Stalking Darkness

by Lynn Flewelling

  Where did they go? he wondered, letting his mind wander where it would.

  A better question: why do they go?

  His eyes widened as he stared up into the night sky. Every time Ashnazai had tormented him, on the ship and now, he did it without witnesses. This seemed to verify something Alec already suspected. Vargûl Ashnazai did not want anyone, especially Mardus, to know what he was up to.

  The following night there was no sign of Ashnazai. Huddled close to Thero’s sleeping form, Alec stared out into the shadows, bracing for whatever new horror was to come.

  The moon rose. The stars wheeled slowly past the branches, but nothing disturbed the surrounding stillness. A sweet spring breeze swept through the boughs, carrying to him the scents of resin, damp mosses, and tender green herbs sprouting from the forest loam. Closing his eyes, he imagined himself walking through those wooded hills with his bow as he had with his father. In spite of his fear, he drifted off and dreamed of hunting and forest trails and freedom.

  He was awakened by someone whispering his name. A dark figure stood next to the cart, beckoning him to the bars.

  Alec crouched warily. “What do you want?”

  “Alec, it’s me,” the man replied softly. He pushed his hood back and the moonlight struck his face.

  “Seregil!” Alec managed a choked whisper. Scrambling over, he thrust his hand out to his friend. Seregil clasped it and pressed it to his lips. He was real, solid, warm. Alec clung to him, heedless of the tears of relief rolling down his own cheeks. “I never thought— How did you find us?”

  Reaching through the bars, Seregil cupped Alec’s face in his hands. “No time to explain, talí. I’ve got to get you out of there.” Releasing Alec reluctantly, he went to the back of the cart to examine the lock.

  “Be careful. Vargûl Ashnazai put some kind of magic on it.”

  Seregil glanced up. “Who?”

  “The necromancer who was with Mardus in Wolde. And he’s not the only one around, either. They’ve got a dyrmagnos with them.”

  “Bilairy’s Balls! But there’s got to be some way. I’m not leaving you here!”

  Alec’s heart hammered in his chest as he watched Seregil inspect the lock. It was torture, being this close but still separated.

  “Ah, here’s something—” Seregil began, but just then torchlight flared behind him.

  “Seregil, look out!”

  Turning, they found Vargûl Ashnazai leering up at them, flanked by a half-dozen armed soldiers.

  “How clever of you to have found us,” the necromancer gloated. “I much appreciate your effort. And your boy played his part very convincingly, no?”

  Seregil shot Alec a startled look.

  It was the cruelest blow yet, that accusing look. It froze Alec’s throat, so that he could only shake his head imploringly.

  Seregil drew his sword and sprang from the wagon, away from Ashnazai’s men. But others were waiting for him in the shadows.

  Flinging himself against the bars, Alec watched with horror as Seregil fought for his life. He ran a guard through and slashed another across the neck before the others leapt at him from behind, knocking him to the ground and pinning him.

  The necromancer barked an order and they yanked Seregil to his feet. His face was bloody, but he held his head high and spat at the necromancer, eyes blazing with hate.

  Ashnazai gave another order. This time Seregil was dragged up into the bear cart and lashed hand and foot to the bars facing Alec.

  “I didn’t help him, I swear,” Alec whispered hoarsely. “Oh, Seregil, I—”

  “It doesn’t matter much—now,” Seregil growled, turning his face away.

  “Not in the least,” Ashnazai agreed, climbing into the cart behind him with Seregil’s sword in his hand. “It’s a pity you were cut, but then I’d hardly dare chance putting the two of you together again.” He grabbed Seregil by the hair, pulling his head back. “Who knows what mischief you’d make, eh?”

  Stepping back, he placed the point of the sword against the small of Seregil’s back and pushed slowly, twisting the blade.

  Seregil let out a strangled cry and grasped the bars. Alec reached through, grappling for the sword, but one of Ashnazai’s men pulled him away, holding him back as the necromancer drove the blade out through Seregil’s belly and then yanked it free.

  Seregil let out a harsh scream and sank to his knees. Struggling free, Alec caught at him, trying to hold him through the bars. He felt hot blood under his hands. More ran from the corner of Seregil’s mouth.

