Gaelin wrenched the blade from Bannier’s chest and watched him sprawl to the ground, cursing weakly.
Gaelin looked up and discovered that only a few of the Iron Guards still stood. Bull was flailing away with his great hamme r, holding them at bay as he guarded Gaelin’s back. From the shadows of the hillside, a crossbow sang, and one of the Ghoerans fell with a bolt wedged in the visor of his helmet. That decided the matter for the surviving guards. They took to their heels to escape the clearing, fleeing into the darkness. Briefly, Gaelin wondered where they thought they were going – without Bannier’s guidance, they wouldn’t get very far.
Erin emerged from the woods on the lip of the hollow, carrying a crossbow on one hip, her slender rapier in the other hand. One shoulder bled freely from a stab wound, but a fierce light burned in her eyes. There was no sign of the illusory wolf – she must have released the spell after chasing off most of the Ghoerans. Her eyes flicked over Gaelin, and relief flooded her face when she saw that he hadn’t been hurt. “Is that all of them?” she asked, nodding at the retreating Iron Guards.
“I think so. Are you all right? You’ve been wounded.”
Erin sheathed her rapier, but kept her crossbow handy. She tore a strip of cloth from her cloak hem and held it to her shoulder. “I’ll be fine, although I’ll have you know I went years between stabbings or puncturings before I met you.”
Her lighthearted banter sank. “I’m afraid the other guardsmen weren’t as lucky.”
“Boeric, too?” Gaelin scowled and turned away.
“Not quite, Mhor Gaelin.” Boeric appeared at the edge of the clearing, limping, his sword dripping red for nearly half its length. “Orel and Ciele fell in the fighting under the trees, but I’ll live to see another day.” He nodded at Erin. “Your spell gave us the victory, Lady Erin.”
Erin inclined her head in thanks, and turned to Gaelin. “I thought I saw you cut down Bannier.”
“I did. I suspect he’ll trouble us no more.” Gaelin turned and glanced at where the wizard had fallen. He started to turn away, and then looked back again, with an oath.
Bannier was gone. Only his black cloak remained, soaked with dark blood. Gaelin kneeled beside the spot, studying the ground. There were no footprints. It was as if Bannier had faded into the earth exactly where he had fallen. The others scattered and looked for some sign of the sorcerer, but they soon gave up – with only four of them left, it was too dangerous to remain. “I’d like to be certain that we’ve defeated him, but we can’t wait,” Gaelin said. “We’ve got to get Ilwyn out of this place.”
“Could he have escaped somehow?” Erin asked quietly.
“If he did, I don’t know how,” Gaelin replied. They commandeered several of the Ghoeran horses, lifting the fallen guardsmen over the saddles, and set out for the place where they’d left Seriene and Ilwyn. I hope she’s found the doorway again, Gaelin thought. I’ve seen enough of this place for now.
He took one last look at the black circle of ancient, leaning stones, and shuddered. Whatever this place had once been, it had been bathed in blood this day. He resolved to return and raze the place, even if it meant another journey into the Shadow. He didn’t like the idea of a place like Caer Duirga left to itself in the gloom and darkness.
Chapter Seventeen
In a dark chamber of hollowed stone, Bannier awoke from a nightmare of pain and confusion. He was alone, lying on a cold floor, stripped of power and defenses. It had taken every reserve of his strength to survive his encounter with Gaelin – in fact, it had taken more strength than he possessed. That could only mean one thing: his patron had intervened to spare his life, for some purpose Bannier did not understand and feared to face.
Opening his eyes, Bannier examined his surroundings, like a drowning man who notices the quality and color of the water that ends his life. The chamber was vast, illuminated only by a pair of dim tapers set at his head and feet, and the feeble light was not strong enough to illuminate the walls or ceiling of the place. Abreath of musty air, old and dry, swirled around Bannier’s tattered robes.
He recognized this place. It was the heart of his master’s power, a place of bargains and ancient compacts, redolent with the odor of dust and betrayal. Bannier fought to control his terror. He rose, contemplating flight, but his reason won out over his fear. He’d been brought to this place for a specific purpose, as a deliberate act, and it would show a lack of character if he attempted to escape now. Escape was, after all, impossible at this point. He waited.
