The Spellstone of Shaltus

by Linda E. Bushyager

  “I don’t trust Geraed. He hates humans almost as much as I do, but for different reasons. His father was a Shuull priest, and his father before that. He’s a fanatic. He believes Shuull wants us to destroy all the humans and extend our forests everywhere.”

  “Isn’t that what you want?” asked Leah. Her eyes met his for a moment; then he looked guiltily away.

  “Maybe. But at what price? I think Geraed is willing to do anything to achieve his ends, even dealing with a wraith. Have you heard of the Expansionists?”

  Leah shook her head.

  “It is a sect of the Shuull priesthood that believes that it is the Sylvan destiny to replace the humans. Some of the Expansionists aided S’Shegan during the Great War in the hope that the humans would destroy each other.”

  “Geraed belongs to this sect?”

  “He is their leader. I believe he may be secretly aiding the Shaltuswraith for the same reasons. The Expansionists believe that by sowing dissension among the humans they can maneuver them into destroying themselves.”

  “And you think Geraed is responsible for poisoning Trask?”

  “I believe that Geraed thought that he would be made chief at Trask’s death. He did not think that I had enough support in the council. However, as it turned out, I was the one appointed to take Trask’s place, not Geraed.”

  Leah frowned. “I still don’t understand why he would want to kill my grandfather. If Geraed wanted to aid Shaltus secretly, what did it matter if the tribe officially remained neutral?”

  “Perhaps Trask found out what Geraed had done. Or perhaps the Expansionists now want open war with the humans.”

  Leah put down her sewing and sighed deeply. “I don’t know. It is just so hard to believe that a Shuull priest would try to kill the tribal chief. It’s against all Sylvan law.”

  She felt suddenly tense and distressed. “Even if Geraed did kill Trask, he’s not going to admit it. And if he or any Sylvan aided the Shaltuswraith, that’s just going to make my brother more certain that I was involved. How can I ever prove to him that I wasn’t?” All the fear and uncertainty she’d been suppressing for days welled up against the barriers she’d erected and began to flood over the top. The strain had taken its toll on her defenses. For the first time she felt the desperate loneliness and fear she’d been hiding from everyone, especially from herself.

  Her eyes blurred with tears, but years of rejection had built many protective layers. She fought for self-control, and only a single tear managed to slip beneath her long lashes and roll slowly down her cheek. Quinen reached forward and brushed the tear from her face. His fingertips gently moved down her cheek and softly traced her lips, chin, and neck. As his hand reached her shoulder, he bent forward and kissed her lightly on the cheek. His arms tightened around her and pulled her up to him, while his lips moved to hers. Leah responded automatically as he kissed her hungrily. Her body tingled with a warmth that seemed to burn like both fire and ice.

  She remembered when he had kissed her before, long ago, but it had not been like this. Now there was no fog of alcohol to cloud her senses. Nor had she felt similar passion when she’d exchanged furtive kisses with a human boy on a dare.

  Now she felt her body responding in a way that she had only dreamed about—never really believing that anyone, human or Sylvan, would want her this much. His embrace seemed to offer the reassurance and acceptance that she desperately needed.

  As his hands touched her intimately, she felt a strange mixture of desire and panic.

  “I’ve wanted you for so long,” he whispered. His hands caressed her. “But I tried not to. Do you know how beautiful you are?” She felt a burning that was a glow and suddenly realized that she had wanted him without ever knowing it.

  At the same time a part of her mind remained coldly aloof and analytical. Was she ready for this? Did she really want it?

  She liked him, she wanted him, but there was a coldness in him, a bitterness, a thirst for vengeance. His hatred of humans was deep and consuming. And she was half-human, after all. He would never really trust her, and thus she could never completely trust him.

  Yet her lips, her fingers, her body were reacting to him and demanding as much from him as he was from her.

  For a moment a feeling of panic took precedence as his hands pulled at her tunic. Her mental doubts overcame her body’s longing, and she tried to pull away. Then the continued pressure of his hands and lips on her body defeated her fears. She reached for him.

