Prophet of Moonshae tdt-1

by Douglas Niles

  Roaring mightily, swerving this way and that in its flight, the wyrm slithered furiously through the air. The sound of the massive bellows broke rocks free from the cliffs, adding the clatter of small avalanches to the chaotic scene in the air.

  "Newt!" Hanrald guessed.

  Alicia, squinting, spotted a tiny shape bobbing and weaving before the huge serpent. The faerie dragon dove to the side, disappearing for a moment only to materialize behind the dracolich, squealing in laughter that only inflamed the monster further.

  The monstrous wyrm ducked and lunged in enraged pursuit, whipping the great body through a series of airborne contortions and several times filling the air before it with an orange-red cloud of intestinal hellfire. The fiery emissions quickly dissipated in the clear air, though the thunderous noise of the their eruption rumbled ominously throughout the vale. Back and forth the two dragons-one tiny and maneuverable, the other huge and immensely powerful-soared in their desperate game of tag.

  The princess felt the power of the goddess warming her bracers, and the Staff of the White Well felt smooth in her hands. Above, the monster breathed again, and this time Newt yelped in pain. Fluttering awkwardly, he started to descend in a staggering spiral, though he vanished before Alicia could see whether-or where-he fell.

  "Goddess of my mother and my Ffolk," breathed the princess softly, "give me the strength to face this challenge!"

  She felt herself become part of the earth, an extension of the Earthmother's power. Giantlike strength filled her. She recognized the dracolich for the hateful abomination that it was, and she knew that her duty compelled her to destroy it.

  "Serpent!" cried the princess, stamping the staff on the rocks before her.

  In the sky, the dragon turned from its now invisible opponent. With a rumbling snort, it tucked the massive wings and nosed into a hurricane dive straight toward the Princess of Callidyrr.

  "Now take her!" commanded Malawar, pointing to Alicia with a skeletal finger. Deirdre didn't have to look at the priest to identify the indicated target.

  Alicia stood out like a golden statue, backlit by the brilliant hues of the rainbow behind her. Her coppery hair gleamed in the sun, and brilliant circles of pale blue light spiraled around her forearms. The staff of her mother she held vertically, in both hands, and where the shaft rested upon the earth swirling lines of light flowed outward. Alicia's attention remained rapt, focused entirely upon the serpent above her.

  Colors swirled, ranging from a bright crimson on the outside to an inner violet so deep that it verged upon black. Beams of light spiraled into a funnel, with the Princess of Callidyrr at its vortex, flashing upward higher and higher, expanding in a cone that gaped before the plummeting dracolich.

  The Earl of Fairheight stood, awestruck, beside Deirdre and Malawar. The nobleman took no note of his two companions. Instead, Blackstone gasped at the dragon, and then fixed his wide eyes on the proud figure of Alicia, barely visible behind the translucent screen of bright hues.

  "Kill her!" screamed the ancient priest. He squeezed Deirdre's arm until his clawlike fingers bit into her flesh.

  Then suddenly she broke free, knocking his hand aside. He reached out to block her way, and she punched him solidly in the chest, driving his surprisingly frail form backward several steps.

  "Treachery!" he cried. "You betray your own god!"

  "Treachery only against a betrayer," Deirdre shot back. "I am yours to command no longer!"

  "Talos will punish-"

  "You yourself clarified it for me," spat the princess, her black hair flying around her head as she stepped toward the priest. "I am sorceress-not priestess! The power of Talos can aid me, and I can work his will, but he will not bind me!"

  "What are you doing?" demanded Blackstone plaintively, looking at the dragon. "What about them?"

  "Stay out of this," snapped Deirdre, casting a look that withered the earl's courage, sending him staggering backward in search of cover.

  "Harlot!" shrieked the cadaverous cleric, sputtering at Deirdre. "You will pay for your perfidy!" He reached a withered hand into a pouch at his belt, but the younger, faster Deirdre lashed out with a foot, tripping the priest and smashing him backward into the rocky ground.

  "No," the princess said, quietly and grimly. "You are the one with a debt to pay, and soon it will be time for me to claim my restitution!"