Hours passed in the darkness before he heard the sounds he knew would come. An iron door creaked open, admitting a gust of dank air, and then a footfall echoed through the room. It was a heavy sound, the scraping of stone on stone.
The footsteps were just a heartbeat too far apart to be human; their ringing impact suggested the approach of unstoppable power. Bannier quailed, but held his ground.
“Bannier, I am disappointed in you.” The voice was close to human pitch, although deeper and stronger than normal, and possessed of a certain coldness. “You performed admirably in the beginning, but you failed to bring the Mhoried blood to me and failed to bring Mhoried to ruin. Imagine my displeasure.”
“Yes, my lord.” Bannier dared no other response. He felt a vast presence in the shadows, a hulking power that now edged closer to the light. In the darkness before him, he saw two baleful red eyes appear, half again his own height above the floor. He flinched, averting his gaze.
There was a snort of derisive laughter. “You do not care to look upon my countenance? Do you not trust me, Bannier? I trusted you. I went to great lengths to retrieve you from your precarious position and bring you here to my Battlewaite.”
Raesene – the creature men knew as the Gorgon – stepped into the candlelight. He was massive, with a deep chest and long, powerful arms. His legs were doubled back like a satyr’s, and his feet were obsidian hooves; his flesh was a dusky gray that had the quality and feel of stone. The Gorgon’s face was awful, a bestial visage crowned by sharp spikes or horns, but buried beneath the hideous features there could still be seen the outlines of the face of a man. He wore fine black breeches, and a matching tunic embroidered with gold designs. The garments were regal, befitting a lord, but they left the wide expanse of his chest and the rippling power of his arms bared, a veneer of civilization covering an ele- mental force of destruction.
Resisting the urge to throw himself to the ground and grovel for mercy, Bannier held his ground. Five hundred years ago, the Gorgon had finally brought down the empire by destroying Michael Roele, the last of the line. But his ambitions did not end there. With Anuire reeling in chaos and civil war, the Gorgon’s domain grew in strength. Bannier suspected that the awnshegh lord desired nothing less than the complete subjugation of the scattered Anuirean successorstates;
Mhoried was the nearest of these to his reach.
In a rumbling voice, the Gorgon asked, “Well? Have you anything to say for yourself?”
Bannier licked his lips. “My lord, while it is true that I failed to bring you the Mhoried bloodline, I aided Tuorel of Ghoere in defeating the Mhor Daeric and driving Gaelin’s forces to the remotest reaches of the kingdom. Even as I left to defend Caer Duirga, Tuorel’s army was finishing the Mhorien resistance.”
“The siege pro g resses well, as you say. But due to your incompetence, I am now forced to take matters into my own hands. This makes me wonder what I have received in exchange for the formidable powers I placed at your command.”
With an iron effort, Bannier met Raesene’s eyes. The Gorgon respected strength and courage. No matter what, the wizard must give him the impression he possessed both qualities.
“Allow me to return to Mhoried, my lord. I am certain I can bring down Gaelin, given another chance.”
Raesene stepped forward and laid his hand on Bannier’s shoulder, a familiar and patronizing gesture. The weight of his touch was more than Bannier could bear; the wizard was acutely conscious that with the
merest act of will, the Gorgon could snuff out his life. “I knew you would say that,” the creature said. “Therefore, I have taken the liberty of making some arrangements for you. We will have this Mhorien situation resolved in our favor. Now, come with me.”
Trailing a step behind Raesene, Bannier followed obediently.
He allowed the barest degree of optimism to creep into his thoughts.
The Gorgon led him through the black halls of the Battlewaite, moving with relentless purpose, never speaking a word.
For his own part, Bannier dared not open his mouth. Eventually they came to a wide battlement, a terrace in the side of the tower that overlooked the fortress-city of Kal-Saitharak. Here the Gorgon stopped, dismissing a pair of trollish guards fro m the chamber. He gazed out over the towers and ramparts, the smoking forges and warrens of the city. “Bannier, do you wonder why I wish to see Mhoried destroyed? ”
“I only presumed it pleased you, my lord.”
