25.

While the sun was just waking, the world breathed stillness through every pore. The only sound, the trilling of the birds, only served to accentuate the expectant hush, as though the Valley had put on a cloak of silence st.i.tched with the silvery tapestries of their songs. The low, angled rays of the early sun stretched long fingers into the Vale, making blue, attenuated shadows that lifted the textures of the trees and plants into vivid relief against a backdrop of silken amber light. Each gnarl of bark, each individual blade of gra.s.s, stood out distinctly, silhouetted against its own small shadow.

The scintillant hues of the fragrant, dew-drenched earth were echoed by the light that sparked from the glittering crystal in Eilin's cupped hands.

"I just can't see him anywhere." Frowning, the Mage straightened her back and looked up at Vannor and Panic from her kneeling position on a folded blanket. "I always had a fair talent for scrying," she went on in a puzzled voice, "and I learned a thing or two about it from the Phaerie while I lived with them. But this time I'm beaten. I've tried the bowl, the mirror, and the crystal this morning, and every method tells me the same thing. Miathan is not in Nexis-he's not even on this side of the ocean. I just don't understand it, Vannor. All the crystal shows me is darkness-yet, had he died, I would have felt his pa.s.sing."

She threw down her crystal in irritation, and it bounced into the gra.s.s to rest beside the tiny silver-backed mirror borrowed from Dulsina, and the pewter bowl filled to the brim with clear water, both of which had shown similarly unsatisfactory results. "By the G.o.ddess Iriana-he must be somewhere*. And until we discover his whereabouts, there will be no certainty in anything we do."

Vannor tried not to betray his own concern, lest the Lady misconstrue it as a slight on her abilities. Though she was still adamant that they must leave the Valley, her att.i.tude to the intruding Mortals seemed to have softened a good deal during the night, and he did not want to jeopardize this fragile new accord. The former Head of the Merchants' Guild looked toward the campsite, and saw several figures awake now, some of them crouching sleepily over the fires or tending pots, while other folk were busy rolling up their bedding and dismantling the makeshift shelters. There was a lot of yawning, but little talk at this time of the day-only the occasional drowsy murmur broke the peace of the morning. Vannor 26Maggie Furey rubbed thoughtfully at his short, bristly beard. These were his people now. He was responsible for their survival, and they were counting on him to make the right decision.

"Well, I reckon we'll have to risk it anyway," he said at last. "Wherever that old b.a.s.t.a.r.d Miathan-begging your pardon, ma'am-is hiding himself, he doesn't appear to be in Nexis, or even in the North-so we'd better make the most of his absence."

He looked across at Parric and grinned. "Just think, my friend-there's an entire city out there with no one in charge of it. We can't have that now, can we?"

"I should say not," agreed the Cavalrymaster with a completely straight face. "Why, we have a responsibility to go back and take care of those poor, lost folk."

"You're absolutely right-but first, I think we should go back to Wyvernesse and talk to the Nightrunners. For one thing, I want to see Zanna-" For a moment, Vannor's front of determined cheerfulness faltered. He couldn't bear to think of bringing his daughter the news that Aurian was gone. Breathing deeply, he took a firm grip on his emotions. "And also," he went on, "this time I definitely want to take up Yanis's offer of men and ships-just in case anyone in Nexis has been harboring similar ideas to our own. Once we control the river, the rest should be easy."

Parric nbdded. "Good idea, that-after all, we do want the Nexians to have the best possible leadership, don't we?"

Perfect! The Cavalrymaster had fallen right into his hands. Vannor chuckled to himself, and sprung his trap. "I'm glad you feel that way, Panic old friend-because when we get back to Nexis, I'm putting you in charge of the Garrison."

"What, me?" Panic's face fell. "Oh b.u.g.g.e.r it, Vannor-you can't be serious. I hate that kind of responsibility-you know I'm not cut out for it."

"Oh aren't you?" Vannor retorted mercilessly. "After you arrived back at Wyvernesse on that whale, Chiamh told me you had been masquerading as ruler of the Xandim."

Parric groaned. "Masquerading is about right," he grumbled. "Why couldn't that Windeye have kept his blasted mouth shut? It was only for a month-and the Xandim would never have accepted me if Chiamh, the poor b.a.s.t.a.r.d, hadn't forced them to."