  Gotha hurled his horrid body toward the princess, impelled by all the hatred wrought by his long decades of undeath. Moments ago, the insolent faerie dragon had infuriated the monster beyond all reason, tormenting Gotha with tiny pinpricks of icy cold magic. Each attack reminded the dracolich of his centuries encased beneath the ice, and each drove him to further heights of rage. Compelled by this fury, he had pursued the thing with berserk intensity.

  Now, finally, the buglike annoyance was gone, either scorched or frightened away by Gotha's flamebreath. All of the serpent's hatred and loathing focused on this bright figure of a woman in the path of his dive.

  The princess glowed with a brilliance that seared the monster's vision, burning into his brain. He knew it to be the power of the resurgent goddess, the direct foe of Gotha's own master. He plunged faster, a monstrous engine of death plummeting earthward at breakneck speed. The woman, in her arrogance, did not flee. Instead, she stared upward, as if she would meet the dracolich in battle.

  If she did, thought Gotha grimly, she would die.

  Alicia knew that it was not she who faced the diving dracolich-at least, not entirely so.

  The power of the goddess burned within her, soothing her fears and making the princess strong. Whatever the horrible effects of the monster's attack, Alicia felt that she could face the onslaught with more than courage. She possessed the might to meet the monster on its own terms.

  The moment of collision came and passed, and the princess felt no impact. Instead, she knew the strength of her own massive embrace, reaching outward to envelop the hateful image. Alicia's body was gone, though it waited for her, somewhere safe, she knew, and her will controlled a force that was far greater than a mere mortal form.

  She was a physical presence in the air, in the water, in the ground-she was one with the goddess herself! Constricting the squirming beast with the power of her clasp, she melted downward into the soothing, cloaking waters of the well.

  Deirdre watched in awe as the power of her mother's goddess arose from the earth to clasp the deathbeast and carry it to its end. The dracolich disappeared within the whirlwind of color as the water frothed like an erupting fountain of multicolored liquid. Slowly the rainbow-hued funnel settled into the swirling waters of the pool.

  The Moonwell sparkled, tiny wavelets reflecting the sunlight as if the surface was coated with diamonds.

  Malawar recovered his balance and scrambled to his feet. Now he regarded Deirdre, squinting in tight caution. Obviously he feared her-for he made no move to attack.

  Blackstone stalked in agitation toward the priest. "By the gods, man, what do we do now?"

  "She is the cause of this disaster!" spat Malawar, gesturing toward Deirdre. "She and her accursed sister!"

  A sound pulled their attention away from the pond, and the trio gasped in unison as a figure lurched toward them. His wide-set eyes fixed upon Blackstone as his voice boomed, an all-too-familiar sound.

  "Disaster? Nay! Behold the glory!" howled the prophet gleefully. His white beard, the long, wispy hair straggling around the bald pate-all were familiar. He raised his arms and staggered toward the Earl of Fairheight, as if to embrace him, to share the miracle of the Earthmother's resurgence.

  "Where did you come from?" demanded Malawar, his voice a taut hiss.

  "The well…" Deirdre breathed the reply. The white-robed figure was soaking wet, and the trail of water led straight to the shore of the pond.

  "She returns!" cried the prophet, his tone rich with glee. "Know the truth and the glory!"

  "No!" shrieked Blackstone. "You're dead-you must be-you are!" The no
bleman, spittle flecking his lips, stumbled backward.

  Princess Deirdre, alert, tried to watch neither the earl nor the prophet. Instead, her gaze stayed riveted upon Malawar. But then as the raving lunatic came closer, she darted a glance at the white-bearded stranger, seeing the man's face locked in that expression of fierce joy.

  In the instant Deirdre turned her eyes away, Malawar snatched his clawlike holy symbol, three lightning bolts of steel, exploding outward from a gem-studded nut, from his pouch. He brandished the thing as if he himself was a storm cloud, whirling toward Deirdre, raising the artifact menacingly. The movement caught her eye, and the princess instantly turned back to face him.

  The earl continued to jabber, and the white-bearded man advanced farther. Blackstone spun, darting away from the apparition, lunging between Deirdre and Malawar.

