Usurient had just about decided to stand up and shoot both the boy and the girl before either could respond and then have a look around for Arcannen when a door set deep within the back walls of the ruins swung open and the sorcerer walked out.
“Did you hear that?” Avelene asked Paxon, stopping short of the crest of the ridgeline fronting their approach route to the coast.
“It sounds like animals fighting,” he said.
They had flown in during the early hours of the morning, departing Sterne before it was light and finding their way east by reading the stars. By then, the storm that had threatened early had blown south, taking clouds and wind and rain with it, leaving behind the beginnings of a warming trend that left the surface of the earth below covered in layers of brume.
Avelene had thought it might be best simply to fly into the ruins of Arbrox and confront whatever was happening there, directly. But Paxon persuaded her that Druids would intimidate neither Arcannen nor those hunters sent by Usurient to stalk the sorcerer. They would simply be putting themselves in danger by announcing their presence. It would go better if they landed somewhere far enough away that they would not be seen and walk in from there. It might take a little longer, but it would gain them an element of surprise.
But now, concerned about the sounds they were hearing, they picked up their pace. Paxon’s ears were sharp enough that he was certain he had heard screams as well as the guttural animal noises, which meant that some sort of attack was under way. The Highlander had his sword out, holding it before them protectively as he led the way. Nothing they encountered at this point was likely to be friendly.
The crest of the ridgeline elevated them to a view of a long, shallow depression in the terrain ahead marked by clusters of rocks and pockets of fog. They could just make out the ruins of Arbrox–broken walls and collapsed roofs, areas blackened by fire launchers and flash rips, a village destroyed almost beyond recognition. The growls of the animals had changed to something less clear, although the urgency was still there, and the screams had gone silent.
Something moved through the gloom, off in the distance, a huge figure lunging suddenly at something hidden from their view. In the next instant a pair of fiery projectiles struck it, and it fell to its knees and toppled forward.
Paxon and Avelene began running, scrambling down the rocky slope in an effort to get to the scene. The sounds of their passage could not be heard over the roar of the ocean, but there was danger in coming in too quickly and being caught by surprise. Neither could be sure who was up ahead. So when they descended the rise, the Highlander slowed their pace and made a sweeping gesture toward the mist–shrouded lowlands ahead, reminding his companion to be wary of hidden dangers.
As they drew nearer the battle site, they saw two people clinging to each other within the ruins, vague figures in the gloom. The giant lay sprawled nearby, unmoving. The animals they had seen earlier, beasts the like of which neither had encountered before, were moving off, the largest of them dragging what appeared to be the remains of a man. Paxon motioned for Avelene to get behind him, but the Druid ignored the command and instead moved sideways to put a little distance between them. Everything ahead was locked inside a sea of heavy brume that swirled in erratic circles and alternately concealed and then revealed the rocky terrain it covered.
Too much may be hidden in there, the Highlander thought. We have to be very careful.
They were within thirty yards or so when a door opened in the cliff face amid the ruins and Arcannen appeared. Paxon slowed involuntarily, a surge of excitement and exultation rushing through him. Avelene stopped, going into a crouch. The sorcerer, cowled and wrapped in his robes, a spectral look to his dark form, moved toward the embracing couple. The couple broke the embrace, and Paxon was shocked to see that one of the pair was the boy who had use of the wishsong, the one he had pursued unsuccessfully in Portlow.
The boy and his partner–a girl who looked to be no older than he was–had turned to face Arcannen when abruptly a man stood up from behind an outcropping of rocks to one side of them and fired a handheld flash rip at the sorcerer, half a dozen fiery charges slamming into the other. Arcannen simply flew apart, arms and legs flung wide, body disintegrating. An instant later, the attacker had dropped back into the rocks and out of sight.
But that wasn’t the end of the strangeness. A second man now appeared–a lean, feral–looking creature armed with a long knife who surfaced from behind the ruins atop the cliffs and dropped down on the couple as they shrank from the carnage they had just witnessed. As the man attacked the couple with his blade extended, the boy flung out his hands in a warding gesture, his cry filled with despair, the sound emitting a burst of wishsong magic that sent this new threat flying. Instantly the girl bolted for cover, but when she looked back, the boy was still standing where she had left him, staring into space. She turned back, seized his arm, and pulled at him in desperation, but the boy didn’t move. A moment later their attacker, recovering more swiftly than expected, launched himself at the girl, struck her a powerful blow, and knocked her to the ground where she sprawled, unconscious. The boy still didn’t move, and the man wrapped his arm about the other’s neck and, using him as a shield, began backing toward the cliff face. The boy went without a struggle, almost as if he didn’t realize what was happening.
Neither Paxon nor Avelene was quite sure who everybody was at this point. Given the likely possibility that the two attackers were part of the contingent sent to kill Arcannen, what did the boy and the girl have to do with anything? It felt odd that they should be here at all, especially the boy. Hadn’t he seen enough of Arcannen in Portlow to stay clear of him?
Paxon glanced over at Avelene. She seemed undecided, staring at the scene below. “What do we do?” he whispered.
No response. Then she looked at him wordlessly and stood up. Together, they began walking toward the boy and his attacker.
It took only a moment for the man to see them. A knife appeared in his hand, and he pressed it to the boy’s neck. “Where is he?” he screamed at them.
Both Paxon and Avelene slowed, confused. “Dead,” the Druid answered. “They’re all dead. Let the boy go.”
The man looked around wildly, noting the giant’s body and dismissing it. “Not them! The sorcerer! He’s not dead! Are you blind? Where is he? You answer me! You want this one’s throat cut, do you?”
He pressed the knife blade harder against the boy’s throat, but the boy didn’t even flinch. He just stared into space.
“Look down!” Paxon shouted at him. He pointed to the charred rocks and bits of tattered robe that lay almost at the man’s feet. The man glanced them and gave a shrill, wild laugh, as if this was the funniest thing he had ever seen.
Avelene kept moving forward, drawing Paxon with her. “Your fellows are all dead!” she called out. “You have nowhere to go. Let the boy go, and I will give you your freedom!”
The man spit at her. “You’ll give me nothing. You’ll do what I say or I’ll kill him right in front of you! You stay where you are.”
Avelene slowed, but not by much.
“How stupid are you, woman? You think the sorcerer dead? Just like that? Quick and simple, a flash rip does the job? Dead? He’s got nine lives and then some! He’s waiting us out–all of us–just to see who lives and who dies. Those that die quick are the lucky ones. But I’m not fooled because I see things you don’t!”
Paxon experienced a flash of uncertainty. Was he right? Was Arcannen still alive? But if so, then who had the flash rip explosions torn apart?