The mage shook his head sadly. "How could I? You are the partner of my closest friend. How could I tell you that-" A bitter expression twisted his face into a sneer. Quickly, he rose. "I am sorry. I imagine that I must disgust you now."
Before he could move away, Mari stood and gripped his arm.
"You're wrong," she said fiercely. "Yes, I am surprised at your words. Maybe even shocked. The truth is, I really don't know what to think. But there is one thing I do know Morhion, and it is this: There can never be anything wicked in feeling love, whatever the priests in the temple might say. If there is one thing in all this world that is truly good, then it is love. And it is wrong to pretend that love does not exist."
He gazed at her, his blue eyes unreadable. "Perhaps you are right," he said finally. "Or perhaps not. It not matter now." A shadow crossed his handsome visage. "There is… something else I must tell you, Mari."
He spoke for a long time in low, measured words. An icy horror filled Mari's chest as she learned the hideous truth about Morhion's new pact with Serafi. It was spectral knight who had given the mage knowledge of the Shadowstar and Stiletto, but for the price of Morhion's own body.
"But how could you accept Serafi's offer?" Mari in disbelief.
Morhion shook his head somberly. "How could I refuse it?"
Mari clenched a fist. "Damn him, Morhion!" she choked hoarsely. "Damn him to the Abyss! Why must we always sacrifice everything for Caledan? Why?"
"Because we love him," Morhion said quietly.
It was true, and she knew it. As the anger drain of her, she sank back to the cold stone. Morhion joined her once more. For a time they sat in silence, while where in the distance a pair of mourning doves filled the night with their sweet lament.
*****
Kellen crept softly among the scattered heaps of rubble toward a dim shape. Night blanketed the moor, but a faint gray glow hovered on the air, giving just enough light to navigate by. Somewhere behind the thick clouds the moon had risen. Kellen concentrated on moving stealthily, and he was no more than three paces away when the dim form let out a surprised oath.
"Gods, kid—you're pretty good at this moving in shadows stuff," Ferret said in his raspy voice.
Kellen sat down on a rock beside the thief. "I like shadows." he said matter-of-factly.
"Well I think they like you, too," Ferret replied, his crooked teeth gleaming in the darkness. "You'd make a good thief, Kellen."
With a thumb, Kellen traced the puckered scar on the palm of his left hand. "I think I'm supposed to be a mage Ferret. At least, that's what Morhion says." Ferret gave a shrug. "Who says you can't do both?" Kellen considered the possibility. Mages cast powerful spells and used magical wands to conjure lightning and fireballs, but thieves got to prowl about in the dark and steal interesting treasures from ancient tombs. Both professions hadad their attractive points. "I'll have to think about it," he said finally.
As he spoke, the night wind picked up, whistling mournfully over the jagged rocks. Kellen felt icy pin-pricks stinging against his cheeks. It was starting to snow.
"We'd better get back to camp," Ferret said. "Mari and
Morhion will be wondering where we are."
Together they moved silently through the chill night toward the hollow where they had left the others. They had gone no more than a dozen paces when the wind suddenly turned into a gale. Another dozen paces and the gale became a hurricane. Kellen stumbled, the fierce wind lifting him bodily off the ground. He would have been blown down a ravine and dashed against the rocks were it not for Ferret's quick reflexes. The thief grabbed the collar of Kellen's tunic and pulled him back. Holding on to each other, they tried to make headway against the wind, but the gale seemed to blow them back nearly as many paces as they stumbled ahead. The sound of the wind rose to a keening wail, and the hard snow felt as if it were scouring the skin off Kellen's face. The scar on his left hand throbbed dully.
"I don't think this is a normal storm, Ferret!" he cried over the shriek of the wind.
"Even I could figure that one out, kid!" Ferret shouted back.
Cloaks flying wildly behind them, the two struggled on. Suddenly, like a dark wound, a rift opened in the clouds that had hung for three days over the High Moor. With impossible speed the rift widened as the violent wind ripped the clouds to ragged tatters. As quickly as it had risen, the gale dwindled and blew itself into stillness. The night was utterly silent. Stars glittered like chips of ice in the perfect black sky, and a gibbous moon frosted the land with crystalline light.
"It's beautiful," Kellen whispered, his breath making ghosts in the motionless air.
"Yeah?" Ferret asked softly. "I was thinking more along the lines of'weird' myself." The thief's beady eyes glittered warily in the moonlight.
Then a new sound shattered the frozen air—the hunting call of a lone hound. After a moment, the hound's distant cry was echoed by that of another, and another, then dozens like it.
"I think we might want to hurry a little, Ferret," Kellen said gravely.
The thief did not argue. They started into a trot, then a lope, and finally an all-out run. The malevolent baying echoed all around now, and it was getting closer. Hearts pounding, the two reached their encampment to find Mari and Morhion staring wide-eyed into the night.
"What in the name of the Abyss is going on?" Ferret swore, panting.
"The shadevari conjured shadowhounds to pursue us,' Mari said grimly.
"We managed to escape them in the Reaching Woods," Morhion added. "However, I fear we have little chance of eluding them on the open moor."
Ferret shuddered. "It was a rhetorical question. You didn't have to answer it, you know."
More sinister baying splintered the night, closer than before.
"We can stand here and argue semantics, or we can find a place to defend ourselves. Which would you prefer?"
Morhion asked.
"What do you think?" Ferret snapped in exasperation. "There." Mari said, pointing into the moonlit night. "We'll make our stand there." Less than a quarter of a mile away, a low hill rose against the starry sky. Standing atop the tor was a jagged ring of stones, the ruins of an ancient tower. There was little need to urge the frightened horses into a gallop. In moments, the four reached the crest of the hill and led the horses through a gap into the ruin. The wall of weathered stone stood about shoulder height, and the floor which was covered with a carpet of moss and witch-grass was no more than a dozen paces across.
Morhion muttered the words of a spell, and a blue Incandescence burst to life between his hands. Slowly, the glow began to spread outward in a widening circle. "What are you doing?" Mari asked breathlessly. "This is a spell of protection," Morhion explained. "However, I fear it will do little to ward us against the Shadowhounds. But it may give us a few moments to—"
Morhion gasped. The ring he wore on his left hand—the ring given him in Talis by the witch Isela—flashed brilliantly. The magical circle of radiance changed from blue to dark purple and expanded rapidly, striking the wall. There was a sizzling sound, and countless tendrils of purple magic crackled, coiling around the weathered stones and plunging into the cracks between them. In moments the entire wall glowed with a deep purple radiance.
"What was that?" Ferret asked. "Er, and that one wasn't a rhetorical question."
"I don't know," Morhion said in wonderment. "Some how the ring altered my spell."
Howls of bloodlust filled the air. At the bottom of the hill, a score of dark forms appeared out of the night. Swiftly, they began loping up the rocky slope.
"Well, we'd better hope the ring knew what it was doing," Mari said somberly as she drew the short sword at her hip.