It was Thero.
It was a melee around Rhazat, with first Klia, then Thero, Seregil, and Micum getting in the way of Alec’s shot.
“Get away from her!” he yelled but no one seemed to hear. His chance came when she blew the others away from her with some sort of blast that knocked them and Alec down. Still clutching the Radly, he rose on one knee and sent an arrow speeding up toward her. This one struck home, piercing her through the belly, next to a sword wound. The next shaft struck her in the chest but not, apparently, in the heart. Snarling in rage or agony she staggered, then ripped the arrow from her chest and flung out her hand, conjuring another huge dra’gorgos, which flew at him too fast to evade. The moment it touched him, however, it exploded in a puff of noxious black smoke.
They must be back in their own time, if Thero’s amulet had worked. But there was still the dyrmagnos to contend with. He barely had time to let fly another shaft before she bore him to the ground and he felt the shaft he’d lodged in her belly jabbing him. Even with one arm gone and an arrow in her, she was incredibly strong.
“At last,” she snarled. “It was you coming to Klia all along, Alec Two Lives. What a sneaky fellow you are!”
As she bent to kiss him with her cracked black lips, he drove the arrow he’d been clutching into her left temple. It sank in as easily as piercing a baked gourd. She reared back, clawing at it. Alec kicked her off, grabbed up his bow and the two arrows in reach, and scrambled to his feet. Raising the Radly, he let fly once, twice, burying both shafts to the vanes in her heart as she rose to her feet. Shrieking, she clawed at the feathered shafts with her remaining hand.
Alec’s heart sank. They had wounded but not destroyed her. Thero must have underestimated her power.
Somewhere nearby Seregil was calling his name.
At least let him see me go down fighting. Dropping the bow, Alec drew his sword, gripped the hilt with both hands, and swung with all his might. The blade caught her below her left ear, slicing off the top of her head below the eyes. Black fluid spewed from the crater of her skull, spattering his hand with something that reeked of death. He staggered back and saw the dyrmagnos coming after him again. Then Seregil was on her, chopping her apart with vicious swings of his sword. He sent the remains of her head flying—still cursing him—then brought his blade down on the stump of her neck, cleaving her to the breastbone. Pulling the sword free, he raised it for another swing but the headless body turned and caught him by the shoulder with its remaining hand. Alec cut off the arm at the elbow and pulled at the forearm until it let go of Seregil, leaving deep tears in his coat. Alec threw the arm as far away as he could, then turned to find Seregil hacking the legs off Rhazat’s body. The cloven torso tumbled to the ground but the severed arm was crawling back toward it, trying to reunite with the body.
“Where is Thero?” Alec shouted, hacking the hand away at the wrist.
“He’s down,” Seregil panted as Micum ran up holding the large crystal box and two smaller ones.
“Down?”
Seregil just shook his head as he scooped the two halves of Rhazat’s head into the crystal box and pressed the lid down on top of it. The eyes in the upper half of the head glared up at them with naked hatred as the mouth in the lower part spat curses at them. Alec and Micum found the hands and shut them in the other boxes.
“Mika, come here!” Seregil called.
Alec had almost forgotten about the boy. Looking back, he saw Mika running toward them.
“Where’s Master Thero?” Mika asked.
“He’s with Klia,” Micum told him, and Alec was amazed to hear the big man’s voice shaking. “He wants you to seal the box the way he taught you. Can you do that, Mika?”
“I’ll try.” He knelt by the boxes while Seregil held the lid down on the one containing the head. Closing his eyes, Mika ran his finger around the edge of the lid, joining it with the box. It was not as clean and seamless as Thero would have done, but it worked. He sealed the other two, then fainted.
Micum checked the boy’s pulse and lifted him in his arms. “That’s good, Mika. Well done. What about the rest of this creature?”
Seregil looked around at the twitching remains scattered down the slope. “We’ll burn them.”
“What about Thero?” asked Alec.
“Not good,” Micum told him.
