Wit'ch War (v5)

by James Clemens

  Joach could not argue too fiercely against this one’s words. In fact, Flint had warned him about the risk his spirit faced from wielding the staff’s magick. An inkling of worry touched him, but he shoved it away. He would not be corrupted. Joach scowled at his enemy. “Only the weak allow the darkness in them to eclipse the bright as you have.”

  Brother Ewan’s wan face grew heated. “The master has not beaten me down. He has granted me a gift.” The ill’guard raised his two arms, displaying the spread of worms. “Leeches were always a tool of a healer. But no healer has been blessed with such a splendid crop as mine.”

  Mama Freda slipped forward to Joach’s right side, one hand on the wall to guide her. She could not directly find Ewan’s face as she spoke. “I’m the only healer here, Brother Ewan. You’re a disease.” She threw Meric’s knife at him. But without eyes, she did not even attempt to skewer him. She merely tossed the blade at the man’s feet. “Prove yourself still a healer. Cut the corruption from yourself!”

  Her display brought a smile to Brother Ewan’s lips. He nudged her knife aside and waggled a finger at her. “Tsk, tsk. For such an experienced healer, you’ve made a terrible misdiagnosis. It is you who are the disease—and I am the cure!”

  Joach inwardly groaned as he backed away. Why had the old woman wasted her only weapon? It was her last defense in case Joach and Meric failed to defeat the fiend. He moved Mama Freda roughly behind him in his anger. The old woman did not resist.

  Brother Ewan stepped toward them.

  Meric slipped forward in front of Joach, moving almost too fast for the eye to follow. Already the elv’in’s shirt billowed with his magick. Meric raised a hand, and a gust of wind blew forth from his fingertips. The whirling gale swept down the passage toward the ill’guard.

  The man continued to smile. As the blast struck Brother Ewan, he remained standing. The tails of his robe snapped in the wind. His smile grew as the winds whipped at him. The leeches upon his body flailed in the gusts, but instead of being ripped from the fiend’s skin, they stretched and grew. Soon the man’s pale skin was draped with leeches longer than a man’s forearm.

  Brother Ewan’s laughter echoed out from the center of the magickal gale. “Send me more power, elv’in!”

  Mama Freda pulled at Meric’s sleeve from behind. “Stop! I know about these ill’guard. Elemental magick feeds their darkness. You only strengthen him with your own magick. You must stop!”

  Meric stumbled backward as he withdrew his magick.

  Joach took his place. Where elemental magick failed, black magick might prevail. Joach raised his staff.

  Brother Ewan grinned and suddenly lunged out with an arm. Joach blocked with his burning staff but realized too late that his move was just what the ill’guard wanted. Ewan grabbed the end of his staff. Leeches flowed onto the wood.

  Joach yanked his staff away in disgust, managing to free it of the fiend’s grip, but not the leeches. The purplish worms clung to the wood, bathing in the darkfire, writhing in what could only be described as pleasure. Joach stumbled away. He watched in horror as the leeches on his staff swelled further in size. In only a single breath, they stretched and grew to the size of huge jungle snakes.

  “Shake them off! Now!” Mama Freda yelled. “They feed on your magick, too!”

  Joach obeyed and struck the butt of his staff against the wall, hard enough to sting his hand. The giant leeches fell in a tangle to the cold stone—all except one tenacious beast that lunged at Joach’s hand. Fire flamed up his arm, and Joach fell to his knees.

  Suddenly Mama Freda and Meric were there, tugging Joach back by his shirt. Their quick movement saved his life. He was dragged backward just as more of the monstrous leeches lashed out at him, quick as mountain adders. Still, the beast attached to his hand burned and swelled.

  Joach’s vision began to blacken.

  Meric used his boot to kick the staff from Joach’s grip, knocking away the leech attached to it. Immediately, the fire in his hand ended. Joach glanced down to see his two smallest fingers and part of his palm gone. Blood spurted and flowed.

  “Move!” Meric yelled. “If you wish to live, boy, then help us!”

  Joach raised his eyes in time to see more of the leeches already at his heels. Ignoring the pain in his wounded hand, Joach scrambled away on hands and feet. In a tangle of limbs, the trio retreated.

