rhekaro went at once to Micum’s side.

“I’ll take all the help I can get,” Micum said, shouldering his bow and taking Sebrahn’s little hand in his.

Thero followed Micum back to the lip of the gully and watched the search begin.

“They have a necromancer with them.”

“I’d be more surprised if they didn’t.”

Some men dismounted to inspect what remained of the corpses while others, trackers most likely, fanned out in all directions. Micum had covered their tracks, but they still held their breath as several men started in their direction.

Micum reached for his quiver, but Thero stopped him. Then, forking two fingers at the men, he whispered a spell. A moment later, they wandered off in the opposite direction.

“What did you do?” whispered Micum.

“Just planted a thought or two. They’ll report that there’s nothing of interest in this direction.”

The ruse seemed to have done the trick, until a darkly clad figure broke from the group and strode in their direction, accompanied by several swordsmen. It was the necromancer, and he knew they were there. Thero could feel the man’s mocking gaze on him already. “It’s the rhekaro. It’s like a beacon to him! My magic can’t hide it. Stay down.”

Thero stood and cupped his hand in front of him. He spoke the spell for thunder and released it, feeling the magic leave his body in a great rush as a shock wave made the air in front of him ripple like water.

The spell struck down the swordsmen, but the necromancer was still standing, coat whipping around his legs.

“Orëska!” he called out. “Is that the best you have for me?”

Micum drew his bow and let fly. The arrow sped true, but shattered before it could find its mark.

“Save those for the soldiers. This one’s too powerful,” Thero snapped. He took a deep breath and summoned a fire spell. This one took an even greater toll; he would not be able to keep this up much longer, but he didn’t have much choice at this point. At his command, a wall of fire roared out, scorching a broad swath of ground as it went. This one was more far-reaching and was greeted with screams of pain and the terrified cries of horses.

But still more men came on, and the necromancer with them, flicking tongues of flame from his fingertips. He was close enough for Thero to see that he was grinning as he pointed a hand at the ground beside him.