by Maggie Furey
Avithan shook his head and held up his hands as though to push her unwelcome words away. ‘But if a portal exists, surely there must be some way—’
Dael flinched as a horrible, banshee wail stabbed into his hearing. He awakened abruptly, with a naked blade at his throat. In the blue radiance of Iriana’s magelight, which was now flickering wildly like a fearfully beating heart, he saw a tall warrior standing over him with menace in his cold grey eyes. The Phaerie had come!
It was Melik who gave the alarm. The senses of the small predator were far more finely honed than those of his clumsy, two-legged companions. The sounds, the smells of the alien Phaerie, the feel of their magic, assaulted all his senses the moment they entered, jolting him out of sleep. His piercing wail of alarm woke the others as the intruders rushed into the cavern. One of the Phaerie struck at the cat with his sword, but his aim was hampered in the cramped and crowded area. Melik streaked across the cave towards the exit, found it blocked, and dodged behind Dael instead, where a narrow crevice in the rock provided him with a sanctuary, out of harm’s way.
Iriana, roused by his cry and the flash of bright panic from his mind, leapt to her feet but could see nothing but a forest of legs and booted feet, poised to kick and trample, followed by a glimpse of the small fissure, then darkness as the cat squeezed inside. Blinded, she hesitated to loose her magic lest she injure her companions. In that instant’s pause, she felt the sharp pain of a stunning blow to the side of her head, and crumpled into oblivion.
As Corisand woke, all the instincts of her other, equine shape overwhelmed her human body, bringing her to her feet almost before her eyes had opened and poising her to flee – or fight. The first thing she saw, amid the crowd of stinking, fierce-eyed Phaerie, was the fist, holding the hilt of a sword, that clubbed Iriana to the ground. The second was the sword at Dael’s throat. Then the intruders’ attention turned upon her. Corisand could sense their puzzlement; even pick up some of the muttering between them.
‘Who’s that?’
‘But we counted them in – just the Wizard and her human slave.’
‘Where did she come from?’
‘What’s that glowing thing around her neck?’
‘Can you feel that power?’
Their confusion gave her a single instant in which to act. Her assailants shrank back in alarm as she engaged the Othersight that was so necessary to her magic, and her eyes blazed with molten silver. Now, with her arcane vision, she could see that the air in the cavern was tinged red with hate and anger, laced with the vivid purple flashes, still superimposed, of fear and panic. Fuelled by so many people and emotions, the atmosphere throbbed and roiled, twisting and coiling like a living entity.
Perfect.
Corisand extended her powers, pulling the highly charged air towards her, intending to form a shield – but before she could do so one of the Phaerie, bolder than the rest, darted forward and snatched at the glowing Fialan. The thong broke with the violence of his tug, but he did not hold on to his prize, for the power of the Stone smote this stranger, and he cried out in agony and dropped it as though it were a red-hot ember. Dael, who had suddenly found himself ignored as all eyes had turned to Corisand, reached out his hand without thinking and caught it. He flinched, expecting to be burned like the Phaerie, but to his surprise the Stone seemed to accept him as a companion to Iriana, who had borne it briefly, and Corisand, its current bearer. Its power surged through him like an unfamiliar tide, and as its welcome sang in his mind, he knew for the first time that incredible feeling of euphoric power familiar to the wielders of magic.
At the same moment, Corisand got her shield into place at last. Honing the silvery barrier so that its boundaries burned like fire and bit like blades, she pushed it outwards, thrusting against the intruders; trying to force them out of the cave. For a moment, it seemed to be working. There was only room for four Phaerie in the inner chamber itself, though she had glimpsed a crowd of them in the passage outside, and so she concentrated upon the immediate threat. Taken utterly by surprise, the shocked Phaerie staggered backwards, shrinking away from this alien power, and Corisand’s heart leapt with glee as she struck her first blow against the ancient enemy of her people.
There was only one problem. Iriana lay outside the boundaries of her shield. Frantically the Windeye tried to push harder, to extend her barrier far enough and fast enough to protect her friend.
