"So she's been stalking the throgs," Rathe finished. "The way she talked about them—I'm sure she wasn't acting. She hates them. So they'd be who the death magick is meant for."
"Hunting them like animals," Orvig said. "And collecting trophies." He looked troubled. "Vengeance can eat your soul."
"Orvig, she came and warned us. We'd have been wiped out if not for her. And she's all that's left of Adra," Rathe said. He shook his head. "Perhaps I'd seek revenge, if my folk were slain by throgs."
"Perhaps," the dwarf echoed. "But throgs controlling those beasts? That bothers me. They're warlike, but this kind of massacre—it's not typical for them. And you saw the runes—that's not magick for a normal throg shaman. Think. How many powerful magick-ers do we know?"
"It's not Kel," Rathe insisted.
"She's making supper, is she? You trust her cooking, boy?"
"Ask her, then," Rathe said, suddenly tiring of his friend's suspicions. Kel had saved their lives—why should she poison them? "If you think it's her, just go ahead and ask her."
"I'd rather eat," Orvig said. He sniffed the air. "I smell food. I think supper's on." He clapped Rathe on the shoulder. "You'd better be right, boy."
They ate outside the hut, on a thick-woven blanket that Kel had brought. It was still light out, although the sun was not long for the sky, and a cool breeze was blowing in from the east.
Kelandra served raw fish garnished with sliced vegetables and covered with a thick, pungent sauce. Rathe found the prospect less than appetizing, but it was a change from trail rations, and it tasted better than it smelled. Afterwards, he complimented Kel on her meal.
"I'm used to cooking without fire," Kel explained. "I catch the fish in a stream a mile from here. Sometimes Akeshi and I hunt together." Orvig's gaze strayed back to the door of the hut. Kel grinned nastily. "He frightened you! I forgot. But I left him sleeping. Don't worry. He won't harm you now."
"And you, lady?" said Orvig easily.
"You're no throg." She turned to face him, eyes hard. "Their Tse'Mara pets slew your sister, not so? Your enemy is mine, dwarf." Rathe winced.
"Maybe," said Orvig. "Yet I am not ready to make a pile of skulls." He paused. "Besides, Jhen may live."
"How so?" said Kel coldly, not looking up. She speared a fresh chunk of fish with her knife. "In their killing rage, the Tse'Mara take no prisoners. They leave only death."
"Blood," Orvig said. "Rathe said he spoke of the rune to you. It drives them to kill, does it not?"
"That's truth," muttered Kel, through a mouthful of fish. "The bloodrune binds them to hate the smell of human blood, so—oh!"
She met Orvig's gaze. "You could be right."
"Yes, maybe not dwarf blood." Orvig nodded. "So Rathe and I guessed."
"Could they have taken her?" Rathe asked.
"It's possible," Kel admitted. "They took no prisoners here, nor at Gothmeg. But I really don't know."
"You told Rathe you were watching Seth's caravan," Orvig said. "Did you... " He stopped.
Kel's snake had left the hut and slithered toward them.
Kel darted a glance at Orvig. She smiled slightly, then scooped the snake into her arms. "Be still, Akeshi," she said. "You were say-ing?"
"Thank you," said Orvig. "You saw no sign of Jhen?"
"No," she said. "I did not see the battle. I'd been hunting near Gothmeg when I came upon tracks leading northeast. I read the signs, and guessed they were made by two or three dozen throgs and perhaps a score of Tse'Mara."
"Did you see where they went?"
"I followed them for the rest of the day. But that night, I saw wings against the moon. A dozen Tse'Mara had turned back south." She shrugged. "I made a choice. I'd gone far from Adra already. And I wanted to see what they were hunting, so I turned back also." She looked at Rathe.
"You hadn't found the massacre yet?" Rathe asked.
"No. But the rains came then, and the Tse'Mara went to ground. They don't like to fly in wet weather. It was then that I found the slaughterground and saw you two and the warrior-girl atop the hill. I listened to your speech, and when you spoke of the weapons and loot being gone, I knew it was your folk the Tse'Mara and throgs had slain, ere they went north. But for some reason they were back. I guessed they'd come to hunt you."
