Curse of the Shadowmage - Mark Anthony [45]
Mari shook her head. "By the gods-look at it. The face in so unspeakably sad. He knows what's happening to him, doesn't he? He knows what he's becoming…" Her words trailed off.
"We should try to reach Hill's Edge before nightfall," Morhion said finally. "If Caledan continues to follow the road, people there will notice him."
Somberly, the others agreed. They thundered down the Dusk Road, leaving the eerie face of sorrow far behind.
Nine
The rolling landscape slipped by in a blur of russet, brown, and burnished copper. As the afternoon wore on, dark clouds moved in from the west, accompanied by the low drumming of thunder. Soon the light began to fail, turning a dusky green. A storm was coming. Morhion tilted his head back, letting the wind tangle through his long hair. He loved storms. Like all wizards, he had a passion for gaudy displays of power.
Eventually the travelers realized they were not going to make Hill's Edge before dark. Morhion raised a hand, signaling the party to a halt. "We had better find shelter for the night," he advised.
They dismounted and began scouting to either side of the Dusk Road. It was almost dark when Jewel called out over the rising gale. The thief led the others into a nearby aspen grove where slender, leafless trees danced in the wind. In the center of the grove, in a massive granite outcrop, was the dim mouth of a cave. Just then, a bolt of lightning rent the sky, and the first cold drops of rain began to fall.
"I checked it out," Jewel shouted above the roar of the storm. "It's dry and goes back only a dozen paces. Plus," she added with a grin, "it doesn't appear to be inhabited."
Tethering the horses under the shelter of a tall pine, they headed into the cave. They spread their bedrolls on the sandy floor and soon had a cheerful fire burning, making the place warm and almost snug. Mari volunteered to cook and was soon stirring a bubbling pot.
Cormik rubbed his chubby hands gleefully. "So, what are we having for supper, Mari? Poached pheasant eggs seasoned with saffron? Braised fillet of young wyvern? Or perhaps"-he shivered with anticipation-"hummingbird tongues in a reduction of white wine and cloves?"
"Stew," Mari replied flatly. "We're having stew."
"Stew?" Cormik repeated the word distastefully. "I'm not sure what that is, but I must say I really don't care for the sound of it."
Apparently he didn't care for the taste of it either. While everyone else ate heartily, Cormik picked at the contents of the wooden bowl in his lap, periodically letting out a despondent sigh. He clutched his expansive stomach. "I'm going to waste away to nothing, you know."
As usual, everyone ignored him.
The fire was burning low and they had just lain down to sleep when the whinnies of frightened horses drifted through the mouth of the cave.
"It's probably just the storm," Mari whispered, "but they sound really upset."
Morhion stood up. "I'll go." Wrapping his cloak tightly around himself, he headed out into the stormy night.
Cold rain lashed at Morhion, and in moments he was soaked to the skin. Every few seconds, a white flash of lightning tore apart the darkness. He struggled against the violent wind, finally reaching the tree where they had tethered the horses. The animals were pawing at the ground, snorting and rolling their eyes. Morhion peered into the night but could see nothing save the wildly swaying trees. He stroked the horses, calming them, and led them around the tree where they would be more protected. Instructing his onyx stallion, Tenebrous, to keep an eye on the other beasts, Morhion headed back.
He stepped inside the cave and instantly knew that something was wrong.
The cave was silent and dark, the air acrid with the stench of smoke, as if the fire had been hastily kicked out. With a whispered word, Morhion conjured a pale sphere of magelight in his hand. Even before its faint, purple glow filled the cave, he knew what he would see.
Mari, Kellen, Cormik, and Jewel were gone.
The cave's sandy floor was churned up,