“Be careful,” Margaret told Keros as she hugged him. “As careful as you can.”
She felt bone-thin in his arms. He held her carefully. “Same to you.” He shook Weverton’s hand. “Keep her safe.”
The other man’s lips pulled into a humorless smile. “Swords aren’t designed for safety and neither is she. But I’ll do my best.”
Keros nodded understanding and then watched the two mount and ride out of sight before joining Ellyn by the hoskarna.
She was pacing around the burnt-out spell circle, frowning at it. She looked up as he approached. “How do you want to start?” she asked without preamble.
He glanced up as a gust of wind picked at his hair and drove a splatter of raindrops against his cheeks and forehead. “The ground is soft from the rain. I think we can push it into a slide and the hoskarna will go with it.”
“We’re on a flat. It will be like lifting up a mountain.”
“There’s a slight slope. It will be enough.” He sounded more confident than he felt.
“Perhaps if sylveth majick weren’t so sluggish,” she said with a frown. “But I don’t know if I can’t call up enough power to do anything that big.”
“Together we can. And we have the blood majick.”
“Do we dare use it on the hoskarna?’
He made a face. “I’d rather we tried to get away without it. But if we have to use it, then we will. We can’t let the Jutras gods keep this foothold.” Providing they could figure out how to use it with enough skill to accomplish anything.
“It may not uproot them,” she said. “They’ve had time to dig into the land. If they’ve rooted too deep, we won’t be able to budge them.”
“We have to try.”
“I know. How do you want to start?”
Keros walked uphill from the spell circle. He found where the flat of the summit started to shift into a barely noticeable downward grade. He picked up a stick and scraped a wide arc on the ground, about a hundred feet wide and twenty feet from the burned-out Jutras spell at the closest point. He considered it with a frown, then glanced at Ellyn.
“That should do it. If we push down here, we can get the whole cap of the slope to move. We’ll have to pull water into it and saturate the dirt and then shove it downward. With luck, the roots of the hoskarna won’t be able to hold on.”
She glanced at the two poles with a scowl. Gleams of yellow light continued to pulse along the lacquered red wood. She folded her arms as she thought about it, then nodded. “We could do it. We could build on the web spell you made. If we layer in a call for water, the web could hold it until the ground turns into a marsh.”
“Then we shove against it and slide it down the mountain.”
She looked doubtful. “Do you think that just above it will do the trick? We really need the whole slope to slide and I don’t know that we have the strength to push hard enough to move everything we have to.”
He frowned. She was right. They needed to soak the ground below the hoskarna as well. But it was going to take time and plenty of energy. “We can divert the spring and channel it into the web. If we add another one downslope, we may loosen things enough. See there where it grows steep again? If we can push it that far, then its weight and speed should do the rest.”
They began with the web. It was a more difficult task than Keros had anticipated. Sylveth majick was not just slow to answer his call, but it was also stiff as cold taffy. Stretching the spell to cover the broad swath of ground was nearly impossible. Both Keros and Ellyn dug hard for their sylveth majick, but it was elusive, like grasping at misty vapors. Soon Keros was panting and sweating. He peeled off his shirt and swiped his forehead with his forearm.
He glanced at Ellyn. Her face was strained and pale. She chewed her lips, her eyes closed, her hands clenching around her illidre. Slowly the two of them stretched the web across the long scalloped line Keros had dug in the dirt. They pushed the web down into the earth and then both stopped to rest, panting. They exchanged a look, neither voicing their worry. If it took that much effort simply to plant the first web in place, how would they manage to implant the second web, call up the water, and lever away the slope?
Ellyn took a drink from her water flask and offered it to Keros. He swallowed gratefully, his mouth parched. He glanced up at the sky. The air was still and heavy and pewter clouds hung low and pregnant. The earlier splatter of rain had not yet fulfilled its promise of a downpour.
He drew a deep breath and let it out. “Ready?”