The Gorgon smiled, a fierce expression. “Do not let my aspect deceive you, Bannier. I do very few things only because they gratify me. I bear Mhoried no particular malice, at least no more than any other Anuirean state. Mhoried is to be destroyed because it is one of a handful of linchpins, critical powers that hold Anuire together. And even more importantly than that, Mhoried is to be destroyed because it is necessary for Ghoere’s elevation.”
“All of this is for Tuorel’s gain? I did not realize that he was in your favor, Prince Raesene.”
“On the contrary, Bannier, I elevate Ghoere not for Tuorel’s sake, but for my own. I will build him into a great power, a warlord so strong he will dare to claim the Iron Throne. This will lead to an inevitable conflict between Ghoere and his supporters on the one hand, and those who can resist him on the other. In a year or two, all of Anuire will be immersed in the greatest war since Michael set out to claim his throne. This will be to my advantage.”
Bannier cleared his throat. “Why tell me this, my lord?”
The Gorgon turned his attention to the human sorc e rer beside him. “Because the necessary first step of this plan, a step I relied on you to complete, remains to be taken. Tuorel has not yet finished his conquest of Mhoried. Had you pursued your duties with more diligence, this affair would be concluded, and I would be free to turn my attentions elsewhere. Now a Dieman host marches to Mhoried’s relief, and Tuorel is about to be caught between Gaelin’s rebels and Vandiel’s soldiers.”
“Diemed joins the war?”
“ F rom what I understand, your treatment of Princess Seriene had something to do with it,” the Gorgon said wryly. “When you struck at her and Gaelin in the form of his Vos friend, she decided you had to be stopped. Now I find I must commit Kraith of Markazor to Mhoried again to reinforce Tuorel.”
“I am sorry, my lord. I did not mean to involve Diemed through my attempts to capture Gaelin for you.” Bannier could not restrain a shudder of fear – the Gorgon accepted few apologies.
The Gorgon’s smile chilled Bannier. “Fortunately, Kraith is available to counter the Dieman army. It is not a fatal mistake, Bannier. Now, you must be wondering what role you have left to play. You will become my envoy in Tuorel’s court. It is my desire that Tuorel and Kraith combine their forces in order to crush the remaining Mhoriens and Vandiel Diem’s host.
Kraith marches even as we speak, but Tuorel must be persuaded to accept the goblin’s aid.”
“Tuorel will be suspicious of me,” Bannier said.
“Then you will have to employ a ruse of some kind.” Raesene let his baleful gaze rest on Bannier for a long moment, until the wizard quailed and looked down. “You are also to see to it that Tuorel has the chance to meet Gaelin Mhoried face to face, on the field of battle. Allow the Wolf of Ghoere to slay the young Mhor and claim his bloodline and kingdom.
In a year or two, when the time is right, I shall call upon Tuorel and absorb both the Mhoried and Tuorel bloodlines.
Do you understand?”
“I do, my lord.”
“Then you may go.”
Bannier bowed again and set off at once. He’d visited the Battlewaite on several occasions; he’d find his own way out.
He had reached the doorway leading from the battlements when he heard Raesene’s hooves scrape heavily on the stone behind him. “One more thing, Bannier. I expended a great amount of energy and effort to rescue you from the mistakes you made at Caer Duirga. I shall not do so again.”
“I understand, my lord,” Bannier replied. Backing away, he disappeared into the darkness of the Gorgon’s citadel. It would take much of his remaining strength to walk the Shadow again, but he dared not linger one moment more in the Gorgon’s halls.
*****
Seriene located the portal again after a brief search. Although she was staggering with exhaustion, she managed to reopen the doorway and send Gaelin and his decimated en- tourage through. They found themselves high on the slopes of Caer Duirga, an hour or so after sunset. The stars were emerging in a field of midnight blue overhead. Gaelin was relieved to count the normal number of lights in the sky; the warm, friendly constellations he knew were still here.
Gaelin was immediately aware of a change in the feel of Caer Duirga. The brooding menace and supernatural chill were gone, replaced by the sense of watchfulness common to any wild place. This was not a place for people to linger near, but the hostility had faded, leaving nothing but a memory.