But the leader of the Phaerie, curse him, rallied his men. ‘Don’t touch the shield,’ he shouted. ‘Drive it back with our own magic. And get that Wizard out of here.’
Quickly forming his warriors into a phalanx, with himself at the apex to focus their conjoined powers, he pitted himself against her, his will like a dark wall of adamant, pushing, grinding at her bright barrier. Corisand tried to drive it back with all her might, until she could feel sweat breaking out on her brow and running down her face. Desperately she tried to push against the Phaerie, trying to extend her shield far enough to protect Iriana, but it was no good. From where she was standing she could reach Dael, but to her horror, the intruders had already laid hold of the unconscious Wizard, and were dragging her out into the passage. Corisand could not save her. Without the Fialan to draw on, she had to rely on her own power, and strong though that was, she was badly outnumbered. Her legs were trembling, and she could feel herself beginning to tire.
The shield inched back towards her a little way. Grimly, she gritted her teeth and summoned the last shreds of her strength to stretch it out again – but she could not hold out for long. Once more, her circle of defence began to shrink, creeping slowly but inexorably back towards her, and she had nothing left to stop it. All she could do was try to hold on for as long as possible; to postpone the inevitable a little longer. Maybe Iriana would regain consciousness in time to come to her aid . . .
In her heart, Corisand knew the Wizard could not. The Phaerie leader flashed her a feral, triumphant grin. He was enjoying the contest now. He might not know who or what she was, but he knew he had her.
From his prone position on the floor of the cave, Dael could feel the tides of power swinging back and forth between the Windeye and her protagonists. The two conflicting waves of arcane energy, Xandim and Phaerie, each held a wealth of differing sensations: Corisand’s spell was cool, vibrant, tingling; open and expansive as the sky and the mountains; singing like the wind in the treetops and tasting of the fresh dawn air. The Phaerie magic, on the other hand, was dark and ancient, feeling like caves and secrets hidden long within the earth, as crushing and grinding as the slow, inexorable movement of continents. It growled and muttered like some primeval monster lurking deep within its lair, and tasted of earth and the sour, metallic tang of damp stone.
Dael realised that the Fialan, clutched tightly to his breast, was connecting him with these impressions. Somehow he was experiencing the magical battle in the same way as the Stone itself. Though he could hear no actual voice it was communing with him somehow, letting him feel what it felt. He suddenly realised that it was doing more than just attuning itself to the waves of power: it was absorbing them, adding them to all the energies it already held.
Then he saw the Windeye stagger and sway, and all at once his consciousness returned to the here and now: to his own dire plight, and that of his friends. The tide was pouring through him the wrong way now. Corisand was losing. Panic writhed within him. If the Phaerie should capture them . . . ‘Help me,’ he begged the Stone. ‘Please, help me.’
The Fialan’s response sang through him as its power flared, and suddenly it was in his mind, and he knew, without being told in words, exactly what he needed to do. He could not risk breaking the Windeye’s concentration by giving her the Stone. That left only one option. Dael inched his way across the floor, keeping low, not drawing attention to himself, until he reached Corisand. Then reaching up he took her hand, acting as a living conduit between her magic and the power of the Stone.
Exquisite agony flared throughout his bo
dy as the magic consumed him, a vast, inexorable torrent that threatened to overwhelm the fragile vessel that channelled it. He felt as if he was on fire, entombed in ice, pierced over and over by a million knives. It flayed his frail human flesh until his spirit stood exposed: terrified, desperate, resolute – and invincible.
Dael could feel Corisand beginning to rally as the fresh energy poured into her. Slowly, step by step, the Phaerie were being driven back, and the gloating grin vanished from the face of their leader as his spell began to crumble beneath the onslaught of the Fialan’s power. Her face ablaze with triumph, Corisand drove her brightening shield at her enemies and began to push them slowly back out of the cavern, crowding them into the tunnel beyond. Their horses were on the other side of the ravine. There was an almost sheer drop from the cave mouth to the river and rocks below. They had nowhere left to go.
