‘But in bringing the Stone back they will leave a trail of energy, of power, of the Old Magic. If the Forest Lord were to find and follow that trail, it would be possible for him to create a portal. Athina, you know this to be true.’
Despite the strength of her own convictions, a chill of trepidation slithered through her. ‘Not alone, he could not,’ she argued. ‘Only half the power of the Fialan was his to command.’
‘And if he allies, once again, with Ghabal?’
‘No - that’s impossible! After Hellorin betrayed him when the Stone was made, Ghabal would never trust him again. He may be mad, but he is not stupid.’
‘Even if it meant that he also could return to the mundane world? Could make an attempt, once there, to regain the Stone? Under those circumstances, I would certainly set my enmity aside and form a temporary truce. Imagine both of them, Athina, let loose on your precious, unsuspecting world. Would that not bring about the very catastrophe you were trying to forestall?’
The Cailleach felt the blood drain from her face. ‘By the Light,’ she whispered. ‘What have I done?’ Only too well now did she realise her terrible mistake. The mundane world had indeed clouded her perceptions, preventing her from seeing all aspects of the situation.
She felt the clutch of panic around her heart. ‘I have to tell them. Uriel, this is my doing. They must be warned.’
‘No.’ His voice was gentle but implacable. ‘No, Athina, you will not be permitted to meddle this time. What’s done is done, and the mundane world must live with the consequences. Our siblings have acted in concert to contain you here. I deeply regret this, but it is necessary. There will be no discussion, no debate and no reprieve. You will not be permitted to leave again.’
‘No!’ Rage and fear blazed up in the Cailleach’s heart. ‘You cannot. You dare not.’ But she was speaking to empty air. Uriel had gone, leaving her a prisoner in her little world below the Timeless Lake.
Athina sank to the floor and hid her face in her hands. Her thoughts were clouded by a turmoil of emotions: fury and bitterness at her confinement; horror, remorse and fear for the world of her creation, and for the individuals she had so lately come to know and love. Worst of all was the sickening sense of helplessness. Her own blindness, her misguided attempts to help, had brought them to a perilous pass. How could Uriel and the others be so callous? Surely it could do no harm to warn Corisand and Iriana of the dangers? But imprisoned here as she was, there could be no chance of her doing that.
Or could there?
She looked at Avithan, who lay so pale and still. In this timeless place, the shimmer of the tangled time spells had faded, just as she’d hoped. It should be possible to free him from his bonds and heal the hurts that he had suffered. But why hurry? While his body was out of time, Hellorin’s mind and spirit had been able to journey to the Elsewhere. Could she do the same for Avithan? Send him to Iriana with a warning?
As Dael would have said, it was worth a try.
Cyran lay awake all night, worrying about his son and Iriana. Unknown to the two younger Wizards, Esmon had been secretly sending back a report, via scrying-crystal, every night when the others were on watch or asleep. Not many Wizards had this ability, but it was very useful, and one of the many reasons Esmon had been selected as an emissary to the Phaerie realm. To spare the pride of Avithan and Iriana, they had not been told that the Archwizard was keeping such a close eye on them. Cyran had wanted his son to handle the mission on his own, in the hope that a success might go some way towards persuading him that he wanted to be Archwizard, and follow in his father’s footsteps after all.
Two nights previously, Esmon had reported in as usual from the forest, while Avithan was sleeping and Iriana was on watch. Two hours later the Warrior was dead: though faint and muted by distance, Cyran had felt the wrenching pang of a Wizard’s passing, and known that Esmon breathed no more.
What had happened to him? And what had become of Avithan and Iriana, an inexperienced city-dweller and a blind girl cast adrift in the wilderness? In flat-out panic, Cyran had assembled a troop of veteran Wizards from the Luen of Warriors and had ridden out with them himself: partly because he could not bear to stay at home while his son was in danger, and partly to escape the bitter recriminations of his soulmate Sharalind.
