Chapter Two
"Faster, rat," the Hull spit, and jerked on Darsor's lead. It was a strong enough tug that Cadvan lurched forward, pressing Maerad into the pommel of the saddle. Darson reared back slightly, snorting in anger.
I hate these things, he said to them both, tossing his head, eyes flashing in the direction of the Hulls . I swear, I shall crush one under my hooves if it gets close enough!
Maerad smiled despite herself and kissed Darsor's neck. You're so brave, my sweet, and so strong. Three days, three days and you haven't quit.
Darsor snorted disparagingly and said, I won't let you ride with those things.
Maerad straightened up, leaning back against Cadvan's chest. He was slouched in the saddle, so his head hung and rested on her shoulder, occasionally bumping Maerad. And you, Cadvan, are you alright?
Cadvan sighed, giving himself a little shake and straightened up. Of course, he wasn't alright! Of course, he was miserable and frightened and in pain! But that seemed of little consequence now and he tightened his grip on Maerad's waist. As well as can be expected, Maerad. Don't worry overmuch about me.
His words belied his strain, and Maerad, so closely in contact with his thoughts, sensed his exhaustion. There's nothing else for me to do, she said pointedly.
You could try and escape, he suggested eyeing his own bonds. Between the ropes holding his wrists together the constant assault of the Hull's Dark magic, Cadvan didn't think he stood much chance at escape. But Maerad was different. She could call on her powers, she could flee given the right circumstances.
And leave you to torment in the dungeons of Dagra? I think not. Maerad's voice was firm, her mind made up. She knew, even if she could escape, that leaving Cadvan behind was a death sentence for him, and she wouldn't bear that weight.
I survived the Landrost, he pointed out, but in truth, Cadvan was glad to hear that Maerad didn't want to abandon him. He thought that, if she were gone, the Hulls would have little reason to keep him alive. True, they had said that that Nameless One wanted him for his own reasons, but he suspected that his fate was inexorably bound to Maerad, and, if she were gone, he knew he would die a very painful death. And, if you're being even remotely honest with yourself, the knowledge that Maerad wants to stay with you makes your heart lighter.
Maerad shifted in the saddle to try and catch his eye. I'm not having this argument. We go together.
Cadvan was about to reply when the Hull leading them, bored from the day's travel gave another tug on the lead. Darsor dug his hooves in, nostrils flaring in anger. The motion jerked Cadvan forward again, and this time he slid sideways out of the saddle. As he went down, Maerad gave a cry and threw herself the other way to stop him falling out of the saddle.
The Hulls were unforgiving.
"Idiot Bards," one Hull cursed and turned about to watch them struggle. It trotted back toward them while Cadvan managed to settle himself back in the saddle. "Can you not keep yourself still? Trying to escape?"
Maerad saw that instead of drawing back, Cadvan merely lifted his chin boldly, straightening up to face the creature. By the Light, Cadvan, be careful, she thought privately.
The Hull took his shirt in a firm grasp, examining Cadvan closely. A brief image flitted across Maerad's mind of Keru and her needless death. The Hull's hand snapped across his face and it bared its teeth in a snarl. "You've some nerve, Cadvan, to sit so high and mighty. If you weren't destined for more in Dagra, I'd break you here and now."
"I didn't realize I was such an inconvenience," said Cadvan sardonically. "Pity your master wants me alive."
"Make your jokes, Cadvan, for you will wish we had killed you here rather than suffer the vengeance of our master."
Probably true, Cadvan thought, watching the Hull remove a knife from its cloak. He eyed the knife blandly, determined not to betray fear. "If I really am to go before the Nameless One, then this means nothing."
"As it should, for I would need time with you, days and nights of time to break you. This is simply a reminder to mind yourself." The Hull drew close to Darsor, who took a few skittering steps to the side.
