‘I don’t think I’ll ever be ready for something as dangerous as this, but I’m not going to let that stop me.’ Briefly, Iriana clasped the Windeye’s hand. ‘Go on, Corisand - and make it a good one.’
The Windeye concentrated, letting her Othersight flood through her like a wave of cool, liquid silver. When she was ready, she began to gather the winds. More she took, and more: more than she had ever handled before. She took her time - there would be only one chance to get this right - and never for an instant let her concentration waver. Such a huge mass of air was difficult to contain and control, but the challenge filled her with a heady delight. She might not have had the Academy, but even on her own, newly-fledged into her powers, she was good.
When she had gathered enough, she began to spin.
Not a shadow-cloak this time; not a mirror of seeing. Instead she spun an illusion, throwing all her heart and soul into the pure joy of creation.
Out of the sea he rose: the gargantuan, fearsome form of the Phaerie Lord, his grey eyes flashing, his dark hair flying wild and his face ablaze with savage purpose. He wielded a gigantic, glittering blade. ‘Come out, Ghabal.’ The thunder of his voice was deafening. ‘Come out and fight. Too long have you skulked and festered like a coward in your diamond fastness. You are sickly, weak and puny, beneath contempt, and no fit guardian of the Fialan. It should belong to me, as it did once before. When I have finished you, it will belong to me again. Come out and fight me if you dare, you craven, grovelling fool.’
An enraged bellow tore the air asunder, and Corisand felt the pain of it pierce her head like knives. Then suddenly Ghabal was there: hulking, titanic, misshapen and dark, his giant body contorted like an ancient oak; his brutish features twisted by madness. He wielded a giant, double-headed axe that was vast enough to sever continents. Its blade left a visible trail of dark power behind it, like oily black smoke, as it clove the air.
‘You challenge me? You, take the Fialan? Who is the mad one here, Hellorin?’ The harsh, atonal cackle of his laugh screeched across the Windeye’s nerves. She glanced across at Iriana who stood watching, her face tense with concentration. ‘Now,’ she urged silently. ‘Do it now, Iriana. What are you waiting for?’
The Wizard held up a hand to silence her, still watching Ghabal like a hawk. ‘You dare not touch me.’ Corisand spat out Hellorin’s words with contempt. ‘Ugly, foul and craven - the world will be better off without you.’ She made her illusion lift his sword, knowing full well that to try to use it would expose the ruse. With another roar of rage the Moldan swung his axe back to strike - and froze there, trapped in a gigantic, glittering crystal that caught the light and splintered it into rainbow sparks.
Iriana staggered and fell to her knees, her forehead beaded with sweat. ‘It’s amazing what you can do with magic here,’ she panted. ‘There’s so much power available - I could never have done that at home.’ She grinned weakly. ‘My diamond is much prettier than his, don’t you think?’
‘Come on.’ The Windeye tugged frantically at her arm. ‘We’ve got to hurry. I can see how much it’s taking out of you to sustain that barrier. We have to get in there and out again with the Stone before Ghabal escapes.’
‘Oh, so you want to jump into the water now?’
‘Just get on with it, confound you.’ Corisand lowered herself carefully into the sea, cursing roundly in fractured gasps as the cold struck home. As Iriana entered the water, she took a mighty breath and held it as the Wizard pulled her under. It was one of the hardest things she’d ever done, to make herself relax and go limp, and let her companion tow her. Though as a horse she had instinctively known how to swim, and the water held no fears for her, she had no idea how to manage it in this form.
Down, down they went into the frigid blue depths. ‘Hurry, hurry,’ Corisand chanted over and over in mindspeech, her body filled with the ghastly tension of a desperate need to breathe. Her heart was thundering in her ears and every fibre of her being was urging her to let go and fill her lungs as Iriana pulled her into the tunnel - and just as her tortured body could hold out no longer, they cleared the surface of the water. She took a great, wheezing gasp of air and a little water, and clung to the side of the pool as she spluttered and coughed.