Alec ran back up the newly made slope to what was left of the painted cave. Klia and Thero were beside the skull. He lay sprawled on the ground and she was on her knees beside him, cradling his bloody head. Her tunic was soaked with blood from the arrow wound and that running from Thero’s ears and nose. Alec knelt beside her and felt Thero’s wrist for a pulse.
“Oh, Illior,” he groaned.
“Thero, open your eyes,” Klia pleaded. “Please my darling, don’t leave me! Don’t leave our child!”
Seregil knelt beside her and put an arm around her shoulders. “Klia, love, I have to dress your wound.”
“No!” she screamed, crouching lower over Thero’s body. “No! He’s not dead! He’s not!”
Alec felt Thero’s throat. No pulse there, either.
“He took the full force of the dyrmagnos’s attack,” Seregil said in a broken voice. “He protected me.”
Micum joined them, cradling Mika in his arms. “Astellus carry—”
“No!” Klia said, glaring up at him. Something behind Seregil caught her attention and she held out her hand. “Help us, please!”
Turning, Alec saw Nhandi standing arm in arm with a tall, handsome ’faie man in a dark robe—unmistakably the “prince” from the journal at Mirror Moon. He and Nhandi looked solid and real, except that they cast no shadow. Behind them, in Zikara, stood the ruins of a tower where the strange round area had been.
Seregil bowed to them and said in Aurënfaie, “Honored Hierophant and you, my cousin, Khazireen, welcome.”
They bowed to him, then approached Thero and Klia. Nhandi knelt and laid her hand on Klia’s and disappeared. Khazireen touched Thero’s brow; then he disappeared, as well. Thero’s eyes flew open and he sat up, coughing blood, then embraced Klia and kissed her with more passion than Seregil had ever witnessed between them.
“Nölienai talía!” he breathed in a voice not his own, touching her face, her hair, her throat like a blind man. “Nölienai talía.”
“Altari talí!” Klia replied, tears coursing down her face as she gazed into his eyes.
“That’s not Thero, is it?” Alec asked softly. “Or Klia.”
Seregil gave him the silent sign wait.
The couple kissed once more, then Thero fell back and Klia slumped forward across his body, both white as chalk.
“Master?” Mika rasped, struggling out of Micum’s arms. “Master! Klia!” He crouched down beside them and took Thero’s hand. “Master? Master Thero?” His face crumpled as he began to cry.
“Not both of them!” Micum groaned. He gently lifted Klia across his lap and stroked the unwashed brown hair back from her brow, laying bare the widow’s peak. “How could they—”
Klia’s blue eyes fluttered open and she looked up uncomprehendingly at him. “Micum? I—” Then the grief-stricken expression returned as she pushed away from him and knelt beside Thero again. “Oh, my love.”
“He’s not dead!” Mika told her, holding Thero’s hand in both of his.
“I’m sorry, Mika.” Alec tried to get his arms around the boy.
But Mika clung to Thero’s hand and shook his head, shouting. “He’s not! He’s not! Klia, he’s not dead!”
Alec felt for a pulse in Thero’s throat again. There, in the artery close by the windpipe, he felt something twitch under his fingertip. No, not a twitch; a pulse! It was faint and thready, but there was no mistaking it. “By the Light! Fetch a cloak or blanket. And water! Hurry!”
Klia brought Thero’s hand to her lips as tears rolled down her cheeks. “Is it really him, and not the ghost?”
“I don’t know.”
Seregil b
rought a cloak from the cave and draped it over Thero. Micum found a waterskin and carefully let a few drops fall between Thero’s waxen lips while Klia and Mika held his hands and chafed his wrists.
“He needs a healer!” said Micum.
Klia nodded, and the steel was back in her voice. “We have to get him to Mirror Moon. Tell me you have horses.”
“We left horses and a wagon in the sacred grove,” Micum told her. “But it might not be good to move him as he is now.”
“I don’t see what choice we have,” said Seregil.
“I can’t lose him again,” Klia whispered.
Alec found another blanket. “We can carry him with this.”
“Dragging him through the tunnels will probably do more harm than good,” Seregil replied. “I’ll go for help.”
Klia looked down at Thero. “Hurry!”