"Nonsense." Vannor was determined to brook no argument. "Chiamh said you did a fine job as Herdlord of the Xan- dim-and you'll be just as successful as Commander of the Garrison."

"You'd better b.l.o.o.d.y hope not," Panic muttered gloomily. "When I was Herdlord, they were so desperate to get rid of me that I had a revolt on my hands before the month was out...."

The two men were so engrossed in their plans that they had forgotten her, so Eilin took the opportunity to pocket her crystal and slip silently away. The Mage had intended to pa.s.s by the camp without drawing attention to herself, but the ever thoughtful Dulsina, who seemed to notice everything, had spotted her and intercepted her with a mug of fragrant tea. "Here you are, Lady-it's the last of the rosehips from before the winter. I'm sorry we have no honey, but though it's a bitter brew, at least it'll warm you. It's a fine enough morning, but there's a bit of a chill off that dew."

Eilin accepted the mug gratefully. "That's kind of you, Dulsina-it's been a long time since I tasted rosehip tea."

"There's another thing I wanted to mention," Dulsina added, blushing awkwardly. "Back in our old camp, Lady, we have a flock of chickens and a small herd of goats. We found them in the forest when we came-I expect they must have .been yours in the first place. I thought I'd better tell you- you'll be wanting them again now. I did my best to look after them."

"Why, thank you, Dulsina-and thank you for telling me." The Mage found herself smiling in pure relief. She had forgotten about the well-tended livestock in the rebel encampment, and had been wondering how she would manage to feed herself once the Mortals had gone.

Reluctant to enter the muted bustle of the camp, she took her leave of the woman and wandered away, mug in hand, toward the lake. "If only they were all like Dulsina," she muttered to herself, "I wouldn't mind them staying here." She knew it wasn't true, though. She had slept little the previous night, and had done a lot of hard thinking. Her feelings toward the rebels had mellowed to the point where she no longer wished to strike out at them in her grief-but she still had no wish to share her home with them, and would view their departure with considerable relief.

When her unwelcome guests were ready to take their leave, however, Eilin discovered that Vannor and Parric were Z 8M3ggi Furey still so deep in their discussion that they scarcely even took the time to say goodbye to her. So full of antic.i.p.ation and a certain amount of apprehension were they, at the thought of returning home, that everyone seemed to have forgotten her already. The Mage, who was standing near the end of the bridge ready to say her farewells, found it difficult to dismiss a pang of hurt at such a slight. Typical Mortals, she thought as she watched the knot of ragged figures diminish into the distance. Selfish, thoughtless, and ungrateful! She had given them sanctuary and saved them from the Phaerie-and they lacked even the consideration to thank her or even say a proper farewell. Well, good riddance to them all. Thanks be to the G.o.ds that they were gone at last, and she had her Valley to herself again]

She had no idea that she was wrong. Enjoying the tran-quility, Eilin made her way along the sh.o.r.es of the lake, completely unaware of the eyes that observed her from the nearby forest fringe.

How could he break the news to Eilin that he would be staying? Up to this point, Yazour's plan had been simple enough- just make himself scarce and find a comfortable hiding place until the others had gone. Vannor had agreed, albeit reluctantly, to make a hasty departure, in the hope that the Lady wouldn't notice that one person was missing from the group. Once they were safely gone, Yazour had only to wait for a while (Dulsina's plan, this), to give the solitude time to take its toll on the Mage....

Which was all very well, of course, but Yazour was still extremely doubtful of his welcome, and now that the time had come, he was finding it very easy to put off that initial moment of confrontation. It was important to both of them that Eilin accept him-he felt very strongly that he owed it to Au-rian to take care of her mother in her absence. Perhaps he should wait a little longer, just to be on the safe side....

As the sun reached its zenith he ate the food Dulsina had left for him-cold venison and hard biscuits of flour and water that she had baked on hot stones at the edge of the fire. Afterward, Yazour decided to explore his surroundings a little. He could come back later-mere was no hurry, after all. He already knew that the Lady Eilin was very perceptive- it wouldn't do to linger too close and have her discover him before he was ready. Keeping low to the ground, he slipped Vhiztnmara29 stealthily away from his hiding place in the bushes and headed for the depths of the woods, taking great care not to betray his presence by any telltale movement of branches or snapping of twigs.

