It took him no time at all to kill them, and Reyn could feel the weight of his participation in the carnage bearing down on him, crushing his spirit and his hopes, destroying his self-respect and his belief in himself as an essentially good person, rendering him as small and pitiful and dark as the man he was assisting in this atrocity. Making him an accomplice in murder, a wretch he had never thought to become. His voice faltered, and he could feel the magic begin to fail.

Lariana was next to him, grabbing at him, pulling him away. “That’s enough! Stop it! We have to get out of here! Reyn, stop!”

He did not think he could. The magic was clinging to him in spite of his growing reluctance to hold on to it. It refused to let go, as if it were fighting to draw his breath from him. He might not have been able to free himself at all but for the sudden emergence of two figures—wraiths come up the road from the city—that materialized abruptly out of shadows and smoke. They staggered a bit as they encountered the full force of the wishsong’s power, but the Druid threw up her defensive shield immediately, driving it back, keeping it at bay. With the magic already weakening as Reyn fought to respond to Lariana’s urging, they passed through its field and advanced toward the boy and girl unimpeded.

“Reyn Frosch!” the Druid called out to him. “Wait!”

But Reyn had no intention of waiting. Although drained by his efforts, he seized Lariana’s hand and bolted for safety, racing into the midst of the burning soldiers. Escape! It was all he could think about. He would not break free of Arcannen only to fall into the hands of the Druids. But what escape was there for him? What escape for Lariana? Escape to where? This hunt to find and make use of him would never end. Escape, as both he and Lariana had feared all along, was possible only in death.

And suddenly he knew what he had to do.

“Arcannen!” he screamed. On hearing him call out, Lariana wheeled back in astonishment. He ignored her. “Arcannen, help us!”

But the sorcerer was already aware of what was happening. The soldiers that had been frozen in place so completely only seconds earlier were able now to move again. Most bolted for safety, but a few of the more determined ones turned their weapons on him. Had a larger number of them responded, the result might have been different. But only a handful acted, and the sorcerer’s magic was sufficient to deflect the arrows and spears and blue-tinged bolts of power emitted by the diapson-fueled weapons. When they saw their efforts were having no effect, the soldiers fell back immediately. Arcannen ignored them, swirling green fire cradled in both hands as he strode toward Paxon and Avelene.

Paxon stepped forward to meet him, the Sword of Leah drawn and ready, its own magic surfacing, snakes writhing in the dark metal. Still several dozen yards away, Arcannen struck out, the green fire flung from his hands, expanding into much larger globes that slammed into the black blade and shattered in jagged shards. But the resultant explosions were unexpectedly powerful, and Paxon was flung backward, staggered by first one blow and then the second.

Instantly Avelene rushed forward to take his place, hands coming up, her Druid magic springing to life.

No! Paxon thought at once.

But she never hesitated, responding to the inexorable urges that drove her to engage this man she both hated and feared, and she blocked his assault, throwing off the green fire and absorbing the force of his strikes. She kept her defenses firm, advancing on him with relentless purpose as he launched a third and then a fourth assault. Paxon was on his feet again, staggering up, still stunned from the force of the blows that had struck him, still woozy from their impact. His vision and his footing unsteady, he went forward anyway. He had to reach Avelene.

On the far side of the bluff, unexpected movement drew his eye. Two figures flew across the flats through the ranks of burning Red Slash. The boy and the girl were outlined clearly against the light. Paxon stared. What were they doing? They were headed for the edge of the bluff, a dead end!

Other pairs of eyes watched their flight as well, a handful belonging to those soldiers who had given up attacking Arcannen and were searching still for a way to get clear of the carnage. But on catching sight of the boy and the girl and recognizing them instantly as allies of the sorcerer, they remembered what the boy had done to them and reacted instinctively. Weapons came up, heavy flash rips and rail slings lifting and pointing, and for an instant time froze.

Then all the weapons discharged at once. The deadly missiles sped toward their targets, and the boy and the girl went down in a rain of jagged metal and diapson fire, struggled momentarily to rise before they were struck again, and, with their arms reaching out to each other, they collapsed and lay still.

Both Avelene and Arcannen had been distracted by the attack. Both had watched as the boy and the girl died. But it was the sorcerer who recovered quickest from the shock. Wheeling back toward the Druid, he lashed out at her with swift and certain accuracy, the green fire of his magic dispatched in a fiery streak that dropped her like a stone.

Paxon charged forward, horrified and enraged by what the sorcerer had done, determined that this time he would put an end to him. But Arcannen had already shifted his attention to the Highlander, throwing up a screen of fire and sending globe after globe of flaming magic streaking toward him. Paxon knocked aside the attacks, one after the other, his sword blade flashing in the torchlight. He smashed Arcannen’s blows, scattering their fiery shards, pushing ahead even thought he was all but blinded by the explosions and smoke. He could feel the force of the other’s assault weakening, and he rushed forward until he reached the place where Arcannen had been standing only moments earlier …

Only to find him gone.

He wheeled about instantly, searching through the haze of ash and debris. No, he told himself in frenzied disbelief. He can’t have escaped! I can’t have let that happen! He swept aside curtains of smoke with his sword and pushed farther out onto the bluff. Then he slowed in dismay. All around him, human torches were collapsing into piles of charred flesh and bones. He covered his nose and mouth with his hand. The stench was horrific; he was standing in a slaughterhouse.

In the end he was forced to accept that he was standing there alone.

Sick at heart and fearing the worst, he hurried back to where Avelene lay sprawled on the ground. He knelt beside her, bending close, trying not to look at the ruin of her chest, trying not to see what was unavoidable. He saw her eyes follow his and heard the rough whisper of her voice.

“Should have … listened to you.”

“I’m getting you off this bluff and down into the city,” he said quickly, reaching down and lifting her into his arms, hearing her gasp with pain as he did so. “We’ll find a healer for you.”

“No,” she whispered, her mouth close to his ear as he cradled her head against his shoulder, moving as quickly as he could toward the road leading down. “My … fault. Took my eyes off …”

She said something more, but he couldn’t understand her. He was almost running now, ignoring the weight in his arms, putting aside all thoughts for himself. The soldiers who had survived the carnage on the bluff had disappeared. There was no one to stop him.

“Avelene?” he whispered. “Stay with me.”

She might have responded. He couldn’t be sure. He thought she was still breathing. He could feel her breath against his cheek.

And then he couldn’t, and by the time he had reached the base of the bluff she was gone.

TWENTY-SEVEN