CHILDREN OF AMARID

by DAVID B. COE

  “Sartol, what happened?” Alayna asked breathlessly, unable to tear her eyes from the bodies of Jessamyn and Peredur.

  Poor Alayna, he thought to himself with amusement, you’ll be dead before you realize how I’ve betrayed you.

  “You killed them, didn’t you?” Jaryd challenged in a strong voice, his pale eyes narrowing. There was courage here, Sartol admitted, though there was nothing to back it up.

  “Jaryd!” Alayna snapped. “How could you even think that!”

  “Look!” Jaryd countered, pointing up at Huvan and the blood-soaked body of Peredur’s bird. “That’s the first’s owl she’s killed, isn’t it, Sartol?”

  Alayna stared at the bird in disbelief. “Sartol?” she said, almost sobbing as she spoke his name.

  “Do you have any idea, Jaryd, how much it will please me to kill you?” he asked, squeezing his fingers into a fist, and grinning with satisfaction as he watched the boy clutch suddenly at his throat, a panicked expression on his youthful, rain-drenched face.

  Alayna whirled around as Sartol spoke to Jaryd, and, seeing what was happening, screamed out the boy’s name. Purple mage-fire exploded from her staff and hissed toward Sartol’s head.

  To be blocked, almost effortlessly, by Sartol’s ceryll, which seemed to absorb the energy from her staff.

  But in that instant, when he had to guard himself from Alayna’s blow, Sartol relinquished his hold on Jaryd. Gasping for breath, the young Hawk-Mage dove to the ground and picked up one of the torches—indeed, the altered torch—to use as a weapon. And for the first time that night, Sartol felt a surge of fear. Any other mage in the company could have picked up that same piece of wood, with the dormant ceryll half-concealed within it, and nothing would have happened. But, unlike the others, Jaryd had yet to be linked with a stone. As soon as he placed his hand on the torch, the ceryll came to life, emitting a brilliant sapphire light through the narrow gap in the wood. Incredibly, without seeming to hesitate—probably without even knowing how he did it, Sartol thought with detachment—Jaryd sent his own mage-fire at the Owl-Master. Again, Sartol blocked it with ease, but he now found himself doing battle with two mages, both of them carrying cerylls. And, despite all his preparation, he was starting to tire. He had to find a way to end this, soon, before he had to fight Orris, Baden, and Trahn as well.

  “Huvan!” he shouted. Immediately, his owl swooped from her perch to attack Alayna’s familiar. Ishalla flew to Fylimar’s defense, and the three birds, the two identical hawks and the heavier, stronger owl, climbed through the rain to do battle above the trees. Sartol grinned. “Now let’s see how the two of you do with your birds fighting for their lives,” he said, moving to block their path back toward the camp. “I still have command of my abilities,” he assured them. “Do you?”

  Alayna and Jaryd glanced at each other for a moment and then leveled their staffs at him. Sartol prepared himself to block their fire. But at the last moment, Jaryd yelled for Alayna to run and, grabbing her hand, led her toward the back side of the thicket. Cursing his own stupidity, Sartol gave chase, crashing through branches and brush only a few strides behind them. But when they reached the open terrain beyond the cluster of trees, Jaryd and Alayna began to pull away, and Sartol roared with frustration and fury. He had been fortunate thus far; he had not had to risk giving himself away to those who remained by using his mage-fire. Now, it seemed, his luck had run out. The young mages would reach the Shadow Forest before he could catch them, and, once they did, they would be very difficult to find. Reluctantly, he stopped running and leveled his staff at them.

  But then he stopped, a smile spreading across his features. Jaryd and Alayna were not headed toward the Shadow Forest, he realized. They were running straight into Theron’s Grove. He lowered his staff and started after them again. If he could force them into the grove—

  He did not know why he happened to glance to his side at that particular moment. A movement perhaps, or a small sound that drew his attention away from his quarry for an instant. Whatever the reason, the gesture saved his life. Seeing the mage-fire streak toward him from Orris’s ceryll, Sartol had just enough time to hurl his own blast back at the Hawk-Mage with a desperate, twisting thrust of his staff. The two salvos, one amber, the other yellow, collided just a few feet away from him with an explosion that knocked Sartol to the ground.

