“Despite your pugnacity and complete refusal to believe the truth, I must admire your persistence,” Piercy said.
“As if we would leave a fellow Santerran in your hands, noble or not,” the burly man said. “Your foul magic destroyed the inn as well as turning the princess’s mind against her family. I regret not killing you when you were my captive.”
“I’m afraid I do not share that regret.” Piercy shifted right to give Ayane more room to maneuver. “I realize this is probably pointless, but I must reiterate this is not Princess Fahari.”
The Santerran dismounted, gesturing, and his companions followed suit, spreading out loosely to surround them. Piercy stepped backward, keeping his eyes on their leader, and felt Ayane move with him until they were almost back to back. “Mr. Hodestis, a little alacrity on your part would not go amiss right now,” he said.
“Please don’t talk to me,” Hodestis said in a tight voice.
“No more of your sorcerous tongue,” the Santerran said, drawing his sword. “Kill him.”
“I command you to stand down,” Ayane said. “You must obey me.”
“Your Highness, your judgment has been corrupted by this evil man. We have to disobey you for your own good.” The Santerrans continued to spread out until Piercy couldn’t see all of them at once without turning his head. He closed his hand more tightly on the grip of the sword.
“I’ll see you executed for disobedience,” Ayane said.
“You will thank us when you are restored, your Highness.” The leader glanced to either side and brought his sword to the ready. “Stand aside. We would not want you to be hurt.”
Piercy kept his eyes on the leader, but all his other senses were straining to perceive where the other Santerrans were. At least one of them was in a position to strike Hodestis down, and that terrified him more than his completely reasonable fears for his and Ayane’s safety. The two of them against five…it was possible they might win against those odds, but add to that the necessity of defending Hodestis, and the likelihood that one or all of them might be traveling to Cath’s Death-Lands seemed unpleasantly realistic.
“Wait!” he said just as the leader took another step closer. His companions seemed less eager to draw blood; the ones he could easily see had their eyes fixed on a point beyond his right shoulder, probably Hodestis. The magician was chanting the same words repeatedly now, not that Piercy understood more than the occasional epiria, “reveal,” and reperto, “find.” The Gods alone knew what the spell looked like now. “Strike us down now, and the spell will rebound on you,” he lied. “Although if you wish to spend what remains of your life as a toad, by all means continue on your merry path of destruction.”
The man to Piercy’s right took a step backward. “I will gut you where you stand if you fail me, coward,” the Santerran leader growled at him. “I say you lie, sorcerer,” he said to Piercy.
Piercy shrugged. “Try my words. I am prepared to face the Death-Lands.” The greasy feeling in the air had grown to a palpable oiliness that made him feel as if he were breathing through a layer of warm, liquid fat. He inhaled as shallowly as he could and added, “You know how…generously…Cath looks upon attempted murder. How certain are you of your welcome in his realm?”
The uncertain man took another step backward. “I said stay where you are!” the leader said, turning on him with his sword raised. “He is lying. Kill him now!”
A flash of movement to one side alerted Piercy to dodge the attack of the giant, who was armed with his meaty fists and an enormous cudgel. He ducked out of the way of another swing, wild and undisciplined, and brought the sword around to slash at the giant’s belly, making him stumble backward. Then he had to take a few backward steps himself to avoid a new attack from one of the other Santerrans, whose curved sword had a much-notched blade and might as well have been a cudgel itself, as dull as the blade was.
Now would be an excellent time to manifest your magical powers, he thought at his sword, then had no time to spare for thinking in fighting off two attackers at once. The blade sang through the air more rapidly than Piercy had thought himself capable of, parrying and thrusting and shoving the Santerran’s sword away in time to catch the cudgel and push the giant back. His breathing came more easily now and he felt, not tired, but invigorated, as if every blow filled him with new strength.
Then the Santerran got in a lucky strike with his sword that would have sliced his arm open had the weapon not been so dull; as it was, Piercy’s left arm briefly went numb and he faltered, leaving himself open to the cudgel’s strike. The heavy blow knocked the wind out of him and sent him staggering backwards into Hodestis, who cried out and took a few stumbling steps. Instantly the air went hot and wet and choked Piercy, who began coughing just as his assailants did. “Don’t do that!” Hodestis shrieked.