The girl shuddered as she remembered. "Yes, the Whispering Death were watching you, Rathe, though you didn't see them. They were there in the wood as you buried your dead. They stalked your warband as you marched southward and made camp. After the rain stopped and night fell, I knew they would attack before dawn. So I warned you." She reached out and, to Rathe's surprise, traced the scar on his forehead. "But I was almost too late."
"It was well for us that you did," Rathe said. He frowned as a thought struck him. "But you're saying the throgs were moving north, and then suddenly they decided to send their creatures back south—almost as if they received word that we were coming."
"It's odd," said Kel. "I hadn't thought of that part. But I saw no scouts..."
"Magick," interjected Orvig suddenly. "Whoever controlled the creatures was warned of our coming. By magick."
"To see across the miles?" said Kel. She stared into space, absently stroking her familiar. "It would take a powerful magick."
"The runes of Ithark, lady?" said Orvig. "Would they have the power?"
The snake hissed. "So you know," Kel said coldly. "You took time to search my hut, then?"
"And recognized the rune-spear and the Ithark bones." admitted Orvig. "Strong runes, Kelandra of Adra. Deadly runes. How came you by them?"
The truce is over, Rathe thought.
Kel's green eyes flashed and she leaned forward, staring directly at Orvig. "I owe no answer to you, dwarf!" she said. "Yes, I am rune-wise. I could have—" she paused. "I was to be my people's shaman." She narrowed her eyes. "Nor am I the only one here with magick. What of the talisman Rathe bears?"
"My ring?" Rathe said. "You mentioned it earlier. What of it?"
"It seemed familiar," she said. "I'm not sure why." She shrugged. "But I know it is a thing of power. Am I right? Are there runes upon it?"
"Yes," Rathe said. "Fine lines carved in the jewel, hard to see." He paused. "The rune reminded me of something."
"Rathe—" said Orvig warningly.
"The blood-rune on the Tse'Mara?" Kelandra guessed. She studied Rathe's face. "I thought as much."
"How did you know?" Rathe asked.
"You think we had something to do with the beasts?" Orvig demanded.
"If it's true, I'd have reason, would I not?" she said. She glared at Orvig. "Greater reason than you had to accuse me." She squatted down next to Rathe. "But I don't. May I?"
Kelandra took his wrist in her hands, holding it up to the light, studying the ring's black depths without touching it. "Cats! You're right, it's too dark to read the finer marks. We'll have to wait until morning." She glared at the setting sun. "Khull-Khuum, never there when you need him, always there when you don't."
"Hold hard," Rathe said. "I just remembered." He got up, and looked around for his pack, found it just inside the hut. He opened it and removed the pen-and-ink sketch he had made for Orvig. He passed it over to Kel.
She unfolded it gingerly, then stared.
"Wandering Gods!" she exclaimed. "I thought so. It's kin to the blood rune on the Tse'Mara, all right. But that rune is only a part, the merest shadow of the whole." Her fingers shook as she traced the symbols. "These lines here—power, great power. And those, they have to do with preservation or healing. "But this section here is obliterated—what it meant, I cannot tell." She looked at Rathe. "Is your ring flawed?"
"Flawed? No," Rathe said. He held up his finger. "You can see the stone is unmarred. I drew this before I saw the ring."
Kel cocked her head. "Before? I'd like to hear that tale."
"During the battle, one of the creatures struck me, and I fell. I slept. . . my comrades thought I was dying. But I dreamed of a strange chamber, and a
woman's voice, speaking to me."
Kel listened attentively as Rathe related what the voice had told him, and his "escape" from the dream. He went on to describe how they had discovered the Tse'Mara's rune, and what Orvig had revealed to him about his parentage.
"So you see, until recently, I did not know of my legacy," Rathe said. He glanced at Orvig sharply.
"I had my reasons," Orvig said wearily. "They seemed good to me then."
"So your mother was a priestess of Thera," whispered Kel. Her voice was shaky. "And she left you when you were a child. What was her name, Rathe?"
"Rhea," Rathe said. "Kel, what's the matter?"
"Gods," said Kel. She shook her head. "That would explain much."
"What do you mean?" said Orvig.
Kel started, as if she hadn't realized she'd been speaking aloud. She paused for a few seconds as if gathering her thoughts, then began speaking in a stronger, more deliberate tone.
"That was no dream, Rathe. We can be sure of that. It was a sending," Kel said. "I think—I believe—that Thera spoke to you herself."