Cadvan narrowed his gaze but the Hull didn't notice. It bent in the saddle, grasped his ankle in a vice like grip, and removed the boot from Cadvan's foot. Though he kept his face devoid of emotion, Cadvan felt his stomach twist tightly. Feet were quite sensitive generally, and having it bared so open to the Hull made him nervous. His toes twitched when the Hull ran the tip of a blade along the arch of his foot.
"Sensitive?" the Hull laughed, then angled the blade so its tip was pointed to the heel. "This is will be fast, have no fear."
Cadvan clamped his teeth down, ready for whatever the Hull had planned, and though he intended to remain silent, when the Hull drew the blade across the arch of his foot, slicing sinew and muscle, he gasped. A strange sensation raced up his leg, a burning that wouldn't dull, and he saw his blood pooling in the dust. When he tested his toes, they barely moved in response.
"Can't have you running away on us, can we?" the Hull asked. "Perhaps, hobbled as you are now, you'll stay put in the saddle."
Maerad, who had watched the entire thing with mixed horror and fury, felt words bubbling up before she could stop herself. "And what good does that do?" she demanded, while Cadvan stared at his bleeding foot. "How does this help anything?"
"Keep quiet!" snapped the Hull, looking Cadvan over. He was shaking a little, still breathing sharply as the pain radiated up his leg, "I doubt he'll go anywhere on that leg."
Though Cadvan privately agreed, he refused to admit it to the Hull. "Let us hope your master didn't want me to walk anywhere in his service."
The Hull's lip curled but it said nothing else before riding away. Maerad touched Cadvan's mind. Do you think you can you walk at all?
Cadvan glanced down to his booted foot where blood was slowly staining the leather. If I absolutely had to, I could walk, but certainly not run. Sensing Maerad's despair, Cadvan managed to brush his fingers against her wrist and said with forced lightness, Have no fear. When we escape, it will be riding Darsor.
Maerad relaxed back against him and tried to convince herself she was somewhere else with him. As they Hulls spurred their horses on, Maerad had an image in her mind of being dragged across Annar to the desolate lands of Den Raven, and she cringed against Cadvan. Whatever torments lay at the end of this road, she realized his being there made her braver. Not because she thought he could protect her. He couldn't. Because he needed her to be strong, and when someone else relied on you, then you had no choice.
I'll protect you, she told him gently.
They were moving swiftly, the caravan swaying back and forth in a comforting motion, but Hem wouldn't rest. He sat outside the caravan, riding along whoever was directing horses. When it was Saliman, they sat together and spoke softly of finding Maerad, of his Knowing, and of the Song that would be remade. When it was Hekibel, she would tell him charming stories of her life as a traveling player. Hem listened, though only half, and we would often lose track of her stories and merely nod his head. Hekibel knew this, but it didn't offend her, for she guessed that whatever was occupying his thoughts was far more important than her childhood. They were making good progress north, and that seemed all that mattered.
As it was, Hem was listening. Not to anything in particular, but for some sound that might tell him where Maerad was. He had got to thinking that if the Song was broken silence would linger between it and its other half. Perhaps, if Maerad had the other half of the Song, when the two reunited they would hear the music. He would strain his Hearing for hours on end, hoping that somewhere in the world was the other half of the song, calling out.
On the third night of their riding, Saliman was sitting over the fire, making stew. "We're not far from Innail now. Perhaps ten days, maybe eleven."
"More than a week?" Hem sounded surprised.
"If we were riding horses and not towing caravan, then yes, perhaps a week would get us there." Saliman glanced at the horses who were browsing for food in the low grass. "But soon Hem. Have you had any sense of your sister?"
Hem frowned. "None, though I don't think that's necessarily a bad sign. I do not think she is dead."
Hekibel studied Hem a moment. "But do you feel her closer to us?"
"Not really." Hem shifted uncomfortably. "I've been trying to listen for the Song. I thought it might lead me to her. But still I hear nothing."
