He held her more tightly. His lips brushed her cheek, pressed against her ear. “I knew I’d have to try again. I wanted to be more sure of Claid. I thought you might do a better job of taming him than I have. As you have.”
“I—I’ve tamed a Dire Lord?” She couldn’t believe it, but neither could she argue. Held tightly against Alair, his breath warming her face, she could scarcely think.
“Would you like to see for yourself?” Again his lips caressed her ear.
She turned her head to see his face. “I can’t … I don’t think …”
His lips covered hers, stifling her weak response. His kiss drugged her, made her want more, but he drew away after that single, sweet promise. His hand cupped her chin. His hazel eyes glowed in the firelight.
“I can show you the Dire Lords’ realm,” he said, “show you Claid as he really is.”
“How? When?” She found it hard to speak.
“Tonight,” he said. “Now. If you will trust me.”
His gaze did not waver; his eyes seemed to swallow her. Her lips burned from his kiss.
“Show me,” she whispered.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
JOURNEY OF TRUST
Wrapped in Alair’s cloak and arms, Kyla felt warm, dreamy. This isn’t right. The thought tickled the edges of her consciousness like an annoying fly. She tried to brush it away; it flitted back. She shouldn’t be so comfortable, her head resting on Alair’s chest and her arms wound round his waist, but she couldn’t stir herself. He was going to show her something. He’d asked for her trust.
Shouldn’t they be moving, going somewhere? She made a half-hearted attempt to rise.
“It’s a journey of the spirit,” he murmured. “Lie still.”
Her body relaxed, but her mind gave one final effort. It’s as though I’m bespelled. The thought was fuzzy, elusive. Those signs he drew in the ground …
Her eyes closed. The memory slid away. His heartbeat drummed in her ear, lulling her to sleep.
She walked with him through a featureless, dimly lit tunnel with rounded gray walls that were slick and damp like some sort of membrane. He held her hand tightly in his, leading her like a small child. Trust me. His voice echoed in her ears, though no sound invaded this ominous corridor.
They walked for a very long time, but she did not tire. They cast no shadows, and no lamp or other light source was visible to explain the unvarying light. That enigmatic illumination together with the absence of sound and scent gave her the eerie sensation of being trapped in some eternal circuit, doomed to walk this endless path forever, Alair’s hand on hers the only link to the world she had known.
She made no attempt to question Alair; speech was too alien to this silent place.
Without warning the tunnel walls contracted and convulsed, threw them forward, and ejected them from that sterile passage into total darkness. They landed on a flat surface. Alair helped her to her feet. A din of chilling screams and demented laughter replaced the silence. She drew closer to Alair. The battle cries and clang of metal on metal convinced her that an invisible war was being waged all around her. Deafening booms and unnerving crashes made her flinch and seek the shelter of Alair’s arms. Most unsettling of all was the constant monotonous sound of a chanting voice that wove through all the rest.
A circle of light broke through the darkness. A small bright flame bobbed along in front of Alair.
The light of that flame fell on a hideous, inhuman face. Kyla gasped and hid her face against Alair’s shoulder. “Don’t be afraid,” he said. “That’s an illusion. Dire Lords don’t welcome visitors. It can’t harm you.” His voice steadied her.
She pulled away from Alair and dared to stare at the thing. Tiny eyes were scarcely visible in the crevices of its bulbous, blue-veined flesh. A pig’s snout projected from the ill-shaped mass. A long purple tongue darted from a crack she hadn’t recognized as a mouth. She jumped back, imagining she had felt the rasp of that tongue against her chin, had smelled the monster’s foul breath.
“Are you sure that isn’t real?” she whispered.
“Like any illusion, it’s as real as you let it be. It can be very real if your mind participates in its creation. Don’t let that happen.”
“That wasn’t a Dire Lord, then?” She tried to match his calm tone.
“In a sense it is. A manifestation of one. They can take many forms. You’ve seen that with Claid. But these things are no more than projections of a single facet of a Dire Lord’s mind.”