Time pa.s.sed quickly for the warrior. He enjoyed exploring this northern forest-it was unlike any place he had ever known. Woodlands were completely unknown in the dry, desiccated climate of his own land, and both the great forest on the desert's edge and the high, sweeping pinewoods of the Xandim mountains had lacked the lush verdancy of the broad-leaf trees that graced these rainy, temperate lands. Everything was so very different here: he savored the aromatic scents of the gra.s.s and the tiny plants that he crushed underfoot with each step; he reveled in the endless, restless sway of twig and bough and the swirling dance of light and dappled shade as the sun flashed against the pale surfaces of the leaves. Best of all, though, Yazour loved the sounds: the incessant susurration of the wind in the trees mingled with a torrent of bird-song that drenched him in a downpour of glorious bright notes.

After the terror of yesterday's fire, the birds and animals who had fled for protection to the lakeside were beginning to creep back to their former territories. Yazour the hunter could observe them with ease-he knew how to move soundlessly and melt his silhouette into the background, and the wild creatures, protected as they had always been in Eilin's Vale, were still in too much of a state of turmoil and confusion to take much note of one unaggressive human. An uneasy truce seemed to exist between predators and prey-for the present. There was food in abundance for the carnivores closer to the area of the fire's destruction, for here lay carca.s.ses aplenty, killed by smoke and untouched by flame. The survivors of yesterday's inferno were currently preoccupied with seeking lost mates and offspring, or attempting to establish new territories or defend their former ranges against homeless interlopers from the Valley's immolated, uninhabitable outer reaches. There were tracks everywhere, crossing and re-crossing one another, and the young warrior followed them with interest, finding an endless fascination in the various struggles for supremacy.

Suddenly Yazour stopped, a startled exclamation on his lips, and bent low to touch the ground. There, cut into the moss, was a line of tracks-the sharp indentations left by a 30Maggie F u r ey horse's unshod hooves, galloping at breakneck speed. Iscalda! He had forgotten all about her in the fear of the Forest Lord's attack, and his relief at h.e.l.lorin's dismissal. Had she managed to escape the Phaerie completely? Could she still be free?

There was one way to find out. Yazour was an accomplished tracker, and in her heedless flight, the mare had left ample evidence of her pa.s.sing in the form of scattered leaf mold, churned soil, and broken twigs and branches. The tracks circled in a wide arc through the broad band of woodland, gradually heading back toward the center of the Vale. With his heart in his mouth, Yazour pieced together what had happened on the churned-up stream bank, and frowned with concern as the pattern of hoofprints changed to an awkward, three-legged gait.

Eventually, drawn by the frenetic buzzing of flies, he found Iscalda in a shadowy clearing that was overhung by the branches of the surrounding trees. She was a heartbreaking sight. Afraid to startle her, he remained hidden downwind ofher while he tried to work out the best way to approach a creature that was clearly at the, very limit of her endurance.

The mare was in a sorry state. Her head drooped and her body sagged with weariness. One foreleg was swollen and held up at an awkward angle so that the hoof barely touched the ground. Iscalda's long, silken mane and tail hung in tangled strings all snarled with twigs and leaves. Her once-white coat, caked with sweat and clinging patches of brown mud, was stained with smears of green where she had crashed into trees during what must have been a headlong flight. Her legs were cut and sc.r.a.ped and her hide was striped with streaks of blood where thorns had gouged their deep and stinging tracks. A ragged wound, presumably from the sharp end of a branch, was torn across her face, narrowly missing one eye.

Then Iscalda lifted her head and saw him, and let out a loud, joyous whinny. Yazour smiled with pure relief. She had retained enough ofher human wits to recognize him. Only when he stepped forward did he notice the wolf cub that lay on the ground within the mare's protective shadow. What in the name of the Reaper was Iscalda doing with a wolf, of all things? Yazour bent down to examine the little creature, that by now was too enfeebled by hunger to even lift its head. It took longer than it had taken Iscalda for him to realize the cub's ident.i.ty, since he refused to believe the evidence of his own eyes, but its markings were too distinct for there to be Uhia.mma.ra.

3 1.

any mistake. Yazour was horrified. Wolf must already be dreadfully weak-and here he was, tarrying like a moonstruck idiot when he should be getting Aurian's son to safety. If she ever found out, she would have his hide?