“Sorry,” Piercy said, gagging. The giant was crouched nearby with his head between his knees and the cudgel lying on the ground in front of him. Piercy aimed a blow at the giant’s throat, and to his shock something forced his fingers open so the sword fell to the ground, rolling a short distance away. The giant began to move, and Piercy snatched up the nearest weapon, the cudgel, and smashed it into the side of the giant’s head; he let out a deep groan and toppled.
The other Santerran came upright, weaving, and struck at Piercy. Piercy dodged, groped around for the sword, and brought it up to block the blow. The man staggered again with the force of Piercy’s attack, leaving himself open, and Piercy moved in to strike him through the heart. An unseen force grabbed his arm, knocking it aside, and instead of going through the man’s chest, the blade’s tip went through his arm, making him cry out in pain and fall back.
“We have to go now!” Hodestis shouted, and Piercy turned to see a colorful haze of blue and green and yellow in streaks radiating from a single point about head-high, wavering like heat radiating off a summer pavement. Hodestis was already halfway through it; his form was elongated, as if he were being stretched out like hot taffy. Ayane was still fiercely engaged in battle with her opponent and didn’t respond to Hodestis’s cry. Piercy ran to her side and caught the man’s sword on his.
“We have to go,” he said, “and Hodestis is not waiting for us.”
Ayane took a step back, pivoted on one heel, and kicked the Santerran hard in a strategic location. The man’s eyes bulged, and he fell to his knees. “Then let’s go,” she said.
Piercy sheathed his blade and followed her at a run. After only two steps, however, he was caught by the same sensation of thick, treacly air he’d encountered the first time Hodestis had cast this spell. Ayane was having the same difficulty; her head was lowered as if she were trying to make headway against a fierce wind. Ahead, the moving haze of color was rippling more rapidly, looking like a flag caught in the same wind.
Piercy put his hand on Ayane’s shoulder, then linked arms with her and pulled her along as she did the same for him. Slowly, like swimmers making scant headway against the current, they neared their goal.
They were within touching distance of it when the rippling became so pronounced the spell’s effect brushed their faces. “Jump!” Ayane said, and they flung themselves into the portal. Blackness streaked Piercy’s vision, spreading across his eyes like a film of ink that blinded him, flooded his tear ducts and ran up his nostrils until he wanted to sneeze, but couldn’t. Some force took them, stretched them out, and Piercy screamed in pain and heard Ayane’s higher voice harmonize with his. Then the portal expelled them, spat them out with force, and Piercy grunted as he hit the ground.
He lay there for a moment, unmoving, enjoying the absence of pain and the feel of soft, fresh-smelling heather under his face. Nearby, Ayane let out a heavy breath and began to stir. They’d both made it through—though through to where, Piercy had no idea.
He stood up, which was a complex process involving most of his protesting joints and muscles, and looked around, blinking away the last of the inky darkness. Moorland still surrounded him, but it wasn’t the oppressive grayness of late autumn. Purple-green heather like the patch he’d landed in grew sporadically across the ground, and in the distance he could see a few trees verdant with leaves that trembled in the cool breeze. Hodestis lay on his back nearby, his eyes wide and staring at the sky, and Piercy’s heart began beating faster with fear. If they’d succeeded in returning, only for the little man to lose his life in the process….
Someone grabbed him from behind, and the sharp prick of a knife’s point pressed against him in the vicinity of his kidneys. “What foul magic have you worked, sorcerer?” the raspy-voiced Santerran said in his ear.
Piercy went still. “Your persistence is no longer amusing,” he said. “And you will regret following us.”
“I regret only that I did not kill you when I had the chance. Now. Release the princess—”
“What exactly do you hope to gain by rescuing Princess Fahari?” Ayane said. “Is there a reward? Because it’s either that, or you’re incredibly stupid.”
“Please do not antagonize the man with the knife, Ayane.”
“I want only to serve my country,” the Santerran said.
“And I suppose your princess is an excellent fighter? Skilled in the blade and in personal combat?”
“I…do not know.”
“She speaks the language of the foreigners?”
The man was silent, but the knife slipped, as if he were holding it more loosely. Piercy twisted, grabbed the man’s wrist and struck his hand hard with the edge of his other hand. The knife fell, and Piercy kicked it in Ayane’s direction. “If you wish an even fight, I will be happy to oblige you,” he said.
