Chasers of the Wind (20 page)

“Mols, Mols. I’m fed up with working for him. Damn.… This is so stupid! Don’t we have our own brains?” This time no one encouraged him. Bamut grumbled to himself for a little while and then asked, “Am I to understand that we can’t get past the Morts? Even with Gray and his woman?”

“That took you a whole week to get, did it? I talked to Ness the same day the necromancer came here. We could overwhelm the Morts. But the necromancer would find out about it.”

Bamut finally shut up. Shen went back to his dozing. Whip and Midge started to play dice. Only when it was time for lunch did they walk over to the part of the house where Ness and Layen lived.

Seeing provisions and weapons strewn out over the table instead of the food they’d become accustomed to over the past several days, Shen asked breathlessly, “What’s all this?”

“We’re leaving,” replied Ness grudgingly, stuffing his axe into his belt.

“Right now?” Whip blurted out.

“Yes.”

“Have you lost your minds?”

“No one asked you.” Layen was frantically stuffing things into a pack. “You can stay here ’til hell freezes over. The house is entirely at your disposal.”

“Tell me what’s going on,” said Whip darkly. “Ness, at first you were playing it safe, and now you’re fleeing in the light of day! Do you think the Morts and the sorcerer will simply let you leave?”

“I know only one thing,” snarled Gray, taking a quiver with arrows out from under the table. “If we don’t leave now, we are never leaving. And the necromancer and those creatures of his will seem like child’s play to us.”

“And who is it that’s going to come down on our heads?”

“I don’t know.”

“Perfect!” Shen snorted angrily.

“Where did you get this information?” asked Whip, scowling.

“Layen sensed it.”

The leader scratched his chin. It was a serious claim. Ness’s girl didn’t panic so easily. He needed very little time to come to a decision.

“We’ll go with you.”

“Have you lost your wits? We’re going to stick our necks out because of something she saw in a dream?” Bamut demanded of his leader, flabbergasted. “Damn.… I’m not taking a step away from here.”

“It’s you who’s lost his wits!” disdainfully spat Midge, who also saw to the heart of things quickly. “It’s not just about her seeing things. Have you forgotten those animals howling under our window last night? I’m with you, Whip.”

“Shen?”

He stretched languidly and shrugged. “I suppose I’ll keep you company,” drawled the healer.

“We’re too late!” Layen did not say the words; she moaned them as her face turned white.

The necromancer was entering the yard.

*   *   *

I wanted to smack myself about the head for my own stupidity. I had sensed that we needed to flee earlier, at the very moment the Sdisian first dropped by to see us. I sensed it. But because of my own caution and stupidity I sat in my lair to the bitter end. What was I waiting for? I didn’t even know myself. And this was the result. I just sat here, the Damned take me!

There’s no way we could escape now.

“Don’t panic.” I heard my voice as if someone else were talking. “Take everything off the table! Now!”

Thank Melot, this wasn’t the first time my former pals had found themselves in a tricky situation. They did not bother to contest my right to command them. They asked no questions and got down to business. Quickly and precisely.

“Layen, go into the other room.”

I won’t let him take me so easily!

And I won’t let him have you either!

I tossed Midge his knife. He caught it deftly and slipped it into the top of his boot. I hope the little rat will be able to use it if we get pinned down.

I quickly glanced around at my troops. They had skillfully positioned themselves around the room—they were Giiyans, after all. They occupied all the most favorable spots. Midge sat by the door, and Whip was next to the stove. Shen was not far from the oven fork. And Bamut was standing by the window.

Steps rang out on the porch and then the necromancer entered. I disliked his face before, but today I wanted to punch it.

“Where is she?”

The Sdisian took no notice of Whip’s men. Not a very smart move, if you ask me. Especially if Midge is looming behind your back. If I found myself in such a situation, I’d be trying to grow eyes out the back of my head.

“Who?” I played the fool.

“Your wife. I’d advise against concealing her.”

“What’s she to you, sir? We haven’t done anything.”

“You have nothing to fear, carpenter. We simply want to talk to her.”

“And if she doesn’t want that?” I asked, somewhat rudely.