Yazour scooped up the cub and b.u.t.toned it inside his tunic for warmth. Not without a pang of guilt at increasing her pain, he grabbed a handful of Iscalda's mane to hurry her along as best he could. "I'm sorry," he told the mare, "but we must get Wolf back to Eilin as soon as possible."

The Mage wandered down to the side of the lake and sat down on a large rock that overlooked the water. The lake was deep blue and tranquil, spangled with quicksilver flashes where ripples caught the sunlight. What few sounds could be heard were all very much a part of the scene: a whispering breeze in the reed beds, the piping of birds in the nearby grove, and the gentle, rhythmic sigh of wavelets lapping against the rounded stones that edged the sh.o.r.eline.

Eilin sat there for a long time, soaking up the blessed solitude and letting the peace and beauty of the scene soothe her abraded feelings-her irritation at the unmannerly Mortals, her smoldering anger against the Phaerie and especially their Lord, and her deep, abiding anguish over the uncertain fate of her only daughter. Eventually, however, she realized that it wasn't working. With no other human company to distract her, she found her mind returning again and again to the very subjects that she wished to escape. Sighing, she looked out across the lake toward the ruins of her tower. She ought not to be sitting here brooding in any case. She should be out there working on her island, building temporary shelters for herself and for her livestock, which must be rounded up and brought from the rebel camp. She ought to be making a start at clearing the debris from the tower site, thinking about the beginnings of a new garden and generally making a start at putting together a new life from the wreckage of the old. After all these years, she had it all to do again. The Mage put her face into her hands and rubbed her tired eyes. She had not even started yet, but already, the sheer immensity of the task ahead seemed too much for her.

As he approached the island, Yazour looked on at the oblivious Mage in pity. Surely now the Lady would forgive him, and accept his a.s.sistance? She looked so desolate, how could 3 2M. aggie F ur ey she help but want his company? It was only common sense. But the Khazalim warrior had already had a taste of Magefolk stubbornness from Aurian, and knew how little sense of any kind entered into the picture. Lonely or not, Eilin was just as likely to throw him out of the Vale simply in order to maintain the splendor of her solitude. That way, she could weep unseen as much as she wanted, and her pride would remain inviolate.

That accursed stiff-necked pride! Yazour thought. It won't get her anywhere. For her own good, I must persuade her. In any case, Iscalda needs her help-and when I explain the situation to her, she won't turn away someone in such dire need of healing. Besides-he looked down at the wolf cub that he carried. She must owe me a favor for finding her grandson. He turned to the white mare, who was waiting patiently at his side. It had taken a long time for them to get her this far with her slow, halting, and three-legged gait, but she had refused to stay behind and wait for her friend to return with the Lady. In any case, he certainly couldn't stand here any longer, Little Wolf was desperately in need of care and attention. Yazour took a deep breath. "I'm counting on you to help me with this," he told the horse-though the Reaper knows how you could, he added in the privacy of his thoughts. Taking a firmer grip on the wolf cub, he stepped out into the sunlight.

Eilin started violently at the sound of his approach. "You! What are you doing here? Why in the name of all the G.o.ds didn't you leave with the others?"

All of Yazour's carefully prepared speeches flew out of his head. "I . . ." He cleared his throat and held up the wolf cub. "Lady, I have found your grandson."

"What? That wolf-my grandson? How dare you make sport with me, Mortal!" Eilin leapt to her feet, her face crimson with rage.

Yazour felt his own anger blaze up inside him at such an unfair accusation. "I do not make sport with you. For Aurian's sake I would never do such a thing," he shouted at her. "Look!" Again, he held the cub out toward her. "Just look at him, you stubborn woman. He was cursed into this shape by Aurian's enemy. She had no chance to tell you herself, but despite his outward appearance, Wolf is your own flesh and blood, and he needs your help. For his sake and the sake of your daugh- Dkia.mma.ra

33.

ter, learn to look at him with your heart, and see him as he truly is."

