Stalking Darkness

by Lynn Flewelling

  No other prisoners remained. Alec and Thero had been given proper clothing before being brought on deck, and their hands were bound securely behind their backs.

  Thero moved like a sleepwalker, obeying simple commands, moving when ordered. Otherwise he remained motionless, his expression betraying nothing of what thoughts, if any, were going on within. The seamless iron bands on his wrists glinted softly in the torchlight as he moved, the unreadable characters incised into their burnished surfaces lined black with shadow.

  That’s the secret, Alec thought, convinced that these, rather than the branks, were the source of their enemies’ control over Thero. If he could get those off somehow—

  There was considerable activity on deck. Irtuk Beshar and the other necromancers stood together at the base of the platform, talking quietly among themselves as their traveling trunks were brought up from below and stacked by the rail.

  Captain Tildus and a few of his men went ashore in a longboat, returning quickly with some news. Although Alec couldn’t understand what they were saying, it was clear that Mardus was pleased with Tildus’ report. When they’d finished, the captain shouted out a command and the sailors hurried to ready the rest of the ship’s longboats for departure.

  Mardus crossed the deck to where Alec and Thero still stood with their guards. “We’ll be continuing our journey by land from here,” he told Alec. “Thero is suitably restrained and I expect no difficulty from him. You, however, are another matter.” He paused, and the scar beneath his left eye deepened as he smiled. “You’ve already proved yourself a slippery customer and once ashore you will no doubt be tempted to escape. I promise you, it would be a futile effort, and the consequences would be extremely unpleasant, but not fatal.”

  “More unpleasant than having my chest hacked open with an ax?” Alec muttered, glaring up at him.

  “Immeasurably so.” Mardus’ eyes were depthless as the night sky, and as enigmatic. Turning on his heel, he strode away to oversee his men.

  Shivering in spite of his warm clothing, Alec looked back at the comet glimmering on the lip of the world. This might not be the night for the final ceremony, but it couldn’t be far off now. Whatever schedule Mardus was following, this comet was clearly a significant indicator.

  Somewhere on that dark shore lay their destination, and his death.

  It was only a short dash to the rail, he thought. If he moved quickly he could dodge the guards, take them by surprise, leap over.

  And then what? Alec could almost see Seregil frowning impatiently at him from the shadows. Assuming that you could swim with your hands tied, there are probably only about two hundred soldiers over there, not to mention at least one necromancer. Or were you just planning to take a nice deep breath down there in the blackness?

  And where, by the way, would any of that leave Thero?

  Alec clenched his fists as desperation threatened to overwhelm him again. He wasn’t ready to die, and he knew he couldn’t abandon Thero. He had no idea how much of this whole business, if any, was actually the young wizard’s fault; Thero’s garbled confession had been too enmeshed in Irtuk’s manipulations for Alec to give it full credence, though the doubt in his own mind was real enough. But guilty or not, he wouldn’t leave him behind.

  “You go now,” one of his guards ordered, prodding him toward the last longboat.

  It was too late to do anything but obey. Illior and Dalna, gods of my parents, I beg your aid, he prayed silently, moving forward.

  As he neared the rail, he caught sight of something lying half hidden in the shadow of a bulkhead in his path, something he’d long since given up all hope of finding.

  A nail.

  Two inches long, square forged and slightly bent with use, it lay in plain view less than five feet from where he stood.

  For one awful moment Alec was certain the guards had seen it, too, that someone was sure to snatch it away if he so much as glanced back at it. Perhaps Mardus himself had dropped it there, as a last cruel test.

  There was only one way to find out.

  The guard pushed him again, less gently this time. Alec pretended to stumble, then fell flat on his face.

  He landed hard, but when he opened his eyes the nail was within an inch of his nose. Shifting as if he were struggling to get up, he quickly rolled over the nail, caught it with his lips and teeth, and had it safely stowed in his cheek by the time the guards pulled him to his feet.

  It was as simple as that.