It had been a mistake to come, however. Cyran was city-soft and it had been far too long since he had ridden a horse. Before the end of the first day it had been obvious that he was slowing the Warriors down - much to their ill-concealed annoyance, for they wanted above all things to avenge their leader - and so he had let them go on ahead, taking a short cut that angled across county and reached the forest by a straighter route, keeping only two of them to accompany him. Now he was far behind the main body, and he had stopped for the night with his companions so that he could rest his aching muscles and use a simple healing spell on the bruises that covered his calves and inner thighs.
There was no wood on the moors to keep a campfire burning overnight. The Archwizard’s thoughts were as dark as his surroundings; filled with anxiety and self-recrimination. If only I had sent someone else. Someone more experienced. Someone I loved less. Taine was right, when he thought that the whole idea was insane - but so tactfully didn’t say so. I was too worried, too shaken by those accursed visions to be thinking clearly, and now . . .began to
After what felt like an endless night, eventually the darkness began to lift and an eerie half-light took its place. The two Warriors, Nara and Baxian, were already up, feeding their mounts and rummaging in the saddlebags for their own cold and cheerless breakfast. Cyran was just scrambling out of his blankets when suddenly the horses lifted their heads and whinnied. A moment later, he heard the sound of uneven, stumbling hoofbeats on the road, and a bony old horse stumbled into view over the brow of the hill. When the rider caught sight of the Archwizard, he started waving and shouting, and as he drew closer, his words became clear. ‘Cyran? Is that Archwizard Cyran? Thank Providence I’ve found you.’
He looked so familiar - then, with a start, Cyran remembered. Challan. Zybina’s former soulmate and Iriana’s foster-father, who had abandoned his family for a human woman and run off to Nexis to hide his shame. Now his eyes were dark voids of exhaustion in a haggard face, and as he dismounted he was shaking with exhaustion. Trepidation curled in Cyran’s stomach. This did not bode well.
‘Come, sit,’ he said, handing the Wizard a leather water-bag and squatting down beside him. ‘What has happened? Tell me your tidings.’
Challan rubbed his hands over his weary face. ‘Two nights ago - well, three nights now . . .’ He looked to where the sun was just clearing the horizon in a hectic blaze of gold. ‘I was not asleep. We were searching—’ He broke off, his eyes narrowing in anxiety and pain, then took a deep breath and started again. ‘It could not have been a dream.’ He clutched at the Archwizard’s arm. ‘I felt Esmon’s passing, then shortly afterwards I received a message in mindspeech from Iriana. It was very faint and far away, but it was a cry for help. They had been attacked by Phaerie in the forest. She wanted me to warn you . . .’
He shook his head. ‘I got the impression that she was fleeing for her life. Avithan had been hurt or captured, I think, because she was alone, blind, without even her animals to help her.’ He buried his face in his hands. ‘My poor Iriana. The last words we exchanged in Nexis were filled with rancour and bitterness, and then for this to happen on top of...’
‘On top of what?’ Cyran asked sharply.
Challan took a deep breath, and with a visible effort brought himself back under control. ‘Cyran, I know this is not the time to ask, but have you seen my daughter Chiannala? We had a terrible quarrel the night Iriana came, and she ran away. She stole our horse and I think she might have tried to head for Tyrineld - she seems to have inherited my powers in full, and is desperate to train at the Academy and become a fully fledged Wizard. I told her it was impossible, and that was when she—’
‘Your daughte
r?’ Cyran turned shocked eyes in his direction. ‘You had a daughter with that human—’ He broke off in disgust. Yet that look of distress, of misery, of desperation on Challan’s face so exactly matched his own state of mind that he could not fail to understand. No matter what her breeding had been, the Wizard had lost a child, too.
‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘My sorrow, Challan, but she never came to the Academy. Our recent intake was small. Only one came from outside Tyrineld - a girl called Brynne whose family have a farm out Dunmore way. But she and her father spoke of finding a strange, lone girl on the road who claimed to be an orphan heading for Tyrineld in hope of attending the Academy. Being decent folk, they took her with them, but I’m afraid there was a terrible accident on the way, and the girl slipped and fell over the cliffs. The fisherfolk began a search of the area at once, but she was never found.’