Eilin opened her mouth, then closed it again. Slowly, she reached out and took the cub into her arms. As Yazour watched, her eyes filled, and tears went streaking down her cheeks. "It is my grandson," she whispered. "It is ..." Suddenly, she became all briskness. "By the G.o.ds, this won't do! Yazour, find some dead wood and make a fire. And we'll need a shelter-we can't expect the poor little thing to sleep out in the open tonight. And you, you poor creature . . ." She turned to Iscalda, addressing her just as though she were still human. "Poor child, be welcome. Only be patient a little while longer, and I will see what I can do to ease you.. .."

Her words tailed away into silence as Yazour rushed off to do her bidding. He was glad of a chance to get away quickly, before she could notice the smile on his face.

Vhia.mma.ra.

35.

Chapter 3.

The King Beneath the Kill It was wonderful, Eilin reflected, how a person's life and prospects could change so dramatically within the brief span of an hour. Her new responsibilities left her no time to brood. Yazour had cleared the old fireplace in what remained of the kitchen of her ruined tower on the island. Now he was building a rough, lean-to shelter against the only portion of the wall that was left standing. Though she had sent out her strongest thoughts, she had been unable to find the wolves that had come so far with Atsrian from the southern mountains. Sadly, it seemed that they had perished in the fire. Instead, the Mage had located and summoned a pair of the Valley's wolves who were nursing a family of their own. These were the descendants of Aurian's childhood companions-and wolves have long memories among their own kind. They were happy and honored to foster the Mage's son, and the grandson of the Lady.

Iscalda was looking much better now. Though she lacked the specialized healing abilities of her daughter, Eilin had cleaned the mare's lesser wounds made by bough and thorn, and used her powers to ease Iscalda's aches and pains, and accelerate the knitting of her flesh. Thanks be to the G.o.ds, the injured foreleg had not been broken, though the muscle had been cruelly wrenched and strained. Eilin had done all she could, but despite her best efforts, Iscalda would probably be lame for some time to come. In the end, on Yazour's advice, the Mage had resorted to Mortal remedies, and the injured limb was now swathed in a hot compress of moss and herbs.

Eilin was glad she had listened to Yazour after all. When he had first suggested to her that he stay, she had given him a short-and negative-reply. But on reflection, she had changed her mind-and it was proving to be one of the best decisions she had ever made. This capable young man had been Aurian's friend, and he certainly had his wits about him. Gratefully, Eilin sniffed the savory aroma of the venison that Yazour had spitted over the fire. Not only can he hunt and track, and build a shelter just as well as he can use a sword, but he can cook, too, she thought with a smile. When I see my daughter again-and I must keep on believing that I will see her again- I must compliment her on her choice of companions. The Mage no longer wanted to drive the young man away. The discovery of Wolf had altered everything. Eilin still had her home to rebuild and her Valley to restore to life, but the additional responsibility of her grandson had made her rethink her ideas rapidly. One thing poor Forral had taught her was that there was no disgrace in accepting an honest offer of help-nor in admitting that she couldn't do everything all alone. She knew from bitter experience that if she tried to overstretch herself. Wolf would be the one to suffer, and the poor child had sufficient burdens already. She had no intention of making the same mistakes with him that she had done with Aurian.

Despite the humiliations she had dealt him, h.e.l.lorin could no longer find it in him to be angry with the Mage. When he thought of her all alone in her Vale, her home gone, her daughter gone as was his son, he pitied her. Nonetheless, she had brought much of her solitude upon herself-and he had a horde of angry and impatient Phaerie to answer to. Eilin must 36M2 ggie F ure y not be permitted to thwart the will of the Forest Lord. He had planned to appear before her and say: "See? Already you are missing the luxuries that only I can provide." It was just as well he had decided to a.s.sess the situation first; otherwise he'd have made a complete fool of himself.

h.e.l.lorin ground his teeth as he glowered across at the island, and its scenes of bustling domesticity. What had the wretched woman been up to in his absence? Who was that accursed Mortal? He had expected to find Eilin alone, grieving, desolate-and vulnerable. He had intended to bargain with her-to offer his help with the rebuilding of her tower if she would welcome the Phaerie back into the Vale. Now, when he saw the Mage so busy, so purposeful and no longer alone, his heart misgave him.

The Phaerie Lord continued to watch until the long blue shadows that pursued the sunset had stretched out their arms to embrace the Vale. For the first time, he asked himself why he kept on hounding this woman-and to his utter astonishment, he discovered that he missed her demanding company and acerbic tongue more than he would ever have thought possible. How she reminded him of Adrina, D'arvan's mother, also a Mage and until this time, his only love.