Gaping, the Santerran took a step backward, then launched himself at Piercy, fists raised. Piercy punched him hard in the face and the man fell, clutching his nose and gasping. “Your stance is terrible and you failed entirely to protect your face, as I’m sure you’re aware,” he said. “I think an even fight would be impossible unless I were blindfolded and missing both my arms.”
“Piercy, stop taunting him and help me,” Ayane said. “Mr. Hodestis is alive, but he’s barely breathing.”
“Loosen his collar,” Piercy said, coming to kneel beside her, “and support his head. If either of us were healers…but there is no sense wishing for what cannot be.”
Ayane slid around to lift Hodestis’s head into her lap, and Piercy began unbuttoning the man’s shirt. Hodestis’s breathing didn’t grow any stronger, and he started to wheeze. “He can’t die,” Ayane said. “All that effort…it just seems wrong.”
“It does,” Piercy said, and realization struck him. He reached into his shirt again and pulled out the necklace. “What about this?”
“Suppose it only works once?”
“I think it would hardly be a powerful artifact if it only worked once.” Piercy unfastened the strange clasp and put the necklace around Hodestis’s neck.
Immediately the little man sucked in a deep breath and his eyes focused on Piercy. He blinked a few times, then sat up.
“Did it work?” he said.
“We assume so. At least, the portal brought us somewhere. And we have verified the necklace performs as expected.”
Hodestis laid his fingers gently on the chain. “Amazing,” he said. “Dalessa can be saved.” He stood up, showing no sign of the stiffness that had Piercy longing more than ever for a hot bath. “Thank you for your help. Good luck on your journey.”
“Stop,” Ayane said. “You must not travel alone and on foot. You do not even know what year it is.”
“It’s the same year we left. Eight—no, nine days later. I hope that doesn’t inconvenience you too much.”
“You seem rather agitated,” Piercy said. “How far is it to your lady’s home?”
“Far. You really don’t need to come with me. I can take care of myself on the road.”
“I question that assertion, Mr. Hodestis.” The little man really did seem agitated at the thought of them traveling with him. “You seem determined to leave us behind.”
“I…just don’t want to put you to the trouble.”
Piercy and Ayane exchanged glances. “I think you are not telling us the truth,” Ayane said. “Where do you actually intend to go?”
“I told you. To cure Dalessa. Then she’ll be able to speak to me.”
“Be able to? You said before she simply chose not to.”
“Well, her illness…prevents her from speaking to anyone. But I’m sure she’ll change her mind once she sees what I’ve done for her.”
Unease crept over Piercy like a slowly rising tide. “I think,” he said, “you do not want us to know the truth about your lady. Why would you fear such a thing?”
“I wouldn’t! That is—you just wouldn’t understand. No one understands about Dalessa and me. It’s better if we just part ways.”
“You said Dalessa was a far more powerful magician than you, and she was cruel enough to make you think you were a frog,” Piercy said. “She does not strike me as a compassionate or unselfish person.”
“Do not speak of her that way!” Hodestis shouted. “She is all that is most perfect in a woman! She would never betray me! And when she sees what I’ve done for her, she’ll love me the way I love her!”
“Your words suggest you fear we would attempt to stop you using the artifact on your lady,” Piercy said, “which further indicates there is some truth you have failed to tell us. We risked our lives for you and your lady. I insist you tell us what you have concealed.”
“I won’t let you stop me,” Hodestis said, taking a few steps back to put him out of Piercy’s reach and raising his hands. “I don’t want to hurt you, because you did make all this possible, but I love Dalessa and I don’t want to live without her. So please, just leave me alone.”
“I think that is not wise,” Ayane said.
“What madness have I stumbled into?”
Piercy turned rapidly to see the Santerran struggling to his feet. His face and the front of his coat were drenched in blood and his voice was now nasal in addition to being raspy. He staggered, pointed at Piercy, and opened his mouth to speak.
“Desini cucurri!” Hodestis shouted—
and Piercy found himself lying with his face pressed into the soft prickles of the short grass, numb from his shoulders to his waist and through most of his left leg. The sun, which had been just a finger’s breadth above the eastern horizon, now sank in the west. It took him a moment to remember where he was, and then panic struck him so hard he couldn’t breathe: Ayane. Hodestis. What are we going to do?
He thrashed until he rolled onto his back, then began flexing the muscles of his right arm, which felt marginally less paralyzed than the rest of him. He could hear at least one other person moving about, but his jaw was locked tight, so he focused on freeing himself.
