The waterspout was gaining on them, a ravening black monster that covered half the sky. Fierce winds tore at them, and rocks and gravel flew at them as if propelled by slingshots. ‘Quick!’ Grabbing hold of Iriana’s arm, Corisand pulled her to her feet and they hurried across the shingle towards the cave. As they hurled themselves inside, she felt a slight pressure against her skin, as though she had hit an invisible barrier - then she was through, and safe inside with Iriana at her heels.
The screaming of the tempest diminished. The Windeye, utterly stunned, took in her surroundings at a glance. Instead of the dark, dank sea cave she had expected, she and Iriana stood in a kingly hall. Its walls of dark stone scintillated with a galaxy of tiny specks of mica that caught and reflected the light from numerous floating globes, filled with what appeared to be captive moonlight. A great fire roared and crackled in a circular pit in the centre of the chamber, its smoke lost in the shadows far above.
Suddenly a great voice came rolling and echoing through the hall. ‘Well, see what the wind has blown in. It is many a long age since visitors have come here.’
Corisand started. She knew that voice: deep and reverberant enough to make the very bones of the earth vibrate, with a grinding, growling undertone that sounded like the movement of entire mountains. She had heard it when her mirror-borne vision had taken her to this place. ‘Basileus?’ Her own voice came out like the whistle of a bird in comparison to the ponderous, mighty tones.
‘Basileus indeed,’ the entity answered. ‘So, you have come to me in corporeal form, as I asked when last we met. That was bravely done, O Windeye. As you may have guessed, I am another Moldan. I am this rock, and this rock is me - in this world, at least. I—’
He was interrupted by a howl of rage. From outside, in the wild keening of the storm, another voice was heard: cold as the fierce, white, searing core of winter, and this time, somehow female. ‘Give me the Windeye and her Wizard companion. Give them to me now. They shall not have the Fialan - it will be mine.’
Basileus ignored the voice; ignored the keening of the gale and the crashing of the mighty waves that shook the tower. ‘Ah. Now I understand. You have no need to tell me, my friends, why you seek the Stone of Fate. I can see the reasons written clearly in your minds. You play a dangerous game, in seeking to pit yourselves against both Ghabal and Hellorin - and now my sibling, Aerillia, has decided to interfere on her own behalf.’
‘Is that who is outside?’ Iriana asked. ‘The one who made the storm?’
‘It is not only Aerillia, for she has allied herself with Hellorin, the Forest Lord - indeed, it was she who brought him here. She, too, wishes to gain the Fialan, so that the Moldai may once again dwell in both worlds, instead of just the Elsewhere.’
‘And you?’ Corisand asked quietly. ‘Where do you stand, sir? Do you not want the Stone of Fate?’
‘I would like to see your world again,’ the Moldan mused. ‘And had I wished, I could have used your ignorance to my advantage - but that is not my way. For my part, you are more than welcome to take the Fialan from the Elsewhere. Ghabal is a most unsafe guardian, and if it falls into other hands, there will be treachery and warfare here. Your world can have it - and all the problems it will bring in its wake. I know you have your reasons for wanting it. I only hope you know exactly what you are about.
‘Be that as it may, I will help you now, my friends. Aerillia and her pawn will learn the penalty for assailing me.’
‘Aerillia!’ His roar was loud enough to bring the companions to their knees. ‘The Windeye and the Wizard are mine to protect. Get you gone from here, you and the Phaerie Lord, or woe betide you.’
‘My brother.’ Aerillia’s voice turned sly and cajoling. ‘Surely you can see the danger in what they are trying to do? If they try to take the Fialan they are certain to fail, puny creatures that they are, but they will awaken the wrath of our poor, mad sibling. With the power that he wields, who knows what damage he will cause to the fabric of this world?’
‘And who knows what damage your Phaerie lapdog might cause if he gains the Stone, as you so clearly intend. I say again, Aerillia: get you gone from here and do not interfere with me and mine again, lest it turn to your undoing. You cannot have the Windeye and her friend.’
‘Then I will take them!’ Once more, her voice became the savage snarling of the storm, and Corisand saw, as if through the eyes of Basileus, the havoc that she wrought. Mighty winds smote the pillar of rock like hammer blows, tearing at the shaggy trees and bushes that clung to its steep sides. The sea rose up in mountainous waves that crashed down on the ancient bastion of stone.
Basileus sighed. ‘She never learns. She could never best me on her own, but because she has coupled her power with that of Hellorin, she believes herself invincible. She forgets that I can do the same.’
The Windeye felt his attention on her, as though her mind had been illuminated by a beam of brilliant light. A gasp from Iriana at her side told her that the Wizard had been included in the scrutiny.
‘Windeye, Wizard,’ the Moldan said. ‘Will you trust me? Will you link your powers with mine?’
‘Without hesitation,’ Corisand replied. ‘I have not forgotten, Basileus, how you helped me to escape Ghabal’s clutches when I travelled to his mountain through my mirror.’
‘And what of your companion?’
‘My name is Iriana, Sir.’ The Wizard stepped forward, even though the voice seemed to come from all around. ‘Corisand trusts you, so I do also. I will link my powers with you, if it is your wish.’