Saliman nodded. "These are powers I know nothing of and so I cannot advise in any particular course. I still think we are best served by going to Innail, but if your Knowing says otherwise…"
Hem shook himself. "I still think we are best to go to Innail, but I wish all the same we were moving faster. There's something here, there's something I don't like."
"It's a desolate land," agreed Hekibel. "But I don't think we have much a choice."
"It feels like someone is watching us," said Hem and Saliman's eyes widened.
"I hear nothing," he said slowly, "but that does not mean you're wrong. What does it feel like? Does it have Darkness about it?"
Hem looked out again into the setting sun, but the sensation had left him almost as soon as it had come. "I don't know. But it felt intrusive…like-like someone spying, not someone watching. Does that make sense at all?"
Saliman nodded. "And I like it not at all. But we can't move through the night, not while the horses need rest."
"We should keep watch in shifts all the same," said Hekibel. "Though I haven't the hearing you two have, perhaps I can keep watch in the early hours of evening while you rest."
"I certainly wouldn't mind a rest," said Saliman lightly as he finished his stew. "Wake me then, after a few hours, and we'll leave this place before the sun rises, yes?"
"We have a long ten days before us," said Hem, thinking of the road to Innail.
"But a reward at the end, I'm sure," Saliman said with forced cheer, and then wrapped himself in his cloak and returned to the caravan to sleep.
Hem sat with Hekibel a time, helping her clean the site but the oppressive feeling of being watched hadn't gone. After a while, he merely stopped and watched Hekibel as she moved about. She hummed softly under her breath as she went, an old tune about a wild, half-fey woman who fell in love with a mortal man and gave up her wild magic to be with him. She was aware of Hem watching, and her heart went out to the poor, troubled boy. She sang louder, hoping her voice, if nothing else calmed him. Hem leaned forward, watching her move and reveling in the sound of her gentle voice; it was a balm on his nervousness. For the finale, she tossed her head back, letting her voice ring out around the camp site.
Hem let the final notes ring out and applauded. Hekibel turned, smiled and bobbed a curtesy. Their eyes met and, in that moment,, Hem realized that Hekibel was infinitely more loving and knowledgeable of his fears and doubts than she let on. He wanted her here, he wanted her with them.
Hekibel opened her mouth to tell Hem that he needn't worry and that they would find his sister soon, and she wouldn't stop until they were all reunited, and that was why neither of them were prepared when the wers attacked.
When the Hulls called a stop, Darsor gave a defeated whinny and Maerad rubbed his neck. They had pushed a merciless pace, even for Darsor and the stallion was exhausted. Since the Hull had effectively hobbled Cadvan, they had gone at a full gallop, and while the Hulls had little care for the poor beasts that carried them, Maerad and Cadvan sensed Darsor's flagging strength. They had gone four more days, running for hours at a time only to stop briefly for the horses to drink then moving on again; they didn't stop till the last rays of light grazed the horizon and began again when the sky turned an inky blue that preceded dawn. Though he was strong and capable, Maerad suspected Darsor couldn't maintain his stamina forever.
I'm so sorry, my sweet, Maerad said to Darsor, leaning forward and kissing the side of his face. I think we must almost be there; it'll be over soon.
Darsor's mouth hung open, his breathing heavy. I'll carry you both, have no fear.
His stubborn courage made Maerad's mouth twitch. You are surely a god among horses, Darsor, and true and loyal friend.
Cadvan, who was resting behind Maerad stirred and lifted his head up looking about wearily. The last few days had been difficult for him. Though he hadn't lost much blood, his sliced foot continually ached and the odd movement aggravated his leg. At night, he preferred to stay awake and watch the Hulls, so during the day he bent over in saddle, head bowed against Maerad and would succumb to troubled sleep. More than anything, as they rode closer to Dagra, he felt an oppressive power that would occasionally graze his thoughts, and it left him sick in his heart.
"Where are we now?" he wondered, looking about. Before them stretched nothing but barren waste and dust. "Close to Dagra I suppose?"
