Darkfire: A Book of Underrealm (13 page)

“I trust Loren in this,” he said briskly. “We continue north.”

The bowyer looked at Loren again, and she saw wonder in his eyes — alongside a burning curiosity. Still, he tried again.
 

“Jordel, tis no concern of mine whether we find this wizard or not. But if you wish to, and you have hired me as your guide, then I beg you to listen. We shall find him west and nowhere else.”

“I do not doubt your skill in woodcraft. I ask that you do not doubt my faith in Loren. If she says Xain is to the north, then that is where we shall find him.”

“Very well.” Albern shrugged. “Do not complain later when we have lost much time in this hunt, and still have no wizard in capture. We shall follow the forest’s daughter, if that be your wish.”

Loren swallowed hard, avoiding the eyes of Gem and Annis, who were both looking at her confused.
 

Albern gained his saddle, and they all rode north.

fifteen

ALBERN GUIDED THEM FORWARD MORE slowly, for he said the satyrs were thick in this part of the valley. They rarely traveled faster than a trot, and most of the time it was a cautious walk instead, with their eyes wandering about, searching for any sign of danger.

In a short while, the ground west grew hard, though it turned back into silt where they rode. Almost as soon as the rocky ground appeared, Albern stopped them with a raised hand. He jumped from his bay, ran a short way to the west, then knelt to the ground. Curious, Loren dismounted. Her head spiked with pain, but she shook it off and went to join the bowyer.

When she reached him, Albern looked up at her with wide eyes and pointed. She saw it: a few small strands of brown cloth, and a small dark smudge that looked like blood.

“He fell here,” said Albern in wonder. “Xain went this way. How did you know?”

“There is much more to this girl than meets the eye,” said Jordel, surprising Loren. He had approached from behind while she studied the markings. She might have heard him coming, if not for her aching skull. “Now we should hasten, for that mark appears fresh.”

“Indeed.” Albern stood, still looking at Loren. “Let us move on.”

They turned the horses to run across the harder terrain, for Xain had stayed there to avoid the soft soil nearer the river. Every so often now they found a new sign. It seemed he was weary and stumbling, for there were many disturbed rocks and smudges of blood; he must have cut his hand, or it was mayhap from the burns he surely suffered fraying his binds.
 

Midnight and the other horses moved ever faster without urging, feeling their riders’ excitement. Loren scanned the soil, checking her dagger every so often, for always it pointed straight.
 

But in their eagerness the party neglected to look skyward. There was a great
snap
and a roar, and Loren raised her eyes to see a bolt of fire speeding toward them. She cried out and tugged Midnight’s reins sharply to the right. But the mare had seen the flames, and veered when Loren told her to. She snatched the plowhorse’s bridle and pulled it along as well, though it moved slower. The flame crashed down in the midst of where they had stood, splashing like a great ball of water and hurling fire in every direction. A few embers landed upon the hem of Annis’s dress, making her cry out as she beat at the spreading fire with her hands.

Loren vaulted from Midnight’s back, ignoring the jolt from her landing, and ran to the girl. She scooped up dirt and threw it at the fire. In a moment it was out, and she looked for Jordel and Albern. They had brought their horses around after avoiding the flames, and now Jordel gave a great shout as he spurred his charger forward, with Albern right behind him.

“Stay here, and move not an inch!” Loren said to Annis.
 

She scrambled back atop Midnight and sped off after the men, gritting her teeth at the jostling.

The bolt of fire had come from the northwest, just past a great mound in the earth where Albern had gone with the Mystic, but Loren turned her horse south instead, circling the mound from the other side. Again her mind’s eye returned to the day she met Xain. He had lost her in the forest, and she had caught him by passing through a copse of birch trees.

I have grown much since the Birchwood, but you have learned little, my wizard,
she thought with a grim smile.

From the other side of the mound she heard Jordel yelling at Albern not to kill Xain, then another blast and eruption of flames were followed by a cry.
 

Her heart skipped a beat. Had the wizard struck Jordel with his flames? Or Albern?

It mattered not. Loren could only ride on. She soon passed the mound, steered Midnight to the right, and saw him.
 