Ellyn nodded wordlessly and they walked down below the hoskarna and began again. Keros felt her exhaustion. She tugged and pulled unevenly at the web, shaking with effort. He was the master majicar; he should carry the heaviest part of this burden. He gritted his teeth and reached for more majick. He stretched, but it was as if it had drained away from the land and even the sea. It was terrifying. His stomach tightened. He pushed himself farther, finding a few puddles and rivulets hidden far away. He drew in the power and poured it into the web. It stretched into a broad net across the downhill slope. He pushed it down into the dirt as far as he could, hoping it would be enough.
When he was through, he staggered over to Ellyn. She had fallen to her knees. Her face was white and her hands were shaking.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I just couldn’t hold it any longer.”
He wanted to sag down to the ground beside her, but kept himself upright by sheer will. There was no time to rest. “We’ll have to try blood majick,” he said quietly. “It’s our only hope.”
Her lip curled, but she did not object. “How?”
“The web makes a pattern to hold the water. We just need to make another to draw it in and meld it to the sylveth majick.” It sounded so easy. But he knew well enough how difficult it was to bind the two together.
“I have an idea,” Ellyn said. She clambered to her feet and went to her pack. She retrieved her water flask, a tin cup, and several thin strips of cloth cut from a spare tunic. She sat cross-legged on the ground above the hoskarna, laying her materials on the ground before her. “It’s about intent, isn’t it? From what I can tell, the chanting just reinforces the intent in the pattern.”
Keros squatted down beside her. “Seems logical.” Though truly he had no idea. All he really knew was that he could invoke the blood majick. But how powerful it would be and how he could make real use of it was a mystery.
“Since we don’t know any Jutras chants, we’ll have to make up something of our own. Something simple that we can repeat. And they use a kind of dance to reinforce what they want. We could do that too. Keeping it simple.”
Keros raised his brows skeptically, but nodded. It was a good idea. “What do you plan to use those for?” he asked, gesturing at the things she’d gathered together.
She dug a hole in the ground and pushed the cup down into it so that it was below the level of the ground. She put the ends of four strips of cloth into it, spreading them across the ground in the cardinal directions. Next she filled the cup loosely with dirt, then poured water from her flask into it. Drawing her dagger out of the sheath on her belt, she cut down the side of her left forearm. Blood ran in a thin stream. She held it over a strip of cloth and let it drip until the entire strip of cloth was soaked, then did it again with a second one.
“Your turn,” she said to Keros.
When he was done, she took the point of her dagger and prodded the ends of the cloth down into the dirt. “What I hope will happen is that the cup will echo our web spell. The water and dirt is what we want to happen inside the web, and our blood will help us channel the blood majick into the web.”
Keros grinned at her admiringly. “That just might work.”
She shrugged. “It’s a lot like the hedge- magery of the Huantarians. They travel through Azaire selling potions and charms. They do not have the power of real majicars, but what they can do, they do well. I spent some time with a caravan and learned some things about their majick.”
>
“Lucky for us,” Keros said. He was more than a little impressed at her ingenuity and prayed that it would work. “Now what do you suggest?”
She rose to her feet. “We walk the circuit around the two webs that we made. We should walk a winding pattern—like waves. Something like this.” She suited her actions to words, sashaying from side to side in a graceful dance. She looked over her shoulder at him. “Can you do that?”
He nodded. “But it might be better if we held hands.” He held up one hand and pantomimed slicing his palm. “Mixing our blood might increase our power.”
“Good idea. Now, for our chant. What do you think?” she asked.
“Something simple and to the point—water rise and come to our call.”
She made a face. “That’s good enough, but maybe we should say something about filling the web or making mud. Otherwise it might rise up and we’ll get a river and that’s not going to do a lot of good. How about, water rise and fill this bowl.”
“Bowl?”
“It’s close enough. It’s about intent. Visualize it filling the web.”
He drew a breath and let it out. “It seems too simple to work.”