“Piercy?” Ayane said, slightly muffled, and the panic eased somewhat. “Wha’ happen’?”
Piercy grunted. His right arm was finally relaxed enough that he could push himself into a sitting position. Ayane’s legs were contorted as if she’d been running when desini cucurri struck them, but both her arms were free and she was propped up on her elbows. Piercy began ostentatiously rubbing his jaw, nodding at her so she’d take the hint. She nodded back and began massaging her left leg.
Off to his left, someone grunted, a panicked sound. The Santerran lay face-first on the ground, his arm outstretched in the act of pointing. As if they needed another complication in this mess. Piercy ignored him for the moment. If desini cucurri could give them a few minutes to work out what to do next without the interruption of the deluded Santerran, so much the better.
His jaw unlocked with a pop that made him shudder. He was never going to like that sound. “Hodestis has a good ten-hour head start on us,” he said. “But he is on foot, and not in excellent physical condition as we are. If you can track him, we can certainly catch him up before he goes too far.”
“At least we already know he can’t instantaneously transport himself anywhere,” Ayane said, somewhat less muffled now. “Are you as worried about his plan as I am?”
“I cannot read your mind, but I daresay I am. Whoever this Dalessa is, he has no intention of allowing anyone to interfere with his plan of restoring her.”
“And Hodestis is powerful, so if she’s even more so….”
Another grunt came from nearby.
“And we must deal with our relentlessly single-minded friend. I feel the tiniest twinge of compassion for him, being trapped outside his own time as we almost were.”
“I don’t. If he hadn’t been such a bull-headed idiot, he wouldn’t be trapped.”
“Very true. Unfortunate that we have no horses, no food, and no idea where the nearest town is. That last is an advantage Hodestis has over us.”
“If we move quickly, before we lose the light, I can…give me a minute.”
Piercy left Ayane to scan the ground around them and went to the Santerran, whose arms were now free of the paralysis. “I suppose we cannot leave you here, however inclined I am to that course of action,” he said. “If you massage your limbs, the paralysis will wear off more quickly. And while you do so, I will explain to you the conditions under which you will travel with us.”
“I’ll see you dead first,” the man growled.
“In that case, I will bind your arms and legs and leave you here for the wolves to devour,” Piercy lied, and the man’s dark complexion went paler. “We did not kill any of your companions in battle, though we would have been well within our rights to do so, and we did not kill you while you were helpless. You owe us your life, and I think you can begin to repay that debt by behaving honorably toward us.” He remembered how the God’s sword had moved in his hand, almost as if it wanted to prevent those deaths, and filed the memory away for later consideration.
“Now,” he continued, “this is the honest truth: We have been transported forward in time some two hundred and fifty years. The lady and I hail from this time. She is not Princess Fahari; that lady is long dead. Her name is Ayane Sethemba and I am certain if you ask her she will provide you any number of corroborating details about her family. My name is Piercy Faranter. The madman who cast the spell on us is Atheron Hodestis. We intend to catch him and shake the truth out of him along with his teeth.”
“You lie,” the Santerran said.
“If you persist in assuming everything that counters your preconceptions is a lie, you will not survive to return to Santerre. What reason do I have for making up such a preposterous story? Look around you. Your comrades are gone. The horses are gone, much to my disappointment. It is spring now, not autumn. You are no longer in your own time.”
The Santerran paused in rubbing his legs. “Why did you do this?”
“I did nothing. You followed us through the portal before it closed, much to my dismay. We cannot return you to your own time.”
“Cannot, or will not, sorcerer?”
“I am no sorcerer. I told you I was so you wouldn’t kill me out of hand. Our sorcerer—our magician—struck us down so he could escape. The lady and I intend to follow him. You may join us, if you stop trying to assault me and kidnap her. We would not leave anyone stranded here, least of all someone who is accustomed to the manners and society of a much earlier time.”
He frowned, massaging his legs again. “She truly is not Princess Fahari.”
“She is not.”
“And you are no sorcerer.”
“Correct.”
He managed to bend his legs so he could get to his feet. Piercy assisted him and was heartened to see the man didn’t reject his help. “I do not believe your story about no longer being in the present.”
“That I can understand. When we reach the next town, I will prove it to you.”
