Kassarie bowed gravely. "Clearly you have the advantage. I yield, Your Highness, with the understanding that it is to your greater strength and not to your misbegotten right."
"As you will," replied Klia, stepping toward her.
"You will find all that you seek here." Kassarie gestured around her. "Perhaps, like Lord Seregil, you would also be interested in meeting your mutual forebear."
She stepped aside and lifted her lamp with a dramatic flourish. "Allow me to present Lord Corruth i Glamien Yanari Meringil Bokthersa. Your curs there have already pilfered the body, but I think they will bear out that I speak the truth."
Too late Seregil realized that he had failed to tell Klia what they'd found. She gave a soft, startled exclamation and stepped closer.
Micum and the others were equally taken aback; all eyes fixed on the grisly sight as Klia bent to study the ravaged face.
All, that is, except Alec's.
He'd seen more than enough of corpses over the past few weeks. Avoiding the dried husk in the chair, he looked instead at Kassarie, and so was the only one to notice the gloating smile that spread across her face as she lifted the lamp still higher.
That smell. It was too strong to be just lamps.
There was no time to warn Klia. Knocking Seregil aside, he lunged forward into the room as Kassarie dashed the lamp to the floor at Klia's feet. The room was doused with oil and something else, something far more flammbale.
Searing heat sucked the air from his lungs and scorched his skin. Reaching wildly, he found Klia's arm and hauled her backward with all his strength. Behind him other hands reached out, yanking him roughly into the blessed coolness of the corridor.
"Get them down!" shouted Micum.
Alec was shoved to the floor and half smothered with cloaks and bodies. Hands pounded down across his back. Somewhere above him, Seregil was cursing frantically.
When they finally uncovered him, Alec saw that they'd dragged him back to the base of the stairs. Heat
rolled down the little passage from the open door of the chamber beyond. Inside, solid sheets of flame obscured everything from view. There was no sign of Kassarie.
Klia was lying next to him, her beautiful, heart-shaped face streaked red and black and half her braid singed away.
"You saved my life!" she croaked, reaching for his hand; the back of her own was a welter of angry blisters where oil had splashed.
"While the rest of us had our heads up our arses," Myrhini glowered, wiping a sleeve across her eyes as she knelt by Klia.
Alec shook his head, half dazed. "That smell—It was familiar but I couldn't remember what it was."
"Sulfur oil, I think" said Myhini.
The skin on Alec's back and neck suddenly began to hurt and he grimaced.
"Give me this!" Seregil tugged Alec's borrowed tabard off over his head. The back of the garment was burned through in places. "You were on fire, you know! And some of your hair is gone in the back."
Alec raised a hand to the back of his head; it felt rough and his palm came away black.
"Just when we'd gotten you looking presentable, too," Seregil complained, his voice not quite steady. "Bilairy's Cods, you smell like a scorched dog!"
41 Scars
The sun was just climbing above the eastern treetops as Seregil, Alec, and Micum set off for the city with Nysander. Thero had stayed behind to assist in the search for the lost documents and weapons.
"I thought we'd finally run through our luck that time," Seregil admitted, riding along between Nysander and Alec.
"You damn near did!" sputtered Micum.
"Nysander didn't even know you'd gone down here until I showed up."
"And when I realized that you were in danger, I could do nothing at such a distance," added Nysander. "I was not certain if you were dead or alive until after we arrived, and even then I could not fix my attention on you with any accuracy until they had you cornered on the roof. By that point it was too late for any but the most desperate measures."
"It was a lovely bit of work, though," Seregil maintained, unabashed. "You haven't turned me into a bird
in years. And never an owl!"
Alec was equally excited. "It was wonderful, at least once I got used to it. But I don't understand why my mind stayed so clear. That time you turned me into a stag I got all confused."
"This was a different sort of metamorphosis," explained Nysander. "The intrinsic nature spell summons an innate magic from the person it is cast upon, and often affects the subject's mind, as in your case. Changing you to an owl was a metastatic spell. Though it demanded far more of my powers, especially at such a distance, it altered only your outward form, leaving your mind unaffected. My greatest concern was whether you would master your wings in time."
"He's a fast learner," said Seregil, resisting the impulse to clap Alec on the shoulder. He could tell from the way the boy sat his horse that his burns were giving him more pain than he was admitting.
"What you didn't learn is who the Lerans were planning to replace Idrilain with," Micum pointed out. "With everything destroyed back there, we'll never track down the others."
"That's not entirely true," said Seregil, tapping his temple. "I got a look at some of those papers before she burned everything. There're a few nobles we can go to for answers. It'll be a start."
Nysander nodded. "I will set some Watchers to it as soon as we get back. I think you three have had enough excitement for now."
"I suppose so," Seregil agreed, stealing another concerned look at Alec riding stiffly beside him.
The day grew brighter as they rode on. They reached a crossroads in sight of the city walls and, bidding them all farewell, Micum turned his horse for home.
"You know where to find me if you need me," he called, kicking his stallion into a gallop.
"I assume you will be at the Cockerel now?" Nysander asked, reining in while Seregil and Alec pulled up their hoods.
Seregil nodded. "Lord Seregil and Sir Alec will be back in town in time for the Sakor Festival. You'll keep our names out of the inquest over this business, won't you?"
"I believe I can. The Queen values the Watchers enough to respect our methods. I must ask you to stop at my tower before you return home, however. There is one last matter to be seen to."
Catching a questioning glance from Alec, Seregil raised a gloved hand to his chest.
Alec flexed his left hand thoughtfully, looking down at the smooth circle of healed flesh on his own palm.
At the Orлska House, Nysander insisted on breakfast before anything else. Having fortified himself, he led them into the small casting room and closed the door. Instructing Seregil to remove his shirt, the wizard inspected the troublesome scar closely.
"This ought to have stayed covered," muttered Nysander.
"This isn't the first time it's reappeared," Seregil reminded him, staring nervously up at the ceiling while the wizard gently pressed and prodded. A sudden thought occured to him and he reached for Nysander's wrist. "But it didn't when you changed me into old Dakus."
Nysander shook his head. "That was a lesser transformation. I simply altered your existing appearance."
"You mean I could end up looking like that someday?"
"Do be quiet, Seregil! I must concentrate."
Pressing his hand over the scar, Nysander closed his eyes and waited for any impressions to form. Little came: the streak of a falling star; a flash of the mysterious blue; the faint roar of ocean; the hint of an unfamiliar profile. Then nothing.
"Well?" demanded Seregil.
"Just bits and pieces." Nysander massaged the bridge of his nose wearily. "Fragments of memories, perhaps, but nothing to suggest any residual power in these marks. It is most curious. How is your hand, Alec?"