  As she yielded to the passion, it pushed all thoughts from her mind. She was awash in a sea of sensations that caressed her, pounded her, and covered her, until she seemed to drown in the ecstasy.

  Sunlight splashed across Leah’s face. She squeezed her eyes shut and cuddled down into the covers, trying to force her way back into pleasant, half-remembered dreams. The brightness of day intruded. She could not escape the sun’s glare or the reality that it brought.

  Sighing, she opened her eyes to stare at Quinen, who lay asleep beside her. His boyish face looked like a child’s, unlined and untroubled.

  Yet it was the face of a stranger. Although she’d spent the night getting to know his body, she’d learned little about the man himself. Their lovemaking had been passionate and tender, but they’d hardly spoken.

  She felt confused and angry at herself. She’d always tried to keep herself under control, her emotions tightly reined. It was disturbing to discover that she was vulnerable in an area she’d hardly even thought about and that her alienation and loneliness were countered by deepseated needs and desires far stronger than she had realized.

  How could she have let this happen?

  As she studied Quinen she still felt desire. But now her mind was filled with doubt and self-recrimination, for her suspicions had been aroused during the night.

  It seemed to her that during their lovemaking her psychic as well as her physical senses had been stimulated. Whether it was some leakage from Quinen’s mind, since he was a telepath, or some sort of empathic reaction on her part, although she was not a telepath, she had been psychically aware of Quinen. His mind had been tightly shielded against her, as though he feared her sensing anything, even his surface thoughts and emotions.

  Nevertheless, at the height of their passion, his shield had slipped for a fraction of a second. She had felt his surprise at her inexperience.

  She had also sensed a kind of loneliness in him that matched her own. Then his shield had slammed shut, but not before she sensed emotions behind the loneliness—bitterness, hatred, and guilt. And the guilt had something to do with Trask.

  The touch was so brief that she almost thought she had imagined it. However, it was just tantalizing enough to rearouse her suspicions. After all, except for Quinen’s story about the Expansionists, Leah had no real reason to suspect Geraed of poisoning Trask. On the other hand, Quinen’s possible motives were obvious. If Trask died, Quinen would become chief; he’d be in a position to counteract Trask’s policy of peace toward humans; he could perhaps even aid Shaltus openly, although he might find opposition to an alliance with a wraith even among those who wanted war with the .humans. Moreover, Quinen had tried to prevent her from helping Trask.

  She tried to sort things out dispassionately. She had to accept what had happened between Quinen and herself without guilt or remorse. It had been an act of physical passion, nothing more.

  After all, she told herself, the Sylvan approved of promiscuity, and even the humans with their stricter morals accepted sexual experimentation before marriage. Since she was a product of both cultures, she should have no reason for moral misgivings. Actually she should be pleased that it had happened, even grateful, for it was long overdue.

  As she brooded she decided that she was glad that it had happened, at least from a physical and an intellectual viewpoint; emotionally she was still not quite certain.

  It had become imperative for her to find out the truth. She had to learn if Quinen was allied with the Shaltuswrai
th or if he had been correct in accusing Geraed.

  Realizing that her mental shield had slipped slightly during the night, she reinforced her barriers against any telepathic probes. She had to be on her guard. Fortunately she could shield herself as well as any full-blooded Sylvan.

  There had to be some spell, some sorcery that could help her discover the truth. Distractedly clutching her spellstone in her hand, she searched her knowledge for an answer.

  The only thing that occurred to her was a method for eavesdropping. Since the Sylvan powers differed greatly from human sorcery, she doubted that they would be able to detect such a spell. She would need to prepare an object and inscribe it with a rune. While Quinen slept, she had a perfect chance to act.

  Slipping quietly from the bed, she studied Quinen. He remained soundly asleep. She felt the urge to touch his brow, to kiss him gently into wakefulness and desire, to feel his body against hers once more.

  No! She had to keep in control of herself. She had to take advantage of the present opportunity. There was no way to know whether it would ever come again.

  She tiptoed over to his hastily discarded garments, picked up his knife belt, and retreated into the bathroom.