"The goddess?" Rathe said. "But that can't be." And yet, as he remembered the sheer presence of the voice, he wondered. Yet reason held sway. "Save Khull-Khuum, the gods are gone. How could Thera speak to me?"
"You are of the blood of a high priestess, Rathe," answered Kel. "And something calls to that blood. Something—the goddess, maybe—wants you. Has chosen you." She looked at him steadily for a moment. "But what do you want, Rathe?"
"To find Jhen," Rathe said. "And to learn who is behind the Tse'Mara." He looked grim. "There are lives between us."
"Then we share a foe." Kelandra turned to Orvig. "You spoke of the Ithark runes, dwarf. Yes, I have their art. I can use them to try and discover what power lay behind the throgs—and to seek your sister."
"If it works, I will be grateful," Orvig said. "But you had the runes. Why didn't you seek your foes before? Haven't you tried before now?"
"I've tried," she admitted. "But this time it should work."
"Why did you fail before?" said Orvig. "Do you lack skill?"
"No!" she exclaimed angrily. Startled, the snake wriggled in her grip, and she patted its head. "Say rather that something blocked my vision. There is a—" she struggled for a word "—a veil I could not pierce. Their shaman—or whatever he is—is powerful."
"If there's a chance of finding Jhen, we should take it," Rathe said. "But why do you think it will work now, Kel?"
Kel's emerald eyes met his own.
"Because of you, Rathe."
An hour later, Rathe stood by the village well, dripping wet and shivering slightly. At Kel's urging, he'd bathed—"to purify the body," she'd said. As he dressed, he thought about what Kel had told him: as the son of a priestess, his blood had power.
It had been a long day, but Rathe didn't feel tired—in fact, he was exhilarated. He probed his feelings, and realized what it was. Something was about to happen.
He would aid her in the ritual.
Back in the hut, Kel and Orvig made their preparations, now reluctant allies.
"The sun's about to set," Orvig said.
"Better," said Kel. "I'd rather not do this under Khull-Khuum's eye, anyway. The throgs worship him as their chief god."
"Odd," said Orvig "since they hide from his rays."
"Think like a throg," Kel said. "They respect power. And worship what they fear. But anyway, we'll need to make a light." She found a candle. "My uncle had one of your fire-makers, but the Une-Makkar took it. Have you flint and steel?"
"Aye," said Orvig. He opened his bulging pack, rummaged noisily through it.
"What have you got in there?" Kel asked. She leaned over, curious, and peered inside. Bottles, metal implements... she shook her head. "Tools of the trade," Orvig grunted. "Never know when you might need something. Here we go. Better than rubbing two sticks together." He hesitated and eyed the circle that Kel had carved in the dirt floor of her hut. "Will this really work, lass?"
Kel nodded. She had drawn it with her spear and made five runes. Three of them Orvig recognized as protective. Two were unfamiliar. Kel had told them they were spirit-anchors.
"Is it dangerous?" Orvig said.
"For Rathe?" She considered. "I don't think so. Now, where did I put that oil?"
When Rathe returned, a faint light spilled from Kel's hut: a single beeswax candle, casting a lambent glow. Rathe opened the door flap and entered. Kel turned to face him—and he caught his breath.
Kelandra had discarded her skin garments for the black feather cloak. Through its folds, her slim body shone as if oiled, reflecting the candlelight. Her dark hair, freshly combed, fell down to her shoulders in a single wave. Akeshi, the snake, was curled about her waist, a dark living belt. She was beautiful, Rathe realized. But more than that, she radiated power—an aura he could actually feel. She held a doeskin bag and her rune-carved spear.
Rathe did not doubt that she was a shaman.
"Are you ready, Rathe?" Kel said. Her green eyes burned with a curious intensity.
"I am," he said, throat dry. "What do I do?"
"Orvig said you know the tune called 'Hinternight?' "
"Yes," said Rathe, surprised. "It's a Stonekeep trail song."
"It's older than that," Kelandra said. "Start by humming it. Here," she said. "You'll need this." She handed him the bag. Rathe took it, and opened the string. It held small disks of carved bone.
"The Ithark runes?" he asked.
"Place your hand in the bag," Kel said, "and feel them. Rub them together."
Rathe did as he was told. They were cool to the touch, their thin edges worn smooth with time.
