by Maggie Furey
‘What? That bloody idiot!’ Fear lodged in her gut like a dagger of ice. Having been parted from her beloved foster brother for so long, was she to lose him already? With a wrenching effort, Iriana forced herself to put him out of her mind. ‘Rosina?’
‘I’m here.’ The pretty roan mare came forward and turned into the slender, red-haired girl who was equally lovely.
‘Take Melik and make sure he stays safe.’ Iriana scooped up the basket that Yinze had left on the ground, and put it into Rosina’s arms. ‘Get back to a sheltered place away from the fighting with Aelwen and the others. Kea, Crombec, will you call your bearers to help the injured in the city? When Corisand and I attack the Moldan, use any Air spells you have that might help distract him – but if his attention swings towards you, stop at once. Taine, will you come with me and be my eyes?’
‘Of course I will.’
Aelwen opened her mouth to protest, then closed it again at the savage expression on Taine’s face.
‘No heroics, any of you,’ Iriana warned them. ‘Corisand and I can do this. You can’t. We’re attuned to the Fialan and we’ve fought Ghabal before. Now everybody stop wasting time and get into position.’
‘That told them,’ Corisand said, as she took Taine and Iriana, two up, to a place near the north-western curve of the city wall and dropped them off. ‘Good luck, Iriana, and take your own advice. Stay safe.’
‘You too.’ Iriana hugged her friend’s arching grey neck, and the Windeye sped away to get into her own place on the other side of Sharalind’s beleaguered forces, and change shape. Iriana had helped to save her people. Now she would return the favour.
34
~
VENGEANCE OF THE MOLDAN
Already the army’s attack had backfired. Ghabal let out an earth-shattering roar and took a great step forward, away from the uncertain ground. His next step would bring his foot down on Sharalind’s army, stamping them out like ants. The Wizards scattered. Some escaped, others were trampled by their fellows, but a number vanished beneath the Moldan’s colossal foot, and another wave of death-agony hit the survivors. Before the next footfall came crashing down, Warriors tried to run – or, if they had kept their heads, apport – out of danger. It was a rout, a shambles, a charnel house, and the survivors were being buffeted, over and over, by the psychic shock of their comrades’ deaths.
The mortal component of Sharalind’s forces were even less fortunate. They could not apport out of the way, or run fast or far enough to escape the Moldan’s trampling feet. Aelwen, riding the hovering Asharal who had agreed to convey her in Taryn’s absence, was about to pull back with the Xandim when she saw the horrifying carnage taking place. She had been told to stay with the Xandim and get them to safety – but who in blazes did Iriana think she was, giving orders as if she had some kind of right?
Aelwen looked at Taryn, who had retained his human form but was now riding another of the Xandim. ‘Taryn, we can’t let this happen. Please ask your people if they’ll help.’
‘But Iriana told us to get them back to safety.’
‘Who put Iriana in charge? I’m not going to obey her orders, and neither should you. The Xandim are free now – or are you?’ Aelwen goaded.
Taryn, though he looked reluctant, nodded. He turned back to the herd of Xandim and called out in mindspeech. ‘Please, if you will, help to rescue these people. Soon they will be our allies. Only those who are willing, or able, may do this, and there is no compulsion on any of you. You are free people now, and you must choose.’
Though some – the young and old and a handful of others – hung back, most of the remainder rallied at his call. Glimmering with the flying spell they came swooping down from the heavens to pick up the stricken warriors, Wizard and Mortal alike, bearing them to safety in the hilly area north of the city.
Suddenly Aelwen heard a well-loved voice, and looked down. Her heart almost stopped as she glimpsed a familiar face in the thick of the crowd, far too close to the mad giant. ‘Asharal, quick – it’s Kelon,’ she shrieked, and the stallion took her down at breakneck speed.
Even as she descended, it happened. One of the Wizards’ vines, thick as a tree trunk, came erupting out of the ground within feet of her old friend, in an explosion of dirt and stones. One of the rocks struck Kelon, and she saw him fall beneath the feet of the stampeding troops.