  Alec wanted to speak, but no words would come. Seregil looked at him, his wide grey eyes full of sorrow and recrimination.

  Pulling the dying man’s head back again, Ashnazai drew the blade across Seregil’s throat. More blood pumped from the severed arteries, spattering Alec’s face and chest.

  Seregil struggled weakly for a moment, his last breath gurgling horribly through the gaping wound. With a final spasm, he went limp, eyes open and vacant.

  Sobbing, Alec clung to his friend’s body until the soldiers cut it loose from the bars and dragged it from his grasp.

  Ashnazai looked down at him with disdain. “That was most enjoyable. Your turn comes soon, but not so mercifully. But then, you know that, I think.”

  It had been an illusion, just another of Ashnazai’s tricks.

  Alec repeated this over and over to himself as the cart rumbled north the next day.

  But the dried blood on his hands and clothing was real enough. So were the stains on the canvas ticking of the mattress and the wood at the back of the cart where Seregil had fallen.

  Seregil is dead.

  It was an illusion.

  Seregil is dead.

  It was—

  His grief was too deep for tears. It was so vast that it blotted out everything else. He couldn’t eat or sleep or take in his surroundings. Hunched in a corner of the cage, he clasped his hands around his knees and rested his head on them, shutting out the world.

  Seregil is dead.

  • • •

  As the flat, empty day wore on, Alec often felt Ashnazai’s gloating gaze on him, sipping at his anguish like wine. He kept his eyes averted, unable to bear the sight of that smug, satisfied smile. The necromancer bided his time, keeping his distance until the afternoon.

  “The guards tell me you eat and drink nothing all day,” he said, riding beside him.

  Alec ignored him.

  “Too bad not to keep up your strength,” Ashnazai went on airily. “Perhaps a diversion will cheer you. The scouts found a cave where we will make camp. After so many days of this cage—so drafty, so many eyes looking—a snug cave will be nice for you, eh? It will be most, how do you say—?” He paused. “Most cozy.”

  His parting laugh left no doubt that something particularly unpleasant was in the offing. Alec shivered, partly out of dread, partly from a sudden burst of excitement. This could be his final chance for escape.

  He gazed out over the ocean, trying to imagine how many miles lay between him and Rhíminee.

  Nysander was dead.

  Seregil was dead.

  Cilla. Diomis. Thryis. Rhiri.

  The names fell like stones against his heart. If he couldn’t get away tonight, then he’d just as soon die trying.

  Sometimes total despair was the best substitute for hope.

  The column halted for the night at the base of a small cliff surrounded by forest. Below the road, the ground fell way sharply to sea-washed ledges.

  By this point, Alec had taken stock of his limited options. Somewhere to the north lay the Mycenian border. If he did manage to get free tonight, it was the only direction worth going. If he followed the coast, it improved his chances of meeting friendly forces. It meant fleeing with Thero in tow and Mardus close behind, but if he could elude him, stay concealed and some distance ahead, then maybe they had a chance. If not, he’d put up a fight.

  When the column showed signs of stopping for the night he quickly
transferred the precious nail from the seam of his tunic into his mouth and stood at the bars, watching. The wagoneer drove the bear cart some way apart from the main camp as usual, trundling to a halt at the ledges on the seaward side of the trail. Their position, Alec noted with growing hope, had the added advantage of being to the north of the main camp, which meant fewer pickets between him and freedom.

  Ashnazai was taking no chances. Half a dozen armed guards came to escort the prisoners to their new quarters. The cave was a rough, deep fissure beneath a shelf of ledge overlooking the sea. It was damp, but large enough for a man to stand up in. A stout iron staple had been driven into a crack in the back wall and two lengths of heavy chain hung from it.

  One of the guards asked something in Plenimaran. The necromancer answered at some length and his men laughed, then looped the end of a chain around Alec’s neck and secured it with a padlock.

  “He asked if I wished you shackled by the leg,” Ashnazai told Alec. “I told him, ‘An animal will chew off a limb to escape a trap but I think even this clever young thief cannot chew off his own head.’ ”

  Still chuckling darkly at the voron’s little joke, the guards chained Thero in the same fashion while Vargûl Ashnazai looked on with obvious satisfaction.

