“Well, the Eye works differently. If I have a name or a place or a thing already in mind, it doesn’t do anything, or it muddies the waters. If I don’t have any of that, it leads me in a direction, but that’s about it. I’m still trying to figure the thing out. I honestly don’t know if it’s leading me for my sake or its own. It does, however, generally lead me into trouble, which is what Guardians look for, so it’s worked out so far. Here, let me show you.” He reached into his tunic and pulled out the Eye, holding it before him. He expected it to do nothing, but again, just like in front of the ducal keep, the Eye leaned away from him, only this time, it leaned toward the piece of vellum with the Nissran mark upon it. Rellen stretched out his hand and moved it back and forth. The Eye of Tuluum seemed to be focused on the mark of Nissra. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he said.

  “So, what does it mean?”

  “I have no idea. I doubt it has anything to do with these murders—but who knows? Frankly, I trust the spell I just cast more than I trust the Eye at this point. Having said that, it does seem to have some sort of affinity for the Nissrans… or someone in the cult. It led me to Calamath, where I faced the cult. But it also led me to a tavern in the middle of nowhere and almost got me killed—without a Nissran in sight. That’s where I met Xilly. I don’t know… I wish I knew more about this thing.”

  “Well, either way, it seems that the clues and that little trinket of yours are leading you in the same direction.”

  “I suppose, but I wouldn’t connect the two quite yet.” He slipped the artifact back beneath his tunic.

  “Where’d you get it?” Mygal asked.

  “The Eye? In a nuraghi a while back, but that’s another story too.”

  “You’ve been inside a nuraghi? I thought they were forbidden.”

  “Two, actually.” Rellen quashed a very different pang of guilt that swelled in his breast as those words crossed his lips—just like it always did. The pang and the lie were old habits, because he’d actually been to three nuraghi. The one he never talked about was when he was much younger, and he was sworn to secrecy about what had happened there. It was where he’d picked up the matching falchions of Baladon sheathed on his hips. Some very bad things had happened at that first nuraghi. He’d never spoken about those events, not even with his brother and father.

  Rellen scratched his cheek, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Being forbidden is more for the common good than anything else,” he continued. “From everything I’ve learned, most of them are very dangerous, with strange creatures, deadly magics, and ancient artifacts that can kill you with a touch. The first time I went into one was a long time ago, and it’s not something I like to talk about. The other was last year in the Duchy of Volikhari. It was mostly ruins. I was after a band of brigands who had been using it as a base of operations for raids up and down the coast. There was nothing special about that place other than it was very old and in ruins.”

  “And you just found that thing?” Mygal asked, dubiously.

  “Well…” Rellen said slowly, “Let’s say I had an accident that led to a labyrinth. I found this along the way.” He patted his chest.

  Several humans creeping up on you. Black cloaks and masks. Xilly’s warning blared in Rellen’s mind.

  Rellen instinctively slid his hand around the grip of a falchion.

  “What is it?” Mygal asked.

  “Shh…” Rellen whispered. “Don’t react, but we’re not alone.” His eyes darted toward the entrance of the cemetery. “There are humans sneaking up on us. Dressed like the ones that got you.”

  “What do you want to do?” Mygal asked. “Get out of here or fight? Your call.”

  “We fight,” Rellen whispered as he rose to his feet.

  He pulled a small crystal from a pouch on his belt. The half dozen crystals contained within each pouch held complex runes he’d inscribed upon them, storing a great deal of his majea within each. He closed his fist around the crystal, made a quick gesture, and muttered a three-word incantation. A faint, white glow momentarily encompassed his body. He felt a tingle that quickly subsided. The spell would remain in place for several hours, at least.

  How many? Rellen sent the query into Xilly’s mind.

  Seven. One does not have a blade. Came the immediate reply.

  Rellen peered into the darkness and could hear movement a short distance off. There was still a fair amount of patchy fog, and through the gaps, he spotted the movement of several figures in black moving from one headstone or crypt to another.