  At that exact moment, the priest invoked the name of his god in killing magic. A fatal word triggered the spell, and the power of Talos lashed out, hissing through the air with flesh-rending force. The fatal force intended for Deirdre struck the fleeing earl full in the chest, enveloping him in light and fire that spit and crackled with power.

  Lord Blackstone, Earl of Fairheight, died in supreme agony, his body wracked by the fatal power of Talos the Destroyer. His black-maned head flew backward, his mouth locked open in soundless horror. His fingers clenched desperately at the air, clutching for some hope of survival.

  The robed priest of Talos stood transfixed behind the earl, his hood thrown back and his withered, balded pate spotted with sweat, staring wide-eyed at the misdirected power of his god. At last the sputtering died away, and a grisly corpse fell stiffly to the ground before the princess.

  The cleric dodged backward, away from the princess, as he raised his holy symbol to ward off her attack. The corpse of Blackstone smoldered on the ground between them.

  "Glory! Rejoice!" The prophet raised his hands, shouting at Deirdre, though it seemed as if he looked right through her. Then he turned toward Malawar as the cleric crouched defensively, ready to meet Deirdre's return spell.

  "Know the truth!" cried the strange man, and he suddenly lunged at Malawar. His hands wrapped around the holy symbol clutched by the cleric, and then the prophet pulled the talisman away. "Throw down the idols of false gods!" he expounded.

  "No!" The priest shrieked in horror, desperately grabbing for the artifact. But the prophet shouted, as if in pain, and stumbled away from Malawar.

  And Princess Deirdre raised her hand.

  The arc of color spanned the skies. Fueled by the glory of the reborn Moonwell, it blasted a path through leaden clouds, spearing shafts of sunlight breaking to the sodden land below. Yellow rays spilled across the ground, sweeping over rock and forest and marshland alike. Grassy moors, the trees of the woodlands and hills, all cast thin plumes of steam into the air as the moisture melted away.

  The great arc rocketed from place to place, always gleaming pristine and bright in the sun, extending across the middle of Alaron Isle. From the rugged western shore, where it began, the great bridge spanned mountains and moors and finally arced over the fertile coastlands to the east to center upon Callidyrr, and when it plummeted to land again, it touched in the very courtyard of that alabaster castle.

  The High Queen of the Isles sat up in her bed, energy pulsing through her. Darkness, like a deep and ill-remembered dream, passed from her consciousness into the farthest corners of her mind.

  Vitality sang in her muscles, pulsed in her bloodstream, as she sprang to her feet and stepped to the window. She felt a childlike joy at the advent of a beautiful day.

  Throwing open the shutters, she felt the warm air caress her skin, while once again her eyes beheld the glorious orb that was the sun.

  "No!" The shriek of Malawar's horror stretched beyond the limits of the human voice into an ululating screech that reverberated from the surrounding walls of the vale. His mouth stretched wide, wider than any man's jaw could bend.

  Skin peeled back from his lips, tearing away like sheets of paper ripped from an enclosed package. The tissue itself looked like human skin, but the stuff that lay beneath it was neither bone nor flesh. Instead, beneath the skin of Malawar lay a green, pulsating mask of ichor that oozed and changed shape as more and more of the outer surface tore away.

  Before the gruesomely altered thing, Blackstone's twisted carcass lay, and beyond that stood Deirdre-vengeful, potent Deirdre, ready at last to exact retribution for the abuses of her corrupt mentor. Her hatred inflamed by loathing and horror, she stared dumbstruck, but she resisted the nausea surging in her stomach. She saw Malawar's true nature, but also she understood her own power. The princess employed that strength with resolute determination and even, she admitted, with a fierce joy.

  She pointed her finger at his scrawny chest and let the Bolt of Talos fly. The magic came from her, not from the god, and the sorcery exploded savagely in the air. The power of her enchantment erupted in a bright, jagged spear, scoring straight at the cringing figure, which by now had thickened and shortened considerably. Malawar raised the podlike limbs that had been his hands, and the blast struck the remnants of his fist.

  A thunderclap of sound knocked Deirdre backward and echoed over and over in the vale. The princess saw a space, like some kind of opening in the air itself. An aperture yawned about the decrepit creature, and through that hole, she saw a smoking, fire-colored sky beyond a landscape of soot-blackened hills. Flames surged into the sky, and crimson lava spilled across ash-covered slopes.

