Curse of the Shadowmage - Mark Anthony [73]
"I'm warning you," he said hoarsely. "Leave me alone. For your own good."
The trader called Goris let out a mirthful bellow. "You hear that, men? He's concerned for our well-being." He loomed over Caledan. "I'll tell you the best thing for my own good, worm. It would be to take all your gold, and then smash your ugly face to a pulp. How's that sound?"
Rage blossomed in Caledan's chest. Desperately, he tried to suppress it, but it was already too late. He felt the first dark stirring deep inside. The other had sensed his anger. It was waking.
"Please," Caledan whispered urgently. "Please listen to me. Your lives are in danger. You've got to go. Now."
Goris spat in disgust. He gestured to the other two.
"Come on, men! Hold him down while I break a few of his fingers for fun." The three men lunged for Caledan, but their hands never reached their target. "I warned you," Caledan whispered sadly. Suddenly, he felt himself swept away on a surging flood of power. Shadowy, bestial shapes sprang from the dim corners of the tent. The air was filled with the sounds of ripping canvas and splintering wood-or were they the sounds of ripping flesh and splintering bone? Caledan was only dimly aware of the bedlam. The hysterical shrieks of the three men seemed to come from a far distance before they were abruptly cut off. As the dark storm swirled around him, Caledan huddled on the ground, curling himself into a tight ball. He rocked back and forth, muttering four words again and again, as if they were a charm that could keep him from drowning. I will not forget. I will not forget. I will not forget…"
*****
"He's been here, all right," Cormik said with a low whistle of amazement.
Mari could only nod. There was little left of the tent besides a shallow crater littered with a few tatters of greasy canvas and a handful of wood scraps. According to the rumors Jewel and Cormik had overheard, seven people had been slain in the tent's destruction two nights before. Most versions of the story claimed that the cause had been a bolt of lightning or a freak cyclone. The companions knew better. The tent's main pole still stood in the center of the blasted crater, the thick shaft grotesquely twisted. Seared into the wood were the shapes of a hundred bulbous, staring eyes. Mari wondered how the local folk explained that.
"I think we've seen enough," she said finally. "Let's find out if there's still a market in this town. We need supplies."
It was three days since the companions had left Triel behind. Outside Lord Elvar's walled town, Kellen had once again conjured shadows of the past, and they learned Caledan had ventured north, following the Trade Way. They rode hard on his trail, trying to make up for lost time.
As they traveled down the road they twice heard bloodthirsty cries above and glanced up to see three dark specks circling high in the sky. The shadevari. Both times the companions had plunged into the thick bracken beside the road, and Morhion had cast a spell that concealed them with a magical dome. The dome acted as a mirror, reflecting the surrounding trees and brush. Twice they waited in terror for the claws of the shadowsteeds to pierce the magical dome and slice them to ribbons. And twice, after what seemed an agonizing eternity, the hideous cries receded.
Now they guided their mounts through the twisting, muddy warren of makeshift tents and shacks. The population of Soubar had been dwindling with the waning days of autumn, and the violent incident two nights ago had begun a mass exodus. Everywhere merchants and traders were packing their wagons and heading for winter bases. Still, there were hundreds of tents in the squalid encampment, and soon they discovered a bustling market in the town's center.
"We may be able to uncover a few more tidbits about Stiletto here," Jewel suggested. She turned to Cormik. "Shall we do a little scouting, love?"
The big crime lord frowned. "Why