The wizard ran across the open ground a few dozen paces ahead, making for the mountain’s foot to the west, where Loren saw a great many caves — but no satyrs.

Xain looked back and saw her, his eyes burning white. He did not stop, but thrust an arm behind himself and muttered a word.
 

A bolt of lightning crackled forth, thunder threatening to burst Loren’s eardrums as it split the air. She flinched, her reflexes slower than the lightning itself — but unneeded, for the spell split apart and struck the ground on either side of Midnight’s hooves.
 

The horse shrieked with fear, but they were unscathed. The dagger would not let Xain’s magic touch them.

Loren reached him a moment later and tried to dive from the saddle. The motion made white sparks of pain pirouette across her vision. She lost her balance and fell upon Xain with a crash, bearing them both to the ground, but Loren could not wrap her arms around him. They rolled across the grass and landed several feet apart.

The wizard scrambled up at once, shooting flames at Loren. She knew he could not harm her, but Loren’s instincts did not. She hugged the dirt as flames dissipated a few feet away, giving Xain time to find his feet and resume his run.

Thundering hooves brought a harried but unharmed looking Albern and Jordel. Their horses carried them past Loren in pursuit of the wizard, but they could not reach Xain before he vanished into one of the caves that opened upon the valley floor.

Loren heard Albern shout a warning, but Jordel heeded it not. He dropped from his saddle once his charger paused before the cave, then drew his sword and ran in after Xain.
 

Albern took a moment longer, nocking an arrow before following. Loren ran after them, one hand on her head and the other on her dagger — but she did not draw it, for Albern might turn around.

She entered the cave into a scene of insanity.

Jordel and Albern stood with their weapons drawn, facing the wizard. Xain held his ground a few yards beyond them, his right hand extended, flame burning in his palm, eyes glowing with a dark inner fire. His left hand was also filled with flame, illuminating the other direction, deeper into the cave, where a clan of satyrs watched in fear.

There were dozens, many the size of small children, with others clustered and holding them close — their mothers, Loren supposed. Before these stood more of the creatures, larger and thickly muscled, clutching weapons of every sort.
 

The satyrs stood between the children and Xain, braying angrily at his intrusion, looking ready to attack.

“Xain, if you do not leave with us, now, they will kill you,” Jordel said. “Douse your flames and come.”

“No, Mystic,” spat Xain. “I would sooner die in this cave, and let all of you burn with me!”

That was all the satyrs needed. The warriors pounced, thrusting spears and swinging axes of stone. Jordel charged, keeping an eye on Xain while fending the goat-men off with his sword.
 

Albern fired a flurry of arrows, but struck only legs and arms, felling satyrs without slaying them.

Xain had no such compunctions, letting loose with a wave of flame that tore into the warriors. Satyrs fell to the ground bleating in fear, beating at the flames and rolling along the cave floor to douse them.

“No!” Loren cried.

“Loren!” Jordel yelled. “Stop him!”

Gritting her teeth against the pain, Loren ran, boots pounding on the stony floor before she covered the final few feet in a leap. Xain’s head slammed into the rocks as he fell, and his eyes rolled back in his head. Still, he fought to keep his senses.
 

Again he worked his flames but they had no more effect than they had outside. Seized by madness, he scrabbled for Loren’s face with his fingernails.

She seized his wrists and twisted them, forcing the wizard to cry out in pain, then flipped him over, wrestled an arm behind his back, and shoved it toward his shoulder blades until he screamed. Loren got her elbow around his throat, dragging him upward to stand before her, helpless. When he struggled, she raised Xain’s hand behind his shoulder blades until she nearly broke his arm. She tightened her grip on his throat to keep him from speaking, and the flames withered in his hands.

“I have him!” she cried.

“Then go!” said Jordel, backing toward Loren, his blade flashing in the sunlight shining in from outside.

The satyrs drew back and gave space for a fighting retreat. Albern stilled his bowstring, though he held another drawn arrow, waiting for a threat to loose it. Jordel held his blade forward. The fight had not left the goat-men. Their eyes glittered, awaiting opportunity.