Dael’s spirits rose. Outnumbered though they were, it looked as though they might win after all. He’d begun to hope too soon. Suddenly the leader of the Phaerie reappeared in the cavern entrance, the cocky, feral grin back in place. ‘You think you have us?’
‘It looks that way to me.’ Corisand replied evenly.
‘And what of your friend, the Wizard? We have her – or had you forgotten? Lower your shield now and surrender to us, or we will cut her throat.’
19
~
GUARDIAN OF THE PORTAL
The Phaerie’s words pierced the Windeye’s shield as no magic could. She thought of Iriana, alone, blind and terrified, at the mercy of the enemy, and with a sick, sinking feeling in her stomach, realised that there was no hope for her friend. Even if she dropped her shield, the enemy would not release the Wizard. They would simply have three captives instead of one, and the Stone of Fate besides. Surrendering now, for Iriana’s sake, would get everyone killed. But how could she live the rest of her life with the knowledge that she’d abandoned the closest of friends, the best of companions? Iriana had given the Windeye the Fialan. Without her, Corisand would never have won the Stone, and all would have been lost.
At that moment, the dreadful truth hit her. She could not think of friendship now, for guardianship of the Fialan had conferred a far greater responsibility upon her. All would be lost if the Phaerie took the Fialan and used it to bring Hellorin back – not only for the Xandim, but for the Magefolk too, and even the lowly mortal race. Wielding the power of the Stone of Fate, the Forest Lord could bestride the entire world.
She could not help Iriana.
She glanced away from the Phaerie, and down at Dael. ‘I can’t do it,’ she said softly. ‘Dael, I can’t drop the shield, no matter what they do.’
She saw her own horror and dismay reflected in his face. ‘No, Corisand! You can’t just let them kill her.’
‘How can I let them have the Stone of Fate? You know I dare not give it over into Phaerie hands – not without a fight.’
Corisand felt the Fialan’s energy waver as Dael shrank from taking responsibility for the Wizard’s death. ‘Stop that!’ she hissed. ‘Stand firm, or you’ll get us all killed.’
‘I will not wait here all day,’ the Phaerie snarled. ‘Capitulate now – or your friend’s blood will be on your hands.’
Corisand clenched her teeth, determined to prevent her emotions from showing on her face. ‘I will not.’
‘So be it then.’ He shrugged, then suddenly that smug grin – oh, how Corisand was beginning to hate it – was back on his face. ‘I lied about your friend, of course. Already she is being taken back to Eliorand where she will be questioned until every detail of this evil Wizardly plot is wrenched from her. Then—’
‘Plot? What Wizardly plot?’ the Windeye demanded in astonishment.
‘Did you think we were unaware of your plans? The Lady Tiolani has told us everything.’
So that accursed Tiolani had betrayed them! Corisand threw all the power of her anger into her shields, desperate to drive these Phaerie out. She must escape, and try to get help to Iriana. But her anxiety gnawed at her concentration, and it seemed harder than ever to force her shield against the Phaerie defences and push them back. This was no good! She must think of another spell, a killing spell, one that she could perform in the eyeblink between dropping her shield and the inevitable attack by the enemy as soon as she did.
She had never used her magic to kill before.
‘Help me, Dael,’ she hissed. ‘You heard him. Now our only chance of saving Iriana is to escape from here and get rid of as many of the enemy as possible. Don’t falter now! Everything depends on you.’
He tried: she could feel the effort he was making, and see it on his face when she dared glance away from her foe. Nevertheless, Corisand could feel Dael weakening. The strains of carrying such a burden of powerful magic were far too great for a fragile mortal frame. His body had taken on a strange aura of energy, a form of translucence, as though he were drifting out of the world. His eyes seemed unfocused, fixed on some far-away vision, and the hand that held the Fialan had begun to tremble. ‘What’s happening, Dael? What are you seeing? Please, hold on a little longer – for all our sakes.’
Dael gasped for breath as his heart raced and laboured in his chest. The power of the Stone was consuming him now, taking him over, sending spasms of pain, pulses of heat, shocks of searing cold throughout his body. Corisand, the cavern, the enemy, all faded away as his vision was obscured by a blinding emerald light. There was no way, now, that he could let go of the Fialan. It had consumed him; taken him over. He could feel it hollowing him out: soon there would be nothing left but a crumbling shell with a core of incandescent magic.