  “You’re a traitor and a murderer, Sartol!” Orris called to him. “Surrender or I swear in Arick’s name that I’ll kill you!”

  Sartol climbed stiffly to his feet and took a long breath. He was growing dangerously fatigued, and, as Huvan glided back to his shoulder, he sensed that she was weakening as well. He could still take care of Orris—and he would enjoy doing so—but he knew that he could not risk another encounter after this one.

  “I won’t surrender, Orris,” he shouted above the sounds of the storm, gathering himself, “so you’ll have to kill me. But I promise you: you’ll die trying.”

  He glanced over his shoulder in time to see Alayna and Jaryd disappear into Theron’s Grove, and then, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, he turned to do battle with Orris.

  11

  It began to rain just as Baden and Trahn reached the camp. Grape-sized drops of water pounded noisily on the tarpaulins that covered the food and supplies, and the rich, sweet smell of the storm settled heavily over the grassy clearing. They had heard only the one, truncated cry; nothing more. And now, as they surveyed the deserted camp, utterly still save for the rain and wind, Baden tried with little success to keep his growing apprehension in check. He had been reasonably certain that the voice they heard calling out in the night had been Jessamyn’s. No doubt, the others had heard her as well, and had hurried to find her. But where?

  “Baden, look,” Trahn said with some urgency, pointing in the direction of Theron’s Grove. “There’s light coming from those trees.”

  Baden saw it as well: a faint glimmer issuing from a small group of trees just in front of the grove. The colors were dim and hard to read, although it seemed obvious that they came from more than one ceryll. Then, even as they stood there staring at the thicket, another voice—Alayna’s voice—screamed out Jaryd’s name, and purple light blazed brilliantly from among the trees. A few seconds later, a second beam of color burst from the copse, this one deep blue. Baden recognized the hue immediately, although he could not explain its presence here. Somehow, he and Trahn were already racing toward the thicket, painfully aware of the time that had passed since Jessamyn’s cry, and of the distance they had to cover before they could respond to Alayna’s.

  “Did you see that?” Trahn shouted over the storm, his words jarred as they ran.

  “Yes,” Baden yelled back as he tried to grapple with the implications of that flash of blue.

  “None of us has a blue ceryll,” Trahn commented, and there was fear in his voice. “Were we followed?”

  “No,” Baden answered. “That was Jaryd.”

  “Jaryd! He has a ceryll?”

  “Not that I knew of,” Baden conceded. “I have no idea where that ceryll could have come from, but I’ve had visions of Jaryd as a mage. I’m certain that’s his color.”

  “What, in Arick’s name, does it mean?” Trahn asked.

  Baden shook his head. “I wish I knew.”

  The two mages sprinted on toward the thicket, but, before they could reach it, they heard shouts coming from the far side of the trees and saw mage-fire illuminating the night like lightning.

  They stopped, both of them breathing hard, as their familiars settled to their shoulders.

  Trahn stared intently at the flashing sky. “Those are Orris’s and Sartol’s colors,” he said.

  “Yes,” Baden agreed, “but are they fighting each other, or someone else?”

  “I don’t see any other mage-fire,” Trahn remarked grimly. “I’d guess that they’re fighting each other.”

  “As would I. So what should we do?”

  Trahn looked at the Owl-Ma
ster, his dark features glistening with rain and the glow of his ceryll. “I’m not certain that we can do anything. We don’t know why they’re fighting, and we can’t intervene without tipping the balance one way or the other. I’m afraid we just have to wait and see who prevails before we can do anything.”

  Baden cursed under his breath. “First Jessamyn screams, and then Alayna. Now Orris and Sartol are trying to kill each other, and we can’t do a thing about it.” He shook his head in frustration. “We can at least go and be witnesses to what happens,” he said after a moment.

  Trahn nodded, and they ran on.

  As they reached the cluster of trees, an unearthly wail rose suddenly from the Shadow Forest and then died away. The mages slowed, moving quietly around the perimeter of the copse until they came within sight of Theron’s Grove. There, in the clearing just in front of the grove, Baden and Trahn saw a lone figure carrying a pale yellow ceryll and walking slowly and unsteadily in their direction. The figure paused briefly as a large owl glided out of the darkness to land delicately on his shoulder. Then Sartol continued toward them. As the Owl-Master drew closer, Baden could see that he had a blackened, oozing burn on his leg and a jagged gash on his forehead. Dark, thickening blood stained his owl’s talons.