"The Hulls seem pleased at the distance we've come," Maerad observed, glancing over at them. "Perhaps only a few days now?"
Cadvan cursed. "If we enter Dagra, I do not think we will leave it."
Maerad turned away "There is no other choice. And don't say that."
"You could still try and run," Cadvan pushed, though he knew Maerad's response. "I could create a distraction and surely there is some strength left in you to run."
"We've had this argument enough times over." Maerad frowned at Cadvan and he turned his face away from her. "If I go I suspect your life is forfeit and that is not something I intend to do. I'm not sacrificing you for-"
"For the Light," Cadvan insisted. "This is the Light and all the Schools and all the Bards."
"And where would I run, Cadvan?" Maerad countered. "Darsor is in no condition to run me back to safety even if I could get free. No, running would only cause you more pain, for they would catch me and bring me back and hurt you as a lesson to me."
Cadvan sighed as one of the Hulls came to loosen their bonds to the saddle. Maerad slid down tiredly, but Cadvan, whose foot could not support his weight crumpled forward and was only stopped from completely crashing to the ground by Darsor, who Cadvan fetched up against.
"Bowing to me won't spare you now," the Hull sneered. "We're two days out of Dagra."
Both Maerad and Cadvan had since given up speaking to the Hulls, preferring to merely hear their curses and abuses and sit quietly. Maerad allowed the Hull to bind her hands to a stake driven into the ground passively and waited patiently until one of the Hulls offered them a hunk of bread and a bowl of soup to share. Maerad thought that the Hulls were purposefully feeding them little to keep them weak.
The joke is on them, because I spent most my life starving, she thought grimly, nibbling the bread. At least that's one victory.
Cadvan had grown to hate night far more than Maerad, and longed to be on Darsor, even if it meant being in pain. At night, if he slept at all, he had awful nightmares that haunted him during the day. He saw the beautiful Schools he loved so dearly, razed, and his friends slaughtered or enslaved. He didn't understand if what they showed him was the future, or merely a compilation of his memories, bent to serve their purposes. He noticed that in none of his dreams did he ever see the Nameless One, and he hoped this meant that what they showed him was really just drawn from his own memories, not a glimpse into the planned future of Annar and the seven kingdoms. But even that glimmer of hope didn't push away the visions of a burnt and desolate world.
That night, though, one of the Hulls approached them and watched while they finished their meal. Cadvan lifted his chin, insolent as ever, but the Hull seemed uninterested. "We are now come within the reach our master. You can feel his presence, no?"
So that was the oppressive force, Cadvan thought.
"What of it?" he asked.
"We no longer have need of nightmares and dreams to subdue you. Sleep as you wish, for shortly you will kneel before our master."
Maerad's breath hissed through her teeth but Cadvan merely raised an eyebrow in silent defiance. When the Hull passed away, Maerad reached out and clutched Cadvan's hand in her own. "What do we do when we go before him?"
Cadvan looked down at their hands entwined and felt his regret mingling with his shame. He had been charged with keeping her safe and here they were, so close to the hands of the Nameless One that the Hulls didn't even bother to spell them. They were already lost.
"I'll protect you as best I can," he finally said. "Though, forgive me, but I do not think I will have the strength to defeat the Nameless One."
In the fading light Maerad scrutinized Cadvan's face. He was gaunt, lines of exhaustion of dull fear etched in his face. "I don't expect you to, nor would I ask it of you. I meant that certainly he will ask me for the Song, and certainly he will threaten to harm you should I refuse him."
"That doesn't matter," said Cadvan. "My life isn't worth the sacrifice."
"He'll hurt you," she said blankly.
"He'll hurt you," returned Cadvan simply. "I think we may need to accept that our fate isn't going to be a pleasant one. I do not think there will be a return from this darkness."
Maerad bowed her head so Cadvan couldn't see the look on her face. "I fear what will become of us. Will it be like the songs, Cadvan? The tragic tales we used to sing together of brave men and women who died such terrible and lonely deaths?"
