Stalking Darkness

below. Still clutching his bow, he scrambled to the edge of the outcropping to see what was going on.
    Arrows flew from all directions, but most found targets among the Plenimarans. By the wavering light of the fallen torches Alec could just make out a small group of archers on the high ground opposite where he lay. They were shooting down at the exposed men below. In the melee, he saw Seregil and Micum dashing down over the rocks with their swords drawn, closing in on the wounded dyrmagnos.
    Mardus was nowhere to be seen, so Alec turned his attention to the soldiers, shooting two in rapid succession before he was momentarily blinded by a brilliant flash of light that flared among the prisoners.
    As his vision cleared, he saw Thero standing over the smoking bodies of several dead soldiers, but apparently unaware of the armed man coming at his back.
    The wounding of the dyrmagnos must have weakened her hold on the wizard, Alec thought. “Look out,” he whispered, sending a red-fletched shaft at the guard. The man fell and Thero was lost from sight as the other prisoners surged forward in rebellion or panic.
    “Got her on the first try!” Seregil exclaimed under his breath, watching from the ledges above as Irtuk Beshar whirled suddenly, clutching at the shaft protruding from her chest. The Helm fell from her hands, tumbling back into the hole it came from. Mardus dove after it.
    Ignoring the sudden arrow storm that erupted around them, he and Micum left Nysander in the shelter of the rocks and chargeddown. Irtuk Beshar’s spells on the pool were already unraveling. Water surged back into the basin, washing corpses and entrails down into the hole, and sweeping the Helm out of reach as Mardus bent to grab it.
    Praying to Sakor that Nysander was right about her powers being exhausted, Micum charged the wounded dyrmagnos. She saw him and raised one gnarled hand. He swung, severing the arm, then struck again, taking her between the neck and shoulder. Her body split under his blade like a dry gourd. She screamed curses at him as her head and remaining arm tumbled away from her torso.
    Despite the warnings of Seregil and Nysander, Micum hesitated for an instant, transfixed with horror as the severed parts writhed on the ground at his feet. Then a hint of motion caught his eye and he turned in time to deflect Tildus’ sword.
    Sakor’s smiling today
, he told himself as he sidestepped another blow and caught the Plenimaran captain a solid blow to the neck.
    Other marines leapt forward to avenge their captain’s death. Micum crippled two and killed a third. A fourth pressed in on his left side but fell before Micum could strike at him, an arrow through his back. Micum scarcely had time to register that the fletching color was not Alec’s before more Plenimarans rushed at him. He doggedly stood his ground, aware of the clash of swords behind him but too closely pressed to look.
    As hoped, the revolt of the prisoners, together with the mysterious fire at the encampment, had drawn off many of the soldiers. Micum made short work of the few who remained.
    He was just looking around for Seregil when a searing bolt of pain shot through the back of his right thigh. Staggering, he twisted around to find Irtuk Beshar clinging to him, eyes shining like a wildcat’s as she tore at his leg with nails and teeth. Too late he realized his mistake; she was whole again.
    The lower portion of her gown had fallen away and Micum could see both the livid, uneven line of the joining and the splintered end of the arrow shaft still protruding between her shriveled dus. Her legs, black and withered as those of a burned corpse, kicked spasmodically as she tightened her grip and sank her teeth into his flesh. A deadly coldness spread slowly out from the wounds.
    Micum hacked awkwardly at her. One withered leg flew off, then he managed the cleave her in half at the waist. Determined not to make the same error twice, he grabbed the lower torso by its remaining leg and flung it with all his strength into the sea, then kicked the other limb into the shadows beyond the torches.
    But Irtuk Beshar was still horribly alive and clung on to him like a curse. The coldness of her bite spread up through Micum’s vitals, stopping his ears, darkening his vision, numbing his fingers. His sword fell from his hand and he tore clumsily at her. Dried bone collapsed beneath his fists, strips of dusty scalp pulled away like rotten cloth, but still Irtuk Beshar hung