  “Baden!” he called with concern as he approached the two mages. “Trahn! Have you seen Alayna and Jaryd?”

  “No,” Trahn replied warily, “why?”

  “I was afraid of that,” Sartol said without answering Trahn’s question. “Arick guard them.”

  “What’s happened, Sartol?” Baden demanded sharply.

  The injured Owl-Master’s features looked pale beneath his wet black and silver hair, and his trembling hands clutched his staff tightly. “We’ve been betrayed,” he stated in a quavering voice.

  “What happened to Jaryd and Alayna?” Baden persisted. “Where’s Jessamyn?”

  “Jessamyn is dead, as is Peredur. Orris killed them. And I’m afraid that Alayna and Jaryd have inadvertently entered Theron’s Grove.”

  “What!” Baden hissed.

  Trahn exhaled through his teeth, shaking his head slowly in denial. “Orris did this?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Sartol responded heavily.

  “Where is he now?”

  “He got away from me,” Sartol said with bitterness, his grey eyes downcast. “I tried to subdue him, or kill him if I could, but he was too strong—much stronger than he should have been,” the Owl-Master added, looking up at Baden again. “I don’t understand how he could be so powerful, but that must be how he killed the Owl-Sage and the first.”

  “What about Jaryd and Alayna?” Baden demanded again, biting off each word.

  Sartol shrugged and made a helpless gesture with his hands. “They must have surprised Orris when he was . . .” The Owl-Master faltered. He swallowed hard and closed his eyes to compose himself. “When he was killing Jessamyn and Peredur,” he continued a moment later. “I was hurrying toward that cluster of trees because I heard Jessamyn call out. Alayna screamed and I saw mage-fire. When I got there the sage and the first were dead, so I went on. Orris was chasing the young ones. I tried to stop him, eventually I did, but not before Alayna and Jaryd ran into the grove.” He looked from Baden to Trahn, his expression dismal and frightened. “Alayna was still carrying the ceryll I gave her.”

  “We have to find them!” Baden cried, starting toward the grove.

  Sartol held out a hand to stop him, shaking his head. “We can’t take that risk. Theron will kill us all.”

  Baden spun past Sartol and began running toward the dark mass of trees that loomed malevolently only a short distance away.

  Sartol called after him several times, but it was Trahn’s voice, cutting through the night, that finally made him slow to a halt. “Baden! Sartol’s right!” the Hawk-Mage shouted. “Theron has Alayna’s ceryll. If he wants to use it to kill them, nothing we could do or say would save their lives. We’d just be killing ourselves.”

  Baden turned to face them. “But we have to do something,” he said, almost pleading with them.

  “Not this,” Trahn asserted. “This is folly. With a ceryll Theron is just too strong. Their fates lie in his hands, and Arick’s. There’s nothing we can do.”

  “We have to consider Orris,” Sartol added. “If Theron kills us, and Orris has betrayed the Order in some way, who will know the truth? Who will oppose him?”

  Baden spun back toward the grove. “Jaryd!” he shouted. “Alayna!” No reply. He had not really expected one. In his heart he knew that Sartol and Trahn were right. He closed his eyes, feeling light-headed. Again, as he had when he learned from Orris of the latest attack, he thought he might be sick. It was all too much for one night: first the destruction of Kaera, and now all this. Jessamyn and Peredur dead; Jaryd and Alayna in Theron’s Grove, carrying a ceryll. It was too much. He was very tired. Walking back toward Trahn and Sartol with the rain running down his face, he longed to go to sleep, to wake in the morning and find the company still camped in the Shadow Forest, still a day’s ride from Theron’s Grove.

  “I don’t believe that Orris has betrayed the Order,” Trahn was arguing as Baden returned to where the two mages stood. “Orris wouldn’t do such a thing.” The dark mage’s fists were clenched at his side, and he was eyeing Sartol with obvious skepticism.

  “Orris and I had our differences,” Sartol said, addressing Trahn, “but I would never have thought him capable of this, either.”

  “Could you have been mistaken, Sartol?” the Hawk-Mage asked in a hard voice.

  “No,” Sartol answered flatly. “He tried to kill me.”

