Bearers of the Black Staff

He heard someone scream his name and felt a pair of sharp stings on his neck and hand.

An instant later, a Skaith Hound slammed into him from behind, come from out of the rocks in which it had been in waiting, claws and teeth tearing at him. The magic of his staff responded instantly to his summons, keeping the beast from his face and throat. But the magic was weak, a consequence of his own weariness, and the Skaith Hound broke through its protective shield and clamped its jaws on Sider’s arm. Sider struggled to break free but could not. Together man and beast tumbled down the rock-strewn slope past the body that wasn’t Panterra Qu’s—the Gray Man caught just a glimpse of the other’s face—and crashed into a pile of boulders. There, on impact, the beast lost its grip. Sider leapt up, deflecting a hail of arrows directed at him from both sides, drove the black staff into the Skaith Hound’s chest, sent an explosion of magic down its length, and burned the beast to a blackened husk.

He wheeled back as three of the Drouj careened into him, spears seeking to pin him to the rocks. He blocked their efforts, knocking them aside—first one, then the other two—his body twisting away as he used his magic to shield himself and his staff to crack their bones. But the Trolls were toughened fighters and two of them were back on their feet quickly, in spite of their injuries, swords drawn. Sider used his magic, lashing out at them, turning them aside, and he was on top of them before they could recover. Swiftly he dispatched them.

He faltered then, his muscles gone weak and unresponsive. He was aware of burning sensations where he had felt the stings earlier. He glanced down at his hand and saw what appeared to be a bruise. Then he probed his neck and found a tiny dart protruding from his skin. He had just pulled it free and was examining it when he was struck again, this time in the face.

He dropped into a defensive crouch, pulling out the dart immediately. He saw Arik Siq then, standing in the open now, come out from wherever he had been hiding, a blowgun in his hand.

A single word surfaced in his mind.

Poison.

He fought back, using his magic to slow its spread, armoring himself for what was needed. Then he went up the slope in a rush. Arik Siq put the blowgun to his lips and used it again. But by now the magic was firmly in place and deflected the darts. Twice more the son of the Drouj Maturen used the blowgun before accepting that it was useless. He realized at the same moment that he should have been making his escape. But by now, he was trapped near the mouth of the pass, pinned back against its dark opening, and it was too late to escape the way he had intended. He hesitated only a moment before turning into the pass and fleeing back down its shadowy corridor, back the way he had come, toward the valley.

Sider Ament chased him until his strength gave out and he dropped to the ground, exhausted, his body growing numb as the poison continued to spread. He tried one last time to stop it, to negate its effects, to keep it from his heart.

But it was too late, he realized. The poison was in too deep.

He found himself wishing, as he accepted the inevitable, that he could have told Aislinne good-bye.





THIRTY-ONE




WHEN ALL OF THE OTHERS WERE DEAD OR dying and he was the last, Pan had broken clear of the pass and made a quick decision. If he ran, they were going to catch and kill him as they had the rest. He needed to get out of their reach another way. So he managed to scale a cliff wall just outside the mouth of the pass that was so sheer and treacherous that neither the heavier Trolls nor the Skaith Hounds could follow. Navigating a series of footholds and outcroppings, he had found a niche that he could squeeze into just far enough that their weapons could not harm him. Once in place, he settled back to wait. There was nothing else he could do. Sooner or later, help might arrive. Or the Drouj might grow tired of waiting for him to come down and leave. There wasn’t any reason for them to wait him out, after all. Their sole purpose in attacking the pass was to get back to their tribe and reveal that they had found a way into the valley—of that, Pan was fairly certain. There was nothing to keep them from carrying out this plan now that the defenders were slain. Andelin had been the last; they had dragged him out and left him on the rocks to die. He had still been alive when their attention had been diverted by something happening inside the pass, and they had taken cover.

Then Sider Ament had appeared, alone and clearly unaware of the trap that had been set for him, not realizing that the Drouj had left one of their number on guard inside the pass to alert them to anyone approaching. Pan had shouted his name instantly. But his warning had come too late.

Now he scrambled down out of his rocky perch, rushed to Sider, dropped to one knee, and held him in his arms.

“I tried to warn you,” he whispered.

The dark eyes found his. “You did your best.”