Challan groaned, and put his head in his hands.
“But wait.’ Cyran put a hand on his arm. ‘It may be too soon to despair. The image of your daughter I see in your mind does not match the one that Brynne and her father gave me. It’s not even close. Also, you said that your daughter had strong Wizardly powers, yet we have felt neither her death nor that of another girl. We still have a mystery on our hands, but it is not yet time to mourn, for either of us. We know that our children are still alive, for we have not felt them passing. At least we have that. But whatever has befallen them, it cannot be good.’
He leapt to his feet, trembling with rage, his fists clenched tight at his sides as he stared helplessly towards the north. ‘The Phaerie,’ he growled. ‘Those treacherous monsters. How dare they? They will rue the day they attacked my son.’
Challan also got up, and stood beside him. ‘I am sorry I could not reach you sooner. Horses are hoarded like diamonds in Nexis, and this poor lame, broken-winded old creature was all that I could find after Chiannala stole mine.’
The sun had risen fully now, and had vanished just as quickly into a long bank of cloud that lay above the horizon. A cold wind snaked and sneered across the exposed flanks of the moors. The two Wizards and the Warrior escort stood in silence, united by anxiety and sorrow.
Then it happened. They were struck by the wrenching pain, the unnerving sense of void and absence that marked the passing of a Wizard from the world. ‘Iriana,’ Challan wailed. ‘My little Iriana. No, it cannot be true. She can’t have gone.’
Cyran staggered as though he himself had received a mortal wound. ‘I sent her,’ he whispered. ‘Her death is on my hands.’
In the next instant he crumpled to the ground with an anguished wail as the dreadful pang came again. ‘Avithan,’ he cried. ‘No, please - not my son!’ For a long moment the Wizards were transfixed in horror, then Challan began to weep. Cyran got to his feet, his face bone-white, his eyes burning with a cold, fell light as he stared into the north. ‘All my life I have striven for peace and conciliation with the Phaerie,’ he snarled, ‘but here it ends. Now I will unleash red war upon them. I will not rest until the last of their infection has been wiped from the face of this world.’
37
THE OLD ONE
The boat sailed beautifully, flying along before the wind with the Wizard at the helm. They were making good progress. Already the Windeye could see the tiny island in the distance, with its tall tower of rock that resembled the ravaged stump of an ancient tree. She could make out the fir trees and green bushes that clung miraculously to its near-vertical sides, and the dark triangular opening of the cave mouth at its base.
Corisand’s concentration was elsewhere. Before they had left the shore, she had woven a shadow-cloak to hide the little craft and its passengers, and was carefully maintaining it as they surged towards the north. Iriana had been enthralled by this new aspect of her magic, and clearly was still musing on it during the voyage. ‘I wonder if I could make something like your cloak,’ she said. ‘Not in our own world, obviously. But if you’re right, and I can see in this realm because I’m using Othersight, I wonder if I could link it in some way with my Air magic—’
‘It wouldn’t work.’ Corisand’s voice came out sharper than she’d intended. ‘You might be able to see in Othersight, but the manipulation of the air is Windeye magic. You can do a great deal with air, I know, but you can’t hold it in your hands.’
‘I suppose not.’ The Wizard shrugged. ‘Pity - I would have liked a shadow-cloak of my own, and it might have come in useful too.’
Haven’t you got enough already? Corisand bit back the words before they could come out of her mouth. It shocked her to realise that she was a little jealous of Iriana. The Wizard had such a powerful and unique talent, and had been intensively trained; she’d practised her magic all her life, instead of suddenly discovering it out of the blue - and even then not having it available most of the time. ‘You know, I envy you, going to the Academy; coming from an entire race of Wizards so you were learning your craft from the very beginning, and you never were alone.’ It seemed best to get her thoughts out into the open, before the notion started to rankle and sour their friendship.
