Trebilcock had smelled that odor at Palmisano and a dozen other battles. It was the scent of savan dalage, a monster of the night, created in the laboratories of Ehelebe by Magden Norath. They were almost indestructible, and incredibly savage and powerful.
He backed away from the door, mind whirling. This news had to be gotten to the King. It cast light on half the mysteries plaguing Kavelin. Megelin was under the spell of the Escalonian. Only Norath could have created the men who had attacked Liakopulos.
Why? a little voice asked. And that he could not say. There was nothing between the general and the sorcerer to warrant murder. There was nothing between Megelin and Liakopulos.
He could guess, but he dared not guess aloud. His friends would not want to hear his suspicions. And the suspected would try to kill him if they thought him too knowledge able.
Whatever, the King had to be alerted to the darkness lurking in Al Rhemish.
The caravan would not leave the holy city for another week. Could he survive that long? With the savan dalage stalking him? With someone sufficiently irked by his pres ence to want him destroyed? He doubted it. He had to make other arrangements.
He looked into the compound again. The caravaneers had gotten the horses settled down. They were standing around scratching their heads and cussing.
Something hit Michael's door. The oak planks exploded inward. He glimpsed a dark shape wriggling through. He swung his sword in a two-handed stroke, felt it bite deep.
He hurled himself backward, over the sill of his window.
As he fell, the building reverberated to a shriek like that of a tiger-sized tomcat. Trebilcock twisted, managed to land on his feet and one hand. He twisted an ankle, but not severely. He hobbled toward the astonished caravaneers. „Torches!" he gasped. „Get those torches up. They hate the light."
He heard the whump of a great weight hitting ground behind him. He did not look back. Nor did he turn when he heard claws tearing the compound soil, gaining fast. He seized an oil lantern, whirled, and flung it at a darkness streaking out of the darkness.
The savan dalage twisted aside. The lantern missed its snout, smashed against its shoulder. Michael seized a torch.
The caravaneers scattered—except those rooted in fear.
Trebilcock flung himself forward, reached for the turning beast, touched it with the torch.
The oil caught. Fire spread along a lean, ebony flank. The beast howled. The stables turned riot. The horses began kicking down their stalls.
The savan dalage forgot its mission. A third of its long, hard body ablaze, it streaked across the compound. It reached the roof of the stables with a single powerful bound. It vanished over the wall.
Michael sat in the dirt with head bowed, panting. He felt around for his sword. A thin smile crossed his lips. „Well, you survived their first try, me boy."
The caravaneers gathered round him. „What the hell was that?" one asked.
Michael looked up into eyes grown huge and faces grown waxy with fear. „Where were you during the wars?"
Another whispered the name. „Savan dalage. Here."
Michael raised his left hand. Someone helped him up. „Let's get those horses settled. It's gone. It shouldn't be back tonight."
He might not have to worry about it again, he thought. Norath might take another approach next time. The most logical would be to arrest him.
He had to get the message out quick. There was only one way. He would have to contact one of his local agents, a man no longer reliable. Obviously, Norath had found him and turned him, and had used him to send soothing reports to
Vorgreberg. The man would have to be turned back, if only for a minute.
Darkness still ruled Al Rhemish when Michael roused his former agent. Dawn was barely a threat when he killed the man and took to the streets again, hoping he could swim the lake and vanish into the desert before Norath found his trail.
Survival was a wan hope, he thought as he eased into the cold water. It depended on his message getting through, and his remaining at large long enough for his friends to invent a way to save him.
The air was hot already. It would be a miserable day to be afoot in the desert. He drank all the water his stomach would hold, and filled the wineskin he had taken from the agent he had retired. Then he started up the slope of the valley, picking a few ripe fruits as he went. His boots sloshed with every step. He was going to develop one hell of a crop of blisters.
9
Year 1016 AFE; Rising Tide
Ragnarson, prataxis, eanredson, and Varthlokkur argued for two hours, while waiting for Dahl Haas to collect the Chatelaine Mist. Ragnarson ducked out once to order more chairs. Then, twenty-five minutes before Mist was expected, Slugbait came to the door. Ragnarson stepped outside.
„What is it, Slug?"
„There's a woman down to the gate says she needs to see you. Ordinarily, we just send them away, but this one maybe you should see."
„Who is she? Do you know?"
„I seen her around. She said tell you her name is Sherilee."
Ragnarson stiffened. „What's she want?"
„I don't know. She didn't make sense. You know women when they're scared."
„Scared?"
„Petrified. She's worked up about something that hap pened out to Lieneke Lane."
„Let's go." Bragi leaned back into the room for his sword. Slugbait had spoken the magic words. Ragnarson seldom showed it in any demonstrative way, but his children meant more to him than Ravelin or his crown. If anything had happened to them... . They were all he had left.
Slug was puffing when they reached the gate. Bragi told him, „Send her to the guardroom. I'll clear it out. Thanks, Slug. You thought right this time. I won't forget."
„Thank you, Sire. Just doing my job."
„Right. Keep at it and you'll make sergeant. Bustle her in here."
The girl was half-hysterical. She threw herself at him. He did a little hugging and shoulder-patting. He soon realized that half her hysteria was intentional.
Little by little, he got her talking. She and Kristen had seen Aral Dantice and another man go to Mist's house. They had worked one another up with dares. Before she knew it, she was sneaking across Lieneke Lane, through Mist's hedge, and crouching beside the house under a window that had been covered by bookshelves inside.
„Why you?"
„I'm smaller. Nobody could see me over the hedge. Anyway, there were four people in there. They were doing some kind of sorcery. After a while I knew they were spying on you. From what they said. Then they got all excited. Then one of them started talking who didn't talk before. One we didn't see go in or come out. But he left somehow, because they said he was gone. They talked about him, and that's when I figured out he was a Tervola."
She started crying again.
„Tervola, eh?" He was not entirely surprised.
„Yes! Here in Vorgreberg. You believe me, don't you?"
He sighed thoughtfully, took her hand and led her to a chair. „Sit down. I've got to think." He sat facing her. He did not release her hand. She stared at their joined fingers with a kind of awe. After a few minutes he grunted and stood again, pulling her up.
„Mist is coming. Stay out of sight till she's inside. Otherwise you might meet her and give her an idea how I know what I know. I think Slug will enjoy looking after you."
She turned on the tears. „I'm so scared." She moved against him, pushing her arms around him. He felt the fear in her, the animal quivering. It was real enough. Its object was the question.