A moment later they were outside. Jordel snatched the wizard away, then did something Loren had never seen. With one arm around his neck, he twisted his fingers into a curious shape and pressed them to Xain’s temple. The other hand curled around the wizard’s wrist, pressing between his bones. Xain screamed, but Jordel ignored him. He leaned in close and whispered into the wizard’s ear — words too low and quick for Loren to catch. The snatches she heard were in no tongue she knew, not unlike the words Xain spoke to make fire.

His face glowed white, face contorting as he screamed, jaw so wide she thought it might break. Bolts of fire sparked from his clawed fingers, falling upon the mountainside above the cave, and to either side. They exploded in tremendous balls of flame wherever they struck. The mountain shuddered and the ground quaked beneath them. With a roar and a crash, boulders fell from above, piled before the entrance, and blocked the cave in a wall of rock.
 

Dust rained to cover them all. Loren raised her hood to protect her mouth and nose. When silence had finally settled, she looked again at the cave — a wall of stones, no different from any other part of the mountain.

“Do what you will, Jordel,” said Xain, spittle flying from his lips, trying to reach around and claw at the Mystic’s face. “I will never stop running. I will never stop trying to escape. One day when you are sleeping I will break free again, and this time I will not stop myself from—”

Jordel released the wizard’s hand and wrapped an arm tighter around his neck. He squeezed, and Xain fell collapsed in his arms. The Mystic turned him around, then heaved Xain upon his shoulder without effort. The wizard had wasted away to almost nothing.

Jordel eyed the sealed entrance. “Will the satyrs be able to escape?”
 

“The caves all have back entrances,” said Albern. “Like a honeycomb, each one connects to every other. The satyrs dig them that way so they can easily flee any attack. But we have time to escape before they can emerge.”

“I ask not for our safety,” said Jordel. “I would not wish the clan to suffocate because of this wizard, though beasts they may be. If you think they can find a way out, then let us go.”

sixteen

THE CHILDREN WERE WAITING WHERE they had been left, staring west with wide and frightened eyes. Once Loren and the men returned, with Xain slung across Jordel’s horse, Gem and Annis sighed with obvious relief. Albern guided them forward, north again along the river, for he had told them there would soon be another place where the mountain pass dipped to the valley floor. There, they could retreat into the heights.

Despite not eating all day, Jordel did not allow them to stop. They devoured miles until finally reaching the pass, where they went up, up, up, back into the clouds. They constantly looked behind them for satyrs, but saw nothing.
 

Free from the valley floor, the thrill drained from Loren and she felt a weariness settle, alongside an unyielding ache in her head. She slumped in her saddle, the sudden motion making her hurt even worse. Throughout her ride she felt moments from sleep. The journey thus far had been taxing, and the day’s excitement had left her empty.

Jordel finally let them stop just after sundown, and they climbed from their horses in silence. He must have seen Loren’s obvious pain, for he went to her at once, gingerly inspecting the back of her head.

“Does it still hurt?”

“It is not so bad,” Loren said, though that was a lie. She gritted her teeth, determined to not slow the party.

“It might have been,” muttered Gem.

“And we all know why,” Annis agreed.

“I hear you two,” said Jordel in a warning tone.

“Good,” Gem said, louder. “Let the wizard hear us, too. We should never have pursued him.”

Jordel opened his mouth, but Annis spoke first. “You know there is wisdom in what he says. Mayhap I was wrong to say we should abandon him, alone in the mountains where he would be sure to starve. But keeping him with us heightens our danger. Let us give him some provisions and the plowhorse then send him on his way — far away from us.”

“That horse is not yours to give,” said Albern. “Though I will not say I disagree. We have faced little danger in the pass, Jordel, other than that which Xain has brought down upon us. I promised to guide you safely through the mountains — yet I find that vow ever harder to keep, and would not be made a liar by this wizard, even if his mind is swayed by want of magestone.”

“We have survived so far,” said Loren. “We will survive until the end of the road. No danger has yet proved our equal. If we reach settled lands and still you wish to cut him loose, then I might not argue against you so strongly. But here in these mountains, a horse and some spare rolls of hardtack will not save him. He is too weak for fight, and using his magic has nearly left him dead. Casting him out will finish the job.”