"I would think so," Cadvan said gently.
"Cadvan what if I can't withstand him? What if he breaks me?"
Cadvan clutched her hand tighter. "There is no shame in this. No matter what I have called you, no matter how great your powers, no matter how many times you have proven yourself, you are still just a woman-and he is far worse than any man. No one would judge you if you fell."
Maerad thought this over a while as the sun finally sank and the last light left the sky. After a time, she said, "What do you think will happen to us? What will he do?"
"It does not do to dwell on these thoughts," he said evasively, looking away from her searching gaze. "If you must face the Nameless One, I would have you go before him as fearless as you may."
"The Landrost held you captive for a time. You must have some idea. I only wish to be prepared for what must come."
Cadvan frowned at her, clearly uncomfortable. He didn't want to scare her. Maerad took his chin in her hand and turned his face back to her. "I'm not afraid, but I need to know. After all this time, I thought you might treat me like an adult, not a child."
Cadvan closed his eyes as if momentarily pained. "I think the Nameless One will want revenge for what we tried to do, and I think he will be far worse than the Landrost. I think there will be blood and pain, I think there will be days and nights of torment, because he will not want us dead so soon. I think he will seek to break us through torture, and I would be remiss if I didn't warn you that he might." Cadvan didn't mention his own private fears of what that torture might entail, how vulnerable Maerad was, and how the Nameless One's desire to keep them both alive was forbidding enough.
Maerad digested this news slowly as pit opened up somewhere near her stomach. Cadvan was right: days and night, weeks and months, years of torment. It would be worse than Gilman's cot, it would be worse than Arkan; it would be the rest of her life and it would be in darkness.
Reflexively, almost childishly, she moved toward Cadvan and he drew under one of his arms protectively. "I suppose this is the risk of being the Chosen One. I knew this could have been my fate. But you, Cadvan, this wasn't meant for you."
In a very intimate gesture, Cadvan kissed Maerad's forehead and then rested his cheek on the top of her head. Maerad could feel Cadvan's body up and down her, feel his heart beating in his chest, feel heat radiate off him and she sank against him. He was safe.
"I think that my fate-whatever it is-is tied to yours. I found you, I brought you out of the mountains, I have been your sole teacher for months, and you have been a very dear friend to me, Maerad. I see now that wherever your fate leads you, mine would be the same."
"Then I'm sorry I brought you to this," Maerad murmured, hardly understanding the depth of Cadvan's words. "I wish it would have ended differently for us. I wish this Darkness would have passed and we could have travelled through the Seven Kingdoms, staying at inns, visiting schools, true travelling minstrels."
Cadvan ran his hand over Maerad's hair, trying to sooth her. "We'll stay together. No matter what happens we won't be parted."
Maerad and Cadvan remained that way long into the night, wrapped around each other, taking what little comfort there was from a familiar touch and dreading the coming days when they would go to Dagra. They were both trying to make sense of their lives, trying to understand how something that had started with such good intentions could have turned so bad. How their road could have taken them here? How could they have failed so miserably?
As the night stretched on Maerad stirred and sat up a little straighter. "I've had a thought, Cadvan."
"Yes?" he asked in a muffled voice, reluctant to let her go at all.
"The Nameless One has me, and he has the Song, but not the music and not my brother." She glanced up at him with the smallest smile. "As long as Hem is free, he hasn't won. He'll need us both I think, and Hem could be anywhere with Saliman."
"It's a small hope," Cadvan said slowly, "but it is hope."
Maerad rested against Cadvan again, feeling as though a little weight had been lifted from her. "As long as Hem is free there is hope."
