Part 26 (2/2)

”We do this now,” Theron said gravely, removing the wrist irons. Deacon clenched his jaw and gave a single nod. A dread stirred within him. Theron rested a heavy hand on the young man's shoulder, ”Do not fear,” he said, the gesture a cruel and empty imitation of friends.h.i.+p. ”Men die at every hour, and many for far less cause.”

Rage and rebellion worked in Deacon. Pale and silent he got to his feet. It was late afternoon. The light of day had begun slowly to fade, but the last streams broke through the dense vegetation in brilliant effulgence. The men had packed up and prepared their horses ready to flee, not trusting what might occur once the goblet was removed from its place of keeping.

It was with grave solemnity that Deacon approached the formidable statues, Theron and two other men close behind him. White as a man facing the executioner, he raised his open hands toward the energy obstruction, but before he could proceed there was a low swift sound, and a painful cry of the arrow striking its mark. The man next to Deacon collapsed to the ground. An arrow had gone through his throat all the way to the feathers.

Two more fell dead, before any could make a move against their unseen a.s.sailants. From the fire they had not yet extinguished there quickly followed an explosion and flaring torrents of flame, which caught alight some of the men who stood too near. They twisted and writhed violently in the damp earth, trying to put out the flames on their bodies. In an instant, all was confusion and turmoil.

Taking advantage of this, Cedrik and Derek rushed forth, swords drawn, headlong, into a fierce battle. Upon the sight of his cousins, Deacon wasted not a moment. He shoved his shoulder into Theron, knocking him down, and jabbed his elbow into the face of the man next to him. Stunned, with a broken nose, the soldier was then grasped and slammed against the hard statue. Deacon took his sword and dagger, and thus armed, rushed into the conflict. He leaped over the body of one foe to throw his weight against another from behind. In the same instant he hurled the dagger from his hand, an action which prevented his youngest cousin's back from being laid open.

Into the face of a soldier Cedrik struck a full blow, and, bringing down his sword, severed the head from its body, even as he turned and directed his point into the chest of another. The soldier made a mangled sound and fell dead. The three young men worked their way closer and closer toward one another, cutting down the enemy without mercy or restraint.

Derek deftly moved his head aside, just as a blade whooshed past and almost took off his ear. ”Do not kill them!” shouted Theron wildly, standing back from the commotion, his head pounding with the hot blood of battle.

To gain a better vantage point, Magenta steadily arose from her place of concealment and with a flat back and steady eye, took aim. Her priorities were the rangers, who posed the greater threat. The first man she could take a clear shot at, she put an arrow into, right through the chest. The hit itself had not taken him down, but the poison that began to work through his veins.

Amidst the chaos she became aware of a man coming toward her from the side, slightly behind. Her bow string drawn taut, she turned sharply and released. Her arrow pierced his throat. Unfortunately she had not been aware of the second man. Quickly he came round behind her and brought her down. As she struggled to rise again, his heavy body fell upon her, pinning her face down so that she might not use her evil against him.

Deacon turned sharply at the sound of her cry and took a blow to his jaw.

The man atop Magenta seized her hair with the intent of smacking her face into the ground, so as to render her senseless, but she had managed to free one hand, grasping his that was entangled in her hair, and with all her force, put into him an infliction of withering. Its effects were immediate. Crying out with pain, he found his fingers stiffening, and he released her. She, however, did not release him. She knew once she got her hands on him it would take a stronger man than him to stop her. Her abilities were not reliant on magical energies. Distended veins ran up his hand and arm and up into his neck. His face became livid, and he toppled dead from her body.

When Theron saw that the two soldiers had failed to bring down the priestess, he hastened to it himself. As Magenta's hand reached for the bow it was kicked from her reach by a heavy boot, and with a back-handed stroke Theron knocked her to the ground. He did not leave it there, but gave a sharp kick to her side. She curled in breathless agony and with a feeble gesture tried to move away from him. Bending down, he seized her arms and she was forced to stand.