Alair pointed his light toward another fearsome face—black and shaggy like a bear but with a flat little nose and lips that curled back to reveal long, sharp teeth. Its eyes hid under jutting brows. It snapped at Kyla before retreating into the darkness.
Its place was taken by a goatlike creature with wicked curving horns and the most malignant glare Kyla had ever seen. She quailed and looked away.
Alair drew her close. “Courage,” he whispered into her ear. “That one had more substance than most.”
Had. She dared to raise her eyes. The thing was gone.
Other faces became briefly visible. One eyeless, with tusks like a boar’s and a long snout that swayed and sniffed back and forth. Another a bristling ball of spikes interrupted by a cavernous mouth. A woman’s face framed with long golden hair, her symmetrical features ruined by lidless serpent’s eyes and the forked tongue that darted from her mouth. In the background the groans and screams and clanks and crashes continued.
The sounds and visions only threatened. Unable to inflict real harm, the parade of horrors took on the quality of a spectacle, like those presented by the village children on holidays. Kyla’s pulse slowed, her heart rate returned to normal. She pulled free of Alair’s protective embrace and walked beside him, no longer flinching at the approach of each new grotesquerie.
As though discouraged by their failure to terrify, the raucous sounds faded into silence, the horrors vanished. A radiant winged figure swept into view. The newcomer’s beautiful features bestowed a welcoming smile, its luminous eyes filled with love. Far stronger than the fear aroused by the horrors was the longing aroused by this being’s beneficence. Kyla would have run to it, but Alair held her back. “Not yet,” he said.
The figure nodded and disappeared. Kyla wanted to weep for its absence, but Alair’s pointing finger drew her attention to another figure. She gasped in recognition.
Bound with a sturdy chain so that it could move neither arms nor legs, the being of the fever-dream she’d had after her flogging towered over her, mighty even in its helplessness. The goat-man’s body bulged with powerful muscles. Why couldn’t it break the chains?
Thick, coarse hair covered its legs and hoofed feet. Except for pointed ears and short inward-curving horns, its upper body was human. It had a short curly beard, clear gray eyes, and features she could not mistake despite their greater age.
“Claid!”
The gray eyes regarded her with such sadness that Kyla’s eyes filled with tears. She turned to the mage. “Alair, you have to free him.”
“And let the mindstealers destroy us all?”
She bit her lip. She’d forgotten the mindstealers.
“His power is the only thing that can stop them,” Alair said. “With his help my plan has a chance of succeeding.”
Kyla stepped closer. “How do you know he wouldn’t help us even if you didn’t have him chained?” She reached out, doubting that what she saw had any physical reality. Her fingers touched the links, explored the cold hardness of the metal.
Alair jerked her back. “Be careful! He’s not entirely helpless.”
“But he’s Claid,” she objected.
“He’s a Dire Lord,” Alair said impatiently. “The being you know as Claid is only a manifestation of part of his power. This being is far more. His power in a less focused form maintains the barrier that bars magic from the rest of Arucadi and holds the mindstealers in check.”
“How can that be, when he’s here, chain
ed like this?”
“The chain is only a visible symbol of the power links that bind his will to mine. It doesn’t limit the action he can take within my will. He can hold the barrier in place because the chain binds our world to his.
“Now come, we’ve been here long enough. You’ve seen what I promised to show you.” Holding her arm, he tried to turn her.
She resisted and strained to draw nearer to the chained Dire Lord. “Wait! Can he hear us? Can we talk to him?”
“He can hear, but he isn’t likely to speak. He converses only through his manifestation.” Again the mage tried to turn her away.
“Stop!” She yanked her arm from his grasp. “I’m not ready to go back. I want to know something first. You and Claid have both said that by pulling the chain in your laboratory I loosened his bonds, yet here I see the chain wound so tightly that he can’t move. I don’t believe I did anything at all.”