Hekibel's scream woke Saliman from his light sleep. He started, only momentarily confused, before rolling out of bed, grabbing his sword as he went. Saliman kicked open the door to the caravan and jumped down; the moment his feet touched the ground he was glowing with white light. He heard Hem curse and darted around the front of the caravan. Madness had ensued in the camp site: the two horses were loose and running in circles around the site, tossing their heads and calling out into the night, the fire had escaped it pit and was licking at baskets and blankets left out, the remnants of their dinner were strew about, and, in the middle of it all, Hem and Hekibel were furiously trying to ward off a pack of wers.
Hem had his sword in one hand, a dancing white flame in the other. Hekibel was holding a knife and a burning branch, and when one wer darted at her, she struck it in the face with the fire. As Saliman looked on, the largest of the wers dove at Hem, who threw up his hand and a burst of White Fire radiated outward, creating a blazing shield that repelled the wer. The creature hit the ground with a loud thump, and it rolled over itself, snarling. When it got back up, its eyes were focused entirely on Hem.
Saliman didn't waste another moment. He rushed into the fray, throwing up his hands and White Flame crashed over the nearest wer like a wave. It fell back, the flames licking its body, and it tried to put them out by rolling in the dirt, but to no avail as the White flames consumed its body and it burned to death and its screeching howls echoed in the night.
"Saliman!" Hem cried as he emerged from the dark. "They're everywhere, I don't know how many, but they keep coming!"
"Fifteen, perhaps twenty," said Saliman. "We can throw them off I think so long as this is it."
Hekibel looked hard at Saliman. "And do you think this is it?"
Before Saliman could answer, another wer dove at them and he threw up his blade, piercing it threw the chest. It shriveled on the point of his sword and died instantly. "I don't know. Wers aren't uncommon, but I thought we moved quietly enough that no one would notice us. This doesn't seem right."
"They were sent?" Hem wondered, and then dodged the blow of another, twisted, and jabbed his sword forward. "Does someone know who we are?"
Before Saliman could answer, another voice carried to them on the night wind. It was oddly soft to be heard over the cries of the wers, and it seemed as though someone had whispered it directly into their ears rather than across a battlefield. "Does someone, indeed?"
Saliman's reply hissed through his teeth. "These aren't just wers."
Hekibel glanced at Hem, whose eyes had, almost childishly, doubled in size. "Black Bards," he said. "Hulls. How could they have followed us?"
"We can discover how they tracked us in the morning." Saliman threw out his hearing for the Hulls, but they seemed a distance away. Too far to be of concern just then. "For now, it matters not. Hekibel, stay behind Hem and I and be prepared to run should the need arise." Hekibel opened her mouth to protest but Saliman held up a hand. "Do not think I consider you a coward or weak, but these Hulls have powers like Bards. You are not a match for them, no matter how steadfast your heart."
Hekibel reluctantly stepped behind Hem and Saliman, but kept her blade and flame raised. Hem considered the remaining wers. "Can we battle both wers and Hulls at once?"
"I'd prefer not," Saliman said hesitantly. "I think the Hulls sent them to tire us so that when they came, we would be easily overpowered."
Hem was about to ask, will we be? but thought better of it. "Should we make a shield then to ward off the wers and just wait for the Hulls so as not to waste any strength."
Saliman raised his sword. "No, for we would just be doubly strained when the Hulls arrived. Kill the wers, then deal with the Hulls."
The wers, that had fallen back when their comrades had been so easily disposed of, but the presence of the Hulls had emboldened them, and they were prowling closer, gnashing their teeth. The wer Hem had sent rolling backward had not taken its eyes from him, and was now sniffing at the air, tasting Hem on the breeze, and salivating.
No, ordered a voice in the wer's mind. No, you bring the boy to me unspoiled.
The touch of the Hull's mind made the wer whimper, but also served to remind the wer that it served the Nameless One, and he wanted the Bards brought back to him, not ripped apart in the wild. The wer shook itself and once again fixed its glowing eyes on Hem, digging its claws into the dirt and preparing to lunge forward.