  And then the oozing figure of Malawar and the space that gaped around him were gone.

  Princess Alicia swam upward, feeling warm and alive. All around her, the water caressed her in a greenish-blue hue that she thought must be the most beautiful color in the world. Finally she broke the surface, and when she stepped onto the shore, it was to enter a place of surpassing grace.

  Once again lofty cedars towered overhead, and flowers bloomed in abundance on the shore of the pool and the steep slopes surrounding it. The scent of pollen was heavy in the air, and sunlight washed the entire valley in warmth.

  "Keane? Are you there? Speak to me!" Alicia saw the bard stroking the mage's head while Keane blinked and worked his jaw. His voice, when it emerged, was a faint croak, his question directed at Deirdre.

  "Why?"

  The princess, who stood beside her sister and the prostrate magic-user, returned his gaze coolly. Somehow she had combed her black hair back from her face, and it fell in smooth cascades down her back.

  "It was a mistake," Deirdre said. "I was. . misguided. I have punished the one who was responsible. I'm sorry." The words rang stiffly resentful to them all, and Alicia gave her sister a sharp look. But the mage held up his hand in restraint and gestured to the plain bronze ring.

  "The ring-it blocked the magic, partially. It saved my life. But what about the dragon?"

  "Gone," said Alicia. The princess indicated the well, and at once Keane took notice of the lush verdancy of the surrounding valley.

  "The goddess has returned," Alicia concluded. "None can deny it now!"

  "And you have brought her to us," Tavish said, throwing an arm around Alicia's shoulders. "The daughter of a Great Druid-and now a mighty druid herself!"

  "My Lady Princess!" cried Hanrald, his face flushing with emotion. He knelt before her. "I pledge my life and my labors to you and the goddess Earthmother and to any cause you name!"

  Alicia was touched deeply by his sincerity. She knew of the knight's valiant defense of the well. "You have already fulfilled the needs of devotion," she said. "Without your fight here, before the rest of us arrived, all our efforts would have been too late."

  "And the goddess has given us another druid of power," observed Tavish, smiling at Danrak. "Hanrald told us of your role in the defense of the well."

  "And she sent her prophet," added the druid, "that we might know of her coming."

  "The prophet!" Tavish exclaimed suddenly. "Where is he?" None of them had
seen any sign of the figure since he had seized Malawar's holy symbol and broken away from the priest of Talos.

  "More to the point, what is he?" Deirdre interjected. "He appears and disappears like no man!" She made no mention now, or later, of her encounter with the stranger in the throne room of Caer Callidyrr.

  "We have also witnessed a sorceress of note emerging," Keane observed. His tone was neutral, but he regarded Deirdre with cautious eyes. "Lady Princess, I would query you on that topic some time very soon."

  "Perhaps," Deirdre said, still guarded.

  "Such power can be dangerous to the wielder as well as the target," Keane noted.

  "Hey, everybody-flowers! And fish-the pond's filled with fish!" A bright blue figure appeared above the shallows of the Moonwell. Newt dove into the water with a great splash and emerged, sputtering but empty-clawed. "I had a trout right in my paws!" he boasted. "It was this long, but I almost pulled it out!"

  "Good fishing, Newt," said Tavish. "You've earned it." In another moment, the dragon blinked out of sight, but a pattern of dripping water speckled the surface of the pond, marking his location for the onlookers-and the trout-very well. Several times the invisible serpent splashed into the water, but the fish remained a little too smart for him.

  "My lady." Alicia turned at the quiet voice behind her, seeing Brandon. In that instant, the matter lingering between them came to her mind.

  "Walk with me, will you?" she asked, taking his arm and leading him away from the others, across a meadow studded with columbine and wild roses.

  Behind them, Keane and Hanrald cast anxious glances at the pair. Then, spying the concern on each other's faces, they turned away with feigned nonchalance. The Prince of Gnarhelm and the Princess of Callidyrr strolled on, quickly out of earshot.

  "I'm proud of what we've done together," Alicia began, slowly and awkwardly. "And knowing you has brought a richness to my life that makes me very grateful."