  Pressing the edge of her spellstone against the back of the belt, she drew runes as she recited an incantation. This left a faint impression of lines on the leather. Then she rubbed the stone across the runes three times to impress the spell upon the object and to remove visible signs of the runes.

  Finally she restored the belt to the pile of Quinen’s clothes. Since he was still asleep, Leah chose some garments for herself and returned to the bathroom to shower and dress. She also wanted privacy to cast another spell, this one on herself.

  She had to make certain that she would not bear Quinen’s child.

  When she finished she returned to find Quinen awake and dressing. Although her face betrayed no emotion, she tensed as he donned the knife belt, but he did not detect her magic.

  Then he noticed her and said, “There’s a council meeting this morning.” He looked away, avoiding her gaze. “I have to hurry.”

  His manner was cool, almost brusque. At first Leah thought he was merely embarrassed; then as she watched his expression she began to wonder if he were actually angry with himself for what had happened. After all, she was a shiffem. In the clear light of day the fact that she was only a half-breed was all too obvious.

  Not knowing what to say to him, she turned away, picked up her hairbrush from the table, and began to brush her waist-length, silver hair. Although her face remained impassive as she plaited it into a long Sylvan-style rope down the right side of her neck, her mind whirled with conflicting emotions of hurt, resentment, disappointment, anger, and longing.

  “I’ll see you later,” said Quinen behind her. She glanced through the open bathroom door and caught sight of him reflected in the large oval mirror hanging over the sink. His expression was one of tenderness. Yet as she turned toward him, his face became colder. His eyes were tormented with doubt. Somehow she knew he hated himself for the feelings he had toward her, and he hated her for being half-human. Yet while he reproached himself for what had happened, she knew that he still wanted her.

  “Later,” he said, striding out of the room. The hesitation in his voice made the word a hollow promise.

  Tightlipped, she watched the door close soundly behind him. She had to get herself under control. Until she could discover Quinen’s role in the events of the past week, she could not afford any emotional involvement.

  Sinking into a chair, she pulled out her spellstone and studied its amber depths. Slowly her rapport with the stone forced her mind into a calm, clear state.

  She meditated for over an hour, until a serving boy arrived with her breakfast. The interruption brought her back to reality.

  Although she remained disturbed by what had happened, the meditation had ordered the chaos of her thoughts and restored her equilibrium.

  First she would eat, then test the runespell she’d imprinted on Quinen’s belt; next she would try to enter Geraed’s room to hide a similar rune there; finally she would visit her grandfather to see if he had improved.

  She was going to discover the truth somehow.

  Seven

  After eating a hurried meal of fried delaap and tomaad, Leah cleared the table and placed the tray outside her door so that she wouldn’t be disturbed. Then she removed the mirror from the bathroom and placed it flat on the table. The glass was a thirty centimeter-wide oval.

  As she concentrated on her spellstone and chanted, the mirror’s surface clouded. She used her stone to redraw the runes on the surface of the mirror. Although the gem did not cut the glass, the lines of the glyphs remained as though they had been etched.

  She continued the incantation while focusing her thoughts upon Quinen, his belt, and the runes inscribed on it. At the same time she slowly passed her stone over the surface of the mirror three times. The runes disappeared.

  Placing the spellstone to her forehead, she stared at the mirror. Almost immediately it cleared, and Leah found herself looking at the front of Quinen’s belt.

  With careful control she shifted her viewpoint, pulling up and away from the belt until the image seemed to be from a vantage point a meter above and behind the top of Quinen’s head.

  He was sitting at a mirrored dressing table in his room, applying his face paint.

  As Quinen drew a red semicircle on his left cheek, Leah extended her visual range until she seemed to be watching from the farthest corner of the ceiling behind Quinen.

  She tested her ability to hear within the room. Amplifying the sounds, she heard the tap of Quinen’s fingers against the wooden makeup box, the whisper of the brush against his skin, the rasp of his breath, the thud of heartbeats. Then she reduced the level to about normal.

  Quinen made no sign that he sensed her presence.