The man nodded. “I am Lord Sadiki Dolobeka of Onyka, in Santerre. As you have bested me in combat, I must show you honor, Lord Faranter.”
“Just Mr. Faranter will do.”
Ayane came to his side, eyeing Dolobeka dubiously. “I know which direction he went. We should set out immediately. I won’t be able to track him after dark.”
“I would feel more sanguine about our journey if I were certain Hodestis brought us to the correct time. If—oh, of course.” Feeling foolish, Piercy pulled out the palm-sized round mirror from his coat pocket, breathed on it, and traced a pair of runes in the resulting fog.
“You said you were no sorcerer!” Dolobeka exclaimed.
“I—this is not something I can explain to you, but I know exactly three spells, and that in no way makes me a sorcerer. A magician. Eloqua Evon Lorantis,” he said, and waited.
Almost instantly the fog cleared, and Evon’s face filled the little circle. “Where in Cath’s five hells have you been?” he said. “I’ve had the Foreign Office nagging me all week, asking if you’d contacted me. The velocitor explodes, you’re seen running toward the destruction, and then—nothing. It was as if you’d vanished from the world entirely. Are you hurt?”
“I’m quite well, dear fellow, and I have the most extraordinary story to tell you, but I must ask—what day is this?”
“You’ve been missing for nine days,” Evon said. “What’s your story?”
“Ah…it’s rather too long for a mirror conversation,” Piercy said.
Faintly, he heard Kerensa’s voice. “He’s safe,” Evon said over his shoulder. “You have to tell me something, Piercy, and then you have got to contact Miss Tedoratis. Where are you?”
“East of Rainoth, I think. A very long way east of Rainoth. Other than that, I’m afraid I cannot say.” Inspiration struck him. “I don’t suppose you’ve ever heard of a magician named Dalessa? I don’t know her surname.”
“I don’t know—”
Kerensa said something, more loudly this time, and then the view in the mirror swung wildly, nauseating Piercy. Then it was Kerensa’s face filling the circle. “Did you say Dalessa?” she said.
“It’s not a name I’ve ever heard before, so I had hoped Evon might know of her. Does the name mean anything to you?”
“Of course,” Kerensa said. “That’s the given name of the Witch of Marhalindor.”
“The Witch of Marhalindor?” Piercy repeated. “The evil magician who was responsible for the deaths of who knows how many people in Murakot’s time?”
“She wasn’t evil, Piercy. She was just insane. Though her insanity cost a lot of people their lives, true, so in that sense I suppose you could call her evil. Dangerous, absolutely. Why are you asking about that name?”
“It’s probably nothing.” It didn’t feel like nothing. Hodestis’s insistence that Dalessa was a powerful magician, that they wouldn’t understand his trying to cure her, struck him as sinister. “She is dead?”
“Of course she’s dead. She died almost a thousand years ago.”
“And there is no chance she might have survived all these years?”
“Her death is well-documented, even for those times. People were very interested in making sure she stayed dead.”
“Ask about the necklace,” Ayane said. Piercy had forgotten she was there.
“What about a necklace?” he said. “Sixteen inches long, made of a grayish-black metal. It was kept under divine protection in a monastery of Cath.”
“I don’t—” Kerensa went silent. “That sounds very familiar,” she finally said. “Does it do anything special?”
“It heals people. We saw it restore life to a man near death.”
“Grayish-black metal…are you sure you don’t mean black metal that’s gray where the light strikes it?”
“How did you know?”
Kerensa closed her eyes. “Gods have mercy,” she said. “Do you have it?”
“It is in the possession of a man who wishes to use it to heal this Dalessa, whoever she may be.”
“Kerensa, you need to not agitate yourself,” Evon said from somewhere just out of sight.
“Are you well?” Piercy asked.
“I’m fine.”
“She’s in a rather delicate condition,” Evon said.
“I’m fine. Piercy, did you handle it? How did it feel?”
“Hot and cold at the same time. My dear, if you are unwell—”
“Piercy, it’s not a necklace. It’s the leash of the Dirn-Hound.”
Piercy felt cold all over. The magical artifact that brought the ancient hero Carall out of the Underworld. And he’d had it in his hands. “Kerensa, what does that mean?”
“Disaster,” Kerensa said. “The man who has it? He’s not trying to heal anyone. He wants to resurrect the Witch of Marhalindor.”