Iriana thought for a moment. ‘You’re right, I have been lucky, and I’m especially blessed to have a mixture of powers. There’s always a balance, though. It hasn’t been easy for you being alone and captive, and it wasn’t easy for me being blind. I managed very well with my animals to help me, but until I came here I never really knew what I was missing.’
‘You know, you’re right. I hadn’t thought of that. Things are never as straightforward as they appear, are they?’
While they were talking, they had let their vigilance drop - just a little, but enough.
They didn’t notice that the wind was rising until suddenly Corisand found herself unbalanced as the vessel rocked and pitched on a steepening sea, and a massive wave slapped over the bows, soaking her with flying spray. With a curse, she scrambled back to where Iriana was steering the little craft. The Wizard’s face was pale and taut, her mouth set in a grim line of concentration. In mindspeech, however, she was swearing with inventiveness and fluency.
‘Iriana? What’s happening? What’s wrong?’
‘Some bloody thing is attacking us,’ Iriana growled through clenched teeth. ‘I can feel their magic, trying to stir up a storm.’
‘Hellorin?’
‘Don’t think so - at least not entirely. There’s something new here: something strange and very powerful. Ignore the sea. Search beyond the wind. Can’t you feel it?’ She swore again. ‘Plague take it! I thought this world was the home of the Old Magic. Everybody knows that the Old Magic can’t cross water. I thought we’d be safe out here.’
‘Maybe it’s different in this world, where the whole place is founded on Old Magic.’
Though the sea and wind were growing more turbulent by the moment, the sky had remained blue, and unnaturally clear. But now they saw a great black barrier of cloud bearing down on them from the north, against the wind. Brows drawn down in a scowl of concentration, Iriana was muttering under her breath, reaching for focus. Then suddenly she raised a hand, and Corisand felt the alien, Wizardly magic go streaming past her, and up into the sky. With a jerk, the boat heeled over as the wind veered abruptly, blowing them towards the nearest scrap of land - that peculiar rock formation that the Windeye had seen in her mirror of vision, when it had brought her this way.
Iriana, trembling with the strain of her spell, said, ‘Whatever that thing is, we’d best not meet it on the open ocean.’
‘But what is it?’ the Windeye wondered. ‘Somehow this doesn’t have the stamp of Hellorin. Could the Moldan threaten us from this distance? Taku said he never left his mountain. Surely his reach, then, could not be so long?’
‘Don’t forget he has the Fialan.’ In this time of crisis, Iriana seemed to be picking up the thoughts directly from her mind.
‘Then how will we ever get near him, if his reach is so long and he’s already aware that we’re coming?’ Corisand ducked another wave, and curs
ed herself for sounding so feeble.
‘It’s not your fault.’ Again, the Wizard was replying to her unspoken thoughts as she drove the boat into the waves. ‘You’ve spent all your life as a horse - a prey animal. You have a naturally ingrained instinct for flight, rather than fight. But you’re not equine any more, my friend. Now you can think differently. Once you’re aware of the horse, you can override that instinct, and be the Windeye.’
There was no time for a reply. The sinister black barrier was almost upon them, and the gale had increased to screaming pitch. It would be a desperate race to reach the island in time. Suddenly, what looked like a long, black serpent dropped out of the bottom of the cloud bank, twisting and snaking down into the water. It formed a slim, sinister funnel shape that joined the ocean to the sky.
‘A waterspout,’ Iriana gasped. ‘If that thing reaches us we’ll be torn to pieces.’ With her teeth clenched and fire in her eyes, she steered the boat as straight as she could, up the slopes of the gargantuan green waves, through the welter of white water on the crests and down the other side, heading for the tiny slip of land with its tower of rock. Just before it hit the narrow beach, Corisand dissolved the little craft and formed a gentle ramp of air, down which they rolled and tumbled to dry land.