  Satisfied that the magic was working, Leah was about to break off touch with the runespell when someone knocked on the door.

  Quinen called, “Come in.”

  In walked a gaunt Sylvan with a short crimson line across his forehead and a design of blue and red on his right cheek. His face looked familiar, but it took Leah a moment to remember his name—Pazolt. He was a Shuull priest, subordinate to Geraed. Leah recalled that her grandfather had mentioned that the two priests did not get along well.

  Curious, Leah stayed to watch. She felt uneasy. She didn’t enjoy eavesdropping, but she had no choice.

  Looking into his mirror at Pazolt’s reflection, Quinen continued to apply his makeup.

  “What is it?” he asked impatiently.

  “I’ve just gotten word from the Expansionists in the Anoke forest. They’ve kidnapped Lady Barbara S’Carlton and are taking her to Bluefield.”

  “What’s this?” Quinen swung around to face the priest.

  “Evidently Lord S’Carlton was sending her to Richmond for safety. When our man learned about it they intercepted her party and captured her.”

  “Good. That’s one less S’Carlton to worry about.

  The wraith will be pleased—it wants to execute the S’Carltons itself, if possible, to sweeten its revenge.”

  The image in Leah’s mirror wavered and began to cloud as she fought to control the anger and hurt that threatened to dissolve her rapport. She shuddered. So Quinen was allied to the Shaltuswraith.

  Taking a deep breath, she steadied her thoughts. She had to remain a detached observer. Strong emotions would break her concentration.

  Resolutely she fixed her gaze on the mirror and reestablished contact with the runespell. The glass cleared.

  … the sorcerer Rowen is planning to set out for Bluefield two days from now to attempt to destroy the Shaltuswraith,” said Pazolt. “We must send men to intercept him. We should be able to head him off and stage an ambush where the Bluefield Road passes along Ravencliffe’s ridge.”

  “Are you sure he’d take that road?”

  “I
t’s the shortest route from Castle Carlton to Bluefield. He’s bound to go that way.”

  Quinen nodded. Then he turned back to his makeup box and began painting a zigzag design of blue and purple across his right cheek as he talked.

  “I’m going to dispose of him myself. I’ll take a few men and leave after the council meeting. You’ll remain here. I have to make certain that Rowen is eliminated. Shaltus thought that the programmed spellstone I planted among Leandes’s possessions would be strong enough to kill Richard S’Carlton and then wreck the castle. If it hadn’t been for that blasted Rowen, I believe the wraith would have succeeded. He’s a dangerous man. We can’t afford to give him the chance to attack the wraith—he might be successful.”

  “Would that be so bad?” asked the priest. “I don’t like aiding that wraith.”

  Quinen glanced up at him in the mirror and frowned. “Do you think I do? It’s abhorrent. But the best way to conquer the humans is to allow them to destroy themselves. Ever since the first spellstones were discovered some centuries ago, the human sorcerers have engaged one another in a series of destructive wars, each one more devastating than the last. Occasionally we’ve managed to aid one side or the other, to the detriment of the whole. We helped S’Shegan during the Great War, until he became a bit too ambitious and attacked some of our forests. Helping the Shaltuswraith is just one more step in the process. He’ll be our tool to destroy the kingdom of Carlton without endangering ourselves.”

  “But if the wraith succeeds, can we be sure it will pose no threat to us?”

  “A wraith has one goal; when it has been reached, the phantom will cease to exist. In this case Shaltus wants only revenge—the death of the S’Carlton family. When the last dies, so will the wraith.”

  Pazolt looked skeptical. “Can we be certain of that? Little is known of wraiths, and Shaltus is very powerful.”

  Quinen shrugged, but his odd-colored eyes looked worried. “We cannot be certain, of course, but from what we know of other wraiths we believe this to be the case. If it does not vanish, we will destroy it—we Sylvan have our powers too. In the meantime the wraith will work for us. It has promised that once Richard S’Carlton is dead it will destroy Castle Carlton and all the humans inside. We’ll take over the kingdom, and in time our forest land shall increase a hundredfold.”