When they had both caught their breath, it was Corisand who emerged first and pulled Iriana out after her. The immense strain of maintaining Ghabal’s diamond prison was clearly telling on the Wizard: she looked drawn and exhausted, and her face had a greyish tinge. There was no time to rest, the Windeye knew. No time to delay. ‘Come on.’ She put a supporting arm around the Wizard and linked minds, trying with all her might to send strength and energy to her friend. ‘Lean on your staff, and I’ll help you.’
The energy transfer seemed to be working, a little. The horrible grey pallor left Iriana’s face as she tugged her roughly carved staff from her belt and took a deep breath. ‘Let’s go, then.’ She grasped the Windeye’s arm in silent thanks. Hobbling like two old crones, they crossed the cavern and entered the tunnel on the other side - only to be met by a baffling labyrinth of passages, twisting and crossing and running in all directions.
‘Oh, pox!’ Iriana, her strength worn down by the burden she was carrying, sounded close to tears.
Corisand, on the other hand, suddenly felt deeply calm. Her Othersight, much more advanced than that of the Wizard, could sense the Fialan’s energy beating against her like a ray of sunlight. Suddenly everything fell into place. ‘These tunnels don’t mean anything. The Moldan put them here to baffle intruders. Only one goes anywhere.’
‘Yes, but which?’
‘I know.’ The Windeye smiled. ‘I can feel the Fialan calling. It will tell me where to go. Close your eyes, Iriana. Don’t look at the tunnels - they’ll only confuse you. Let me guide you and we’ll find the way.’
In accordance with these instructions, Corisand closed her own eyes and took a firm grip on the Wizard’s arm. The energy trail was clear in her mind’s eye, glittering like a million emeralds, leading right back to its source - the Stone of Fate. Confidently, the Windeye took the first step forward.
‘Not long now,’ the Stone seemed to be singing. ‘Not long.’
They groped their way into the heart of the fastness, with the song of the Fialan growing louder with every step, until Iriana could hear it too. But Corisand was worried about her friend. Though faint light filtered through the crystal walls from outside, and the going was smooth and unobstructed, the strain was telling badly on the Wizard. Her breathing sounded laboured, her steps were dragging and her hand on the Windeye’s arm had begun to tremble. How much longer would she last? How much longer could her barrier hold? They were caught in a deadly race against time now. Only too well did she recall the Moldan’s power from their first encounter. If he should free himself before they took the Stone, they were finished.
‘Iriana - can you try to go a little faster? We’re almost there. We don’t have far to go,’ she coaxed. The Wizard nodded - the barest movement of her head - then clenched her jaw and kept on going.
And all the time, the siren lure of the Fialan was growing. Suddenly it soared into a joyous paean as they emerged into a monstrous cavern: the mountain’s hollow heart.
This was the lair of Ghabal: empty, vast and soulless. Down through the long ages he had dwelt here, tortured and in agony, lost in a nightmare world of pain and torment since Hellorin’s betrayal. Corisand felt a stab of pity, as she had when they first met. Firmly, she forced it down. He was insane, and dangerous, and wielded unthinkable power. Given the fraction of a chance, he would crush her like a fly.
Then she saw the Stone, and all thoughts of the Moldan fell away.
It floated high above them, suspended by some kind of spell: a crystal of brilliant emerald light that shot spars of radiance all around the chamber. It was incredibly small to hold such astonishing power - about the size of a circled finger and thumb - but the magic blazed forth from it, and she could feel it yearning, waiting,
wanting to be claimed and freed. Corisand looked at Iriana. The Wizard’s eyes were wide and filled with a dazzling joy, and she realised that the same expression of longing must be on her own face.
But only one of them could wield the Stone.
I should have it. I found it. I came to the Elsewhere first - had it not been for me, Iriana would never have been here at all. It’ll save my people. I need it. I want it.
It should be mine.
But even as these thoughts streamed through her mind, the truth was staring her in the face. She took a deep breath and turned to Iriana, dragging her eyes from the glorious Stone. ‘Take it - it’s yours.’
