Stalking Darkness

of that himself. With Thero at his side he sent up one last silent prayer and hurried past the fire into the darkness beyond.
    There didn’t seem to be anyone around, but peering up over the ledges they could see men hunkered around a campfire less than a hundred feet way.
    Their bare feet made no sound as they stole along the rocky shore to the edge of the forest just north of the camp. The open ground between the stunted trees was treacherously laced with exposed roots jutting out of the thin soil. Alec clutched Thero by the arm, pulling him along as he stumbled.
    They soon spotted several men on picket duty ahead of them. The guards were watching for trouble coming from outside the camp, however, and Alec skirted around their position with no trouble. Gauging their direction by the moon, he led the way north.
    They’d been going for less than half an hour when Thero suddenly pulled Alec to a halt in a small, moon-washed gully.
    “Look, I’m tired, too, but we can’t afford to rest,” Alec urged.
    “It’s not that,” Thero whispered. “They know we’re gone. I just felt something, a searching, I think. It won’t take Irtuk Beshar any time to find us.”
    “Oh, gods!” Alec gasped, looking back the way they’d come. “We can’t get taken, Thero. They’ll sacrifice you and now that I’ve been bloodied there’s nothing to stop Mardus from—!”
    “Shut up,” Thero interrupted, giving him an abrupt shake. “Kneel down.”
    “You’ve got your magic back!” Alec breathed, relief washing over him. “Can you translocate us now?”
    “No, I don’t have the power.” Thero’s lean, bearded face was lost in shadow as he laid cold hands on Alec’s shoulders. “Clear your mind and relax. This spell will only last until sunrise; remember that if you can. Sunrise. You’ll have to run hard, go as far as you can before—”
    They both froze as a weird, preternatural howl burst out from the direction of the camp. It rose to a mad, sobbing cackle, fell away, only to erupt again, closer this time.
    “Too late!” hissed Alec, then winced as Thero grabbed him by both arms and forced him back to his knees.
    “No it’s not!” Thero held him down, speaking urgently. “Clear your mind, Alec, relax. This takes only a moment.”
    Another gibbering howl floated to them through the night. Alec bowed his head, wondering what it was that Thero intended, and why it suddenly seemed so familiar.
    “That’s good, very good,” whispered Thero. “Alec í Amasa Kerry,
untir maligista—”
    It was the unaccustomed sound of his full name that triggered Alec’s memory. He opened his mouth to protest, but the magic had already taken hold.
    “Untir maligista kewat
, Alec í Amasa Kerry.” Thero continued, pouring out all his remaining power as he pressed down hard on Alec’s shoulders. Whatever horror Irtuk Beshar had unleashed was crashing through the trees toward them, bellowing its lunatic hunting call.
    Throwing back his head, Thero cried out, “Let thy inner symbol be revealed!”
    The change was nearly instantaneous. One moment Alec was kneeling before him, the next a young stag was shaking the remains of the tattered tunic from its antlers. Nostrils flaring, it leapt away from Thero, then looked back in confusion. A ghostly residue of magic still glimmered faintly around it, but that would soon fade.
    Thero took a tentative step toward it, though he knew Alec was probably past understanding human speech.
    “I didn’t intentionally betray the Orëska,” he told him. “Let this be the atonement for my blindness. Go on. Run!”
    The stag lowered its head, lashing its antlers from side to side as if refusing to leave him.
    “No, Alec, go.”
    A greedy snarl from the shadows settled the issue; the stag turned and bolted.
    The last thing Thero saw was the white flash of its tail.

46
P ATHS C ROSS
    T hey’d had time now to learn the pattern of the Plenimaran camp. Pickets were stationed along the landward perimeter a quarter mile out, with a second line closer in. It made a tight net but, like any net, it was also a pattern of holes.
    Silent and deadly as true
urgazhi
, Beka and her raiders quietly killed four pickets, stripped them of their tunics and weapons, then worked their way toward the mass of sleeping prisoners.
    The clearness of the night was against them. The moon was nearing full and by its light they could make out the details of each other’s faces as they gathered for the raid. By