Hem could sense of the attention of the wer on him and raised his blade higher to strike. On his side, Saliman was summoning another blast of white fire. This on, he hoped, would be strong enough destroy most of the wers, though he feared it might leave him vulnerable to the Hulls who were clearly waiting for the first battle to end.
Almost as if they had agreed to strike as one, the wers rushed upon them. Hem swung his blade through the dark, and felt the edge slice through flesh. He whirled around, using the momentum of his swing to draw the blade across another wer that had come too close, and it too collapsed in howls of pain. He fell gracefully out of the turn, summoning White Flame, and threw a bolt of it at the nearest wer, which tried to dodge but missed and was consumed by the fire in seconds. Hem recoiled as the smell of burn fur wafted to him, but he didn't lower his blade and continued to parry the blows of the beasts.
Behind him, Hekibel had managed to set a wer on fire with the branch she swung and watched as it ran yelping into one of its companions. She clutched the blade tighter in her hand and prepared to dive forward and deliver a killing blow if the fire didn't finish it, but Saliman, hyper vigilant of her, cast a ball of fire at the creature and it was gone. In the erratic light of the wers and the camp fire, Hekibel and Saliman made eye contact, and a fierce emotion passed between them, something like longing and desperation, and it left them both with an even stronger desire to see this night pass so that they might be with each other in the morning.
The wers were leery of Saliman, who they had identified as the strongest of the three, and they tried to lure him into traps, drawing him out and away from the other two, only to rush in behind him, but Hem was more than capable of handling the wers, and they fell back, snapping at the Bards. Soon, Saliman and Hem fell into a rhythm where Saliman would move forward, allow a wer or two to escape past him to Hem, who would then kill the creature with a well-placed blow or a flash of White Fire. It was slow, tedious in some sense, but it did allow the Bards to conserve most of their strength.
When there were only five wers left, the one who had been eyeing Hem, prowled forward. It was a huge creature, easily outweighing Hem, and had wicked, jagged claws that extended from its hands and feet. It watched Hem swing his blade and considered the relatively short reach of the boy. If it could get within his swing, it could probably strike him. But, of course, there was Saliman, who was posing far more a problem to the pack of wers. He was larger, he was stronger and the ease with which he swung his sword suggested he was more accustomed to battle. The wer hissed.
Leave the Bard to us, said a Hull into the wer's mind. Subdue the boy, slaughter the woman. We will manage the Bard.
The wer snarled and sank lower, almost until its belly touched the earth. If the Hull said it would manage the Bard, then the wer wasn't going to bother with it. It began to lope forward, its gaze fixed entirely on Hem. One pounce, one good leap, and it would be within swinging distance of the boy's blade.
Saliman saw the wer darting forward and prepared to strike but as the wer leapt and Saliman made to summon Fire, he felt something like a cold hand grasp his wrist and twist his arm away. The White Fire burst off in the opposite direction catching two other wers, but completely missing the first. Saliman jerked back, but the cold grasp tightened and tugged him mercilessly forward, dragging him down like a weight. Saliman twisted about to Hem and Hekibel.
"The Hulls are approaching!" he cried. "Get back!"
Hekibel gave a sharp cry, pointing frantically at the darkness before Saliman. When he turned to look in the direction, Saliman saw the that shadows around the campsite were moving like liquid, forming and then dissolving into shapes. Creatures with no bodies, trying to cling to life in this world where they certainly didn't belong. Whatever the Hulls had summoned to bind him, it was too powerful a being to take on a physical shape.
A bad sign, Saliman thought, reaching out with his mind, trying to identify the creature. Whatever it was, its presence was a void, a lack of being, a lack of thought, and when it sensed Saliman reaching out for it, it repelled him. Saliman felt its jealously, for it despised him for his life while it was empty.
Saliman threw another bolt of Fire at the creature, but it deflected it carelessly, keeping its consciousness trained on Saliman. He could feel it, a malevolent weight pressing down on him, trying to squeeze him into nothingness. It wanted him gone. It wanted the light in him gone. It wanted no reminder of what it had once had but had given up ages ago. The reminder of life was too painful for the creature to bear.
