City of Sorcerers (30 page)

"I'm going to talk to the Korg," she declared.

Before she knew where she was going, her feet carried her to the doorway of the warehouse. Her brother gave her a quizzical glance as she stopped before the shield.

Inside the Korg was startled awake. He lifted his head, saw her standing against the bright light, and squinted. "Kelyra?" he growled in sleepy confusion.

The clanswoman jutted out her chin. "No! I am Kelene, daughter of Lady Gabria and Lord Athlone of Clan Khulinin." She said it forcefully and in a proud voice as much to steady her resolve as to inform the lion. Pointing to her brother, she added,

"This is Savaron, my brother. Our mother and father broke the gorthling's curse against Valorian's heirs."

The old lion turned his head from one to the other and his olden eyes began to gleam. "Tell me about them," his deep voice commanded.

"I will gladly tell you when there is more time. But now I have to talk to you,"

Kelene countered. "My mother and father and Sayyed, that man lying sick in our shelter, defeated a gorthling twenty-three years ago. Since then they have struggled to learn sorcery from Matrah's book and their own intuition. They have been gathering other people with the ability to wield magic and trying to undo years of prejudice. It has taken a long time. Too much knowledge from Moy Tura was lost." She broke off and pointed toward the building where Sayyed lay. "Now we have a calamity we cannot stop, and we desperately need help."

The Korg stirred and said, "So you came all this way to find me. Why?"

"The clans have been stricken by a deadly plague. Ever since we opened this old burial mound. . ."

She got no further. Without warning the Korg roared to his feet. "Burial mound!

Plague'" he shouted in a voice that shook the warehouse. "What burial mound?"

Kelene was so startled by his sudden ferocity she could only stand wide-eyed in the doorway.

"Speak'" he bellowed. "Whose mound did you desecrate?" He pushed up against the shield, glaring furiously at her from beneath his stone mane.

"I didn't---I mean, we---it was an old one in a box canyon," Kelene stammered, growing pale. She stepped back against her brother. She heard Rafnir, Morad, and the four Hunnuli Come running up behind her, but she couldn't take her eyes off the Korg's face. His lips were curled back over teeth like stone daggers; his heavy tail was lashing in vicious arcs.

"In a box canyon," he repeated with a hideous growl. "In the hills near the Tir Samod? A large oval mound sealed with wards and bearing no marks?" He spoke with such vehemence, both Kelene and Savaron could only nod.

Another roar rattled the old rafters. "You fools! You released the undead. We sealed him in his tomb forever! Didn't you read the warnings? Didn't you feel the wards? That tomb was not to be touched!"

"We didn't know that," Rafnir tried to say, only to be cut off by a snarl from the Korg.

"Where is he? Where is the man you released? Is he still at the gathering?"

"No," Kelene answered hesitantly, and Savaron filled in for her. "He was just outside the southern gate yesterday."

The words had no sooner been spoken than the Korg plunged forward, battering himself against Savaron's shielding. The magic energy flared at the impact, then faded to a dull pink. The Korg lunged again into the shield. Before anyone could move to help Savaron strengthen it, the energy field exploded. The force of its disruption flung Savaron and Kelene to the ground.

With a thundering bellow, the Korg launched his huge body from the warehouse and charged down the street toward the main road. "Bitorn!" the clanspeople heard him rage.

Stunned, they watched him until he disappeared between some broken walls, then they ran to their horses. Rafnir gave Kelene a hand onto Tibor's back, and she held tight to Rafnir's waist as the big stallion leaped forward. The other Hunnuli were quick to follow, until only Afer was left behind to guard Sayyed.

The Hunnuli galloped down the southern road, their hooves making staccato thunder on the flagstones. Ahead everyone could hear the Korg still roaring like a raging bull.

"What in all the gods' names is he doing? Kelene cried. Craning to see over Rafnir's shoulder, she looked down at the straight road toward the city gates. In the distance she could make out the broken towers of the city wall. “There he is!” she shouted to Rafnir. She saw the lion reach the gateway and go barging through.

All at once there was a flare of reddish light just outside the walls. The Hunnuli sped faster.

The red light was still blazing when the horses came to the high arched entrance and slid to a stop just inside the gate.