Somewhere amidst the violence Deacon came up against Fraomar. With unchecked fury he fell upon the hated man, knocking him to the ground. Forgetting all those around him, Deacon put his weight heavily on the body. The beast had worked its will on Magenta, hurt her, and now he had it in his hold. It was his turn now! His blood pounded his head suffocatingly, like a madness, and with his fist he struck Fraomar full in the face, over and over.

As Derek swung and cut down one of the soldiers he took a blow to the back of the head. He stood up only to be knocked down again. From the corner of his eye Cedrik saw that his brother had been battered down, disarmed, and detained. For a short moment Cedrik continued on but found himself unequal to the task. When he realized the battle was hopeless he reluctantly threw down his weapon in an acknowledgement of defeat.

Deacon remained atop Fraomar, maintaining an unbroken series of blows. A force made of hatred, he struck the bloodied face again and again. As he did this, many hands fell upon him, and after beating him some length, they finally subdued him. Fraomar, badly beaten, staggered to his feet and went to the fountain to put cold water on his wounded face. The sting was so severe he swayed as if he might lose consciousness.

The brothers were bound and tossed to the ground together. Theron half-carried, half-dragged Magenta and threw her down with them. Beaten and bruised, they huddled near her as they would their own sister. Theron choked with outrage, ”d.a.m.n you, if you move, I'll-”

His gaze went over to one of his companions, half-reclining against a tree where he had dragged himself. An arrow stuck out from his panting side, his lips stained with the hue of evil. Theron was only a few paces away, but the man was dead before he reached him. In a slow rage, Theron pulled out the arrow. He returned to the captives, and in a sudden outburst of violence, stabbed the broken shaft into Cedrik's thigh. Cedrik jolted and cried out. Clenching his teeth, he blinked the tears of pain from his eyes.

Panting with an excess of hostility, Theron pointed a warning at Magenta, then moved off, ignoring Derek who shouted wrathful curses till his mouth was silenced with a hard blow.

Theron went to where Deacon lay. ”Let us get this over with,” Theron said and dragged him grimly forth. Together the two men stood before the thrumming energy-wall. A low wind ran along the ground, the leaves rolled past, and a sense of foreboding settled over the camp. Slowly Deacon raised his hands, closing his eyes. Magenta watched. Her heart beat with a terror that paralyzed.

There was a s.h.i.+fting in the waiting shadows, and something with no physical body and no mind, but a terrible want, felt the use of power. As it moved it made a low sound like sighing on a breeze. The air turned very cold, and there was a creeping sensation as of some unseen foe drawing near. Out from the darkness of the trees came strange phantoms, clawing along the ground, dragging their shadow forms, which appeared terribly long, far beyond human scale, their vague human shapes somehow grossly stretched.

These dark spectres, rising as the mists arise, gathered about Deacon, reaching out with greedy antic.i.p.ation. Behind him, they penetrated through leather and deep into his flesh, drawing no blood, yet his body strained as if every muscle was tightening in reaction. Without a sound he bore their torture on his feet, his head bent down and eyes squeezed shut. Mercilessly they drew from him, and he felt his power along with his life being drained.

Deacon dared not turn his head and look at his tormentors. Always his hands were raised to the energy wall. To sustain the strength and concentration necessary to complete the task took tremendous effort. Only after a few minutes' durance he was weakened. A bead of sweat ran down his strained neck. Momentarily his efforts faltered, and with a painful groan he dropped to one knee, the pain intense. He rose with difficultly. He knew if he fell he would not get back up. Defiantly he went on, though with rapidly diminis.h.i.+ng strength.

Cedrik and Derek were half-overcome with fear and horror. There were a dozen of these shadow-like creatures all steeping into Deacon, smothering him in their darkness. Besides the distraught and fixed attention of the captives, there was another no less deeply absorbed.

Fraomar watched with increasing enthusiasm. Again he looked to Magenta and was almost beside himself with malignant and spiteful joy. He saw before him the gratification and accomplishment of long-sought revenge. He only wished he could feel the strength of her misery within his arms. The temptation was too strong and Fraomar went to her.

”Let us have a better view,” he said, taking hold of her and standing her on her feet.