  “What’s all the fuss about down there?” Beka asked, joining the scouts on the crest of the hill overlooking the Plenimaran camp.

  The Plenimaran column had headed steadily north since Beka and her riders began shadowing them. After three days they’d stopped on this lonely stretch of plain overlooking the Inner Sea. Beka and her people kept their distance, using their Plenimaran-shod horses for closer scouting so as to leave no enemy hoofprints to betray their presence.

  For the past two days the Plenimarans had remained there with no apparent purpose. Just before sundown, however, a Plenimaran warship had sailed in from the west and dropped anchor.

  “Looks like someone from the ship is putting ashore,” Rhylin said, squinting into the last glare of sunset. “I don’t know what all the hoorah is, though. They’re all yelling and waving torches back and forth.”

  “Maybe that’s it,” Kallas whispered suddenly, pointing to the sky.

  Looking up, the others saw a fiery streak of light moving slowly up the sky from the eastern horizon.

  “Maker’s Mercy, a plague star!” Jareel muttered, making a warding sign.

  “I’d take that for an omen if ever there was one,” Rhylin said, making a sign of his own. “If that’s what they’re cheering about down there, then I don’t like it.”

  Beka had never seen a comet, yet the sight of this one brought with it a strange feeling of recognition similar to the one she’d experienced when she’d first heard the sound of the surf a few nights before. This time it was stronger, more unsettling. There was also a vague impression of—rightness.

  “Lieutenant?”

  Beka turned to find the others regarding her solemnly in the failing light.

  “Could you make out any insignia on the ship?” she asked.

  “She was running without colors,” Rhylin replied. “We didn’t see any cargo come off her, either, just people. What do we do now?”

  “We could go down for a closer look once it gets dark,” Steb suggested hopefully.

  “Urgazhi style, quick in, quick out,” urged Rhylin, taking his part.

  Beka considered their limited options carefully before answering. She shared their frustration, knew how badly they wanted to make a move. More than once in the days since they’d been dogging the column they’d caught glimpses of Gilly and Mirn among the crowd of prisoners, staggering along under the weight of the planks nailed across their shoulders. In the end, however, it still boiled down to the fact that they were just fourteen against a hundred or more.

  She shook her head slowly. “Not yet. If they don’t move out tomorrow I’ll reconsider, but I can’t afford to lose any more of you. For now we wait and if they move north again tomorrow, we’ll follow.”

  Steb turned away angrily, and several others groaned.

  “I guess nobody’ll be going by ship!” exclaimed Rhylin, gesturing toward the sea again.

  The anchored vessel was on fire. As they watched in amazement, the rigging caught fire and sheets of flame spread to the sails.

  “Bilairy’s Balls, they scuttled her!” Jareel gasped. “A fire couldn’t spread that quickly unless someone meant for it to. What the hell are they up to?”

  Beka settled cross-legged on the grass, watching the reflection of the flames dancing across the water. “I guess we’ll just have to stick with them until we find out.”

  The following morning Alec’s guards woke him at dawn and led him to an iron cage mounted in the back of a small cart, the sort strolling players used to
transport their trained animals. A thick mattress covered the floor of it, and there was a canvas awning over the top, but it still stank faintly of its former occupants.

  Thero was already inside, seated cross-legged in the far corner. Like Alec, his hands were no longer tied, and he’d been allowed to keep his tunic and cloak.

  “What a mangy pair of bear cubs,” Ashnazai sneered, coming up to the bars behind Alec.

  Alec moved away from him, although there wasn’t really anywhere to go; the cage was only ten feet on a side.

  “Lord Mardus is very busy now that we have landed, so I will be looking after you now,” the necromancer went on.

  He wrapped his hands around two of the bars, and Alec saw blue sparks dance over the iron, as if the cage had been struck by lightning. He jumped in alarm, and Ashnazai smiled his thin, unpleasant smile. In the clear light of the morning sun, his skin had a damp, unhealthy look, like the flesh of a toadstool.

  “Don’t you fear, dear Alec. My magic won’t hurt you. Not unless you try to get out. And of course, you are far too intelligent to do anything so foolish.”

