Shadows Return - Lynn Flewelling [153]
“Alec…” This was no time for long speeches and explanations. He grabbed Alec and kissed him; their cracked lips tasted of dust and salt. Sebrahn, still in his sling, touched Seregil’s cheek with his cold little fingers, almost as if he could feel the sorrow between them.
Alec buried a hand in Seregil’s hair and rested his forehead against his. “I’m sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry for. No one is taking us.” Seregil drew his sword. “Give Ilar your knife. We stand and fight.”
Alec tried to hand Ilar his knife, but the man backed away.
“No!” The color had drained from Ilar’s face, and Seregil recognized the same look of terror and despair he’d seen in Rhania’s face, just before she drove a knife into her own heart. Before Seregil could stop him, Ilar turned and ran, away from the oncoming riders and away from them.
“Let him go,” said Alec, though Seregil had made no move to follow. “He won’t be any help.”
“I suppose not.”
Alec put Sebrahn down and stepped in front of him. “Stay there.” The rhekaro whimpered and clutched at the back of his coat.
“I think you were right, about the oracle and all,” Seregil said, shaking his head.
“Thanks for that, talí.”
“Better late than never, I guess.”
The dogs reached them first, six huge mastiffs. Their hackles were up and their heads low.
“Do the dog thing,” Alec muttered.
Seregil fixed as many of them with his gaze as he could and performed the spell. “Soora thalassi!”
Two of the dogs relaxed, tongues out and tails wagging.
Seregil quickly did it again, and a third time, then sent them running north.
That was certainly going to help, but as the riders closed in on them, Seregil counted at least twenty men, with Yhakobin in the lead. At least half of them were archers. “I sure miss that bow of yours right now.”
“Me, too. I could have pared down the numbers.” Alec paused. “It’s me he wants, and Sebrahn.”
“Don’t even think it. If we go down, we go down together.”
Alec grinned bravely, but his eyes were sad. “Kari always said you’d get me killed. At least we can find the Gate together.”
“We’re not dead yet.”
Yhakobin and his men reined in a few dozen yards off and fanned out to surround them.
“Master, Khenir is getting away,” one of them said to Yhakobin. Ilar was already far off, and dwindling from sight.
“I’ll attend to him later.” The alchemist rested his gloved hands on the pommel of his saddle and raised an eyebrow at Seregil. “You’ve taken what belongs to me.”
Seregil raised the tip of his sword, deadly calm now. “I could say the same.”
“Say what you like. You’ll be dog’s meat soon.” Turning his attention to Alec, he said, “You have stolen from me, too, Alec, and run away, but I am prepared to be somewhat merciful. Drop your sword and bring the rhekaro to me.”
“Kiss my ass, Ilban!”
Yhakobin smiled. “I believe those were the first words you spoke to me. I promise you, you’ll regret them.” He raised his hand. The two archers beside him raised their bows and took aim.
At Seregil.
Things went very clear and shining, the way they often did in a crisis. Seregil could see the sharp edges of the steel broadheads, and count the vanes on the shafts. He could hear the creak of the bowstrings and there was no time to run…
Something struck him from the side, hard, and he fell. He’d been hit by an arrow before; it didn’t feel like this. Before he could figure it out, however, Alec came down on top of him, knocking the wind out of him.
Seregil pushed at him, trying to get up, but he didn’t move. “Alec?”
He was far too limp, and too silent. Seregil pushed himself up on his elbows. Alec lay faceup, arms still thrown wide to protect Seregil, with two arrows protruding from his chest—one near his heart, the other just below his throat.
Mortal wounds.
A faint gurgling sound came from his lips as blood welled there and ran down his chin. His eyes were open and already fixed, reflecting the lowering grey sky.
He was dying.
Alec was dying, and not even Sebrahn could help him now.
With a ragged