‘Thank you, Iriana. I think you and the Windeye have chosen well to take each other as companions. And now, both of you: open your thoughts to join with mine.’
By unspoken consent, Corisand and Iriana took each other’s hands and linked their minds. Then, with a deep breath, they took the final step together.
The Windeye felt the power of Basileus: as old as time, as strong as the very rock that sheltered her. Iriana’s magic had an entirely different energy: the inexorable force of Water, the mother of all life, that could destroy a city or wear a mountain down; the clean, fierce blaze of Fire; elusive, tempestuous Air, as difficult as a wild horse to control and focus; and the strong, solid power of Earth, as quick to heal as to destroy. Corisand felt her companions’ magic surging through her, mingling with her own ancestral powers to become a force far greater than the sum of its individual parts.
Then suddenly they were everywhere. A dizzying wave of vertigo swept over the Windeye as the constraints of her body dissolved. She was not only Corisand but Iriana too, with a body that felt completely different. She was part of the gnarled stone pillar of Basileus, and felt the drape of vines and bushes around her shoulders, and the slight pull of the fir trees that leant out over the water. She felt the fury of the other Moldan crashing against her in a black vortex of wind and waves, and she was the wind and waves themselves. Corisand, her consciousness everywhere, was both inside and outside it all, watching from a distance yet playing an active part.
Then Aerillia - she thought of the entity as Aerillia, though she knew that the Moldan was linked to Hellorin in the same way that she was linked to her companions - seemed to see them, and the vortex of the storm became a great white dragon that towered high above the stone pillar, its outstretched wings blotting out half the sky. Corisand, part of the gigantic force that was also Iriana and Basileus, felt her own form changing in response, into another of the mighty beasts, this time with scales of gleaming black. Aerillia reared back and hissed a challenge, and the Basileus-dragon bellowed a response. Then the two titanic figures leapt upon each other in an earth-shaking collision, clawing with their long, sharp talons and snapping with their mighty teeth.
There was no doubt that the struggle was real. Corisand felt the strain in her muscles as the two behemoths grappled, and the pain when the scimitar teeth of the white dragon tore into her hide. Magic kept them on the ocean’s surface as they battled back and forth; sometimes o
n their feet, sometimes rolling over and over, locked in deadly combat.
For a time, neither gained an advantage. The white dragon was faster, but the black was stronger. Both were bleeding - actually bleeding, thought Corisand in shock - from numerous wounds. Clearly the white dragon was tiring: her movements were slower now, and her attacks lacked their former force - but her opponent was suffering too. The Windeye, locked in her strange, three-way partnership within the dragon’s body, could feel its great limbs growing heavy with exhaustion.
Then Basileus, controlling the monster, put the last of their combined strength into one final, savage attack. Aerillia, taken unawares, was thrown off balance, and the black dragon’s teeth ripped into her unprotected throat. Screeching, she tore herself free and fled, leaving behind her a trail of thick blood that stained the ocean crimson.
The huge black dragon vanished, and Corisand found herself standing back in the hall of stone beside a stunned and bedraggled-looking Iriana.
‘Well fought, my friends.’ The voice of the Moldan boomed around them. ‘Aerillia has gone to lick her wounds; she will trouble you no more.’
‘Where are our wounds?’ The Windeye was examining her unmarked limbs.
‘I took them into myself,’ Basileus replied. ‘It will be hard enough for you to deal with Ghabal, without the additional handicap of injuries.’
‘Thank you,’ Iriana said. ‘Without your aid, I think our journey would have ended right here.’
‘Do not underestimate yourselves.’ The Moldan’s voice was as kind as sunshine. ‘The two of you together are stronger than you know. I would enjoy your company for longer, O Windeye, O Wizard, but time is passing, and while Hellorin and Aerillia are recovering from their wounds, you must strike. I hope that we may meet again some day.’
‘I hope so too,’ said Iriana.
‘And I,’ added Corisand. ‘Farewell, Basileus. Our thanks go with you.’
‘One word of warning before you leave, my friends. If you succeed in your quest, beware the Fialan. Though your intentions are good, such immense power has a way of being unpredictable. Once you have it within your world, who knows what may happen?’
38
BEYOND THE ICE
With a little help from Iriana, Corisand recreated her boat and they set sail again, heading ever northward. For a time they sat in silence, each one wrapped in thoughts of what had happened, and how it might affect the conflict to come. The Wizard felt a little more hopeful, now that Basileus had helped them. ‘Now we only have to sneak up on the Moldan,’ she said aloud.
Their thoughts had been running along such similar lines that Corisand picked up the thread at once. ‘Maybe my shadow-cloak will help.’
‘It may help us get close up to the mountain, but how do we get inside? At that point, all subterfuge must be at an end.’ Iriana frowned. ‘We’ll have a battle on our hands.’