  Still smiling, he walked away. He looked like a winter scarecrow as the wind off the sea tugged at his dusty brown robe.

  Hatred boiled in Alec’s veins. Never in his life had he wanted so badly to kill a man. When Ashnazai disappeared beyond a row of tents, Alec turned his attention to the camp around him.

  The back of the cart afforded a good view. From up here he could see the ranks of small white tents belonging to the soldiers and the herd of horses staked out beyond. The column that had met them on shore had at least fifty riders, as well as a crowd of people who were not in uniform and had the look of prisoners, although he was too far away to be certain. They had slept in the open under the watchful eye of swordsmen and archers. Mardus had brought at least a score of men of his own, making it a formidable force, all in the black uniforms of the marines. Going to the other side of the cage, he could see the smoking remains of the Kormados lying in the shallows like the skeleton of some wretched leviathan. What happened to her crew? he wondered. They’d even burned the longboats.

  He didn’t recognize the pair of soldiers who brought him breakfast a short time later. He spoke to them in the hope that they spoke some Skalan. If they did, they didn’t let on. Giving him a scornfully direct look, they passed some remark between them, spat on the ground, and walked off a few paces to join the other guards assigned to watch him.

  Alec hadn’t really expected better from them. Sitting down beside Thero, he put a bit of bread in the young wizard’s hand. When Thero did nothing, Alec said, “Eat.”

  Thero raised the bread to his mouth and took a bite. Crumbs fell into his beard as he slowly chewed and swallowed. Alec brushed them off and gave him a cup of water.

  “Drink,” he ordered wearily.

  The column formed up at midday and set off north along the coast. The northwest coast of Plenimar was wild, rugged country. The track they followed wound in and out of swamps, meadows, and forests of pine and oak, always with the shadow of mountains on their right and the sea in sight on their left. The farther north they moved, the more forbidding the coastline became. Rocky shingle gave way to red granite ledges and cliffs. A cold, constant wind sighed through the trees, stirring the twisted branches of the jack pines and bringing Alec the sweet scents of the forest. It was colder here than in Skala, but he guessed that it must be sometime in mid-Lithion by now.

  The nail was his talisman, his one remaining secret and symbol of hope. It was too large to keep in his mouth without attracting notice, but he didn’t dare let it out of his possession, even to hide it in the mattress tick. Instead, he pierced it securely into the folds of his clothing. Recalling the incident on the ship, he was careful to keep it hidden from Thero, in case the necromancers or dyrmagnos decided to use the wizard to spy on him again.

  So, keeping it hidden as best he could, Alec bided his time, waiting for some opportunity to present itself. Guards surrounded the cart day and night, but even without their presence he’d have hesitated to attempt picking the lock; Ashnazai’s little warning demonstration with the bars suggested that such an effort would be futile and probably dangerous. It was a frustrating situation. He recognized the type of lock securing the door and knew the nail would have been more than adequate for the job.

  It was clear from the first that Vargûl Ashnazai was relishing his new commission. He had none of Mardus’ deceptive smoothness, but contented himself with riding along beside the cart like a dour specter.

  Alec did his best to ignore him as the bear cart rolled and jounced northward along the rutted coastal trail. Nonetheless, he was often aware of the necromancer’s gloating gaze.

  Their first night on the road the column camped in the shelter of an ancient pine grove. The sound of surf was loud. Looking west past the huge, straight trunks, Alec could see the white spume of the waves as they thundered against the ledges. It reminded him of the sea sounds of his dreams, but it was not quite the same.

  As darkness fell, another cheer went up and he guessed that the comet must be visible again, although he couldn’t see up through the branches. Much later, he heard agonized screams in the darkness and knew that the sacrificial ritual was being carried out again somewhere nearby. Even the guards around the cart shifted uneasily and several made warding signs.

  The cries went on longer this time. Feeling cold and sick, Alec moved closer to Thero’s sleeping form and covered his head with his cloak.