  “There’s seven of them,” he said, turning to Mygal. Mygal’s eyes had rolled back in his head, and he was breathing deeply, with deliberately long breaths in and then out. For a moment Rellen worried something was wrong with the young Guardian, but Mygal’s features returned to normal.

  “I’m ready.” Mygal drew his rapier and fighting dagger in one smooth pull. He cocked his head sideways, one way and then the other, loosening his neck muscles. He bounced up and down a few times and took a few quick swipes with his blades.

  Rellen drew a silver-hilted falchion in his right hand and jerked a small vial from his bandoleer in the other.

  “Stick together,” he said, “and when you hear my first incantation, leap back and close your eyes.”

  Mygal nodded and they strode forward into the fog.

  They made it about twenty feet when three shadowy figures leapt out from between two crypts.

  Rellen barked out a one-word incantation and threw the vial straight at the nearest of the three assailants as he leapt back with his eyes closed. An explosive crack, coupled with a bright flash, filled the cemetery. The concussion drove both Rellen and Mygal back a half step. Two pained screams filled the night. Mygal staggered back. Rellen, however, dashed forward.

  The assailant Rellen had hit with the vial lay upon the ground. His leather vest and cloak had been burned and blown apart, as was much of the flesh beneath. His ribs were exposed, and his charred, lifeless face held a surprised expression. One of the other assailants had been blown to the right, toppling over a headstone, while another had slammed into a crypt on the left.

  Rellen leapt at the one on the right as the man was regaining his feet. The assassin raised his eyes, a stunned expression filling his features. He got his longsword up just as Rellen’s falchion came down. The clash of steel rang out. Rellen kicked the man’s elbow as hard as he could, sending the longsword flying, and stepped in, driving his blade into the man’s ribs. The assassin screamed in agony. Rellen twisted hard with a grinding of blade on bone and yanked the weapon free. He smashed a gloved fist into the wounded assassin’s face, driving him into the ground. He turned at the sound of steel on steel.

  Mygal had engaged the other man, whose face was a mask of terror. He cried out in fear as Mygal sent three calculated strikes against the assassin’s ragged defenses. With each blow, Mygal seemed to open up the assassin’s guard a little bit more. Mygal reversed the swing of his rapier above his head and smashed the assassin’s blade aside, leaving his body wide open. Mygal stepped in and drove the point of his dagger into the assassin’s throat, eliciting a gurgling sound as he crumpled to the ground.

  Get down! Xilly’s thought was frantic.

  A crossbow thwanged as Rellen dropped instinctively to the ground. A bolt swooshed through the air where he’d been standing and clattered off of stone somewhere in the darkness. Rellen turned toward where it had come from. A dozen yards off, he saw a dark figure disappear behind a tree.

  Rellen rose to his feet quickly. It would take time for the assassin to cock and reload the small handheld crossbow. The weapons could be fired with one hand and were much more easy to conceal than a regular crossbow. Rellen scanned the fog for any sign of movement and pulled a vial of green liquid from his belt. He realized it was his last and muttered a curse at how hard it was to find yallaho berries this far from the coast. He spoke an incantation and threw the vial as hard as he could at the base of the tree. The vial shattered. Magic flared as the contents erupted into an expanding cloud of thickening green smoke that quickly enveloped an area ten feet across. A horrendous coughing fit came from behind the tree. Rellen sucked in a breath, drew his other falchion, and dashed forward.

  The sound of steel on steel rose behind him—Mygal had engaged another assassin.

  Rellen ran into the green miasma only to find the assassin had moved away from the tree. He was still coughing, but his weapon was out, and he’d been joined by the last of the assassins. That left only the one Xilly said hadn’t been armed.

  Rellen drove into both assassins, slashing at the one coughing as he parried the thrust of the other. The coughing one got a block up in time, exactly as Rellen had hoped. In one motion, Rellen drove the blade he’d parried with into the shoulder of the coughing assassin and twisted around, putting the now wounded assassin between Rellen and the other one. The wounded assassin tried to bring his sword down, but Rellen blocked with his arm, smashed his forehead into the assassin’s nose, and stepped back, kicking him in the chest. The wounded assassin flew back into his companion. Rellen came in hard, driving a blade into the assassin’s belly as the other tried to get around and swing.