"Watch me. When you feel the time is right, draw the disk that feels right, and cast it into the circle, and I will follow its path to what is and what was. Then I will speak, and you must listen. Say nothing, but listen carefully—I may not remember what I said."
"What about Orvig?"
"I know what to do," he said gruffly. "You just find Jhen."
With Kelandra crouched beside him, Orvig began to hum the old song, Rathe following his lead, its familiar tune carrying him along.
As they hummed, Kel began a strange dance, slow and sinuous, moving with the rhythmic tune, light and shadow playing upon her body as the feather cloak swirled about her. Akeshi had slid down from her waist, the snake's pattern interweaving with hers.
The sing-song humming and Kel's serpentine motion were hypnotic. As she danced, Rathe felt the disks of bone sliding between his fingers as if following the patterns she made. And suddenly, Rathe realized her dance was a rune, an ever-changing symbol, drawn and redrawn in the movements of her body.
His fingers knew which rune it was. They acted.
The bone disk fell at her feet before he realized he had tossed it. Like a puppet, Kelandra jerked, twisted, her body contorting to follow the jagged pattern of the rune. She ended frozen in a half crouch, arms akimbo, eyes closed.
And began to speak.
"The rune Jechandra calls me to the path," Kel said. Her voice was distant. Rathe leaned closer to hear.
"The path of blood and dreams. But not alone."
Kel's voice changed, grew older. She opened her eyes and stared right at him. "I speak to you, rune-master. A power moves you, stirs in your blood and your dreams. That which is broken must be repaired. You tread the road of gods and kings. But it is a great journey, and yours is but the first step. A finger cannot move mountains, but a single pebble can unleash the avalanche. Now something rises in your path. It has been awakened, discovered. Not by chance, no. By design. A third force. Hidden by illusions, veiled in lies, amused by death..."
Rathe shivered. It wasn't Kel's voice. What did it mean?
"Gone," said Kel. It was her own voice, but somehow muted, far away. "She is gone, now. But my eyes have been opened and I know where to look."
"I see the deep places of the Shadow's Teeth. The throg warriors are chanting to the beat of
drums. I see the mad dancing of the Tse'Mara, chained by runes of blood. I see the dungeons, dark and wet, and the lost soul trapped within."
Her voice grew louder and wilder.
"I see the shaman in his feathered cloak, stained with the blood of eagles. His eyes are old and mad. He holds something else in his hand, cold as ice, black as night, sharp as glass. Something stolen. Something broken, lost and mad. It has eyes. They open..."
"And they see me." said Kel. "They see me. Oh, they see me! Akeshi! Stop him. Something's coming! I hear it buzzing."
The snake hissed and uncoiled, rearing up as if to strike. Its head wove back and forth, as if tracking an invisible foe. It seemed to focus on something. Then, suddenly, the graceful body froze, slumped to the ground. The snake's head struck with a soft thump, sending up a little cloud of dust.
"No!" Kel screamed. "Akeshi, where are you?"
Rathe didn't know what to do. What was happening? Kel had said not to act, but something was wrong. But what could he do? Was Kel trapped in a nightmare? Should he try to wake her?
"I can hear them!" Kel exclaimed. She looked wildly about. "Where are they? Buzzing, buzzing! They're coming!"
Something was wrong!
"Kel, there's nothing here!" Rathe said desperately.
"Stay out of the circle," Orvig warned. "It's not safe."
"No!" said Rathe. "She's in danger." He stepped forward. He took Kel in his arms, shook her. "Kel, wake up!"
"But can't you see them? Insects! They're in my hair!" She began slapping at her body, scratching and clawing at her hair.
"Kel!" Rathe shouted. He ran his hand through her dark tresses. There was nothing there. "It's just a dream! Come back!"
"Keep back, boy," said Orvig. "She's having a fit." He stepped forward, slapped her face. "Snap out of it, girl!"
"No!" she screamed. She struggled wildly, tearing at her skin, her nails leaving long red marks in the tanned flesh. "Get them off!" With surprising strength, she broke free, spinning away from Rathe, knocking Orvig to the ground. The dwarf staggered back, tripped over a stool. He bounced off the wall and slumped to the ground, stunned. Kel didn't even notice. She staggered back. "It's him! He sent them! Oh, Gods, inside me! They're eating me alive!"
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