City of Sorcerers (36 page)

Savaron looked proudly down at his little sister and saw that her difficult years of girlhood had come to an end. Kelene had matured at last to a selfless, confident, capable woman who was about to, literally, spread her wings and fly. "Will Demira be able to carry you so far?" he asked quietly.

"I don't know. If not," Kelene patted the filly standing beside her "she still has four legs."

"I wish you weren't going by yourself."

"There's no other way."

"I know, but Bitorn is still out there, and it's a long way to the gathering,"

Savaron said.

Kelene understood his concern and loved him for it. Big brothers were supposed to worry about their sisters. "If we can slip out of the city without the wraith seeing us, we should be able to keep ahead of him," she replied. Then another thought occurred to her, and she frowned. "But what about all of you? How will you get out?"

"I will help with that," the Korg spoke. The old sorcerer was leaning against a far wall, his face lost in shadow. "I should be able to distract Bitorn long enough for all of you to get off the plateau."

Kelene turned in surprise. "What do you mean? Aren't you coming to the Tir Samod?"

"No." His sad reply surprised them all.

Kelene stepped toward him to better see his face. "But why not?" she demanded, her voice rising. "We need you. We need your power. There is so much you could do to help, so many things you could tell us. How can the magic-wielders fight the wraith without you?"

"You have survived this long without me. You and your mother and your father will find a way to destroy Bitorn."

"But this is ridiculous!" Kelene cried. "You have been alone for so long. How can you bear to be left alone again?"

The Korg closed his eyes, and his body trembled with a long sigh. He came slowly forward from the shadows, his face worn and very tired. He put his hands on Kelene's arms. "You don't see me as I really am, do you---you who are so strong and full of determination? You think of me as the ferocious lion I pretended to be. Well, you're wrong, Kelene. I am a very old man. I doubt I could tolerate the long ride back to the Tir Samod."

"You're not old. You look barely forty years," she insisted, her eyes huge against her pale face as she watched the Korg.

"I may seem to be forty-one, which was my age when Moy Tura fell, but that's only because my body's physical appearance was preserved within the stone of my shape-changing spell. In reality I am two hundred sixty-five." His mouth twitched with a dry chuckle. "I
feel
every year of it. Without my stone form to protect me, I will age and die, probably within a year or two."

"Well, why don't you change back into a stone lion?" Savaron suggested.

"No!" the Korg responded. "I have finished with that! I want to live out what's left of my life and die as I should have two centuries ago."

"But you don't need to be alone," Kelene interrupted sadly. "There are people out there who would welcome you and venerate the wisdom you can bring."

The Korg shook his head almost desperately. "Kelene, I cannot leave here. May Tura is my home. It sustains me."

"You would rather stay here among these old ruins than come back to the clans?"

The sorcerer stopped in front of her again and said quietly, "See Moy Tura through my eyes. Whatever else these ruins are, they are the foundations of a beautiful city. I still have my power, and now, thanks to all of you, I have my memories and my perspective back. The stone lion is dead, but this city needn't be. Perhaps I will try to rebuild part of it in the time I have left."

Kelene took a deep breath and let her anger drain away. She didn't understand his refusal to leave, but the old man had chosen his path the night Moy Tura died, and he had a right to follow his choice. "Maybe I will come back, if I can," she said, unhappily resigned. "I would like to see the healers' herb room again."

He bowed his head gratefully. "It will be there for you."

Kelene stepped away from him, picked up the leather bag with the stones, and looked around at the men watching her: her big, handsome brother; Morad still suffering from Tomian's death; Sayyed asleep on his blankets; the old Korg; and last of all Rafnir, who had stolen her heart without even trying. At that moment she loved them all and could not accept the thought that she might not see them again. Her throat tightened; her eyes sparkled with unshed tears.

"Be careful," Savaron said. "without you there is little hope."

She nodded. "Come as soon as you can. Even if I can stop the plague, there is still Bitorn."

"We'll be there," Morad promised.

Kelene gripped her bag and hurried out before she lost control of the tears that threatened again to spill down her cheeks. Demira, Savaron, Morad, and the Korg followed her outside.