“How do we know their chants aren’t just simple demands repeated over and over? Besides, do you have a better idea?”
He shook his head. “Let’s get going.”
He took his dagger and cut across his palm deeply. Blood ran freely from the wound. Ellyn grimaced and did the same, her jaw clenching. He clasped her hand in his, weaving his fingers through hers, palms pressed tightly together. Blood dripped to the ground.
He reached for the power of the thistle inside him and felt it unfurl, the spikes of it biting and stabbing as it swelled with power. His body clenched and his hand tightened on Ellyn’s, first with extraordinary pain, followed by a wash of bone-melting pleasure. He gasped and his cods hardened and he almost fell to the ground in mindless bliss. Ellyn clutched his hand equally hard.
“Ready?” she rasped and her chin shook.
“On three,” he said. His own voice shook. “One. Two. Three.” They both stepped in the pattern. He let Ellyn lead, staying a half step behind. Together they began to chant the simple mantra, “Water rise and fill this bowl.” He repeated the words, driving his awareness deep into the dirt. He felt the web pulsing. It grated against him, making him feel raw. He pushed past it, hauling in on the flare of hostile blood majick that sought to tear the web to shreds. Ellyn’s presence intertwined with his. Together they pushed out into the mountains, summoning water.
The spring was closest and it rose up from the depths of the island, following a sprawling trail of cracks and fissures. Keros bent his attention to it, pulling on it. He felt Ellyn doing the same. The power of the blood majick connected to their pounding steps and the simple, staccato words of their chant. They were both breathless, but neither stopped.
The ground turned damp and then marshy. It squelched and then splashed. Their feet sank into the mud as it deepened and turned into a mire. It was all Keros could do to keep going. His feet pulled out of his boots and he staggered on. Ellyn dragged in deep breaths between words. She leaned hard on him as she kept going. The blood in their hands had ceased to drip and Keros wondered if they could afford to stop and open the wounds again.
Or he could make another. He fumbled for his dagger and slashed at the top of his wrist. The blade scraped the bone and blood ran over his and Ellyn’s linked hands. Instantly he felt the pain and pleasure of the majick and a surge of power. It gave him strength to push on. He wasn’t aware when Ellyn followed suit, but suddenly there was a second surge of power from her. They renewed the energy of their chant and walk, calling even more water. Was it enough? Keros couldn’t be sure. He kept going until he fell to his knees. He could do no more.
Ellyn pulled him up. He was knee deep in a ring of mud surrounding the hoskarna. Water burbled up through the enormous bog and ran in a tangle of streams down the mountain. The webs they’d created below the ground were swollen.
They climbed out of the morass and onto the sodden grassy ground. Each foot sank ankle deep into the soil. They went to stand at the top of the circle. Keros shook with loss of blood and the tremendous burst of power he’d sustained for so long. He looked at Ellyn. She was pale, her mouth set in a flat line. Sweat made her hair cling to her forehead and cheeks.
“Ready?” he grated. His throat was dry and raw from the chanting—how long had it been since they’d started? He glanced blearily at the sky. It had been at least two glasses.
“Now or never,” she said, her hand firming on his.
“Sylveth majick now,” he reminded her, though he doubted she needed the reminder any more than he did. Both of them had figured that any power that was in the hoskarna would be less able to resist sylveth majick than blood majick.
He licked his lips, sending a silent prayer to Meris for strength and power. “Now,” he said, squeezing Ellyn’s hand.
He reached into the web. Water pressed tight against it like a bladder. He could feel the slippery uncertainty of the slope. It needed only a slight push . . . But he meant to give it far more than that.
He bore down into the web, unraveling the bottom of it slowly until only the upper half was still intact. Ellyn was a quiet, steady presence, feeding him her power. Compared to the volcanic burst of the blood majick, it was a bare flicker on a dying fire. Still, it was enough.
He hardened the upper remnants of the web until it was a stiff wedge. Then with all his might, he twisted it, shoving the top of it down and levering the muddy slope away.
