"Help him, Thero. There must be something you can do,"

Alec pleaded. "I've got to find Seregil! Has anyone seen him? Or Nysander?"

"I am here, dear boy," a hollow voice replied from the shadowed rocks above them.

50

Mardus crouched opposite Seregil in the uneven basin, the surge of the tide rushing around their ankles. They sloshed through icy water as they circled, vying for possession of the Helm that lay partially submerged between them, the newly awakened glow of the blue eye stones casting a pale phosphorescence up through the water. The blast that had formed it had deepened the shallow basin into a broad pit deeper in places than the height of the two men who fought there. Strewn with bodies, lit only by the dead glow of the eclipse that still stood overhead, it was like a place from a fever dream.

"I should have killed that whelp of yours when I had the chance," snarled Mardus.

"Yes, you should have," Seregil retorted through gritted teeth, sizing up his opponent.

Mardus was not a brawny opponent, but he did have the protection of his cuirass. "You missed Nysander, too, you know. He's alive and the Four remains unbroken."

"Yet you failed all the same," Mardus gloated, pointing to the Helm with the dagger clutched in his left hand. "I am the Vatharna, the Chosen of Seriamaius. Do you think you can stand against me now?"

"I was chosen, too, you fatherless son of a whore." Seregil tugged open the neck of his tunic with one hand to show him the reversed symbol pulsing there.

"But it's my people at the Cockerel that I'll kill you for, and for what you did to Alec. For the runners and keeks you used and betrayed, the innocents who've died at your order. Hell, I'll kill you for the sheer fun of it. Come on, Lord Eater of Shit. Let's get this over with."

He lunged at Mardus and their swords locked in a resounding parry that sent a shock up both their arms. Seregil ducked Mardus' guard and tried for a stab below his cuirass. He missed his footing and the tip of his blade glanced off metal, but the point cut the man's left arm and fresh blood spotted the already stained waters of the pool; neither of the combatants had time to notice how the bleary light of the Helm brightened as it rolled in the wash of the tide.

Fighting for purchase on the broken stone underfoot, Seregil quickly realized that he was overmatched. On better ground his speed would have evened the odds, but trapped here in this watery pit he could only stand firm and fend off the taller man's bone— jarring swings. Mardus slapped his blade back and nicked Seregil's left shoulder. Seregil got his guard back up, made a lucky sidestep, and repaid him with a slash across the right forearm.

For the first time it occurred to Seregil that his role in the prophecy had been fulfilled, that he was expendable now. That he might lose.

Sensing his doubt, Mardus pressed the advantage and scored a shallow cut across Seregil's thigh.

More blood spotted the water and the Helm, brighter now with this and every death that occurred in the fight that was still raging above them, shone more brightly still.

It was Mardus who finally noticed the light, understood its significance. Redoubling his attack, he beat Seregil back against the rocks.

Pinned off balance in an indefensible position, Seregil decided to take a desperate chance.

Springing past Mardus, he dove for the Helm. He hadn't gotten two steps when his foot lodged in a hidden crevice and he stumbled painfully.

Mardus struck at his back, slashing him across the ribs. Just as he drew back for the killing stab, however, a wave surged in over the shelf of rock, knocking them both off their feet with a blinding wall of spray that slammed them against the rocks.

Mardus was the first to recover when it subsided. Still gripping his sword, he looked around to find

Seregil sprawled stunned and unarmed against the seaward rocks. Blood trickled down over one closed eye from a cut on his forehead.

A look of dark triumph spread across Mardus' face as he stalked toward him through the knee-deep water. Long experience had taught him where to strike to cripple and give a lingering death.

It was the glow of the Eyes that distracted him. As the foaming surge of waves cleared for an instant, Mardus found the Helm shining up through the water at his feet.

"It seems I'll have the pleasure of offering you to the Beautiful One after all," he gloated. "Wounded or not, you're still an admirable sacrifice."

Gripping the Helm by one of the twisted black horns, he raised it over his head.

"Adrat Vatharna, thromuth—"

Seregil chose his moment. Opening his eyes, he reached underwater, yanked the poniard from his boot, and threw it.

Mardus froze, the Helm still poised over his head as he stared down in amazement at the knife buried between his ribs where the edge of the cuirass left his side exposed.

"You should've killed me when you had the chance," Seregil snarled, trailing blood as he waded unarmed toward his adversary.

"You played a brilliant game until now, but you should always finish your enemy off before you reach for the spoils. Arrogance, my lord. It's a deadly vice. It makes you predictable."

Mardus' lips stretched in the parody of a smile.

"Tricks. Always your tricks," he whispered.

Clutching the Helm in one hand, his sword in the other, he turned woodenly and began to stumble toward the edge of the pool.

Seregil followed and blocked his way. Mardus was dying, but still he looked down at Seregil with searing disdain.

"The Eater of Death—" he began thickly, gouts of blood spilling down over his chin from his mouth. "will eat your heart today, not mine," Seregil finished, glaring up into his enemy's dark eyes.

He grasped the hilt of the poniard and twisted it, tearing through muscle and sinew until the long blade lodged fast in bone. A hot, bright fresh spurt of blood poured out over his clenched fist.

Mardus dropped the Helm and toppled backward into the water. A ribbon of red bubbles streamed up from his nose and mouth, then ceased. His eyes, already vague with death, mirrored tiny dual reflections of the sun's first, bright edge as it emerged from the moon's dominance.

Seregil spat into the water. A smaller wave surged over the edge of the pool, hiding Mardus for a moment beneath a rushing sheet of foam.

When it cleared again, the long reflection of another man had interposed itself across the surface of the water in front of him. Seregil looked up to find Nysander standing above him at the edge of the pool, the sound of scattered fighting still audible from beyond.

"Well done," the wizard said gravely. "Now the Helm must be destroyed once and for all. Give it to me, then find your sword."

Reaching down, Seregil grasped the glowing Helm by two of its black horns, just as he had grasped the crystal points of the crown months before. And as before, invisible voices and insubstantial spirits coalesced around him as he touched it, trying to stay his hand.

The blue eye stones set in the band had taken on the appearance of flesh now and swiveled accusingly in their lidless sockets as he passed the Helm up to Nysander.

The wizard drew a fold of his cloak around the Helm, screening it from view. "Your sword," he said again, his voice gentle but firm. "I must have your help in this, Seregil. You are the only one who can aid me."

Seregil scarcely felt his wounds as he splashed back across the pool to find his weapon.

"Here it is," he called. "But what about—?"

The words died in his throat. With the foam of a fresh wave boiling in around his legs, he looked up at the tall figure from his nightmares towering over him.

But this time he knew the face beneath the spiked brim of the misshapen Helm.