The Wizard gasped. ‘But Corisand, you need it—’
‘I know I do. I know. But don’t you see it has to be this way? When we go back to our world I‘ll be a horse again. I won’t be able to wield it then.’
‘But you won’t be a horse.’ Iriana took hold of her hands. ‘Corisand, don’t you see? You can use the Fialan to keep your shape when you go back through. Then you’ll be back in our world with your powers intact, and we can find a way to free your people.’
The Windeye swallowed hard. ‘We?’
‘Well, you didn’t think I was just going to abandon you when we got back, and go on my merry way? You’re my friend, you idiot. We’re in this together.’
‘And there never was a truer friend.’ Corisand’s voice was unsteady. ‘I’ll make you a promise, Iriana, here and now, on the Fialan itself. Once my people have been freed, I’ll pass the Stone on to you. It will have done its work for me. You can use it to help your people too.’
‘Done.’ The Wizard’s smile was dazzling. ‘Here.’ She thrust her staff into the Windeye’s unready hands. ‘You’ll need this to focus your magic when you call the Stone. Its power is so vast, you’ll need a conduit to handle all the energy.’
‘But - it’s your staff.’
‘I never liked the accursed thing anyway. Unfortunately it’s attuned to me, but not too strongly, because I so rarely used it. You should be able to manage.’ Iriana gasped and turned pale, as if she had been stabbed. ‘Go on, why don’t you? Hurry. Ghabal has sensed that the Fialan is under threat. I can’t hold him back much longer.’
The Windeye willed herself steady as she grasped the staff in both hands and raised it high to focus on the Fialan. She summoned the Stone: longing, yearning, putting all her power and will and hope into that call. She felt a leap of response in the Fialan, a flare of magic, and—
‘Why in Perdition are you giving it to her?’
The voice cut across her concentration, severing her link. She heard a strangled cry from Iriana and swung around with an oath on her lips - just in time to see the Wizard, her face transfigured with joy, throw herself into the arms of Avithan.
Corisand’s first thought was sheer, stunned disbelief; her second was for the Moldan. ‘Iriana, your shield!’ she cried. ‘Don’t forget your shield—’ But even as the words left her mouth, she felt the earth shake under her feet and knew it was too late.
Whirling, she flung all her energy at the Fialan, willing it to her with every last scrap of her strength. The staff quivered in her hands, then twisted, writhed and changed its form. The rough, uneven shaft became smoothly polished wood, with the sinuous carven shapes of twin serpents twining all around it. The Fialan sprang from its high place and floated down towards the staff, and to Corisand’s utter shock, the snakes reared up their heads and caught the crystal between them, in their jaws.
Power smashed down the Windeye’s arm like a hammer blow, filling her body with what felt like the heart of the sun. Struggling to contain the energy, she felt herself growing; towering over Avithan and Iriana like a colossus with the magic crackling and sparking around her in an aureole.
Avithan cursed. ‘Be careful,’ he yelled. ‘Athina sent me to warn you—’
Before he could finish, the Moldan stepped through the wall and into the vast chamber. ‘No! The Stone is mine. It will be mine FOREVER.’ With a roar of rage he turned on Corisand, raising the gargantuan axe - but some power of the Fialan seemed to hold him back. Instead he turned like a striking snake and snatched up Iriana in one massive hand.
Time stuttered to a standstill in an instant of frozen horror . . . Then the Moldan laughed. ‘Give me back the Stone,’ he said. ‘Give it to me now - or I will crush your little friend to a bloody pulp.’
‘No!’ the cry came from Avithan, far below. He unleashed a mighty blast of magic - but to Ghabal, it must have felt like little more than a bee-sting. Contemptuously, he kicked the Wizard aside. Avithan smashed into the wall of the chamber - and vanished.
A wail of anguish came from Iriana, and Corisand felt the burning force of her rage all the way across the cavern as she unleashed her will. The Moldan’s hand holding the Wizard burst into flame, and with a cry he dropped her to the ground. She lay, unmoving, but her wildfire was still spreading, devouring his arm and shoulder and gnawing at his body.