  All the while, Brother Ewan pursued, step for step, following with his writhing pack of monster leeches. “Why run? Tell me where the wit’ch hides, and I will let you live! Or stay silent, and take your medicine.”

  Joach’s face paled. How could they fend off such a monster when their magicks had failed them? What hope did they have to survive?

  Suddenly, Mama Freda stopped her own flight. She stepped between Joach and the fiend. She spat at Brother Ewan. Her aim was deadly accurate. Her spittle hit the fiend square in the face.

  Joach rolled to his feet, cradling his wounded hand.

  Brother Ewan wiped his face, leaving a few leeches clinging to his cheek. His laughter died with the strike of spittle. “You will pay for that,” he said coldly. His giant leeches writhed around his ankles.

  Mama Freda faced Brother Ewan squarely. “I’m not finished.”

  Joach glanced askance to Meric. Something slowly dawned on Joach. Mama Freda had warned them about the magickal growth of the worms; she had even pulled him away from the striking leeches and spat in the ill’guard’s face. “Mama Freda . . . ?”

  She ignored Joach. “I have one more gift for you, Brother Ewan!” She pointed a finger at the fiend. “Death!”

  Brother Ewan’s lips spread into a grin. Laughter bubbled up. Then suddenly Ewan tensed in midstep. His smile faded into confusion, and his cackle strangled in his throat. Blood dribbled from the man’s lips.

  Brother Ewan toppled forward, crashing to his face on the stone floor. He spasmed a moment, then lay still. Dead. Impaled in the center of his back was the hilt of Meric’s ice dagger. Small crackles of silver energy danced out from the blade and skittered across the fiend’s skin. As they looked on, the leeches dissolved into clots of blood, steaming slightly on the cool floor.

  “How . . . ?” Joach’s mind was too full of questions. Then he saw the answer. A small furred creature scrambled from around the man’s legs and scampered toward Mama Freda.

  “Good boy, Tikal,” Mama Freda said warmly. She bent and hauled the creature into her arms and up to her shoulder.

  Tikal wrapped his tail around Mama Freda’s neck and gently licked her cheek. “Cookie?” Tikal asked in a frail voice.

  She patted him and scratched behind his ear. “You’ll get all the cookies in Port Rawl after this.”

  Tikal closed his eyes and leaned into the woman’s neck, clinging tight.

  “But . . . but your pet was killed,” Joach said, pointing uselessly at Tikal. Blood flowed from his wounded hand. Reminded of his injury, Joach swooned to the floor.

  Mama Freda rushed forward, kneeling before the boy and pulling bandages and a vial of elixir from various pockets. She explained as she cradled Joach’s hand in her lap and worked on him. “I, too, thought Tikal had been killed. When I first began to receive visions from him again, I thought I had become deluded, wishing so strongly for him that my mind made it so.” Mama Freda reached and touched Tikal once more with clear love. “I can sense the magick in him. Someone healed him.”

  “Elena?” Joach asked weakly.

  “Who else?” she said as she applied a cooling balm that washed away Joach’s pain with a single swipe. “Tikal has her scent about him. Elena must have found him on her way back down the catacombs. Her magick strengthened him enough to survive and follow. But, like you, he will need more healing.”

  Meric spoke up from where he stood over the corpse of the ill’guard. “Why didn’t you tell someone?”

  Mama Freda’s expression grew embarrassed. “I wasn’t sure the visions were real. It was only after Tikal came upon the ill’guar
d on our back trail that I knew it was true. By that time, the ill’guard was already listening to us, so I kept silent. I hoped Tikal’s stealth would prove useful.” Mama Freda nodded toward the knife’s hilt. “And so it has.”

  Joach stared at the old woman, eyes wide. He had secretly considered Mama Freda a burden to this venture. But now he knew better than to judge by appearances. The old woman had just saved his life.

  Mama Freda finished wrapping his hand in a snug bandage. “Dragon’s blood mixed with root of elm should save the rest of your hand.”