“Do you wish me to tear your house down around you?”

He was too sure of himself and he didn’t consider us a danger. Those who possess magic very often put ordinary people on the same level as animals. Big mistake. The lad clearly didn’t know that sometimes animals are dangerous to people. Especially rats. They bite when you’re least expecting it. Stealthily. Suddenly. Just like my friend Midge loves to do.

And just like he was doing right now. Obeying an almost unnoticeable sign from Whip, he went into action. For all my dislike of Midge, I was ready to kiss him. Regardless of what a brute he was, you could see he was a master from a league off.

It was so quick that I missed the moment when his knife migrated from his bootleg to his hand. The next second the Sdisian’s throat was slit open from ear to ear.

It turns out that killing a necromancer isn’t a speck more difficult than dispatching some fat merchant to the Blessed Gardens. For a moment it was as if a stupor fell over all of us. And then the usual frenzy of battle set in. I hurled my axe at a Mort who appeared on the threshold. I hit him, but unfortunately I did not kill him.

Whip, who had armed himself with the heavy wooden bench, smashed it into the wounded creature’s face with all his strength, causing him to fly backward out the door. He slammed the door shut before the four remaining Morts had time to get to us.

No more than five seconds had passed since we’d attacked the White.

“Layen!” I bellowed.

My sun was already next to me. She handed me my bow and quiver, and then she rushed to help Midge. He was sitting on top of the still living sorcerer and repeatedly stabbing him with his knife. The white silk robe had turned red. The face and hands of the Giiyan were covered in the other man’s blood but this did not disconcert him at all. Better to be befouled than to give the necromancer the chance to speak an incantation.

Layen took the staff that the necromancer had dropped on the floor, thrust the sharp end of it into the body of her enemy, and twisted it. The sorcerer shuddered and finally died.

“Ready!” Midge quickly liberated the saber from the corpse. He tossed his prize to Whip, who completely forgot about the bench once he had his hands on the blade.

“Bamut, in the other room, under the bed,” I said. “There’s a crossbow and the bolts are…”

I didn’t even have time to finish speaking before he was rushing for the weapon.

One of the Morts decided to come in through the window without stopping to think. There he encountered Shen and the oven fork. He struck at the Mort’s face, nearly got hit by the creature’s skeem, jumped backward, and jabbed it in the gut. That time he was successful. The time had come for me to do a little work. The first arrow sliced clean through the neck of the most persistent of these warriors of the Waste. The second hit his comrade in the face. Everything was suddenly quiet.

Bamut returned. His pockmarked face was shining with happiness. And really, how could it be otherwise? He’d finally been reunited with his closest friend—the crossbow. Whip’s henchman was quite a good shot with that thing, so I was sure we’d work well together when it came time to shoot. Just as long as we had enough arrows and bolts. I had five regular arrows, another two were serrated, and five more with narrow heads that could pierce armor. It really wasn’t enough, but there was nothing I could do about that. All my reserves were in the shed, but we couldn’t make it there now.

“That’s how you take down sorcerers.” Midge’s ratlike face was covered in blood. “He’s deader than dead.”

“You’re mistaken.” Layen turned toward the assassin, and he shrank back in shock. He was right to be afraid. My sun’s eyes were blazing with blue flame. She was harnessing her spark. “They’re trying to revive him.”

“Who?” blurted Shen.

“The one I’m afraid of. Hold the door. I need time.” She picked up the Sdisian’s staff with two hands and the top suddenly flashed, began to change shape, to dwindle. The skull transformed from a man’s to a woman’s and opened its gaping mouth.

*   *   *

Tia immediately sensed that somewhere nearby a person had died, but she didn’t give it any special consideration. How should she know who it might be? Peasants have been dropping like flies since the dawn of time. Some from hunger, some from illness, some from drunkenness. It’s hardly surprising, with the life they led. So when her inherent, feminine curiosity finally got the better of her laziness, it was almost too late.

She immediately felt the silvery filaments of the necromancer’s soul, vibrating like a string. It was about to flow away into the Abyss.