Aelwen acted without thinking. Kelon was in peril and she had to save him. But she, who had never even taken part in a Wild Hunt, could never have guessed how terrifying it could be in the thick of a battle, with dust blinding her and getting in her nose and throat so that she choked and wheezed. The gargantuan figure of the Moldan towered above her, far more huge and dreadful than anything she could ever have imagined, casting a thick black shadow. There were people, wild with terror, pushing at her on all sides.
Once they saw the horse, her fate was sealed. Everyone saw a faster way to escape the horror, and everyone wanted to take it. Asharal struck out with hooves and teeth, and Aelwen threw a hasty shield around them while frantically scanning the ground for Kelon. He couldn’t be far, she knew. Asharal had landed almost exactly where they had seen him go down.
Suddenly there he was – just a glimpse – an outflung arm, a shoulder, a face turned half into the mud. Straining with all her might, Aelwen extended her shield in his direction until she had used it to literally push the panicking mob aside. She did not dare look up, but she could hear that the Moldan was coming closer, his heavy footfalls making the earth jump and shake beneath her. Even as she leapt from Asharal’s back she could feel the Xandim trembling, his newly discovered human intelligence at war with the equine instinct to flee the danger, far and fast. ‘Stay with me,’ she begged him. ‘Hold on just a little longer.’
Kelon was barely conscious. He mumbled and let out a groan when she tried to wake him, but his eyes wandered, unfocused, across her face. What injuries had his body taken from those trampling feet? What more damage would she do by moving him? But there was no choice. She had to take the chance. Aelwen was very strong from a lifetime of handling horses, but she couldn’t lift the weight of an unconscious man. ‘Kelon,’ she shouted, slapping his face. ‘Wake up! You’ve got to help me get you out of here.’
She still wasn’t sure that he recognised her, but somehow the slaps and frantic shouts drove the message home. Even though she was taking most of his weight, his effort was enough to get him unsteadily to his feet. Somehow she managed to get him onto the stallion’s back, though he’d screamed with pain as she’d heaved at him, and she felt as if she had wrenched every muscle in her body.
With one last effort, Aelwen got up behind Kelon’s swaying form and held him tightly around the waist to steady him. ‘Now,’ she shouted, and let her shield fall. Asharal leapt upwards, pushing off hard from the ground to climb high and fast, even as Ghabal’s massive foot came down in the midst of the mortal conscripts, right where Kelon had been standing.
They weren’t out of danger, and who knew how grave Kelon’s injuries might be, yet Aelwen, even in the midst of all the terror, the death and devastation, felt her spirits lift. With Kelon perched in front of her, with her arms around him tightly, she felt her world, which had been tilting, sliding, out of her control, settle back onto an even keel. For the first time it came home to her how much she had missed him; always at her side, faithful, steady and sure. She had been so accustomed to his loyalty, his unquestioning support, his unspoken love for her, that she had barely noticed them until they had been taken away from her, but she had come to miss them dreadfully since the day she and Kelon had parted so bitterly.
Iriana took Taine’s hand. ‘You ready? I’m going to match us to his size, so hold on tight.’
‘Always.’
Corisand had taken human form and Iriana could see her growing, and beginning to tower over the city, away on the other side of Ghabal and the beleaguered army. Her eyes had taken on an uncanny silver glow as she used her Othersight to spin a s
hield around herself. Iriana did the same, combining her powers of Earth and Air to form a translucent, adamantine shield around herself and Taine, who was growing alongside her.
The Wizard magnified her voice to match the bellowing of her ancient enemy. ‘Is this what you’re looking for?’
‘You!’ Ghabal bellowed. ‘I will crush you, little insect.’
Iriana laughed scornfully. ‘Didn’t you learn your lesson in the Elsewhere? We defeated you then; we can do it again.’
‘Ah, but this time there is no Hellorin to interfere, or the meddling Evanesar to come to your aid. In this world, I will rule!’ He left the remnants of the Wizard army and lumbered towards her, the giant axe lifted high.
Iriana let him get almost within reach of her, and apported the Stone across into Corisand’s waiting hand. The Windeye lifted the Fialan aloft, and it blazed into blinding brilliance in her hand. ‘Hey, Ugly! Look what I’ve got!’