  “That should hold you nicely,” he said, giving the staple a final tug. “I suggest you waste no effort in trying to free yourself from these bonds. Even if you did somehow manage to do so, you would find your way blocked by things more dangerous than chains or guards. Rest now, while you can.” Favoring Alec with another sly, repulsive smile, he added, “Our time together grows short. I look forward to making this a memorable evening for us all.”

  Hatred welled up in Alec’s throat like bile. Ashnazai was only a few feet away, well within the reach of the chain—Alec clenched his fists at his sides and mumbled, “I won’t forget you anytime soon.”

  Ashnazai followed the guards out through the low opening, then turned and wove a series of symbols in the air in front of it. He walked away out of sight, but Alec could see at least two guards stationed outside. They spoke among themselves in low, bantering voices, their shadows passing across the entrance as they kindled a watch fire and settled down to the night’s vigil.

  With one eye on the entrance, Alec spat the nail out into his hand and set to work. First he examined the lock they’d used on Thero’s chain. It was large and sturdy, but he recognized the design as one of only moderate complexity.

  With the proper tool, he amended mentally. The nail was not a particularly delicate instrument for such work, but it did fit inside the keyhole. Closing his eyes, he gently worked it in against the wards until he felt them give way. There were four in all; it took several tense minutes to jigger them, but at last the lock fell open in his hand. He left the curved link holding Thero’s chain in place. Anyone coming in for a quick look would be none the wiser so long as it was turned around to the back of his neck. He did the same with his own, then turned his attention to Thero’s other restraints.

  The lock at the back of the branks was too small for his crude pick. Shifting Thero into the faint light from the watch fire, he inspected the iron wristbands.

  They were seamless, presumably put on by magic. Though too snug to slip off over Thero’s hands, they turned easily on his bony wrists. Alec could easily slip a finger into the space between arm and band.

  Perhaps, he smiled darkly to himself, the bands had been tighter before two weeks of abuse and scant rations had taken their toll. Apparently no one, not even Mardus, had taken that into account.

  Looking up, he found Thero staring at him. It sent a chill over his heart. Irtuk Beshar had made a speaking puppet of the wizard before; who was it now, looking at him out of those foggy eyes?

  “Thero,” he whispered, taking one of the man’s cold hands in his own. “Do you know me? Can you understand what I say?”

  Thero gave no sign of understanding, but his gaze did not waver.

  Alec shook his head, hardening his resolve. They had nothing to lose and everything to gain. If the dyrmagnos was spying on him through Thero’s eyes and alerted Mardus, then he’d just shed a little of his own blood and force their hand tonight.

  “I’ve had enough, Thero. I’m done going along like a sheep to slaughter,” he went on softly, tearing a strip from his tunic and tucking it around the mouth plate of the branks. Thero offered no resistance as Alec moved the crude gag into place.

  “You need to keep quiet no matter what happens next, all right? You hear? No matter what, don’t make a sound.”

  Alec stood up and grasped Thero’s thumbs firmly. Placing his foot against the young wizard’s chest, he took a deep breath and yanked the thumbs with all his strength, twisting sharply as he pulled. He’d seen Seregil do this trick, but had never had the nerve or opportunity to try it himself.

  To his mingled relief and amazement, both joints dislocated cleanly on the first attempt. Thero’s thin hands folded in on themselves with sickening ease, allowing Alec to work the bands off. There was no time for gentleness; fortunately whatever magicks kept Thero dazed held until the second band was off. As it slipped free, he gave a soft, strangled groan and curled forward against Alec’s knees, holding his limp hands to his chest.

  Resetting the joints proved less easy. Alec could feel the bones skating around under the skin as he pulled and strained, trying to seat the bones back in their sockets. He could hear Thero’s breath whistling harshly around the gag as he fought not to cry out. Both of them were drenched with sweat by the time the job was done.

  “Damnation!” Thero whimpered, still biting down on the mouth plate.

  “Not so loud,” Alec pleaded, holding Thero’s head against his chest to muffle any cries. His own stomach was doing a slow lurch of its own. “I’m sorry, it was the only way. Are you free of it?”