  Trahn, Baden knew, had never liked Sartol, never trusted him. Now that mistrust, which had seethed dangerously just below the surface since the beginning of this year’s Gathering, had begun to seep into the Hawk-Mage’s tone and words. Even now, exhausted and aggrieved, Baden could feel himself shouldering old burdens once more. He wanted to weep for Jessamyn, to dash into Theron’s Grove and search for Jaryd. But here he was, trying to keep the peace between Trahn, his closest friend in the world, and Sartol, the Owl-Master who, it suddenly seemed, would lead the Order through its most harrowing time in a thousand years.

  “Keep in mind, Trahn,” Baden heard himself saying, “that when Orris left us, he was going to confront Jessamyn. And he was very upset.”

  “Upset about what?” Sartol asked quickly.

  “There’s been another attack,” Baden told him, “worse than the others.”

  “Much worse,” Trahn added, his tone harsh. “Orris told us that he was going to speak with the Owl-Sage and demand that we leave at once to help Ursel search for those responsible.”

  “That may be why he killed her,” Sartol offered. “Perhaps she refused to leave without first going into the grove and Orris killed her out of anger and frustration.”

  “I don’t think so,” Baden countered, suddenly feeling himself emerging from the torpor that had enveloped him a minute before. “If that was the case, why would he kill Peredur? Why would he try to kill Jaryd and Alayna? Why would he try to kill you? If he killed her out of anger, what would he have to gain by attacking the rest of you?”

  “We witnessed his crime,” Sartol observed. “Maybe he was trying to protect himself from punishment.”

  “No,” Baden said, shaking his head. “There must be more to it than that.” He paused, his mind abruptly shifting to address another mystery from this horribly strange night. “Sartol, as you rushed into that cluster of trees, after you heard Alayna scream, did you see a flash of blue mage-fire?”

  “Blue?” the Owl-Master repeated, considering the question. “No, not that I noticed,” he replied at length, “but I don’t remember there being a blue ceryll in the company.”

  “You’re right; there wasn’t one. But Trahn and I saw blue mage-fire just after we saw Alayna’s purple.” Baden gazed over his shoulder into the darkness of the thicket. “I want to take a look at the place where . . . I wan
t to see where all this happened.” He turned back to Sartol. “But if you’d like, I’ll heal those wounds first.”

  Sartol nodded, and sat down on the wet grass. Baden knelt beside him, , placing his hand gently over the burn on the Owl-Master’s leg as Trahn went to work on the cut over Sartol’s eye. Within a few minutes, they had mended the injuries, although the discoloration on Sartol’s leg remained, and would linger, Baden knew, for several days.

  “Thank you,” Sartol said, climbing stiffly to his feet. “Thank you, both,” he amended, encompassing Trahn in his gaze.

  Baden nodded. “You’re welcome.” He took a deep breath. “Now, can you show us where you found Jessamyn and Peredur?”

  Wordlessly, Sartol stepped past Baden and Trahn and led them into the cluster of trees. Rain still tapped on the leaves and branches, and lightning continued to flicker in the night sky, but the thunder sounded more distant now, and the wind had begun to abate. Pushing their way through a web of branches and brush, the three mages soon reached the center of the thicket, where the russet light created by their cerylls revealed the bodies of the Owl-Sage and her first. Jessamyn’s eyes stared sightlessly into the darkness, and Peredur’s head and neck jutted from his torso at an impossible angle. Jessamyn’s white owl sat on her arm, regarding the mages and their birds with suspicion. As they drew closer, the bird hissed menacingly, although she refused to leave the Owl-Sage. Sartol’s owl raised its wings and ruffled its feathers, assuming a threatening posture.

  “What are we searching for, Baden?” Trahn asked in a subdued voice.

  Mastering his emotions and his shock at the scene before him, Baden tried, as best he could, to sound strong and composed. “Given what we’ve seen tonight,” he told his friend, “and what Sartol has told us, I have two questions. I believe they’re linked, and I believe that their answers will tell us why Orris killed the Owl-Sage and the first, and why he tried to kill Alayna and Jaryd.” Trahn nodded for him to continue; Sartol had moved closer so that he might hear as well. “First, what was Jessamyn doing here, amongst these trees and so far from the camp? And second, where did Jaryd get a ceryll?”