Also, for the first time in an incredibly long existence, h.e.l.lorin had discovered that he could not always have his own way-that here was an indomitable personality who, if it suited her, would continue to defy and thwart him until her last, dying breath. And while he was aware that he could force his will upon her by claiming the debt she owed him, he didn't want to incur her outright enmity. He had enjoyed their sparring, their regular battles of will, far too much for that. Besides, though conscience and contrition had previously been unknown to him, he realized that yesterday, his behavior had appalled and disgusted the Mage, and he had no wish to put himself further into the wrong with her.

For the first time, h.e.l.lorin admitted a hard and painful truth-that despite all the power of his rule, he could not escape the consequences of his own actions. If he had not ignored Eilin's desperate pleas the previous day, she would not be shunning him now-and he might still have his son. The recovery of the Xandim was too high a price to pay for what he had lost-yet now, the horses were all he had to show for his return to the mundane world, and he would continue to cling fiercely to his possession of them.

Vhia.mma.ra.

3 7.

Well, so be it. h.e.l.lorin straightened his spine. It would be a bitter dose to swallow, but it seemed that he must face up to his own mistakes-and then see what he could do about recovering lost ground. Forcing himself on the Mage would bring him nothing but trouble. Sooner or later, Eilin would need his help-and until then he must be patient. In the meantime-who needed her precious Vale? Instead he would build a city-a marvelous and magnificent home for the Phaerie.

It was an idea that had been born the previous night on the bleak, inhospitable moors, and had been growing at the back of his mind ever since. h.e.l.lorin felt his heart stir within him in excitement as he began to formulate his plans. Why, he had not enjoyed such a challenge in aeons! He remembered a place, far to the north of the Vale in the high, windblown mountains where humans rarely ventured. There was a deep, broad cleft between the arms of one such mountain, with steep, pine-clad slopes on either side that cradled a grey and misty lake-Flying Horse Tarn, it had been called in the old days, for it was virtually inaccessible to any but the Phaerie and their magical steeds. At the mouth of the valley a high green hill arose from the feet of the tarn-Flying Horse Tor. That would be the perfect place for his city.

h.e.l.lorin's lips stretched wide in a smile. Even with magical help, it would take a great deal of labor to construct such a place from nothing. He would need many Mortal slaves to build on so grand a scale. What entertainment his Phaerie would have, raiding Nexis and the lesser human habitations for slaves so that they could build a city of their own. It would be just like the old days!

The uneasy thought crossed his mind that Eilin wasn't going to like this in the least; then he shrugged. h.e.l.lorin reminded himself that he was Lord of the Phaerie. He had no intention of letting a Magewoman's whims rule his life-and besides, it would teach her a valuable lesson. If she had not crossed him in the first place, he would simply have settled his people in the Vale, and never even thought of building a city. h.e.l.lorin turned away and prepared to take his leave of the Valley. So be it. Let Eilin think she had won for now. Hard though it was, he would even sacrifice the white mare to keep up the pretense that he was vanquished. Soon enough, she would find out what she had done.

h.e.l.lorin smiled, envisaging the havoc he would wreak in 3 8Ma. gg i e F u r e y the city of the hated Magefolk. Ah, but now there were no Mages left, save Eilin. Would it be better simply to occupy Nexis, and save much time and trouble? No, the Forest Lord resolved. It was useful as a breeding ground for human slaves, but the leavings of their former foes were not good enough for his folk-not initially, at least. Yet when his son returned to the world, as h.e.l.lorin was certain he would, Nexis would make a princely gift for him.

The Lord of the Phaerie smiled at the notion. Two great cities, one in the north and one in the south-and all the lands between ruled by the Phaerie, released from their imprisonment at last. He would build his own city first, he decided-and one of the first things he'd create would be another magic window, one tuned, this time, specifically to D'arvan so that as soon as he returned to the world, h.e.l.lorin could send warriors to bring him home. Though they had not parted on good terms, the whelp could be brought to reason, the Forest Lord was certain. There were ways and means. Once D'arvan had joined his father's ranks, Nexis could be taken at their leisure.