The ancient evil beneath the hill slept once more.
Three hours after sundown, they stumbled back into the camp they’d left at the foot of the hill. The two guards were still there, nervous and alert. They greeted Gaelin and their fellows with obvious relief. “We wondered if you were ever coming back,” one said.
“We were only gone for a day,” Boeric observed sourly.
“We left at dawn and returned at sunset.”
“Begging your pardon, Sergeant, but you’ve been gone for three full days,” the guard told them. “You left the camp the morning of the day before yesterday.”
Gaelin exchanged a long look with Seriene. The princess merely frowned and shook her head. As she had told them, time ran differently in the Shadow World. Although Gaelin regretted the lost days, he decided not to make any effort to begin their return trek. They were all exhausted, physically and spiritually. He allowed Boeric to build a bright and cheerful campfire that night. Enemies or no enemies, no one wanted to lay awake for a night in a cold and empty place without light and heat.
Ilwyn rallied once they left the Shadow, but she was still semiconscious, as if black and hidden ice in her heart had only now begun to thaw. She couldn’t manage anything more than monosyllables and was too frail to stand or walk unaided.
But through the night she made progress, gripping a steaming mug of coffee and staring into the fire with wide, dark eyes. Erin looked after the Mhorien princess, staying close beside her and comforting her.
That night, Gaelin slept alone. Erin stayed beside Ilwyn, holding her through the night as if the princess were a lost and damaged child. Even if Erin hadn’t been looking after Ilwyn, he wasn’t certain that their relationship was going to continue in the same manner as before. Already he felt an exquisite ache in his heart at the thought that he might not hold her in his arms again. He could see her from where he had set his sleeping blankets, facing away from him with her arms around the girl, and he gazed at the curve of Erin’s hip and the firelight dancing in her hair until he fell asleep.
He opened his eyes in the great hall of Shieldhaven, a high chamber graced with tall, carven pillars and proud banners and tapestries. The hall was suffused with a soft, silver light, and things seemed dim or indistinct, as if he viewed only possibilities and not the hall as it really was. He was dreaming again, but the accuracy and strength of the phantasm were remarkable; the air was cold but clear, and he could feel each breath he took.
His feet carried him away from the hall, wandering the corridors and chambers of the castle. He explored many o
f his childhood haunts, drifting ghostlike through his memories.
At length he found himself on the windswept battlements of the castle, but the air was still and quiet. His footfalls died away, and he had the strange impression that very little he did could disturb the silence of his dream. Gazing over the countryside, he saw little more than silver fog, and hints of dark forest beyond.
“Hello, Gaelin. I’ve been waiting for you.” The Mhor Daeric stepped out of nothingness to join him on the battlement.
His father appeared much as he had in life, dressed in the garments of soft gray that he preferred. But he seemed younger than Gaelin remembered, a tall, broad-shouldered man in the prime of his life, his hair streaked with silver, his face unmarked by the years that had worn him down. Daeric appeared as tangible as Gaelin himself, although limned by argent light.
“I haven’t met you in my dreams for many weeks now,”
Gaelin answered. “Did I do something wrong?”
“Your attention was elsewhere, Gaelin. You had little time or need for me.”
“I didn’t mean to forget you so soon.”
“The living go on with their cares and burdens, and yours have been heavier than most.” Daeric’s face glowed with a warm smile, and a humorous light danced in his eyes. “Be- sides, you haven’t forgotten me. Every day for months now, you’ve stood forward and done your best to heal Mhoried’s injuries. As long as you do that, I’ll never be forgotten.”
Daeric held out his hand to Gaelin. “Come with me.”
“Where are we going?” asked Gaelin.
“To Caer Winoene. You summoned me here because you needed me again. This is a way I can help you.”
Gaelin tentatively reached out to take his father’s hand.
The moment he touched the phantasm, the castle of Shieldhaven melted into silver mists, and he found himself standing on the hillsides overlooking Caer Winoene, under the starlit night. The ethereal quality of Shieldhaven was gone; now he was the one who shimmered with silver light, much like his father beside him. Gaelin suddenly understood that they existed as phantoms in the real world, the waking world.
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