“Avah! Aravah! Arasaaavah tula reso!” he shouted a third time, trying to shield his eyes with one arm as he held the stone up.

The floor came up to meet him, hard, and it was a moment before Thero realized that the binding had worked. The stone clutched in his right hand burned like a live coal and vibrated with evil presence. The binding was fragile; he could feel that. Finding his chalk, he willed his hand to stop shaking enough to inscribe the holding symbol on the stone. It went cool, leaving only blisters on Thero’s palm and fingers.

“Thero, Seregil!” Micum shouted, running back to join them. “By the Four, what happened to you?”

“I’m fine. See to Seregil.” The ’faie lay silent and motionless now.

Micum went to him and Thero heard him cursing under his breath as he knelt by their friend.

Thero pushed himself up enough to get out his wand. Blinking blood out of his eyes, he wove an invisible cocoon of magic around the stone to preserve the chalk markings until he could get it into a proper container. “How is he, Micum?”

“You’d best come see for yourself.”

Thero’s legs wouldn’t support him. He crawled down the corridor, leaving a blood trail on the dusty stone.

Maker’s Mercy, his back is broken! Thero thought as he reached them, seeing how twisted Seregil’s body was. He’d apparently gotten his arms over his face to shield it, but his scalp was lacerated in two places and his dark hair was sodden with blood. A small corona of it was spreading around his head. His coat and shirt were slashed to pieces. His upper body, covered with welts and cuts, looked like he’d been flogged.

Micum felt Seregil’s throat for a pulse and let out a hoarse cry of relief. “Thank the Maker, he’s alive. We need help, and fast. Send word to the camp. Hurry!”

It took every bit of Thero’s remaining strength to summon the tiny message sphere and send it streaking off to the drysian. With a mumbled apology, he fainted.

Alec burst through the portal onto a dreary plain. It looked very much like the place he’d fallen in sheep shit, though it was hard to be sure in daylight. There were sheep nearby, though, with boys watching over them, and to his left he saw a cluster of cottages. In daylight they were mere tumbledown hovels. Of Mika there was no sign.

Putting himself into Mika’s shoes, he tried to imagine what direction the boy would have chosen. He’d listened carefully to Alec when he’d told of his adventure here, so it seemed unlikely that Mika would approach anyone, or look to the householders for help.