Chuillyon had brought majay-hì packs as planned, along with Vreuvillä ... and Wayfarer ... and Shade. Wynn forced herself to stay put. She desperately hoped Chuillyon had also been able to move Osha and the Shé’ith.
—Come ... find me ... and bring light!—
Wynn whirled around too quickly and almost fell, looking for Chap. He had to be here—somewhere—for him to speak to her like only she could hear in her mind.
But she didn’t see him anywhere.
She ran down a ways, looking northward. Had he gone with the packs into the battle?
—Come now ... with the staff—
Again, Wynn looked everywhere and still didn’t spot him. How was he doing this? Where was he? Had something changed, gone wrong?
—Wynn!—
Panic nearly overwhelmed her, and she looked to the battle again. Magiere was down there somewhere, and possibly Wayfarer and Shade as well with the pack. There was nothing she could do for them except ignite the staff.
It wasn’t time for that yet. Such an act might only cause more chaos and reveal her too soon.
Wynn took off, running northward along the base of the foothills. She hoped she could find Chap before something else spotted her.
Chap swerved away from another sword strike by the second animated corpse. He passed halfway through another ghost before realizing too late, and an icy chill shot through his bones.
Everywhere he turned, there were more glimmering, translucent forms having come for him out of the dark. And the first overmuscled corpse guard was rising up again. With both already dead, killing one of them seemed impossible. There were too many spirits as well.
He had to get to Ubâd.
The necromancer controlled all of the dead present, whether dead or undead himself. But there was no clear path to that still and silent robed body erect upon the tilted litter.
Then ... brilliant, white light exploded from behind Chap. For an instant, he could see nothing as he went white-blind. He heard the ghost girl’s screaming wail. The sound faded, as if growing distant, as his eyes adjusted.
Wynn had come! She had ignited her staff.
Chap saw one of the dead men turn toward the light’s source.
The spirits all around Chap wavered, some vanishing like vapor in a breeze under the glare. But not that one dead guard and likely not the other.
He had only one choice. To save Wynn, he had to abandon her for the only target that mattered.
Chap lunged around the dead guard in his way, racing for the litter. With each paw-strike upon the parched ground and stone, he called upon the Elements of Existence without time to stop and root himself in them.
From Earth beneath him, Air around him, Water within him, and his heat for Fire, he mingled these with his Spirit. He could only hope this worked. It was not until the last running paw-strike that he felt himself begin to burn.
This time, Wynn would not have mantic sight to see the blue-white phosphorescent vapors that rose like flames to flicker across his form.
He leaped.
His forepaws struck Ubâd’s chest and bound arms. The litter rocked wildly backward, and Chap nearly tumbled off.
Ubâd would call his servants here to his aid and forget about Wynn.
Chap tore at the dusty robe to get his claws into the necromancer’s dead flesh. He did not think of a guard’s blade coming down on his back. He forgot any of the spirits fighting to remain outside Wynn’s light and come for him. He thought only to feel the elements within him.
Ubâd’s corpse began to quiver as if awakening.
The stench of burning flesh rose around Chap, though he saw no smoke.
The necromancer’s withered, crossed hands began to wither even more, until the skin appeared to cinch in tight around the bones. Black fluids leaked out around the eyeless mask as the body became still. Even then Chap did not hear how quiet everything had become, except for the distant sounds of the battle.
He raised his head.
Everything was dark again. Not one spirit remained in sight, not even the girl. When he looked back, both dead guards lay on the ground. The nearest was facedown within arm’s reach of the litter, a sword still gripped in his outstretched hand.
And there was Wynn three strides to his right.
She turned about with the staff still held at the ready, though the crystal was darkened now, as if she too could not believe all the spirits were gone.
Chap again noticed the sounds of the battle in the distance below the foothills.
Wynn was here, but Magiere was not with her. Wynn had ignited the staff in the night, and its light—and its location—would have been seen everywhere, even by the Enemy’s forces.
Chap leaped off the litter and bolted past Wynn.—Run ... away from here ... now!—
Leesil had barely raised his right winged blade in charging the first locatha in sight. Its short-sword-like blade atop that double-thick spear shaft slammed down on his own weapon.
Impact raised a sharp clang in the night. His knees buckled as Brot’an ran past him.
How could this scaled hulk move so fast?
He lost sight of Brot’an and only heard a racing scrape of metal. As he slashed his blade aside and couldn’t get from under the pole-sword, he saw the master assassin duck around the locatha.
It was so big that Brot’an vanished completely.
That thing swiped backward with a clawed or taloned hand at the master assassin—and the hand was big enough to grab a head in its grip. There wasn’t a mark on the monster that Leesil could see.
Brot’an’s blade had done nothing to it, and Leesil hesitated too long.
When he spotted its tail, everything happened too fast.
Ghassan hadn’t said anything about a tail.
The locatha tried to twist with its swipe at Brot’an, and its long tail lashed the same way behind it. The tail never connected with anything.
Brot’an’s left arm appeared suddenly and wrapped across the scaled hulk’s broad neck.
His cowl-shrouded face rose above the reptilian guard’s right shoulder, and his right hand flashed out, across, and then back. Something glinted red-yellow in the torchlight as it tore back the other way above the locatha’s extended muzzle.
Brot’an’s hooked bone knife ripped through its right, black-orb eye.
Its maw widened in shock as it let go of its sword-spear. The spear’s blade slid off Leesil’s winged one. Long and sharp teeth in those widened jaws were like those of no serpent or snake he’d ever seen, and its rasping hiss tore at his ears.
Leesil hesitated as he saw another one charge out of the darkness under the overhang. He rammed his right winged blade into its sheath and pulled the stiletto up his left sleeve.
Ghassan had been right, and Brot’an had exposed the only way to kill one of these things.
Leesil had to get close—too close—to do it, and if he died instead, even Chane might not finish what they’d started.
Still staring below, Chane spun at a heavy footfall behind him and reached for his dwarven longsword. He did not need to pull the mottled steel.
Ore-Locks stepped past the chests toward him, glowering. Chane said nothing and turned back, looking everywhere.
Over a roll in the slope below, someone appeared on horseback. When the animal jolted to a stop, the rider dropped and came running with a bow in hand. Before the man crouched upon the crevice’s right lip, Chane already knew Ore-Locks had succeeded.
Osha’s face was obscured by the dark, but he panted in exertion as he looked down upon Chane.
“What?” he asked. “I must get below!”