”Miserable-Let her alone,” Cedrik said through his pain, himself not knowing whether it was a plea or threat. Either way, Fraomar ignored him and took Magenta over closer. He positioned himself behind her, clasping her tightly in his arms, so that he might feel her tremble. From over her shoulder he watched the pitiful spectacle.

The task almost complete, Deacon was barely able to stand. The obstruction came down, and he stumbled backward, ceasing his output of energy. His legs, slack and unsteady, gave way beneath him and he collapsed. The shadow-men, not relinquis.h.i.+ng their hold, enshrouded him, as if a black cloud had descended upon him. He seemed to tire and lose courage and tried to crawl away, dragging his body slowly, painfully, as though each limb was heavily enc.u.mbered by a great weight.

But they were upon him, forcing his life out of him, devouring both sources within him. There was no escape. Too deprived of energy to fight, he rolled onto his back, struggling as if he might go into convulsions. He was in great agony. He could steal only glimpses at Magenta in his panic. It was as if he was constrained with tight bands, every muscle in his body seized tightly enough to tear painful cries from him. His face expressed such torture that it was terrible to be seen.

Magenta strained against the arms that held her, in agony at the sight before her. She saw that Deacon could not free himself and broke into earnest attempts to disengage herself. Her pleas and desperate implorations went unanswered, and none made any attempt to deliver the sufferer from his torment. Theron went quickly to retrieve the sacred artifact. Nervously he took it into his possession and with haste went for his horse. As he pa.s.sed Fraomar he said, ”We have it, let us go!”

”Wait. I want to see this!” was the quick reply. He still gripped the woman hard and detained her.

Writhing under the torture of their touch, Deacon had no thought of his coming death. He could feel nothing but the pain. His strength failed him, and he felt he had nothing left in his body to go on with. His violent actions suddenly died into stillness and he became limp, lifted only by the sheer force of their a.s.sault. His life, extracted from him, ran in a stream towards them. The internal force was so great that blood began to spill from his mouth. He seemed to be losing consciousness.

Magenta ceased her struggle and became motionless. Her heart stood still within her. His life seemed like a flame flickering out before her eyes, as if he was fading out of existence. A look of affliction came over her despaired features. ”He's dying.” She scarcely breathed the words.

Theron tucked the artifact away into one of the horse's saddle bags as if it was nothing more than a mere trinket. He caught the reins of the horse and looked over his shoulder, his voice bare with command, ”Fraomar, bring her!”

In an instant Theron's blood ran cold. There was a terrible, thunderous sound, much as if something large was being uprooted. All at once the two great stone men became animated with life. The soldiers staggered backward in horror as one swung its ma.s.sive fist with such colossal force that the tree it collided with shattered into splitters, as if it were brittle and aged a thousand years.

Knowing what it was they sought, Theron mounted the horse and made off with the treasure in haste. His companions remained to fend off the colossal foe. One of the men, slas.h.i.+ng frantically with his blade, fell to a crus.h.i.+ng death. His efforts had done little to halt the impervious forms of the giants, who struck out mightily, smas.h.i.+ng and shattering all in their path. They smote with powerful blows, causing havoc and fear in the hearts of the soldiers, fighting with the constant will of dead men.

Among the scatter and confusion, the mangled screams and cries, Cedrik and Derek got to their feet. As his brother was unable to do so, Derek began to kick the wooden picket that they were tethered to with hard consecutive blows, hoping to avoid the crus.h.i.+ng impetus of the giant's swinging arms. Fortunately, it seemed, the stone men were interested in a single target-the one fleeing, and only those that deliberately stood in the way were removed.

Fraomar did not enter into the conflict, but, stumbling back, clung to his captive, determined to watch the last thread of life grow thin and sever from the body of Deacon. All the commotion and chaos about Magenta dissolved from sight and mind and faded into nothingness. Her focus bent upon the writhing form. In the confusion of her mind came the start of a small hope. Forgotten words whispered slowly to her consciousness; the words she had heard her father speak.