Had h.e.l.lorin, in that moment, been able to look as far as Nexis, he might have felt less sanguine. With the departure of Eliseth, the last magic wielder had gone from the city, and unclean powers, no longer fettered by the presence of die power that fueled the ancient spells, were stirring in the depths beneath the earth.

Once, he hod walked the earth in giant form. Once he had been more than this broken, raving creature left imprisoned in a tomb of stone down all the long ages; wits scattered, lost... lost. Bound and fettered under the iron control of minds hard and brilliant as diamonds, sharp and merciless as steel. Aeons he had waited, helpless, hopeless, a prisoner of the Old Magic, enmeshed in the coils of long-forgotten spelh. Then, long after aU hope had gone, there came a feeling, a stirring-almost imperceptible-a lifting of pressure, a faint promise of hope. A glimmer of light in hiseter-nal darkness-a slender crack in the walls of his tomb. The Mol-dan's hatred stirred, and began to expand as slowly, slowly, thought returned, and strength. The spells of control were decaying-the endless night of his imprisonment was drawing to its close. And, after all this time, there was still such a thing as vengeance.

Little by little, Ghabal began to stretch forth his will, pushing with all his might against the strait constriction of life- Dhia.mma.ra.39 less rock that surrounded him. His searching tendrils of thought encountered a fissure, a hairline fault in the rock that widened to a narrow c.h.i.n.k. Concentrating all his powers into that one spot, the Moldan pushed with all his might. The rock creaked in protest, then the c.h.i.n.k expanded with a loud, reverberating crack as the widening fissure snaked like a jagged lightning bolt through what once had been a solid ma.s.s of stone.

The Moldan rested, spent. A trickle of ancient dust slithered down through the new crevice, whispering secrets in a soft, sibilant little voice as it fell. When he had regained his strength, Ghabal pushed again, widening and extending the fissure a little further. Once more, he paused to recover. With freedom in sight-and after so long-it was difficult to be patient, yet he knew he must take whatever time he needed. It could prove a fatal mistake to overextend himself at this point-he might be trapped down here forever.

After a while, the Moldan's efforts settled into a rhythmic pattern of exertion and rest. He thoughts sank into a drowsy blankness, taking him no further than his next gargantuan effort to widen his fissure by another fraction. Hopes and plans he must put aside for the present-they would only distract him from his essential task. When he finally freed himself from this stony prison-ah, then there would be time for plans and more! Then at last he could find some p.a.w.n, some vessel, who could bear his spirit home across the seas to his beloved mountain, where he could become himself again, healed and whole.

Ghabal had lost all track of time. He might have been testing and stretching his bonds for hours-or aeons. He had crushed down his impatience and was measuring his strength carefully, trying to conserve as much of his energy as possible. He could go on like this indefinitely if he wished-had it been necessary. Instead, with a sudden shock like falling from some ma.s.sive height, he encountered s.p.a.ce. The Moldan's will, concentrated to thrust against the stony barrier, abruptly found itself unfettered. The force of his power, with nothing upon which to impact, snapped back to him with a fearful, explosive recoil that sent his senses reeling down into a spiral of darkness.

Free-he was free] The thought pierced Ghabal's dark unconsciousness like a single, blazing sunbeam, guiding his fragile spirit safely back up into the light. He pulled the tatters of 40Maggie Furey his torn and tender consciousness around himself and rested a moment, taking stock. Though he had hurt himself when his will had exploded outward, there was no damage that would not mend in time. The powerful energies of the elemental earth would renew him, feed him, heal him. And while that was happening, it would not hurt him to explore a little, just a little....

By the Mother-Earth that sp.a.w.ned him, but there had been some changes made since he had first been locked away beneath this hill! Tentatively, Ghabal extended his consciousness into the tangle of tunnels, pa.s.sages, and chambers that honeycombed the promontory beneath the Magefolk dwellings. Incredible! Why those accursed Mages must have been as busy as a band of moles for centuries, to have accomplished all of this. Then the Moldan found the place where the web of underground pa.s.sages joined the Nexian sewer system, and was astounded all over again. Why, he thought gleefully, those arrogant fools have created a vulnerable network of hidden paths that run beneath their entire city. How I should like to bring it down around them, send it crashing into ruin... .

