"Fetch a rope, would you, Micum?" he asked, stripping off his tunic and shirt as well.
"What are you up to?"
"I just want a look at where these cracks in the rock lead."
Seregil tied one end of the rope around his waist and handed the rest to Micum, then waded into the icy water.
He was thigh deep when the undertow knocked him off his feet. Micum tightened his grip on the rope, but Seregil surfaced and motioned for him to slack up again. Struggling against the waves, he swam farther out and dove beneath the surface.
"What is it he's after?" Micum muttered nervously, paying out more line.
"I cannot imagine," Nysander replied, shaking his head.
Seregil dove twice more before shouting for Micum to haul him in.
Pale and blue-lipped with cold, Seregil staggered up the rock and flattened himself against its sun-warmed surface. Nysander unfastened his cloak and laid it over him.
Micum squatted down beside him. "Find anything?"
"Nothing. I had thought maybe, with the gift tide coming—"
Seregil broke off. Sitting up, he smacked a hand across his forehead. "Illior's Fingers, I've had it all backward!"
"Ah, I think I see!" For the first time in days a little color stole into Nysander's bleached cheeks.
"How could I have overlooked such an obvious factor?"
"A gift tide?" Micum asked, wondering if he'd heard right.
Seregil's teeth clattered like bakshi stones in a leather cup as he exclaimed, "It's the last piece of the puzzle. Now the rest falls into place."
"What in the hell are you—"
"Twice each month, the moon causes the tide to rise and fall to unusual extremes," Nysander explained. "The fishermen call it a gift tide. On the day of the eclipse there will be such a tide."
"It was the seaweed," Seregil went on, as if that explained everything. "It grows thickest around the low tide line. Last night I noticed that an unusually thick band of it was laid bare at low tide."
"But you just said there was nothing out there," said Micum.
"That's right." Seregil jumped to his feet and headed up the ledges. "And I might have saved myself a swim just now. Leiteus said the eclipse would occur at midday, which is when the tide will be unusually high. That's the other half of the cycle!" Water dripped from the tip of his nose as he scrutinized the fissure again, following it up toward the high ground.
Suddenly he stooped over a collection of stones jumbled together near one of the parallel fissures, then began tossing them aside.
"Look, a hole," he said, showing them a round hole a hand's span wide bored deep into the stone.
Scrabbling along on his knees he soon found another, and then a third.
With the help of the others, he uncovered a total of fourteen of the holes, spaced evenly to form a half circle around a broad, shallow depression in the stone just above the high tide mark.
It was an unremarkable looking spot, littered with driftwood, shells, dried seaweed, and other debris, but both of the mysterious crevices in the rock ran through it.
"Here's your temple," Seregil announced.
"I think you may be correct," Nysander said, looking around in amazement.
"It's above the normal tide line now, but from the looks of the debris, the highest tides reach it. It's a sort of natural basin."
"It must have been used by the people who left the writing we found carved there," Nysander speculated. "I wonder what the holes represent?"
"So the eclipse and the high tide that fills this thing will happen at the same time," observed Micum, helping Seregil cover the holes as they had found them.
"The highest point of the tide will lag some minutes behind the completion of the eclipse," the wizard replied.
"Which means Mardus will have only a few moments in which to complete whatever ritual he plans before the sun returns. It is generally believed that the more rare the conjunction, the more powerful its effect. With the added factor of the comet, I should say this conjunction will be an extraordinarily potent and dangerous one. That it is so focused on a specific locale makes it all the more so."
"By the Flame!" Micum muttered. "And the three of us are supposed to take on that, with however many Plenimarans thrown in?"
"Four," Seregil amended darkly, shooting Nysander a pointed look. "When the time comes, there are supposed to be four of us."
45
Time passed like a slow nightmare for Alec.
By day the cart bumped and jolted over the rough coastal track the column followed. His mounted escort ignored him for the most part, talking among themselves in their own language. With only Thero for company, Alec spent the daylight hours dozing and watching the mountainous countryside go by.
And dreading nightfall. At night the bear cart was stationed somewhat apart from the camp. Alec quickly learned to fear the moment when his guards faded away into the shadows; this was the signal for Vargul
Ashnazai's festival of nightmares to begin.
Later, when the final horror was over and Alec had been reduced to terrified fury, the guards would reappear and whatever was left of the night would pass in relative peace.
The second night Diomis and his mother materialized in the cage, heads clutched beneath their arms as they cursed and accused him. Alec knew they were only illusions, but their accusations stabbed at enough of his own doubts to bring real pain. Turning his back on them, he stuffed his fingers in his ears and tried to ignore the prodding and buffeting of their cold, ghostly hands. It was pointless to fight back—they had no more substance than air.
Curling tighter in his misery, he waited for Ashnazai to tire of the game.
When it was over, Alec lay listening to the small sounds of the night-an owl's hunting call, the distant nickering of horses, the low murmur of the guards, who'd come back as soon as Ashnazai had gone.
Where did they go? he wondered, letting his mind wander where it would.
A better question: why do they go?
His eyes widened as he stared up into the night sky.
Every time Ashnazai had tormented him, on the ship and now, he did it without witnesses. This seemed to verify something Alec already suspected. Vargul Ashnazai did not want anyone, especially Mardus, to know what he was up to.
The following night there was no sign of Ashnazai.
Huddled close to Thero's sleeping form, Alec stared out into the shadows, bracing for whatever new horror was to come.
The moon rose. The stars wheeled slowly past the branches, but nothing disturbed the surrounding stillness.
A sweet spring breeze swept through the boughs, carrying to him the scents of resin, damp mosses, and tender green herbs sprouting from the forest loam.
Closing his eyes, he imagined himself walking through those wooded hills with his bow as he had with his father. In spite of his fear, he drifted off and dreamed of hunting and forest trails and freedom.
He was awakened by someone whispering his name. A dark figure stood next to the cart, beckoning him to the bars.
Alec crouched warily. "What do you want?"
"Alec, it's me," the man replied softly. He pushed his hood back and the moonlight struck his face.
"Seregil!" Alec managed a choked whisper. Scrambling over, he thrust his hand out to his friend.
Seregil clasped it and pressed it to his lips.
He was real, solid, warm. Alec clung to him, heedless of the tears of relief rolling down his own cheeks. "I never thought—How did you find us?"
Reaching through the bars, Seregil cupped Alec's face in his hands. "No time to explain, tali. I've got to get you out of there." Releasing Alec reluctantly, he went to the back of the cart to examine the lock.