With a howl of frustration the Moldan left the Wizard and lumbered towards Corisand. Iriana looked at the northern gates of Tyrineld, to reassure herself that the remnants of the army had fled to safety, and to her horror saw the last of them disappearing into the city, rather than away from it, as she had planned.
It’s my own fault. I never thought to tell them the plan. But may providence help Tyrineld if they decide to attack again.
She let the Moldan get almost within reach of Corisand, who had thickened the air between them to slow his progress, then shouted in her loudest voice: ‘Over here, stupid. Remember me?’ and launched a searing fireball at him. She had the satisfaction of seeing him flinch, and dodge clumsily out of its path. Clearly he did remember her – and what she had done to him last time. Quickly she hurled another flaming missile, trying to steer him away from both Corisand and the city. The first one had startled him and his response had been pure reflex – but this time she had lost the advantage of surprise. Since their last meeting, the rogue Evanesar Katmai had clearly been teaching him a few new tricks. Almost contemptuously he flicked the fireball aside with one great hand.
Suddenly there came a shrill cry of challenge from Iriana’s right, from within the city itself.
‘Monster. Fiend. Foul creature of dirt and stone. Leave my city. Begone!’
There stood Sharalind, towering as tall as Iriana and Corisand, flanked by Avithan and Omaira, head of the Warrior Luen, who were standing behind her shoulders. Beyond them was a phalanx of warriors, all grown to the same gargantuan proportions.
A chill ran through Iriana. ‘Stinking bat turds,’ she snarled to Taine. ‘Just when we’d distracted his attention away from the bloody city!’
The Wizards began striking at the Moldan with all the Earth magic they could muster, focused this time through Sharalind at the head of the phalanx, but if they thought this method would be more effective, they were sorely mistaken. They hurled missiles that shattered against Ghabal’s stony hide, and their strangling vines slowed him hardly at all. Turning away from Corisand he ploughed back into Tyrineld, crushing, shattering, killing, grinding everything beneath his feet into dust. As he moved towards Sharalind and her diminished band, he raised his gigantic axe with its deadly trail of oily black shadow that followed the path of the blade.
Suddenly Iriana saw Yinze, his harp in his arms and playing feverishly, rise up on a pillar of air to the height of the enlarged Avithan. She could not hear what he was saying, but she could see from his expression that he was begging his friend not to do this. Avithan, his white face grim and set, would not even look him, but swatted him away as though he were a fly. Yinze went spinning through the air, out of control and falling. Iriana caught her breath – she was too far away to help, but suddenly Kea came soaring up from below. Her wings working furiously, she caught and steadied Yinze, giving him an instant to collect himself and start to play again. Once more he was supported in the sky, but too far away now to be any help to Avithan.
‘All together,’ Sharalind shouted. ‘Now!’
Time seemed to freeze for Iriana as the scenario and its inevitable result flashed through her mind. It would be a petrifaction spell – that was all they had left – and on a Moldan that wouldn’t work.
‘No!’ she cried, even though she knew that she was too late to stop them. The Wizards cast their spell – the focus was so intense that she could see the magic sizzling through the air – and nothing happened. Ghabal continued his inexorable advance. The sinister axe swept down upon the helpless Wizard forces – and Iriana sent forth a blunted missile of air that she’d learned from Corisand, straight at Avithan. It knocked him back, away, and off his feet. As he fell his concentration broke. He shrank to normal size and was lost somewhere among the buildings as the Moldan’s axe mowed down his mother and the pitiful, valiant remnants of her army in a single stroke.
Ghabal laughed and looked around at the destruction he had wrought, baring his teeth in a menacing, twisted grin. ‘Little town.’ He laughed, and the sound was blood-chilling. ‘Little people. What can save them?’
He turned and was across Tyrineld in three great strides, crushing another area into rubble every time his massive foot came stamping down with a force that shook the earth. His eye fixed on the slender southern peninsula, containing the Luen of Bards and the graceful rows of former merchants’ houses with their air of dilapidated grandeur. Then, with another spiteful glance at Corisand and Iriana, he lifted his axe and brought it down with all his force across the neck of the promontory. Rock crumbled and split with a tortured groan, like a human soul in torment. The entire headland, Luen, houses, inhabitants and all, crumbled into the ocean with a mighty splash that sent a fountaining spray of salt water right across the city.