Am I dying?
Is this what it’s like?
Dael forgot his companions, forgot his peril. If he were truly dying he wished, oh how he wished, that he could look upon his beloved Athina once more, so that her kindly, lovely, otherworldly face would be the last thing he saw.
All at once the blazing radiance of the Fialan dimmed and Dael’s vision grew dark. He felt the Stone roll from his limp fingers, and a further wave of weakness swept over him, coupled with a terrible, wrenching sense of loss. He seemed to lose all hold upon himself: his memory, his identity, his emotions vanished, and his last thought, as consciousness left him, was baffled anger that the Stone, which had been helping to save him and his friends, had killed him instead. Then he was falling away from the world – or the world was falling away from him . . .
With no idea how he had come to be there, Dael found himself standing in front of a massive, carven door so silvered and weathered by time that it was impossible to tell whether it was formed from wood or some ancient stone. He blinked, shaking his head. What in all Creation had happened to him? Last thing he remembered, he’d been in the cave, with Corisand, dying . . . Curious, he put out a hand, and as he touched the door it swung open, away from him, inviting him to enter the shadowy space beyond. All around him was a dim and formless void. There was nowhere else to go. Moving like a sleepwalker, compelled by something – he knew not what – Dael stepped through the eternal doorway, and the door swung slowly shut behind him.
For a moment he was in utter darkness but, strangely, he found himself devoid of fear – in fact, cleansed of all emotions save a faint, stirring curiosity to find out what lay beyond. He took a single step forward and, as if triggered by his movement, a faint light grew around him. Looking round, he found himself in a narrow cutting, with steep, rocky banks overgrown with moss and fern rising up past head height on either side. Overhead the sky was black and starless; the only light came from a glimmering, silvery mist that swirled and flowed along the ground, hiding his feet and the path on which he stood. The air was chill and heavy, laden with fine droplets of water that prickled against his shivering skin.
Dael took a tentative step forward: had he imagined it, or had the faint gleam of the mist brightened, just a little? He took another, experimental stride, and the radiance responded, growing slightly stronger once more. Intrigued now, he
tried a backward step – and the light went out completely, plunging him into utter blackness.
All right then: something in this place wanted him to go onward, and unless he wanted to stay here for ever, he had better do just that.
He had the oddest conviction that time had ceased to exist for him as soon as he’d walked through those mysterious doors. With a flash of panic he realised that he was no longer breathing, and the absence of his heartbeat seemed an echoing void, for he had been accustomed to hearing it since he had lain in his mother’s womb. Strangely, the fear vanished very quickly, as though it had been nothing but a reflex left over from his former existence, an old habit that had outlived its use. A fatalistic calm seeped through him: he ceased to worry about his companions’ problems and perils, about the fate of the Fialan, about any danger to himself. The only thing he could still feel, the one overwhelming emotion that he refused to let go, no matter what, was the everlasting love he felt for the Cailleach. ‘Athina, help me,’ he whispered, though he knew full well that she had been trapped in her own realm and could not come to him. Her very name, however, seemed to warm his heart, and drive him onward to meet his fate.
As he went on, he found that the levels of the high rock walls on either side were gradually dropping and the path was opening out, until finally he found himself standing in a landscape of gently rolling hills. In the distance he saw a bright and twinkling spark of light, which came closer and closer to reveal itself at last as a lantern held in the hand of a strange, bearded figure, stooped as if with age and leaning on a tall, gnarled staff as he walked along. He was shrouded in a dark grey cloak, and his features were hidden in the shadows of a deep, cowled hood. The mysterious apparition stopped in front of Dael. He did not speak, but simply gestured for the young man to follow, then turned and began to walk back the way he had come.
There was no choice but to obey: Dael found his feet beginning to move of their own accord, and reluctantly he stumbled after the sinister being, drawn on by some unbreakable compulsion to an unknown destiny.
