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 husk. 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 on, plunging her poison into his veins with the last of her strength.
Micum's deadened leg folded under him and he felt her grip change as she slowly pulled herself up his body. He could hear Seregil shouting nearby.
Micum's throat worked soundlessly, choked with the vengeful hate of the dyrmagnos.
Alec was down to the three white arrows when he saw Micum thrashing on the ground just above the pool. His belly went cold as he realized what the monstrous thing clinging to him must be. It was pointless to shoot from here; there was no way to hit the dyrmagnos without killing Micum at the same time. Gripping the arrow like a dagger, Alec bounded down over the rocks, praying he wasn't already too late.
Looking back over her shoulder, Beka saw that Braknil's decuria had succeeded in setting fire to the Plenimaran camp. At this signal, she and Rhylin's decuria opened fire on the Plenimaran soldiers massed in the natural amphitheater below. From where they stood on the ledges, it was like shooting pigs in a sty.
They were not the first to fire, however. Even as she loosed arrow after arrow, Beka wondered how
Braknil had gotten back here so quickly and what his group was doing on the opposite side of the cove.
One of them had managed to hit the sorceress before Beka could give the order for her group to fire.
Whatever the case, the prisoners were breaking free below, just as she'd hoped.
"That's got them moving," she growled, turning to the others. "Come on, urgazhi, let's leave them to it."
"Hold on, Lieutenant," whispered Rhylin.
"It looks to me like we're not the only ones who were after them!"
The frantic prisoners were pushing their captors back toward the cliffs, but a smaller knot of fighting was concentrated near the water's edge.
Torchlight glanced off steel in the shadows of the natural basin that lay in the embrace of the two ridges of high ground. General Mardus was nowhere in sight, but the Plenimaran's sorceress was still alive and wrestling with a large swordsman.
Beka's heart skipped a beat.
"It can't be!" she gasped. Then Alec bolted into view from behind a jumble of rocks, splashing wildly through the shallow water toward the struggling pair with nothing but an arrow in his hand.
Dropping her bow, Beka began scrambling down the steep rock face.
"What are you doing?" Rhylin cried, catching her by the wrist.
Beka pulled free so violently that she nearly dragged the startled man over the edge.
"My father's down there!" she snapped over her shoulder as she plunged on.
"Riders," barked Rhylin behind her, "follow the lieutenant's lead! Attack!"
Micum was still struggling weakly beneath the dyrmagnos when Alec reached him. Grasping Beshar by what was left of her hair, Alec plunged the arrow into her neck. The resulting blast knocked him over onto his back, ears ringing.
Releasing Micum with a wild screech, Irtuk Beshar dragged what remained of herself at Alec and locked a hand around his ankle.
"I'll have you after all," she rasped, pulling herself along his leg with both hands like some nightmare lizard.
Alec saw his own death in her eyes. In his haste to aid Micum, he'd left the last two white arrows behind with his bow.
"Aura Elustri!" he panted, struggling to wrest his sword from the scabbard pinned beneath his leg. Before he could shift it, another blade flashed down, sending the dyrmagnos' head spinning into the surf.
Shaking off the clinging hands, Alec lurched to his feet and stared in disbelief as Beka Cavish hacked furiously at the flailing arms and trunk.
"Get away from it," he warned. "You can't kill it."
"What are you doing here?" she demanded, backing away from the twitching remains.
"No time for that. Where's Micum? Go see to him."
Beka found her father lying motionless where he'd fallen, eyes shut as he fought for breath. Sweat ran down his face in rivulets, carving trails in the black strip painted across his eyes.
"Father, it is you!" Beka exclaimed, kneeling to inspect the terrible wound in his leg. The dyrmagnos had torn away skin and muscle in her frenzy, and the raw flesh was already going dangerously dark.
"Beka?" he gasped, opening his eyes. "Scatter the parts, scatter—it won't die."
"Alec's doing that," she assured him. She pulled off her gloves to take his hand and saw for the first time the strange designs that had somehow appeared on her palms. Her father's hands bore the same device.
"First I find you here and now this," she said, bewildered. "What in Sakor's name is going on?"
Micum held his hand next to hers. "So you're a Vanguard, too. Things have come together in a strange way, Beka. You don't know the half of it." He closed his eyes and drew a wheezing breath.
She pulled open his tunic and laid an ear to his chest. His heart was pounding too hard and his skin was too cold. Looking around for help, she saw Alec and Rhylin hurrying toward her, supporting another man between them. This thin one with his matted black hair and young beard looked vaguely familiar. He'd been wounded, too; the side of his face was bloody and he had a sword cut across his ribs. Nonetheless, his pale green eyes were sharp and alert as he sank down beside Micum.
"Help him, Thero. There must be something you can do,"
Alec pleaded. "I've got to find Seregil! Has anyone seen him? Or Nysander?"
"I am here, dear boy," a hollow voice replied from the shadowed rocks above them.
50
Mardus crouched opposite Seregil in the uneven basin, the surge of the tide rushing around their ankles. They sloshed through icy water as they circled, vying for possession of the Helm that lay partially submerged between them, the newly awakened glow of the blue eye stones casting a pale phosphorescence up through the water. The blast that had formed it had deepened the shallow basin into a broad pit deeper in places than the height of the two men who fought there. Strewn with bodies, lit only by the dead glow of the eclipse that still stood overhead, it was like a place from a fever dream.
"I should have killed that whelp of yours when I had the chance," snarled Mardus.
"Yes, you should have," Seregil retorted through gritted teeth, sizing up his opponent.
Mardus was not a brawny opponent, but he did have the protection of his cuirass. "You missed Nysander, too, you know. He's alive and the Four remains unbroken."
"Yet you failed all the same," Mardus gloated, pointing to the Helm with the dagger clutched in his left hand. "I am the Vatharna, the Chosen of Seriamaius. Do you think you can stand against me now?"
"I was chosen, too, you fatherless son of a whore." Seregil tugged open the neck of his tunic with one hand to show him the reversed symbol pulsing there.