The others sprang to their feet, toppling chairs and spilling wine.
‘What it is?’ Garec had instinctively reached for his bow. ‘Mark, are you okay?’
Across the room, Lahp was awake and already crouched low to the ground, his weapons drawn. ‘Sten talk Lahp!’ he asked.
‘I don’t know yet, Lahp,’ Steven said calmly, keeping his eyes fixed on Mark. His face was damp with sweat and his eyes wide. ‘Mark,’ Steven said, ‘you have to tell us what’s going on. What do you need?’
‘Wraiths,’ Mark whispered, and turned to Brynne. ‘Hundreds of them, like Gabriel O’Reilly, only they’re not on our side.’ He hugged Brynne close. ‘They’re really not on our side! They’re hunting us. They’ve already killed the trapper.’
‘Sallax?’ Brynne asked, afraid to hear the answer, but scared not to know the truth.
Mark closed his eyes and turned his thoughts inward again for a few moments before saying, ‘Gabriel doesn’t know. He came directly here after finding the trapper’s body out near the river. He saw them moving through the trees and along a ridge downstream from here.’
Mark’s words struck a chord with Garec. ‘I’ve seen that too.’
‘Seen what?’ Brynne asked, adjusting sundry weapons at her belt.
‘On Seer’s Peak.’ Now Garec understood why Gilmour had forced him to go over and over the details of his vision that morning. He would never forget those images. ‘Lessek sent me a dream. I thought it was the forbidden forest near Riverend, and I saw hundreds of wraiths moving between the trees. But maybe I was wrong. Maybe it wasn’t Estrad.’
‘That can’t be a coincidence.’ Steven held the hickory staff, unaware that he had retrieved it from the corner near the hallway. Maybe it really did just appear in his hands when he needed it – that would be a useful attribute, if it were true. So far he couldn’t feel it giving him any direction; it felt more like he were calling up the magic, instead of simply acting as a conduit for its power. He remembered the lodge pine in the Blackstones, the tree he had so casually brought down with one swipe, and wondered if he would be able to summon the staff’s power like that again.
‘Tell us about it again, quickly,’ he said to Garec. ‘Maybe your vision will give us inspiration on how to fight the bloody things. Do you remember how you killed them?’
‘I didn’t.’ Garec closed his eyes in an effort to recall more clearly, but try as he might, he couldn’t rid his mind of the image of Gilmour’s dead body, that of an old, old man, no Larion magic left in that paper-thin, brittle bag of skin. How could they win? How could they possibly have imagined they had any chance against Nerak? He wiped a hand across his forehead and opened his eyes to find everyone staring hopefully at him.
‘I can’t remember anything else,’ he admitted. ‘The land was dying. The Estrad River ran dry and the fields were parched and cracked-’ like the skin of a dead Larion sorcerer. ‘I saw wraiths moving through the forbidden forest. I think they were hunting for something – or some one.’
‘So that’s it then,’ Mark said. ‘It was a look into the future. They’re here now and they’re hunting us.’
Brynne interrupted suddenly, ‘Mark, ask Gabriel if they have a weakness. Can we kill them? There must be something we can do.’
Again Mark turned his thoughts inward, but when he spoke to the group again, his words cast a pall over the tiny cabin. ‘No. Only Steven and Garec can battle them. The rest of us will be killed at first contact.’
‘How can I fight them?’ Garec demanded in desperation. ‘I have no magic.’
‘I don’t know, Garec,’ Mark replied. ‘Gabriel’s gone into the forest.’ He reached for Brynne’s hand. ‘He will be back to warn us before the wraith army arrives.’
Garec paced back and forth across the cabin floor, sweating freely, until he stripped off his quivers and pulled his wool tunic over his head, tossing it into the corner. ‘I won’t be needing this again,’ he said, a note of finality in his voice. Standing before them in his thin cotton shirt, he looked vulnerable, already lost. Mark tried to say something to build the younger man’s confidence, but nothing came to mind. Garec would fight to the best of his ability, and that meant firing arrows. Sallax had nicknamed him the Bringer of Death, but now, death was coming for him. It was time to atone.
‘How ironic,’ Garec announced, as if reading Mark’s mind, ‘I will fight my last battle against an enemy who can’t be turned by the one weapon I bring to the field.’ He thought again of Gilmour, and how much he had admired the Larion Senator, even before he knew his true history. Garec had aspired to do great things for Rona, but would not have time; the best he could hope for would be to die well, protecting his friends from the coming evil. He expected to be joining Gilmour in the next few avens.
Lahp, still crouching near his bedroll, watched Garec with great interest, before demanding, ‘Sten talk Lahp.’ He pounded a hairy fist against the plank floor to encourage Steven to respond.
‘Lahp, I need you to stay here with Mark and Brynne.’ Steven motioned towards the centre of the room. ‘I need you to stay low and keep your head down until the fight is done.’
Lahp looked at Steven as if he had just asked him to build a suspension bridge over the Danube River. ‘Lahp hep Sten.’ He nodded vigorously. ‘Lahp na floor.’
‘You can’t fight these wraiths, Lahp,’ Steven tried to explain. He still had no real idea how much the Seron understood. ‘They are ghosts. They can pass right through you, and kill you from the inside.’
‘Malagon.’
‘Yes, Malagon sent them. They are here for the same talisman you were sent to find.’
‘Lessek’s.’
‘Yes, Lessek’s Key. We don’t have it.’
‘Ha!’ Lahp laughed, and Steven did too, surprised the Seron understood the concept of irony.
‘But I do need you to be here on the floor, where I may be able to keep them from getting to you.’
‘Na, na.’ Lahp shook his head and smiled a toothy wet grin. ‘Lahp hep Sten.’
‘You will die, Lahp, if you fight these creatures on your own.’
The Seron warrior stood slowly, crossed the floor and slapped a fist against his breast. He didn’t need to say anything. They all understood that Lahp was ready to die there, on that oak and pine plank battlefield.
‘Lahp hep Sten.’
Steven nodded. He had no idea what he had done to earn the Seron’s loyalty. He turned the staff over, feeling its wood warm against his palms, and looked up to find Mark gazing at him.
In English, his friend said, ‘This is it. This will be the test of your compassion.’
Forcing a grin, Steven replied, ‘Thanks for the vote of confidence.’
‘Hey, I’m not joking! I’ve no bloody idea how you fight these things, with compassion or with swords…’ His voice faltered as he felt their final minutes ticking by. ‘Tell me you know what you’re doing.’
‘I don’t.’ Steven reached for the wine and took a long swallow, but his mouth still felt dry. Switching back to Ronan, he urged Mark and Brynne to move to the floor at his feet. ‘If I can keep them off you, I will.’
‘I know,’ Mark said quietly.
Steven watched as Lahp drew an array of weapons from his pack: daggers, a battle-axe, a short sword and several hunting knives, all weapons that required their wielder to look each victim in the eye. Despite the Seron’s confidence, Steven knew Lahp would fall quickly to the wraiths and he couldn’t risk Mark or Brynne to save Lahp. The Seron had made his choice and Steven would honour it, however much he might wish to stop him.
If he lost his concentration they might all perish. It wasn’t going to be easy, watching Lahp die, but he had to remain focused on the task at hand. How brave of the warrior to share this battle, because he would not allow him and Garec to fight alone.
Then an idea began forming in Steven’s mind. Sharing. They had to share the fight. Could they share the magic? The power of the staff would dispatch Malagon’s wraiths, of that, Steven was confident. But could the power be shared?