  Rellen parried the attack as he jerked his blade free and sent out a sideways kick into the knees of the wounded assassin. The assassin dropped with the crack of cartilage, screaming out in pain.

  Rellen now faced only one assassin, but he wondered where the caster was.

  The assassin before him narrowed his eyes. They flickered to the side, looking at something, and then he attacked. Rellen raised his blade to block, knowing that something was about to come in from behind. He could only hope it was the caster, and the caster was going to use a spell of some kind.

  As steel met steel, Rellen felt a tingle of magical energy lash up his back. The protection spell around him surged with pale light as it absorbed the caster’s attack. He didn’t have much time. Rellen drove in hard, slashing with his other blade. The assassin parried with quick reflexes. Rellen swung again and again as tingles of energy, one after the other, lanced across his back, each one dissipating against his protection spell, but growing in intensity as his spell was consumed.

  Slash—parry—slash. He hammered against the assassin’s defenses with ruthless efficiency. With each blow, he opened those defenses just a little more—but he was running out of time. Where’s Mygal? He thought frantically.

  He drove a thrust at the assassin’s belly. The assassin parried, his sword going wide. Rellen twisted and brought his falchion in from the side in a low arc. It sliced deeply into the assassin’s blade arm, drawing a scream of pain. Rellen twisted again, bending his elbow and driving his other blade through the assassin’s belly and up into his rib cage. The assassin gave a wet, sickly grunt.

  Searing pain coursed across Rellen’s shoulder, as if a red-hot blade had cut through his flesh. He screamed out and turned. Standing a dozen paces off was a tall, slim figure in black. The man made a slashing motion with his hand, and a pale scythe of ruby light lanced out and struck Rellen in the chest. Fiery, blinding pain scorched across his chest where the scythe had struck him. Rellen had seen the spell before. He now faced a zokurios who could inflict wounds at a distance. It was a rare talent for a lifeweaver, but a useful one in the right hands.

  Rellen fell to his knees as the caster prepared to send another agonizing scythe into Rellen’s body.

  Through a haze of pain, Rellen drew upon his own majea, but it wasn’t going to be in time. The zokurios slashed with his hand. The scythe lanced out and struck Rellen again in the chest. He screamed as pain flared across his body.

  One more of those, and the pain would drive consciousness from him.

  As the lifeweaver raised his hand for a final slash, a glint of silver flashed through the fog. A fighting dagger appeared in the zokurios’ belly. He cried out in agony and clutched at the weapon buried to the hilt in his gut.

  Rellen drew upon his majea once again, raised his falchion, and uttered a brief incantation as he sketched a symbol in the air with the sword tip. In a flash of motion, the zokurios’ clothing came alive. His cloak slithered up and wrapped itself around the caster’s head and then his shoulders. His belt came free, slithered down his legs like a snake, and coiled about them. With muffled shouts, the zokurios slowly toppled to the ground.

  “Don’t kill him!” Rellen shouted.

  Mygal appeared from behind a tree and dashed up to where Rellen kneeled upon the grass.

  “Are you alright?” Mygal asked, kneeling beside Rellen.

  Rellen let out a pained breath as the fire dancing across his torso faded. He shifted left and right, wincing with the pain.

  “I think so,” Rellen said. He didn’t feel blood running beneath his armor and clothes, but the muscles beneath felt like they’d been hit with smithy hammers. He was certain his back and chest would be covered with bruises by morning. “He could cause pain, but not serious injury… at least not at that range. I’ve seen powerful zokurioi who could take an arm off at fifteen paces.”

  Mygal’s eyes went wide. “I don’t ever want to meet one of them.”

  “Fortunately for me, she was on my side.”

  “Lemme guess,” Mygal said, helping Rellen to his feet. “Another long story.”

  Rellen nodded. “Now, let’s go see if we can get some answers. Don’t let him touch you, and if he tries to do anything, bash his brains in.” He blew out a frustrated breath. “I hate dealing with lifeweavers.”

