"There are plenty of good vantage points up on those rocks, but I bet they'll have men up there," Alec whispered.
"We'll manage something. Beshar will most likely be up there, behind those posts. Look for a place that will give you the best shot at her."
"Don't worry, I'll hit the bitch." Seregil glanced at Alec in surprise and saw a hardness in his expression that had never been there before.
Soon more men began to wander up from the camp.
Hurrying back to the pine, they found Micum there ahead of them. He held a finger to his lips as they entered, then pointed to Nysander kneeling in the center of a dancing circle of white sparks. Inside the circle he'd scraped back the pine needles and scratched a complex pattern of symbols into the packed earth beneath.
Eyes half-lidded, Nysander was calmly weaving shining figures in the air. He had stripped to his breeches and covered his arms, chest, and face with designs drawn in blue ink. A horizontal band of black paint across his eyes gave him an uncharacteristically barbaric appearance. In front of him, Alec's bow and quiver lay amid a clutter of bowls, wands, and parchments.
Alec and Seregil hesitated at the edge of the light circle, but Nysander motioned for them all to enter. Once inside, they smelled the scent of magic mingling with the aroma of the pine like the faint, rich odor left behind in a cupboard where spices had once been stored.
"The eclipse will begin soon," said Nysander, taking up a brush and a bowl of black paint. "This band across your eyes will ward off the blinding effects of it, even at the full. Unless the Plenimarans take similar precautions, it may work to our advantage."
Nysander painted a heavy band across each of their faces, then set the bowl aside. "Now, if you would hand me your weapons."
Using several colors of pigment, Nysander painted a few small sigils on each blade. He took the longest over Seregil's sword, covering it from hilt to tip with a line of tiny figures that flickered and disappeared as soon as they were completed.
"What's all this?" Micum asked.
"Just some necessary magicking. The dyrmagnos is not the only one with protective magic. Kneel with me here, close together, and hold out your hands."
Gathering them in a small circle, Nysander painted their palms with concentric circles of black, red, brown, and blue, then instructed them to press their raised palms to those of the person on either side of them. Seregil was on the wizard's right, Alec to his left, with Micum closing the chain.
The moment the circle of hands was complete they were enveloped in a sudden sensation of tingling warmth that raised the hairs on their arms and made their eyes water. A collective shudder ran through them as the feeling swelled and faded away.
Nysander was the first to lower his hands. "It is done."
The paint was gone. In its place each of them bore a complex pattern of red and gold on each palm.
"The great sigla of Aura," Seregil murmured, touching his left palm.
"What is it, some kind of protection?" asked Alec.
"It will not keep you from being wounded. It is to protect your soul," Nysander explained. "If any of us are killed today, the Eater of Death will not have us. The design will fade from sight in time, but the protection is permanent."
Seregil regarded his hands with a humorless, lopsided grin. "Well, that's one less thing for us to worry about."
At that moment, less than two miles to the north, Beka Cavish shivered suddenly when a sharp tingle passed through her as she tethered her horse with the others.
"You all right, Lieutenant?" asked Rhylin, who'd been out scouting the Plenimaran camp with her.
"Guess a snake must've crawled across my shadow." The strange sensation passed as quickly as it had come, except for a slight tingling in her gloved hands. Flexing them, she walked over to where Braknil and the others sat waiting in the shadow of a gully.
They had preparations to make.
An hour before noon a tiny, curved paring disappeared from the lower edge of the sun.
"There it goes," Seregil whispered as he and Micum lay in a brush thicket overlooking the temple.
The dry pool near the head of the cove had been cleared of all debris and painted with white symbols neither he nor Micum had ever seen before.
More symbols had been outlined between each of the fourteen posts set into the rock and a large square had been painted to contain the entire site.
The sacrificial victims huddled under close guard on the rocks above the pool. Slightly apart from these, Thero stood between two of Tildus' men.
He was dressed in wizard's robes, but below its full sleeves Seregil caught a glimpse of metal on Thero's wrists.
"Well, he's alive but they've got him under control again."
"Too bad," muttered Micum. "My guess is we could use his help before this is over."
Twenty soldiers stood formed up in ranks before the captives, unlit torches piled at their feet.
A brazier stood nearby, filling the air with fragrant smoke.
Mardus sat on the white marker stone, studying a parchment. He was dressed in ceremonial splendor for the occasion; beneath his sweeping black cloak, his burnished cuirass and gorget glinted with gold chasing.
As Seregil and Micum watched, the dyrmagnos stepped from the trees and the failing sunlight glinted from the jewel work on her veil and gown.
"Don't they just make a handsome pair." Micum glanced up at the sun again. "Nysander said the eclipse would take about an hour. Looks like you were right about it matching the tide. It's already as high as it was yesterday and still coming in."
"Come on then, time to get started."
Irtuk Beshar laid a wizened hand on Mardus' sleeve. "The conjunction has begun, my lord."
Mardus glanced up from the document he'd been studying. "Ah, yes. Tildus!"
"Yes, my lord?" Never far from his master, the bearded captain stepped forward.
"Pass the word, Tildus; the eclipse has begun. Remind the men to avoid looking at it, particularly once it's complete."
Tildus snapped a quick salute and strode off.
The tide was climbing steadily toward the pool and with it came a warm breeze smelling of rock weed and salt.
Soon enough it would smell of blood, Mardus thought with satisfaction.
When all his men were in position, he strode down into the temple, his black war cloak sweeping out behind him. The waves were surging close to the dry basin now, and lines of foam ran ahead up the two narrow fissures that contained the carvings. He paced a slow circuit around the declivity, then moved to stand on the landward side of it and raised a hand. Trumpeters at the head of the ledges blew a blaring fanfare.
Irtuk Beshar stepped from the trees above at the head of a small procession. First came silent Harid Yordun bearing the carved chest containing the elements of the Helm. Behind him, soldiers led four unblemished white heifers with the symbol of Dalna painted on their brows and four young black bulls bearing the sign of Sakor. These were followed by large wicker cages containing four gulls and four large brown owls, symbolic of Astellus and Illior.
Harid placed the chest reverently at the landward edge of the dry pool and the animals were divided, one of each sort at the four corners of the great square.
Irtuk Beshar moved slowly from one group to another, laying hands on the beasts. They sank dead beneath her touch and were immediately gutted and piled in reeking heaps.
Lifting her arms to the sky, she threw back her head and shouted in the ancient necromantic tongue,
"Agrosh marg venv Kui gri bara kon Seriami. Y'ka Vatharnaprak'ot!"
Tongues of shimmering, unnatural fire flared up from the piles of carrion. The assembled soldiers cheered at the sight of it.