  Thero nodded. “Saw, ’eard everythin’. Couldn’t move— Saw every—”

  “So did I,” Alec told him, patting his shoulder. “We’ve got to forget that for now, while we figure out how to get away from here. What about these, though?” He pointed to the wristbands, unwilling to touch them again. “Can the necromancers tell you’re not wearing them?”

  Thero sat up. “Don’ know. ’magos work.”

  “What about your magic?”

  Before Thero could answer, they heard the warning sounds of the guards moving around outside. Alec’s heart sank as he listened to their footsteps fading away.

  Thero hid the wristbands in the shadows behind him. Alec moved a few feet away, out of the light.

  This is it, he thought coldly, rising to his feet. Whatever happens, this is it.

  A moment later Ashnazai entered carrying a small lantern. The sudden light stung Alec’s eyes and he looked away, noting as he did that Thero sat half-turned to the wall, wrists out of sight in his lap.

  Ignoring the young wizard, Vargûl Ashnazai closed in on Alec. “I trust you’re prepared for the evening’s entertainment?”

  There was a mad possessiveness in his manner; not even the fear of Mardus was going to get in the way of whatever obscene pleasures he intended to grant himself tonight. The man’s raw hatred was a palpable force in the confines of the cave. Trapped in the gaze of those hungry black eyes, Alec suddenly felt his plans of escape turning to dust in his hands.

  “What about the guards?” Alec managed, his voice a hollow whisper. He was grasping at straws and they both knew it.

  Ashnazai set the lantern on the floor beside him and pulled off his gloves. “They’re of no concern. No sound will be heard beyond these walls until I choose to allow it. And even if it did, who would rush to your aid? Duke Mardus, perhaps? How fond he is of you! Almost as fond as I, but distracted just now by practical concerns. Fortunately, I have no task at the moment except you.

  “Ah, I have been patient,” he crooned, raising one pale hand to stitch a spell pattern on the air. “How I have waited for such a moment as this.”

  “So have
I, necromancer!”

  Alec scarcely had time to realize that the harsh, ragged voice was Thero’s before he was blinded by a brilliant explosion of light. A screech of rage or pain rang out, but Alec couldn’t tell which of them it came from.

  Blinking away the black spots dancing across his eyes, Alec saw the twisted remains of the branks lying on the ground at Thero’s feet. He also saw with alarm that whatever spell Thero had cast, it had only wounded Ashnazai, and not nearly enough. Bloodied but still standing, the necromancer rounded on Thero, hands raised for another attack.

  Tearing the open lock off, Alec pulled chain from around his neck. Grasping a length of it in both hands, he sprang at Ashnazai, got the chain around the necromancer’s throat, and yanked it tight.

  Vargûl Ashnazai writhed like a huge serpent, tearing at the chain. Alec pulled it tighter and dragged him to the ground. He’d never strangled anything before, but rage proved a willing teacher. Nothing existed except the feeling of power coursing through his body as he braced a knee against the necromancer’s back and hauled the chain tighter until it cut into the flesh of his hands and the necromancer’s throat.

  “This is for Seregil, you son of a bitch!” he snarled. “For what you did to Cilla and Thryis and Rhiri and Diomis and Luthas and Thero. And me!”

  He yanked the chain back and heard bones snap. Ashnazai went limp under him, head lolling.

  Alec pushed him onto his back and stared into the hated face. Ashnazai’s tongue protruded from his foam-flecked lips. His bulging eyes were wide with agony and surprise.

  Satisfied, Alec pulled the ivory vial from the necromancer’s neck and hung it around his own. Whatever this was, no one was going to use it against him again.

  “We’ve got to get out of here now,” Thero warned, still weak and breathless. “That spell, the attack— We’ve got to go before the guards come back!”

  “What about the warding spells he cast on the entrance?” Alec asked, helping the wizard to his feet.

  Thero was shaky, but determined. “They were dispelled when you killed him.”

  “Good.” Vargûl Ashnazai was nothing more to him than forgotten carrion now. Turning his back on the body, he extinguished the lantern, then crept to the mouth of the cave.