“Meaning someone on the run,” Alea interpreted, “who has no love for the local government but needs protection.”
“Yes,” Gar said, “but not a real criminal, just a good person who’s fallen into trouble—a soldier on the losing side, perhaps, or a peasant who couldn’t pay his taxes.”
“That shouldn’t be hard to find, in a medieval society.” Alea turned to face the road. “Let’s just hope we find them before the real outlaws do.”
Mira had managed to stay free for two days—nights, rather, since she didn’t dare travel when it was light and the soldiers could see her. She had hidden in a haystack the first day and watched between the straws as a party of them rode by. They hadn’t brought the dogs then, thank heaven, or she would have been discovered. The second night, she had waded down a stream until her feet were numb, then managed to climb a vine to a tree limb, where she had warmed her feet until she was sure of them again, and could walk the lower limbs from tree to tree until they were too far apart to cross from one to another. By that time, though, she had been at least a hundred feet from the bank, and the hounds weren’t likely to pick up her scent if they’d been following the water.
There were dangers at night, of course, and she went with her heart pounding, starting at every noise, frightened at the mere thought of the ghosts who were apt to come looking for her—but the magician hadn’t sent them yet. Wild ghosts were even more frightening, for she’d heard stories about them taking over people’s minds—though just as many stories claimed that couldn’t happen till a person was dead, and then it would be ghost against ghost, and surely the newer would be stronger and would win.
This was the third night, and she doubted that the hounds and the soldiers would hunt her so far from home, so she dared to walk on the road instead of picking her way over tree roots under the shadows of the pines. Roketh would send word to the other magicians, though, and their guards would be alert for a woman traveling alone. If they found her, they would chase her, catch her, and send her back to Roketh—so she still went cautiously, alert for the sound of hooves or marching feet. She was just beginning to breathe more easily when she saw the glimmering mist gathering over the road ahead of her. She stopped, heart in her throat, and watched, rooted to the spot, as the mist thickened and bulged into arms and a head with hollow, staring eyes and a dark circle of a mouth—but nothing more, only a blank bulge with darkness for features. It was raw energy, a specter gathered but still unformed, a wild ghost, a thing seeking form and purpose. Its kind were the most dangerous sort of phantoms, for they were voracious.
It shot toward her, moaning, and her heart leaped into her throat.
Gar was pouring the first ladle of stew into Alea’s bowl when the terror hit; he nearly dropped both back into the kettle.
Alea’s head snapped back as though she had been slapped. “Who was that?”
“I don’t know, but I would hate to be the one they’re threatening,” Gar said grimly. “Whoever sent that mental bolt finds a great deal of pleasure in others’ fright—and the woman whom it hit is absolutely terrified. If you’ll excuse me, I have to see a sadist about a beating.”
“I won’t excuse you at all.” Alea rose, catching up her staff. “First one to him gets to keep him.” As an afterthought, she added, “Put that fire out, will you?”
Gar stared down at the flames; they diminished and died. The sticks smoked, but even the smoke thinned and vanished. Then Gar looked up to find that Alea had disappeared into the night.
The ghost’s lament turned into words: “Erring woman, go back to your master!”
“No!” Mira wailed. “He will exploit me, he will abuse me, he will hurt me!”
“Shame!” the ghost intoned, towering over her. “Shame! Shame!”
“It is shame he would heap upon me!” Mira felt hot tears streaming down her cheeks. “I have seen the women he has used—empty husks, all the spirit drained from them.” Then she broke off, staring in horror as she realized what had happened to those women—and why the ghosts were willing to help chase escaped women back to Roketh. “You want my spirit when he is done with me! He will drain me of life and energy and give them to you!”
“Go back!” the ghost moaned, reaching out to point with a gossamer finger. “Hear the cries of those who chase! Go back before they tear you, rend you!”
Then Mira heard it in the distance—the wild baying of monstrous hounds.
Alea’s thoughts had been as easy to trace as tracks in snow, of course, not to mention the fact that she was running down a road; where else could she go? But Gar reasoned that the chase might be a long one, so he steadied into an easy lope that covered maximum distance with minimum energy. Even so, his longer legs began to catch up with Alea’s. A glimmer in the road ahead alerted him—their quarry, perhaps? But the glimmer seemed to grow until he saw what it was and slammed to a halt, almost colliding with Alea, who stood even more still, stiff with the supernatural fear of her childhood. “Those … those can’t be real ghosts, can they?”
Seven glowing shapes towered over one young woman who stared up at them, poised to flee but frozen by fear.
“Real ghosts? Ridiculous!” But Gar had to force the scoffing tone. “Whatever they are, though, they’re putting out an awful lot of psionic energy. We’ve got to put a damper on it.”
“Yes! They’re scaring the life out of that poor girl!” Alea jolted out of her trance. “The life? You don’t suppose—?”
“One of those ghosts doesn’t have a face,” Gar said grimly. “Maybe he’s looking for one. Let’s go.”
“Wait.” Alea raised a hand against his chest. “Listen—with your ears!”
They were both silent a minute. Then Gar said, “Hoofbeats.”
“Change of plan,” Alea said, “not that we had one. Let’s go in low.”
Panic seized Mira; she spun and ran from the ghost—and from the dogs far behind.
The ghost’s moan rose, quavering to a shriek, and more specters burst from the ground, broke from the trees, condensed from the very air in answer. As one, they swooped toward her from every side, converging, herding. She screamed and whirled about, thinking to dare the first ghost alone instead of the six who swooped toward her, but the phantom had disappeared. Hope leaped as she plunged toward the clear space and the trees beyond.
The earth exploded into fire before her. She shrank back shrieking, whirling to run again, but the ghosts parted to let three horsemen ride through, one from each side, racing to be first upon her, hands reaching down to catch. With a soldier at either hand and the flames at her back, Mira shrank to her knees, whimpering, crying out against the injustice of so many against one woman.
A screech of anger ripped the night. Mira thought it was her own until a woman leaped in front of her, a woman unbelievably tall stepping in to swing her staff at the first of the riders. It caught him across the side of the head; he cried out as he fell. His two mates shouted and turned their horses, charging down at her, but as the one on the right plunged toward the woman, a huge dark shadow rose from the grass and swung an arm to catch the rider by the waist. The man gave a shout of anger, a shout quickly choked by the pressure on his belly; the horse galloped onward, jerking the stirrups off the man’s feet. For a moment he kicked and flailed in the air; then the giant dropped him and he fell and lay, choking and trying to gasp, the wind knocked out of him.
Mira stared, unbelieving—partly at the size of the two strangers, partly at their skill, but mostly at the fact that they spun and kicked and struck in the midst of half a dozen keening ghosts without paying them the slightest attention.