Peering out, everyone gaped at the stone lion hunched on his back legs, his front paw raised to strike, and his ears flat on his head. "Be gone, you blood-drinker," the Korg was snarling to the wraith.

The spirit had grown in height to stand eye-to-eye with the lion, and his form was glowing like a fiery pillar. "Heretic!" he screamed. "You cannot hide your human shape in that guise. Your perverted evil reeks through that moldy, lichen-eaten stone.

Why are you still here? Was death not good enough for you? Show yourself! Reveal your face before I send you to the depths of Gormoth!"

The Korg laughed, a scornful rumble that echoed off the walls. "Why not? This shell served me well. But I have learned it is no longer needed." He spoke a string of sharp, unfamiliar words. There was a loud boom, and to the watchers' astonishment, the stone lion began to crack apart. Fine lines and fissures spread over his body from muzzle to tail; chunks of stone fell from his mane. In one loud crash, the lion's shape collapsed into a pile of rubble. Standing in its place was a man wearing only a loose wrap around his waist.

Kelene gasped. After the massive, murderous stone lion, the thin, gray-haired man was a surprise. In spite of his tall height, he had to crane his neck to look up at the towering apparition. He was so pale, his white skin looked incongruous against the wraith's blazing red light.

The dead priest cackled in glee and loomed over the old man as if to consume him in the red phosphorescence.

The sorcerer just smiled scornfully before he lifted his hand. A ruby light blazed from the splinter in his wrist, a magic-wielder's splinter identical to Gabria's, and a blast of energy flew from his hand, sending the wraith back several paces.

The clanspeople stared even harder. None of their attacks had had any effect on the apparition.

“Stay back, Bitorn," the Korg was saying. "Your power has little effect on me.

Now you know me, now you see that one of the council is still alive!” Without the deep rumbling growls of the lion, his voice sounded very different to the clanspeople, more moderate and precise.

The undead priest hissed his laughter. "Little good it will do you, old man. It took seven of the council to confine me to my tomb, and all the others are dead. There are no more magic-wielders who can control me now! Those that live in this time are weak and untrained. I will soon wipe them all out, and my vengeance will be complete."

"Vengeance! The appalling excuse of a warped and evil mind. Spare us your vengeance, Bitorn. You earned every single verdict and punishment levied against you with your murderous cruelty and acts of hatred. There was no bloodier or more merciless criminal on the Ramtharin Plains than you!"

"Criminal!" the priest howled. "Only the council named me criminal. The chieftains called me ally, the clans called me savior. The gods themselves ordained me to purify the plains of the perversion called magic! You and your sordid little cult did nothing more than delay the inevitable. I will destroy every magic-wielder in the clans!"

"By wiping out the entire population?" Kelene shouted. Furious, she threw her leg over Tibor, slid to the ground, and limped forward a few paces. She moved around the dead Hunnuli lying in the dirt, unaware that as she did so, she inadvertently stepped from the protection of the wards in the archway.

The wraith turned his blazing eyes to her, but Kelene was too angry to feel fear.

"
You
caused the plague, didn't you?
You
gave our entire people this vile illness just to kill a few magic-wielders?"

A slow smile slid over the priest's face as he saw where she was standing. "Yes, child, I did. For more reasons than you imagine."

"Oh, I can imagine a great deal," Kelene snapped to the wraith. "But you won't succeed. Magic-wielders have survived for over five hundred years since Valorian crossed Wolfeared Pass. We will fight you to the last flicker of magic in our veins to preserve our blood-right! Sorcery was a
gift
from the gods, not a curse. It is jealous, close-minded, vicious fools like you that keep us from fulfilling our destiny in the clans. Go back to your grave, priest. You failed in life, and you will fail again."

Bitorn flicked a finger at her, and Kelene's clothes burst into flame. Pain and terror seared her mind as she tried frantically to beat out the fire on her arms and legs.

A scream core from her throat. She felt Rafnir grab her and yell something, but the agony of the burning was too blinding for her to understand.

Then, just as quickly, the Korg spoke a command; the pain and fire vanished.

Kelene was left hunched over, staring stupidly at her untouched tunic and pants.

