Stalking Darkness

began to believe. When you were also able to snatch the crown away from the Plenimarans, I prayed that it was simply good fortune, that by being vigilant I could keep all the fragments out of Mardus’ hands and prevent the restoration.”
    “Then you knew about Mardus already?”
    “Only that he was a bastard relation of the old Overlord, a noble of tremendous ability and ambition, and one of Plenimar’s most formidable spies. Now I suspect he means to make himself
Vatharna.”
    “He sounds like the right man for the job,” Micum said, scowling. “But you still haven’t told us where this prophecy of yours came from, or what it says.”
    “No one but the Guardians have ever heard it, or were ever meant to,” Nysander replied solemnly. “While still a young man, the second Guardian had a dream vision which has been passed down from one Guardian to another ever since as our greatest source of hope. ‘The Dream of Hyradin’ is this: ‘And so came the Beautiful One, the Eater of Death, to strip the bones of the world. First clothed in Man’s flesh it came, crowned with a dread helm of great darkness. And none could stand against this One but a company of sacred number.
    “ ‘First shall be the Guardian, a vessel of light in the darkness. Then the Shaft and the Vanguard, who shall fail and yet not fail if the Guide, the Unseen One, goes forth.’ This same prophecy names the Pillar of the Sky, and speaks of a temple there.”
    “That gives us about as much to go on as your rock dream,” Micum grumbled.
    But Seregil felt a sickening chill pass through him, recalling the visions he had experienced when in contact with those pieces—the scenes of death and choruses of agony. “Then everything Mardus has done since Alec and I ran into him up in Wolde—the disk, Rythel and the sewer plot, the attack on you—it’s all leading to him bringing all the pieces together again?”
    “Of course, and bringing them together at the correct time and place. The time is during a solar eclipse five days from now.”
    “We’d guessed that already, after talking to your astrologer friend,” said Seregil.
    “Well done. Now that the three of us are together again, we must find the temple and see where the gods lead us from there. This time the Helm
must
be destroyed completely, and to accomplish that we must allow it to be reassembled—”
    “What?
” Seregil sputtered.
    “It is the only way we can be certain that every fragment is accounted for,” Nysander went on. “Arkoniel himself believed it was the only possible course of action and I believe he was right. If the knowledge passed down from Reynes í Maril is correct, then it takes a certain amount of time for the power of the Helm to gather itself, and more time for it to increase to its full potential. Therefore, once it has been reassembled we will have some brief moment of opportunity to strike. As the Guardian, I charge you both by your life and honor to strike whatever blow necessary to destroy the power of the Helm. Will you swear to that?”
    “You have my oath on it.” Micum extended his hand. Nysander took it and they looked to Seregil.
    He hesitated, still toying with the beach stone, as an inexplicable ripple of misgiving went through him.
    “Seregil?” Nysander raised an eyebrow at him.
    Shrugging off his apprehension, Seregil tossed the stone aside and covered their hands with his own. “You have my word—”
    As soon as his hands touched theirs, a sharp stab of pain lanced through his chest like an arrow shaft. Gasping, he pressed a hand over the scar.
    Pushing Seregil’s hand aside, Micum opened his coat and gently pulled the bandage off. “You’re bleeding again,” he said, showing Seregil and Nysander fresh blood on the linen dressing.
    “It’s nothing,” Seregil rasped. “It must have broken open when I moved.”
    “Look there!” Nysander exclaimed, pointing up at the night sky.
    A distant streak of red fire had appeared against the white band of stars to the east.
    “Rendel’s Spear!” Micum exclaimed.
    They gazed up at the comet for a moment in silence, then Nysander said softly, “The necromancers call it by a different name.”
    “Oh? What?”
    “Met’ar Seriami,”
the wizard replied. “The Arm of Seriamaius.”

43
M OVING N ORTH
    “M
et’ar Seriami!”
    Framed against the last light
of
sunset as he stood on the forward battle platform, Mardus swept a hand toward the fiery scintilla just visible above