The early evening sky was warm with the yellow-orange light of the fading day, and a gentle breeze blew from the west. The three Hunnuli waiting by the entrance bowed their heads to Kelene as she came outdoors.

Tibor extended his head
. Sayyed and Rafnir live,
he snorted, his breath warming her face.
We cannot thank you enough.

"Bring them safely back to the gathering, and that will be my thanks," Kelene told the stallions. Then she tUrned and faced her filly.

Demira nuzzled her arm.
l am ready to go.

Kelene rubbed her hand down the filly's neck and was about to mount when Savaron took the bag from her hand and offered his knee to help her up. Thankfully she accepted and settled herself on the horse's back between the great black and gray wings. "Can you lift off from the square? Is there enough room there?" she asked the filly.

Demira's tone was apologetic.
My wings are not strong enough yet. I need to get
a good running start.

"So we have to get out onto the plateau to give you enough room?"

That would be helpful. I slipped out of the city's northern gate several times to
practice where the wraith could not see me. There is a good place to take off on the
western side of the plateau.

"Then we'll find the wraith and distract him at the southern gate to give you a head start," Savaron told Kelene. "Wait for our signal." He handed her the bag, and his hand gripped her knee in farewell. Neither of them could say anything else, though their hearts were full.

Kelene forced a smile, ruffled her brother's hair---which she knew he hated---and urged Demira into a walk away from the shelter and toward the old road. They left without a backward glance, hearing only the clatter of the Hunnuli's hooves as Savaron, Morad, and the Korg rode south to find Bitorn.

The young woman clenched her teeth. She lifted her chin to its stubbornest tilt and turned her thoughts to the job at hand: getting Demira airborne.

The filly broke into a trot that took them onto the main road, toward the gate in the northern wall of the city. Kelene hadn't been in this section of Moy Tura, and she watched warily as they passed by alleys, streets, and buildings in no better condition than the rest of the ruined city. Gordak's warriors and the elements had left nothing unscathed.

When they neared the high city walls, Demira slowed to a walk and stopped in the shadow of a roofless tower. The northern gate was identical in workmanship to the southern gate, with a high arched entrance through the thick walls and two towers to either side. Unlike the other entrance, though, this one still had one of its heavy doors hanging on one side of the archway.

Since they had not seen the wraith inside the city, some of the old wards must still be working at all the gates, Kelene decided. She wondered if he had tried to enter any of the others.

Demira cautiously stepped up to the entrance, and she and Kelene peered around the gate. The old road stretched out before them like a spear into the blue-gold haze of dusk. There was no sign of anyone or anything, just the two crouching stone lions that stood guard at the roadside. The filly rolled her eyes at the statues and pulled back behind the door. She and Kelene looked to the southern skyline for Savaron's signal.

They didn't have long to wait. Before the sun dropped noticeably lower, a blue fireball rose on the distant horizon and exploded in a blast of blue sparks. Demira charged out the gate onto the road. Her pace quickened to a fast canter over the hard, level ground. She left the road and angled to the west toward the nearest edge of the highland.

Kelene glanced back toward Moy Tura, surprised by the regret she felt at leaving.

She had once thought the old city was nothing more than mournful, useless rock, but she had seen it come to life in the Korg's memory, she had found some of its treasures, and she had left a good friend behind. Her mention to the Korg that she might one day come back solidified in her mind as a vow. There was still much the old city had to offer to anyone with the desire to explore its ruins.

She turned her thoughts back to the present and looked ahead. She saw they were running directly toward the fiery orange sun that was settling like a brand on the horizon. The light was so bright she could not see the edge of the tableland, though she knew it had to be close.

"Where is the road on this side of the plateau?" Kelene queried, squinting into the sun.

Not here exactly. But this is the best place for me,
Demira responded. There was a twinge of humor in her thought that should have alerced Kelene, but at that moment the filly sped into a gallop.