The Moldan turned back to the horrified Corisand. ‘Give me the Stone,’ he bellowed. ‘Give it to me NOW – or more of your city, more of your people will be destroyed. Their blood will be on your hands!’
Corisand shot Iriana a glance filled with anguish and doubt, but the Wizard, though tears were streaming down her face, tightened her mouth and shook her head. ‘Don’t give in to him,’ she called in shaky mindspeech. ‘We can’t, Corisand. If he can do this now, think of the damage he’ll be able to wreak with the Stone. We have to stop him – somehow.’
The Moldan raised his axe once more and, looking around for his next target, headed towards the next headland where Ariel’s Tower had formerly stood.
Unaware of the dramas that were unfolding in the city, Aelwen took Kelon back to the stretch of moorland where a small tarn gleamed at the bottom of a vale. The Xandim not involved in the rescue – the elders, the youngsters and the others who had no wish to become involved in a war not their own – had settled. Those in equine form grazed in the sheltered dell, with a stallion keeping vigil on the hilltop above, with all his attention on the distant battle lest the fighting started to move their way. One or two were trying out their human bodies, but they looked pinched and cold, and Aelwen was sure that they would soon revert. None of them could take care of Kelon, or even make a fire. She would have to stay and tend him herself.
Kelon had passed out again, whether from pain or his injuries she didn’t know. Gently she helped to ease her old friend from Asharal’s back. When he was on the ground, the stallion turned briefly back to his human aspect so that he could speak with her. ‘I’ll stay with you, just in case you need to get out of here in a hurry.’
‘Thank you,’ Aelwen said. ‘Will you help me to carry him over there, by the bushes? That looks like the driest, most sheltered spot that I can see.’
‘Of course.’ Like his equine counterpart, Asharal was strong. Soon they had Kelon settled, with a gorse thicket behind him to shelter him from the chill moorland wind. They wrapped him in a blanket from Aelwen’s pack, and she rolled up an old tunic to pillow his head.
Asharal shivered. ‘I’m changing back now, if it’s all right with you. It’s easier for a horse to be comfortable out here than it is for a human.’
‘Of c
ourse,’ Aelwen said. ‘I only wish that Kelon and I could join you. Thank you for everything, Asharal.’
‘You did your best to protect and help me when I was at Tiolani’s mercy.’ He smiled at her. ‘I’m glad to be able to return the favour.’ He looked down at Kelon. ‘I hope he’ll be all right. He was good to me, too.’ The air shimmered and the handsome bay stallion stood there once more. Staying close, he lowered his head and began to graze.
Aelwen covered her friend with her own cloak, then looked around for something to make a fire, but found nothing save a gnarled old hawthorn close to the mere, and clusters of gorse on the slopes of the dell. All prickly, and they’d burn in no time. She shrugged. She’d have to make do. Fire first, and set some water to boil. By then she’d have summoned the courage to look at Kelon’s injuries. Pulling her leather gloves from her belt and shivering in her shirtsleeves, she set off determinedly towards the solitary tree.
Back in Tyrineld, Yinze, his head spinning, managed to get himself aloft again, and went in search of Avithan, plucking frantically at the strings of his harp to keep himself in the air and on course. Sweeping low across the wreckage where Sharalind’s forces had made their valiant, futile last stand he saw the bodies of the Wizards, shrunken to normal size in death, amid the ruined buildings. The Moldan’s axe, with its evil, roiling black shadow, had left their bodies blackened and twisted, their faces contorted in agony so that they were as deformed as Ghabal himself.
Yinze was sickened and grief-stricken at the sight. He wanted to flee; to get far away from this horror that would haunt his nightmares for many years to come, but he could not. He was searching, amid all this death and destruction, for one living Wizard, and would not leave until he had found him.
In the end, it proved easier than expected. Yinze had been looking for an unconscious form, half-buried, perhaps, beneath the debris of fallen walls, beams that had been snapped like kindling and even fallen trees from once-beautiful gardens. Instead, he found a filthy, ragged figure, its face bruised down one side and a lip that trickled blood, that was clambering its unsteady but determined way back to where the bodies of the fallen warriors lay.
