The Wolfsman snarled with pain and went down. A loud snapping sound followed and the Shae was left writhing and seething in the scrub. Two attacked Jaerod at once while Xenon shrugged himself to his feet. Thealos felt the prickle of calm down his back again, as if to warn him to stay put. A fist met one of the Wolfsmen in the face, dropping him to the ground.
Xenon lunged at Jaerod but did not attack as wildly as he had that night in the streets of Sol. He was careful, more deliberate, and Thealos knew what he was doing. Hold the Sleepwalker there until the next quaere could arrive. There were limits to any man’s endurance.
As if to answer that thought, four more Crimson Wolfsmen bounded into the grove of elm, as silent as shadows.
“You cannot take us all, Sleepwalker. We were waiting for you.”
A prickle of earth magic fluttered in the air as Jaerod struck Xenon in the chest with both palms. The Crimson Wolfsman went down a second time, thrown up and backwards so that he crashed into an elm hard enough to rattle its branches.
Jaerod whirled and faced the next quaere.
Thealos brought himself up to a half-crouch, ready to run if Jaerod asked it. He licked his lips, watching Jaerod hungrily, wondering what gave him such power against the best trained warriors of Avisahn. His movements were too quick to follow, his attacks short, precise, and effective.
Another Wolfsman went down. In the end, they all did.
Thealos stared at Jaerod as he stood alone, his hands poised in front, his body rotating this way and that, listening and sensing and ready to continue the fight. Sweat dripped off his chin. He turned and looked at Thealos, the gray eyes pointed and almost accusing. As if they said—look what I had to do because of you.
Straightening, Thealos stepped forward and held up his bonds for Jaerod to cut with a small knife. The long tapered blade the Sleepwalker normally wore at his side was gone.
His hands tingled and stung as blood rushed back through the chafed and swollen marks on his wrists. “Your sword…where is it, Jaerod?”
“The Sorian destroyed it when I faced her. I’m glad I didn’t have it though—I’d have been too tempted to use it this time.” He wiped his face and breathed heavily for a few moments. “I wish I did not have to do that,” he said with a sigh.
Thealos touched Jaerod’s shoulder. “I wish I could do that.”
“Do you?” His smirk became very bitter.
“I wish to be a Sleepwalker, Jaerod. I want you to teach me.”
“But there is no time to teach you right now.” Jared looked heartsick. “There is so little time.” His eyes widened. “There are more. We must go.”
Thealos felt the presence of Silvan magic growing stronger. Some of the Wolfsmen started to stir as well.
“Where? To Safehome?”
Jaerod shook his head. “No…not yet. Stand near me.” Thealos did and Jaerod gripped his shoulders. “Accept the Earth magic. Let it touch you. Let it take you.”
Thealos held his breath and closed his eyes as the magic swirled around him.
*
At first, the magic felt like being thrown in the midst of an ice-cold lake. It was a familiar feeling, so he did not panic as he had when he had felt it down in the catacombs below Landmoor in the lair of the Silverkin. His mind and body wanted to fight against it, for the feelings were akin to drowning. Something inside him, a core part of his being, ripped loose. There was the sensation of movement, of flying. This had happened to him during the foretelling when he had entered the small sacred room enclosed in a Silvan warding. He opened his eyes and found himself clutched by Jaerod, like a man dragging a friend through a blizzard, and that they both were walking. Yet they were walking faster than the hawks. It caused a dizzying feeling in the pit of his stomach that grew stronger and stronger. He had to shut his eyes to keep from losing all sense of himself.
It ended as quickly as it started, the surging feel of magic replaced by deep darkness. Thealos collapsed and would have landed on his face had Jaerod not been holding him so tightly. The Sleepwalker eased him down to his knees where Thealos flopped forward and emptied his stomach. Three rounds of the nausea racked his body and left him shaken and weak.
“You’ll need to eat,” Jaerod said in a quiet voice.
Food was the last thing he craved. He looked back up at the Sleepwalker and wiped the cold sweat from his brow. “Does this happen to you?”
Jaerod smiled. “Not any more. Eat this.”
Thealos took a small loaf of spiced pumpkin-bread and nibbled on it. It gave him back his strength in morsels. It was after nightfall and darkness cloaked them in shadows. Trees surrounded them, but there were lights painting the sky as if a great city was nearby.
“Where are we?”
“The gardens behind Silverborne palace.”
Thealos sat up, his eyes widening with shock. “Jaerod!”
The Sleepwalker gave him a wry grin. “It is the last place they will think to look for us. I need rest and so do you. Walking the Crossroads is exhausting.” He settled down nearby and pulled out another small loaf, starting on it himself.