Kelene automatically leaned forward and adjusted her seat to the change in Demira's pace. As the horse's neck rose and fell in rhythm with her galloping legs, her head blocked the sun from Kelene's eyes. All at once Kelene saw the rim of the plateau not more than ten paces ahead. There was no road there, no slope, and no gradual drop to the grasslands below. To Kelene's horror, the plateau came to an abrupt end in a sheer cliff that fell suddenly down hundreds of feet to the highland's rocky lap.

The clanswoman sat up in a panic; her mouth dropped open. "Wait! You can't go over that!"

Hang on!
Demira warned.

Kelene stared at the edge rushing toward them. She ducked down, hanging on with steel fingers to the filly's mane. The sorceress felt the Hunnuli gather herself.

The long wings lifted slightly, and the horse's powerful hind legs bunched underneath her weight. Kelene looked down in time to see Demira tuck up her front legs, and with a mighty leap, launch herself over the rim of the plateau.

Kelene's stomach lurched upward. She took one look at the empty air and the ground far below and screwed her eyes shut. Her cry of fright was torn away by the wind.

Suddenly she felt Demira's muscles move beneath her legs and heard a loud rustling sound and a soft thump. One eye peeked open to see the long, black wings stretched out beside her and the hard, stony earth flowing beneath them in a brown and green patterned sea.

Kelene's eyes flew open wide. Delighted and still a little frightened, she leaned sideways and peered over the edge of Demira's wings.

The filly faltered.
Sit still, please!
Demira begged.
I am not very good at this yet,
and your weight will throw me off balance.

Kelene hastily obeyed, clamping her backside firmly to the center of Demira's back. She contented herself with watching the gentle rise and fall of the Hunnuli's wings, how they tilted to meet the flow of the air, and how the feathers adjusted to each gusty breeze. The filly was using her wings to glide on the last of the day's rising air currents, and Kelene realized that Demira was copying the graceful, efficient flight of an eagle.

Joy whispered in Kelene's heart. She watched wordlessly as Demira curved southward along the edge of the towering plateau. The sun dropped below the brim of the plains, casting long shadows on the world below. Kelene saw the old road curving like a dry snakeskin up the southern side of the plateau. Far away at the farthest edge of visibility, almost lost in the coming night, she saw the dark hump of Moy Tura.

Kelene lifted her hand and threw a fistful of dazzling blue energy into the twilight sky.

Outside the crumbling wall of Moy Tura's southern gate, Savaron saw the flare of blue on the horizon and recognized it for what it was. He breathed a silent prayer of thanks. Their ruse had worked---Kelene was gone. With the help of Demira's wings, Kelene and the filly should get enough of a head start so even if the wraith realized they were gone, he would not be able to catch up with them.

Now all Savaron and his companions had to do was break off the Korg's confrontation with Bitorn and make a convincing retreat back within the safety of the walls.

"Let us pass!" the Korg was bellowing to Bitorn. The old sorcerer had seen Kelene's signal, too, and to make sure the wraith did not turn around and notice it, he fired a blast of energy at the priest's glowing form.

Bitorn laughed as he sidestepped the scorching power. "You're weak, old man.

What's the trouble? Mortality catching you at last? Die soon so I can take every spark of your life-force and make it my own!"

"You'll never have the pleasure, Bitorn," the Korg responded fiercely.

The apparition rose in height to tower over the old sorcerer. Behind the ruddy figure, a huge, semicircular wall of flames appeared.

Savaron instinctively flinched. The fire was so realistic; he couldn't tell if it was real or illusion. But it didn't matter; they were not going to stay to find out. The Khulinin chopped his hand downward in a prearranged signal. Together, he and Morad charged their horses forward to the Korg's side and surrounded themselves with a magic defense shield.

"Come on!" Savaron yelled. "We can't get out this way!" Ignoring the Korg's loud, and assumed, protests, both men grabbed his arms and dragged him back toward the gate.

Bitorn roared with derisive laughter. He strode after the retreating magic-wielders, but though he tried to force apart their shield, he could not break through the magic.

The three men and the two Hunnuli scrambled past the corpse of the dead horse and into the safety of the archway two steps ahead of Bitorn.