Saliman realized in that moment that the thing would destroy him given the opportunity and that only the command of powerful sorcerer was checking it. Whatever Hull had come for them, it was far more dangerous than he had perceived.
Hem, Saliman thought. It's come for Hem.
"Hem, run!" he cried, but noticed too late what had transpired behind him while he took the measure of the creature.
The wer that had escaped him was now circling about Hem, darting forward and then falling back, just out of reach of his swing. It snapped at him, driving him slowly back, forcing him farther and farther from the camp and the fire and from Saliman. It was trying to isolate Hem, and, fool that he had been Saliman had let it. Almost as an afterthought, Saliman glanced toward Hekibel. The other two wers has pressed her up against the caravan and, though she lunged at them with fire and blade, it did little to dissuade them.
Saliman began to frantically push back against the creature now holding him, but he couldn't break its grasp. Desperately he threw out his hands, reaching deep inside himself for some power to break its hold. Furious at his attempts, the creature began constrict, as if trying to force him into the smallest space it could. Saliman struggled to breathe, gasping for air.
Hem, though a good distance from Saliman and Hekibel now, heard his friend's gasps. He perceived the thing now attacking Saliman, but couldn't come to his aid. The wer had driven him to the very edge of the camp site and had now almost completely stopped lunging at him; now it just circled, herding him away from the others. Hem knew it wouldn't kill him, it would simply keep him away while his friends died.
Saliman! Hem said, Saliman, what do we do?
As if from a great distance, Hem heard his reply. They've come for you, Hem. Can you escape?
Hem glanced at the wer, which was following his movements with its hungry eyes. I doubt it. Not unless this wer is distracted.
Saliman was quiet a long moment, but when he spoke, his voice was raw with emotion. This might be the end of our travels together, Hem, for I do not think I will be able to defeat this creature.
Hem swallowed, looking around the camp site. Hekibel was still furiously lashing out at the wers, but they were closer now, and flashing their teeth. We must get word to the others, he mused. The Bards need to know
Run! Saliman ordered again. The wer will chase you but it can't kill you. Flee and make for Innail.
But Hem knew this was pointless. Yes, the wer would run him down, and then the Hulls, wherever they were, would find him, and it would have been for naught. He glanced again at Hekibel, coming to a decision quickly.
We travel together-to whatever end, Hem said determinedly to Saliman and then drove his sword at the wer. It skirted the blades edge, jumping to the side, and left an opening for Hem to summon one last burst of White Fire at the wers surrounding Hekibel.
The wers fell back, yelping as they caught fire. Hekibel paused, her short sword hanging in midair, staring at Hem. She took a step toward him, but he stepped back shaking his head, and tossed his sword aside.
"Go! Go to Innail!" he shouted over the din of the battle. "Warn them!"
Hekibel's gaze flickered to Saliman, still struggling with the creature, and their eyes met. She saw, for one moment, a rush of emotion and longing, but then he closed his eyes and it was gone. He pointed behind her to the caravan, where one of the horses was snorting tossing its head, cowering behind the canvas and wood, and kept jabbing at it.
"Run!" Saliman cried, "Run!"
And so, Hekibel ran. Still holding the short sword before her in case of another wer attack, she turned on her heel and darted for the horse. It was quivering in terror, eyes rolling, but she grabbed the lead, tossed it round the horse's neck once, and swung up onto its bare back. She kicked the horse sharply in the belly, sending it flying forward. Through the campsite they went, past the corpses of wers and the spitting fire, away from Hem, who had thrown up his hands, waiting for the Hulls to descend on him, and away from Saliman, who was kneeling now, still wrestling with the creature but succumbing to its will. Hekibel fled them all and vanished into the night, clinging to the horse for life and crying out in fear and pain and loss.