  Joach raised his arm, almost afraid to look. He cringed at the sight of his half hand, but he flexed his remaining fingers and felt no pain. The wrap was even clean of blood. It was as if the injury were months old, rather than mere moments. Joach swallowed and glanced to the old healer. “Thank you, Mama Freda. I’m in your debt. If you had not—”

  An explosion suddenly ripped through their world. Joach and Mama Freda again found themselves tossed roughly to the floor. Dust billowed, and stones groaned. Joach’s skull rang with the force of the concussion. He pushed to his feet even before the ground had finished rumbling. He helped Mama Freda up. Tikal still clung to her neck.

  Down the passage, Meric shoved himself off the ill’guard’s body, his face a mask of disgust. Suddenly, through the wafting dust, a monstrous figure rose behind the elv’in.

  Joach opened his mouth to warn Meric, but a familiar graveled voice spoke. “What happened?” Tol’chuk asked. The og’re waved through the dust cloud and crossed toward them, eying the fallen ill’guard.

  Joach crawled to his feet, then helped Mama Freda stand. “What are you doing down here? You’re supposed to be guarding the door.”

  The og’re surveyed the scene one more time, then spoke. He pointed absently above his head. “The island be under attack from ships that fly the clouds. I came to fetch you away from these crypts before the castle lands on all your heads.” Tol’chuk glanced around. “Where be Elena?”

  “Gone for the book,” Joach answered as he retrieved his staff from the floor. He examined the length of wood for damage but found none. “What is this about flying ships?”

  Meric interrupted, his face pale. “Did they have keels that glowed?”

  Tol’chuk nodded his head. “And lightning bolts danced below them.”

  Meric groaned. “The Thunderclouds, the warships of my people—they’re already here. If they’re attacking, they probably saw the sea battle and assumed their windships had arrived in time. They won’t know we’re here.”

  “What’re they trying to do?” Joach asked.

  Meric covered his forehead with his palm. “They mean to tear down the island. And if we don’t stop them, they’ll take us down with it.”

  Joach shook his head. They had survived skal’tum, d’warves, and ill’guard, only to be threatened now by one of their own allies. “Meric, you must find some way to stop them. Take Tol’chuk and Mama Freda with you. Get your people to call off their attacks.”

  Meric nodded. “What are you going to do?”

  Joach nudged his staff toward the deeper catacombs. “With the ill’guard out of the way, I’m going to search for Elena. If you fail to stop the warships, then book or not, I must get her out of here.”

  Meric reached and clapped Joach on the shoulder, holding his grip tight. “Be careful. And be quick.”

  Joach returned the clasp. “And you do the same.”

  Tol’chuk moved forward with Mama Freda at his side. “Meric does not need us. But more eyes in these dark passages will find your sister quicker.”

  Joach touched the og’re’s elbow. “Do not fear, Tol’chuk. I will find her. But it will do me little good if the catacombs collapse atop us. Go with Meric. Guard him from the dangers that must be raging up there by now. He must stop those warships.” He then turned to Mama Freda. “And you must use your wiles and your pet’s eyes to find them both a safe path.”

  Tol’chuk grumbled, clearly not entirely convinced, but he bowed his head. “I will not let the elv’in fail.”

  The og’re turned away, and Joach found Mama Freda facing him still. She raised her chin as if examining Joach down her long nose. “You send us all away for another reason. Something is hidden in your heart.”

  Joach sighed. He could not lie to her. “My destiny lies here,” he said quietly. “This next path I must walk alone.”

  She nodded, seemingly satisfied with the truth of his heart, and turned to join the others.

  In short order, Joach found himself alone in the catacombs. Even the tread of his companions’ boots faded behind him as he marched with staff in hand into the bowels of this subterranean crypt. As he walked, his blood stirred with the gift of weaving. His words to Mama Freda had not been a lie. He sensed the culmination of forces and circumstance pulling him toward one destination, one fate.

  What came next was between Joach, Elena, and a plainsman from Standi. Joach pictured the sunset tower, the Spire of the Departed, and gripped his staff in an iron grip.

  In this last battle, he would not fail his sister.

  25

  ELENA CONTINUED TO follow Er’ril and his lantern. She willed him to a faster pace, but after the second blast from above, he had grown even more cautious. Contrary to the plainsman’s wariness, the explosions made Elena want to race blindly ahead. Worry for Joach and the others inflamed her fears. Had these blasts something to do with the ill’guard? She forced her feet to keep pace with Er’ril. She could not flee his side, not as long as he still clutched the Blood Diary.

