"You've got your magic back!" Alec breathed, relief washing over him. "Can you translocate us now?"

"No, I don't have the power." Thero's lean, bearded face was lost in shadow as he laid cold hands on Alec's shoulders. "Clear your mind and relax. This spell will only last until sunrise; remember that if you can. Sunrise. You'll have to run hard, go as far as you can before—"

They both froze as a weird, preternatural howl burst out from the direction of the camp. It rose to a mad, sobbing cackle, fell away, only to erupt again, closer this time.

"Too late!" hissed Alec, then winced as Thero grabbed him by both arms and forced him back to his knees.

"No it's not!" Thero held him down, speaking urgently. "Clear your mind, Alec, relax. This takes only a moment."

Another gibbering howl floated to them through the night.

Alec bowed his head, wondering what it was that There intended, and why it suddenly seemed so familiar.

"That's good, very good," whispered There. "Alec i Amasa Kerry, untir maligista."

It was the unaccustomed sound of his full name that triggered Alec's memory. He opened his mouth to protest, but the magic had already taken hold.

"Untir maligista kewat, Alec i Amasa Kerry." There continued, pouring out all his remaining power as he pressed down hard on Alec's shoulders. Whatever horror Irtuk Beshar had unleashed was crashing through the trees toward them, bellowing its lunatic hunting call.

Throwing back his head, Thero cried out, "Let thy inner symbol be revealed!"

The change was nearly instantaneous. One moment Alec was kneeling before him, the next a young stag was shaking the remains of the tattered tunic from its antlers. Nostrils flaring, it leapt away from Thero, then looked back in confusion. A ghostly residue of magic still glimmered faintly around it, but that would soon fade.

Thero took a tentative step toward it, though he knew Alec was probably past understanding human speech.

"I didn't intentionally betray the Oreska," he told him. "Let this be the atonement for my blindness. Go on. Run!"

The stag lowered its head, lashing its antlers from side to side as if refusing to leave him.

"No, Alec, go."

A greedy snarl from the shadows settled the issue; the stag turned and bolted.

The last thing Thero saw was the white flash of its tail.

46

They'd had time now to learn the pattern of the Plenimaran camp. Pickets were stationed along the landward perimeter a quarter mile out, with a second line closer in. It made a tight net but, like any net, it was also a pattern of holes.

Silent and deadly as true urgazhi, Beka and her raiders quietly killed four pickets, stripped them of their tunics and weapons, then worked their way toward the mass of sleeping prisoners.

The clearness of the night was against them. The moon was nearing full and by its light they could make out the details of each other's faces as they gathered for the raid. By that same betraying light, they also saw that Gilly and Mirn had again managed to keep themselves as close as possible to the outside edge of the group.

Stripped to the waist, they lay on their backs, heads resting on the plank.

Just then, angry shouts burst out somewhere on the far side of the camp. Whatever was going on, it was attracting the attention of the whole camp. Several of the sentries stationed among the prisoners moved off in the direction of the noise. From somewhere nearby came the snort and bellow of a bull.

"By Sakor, we'll never have a better chance than this!" Beka whispered.

Her plan was simple, direct, and fraught with the possibility for complete disaster. The others understood this, but had been unanimously in favor of the rescue.

Bows at the ready, Beka and the others watched from the cover of the trees while Steb, Rhylin,

Nikides, and Kallas pulled on the stolen enemy tunics and strode casually out in the direction of the prisoners.

Still focused on the outcry, none of the sentries challenged the four raiders as they quickly lifted the planked prisoners and rushed them into the shelter of the trees. The whole act was accomplished in a moment's time.

The raiding party ghosted back the way they'd come until they reached Jareel and Ariani, who'd been left behind to guard the horses well outside the Plenimaran perimeter.

"Knew you'd come," Gilly said faintly as Kallas and Nikides lowered him gently to the ground on his back beside Mini.

Their hands were swollen and purple where the long spikes pierced their palms. Their shoulders had rubbed raw against the rough planks. Looking more closely at them now, Beka saw from the numerous other bruises and abrasions that covered both men that they must have often stumbled and fallen beneath their awkward burdens.

"Rest easy, riders," she said, kneeling next to them. At her nod, several of the others held their legs and shoulders. Nikides bent to cut the ropes lashing their arms to the wood, but Sergeant Braknil stopped him.

"Best leave those on 'til we're done," he cautioned. "Give them both a belt to bite down on and let's get this over with."

Using a pair of farrier's pliers, he set his foot against the plank and wrenched the first spike from

Gilly's hand.

It was an excruciating process. The flesh had swollen and festered badly around the spikes and

Braknil had to dig into the skin to get a proper grip.

Gilly fainted as the first spike pulled free.

Mirn gnawed doggedly at the belt between his teeth while tears of pain streamed down into his ears.

"Easy now," Beka murmured, trying not to let the rage and revulsion she felt show in her voice as she pressed her hands down on his shoulders. "It'll be over soon."

When it was over, Braknil bathed their wounds with seawater and bandaged them with strips of sweat-stained linen and wool each rider had cut from their clothing.

"Neither of them is in any condition to ride," said Beka. "Rhylin, you and Kallas are the strongest riders so you'll take them. Nikides, see that those planks come with us, and the spikes. Don't leave the bastards any more sign than we can help."

As the rest of the turma mounted for the retreat, a new cry came from the direction of the camp, one that brought gooseflesh up on every arm.

The mad, unnatural howl rose and fell, then burst out again, quavering as if some monstrous throat was about to burst with the effort. The horses tossed their heads, nervously scenting the wind.

"Bilairy's Balls! What was that, Lieutenant?" gasped Tealah.

"Let's hope we don't find out," Beka muttered. The awful cry came again. "No, it's headed away from us. Let's move on before it changes its mind."

"Which way?" Rhylin asked, shifting his hold around Mirn, who'd finally fainted.

"Inland, out of their path," Beka replied as another faint howl floated back to them through the trees.

"And away from whatever that is!" someone muttered as they spurred away.

Alec?

Nysander's brow creased as he stared unseeingly into the darkness. It had been Thero's essence he felt first; now there was only Alec's, glimmering in his mind like a distant beacon.

It took no expenditure of power to sense it—the energy was clear, perhaps due to the strong magic fused with it. Nysander recognized the familiar imprint of the spell.

Well done, Thero!

But why had the young wizard's own essence disappeared so suddenly?

Feeling Alec's fleeting tremor again, he focused the slightest burst of magic on it, silently mouthing, Come to us, Alec. We need you.

They'd taken shelter beneath an old salt pine in the forest above the temple site. The tips of the tree's lower limbs swept nearly to the ground, forming a low, tentlike space inside.