“What do you think allowed you to cross the canyon with Claid?” Alair reverted to the angry, arrogant man who so angered her. “He could go only in infant form, but he could not have gone at all without your meddling. Later he could grow and use more power because your actions added to the slack in his chain. And now the mindstealers are swarming through the breach they created. Can you imagine what they’re doing to those poor people?”
Hands on her hips, Kyla stood face to face with Alair. “‘Those poor people’ can stop them with their guns. They can get on their trains and outrun them. They can—”
He grabbed her shoulders and shook her. “They won’t know how to deal with them. Their machines aren’t designed to confront that kind of evil. Their guns will stop some, but they won’t stop enough. That takes the kind of power we have.”
“And you’ve taken that power from them.” Kyla spun around and ran to the being. She grabbed hold of the chain and tugged at it, tried to unwind it.
Alair seized her, pulled her away, and hurled her to the ground. He stood over her, glaring. “It cost too much to forge that chain. I wanted you to see him in his true form. I hoped you’d understand then. I thought— But that foolish sentimental attachment still blinds you.”
She sat up but didn’t try to stand. The ground, invisible in the darkness, was rough and hard. Her palms bled from scraping across it; her knees stung.
The pain focused her mind. “Whatever else he is, he’s still Claid,” she said. “He isn’t evil like those hideous things we saw earlier. He doesn’t deserve to be enslaved. Why didn’t you chain one of those horrid creatures?”
“I couldn’t use the power of evil without being corrupted by it. The radiant one we saw was beyond my reach; the power of good can’t be chained. This one, neither good nor evil, is perfect for my needs.” He bent, caught her arms, and lifted her to her feet. “Kyla, think of your parents. See them as the mindstealers left them. You wanted vengeance. You also wanted to protect the villagers from a similar fate. Isn’t that part of why you became a windspeaker? Think of how many victims like your parents the mindstealers have left throughout the years. Think of all those left behind, as you were. How can you say I shouldn’t do whatever is necessary to eliminate that scourge?”
His words stirred up the painful memories—her mother’s broken body, her father helpless and infantile. Alair himself as she had first seen him, shambling along, vacant-eyed and drooling. She closed her eyes to shut out the heartbreaking images.
Alair drew her into his arms and held her against him. “You see?” he said softly. “I have to do this.”
She pushed away and looked up into his face. “If you succeed in destroying the central mind, do you promise to free Claid? Immediately?”
Alair met her look with a slight nod. “I swear to you, I’ll remove the chains and restore him wholly to these Dire Realms as soon as the mindstealers are gone.”
She darted around Alair and ran to the Dire Lord, stood on tiptoe to place her hand on the sinewy arm. Muscles rippled beneath her palm as the arm strained against the chains.
“Did you hear?” she asked. “I’ll make sure he keeps that promise. That’s my vow—to see you freed.”
The clear eyes met her gaze; the bearded face broke into a wide smile that reminded her of the beatific smile of the radiant winged being.
“Kyla,” Alair urged, “we must go.”
“I’ll come back,” she said and patted the mighty arm. “It won’t be long.”
She turned and went with Alair.
The way back was much shorter. They walked only a few steps to reach that eerie, monotonous tunnel. They had barely started down it when she was aware of night sounds and the scent of pines and the bite of the winter wind.
She lay against Alair, wrapped in his cloak. His hand stroked her hair. Their breath formed a cloud around their faces.
Had she been dreaming? She disentangled herself and got to her feet. He watched her without speaking.
The fire had burned down to a few glowing embers. Beyond them she could distinguish two sleeping forms, cocooned in blankets. Claid and Marta, lying together. As she peered more closely, she saw Ruffian stretched beside them, sharing their warmth.
Claid—a Dire Lord! What would Marta do if she knew she was sleeping with a Dire Lord? She should do something to protect the girl, but what?
She moved quietly to the supplies, got the remaining blanket, and returned to Alair. “When do you intend to find mindstealers and let them take you?”
“Now that the mindstealers have crossed the canyon, there’s no time to lose. It will start and end tomorrow.”
