‘But it didn’t work,’ Steven said.
Sallax chuckled ironically. ‘No, it didn’t. Instead, it became more difficult to control my thoughts. I hallucinated as guilt warred with magic. I have been lost.’
‘You sound pretty lucid now,’ Mark observed. ‘What’s different?’
Sallax broke down again and Mark took advantage of the opportunity to stand up slowly.
‘Now, this morning, I am lucid. Call it a moment’s respite from myself, but I know why.’ Sallax sliced the rapier’s point through the air with a thin whoosh. ‘Because now it is time for me to die. Steven? Will you do the honours?’
‘No, Sallax,’ Steven replied firmly. ‘I will not kill you.’
‘Then, my friend, you will watch as Mark dies.’ With that, Sallax lunged towards Mark.
‘No!’ Mark cried; there was no time to move, other than to draw his arms in against the sides of his body, his elbows firmly tucked against his ribs. But the fiery pain never came; though it was just a couple of feet, Sallax didn’t land the simple thrust that would have ended Mark’s life in an instant.
As Sallax lunged, Steven opened his mind to the power of the staff and, like the night he killed the Seron warriors, time slowed down for him. He had ample time to reach for the staff, to deflect Sallax’s thrust and to bring the shaft about and take him solidly across the chest. Steven felt the staff’s power: it would kill Sallax as readily as it had killed the Seron, as brutally as it had dismembered the grettan.
But he did not want Sallax dead; he wanted to help. Compassion. He reached out to take control of the magic. ‘I will not kill you, Sallax,’ he heard himself shout. As the staff hit him in the ribs, Sallax was lifted from his feet and thrown with a resounding crash through the door and into the front room.
Garec finally awakened with a start. ‘Rutters!’ he cried, ‘what’s happening?’
Sallax was lying absolutely still and Steven thought for sure he was dead. ‘Oh shit,’ he said as he tossed the staff on the bed, ‘I killed him. Goddamn it all to hell in a handbasket.’ Ignoring his injured leg, he limped towards the front room. Before he made it, Sallax rolled onto one side and began vomiting out the contents of his stomach.
‘Thank Christ,’ Steven exclaimed, ‘he’s alive.’
Mark was still checking his abdomen for the puncture he was certain he would find there, the blood seeping into the red wool of his sweater as Brynne burst through, a look of terror on her face. ‘Sallax!’ she cried, rushing to her brother. ‘What happened to you, to your face?’
No one answered, but Sallax pulled himself to his feet and turned to glare wild-eyed at Steven. ‘You’re cheating me,’ he shouted.
‘You’re right, Sallax. I will not kill you, not ever.’
‘Don’t make promises,’ he said and lifted his rapier towards Steven. ‘You have no idea what I might do.’
Brynne gripped his upper arm. ‘Sallax, tell me what’s wrong.’ Turning on Steven, she scolded, ‘Steven, you know he’s ill. What have you done?’
‘Tell her,’ Steven said, turning to look at Sallax. ‘Tell your sister what you told us. She needs to know – and you need to tell her. It’s what Gilmour would ask.’ Steven took a step forward. ‘You know he has already forgiven you.’
‘Forgiven him what?’ Brynne demanded, but Sallax screamed and pushed her to the floor, then turned and ran through the front door and out into the forest.
He nearly ran into Lahp, who was hauling a load of firewood that would have crippled any of them. The Seron shot him a crooked grin and greeted him warmly, ‘Ha, Sallax.’
His face changed when Sallax barked, ‘Out of my way, you half-human beast,’ and stabbed the point of his rapier deep into the Seron’s thigh. Lahp bellowed and fell to the ground, his massive paws gripping the puncture wound closed. The moment he realised it wasn’t life-threatening, he picked up a piece of firewood, lumbered to his feet and, furious, hurled it at Sallax’s back. It struck with a sickening thud, followed immediately by an audible snap, and Sallax pitched forward headlong into the dirt. His shoulder was broken.
Lahp chuckled, a deep arrhythmic bass. Sallax would live, but he would be in considerable pain for a while. Oblivious to the cacophony erupting from the cabin behind him, the Seron rechecked the wound in his leg, tied it tightly closed with a length of cloth he tore from his tunic and began picking up the firewood he had dropped along the trail.
Having recovered from his own initial shock, Mark grabbed Brynne before she could pursue her brother. ‘Don’t follow him, Brynne,’ he implored, holding her tightly, ‘not yet. He’s not thinking right. He might hurt you – kill you, even.’
‘Let go of me.’ Brynne’s voice was desperate and she fought to escape Mark’s embrace. ‘I have to catch him. He’s sick.’
‘Yes, and he’s dangerous,’ Mark pleaded. ‘He tried to stab me.’
Brynne ignored him and broke free. She pushed her way roughly past Lahp, who filled the doorway with his gargantuan frame. The Seron, his breeches stained with blood, looked after her with confusion, took several steps back into the forest and then stopped to wait for Steven to tell him what to do. Brynne disappeared along the trail.
Inside the cabin, no one spoke. The silence was unnerving. Mark watched Brynne sprint off through the trees and then looked questioningly at Steven.
‘Go,’ he said. Mark stooped to pick up Sallax’s own battle-axe before rushing through the door behind her.
It was two avens before Mark and Brynne returned. He held her tightly around the shoulder and their feet fell in perfect sync, stride for stride. Garec watched them, smiling at the comforting rhythm of their step and glad that they remained connected despite the morning’s events. Sallax wasn’t with them; Garec could see Brynne was upset and feared the worst.
Although it was only midday, the young woman looked exhausted, about to collapse. Mark escorted her into their bedroom and several moments later emerged alone. He threw himself into one of the chairs and reported, ‘We tracked him along the river a way, then he turned up into the foothills, then back into the valley.’
‘Did you catch him?’ Steven asked. ‘Isn’t he running with a broken arm?’
‘I don’t know, but he’s fast and he’s strong. I’ve no idea how he’s managing to keep it up – adrenalin, maybe. To be honest, I’m glad we didn’t catch him.’
‘Why?’ Garec asked.
‘What would we have done with him?’ Mark took a long swallow from an open wine bottle and looked around the room for something to eat. ‘He might have killed us both. I’m no match for him, even if he has got one useless arm.’
‘Where do you think he’ll go?’ Steven asked.
Garec said, ‘I’ve no idea how far it is to Orindale, but he’ll need to have those bones set sometime soon. I suppose he’ll stick to the river until he comes to anything that looks like a town, maybe somewhere on the outskirts of the city.’
‘But we don’t know where we, are or how long it’ll take us to get downriver,’ Mark added.
‘Unless he scales the mountains again, he doesn’t have many options.’
Steven said grimly, ‘Neither do we.’
‘I still think we ought to stay here a few more days,’ Garec said, surprising them. ‘Your leg needs to heal. Brynne needs rest. We all could use a break to deal with Gilmour’s loss and- and, well, Sallax’s disappearance.’
‘That makes sense,’ Mark agreed. ‘We don’t know what comes next. We can’t just march into Malakasia and demand the far portal. We need a plan.’
Steven and Garec shared an anxious glance. Without Gilmour, no one could operate the spell table. Even if they made it into Welstar Palace and managed to find the far portal, they had no idea how to use Lessek’s Key. All they knew was that it had to be kept from Nerak. Who else could tap its power for good? Gilmour had mentioned a colleague, Kantu, another Larion Senator, but he was in Praga and no one knew what he looked like, or where to begin searching for him. They were alone, lost in the northern Blackstones, and they had no idea how to proceed. A few days’ rest might give them a chance to come up with some options.