Seregil squeezed her shoulder. “As fast as the wind. Let Alec and Micum bind your wound now, otherwise we’ll have to carry you out as well.” He ran into the cave and disappeared up the tunnel.
“How long do you think it will take?” asked Mika.
Alec hugged the boy. “He’ll be back before you know it.” Illior’s Light, he hoped he was right.
“Please, Illior,” Klia murmured.
Micum gently cut the tunic and shirt away from the wound on her shoulder and tore his own shirt to make bandages. The arrow had struck just under her arm, missing bone. When he was done he draped the second blanket around her. She gathered Mika closer and clung to Thero’s hand, as if the two of them could will him to live.
“When he was poisoned, he healed himself,” offered Alec. “He forced the poison out of his body. Maybe he’s doing that now.”
“I hope so,” Mika whimpered.
Alec kept an eye on the sun’s transit, trying to figure how long it would take for Seregil to ride to Mirror Moon and back. And that was assuming that the horses hadn’t run off during the earthquake. He exchanged a look with Micum and suspected his friend was doing the same arithmetic.
Far sooner than expected, however, they heard someone coming back down the tunnel. And not just one person.
Alec rose and drew his sword, but it was Seregil who slid out into the cave first, followed by old Sabriel, of all people, then Vhadä and five more ’faie—two men and three women—Alec hadn’t seen before, two of them carrying large baskets.
Without a word, Sabriel and the others knelt around Thero, placing their hands on his chest, shoulders, and brow.
“You, too, child,” Sabriel said, giving Mika a kindly smile. “Your master needs you. Imagine him alive and happy. Let him feel how much you love him.”
No one said another word. A soft glow slowly enveloped them and Thero, and with it came a scent like lilies.
“What’s happening?” asked Klia, still holding Thero’s hand.
Seregil smiled. “Sabriel told me last time I was at Mirror Moon that a few other ’faie with a little magic had come there. Sabriel was the first to reveal herself to me. None of them is very strong, but together they may be able to help sustain him.”
“Like the wizards who joined together to help Tamír the Great win her war,” Klia murmured.
“Yes, just like that. There’s more help coming, too. Some of the men are bringing a wagon across the plain, and Kordira’s been sent for.”
“But how did you get to Mirror Moon and back so quickly?” asked Micum.
“I didn’t. I wasn’t much past Menosi when I met Sabriel and the others on the road. We have Mika and Vhadä’s inability to keep a secret to thank for that, don’t we, boys?”
“I’m sorry, Mika,” said Vhadä, who’d hung back all this time. “When you were gone in the morning without a word the whole house was in an uproar. Then the ground shook. I was so worried about you and your friends that I told Mama and she told Khiria and Dorin. Everyone said we had to come help you and the barons, who’d helped us so much. I’m sorry I didn’t keep your secret.”
“Don’t worry about that,” said Seregil. “Between the two of you, you’ve saved a life or two.”
Thero remained pale and motionless as the sun passed noon, hardly appearing to breathe. The women had brought food and water in their baskets, as well as healing simples, and Sabriel saw to it that Alec, Klia, and Mika ate and drank all they could hold. Klia and Mika still had a haunted, starved look and Alec guessed he probably didn’t look much better.
Not long after, the wagon and several horsemen arrived. Micum and Seregil lifted Thero in a blanket and picked their way down the strange new terrain to the wagon. Alec followed, supporting Klia, who was finally feeling the effects of the fight and blood loss. He helped her into the back of the wagon and she lay down on the thick pad of blankets next to Thero, one hand protectively across her belly, the other holding Thero’s. Sabriel climbed in to look after them.
“It’s going to be all right now, my dears,” she told Klia, spreading a blanket over the two of them.
Alec hoped she was right.
The men from Mirror Moon had brought horses for them all. Once the loathsome remains of Rhazat’s body had been deeply and separately buried until someone could come back and burn them, Seregil had a quiet word with Micum, then laid a hand on Alec’s arm. They watched Micum and the others ride away across the plain, then Seregil took Alec by the hand and led him back toward the cave.
“We should get back and see how Thero is,” said Alec.