  They strode across the grass, stepping around a few headstones where the lifeweaver lay perfectly still.

  “Is he playing dead?” Mygal asked, peering closely. “That belly wound shouldn’t have killed him, not for hours, if not days.”

  “I don’t think he’s playing,” Rellen said slowly. As he stepped up, the memory of a room in Calamath in the dead of night flickered in his thoughts. One of the locals there, a minion of Nissra, had tried to kill him.

  He kneeled beside the body, a blade at the ready, and carefully lifted the man’s right hand. There, on his pinky finger, glinting in the night, was a small ring with a symbol on it that made Rellen’s blood curdle. He carefully turned the ring and found the small needle that stuck out the side. There was a small mark of blood on the next finger in.

  “Just like in Calamath.” He let the zokurios’ hand fall back onto his stomach. “These Nissran swine kill themselves rather than being captured.”

  “What do we do now?” Mygal said.

  “We see if Dancer is among the dead,” Rellen said. “If not, we find him next. Either way, we take this lot back to Corwyk and see if he can identify any of them. Nissrans travel in packs and hide in plain sight. I’ll let the king know about this as well. He’ll want to send a contingent of some kind, just like we did in Calamath.” He turned his eyes to Mygal as Xilly fluttered out of the darkness and landed on his shoulder. He gave her a grateful pat. “We do know one thing, though.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Apparently, they were watching you… and now me. Whatever this is, I think it’s pretty bad.”

  “Wait a minute,” Mygal said. “This one was a lifeweaver, right?”

  “Definitely.”

  “None of the others were kurioi.”

  “I think that’s a safe bet. They certainly could have done something during the fight other than swing those blades, if that were the case.”

  “The one who got me last week was a heartbender, and a powerful one at that.” He gave Rellen a worried look.

  Rellen nodded his head. “So, we’re after Dancer and an unknown erkurios.” He grunted, straining against a wave of fatigue, and got to his feet. “We’ll have to be more cautious from here on out.”

  “You got that right.”

  “On the bright side, at least we know we’re sniffing around the right tree.” He glanced back across the cemetery to where he’d seen the coffin wagon and let out a long, weary breath. “Help me put these bastards in that wagon back there. I don’t have anything left.”

  Chapter Nine

  The Cost of Majea

  Rellen fought off a yawn, hoping he wouldn’t fall asleep right there on the driver’s seat of the wagon. Wincing with pain from the bruises crisscrossing his body, he gave the reins a gentle shake. He wanted to keep Shaddeth moving through the fog, and it hadn’t been easy. “Sorry about the harness, boy,” he called out as a yawn finally won the battle. Shaddeth turned his head, his heavy feet clopping along the cobblestones, and gave Rellen a dirty look. He snorted once and turned his head forward with an annoyed shake of his mane.

  “You’ll have to find him a stakka fruit or two when we’re done,” Mygal said with a chuckle. He rode beside Shaddeth, keeping pace as they made their way to the ducal keep. The streets were empty, and the pale moonlight had made the patchy fog shimmer like sliver.

  “I suspect a single stakka won’t be enough apology for this particular indignity,” Rellen said. “I’m sure I’ll be paying for this for days.” He yawned again, trying to push away the fatigue that plagued him. The connection spell he’d cast on the four murder victims had been tiring enough, but that coupled with the fight and the punishment he’d received from the caster left him wanting nothing but a heavy meal and a week’s worth of sleep. He pulled a thick piece of jerky from a pouch at his belt and bit off a hunk. He thought about giving some to Xilly, asleep on the wagon bench beside him, but realized he needed the food a lot more than she did. Majea always took a toll. Food and sleep was the only cure.

  As they moved through the fog, the smell of the lake seeped into their nostrils. Warehouses and the occasional, darkened, shop front slipped by. They hadn’t even passed any of the lamp posts that illuminated most of the city yet.

  “We’re near the wharf district,” Mygal said. “Have you given any thought to how we’ll proceed in the morning?”