Bellowing with pain and anger, he staggered towards Corisand, swinging his burning arm at her like a club. She raised her staff and flung a bolt of energy at him from the Stone, but she had not yet learned how to wield it, and it came out unfocused, and too weak to stop him. He staggered back a step or two, then came at her again, raising the deadly axe.
‘Please,’ Corisand begged the Stone. ‘Please help me.’ Another bolt of energy shot forth, but Ghabal was powerful and ancient, and still he kept on coming.
She should go. Escape back to her own world - the Fialan knew the way - but Corisand would not leave Iriana, and the Moldan stood between her and her friend. She dodged aside as the axe came down, missing her by a hair’s breadth, but he was inexorably backing her towards the wall, and she was running out of room to escape him. Though he was engulfed in flame now, and shrieking in agony, he showed no sign of stopping. If he struck again—
‘Curse you all, the Stone is MINE!’ Hellorin, the Forest Lord, stepped through the wall of the fastness as easily as Ghabal had done. He too had grown to a gigantic size, and looked at the Windeye with contempt as he flung a bolt of dark energy at the Moldan that knocked him back against the wall. ‘I owe you my thanks, Xandim.’ His voice was mocking. ‘In taking the Fialan from this fool, you opened the way for me to enter his fastness. You really have done me a great favour. You and your little Wizard friend have weakened him enough to make him easy game. And after I have finished with him, I will deal with you.’
He turned back to the screaming fireball that was the Moldan - but in succumbing to the irresistible urge to taunt the Windeye, he had delayed too long. Ghabal launched himself at the Forest Lord, and as the two of them grappled, the fire spread to Hellorin . . .
Corisand took her chance. Diving past them, she shrank down to her normal size. Darting to where Iriana lay, she grasped the Wizard’s hand firmly in her own and called on the powers of the Fialan. ‘Now. You know the way. Please take us home.’
She was snatched up in a whirlwind of green power, the energy of the Stone, with Iriana at her side. Suddenly Iriana’s hand tightened in hers and her urgent thought filled the Windeye’s mind. ‘Your shape. Hold on to your human shape.’
It was difficult - she could feel her body wanting to morph back into the form of a horse - but Iriana, weak and injured as she was, added power of her own.
The shape held firm.
The spinning vortex set them down.
They were back in their own world, where they had started, on the lakeshore next to Athina’s island. And gripped tightly in the Windeye’s hand, the Stone of Fate, on its serpent staff, coruscated with a fierce and joyous energy, and sang a song of celebration of its own. Long ages ago it had been imprisoned by the Moldan. Now it was free, with a new keeper in a whole new world. The possibilities were endless.
EPILOGUE
Athina, with the shimmering ghostly shape of Avithan’s consciousness by her side, looked into the Timeless Lake and saw the two friends, Windeye a
nd Wizard, sitting in the kitchen of the Cailleach’s tower. Dael, his face beaming at their safe return, was cooking them a gargantuan meal. They both looked bedraggled and exhausted, and though Iriana had already worked some healing magic on herself, her bruises would take a while to fade.
Nonetheless, they seemed content. Iriana, blind once more, was cradling Melik on her lap, while Corisand held the precious Fialan and its staff.
‘Athina must have snatched him safely back,’ Iriana was saying. ‘We Wizards can feel the death of another, especially if it’s someone we’re close to. I know he’s still alive. And one day I’m going to find him.’ She blushed a little. ‘There in the cavern - he said he loved me.’
‘I hope she does find a way back to me.’ Avithan’s ghostly face creased in a smile. ‘I do love her, you know.’
‘I wouldn’t put anything past that one,’ the Cailleach replied. ‘In the meantime, I will keep working on a way to free your body from the time spell.’ She sighed. ‘Will I never learn? Every time I try to help, it ruins everything. It was the shock of seeing you that broke Iriana’s hold upon the Moldan. Were it not for those two valiant, determined souls, the whole thing would have ended very badly.’