  Less than a year before, a younger, more innocent Alec had lain awake all night in Asengai’s dungeon, trembling and weeping at every fresh cry that echoed from the torturer’s room.

  Weeks of death and torture in Mardus’ company had almost emptied him of such emotion. Pressing his hands over his ears, he drifted into a restless doze with the survivor’s uneasy prayer of relief: This time, at least, it wasn’t me.

  In his nightmare there was no invisible pursuer this time, only the hoarse screams leading him on, faster and faster. With tears of frustration coursing down his cheeks, he gripped the useless arrow shaft and ran until his chest ached. Rounding a corner, he staggered to a halt, his way blocked by a section of collapsed wall.

  A thrill of hope shot through him at the sight of the ray of sunlight streaming in through a jagged break high in the stonework. From outside came the familiar rush and rumble of surf.

  Clambering up the pile of broken stone, he squeezed out through the hole—

  —and found himself standing alone on a granite ledge surrounded by thick fog that shrouded the view on all sides. Overhead, the faint disk of the noonday sun burned through the mist.

  The crash of the surf was loud now, so loud that he couldn’t tell which direction it was coming from. If he moved too far, went the wrong direction in the mist, he’d surely fall off the ledge. Crouching low, he moved slowly along on all fours until his hands touched water. The waves surged around him suddenly, flipping him on his back and tumbling him across the rocks. When the foaming waters receded again, the ledges were covered for as far as he could see with corpses of drowned men and women, their blue-white skin gleaming in the shadowless light.

  The sea sound was fainter now, and over it Alec could hear harsh grunts and heavy, wet tearing sounds coming toward him in the fog. Terrified, naked, unarmed, he crouched among the corpses. Even the headless arrow was gone, carried off by the sea.

  Soon he caught sight of weird, humped forms moving among the dead. The grunting and snuffling grew louder, closer.

  Suddenly something grabbed him from behind in an icy grip, pulling him to his feet. Alec couldn’t turn his head far enough to see what it was, but the putrid stench that rolled off it made him gag.

  “Join the feast, boy,” a gloating, clotted voice whispered close to his ear.

  Struggling out of that loathsome grasp, Alec whirled to see what the creature was, but there was nothing there.

  “Join the feast!” the same voice
said again, still behind him no matter how fast he turned.

  Stumbling backward, he fell into a heap of bloated corpses. No matter how he struggled he couldn’t get up; every move enmeshed him more in a tangle of flaccid limbs.

  “Aura Elustri málrei!” he screamed, flailing wildly.

  “Join the feast!” the voice howled triumphantly.

  Then the sun went black.

  Alec jerked awake, still smelling the terrible death stench of the dream. A plump slice of moon visible through the branches told him it was still far from morning. Hugging his knees miserably, Alec took a deep breath, but the air smelled fouler every moment.

  “Oh, Alec, I’m so frightened!”

  Looking up in amazement, Alec saw Cilla crouched a few feet away. Illuminated by some ghostly inner light, she looked imploringly at him. Ghost or not, he was too relieved to see her whole again to be frightened.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked softly, praying she wouldn’t disappear as suddenly as she’d come.

  “I don’t know.” A tear slid slowly down her cheek. “I’ve been lost for so long! I can’t find Father or Grandmother anywhere. What’s happened, Alec? Where are we?”

  She looked so real that he took off his cloak and placed it around her shoulders. She pulled it around herself gratefully and leaned against him, feeling very solid and real. For a moment he simply knelt next to her, trying hard not to question her presence. At last, however, he pulled back a little and looked down at the top of her head resting against his chest.

  “Why did you come?” he asked again.

  “I had to,” she whispered sadly. “I had to tell you—”

  “Tell me what?”

  “How much I hate you.”

  Her voice was so soft, so gentle, that it took a moment for the import of her words to sink in.

  As his heart turned to lead in his chest, she said, “I hate you, Alec. It was your fault, even more than Seregil’s. They saw you, followed you. You led them to us. I’m glad you’re going to die.”