They sailed on in sombre silence, watching the mountains drawing ever closer. As the details became more distinct, they saw the great ice peak of Ghabal’s fastness, glittering like a colossal diamond in the ocean. ‘At least we should be able to sail all the way,’ said Iriana. But she was wrong. For some time they had been seeing a streak of white across the skyline far ahead, and had taken it for a trick of the light. But as they approached it rapidly, solid obstacles began to appear in the water: chunks of ice ranging from small, fist-sized lumps to great, flat floes that were wider than a room. So far, the temperature in the Elsewhere had been ambient and comfortable, but now it was as though they had run into a wall of profound and savage cold.
They had hit the first of Ghabal’s defences. He had ringed his mountain with sea-ice, and had lowered the temperature with shattering effect. Beyond the bergs and broken floes that formed its margins, the ice stretched solid and unbroken to the north, as far as the eye could see. Their little boat could take them no further.
‘Well,’ said Iriana with a sigh, ‘it looks as though we had better get out and walk.’
‘It could work in our favour,’ the Windeye replied. ‘I think the time has come to shield ourselves, but I was worried about the efficiency of my shadow-cloak while we’re moving fast and I’m trying to maintain the structure of the boat at the same time. Aerillia seemed to find us easily enough. I’ll do much better on foot.’
‘Speaking of shielding,’ the Wizard said, ‘we’re going to need something more than a shadow-cloak at this point. We could be attacked at any time, and the closer we get to Ghabal, the greater the risk will grow. You take care of hiding us with your shadow-cloak, and I’ll maintain a shield against a magical strike. How does that sound?’
They clambered out of the boat and onto the dazzling white surface beyond. As soon as their feet touched the ice, the cold smote them, drying and stiffening the skin on their faces and striking at their feet and legs.
‘Now what?’ Corisand said. ‘We won’t stand this for very long.’
‘Let’s shield and conceal ourselves while we’re thinking,’ Iriana suggested. ‘And we’ll be warmer if we keep moving.’
The Windeye dissolved her lovely boat, not without a pang of regret, and looked around for shadows with which to weave her cloak. Though the ice appeared to be a smooth, unbroken surface from a distance, in reality it was patched with areas of rubble ice: jumbled labyrinths of furrows and sharp-edged ridges where the ice had cracked and been forced upward, and had then refrozen. The shadows were blue against the pristine white of the ice, and as Corisand called them to her, she discovered that her cloak was a different hue this time, blending neatly into her surroundings. Building it carefully, she extended it to cover the Wizard - and even as she did so, she felt a surge of magic as Iriana constructed her own shield around them.
‘When we learned our defensive magic at the Academy, I never really believed that one day I would be using it; that it would make the difference between life and death,’ Iriana said. ‘I only wish I could have used it when Esmon and Avithan and I were attacked in the forest that night.’
‘Why couldn’t you?’ Since the Wizard herself had brought the subject up, Corisand had no hesitation in asking.
‘Because the bastard Phaerie assassin was immune to my magic.’ Her face hardened with anger. ‘I wish I could have killed him with my bare hands.’ She strode ahead, sticking to the smoother areas and avoiding the rubble ice, and Corisand had to rush after her, struggling to keep the cloak in place.
And if her own shield was in danger . . .
‘Iriana - concentrate!’ she snapped as she caught up to the Wizard. ‘Focus on your shield, not the accursed Phaerie, or he’ll reach out from his grave and kill you yet.’
The Wizard turned on her, wrath flashing in her eyes, then caught herself. ‘You’re right, you’re right.’ She rubbed her hands over her face and took a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry. Sometimes it all comes flooding back, and I start thinking I should have done this or that. It’s hard to accept that he had me bested. That I couldn’t save my friends.’
Corisand faced her, clasping her shoulders. ‘You did best him, my friend. He’s dead now, and you’re still alive. And you did save Avithan. Without you he would be dead. At least you’ve given him a chance. If that assassin was immune to Wizard magic - and that’s not a trait common to all Phaerie, as you saw when we fought the Forest Lord - then I doubt that your Archwizard himself could have done more.’ She smiled at Iriana. ‘Having seen you deal with Hellorin the first time he attacked us makes you warrior enough for me.’
Looking into Corisand’s sincere brown eyes, hearing her words of comfort and encouragement, Iriana felt the shadows of pain retreat a little, and the claws of grief slackened their harsh grip on her heart. Corisand had steadied her, and it was time to be moving on.
The cold was attacking them savagely now: it sapped their energy and drained their spirits; it numbed their limbs and slowed their movements; it chilled their blood and clouded their thoughts. Their toes and fingers stung and tingled. How long co
uld they sustain themselves under these conditions?
The further they went, the stronger the wind became and the deeper grew the chill. Iriana, shivering uncontrollably, kept her eyes fixed on the goal, willing herself towards the peak of ice and telling herself that every step was bringing her closer.
Then, in the blink of an eye, it vanished. The horizon turned grey and formless. Before they had time to take another breath, the blizzard was upon them. The air was filled with snow driven into their faces by the screaming wind: tiny knife-edged particles of ice that sliced into their skin, clogged their breathing and drove mercilessly into every chink and crevice in their clothing. With a curse, Iriana flung her powers forward, strengthening her shield in the teeth of the gale.