The spell he was covered with was sporting a great rent in itself, as if someone had sliced through it. He would have assumed it was Amitán to do the like, but if he’d managed it, he would have continued on by making a great rent in Ruith’s chest. Perhaps someone had been trying to rescue him and been interrupted in the act—
But the rent had been made by another spell of Olc, Olc mixed with something he couldn’t quite see.
That was odd.
He would have examined that a bit more closely, but he was distracted by Amitán beginning to lose what little patience he possessed.
“I don’t care about the traders from Malairt!” he shouted, “I want to know who hired you and why he wanted you to guard that thing over there.”
The third of the group, the bravest by far, told Amitán in the most detailed of terms just what he could do with his questions.
That man crumpled to the ground quite suddenly, either dead or senseless. That seemed to bring the other two to a spirit of cooperation they hadn’t enjoyed before.
“I don’t know who the man was,” the second blurted out. “In truth. He just gave us orders to keep watch until he returned. Said that lad over there was a lord’s brat who needed tending.”
“What did this beneficent lord look like?” Amitán demanded.
“I couldn’t look at him,” the first answered promptly. “He was all darkness.”
“But that could have been anyone!” Amitán thundered.
Ruith had to agree. Given the nature of every bloody soul inhabiting the keep up the way and the surrounding environs, the description could have applied to anyone within a thirty-league radius.
But why would darkness have wanted to keep him whole? He ran quickly through a list of black mages and dismissed them all as he watched the escalation of hostilities in front of him. Amitán was demanding that the guardsmen bring Ruith to him; the remaining two were refusing just as adamantly. It said something about the man who had hired them that they were terrified enough of him to choose facing down the angry mage in front of them presently to facing his wrath later.
Amitán cursed them, then turned and flung a spell at Ruith.
Ruith shifted away from the mysterious rent in the spell of protection, more than willing to use something not of his own making to save his own sweet neck. Amitán’s spell was absorbed easily, then it gathered itself into something quite different and hurtled back toward him. It slammed into him with the force of a score of fists, then encompassed him from head to toe.
Amitán began to scream.
Ruith wasted no time in making his escape. He shoved apart the spell, dove through it, then rolled up to his feet, drawing his knives as he did so. The pain of that almost sent him to his knees. He looked at his palms in surprise only to find them covered with blisters.
What in the hell was in that spell?
He would have given that more thought, but he was too distracted by watching the spectacle of Amitán clawing at his face, trying to remove what had attached itself to him. Ruith winced as Amitán staggered about the glade, making altogether inhuman sounds of agony before he dropped to his knees.
Ruith turned away from the spectacle. He took a firmer grip on his knives, ignoring the pain of his ruined skin, and walked over to the remaining guardsmen who were gaping at him as if he’d been the cause of Amitán’s suffering.
“Where did the traders go with the woman?” he asked shortly.
They lifted their hands, then, as one, pointed to the south.
“Fair enough,” Ruith said, trying to sound calmer than he felt. “If I were you, I would hurry away and hide somewhere you think you won’t be found. Because that”—he tilted his head toward Amitán—“will be the least of what’s coming.”
The men looked at each other, then turned and bolted.
Ruith would have followed them in like manner, but there was at least one answer he needed to make his journey less perilous. He resheathed his knives, then turned to his bastard brother, who was now lying on the ground, panting.
“Who survived the fall of the keep?” he asked.
“I wouldn’t tell you ... if my life ... depended on it,” Amitán gasped.
Ruith cursed him. Though that list of what had now been loosed into the world would have been useful—perhaps even critical—he didn’t have the time to wait until Amitán was in enough