“So soon?” The words caught in her throat. A band tightened around her chest.
“So soon.” He reached for her hand, caught it, and pulled her down beside him. “It’s late. We should rest. But I couldn’t sleep, thinking about going through that again, knowing this time what it’s like to …” He held her against him, and she felt shudders course through him.
He clung to her, his face buried in her hair. She held him, rocked him—not an arrogant mage but a frightened man. Was that what the arrogance had concealed all along?
He had good reason to fear, but he wouldn’t let fear deter him. For all his faults, he had courage and unswerving devotion to a cause that was probably hopeless. Though if anyone could succeed, it was Alair.
“This time you’ll succeed,” she whispered. “I know you will.”
He responded with kisses that covered her mouth, her face, her neck. She let him lift off her tunic, kiss her breasts. When his fingers fumbled with the clasp of her trousers, she broke away, grabbed the blanket, and clutched it in front of her. “Alair, you know I can’t—I’m a windspeaker. Don’t take that from me.”
“Kyla, I wouldn’t.” His finger reached to trace the line of her jaw. His whisper was hoarse, urgent. “That’s a myth invented by a jealous old woman fearful of losing her power. Or, maybe, the idea is a residue of a warning not to dilute the mage power by mating with someone without it. Of course, without mating at all, power doesn’t get passed on. No wonder the number of windspeakers is so few.” His tone grew huskier. “Love can’t diminish power; it can only increase it.”
Was he right? She wanted to believe. Her body ached for him, but … “The wind is a jealous lover,” she whispered, shrinking farther from him.
“The wind is only a force. A force you control by your power.”
She shook her head. “It’s more than that. When I sing to it, it responds like a lover. It caresses me. It—”
“Is that enough for you? To know no love but the wind’s?” His voice was sad, not angry.
She couldn’t answer. It had always been enough. Suddenly, it was not. She leaned forward to see his face in the darkness. A tear made an icy track down her cheek. His finger rubbed it away.
“Kyla, the wind will be here tomorrow. It will be here for thousands of tomorrows. This may be the only night you and I can ever have.”
A chill crawled slowly down her spine. Her stomach twisted. She reached o
ut to him.
Gently he pulled the blanket from between them. “You’ll find me a better lover than the wind.”
“Master, mistress.” Claid’s voice woke her. She was locked in Alair’s arms, his cloak and her blanket wrapped around them both. If Claid was surprised to find them thus, he did not show it. “It’s time to get up and break camp,” he said.
Kyla rubbed her eyes and forced them open. She hadn’t been asleep long. Dawn shed its first faint light into the eastern sky. The air was bitter cold and a crust of frost crunched under Claid’s feet.
Claid was still the personable youth he had been the day before. His manner toward her had no less of its usual deference. Yet knowing that he was a Dire Lord changed everything. She feared him and she no longer trusted him.
Alair groaned and sat up, pulling Kyla with him. “What is it? What’s the hurry?”
“Mindstealers, master. A small group of them, coming this way.”
Alair swore, and Kyla scrambled to find her discarded clothing. She willed herself to put away her fear and think of Claid no differently than she always had. When Alair put his plan into motion, his fate would rest in Claid’s hands—and in hers. If she could not control Claid …
It’s too soon. I’m not ready.
The night had passed too quickly. Alair had been right. His love was far better than the wind’s. Had he also been right that it was the only time they would have?
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
ONE MIND
They smothered their fire, packed up their gear, and started along a barely visible trail that wound up the mountainside. Breakfast was a few bites of bread eaten on the march. The sun rose as they climbed; the morning wind was a cold pale blue, not a good sign. Kyla wanted to sing to it, to test Alair’s truthfulness. There was no time. Had he told her the truth, or had he betrayed her to satisfy his own need? She wanted to believe him, to trust him, but doubt haunted her like an ancestral ghost.
Mistress of the Wind (Arucadi Series Book 1) Page 26