“There’s nothing you or I can do for him right now,” Seregil replied. “I just want a bit of time with you before we go back.”
Alec followed him up to the painted cave and they used the leftover water and the bandages from one of the baskets to clean each other’s wounds. They were both badly scraped and bruised but Seregil was more concerned at how thin Alec was. He used a wad of linen to sponge Rhazat’s dried black blood from Alec’s face and hands, then handed him a lump of cheese and tore a chunk of bread from one of the loaves the ’faie women had brought. “Eat.”
Alec made short work of the food, and drank deeply from a waterskin. Satisfied, Seregil unbound Alec’s soft blond hair and combed it smooth with his fingers. Alec held his gaze, lips slightly parted, then leaned in and kissed him with a tenderness that brought tears to his eyes. Seregil took him in his arms and kissed him again and again, grateful to his very bones to have Alec alive and well in his arms, not starved and withered away in the grey domain of the dyrmagnos. Then they were pulling at each other’s clothing as they sank back on the last blanket. Exhausted and battered as they both were, the lovemaking had never been sweeter or more needed than it was there, watched over by the painted animals and the shattered remains of a lover’s skull.
Alec woke to midafternoon light slanting into the cave, illuminating its timeless artwork and what remained of the stone formations. Naked, bruised, and wonderfully filthy, he tightened his arms around Seregil, who was still lying half on top of him, one arm around Alec’s waist, one leg slung over Alec’s as if he was afraid even in sleep of losing him. The head scarf was gone, and Seregil’s tangled hair only partly covered the shaved patches and stitches. The short new hairs around the wounds were pure white. All the same, he’d never looked more beautiful to Alec, or felt so perfect in his arms.
Too soon Seregil stirred and stretched against him. Lifting his head, he gave Alec a contented smile. “Hello, my talímenios.”
Alec brushed a tangle of dark hair back from Seregil’s cheek. “Hello, mine.”
Seregil sat up with a groan and reached for his breeches. “I wonder if we scared any shepherds?” he said as they dressed.
“I expect so, if the landscape melting and a large tower appearing out of nowhere didn’t do it already.” Alec stood and gazed out at Zikara and the ruins of Rhazat’s stronghold. “Do you think there will be as many ghosts now?”
Seregil shrugged. “I imagine there will always be ghosts on Kouros, but not monsters.” He looked in the basket. “We’ve eaten everything. I guess w
e better go back.”
“There’s something I want to—” Alec broke off as a large white owl swooped in over their heads to perch in the opening of the tunnel leading up to the other caves. Alec and Seregil bowed their heads reverently to Illior’s bird. The owl bobbed its round head and blinked its huge yellow eyes, as if returning the greeting, then fluffed its feathers and flew up the tunnel to the caves above.
“Have you ever seen an owl do that?” asked Alec.
“No.”
They scrambled up to the middle cave. There was no sign of the owl except for a white tail feather banded with pale grey lying on the ancient oracle’s stool like an offering. In silent agreement, they left it there and went through to the outer cave. It was empty, and there was no sign of the bird outside.
“Something tells me the oracle will speak here again,” said Seregil. “We should probably get back.”
“I know, but there’s something I need to do.”
The horses that had been brought for them from Mirror Moon were still hobbled down the slope from the painted cave, and they galloped across the plain to Zikara.
The ruins had been badly damaged by the shock waves, with many of the remaining walls reduced to piles of stone. Rhazat’s tower was in ruins, as well, the toll of a thousand years rushing in around it. Although the weathered outer wall was still partially intact, rising in places almost to the full height of what it had been, the roof was gone; a flock of sharp-eyed ravens looked down at them from atop the jagged stonework, croaking at them as if warning them off. The floors inside the tower had rotted away, and the only thing that looked anywhere near sound was a curved stone stairway leading down into the gaping, weed-choked cellar.
Alec pointed up to a gap in the stonework where a window had been. “That’s where I first saw Rhazat.” He looked around. “Over there was the alley where Nhandi showed me the vision of the seal.”
A large stone dislodged by the freshening breeze fell into the cellar, and they heard it shatter on something hard.