Alas, Ghabal was no longer what he had been before the Magefolk had defeated and broken him. He no longer had the power, and would not possess it for some considerable time to come, when the deep energies of the earth should nourish and renew him. Besides, what would be the point in annihilating the city? Accomplishing destruction on such a scale would only waste his remaining powers for nothing-for the Magefolk themselves were gone. His very return to consciousness and freedom was clear proof of that. What had happened to them? he wondered. He hoped that their fall had involved the greatest possible torment and suffering.

Curious, the Moldan withdrew from the widespread area of the sewers and probed a little more carefully through the catacombs beneath the Academy itself. Perhaps there were clues hidden here to explain the demise of so powerful a race. But to his disappointment, there were no memories encoded in the structure of the stone, such as the Moldai left to record their deeds. The vast collection of volumes and scrolls meant nothing to him-it was simply heaps of moldering, desiccated plant and animal remains, and he wondered why the Mages had left such a clutter of rubbish beneath their home.

Ghabal's tendrils of thought reached the chamber of the Vhizmmara.

4 1.

Death-Wraiths and recoiled in horror, withdrawing back into the core of his awareness like a sea beast's tentacles. The time spell he recognized all too well, to his dismay. It had been one of the favored weapons of the Dragonfolk in the past. But what else was here? Something that reeked of evil magic- some horror beyond the darkest imaginings of a Moldan. If the Magefolk had dared to meddle with such malevolent atrocities, then their fall was well deserved and must come as no surprise?

Tentatively, the Moldan began to explore again, taking the greatest care to shun the chamber of the dreaded Wraiths, and staying alert for any further unpleasant surprises. More and more chambers, more debris and trash-and suddenly, once again, he encountered the cold, metallic tingle of a time spell. Ghabal stopped abruptly. A Mage was here! One of the accursed, detested Magefolk! Had the Moldan possessed an embodied voice he would have howled in fury. As it was, the whole of the city shook with the force of his wrath.

Finally, Ghabal calmed himself. So one of their unholy brood had survived the destruction of the Mages. At least one of them was left then, to suffer the vengeance of the Moldai! Putting forth a single, slender filament of his awareness, Ghabal approached the periphery of the spell with caution, seeking a weak spot from which he could turn the spell into something far more deadly. He was extremely circ.u.mspect: it was not advisable to interrupt the field of a time spell when the original creator was no longer present to renew the magic- occasionally the victim could break loose.. ..

Too late. A bolt of magic came sizzling out of nowhere, scorched its way along the Moldan's thought-thread, and drove straight into the core of his awareness. Suddenly Ghabal found himself utterly paralyzed, all his external senses shut down dead.

"Got you!" The cracked old voice reverberated, grim and cruel, within the dark, sequestered core of Ghabal's consciousness.

"You have nothing, Mage!" the Moldan snarled, though his .;* words were nothing but an empty boast. As he spoke he tried to writhe quickly away from the fetters of the iron will that bound him, but his foe's hold simply tightened, preventing i; his escape. Then he could do nothing but shriek in soundless -;" agony as the other rent his mind asunder with power that 42M Aggie F u r ey stripped bare his innermost thoughts like talons of steel. Gha-bal could only cower, screaming as his entire existence, his dearest hopes and deepest fears, were all laid open to the searing gaze of the dreadful Mage.

After an endless, excruciating age, it was over. The Moldan, cowed and whimpering, cringed away from his tormentor and tried to pull together the pathetic remnants of his thoughts like the shreds of some torn and tattered garment.

"Good," grated the terrible grim voice. "Very good indeed. A Moldan-one of the legendary Earth-elementals from across the ocean, eh?" The voice dropped in intensity, became gentle and almost mild, like some grisly caress. "Well, Moldan-I feel certain that you and I can reach some kind of understanding."

Miathan smiled to himself as he twisted the chains of his will more tightly around the Moldan's consciousness. He had conquered the elemental by means of surprise, using the remnants of the ancient Magefolk spells that had bound it-and he counted himself fortunate indeed to have done so. Now his very survival depended on keeping it cowed, off-balance-and under his control, for it could prove to be a much-needed weapon in his hand. He knew now what the creature wanted above life itself: someone to take it home-and, by the laws of its kind, it would owe an incalculable debt to anyone who could a.s.sist it.