There was no time to be astonished or to guess what had happened. Without a moment’s hesitation, the Damned seized the filaments, trying not to let them leave this world. She succeeded. Now she had to return them to his body and attach them to the dead shell in time. She still had uses for the sorcerer.

Typhoid began slowly and carefully drawing the silver strings back, simultaneously weaving a complex incantation that would allow her to relinquish her hold without fear of losing the soul.

She almost succeeded. When all that remained were a few short tugs on his soul, the Damned was rudely interrupted. The blow to her hold was so strong and sudden that, not expecting anything of the kind, Tia momentarily lost control of her own magic. Just for a brief minute her grip weakened and the essence of the Elect, captured with such difficulty, flowed like water through her fingers. And then it was gone.

Roaring with rage and frustration, Typhoid leaped from the bathtub.

*   *   *

“It’s done!” sighed Layen.

She faltered and I grasped her by the elbow to keep her from falling over.

“He very nearly stood up! With that slit throat! Did you see that?” Bamut’s hands were visibly shaking and his voice was hoarse.

“We saw,” replied Shen gloomily. All his mockery and spite had melted away in an instant. His face was serious and even the oven fork in his hands no longer seemed comical. “What else can we expect from your hobgoblin?”

“Anything at all. Now he knows about us. I can’t hold out against him for long.”

“Shouldn’t we get to the forest?” asked Midge, wiping off his face with the white tablecloth taken from the table.

“We’re going to try,” I replied, calculating our line of retreat. The best bet was probably to go along our street to the bridge and then past the mill. The forest was very close there. It wouldn’t be hard to get lost in it. The main problem was getting out of the village.

“Stop gossiping!” The voice of Whip, who was standing by the window, brought me back to earth. The Morts were rallying.

I reached for my quiver but Layen tossed her head wrathfully.

“Don’t waste your arrows. Let me. We’ll make a break for the forest. Whip! Heads up!”

He didn’t need to be asked twice. He quickly ducked to the side. My sun spun the staff over her head, pointed it at the door, and cried out in a guttural voice, “Rragon-rro!”

The skull howled deafeningly. Bamut, forgetting about his crossbow, fell facedown onto the floor. The house shook so hard that for a moment my vision darkened.

*   *   *

“Ha!” exclaimed Luk, who was lying near the window, as he grabbed Ga-Nor by the sleeve of his shirt. “Ha!”

Even from so far away, it was obvious that something out of the ordinary was happening on the other side of the village. The roof of one of the houses flew a good twenty yards up into the air and then crashed down in the neighboring vegetable patch. Then the view was obscured by a cloud of dust rising up to the sky.

*   *   *

The sudden burst of power caused Tia to swear in surprise. She even stopped getting dressed. She just froze on the spot. Wet and half-naked.

What was happening right now seemed impossible. Oh, that necromancer! It’s too bad they’d killed him; otherwise she would have done it herself. How could that ignoramus not have noticed how powerful a prodigy that peasant woman was!

The nameless woman was strong. The Damned had not expected to find such a vivid spark in this wilderness. Judging from the magical echo, this peasant could hold her own with many of the Walkers. In addition, the fool had an uncommon mastery over her own talent, because very few people could take control of someone else’s staff and weave their Gift around magic of a different persuasion. But this one dexterously toyed with the power of Death. A real talent. A woman like that needed to be nourished and cherished. Or killed, so she could capture that spark for herself.

Typhoid took the pins out of her hair, causing both her braids to slap down onto her wet back. She tossed the costly trifles onto the floor without so much as a look, and quickly pulled on her skirt. Of course, she could attack from here, but that would be the same as shooting blindly. She’d either miss her mark or kill the woman outright. No. She would catch this bitch alive and question her properly. She must have had a teacher. Without the proper knowledge and preparation, it was impossible to overwhelm a khilss
(a staff of a necromancer. This magical artifact is the result of a succession of complex magical rituals and is a half-dead, half-living object. Its magic can only be aroused if its master unites his soul with the staff and imbues it with a portion of his Gift and vital force. The head of the staff takes on the form of the skull of whoever is master of the khilss at a given moment)
. And when she knew everything, she’d take that power for herself.