The ground made a slurping sound and it lurched, and then began a low grumble as it moved. Suddenly the top of the slope rippled and the hoskarna wobbled and teetered. Then an enormous scallop of mountain slid away. The hoskarna tipped and disappeared. Keros felt an odd wrenching in his chest as they fell, but he was too busy dragging Ellyn to higher ground to notice more than that.
The two majicars reached the sturdy safety of the boulders that marked their campsite and turned, both staring in openmouthed awe at the devastation they’d created. The mountain shook and the air was filled with the thundering growl of the slide and the sounds of splintering trees and crashing rocks.
The sound went on and on—seemingly forever. But it could only have been a few minutes. At last silence fell again. Keros sank down on a rock, still shaking. Not just with exhaustion, but also with exhilaration and even fear at the enormity of what they’d done. This was the work of gods, not men.
He glanced up at her. She was staring at the brown scar in the verdant mountainside. A frown furrowed her brow. Slowly she raised a hand and covered her mouth and slowly shook her head.
“What is it?” Keros asked, following her gaze. But he didn’t need her answer. His stomach dropped and fear turned his chest to stone. Where the hoskarna had stood, gold lights sent spidery veins over the ground, spreading like the roots of a weed.
Chapter 23
Nicholas watched Margaret covertly as they rode down through the mountains toward Sylmont. She sat straight, her face pale and set. Every so often she turned and looked over her shoulder as if expecting that she would see something of Keros and Ellyn, though the trees and ridges hid any view of the mountain summit.
His mind tumbled with all that he’d learned in the last day. He couldn’t believe the trust she’d placed in him. The burden of it weighed heavily. He was determined to be worthy of it, but the cost would be high—higher than he might be able to pay. She was a Rampling and her loyalties were completely contrary to everything he’d spent his life working for.
Over the years he’d made many promises to many people—promises that he could never break and yet would fly in the face of almost anything Margaret asked of him. He’d told her they were friends for now. The reality of his own feelings was that he wanted far more from her. He wanted her bound to him in every way that the law and the gods provided. But he could see no way to make it happen; he was destin
ed to break her trust. At some point he’d have to choose between her and his family or an oath he’d made, and sooner or later, she’d be the loser. The hard truth was that they were friends for now . . . until he betrayed her and became her enemy again.
Yet even so, he wanted to reach out and touch her. He wanted to brush her cheek with his fingers and hold her hard in his arms the way he had last night as she slept.
The clouds threatened rain and every so often, a few drops spattered them. The horses were eager and rested and made good time. Neither Margaret or Nicholas spoke to each other. She rode slightly ahead and he led Ellyn’s horse behind him.
They’d been riding near two turns of the glass when suddenly the horses spooked. Margaret’s horse reared and lunged forward, galloping away through the thin trees as if a pack of wolves was after him. Nicholas’s horse tried the same, but he held the animal with iron control. The carriage horse squealed and reared back, snapping the lead rein. He whirled, hurtling away down the valley, his tail raised high like a flag.
Nicholas let him go, vaguely hearing an echoing rumble in the distance. He urged his bay into a gallop, following Margaret. His heart was in his throat as he hunched down close against his bay’s mane. There were too many low-hanging limbs and he expected to see Margaret lying in a heap beneath one at every moment.
He came out of the copse into a clearing and found her. She was on her feet beside the panting gray. Sweat turned his hide to pewter and his eyes were ringed white. As Nicholas pulled up sharply, the gray leaped back to the end of his reins, his haunches bunching. Margaret held him tightly and talked soothingly to him. She followed him, stroking his neck and shoulder. He settled slowly, finally dropping his head and pushing his face against her chest. He gave shuddering sigh, his skin still twitching like he was being stung by flies.
Nicholas slowly dismounted and came closer. “Are you all right?” he asked.
The Hollow Crown: A Novel of Crosspointe Page 29