  As she matched his pace, mindful of the floor under her, she became fixed upon the play of light and shadow across the muscles of his back. She had seen Er’ril bare chested before, but never with two arms. At first, she had trouble reconciling this new physique with the old one in her mind. There was a symmetry of form now that had been missing before. She found her gaze riding over his shoulder to his new arm. No scar separated the two, yet a clear delineation could be seen. His shoulder and back were deeply tanned from the summer’s sun, and though his new arm was also a coppery hue, it did not share as deep a bronzing. Where the old Er’ril and the new met could be distinctly noted.

  Elena licked her lips as she followed, her mouth dry. How she wanted to run a finger along that fine line between copper and bronzed skin, to find out for sure if this was the same Er’ril who had been snatched from her. If only he would offer her some clear clue, something that would let her run into his embrace once again. She shivered in the cool air of the catacombs. It had been too long since she had felt the heat of his skin on her cheek. Please, she begged him silently, give me some clue to your true heart.

  Elena clutched the iron ward to her chest. Its cold touch reminded her to be wary. Now was not the time to let her guard down. But even the scent of his sweat trailed behind him, reminding her of times when he had held her close. Elena held the ward in a white-knuckled grip. She was no longer a little girl to moon over a knight; the fate of Alasea depended on her caution and control. She must hold steadfast.

  Suddenly Er’ril stopped in front of her.

  Lost in her own heart, Elena almost collided into his backside. She pulled up short, so near she felt the heat off his body, her naked skin so close to his bare back. A flush traveled from her legs to her face. His scent filled her senses. She tensed, afraid to move, afraid to breathe, lest he hear her.

  Slowly Er’ril crouched and moved away, taking his heat with him. Elena sighed silently, both relieved and disappointed. Though no one could see her, Elena crouched also, instinct still making her follow Er’ril’s lead.

  She spotted the source of Er’ril’s sudden caution. A flickering light played out from a side passage ahead. As she crouched with Er’ril, Elena suddenly realized it was the same passage that led to Flint’s secret staircase. She had not thought they had traveled so far. Her worries and concerns had befuddled her sense of distance.

  Er’ril dimmed his lantern’s flame to a tri
ckle. He placed the lantern on the floor and drifted across the hall to crouch in the shadows near the curve of the wall. As he bent down, he reached behind him and slipped the Blood Diary under the belt of his pants at the base of his back, keeping it hidden. He then removed Elena’s wit’ch’s dagger and held it before him.

  Elena found herself momentarily transfixed by the gilt rose on the book’s cover as it poked from under Er’ril’s belt. The rose seemed almost to glow in the feeble lantern light nearby. She had only to reach out and grab the book. Her fingers stretched for it, but she clenched a fist. It could be a trap. She pulled back her arm and crouched alongside Er’ril. She would wait to see who else shared these halls ahead.

  Taking the lesson from Er’ril, Elena knew the only certain safety lay in staying unseen.

  As she waited, Elena listened to the plainsman’s breathing, a wolf on the scent of a deer. Soon the tread of boots grew louder from the side passage, and a figure appeared outlined by torchlight. Elena was sure it was the ill’guard returning to his roost. But as the figure stepped nearer, Elena saw that it was not the ill’guard who approached, but her own brother.

  She came close to calling out Joach’s name in relief, but after staying cautious for so long, she controlled this sudden urge. Maybe here, hidden and listening, Elena could discover some answer to Er’ril’s loyalty.

  Joach approached, staff in one hand, oblivious to the wolf in the shadows. Er’ril could easily slay her brother, but instead he straightened and stepped clear of the shadows. Her brother startled backward. “Er’ril!”

  Elena spotted the bandage around her brother’s right hand. What had happened to him? And where were the others?

  “Joach, what are you doing down here alone? It’s not safe.” Er’ril returned the dagger to his belt.

  But Joach’s eyes seemed blind to Er’ril’s moves. The plainsman could have stabbed Joach, and her brother would not have seen it. His gaze flickered between Er’ril’s two hands. “Your . . . your arm,” he finally mumbled. Joach broke from his stunned stupor and raised his staff against Er’ril. Flames of darkfire bloomed along its length.