There was no sign of smoke or scorch marks or burns on her skin. It had just been another of the wraith's visions.

Trembling, she slowly straightened. Rafnir was beside her, his hands steadying her shaking body. She raised her head to thank the Korg and saw him turn slightly away from the wraith long enough to check on her. In that split second of inattention, the dead priest lunged at the sorcerer.

"Behind you'" Kelene yelled.

The Korg whirled back too late, for the wraith's hand clamped down on his shoulder. The old man screamed in pain as the red phosphorescent light flared around him.

In almost the same movement, Rafnir and Kelene raised their hands and fired twin bolts of blistering energy at the wraith. Savaron and Morad ran to their companions. They joined their power to the attack, too, forming a four-way barrage against the glowing spirit.

The wraith howled in rage. He tried to hold on to his victim, but the intense power of four magic-wielders forced him back. His hand slipped off the Korg's shoulder.

The old man staggered a step and fell to his knees. Ducking low under the men's continued barrage, Kelene ran forward and half supported, half dragged the Korg back to the safety of the city gate. The three clansmen ceased their attack.

Bitorn snarled an oath and sprang after them, but the men ducked in past the wards. The wraith beat his fist futilely against the invisible power that prevented him from entering the city.

At last he stood back, his chiseled face pinched with rage. He turned his fiery eyes on Kelene. "You have spirit, child. When I catch you, your death shall be interesting. And you," he snapped to the Korg, "you are an ineffectual old man. You can hide behind your walls, but you will die with those people with you. Already my disease has struck in their midst. They have to find a cure, but I promise you, any false hope they find in Moy Tura will never reach the clans. My plan will not be stopped! So, Councilor, you can stay in your fallen city and die a hideously painful death, or you can leave and die a quicker death of my choice somewhere on the plains." He sneered, his expression triumphant. "It matters not to me."

There was a flash of red light, and the wraith disappeared from sight, leaving behind a strong putrid smell and a faint swirl of dust that settled slowly to earth.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

There was silence at the southern gate. The four clanspeople exchanged glances before they turned all eyes to the man leaning wearily against the stone wall of the archway. He had his back to them, his shoulders hunched and his head drooping. He pushed himself away from the wall, tightened the wrap around his waist, and slowly turned to face Kelene, Rafnir, Savaron, and Morad.

They stared back at him without speaking, wariness, curiosity, and suspicion on all their young faces.

"How do you know him?" Savaron asked abruptly.

The Korg flinched at the harsh tone in the warrior's voice. "His name was Bitorn," he replied wearily. "He was a priest of Sorh."

"So we gathered," said Rafnir. "What was he to you?"

"A bitter enemy. A foe I thought long gone."

Kelene tilted her head thoughtfully. "Was he the priest who was punished by the council?"

The Korg nodded, and for a moment Kelene thought the man was going to cry.

The lines on his forehead deepened, and his mouth tightened to a narrow slit. He stared up at the ruined towers, the tumbled piles of rubble, and the rotting pieces of the massive gates as if seeing them dearly for the first time. His eyes, once ablaze with a golden light, were dulled to an ordinary yellowish brown.

Whatever he had been before, whatever he had done, Kelene knew now he was only a weary old man full of sadness and remorse. After years of isolation and emptiness, he had been thrust into a confusing new existence made bitter by old memories and perilous by new dangers he did not know, how to face.

Kelene took the Korg's arm and led him back into the city. Savaron offered his hand to help him mount one of the stallions, but the Korg shook his head. "It has been a long time since I rode a Hunnuli. I think I will just walk." With Rafnir and Kelene walking beside the sorcerer, the small group made their way back through the city.

"How did you do it?" Morad asked after a time of silence. "How did you seal his soul in a tomb?"

The Korg took so long to answer, the four clanspeople wondered if he was going to. His deep-set eyes were questing over the ruins around them with a grim intensity that allowed no interruption.

The four young people cast speculative glances at him while they waited, studied his features, and marveled at his appearance. He was not quite as old as they had first thought. Although his skin was pale and lined, his facial muscles were still firm, and his hair had as much blond as gray in its color. Kelene wondered if his outward appearance had changed at all after two hundred years in a stone body. Was this the way he had looked to Kelyra?