Recollection began to build within her, and with it a stronger ambition. Her gaze fell to where one of the poisoned arrows lay within reach. Fear and her love for the man dying gave her strength; with all her force she broke free of Fraomar's hold. Before he could clench her again she darted forward and seized the arrow. He lurched violently and grasped her arm, but ere he could make a move to prevent it, she turned and drove the arrow up into his chest.

A look of shock and of pain crossed his features. Grasping her still, and without looking down, he clutched the shaft and dragged at it. Magenta watched in horror as he tore it out, and with a savage gesture tossed it aside. In a paroxysm of wrath he pulled her to him and made a sudden violent, jerking movement. She felt a sharp pain stab her side. Slowly she looked down. She did not see the instrument which he used to wound her, but she watched with detached interest as blood began to soak through her dress and stain her fingers.

Fraomar choked and gagged as if unable to swallow. A tremulousness took possession of his nerves, making him quiver uncontrollably, which was a sign the poison had begun to work its evil in his blood. Groping to clutch her, his knees buckled beneath him and brought him to the ground, choking. Blood-stained froth bubbled to his lips; his face contorted with a look of fear and confusion. The pull of his frantic grasping, and the weakness she felt in her bled limbs, almost brought her down with him.

As she looked upon his face, his utter wretchedness, she could not help but feel a pang of bitter pity for the creature that seemed had no empathy to spare the feelings of himself or others. She tore away from the clutching hands and fled toward Deacon. Any emotion of fear for herself was excluded by the deeply fixed fear of losing him.

Having lost his support, Fraomar pitched forward into the dirt, writhing in utter agony. A rageful gurgle spluttered up from his throat as he watched, half-blinded, the retreating form of the woman he loved and hated fling herself across the body of the man who had stolen her from him. All his bitterness and all his hatred boiled up, and his end came in one awful, hideous convulsion.

Laying herself over Deacon, s.h.i.+elding his body with her own, Magenta spoke the words she prayed would protect him. A radiating force of concentrated energy came from somewhere deep inside her and engulfed their two bodies momentarily in sheer brilliance. She clung to him, waiting for the darkness to disperse and release its hold.

She was as if pressed down by a force that would not lift, and for a terrible instant she feared they would not leave. She could feel his a.s.saulted form being jolted and torn up from the ground. Then suddenly, all at once, they were dispelled, gone back into shadow and darkness. His body became absolutely still beneath her. Closing her eyes, she rested her cheek against his slightly breathing chest, spent and exhausted. The lingering energy suffused them with a soft, tender glow.

After some length, Deacon stirred. Gradually he became conscious of the warmth and heaviness of someone lying across his body. Progressively the darkness lifted from his eyes, and they soon opened. All was quiet. None of their foe were to be seen. They had either fled or been killed. Their bodies were scattered about the forest floor. The stone men also were gone.

Deacon lay heavy and fatigued. Weakly, he lifted his head to look down at Magenta. He wanted to see her. She did not rouse when he touched her hair, and he felt that something was very wrong. He struggled to raise himself, then sank back down. He had barely any strength. Again he touched her head, the top of which brushed his chin, and murmured her name, but she did not stir. Sick with terror, he closed his arms round her, and with effort rolled her weight off his body, gently laying her flat. He, in turn, lay across her.

She remained motionless, looking up at him, her breath faint. The instant he beheld her white face he was stricken with the certainty that she was dying. He made a wounded sound above her and choked out her name. Looking down at his wet fingers, he found them covered with blood, which he discovered gushed out from her pierced side. His hand shook as he pressed it firmly against her, trying to staunch the bleeding. Her trembling lips seemed to part, but no sound issued forth.

”Hush, hush,” he whispered. He did not want her to be afraid. Smothering his fear and choking on his grief, he caressed her softly. ”It's all right,” he soothed. ”You will be all right.” As if he had no belief in his own words, broken plaintive sounds issued from him. Tears trembled in his eyes. They held hers with desperate intensity, as if so long as their connection remained she could not pa.s.s away from him. He spoke again with something of pleading in his tone. ”Look, we are no longer apart, but together. I am here to be with you at last and always.”

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