"They're close, and they're moving. Let's go. We can eat breakfast as we ride."
The barn was not far from a thin road scarred with wagon ruts and choked with weeds. They had avoided it the evening before, but now Toren announced they would follow it.
His hands itched so furiously it was hard to hold the reins.
"Stop there!" cried a voice from the trees.
Toren and the others halted. The canopy of leaves above their heads glowed beneath a noonday sun. Ten archers stepped out of the thick growth on either side of the road, arrows nocked and drawn. The speaker was a tall man dressed in doeskin.
"What is your business here?" the man demanded.
The temple guards stiffened. Geim's fingers inched toward his throwing net. "Be at peace," Toren told them. He considered what he would tell the stranger. Given the intensity of the itch, the choice came easily. "We seek Alemar, Prince of Elandris, and his sister, Elenya," he said loudly.
The leader regarded them calmly. "Why?" he said finally, and Toren knew he had chosen well.
"I will share that with the prince or princess. Tell them that I come from the temple of Struth."
The tall man smoothed his hair back. "The prince has told us that a man may come from the South. He is to be asked three questions."
"Go ahead," Toren replied.
"What is the capital of Serthe?"
"Headwater."
"Where do statues speak?"
"At the Oracle of the Frog God."
"Where were you born?"
"In the village of Ten Trees, in the Land of the Fhali, in the Wood."
The tall man smiled. "'In the Wood' was sufficient. Well met," he said, and at his gesture the archers eased their bowstrings. "My name is Tregay. And you?"
Toren gave his name.
"You truly are from the Wood," Tregay mused. "I thought that was just part of the code. You've come a long way to meet my lord and lady. I am happy to announce that your journey is at an end. They're less than a quarter of a league away. I'll take you to them."
XXVIII
ALEMAR KNELT OVER OMRIL. The Dragon's sorcerer lay limp on his pallet, drooling and uttering weak, piping noises. His silk robes reeked from a month without laundering. Alemar's men had repeatedly tried to remove the soiled garments during the month since the fight in the north, but Omril clung to them with hysterical vigor. Attempting to take them was the only thing that could provoke the magician to action; otherwise he did nothing more than whisper to himself or stare at beetles and grubs on the ground. He had to be reminded to eat and take care of bodily functions.
Alemar closed the flap of the one-person tent and placed his left palm on the wizard's forehead. On his right hand, the gauntlet warbled. Omril ceased fidgeting.
"Good," the prince murmured. "Now remember where we were yesterday. You were showing me your quarters in Dragonsdeep."
Alemar probed. And cringed. The damage worsened every day. The wizard, in his confusion, was exaggerating what Alemar had begun, consuming his own sense of identity, warping his inner being in frightening and irreparable ways. But Omril responded to Alemar's entry. He calmed, and gradually the twisting corridors of his mind straightened. The times when the prince looked within were the wizard's only moments of respite from himself.
The memories welled up. Alemar trod down a by-now-familiar path from Omril's well-appointed room deep in the Dragon's palace, through the wing where most of the sorcerers of the Ril lived, and into the audience chamber of Gloroc himself. In this particular recollection, the wizard stood in front of the Dragon and received his orders to come to Cilendrodel and ferret out information concerning the gauntlets, which Gloroc had determined were indeed the talismans that had been taken from Setan. Alemar switched the memory to others he had explored less often, such as the locations of guard stations, secret exits from the palace, or even the nature of some of the tomes of necromancy lying in Omril's private library. The wizard was a wellspring of lore. He had been second in rank of all the Ril wizards.
Fatigue called the healer back. Satisfied that he had gleaned a few more bits of information useful to the rebel cause, Alemar sighed and lifted away his hand. A forlorn squeak escaped Omril's lips, then he fainted.
Alemar shuddered. Even enemies did not deserve such torment. But as long as Omril could provide strategic knowledge, the prince could not afford to put him to rest. Thanks to Gloroc's mind-reading powers, no spies had ever penetrated the central reaches of his palace; Omril's memories were therefore especially valuable.
The prince left the tent. The fresh forest air blessed his lungs. He wiped Omril's sweat from his palm and checked the camp. Recently wounded men lay in hammocks or still in the travois on which they had been dragged to the site. A brief look at their auras showed that they were in stable condition, except for the one who couldn't be saved. Sentries kept an alert watch, as did rythni hidden in the treetops. Wynneth approached, having seen that he had finished his session with Omril.
"The roast boar is ready," she said. "Eat before you think of something else to do."
He nodded wearily. Good advice. Since the band had come south, it seemed there was always too much to do. He slipped his arm around his wife's waist and joined the knot of twenty or thirty individuals gathered near the base of a gigantic broadleaf tree. Solint the Minstrel handed him a steaming strip of meat. The aroma stirred the ache in his stomach. How long had it been since he had eaten a real meal? He wolfed down several bites.
Suddenly his gauntlet whistled. All five of its major gems blazed. A few feet away, Elenya's did the same. The twins stared at each other. The pulse coming from the talismans resembled nothing they had ever experienced.
Rythni chirped, announcing the arrival of strangers. The rebels tensed and reached for their weapons, but Alemar gestured for calm. The rythni indicated no cause for alarm. In another few moments, the sentries confirmed the little people's report. Boughs and shrubbery parted. Tregay's patrol strode into the glade, leading seven men and a woman.
Alemar knew instantly who it was. At the head of the newcomers walked two tall, yellow-haired, golden-skinned individuals. The lead man's aura gleamed like a bonfire on Dark Night. The gauntlet tugged Alemar's wrist, as if trying to slip off his hand. A cold tingle spread goose pimples all across his chest and back.
"At last," Elenya murmured.
The stranger stared at the talismans, and at the twins, with wide-eyed, almost childlike fascination. He swallowed deeply.
Tregay led him forward. "Struth's candidate is here, my lord," the rebel announced excitedly.
"So I see," Alemar said, remembering how to speak. He introduced himself and his sister. "You are Toren?"
"Yes," the stranger said. Finally he glanced up, away from the gauntlet. He seemed to notice the glade, the camp, and the crowd around him for the first time. He gestured belatedly at his companions. "This is Geim. And that is Deena." He named the five temple guards. "All servants of Struth."
"The first two names are known to me," Alemar said. "You were on the mission to the Far South." He smiled at Geim and Deena.
The gauntlets hummed. Even those without magical talents sensed the pull between the talismans and the newcomer. "Well," Alemar said, holding up his right hand, partially closing his eyes against the glare from the gems. "I intended to offer you the hospitality of the camp, meager as that may be. As you can see, we've just been through a battle." He waved at the wounded men. "A successful one, I'm happy to say. We've driven the Dragon's garrison back into its stronghold in Yent. After today's defeat, I think they'll stay there, waiting for reinforcements from Elandris. We've earned a respite, if only a lull before the storm." He realized he was rambling, chuckled, and slid the gauntlet off his hand. "But food and rest can wait. You've come here for a reason. Let's be sure you haven't wasted your time." He thrust out the talisman.