Heritage Of The Xandim

18

THE MAD ONE

Pain perpetual. It was his whole life, his entire being. It devastated his mind, consumed all his attention, twisted his perceptions. It was his past, his present, his future. Ghabal’s existence was nothing but pain.

Pain and one other thing.

The Stone of Fate.

The Fialan was the entire focus of the Moldan’s world. It had to be. He both loved and hated it. The Stone had reduced him to the pitiful creature he had become, yet it was the only thing that let him recall who he was, and what he once had been.

He needed it. It allowed him to remember the face of his enemy.

Hellorin felt as if he was floating, high up among the vaulting of the chamber, where he could make out every detail of the intricate carving with its butterflies, flowers and twining vines. Down below, at floor level, the bed in the centre of the room was the focus of attention. He could see the healers fussing around it, going back and forth, and huddling together to confer in worried-looking knots.

He noted the occasional visitor. Now and again there was Tiolani, her manner changeful as spring weather, one minute pale and drawn with grief, the next, sparkling with love and happiness. When she looked at the bed and its occupant, her face, eyes shadowed and mouth tight-set, was haunted with a grim, guilty determination. At other times there was Ferimon, a cruel smirk distorting his features and triumph burning in his eyes. And, to his lasting horror, he saw the other healers, the three who came in the darkest watches of the night when the others were absent, and overturned all the progress their colleagues had made.

The worst thing of all was looking down at the bed, and seeing not a friend or a foe or a stranger, but himself. The body that had moved at his command with a combination of strength and grace. The familiar face that had looked back at him from the mirror every day of his incredibly long life. Though the details were veiled by the silvery shimmer of the spell that had taken him out of time, the sight of his seemingly lifeless form filled his mind with blinding anger and a sickening sense of dread.

Hellorin was trapped. Exiled from his body and from the mundane world by that accursed time spell, and by the fearful wounds that made its use a continuing necessity. Ensnared by Ferimon, with his dissembling words of concern, that sly and evil smile of triumph; his filthy hands on Tiolani’s body and his vile, corrupting influence spreading poisonous tendrils throughout her mind.

The Forest Lord knew, now, how the ambush had come about. Knew who had supplied the fugitive slaves with weapons and orchestrated the attack. He was enraged by Ferimon’s treachery, but beyond that, he was sickened to the core by such betrayal. When Ferimon and Varna had been orphaned, he had taken them into his own household, had seen that they were cared for, had given them every possible opportunity to make a good life for themselves as part of the Phaerie Court. And this was how they had betrayed him.

‘You know why.’ The rasping voice of Aerillia startled him out of his reverie. Clearly, the Moldan had been eavesdropping on his thoughts. ‘You killed their father and destroyed their family.’

‘Because their father destroyed mine,’ Hellorin snarled.

‘Blood for blood, life for life. Once you start heading down that endless path, you and all who follow you are doomed.’

‘Spare me the homily, Moldan. I care only about getting back.’

‘Then you must seek elsewhere,’ the towering figure on the icy throne replied. ‘I have provided you with a means of seeing into this world and your own,’ - she indicated the patch of smooth, clear ice on the floor of her throne room, in which the Forest Lord had been viewing the images that tormented him so - ‘but you know as well as I do that the only one who can assist, voluntarily or otherwise, in your return is Ghabal.’

‘I don’t need you to point that out to me.’ Hellorin turned to give her a fulminating glare. ‘You know as well as I do that search though I might, the Mad One has remained elusive so far.’

‘Nevertheless,’ Aerillia said, ‘he knows you are here. I can sense it.’

Hellorin frowned. ‘Ghabal may be mad, but he is not slow-witted. He sees me as too great a threat to confront directly. Our powers are too evenly matched, so he has opted for the safer course of evasion. This world is no longer mine but his, and he knows every trick, every ruse, every possible stratagem to exploit the powers of the Old Magic. He has concealed himself and the Fialan so well that he can stay hidden, if he wishes, for aeons, until my own people have forgotten me, and the mundane world has changed so much that there will be no point in my going back. Then the Stone will be safe, he imagines, for I will need it no longer.’

‘If that is what he truly believes,’ Aerillia said wryly, ‘then he does not understand your capacity for vengeance. If he seeks to deprive you of your realm, he can conceal himself until the stars burn out, but you will still be waiting when he finally emerges. You will use any means at your disposal to destroy him and take the Stone, in redress for all that he has made you lose.’

‘How very well you know me.’ Hellorin smiled mirthlessly. ‘You are clever, Aerillia.’

‘Not clever enough to understand why you also seek the other stranger who came into this world when you did, and was befriended by those meddling Evanesar.’

‘No, you would not. You never paid much heed to what was going on outside your isolated mountain form in the mundane world.’

The Moldan shrugged her titanic shoulders. ‘I care little for the mundane world. Its magic and its beauties are crude and primitive in comparison to the wonders of the Elsewhere.’

‘Is that so?’ Hellorin raised a cynical eyebrow.

‘Oh, I can understand why certain of my brethren prefer to dwell there,’ Aerillia said carelessly. ‘It has its advantages.’ The look she gave him was softened, with memories kindling a happy light, and her voice, when she spoke again, had sunk to a murmur. ‘The long, slow dream of eternal stone; the ever-changeful patterns of sun and wind and cloud; the deep vaults of crystal air where the eagles soar; the diamond crown of blazing stars; the dark, secret shadows of the forests; the inexorable power of the bear, the deadly beauty of the lynx and the grace and swiftness of the wolf. The pristine purity of snow and the sharp, icy tang of the air; the jewelled tapestry of summer flowers; the bounding, laughing young rivers where the silver salmon flash and leap—’

Hellorin cut short her reverie with a laugh. ‘And these are crude and primitive beauties, Aerillia? We both know better. The Elsewhere will always be your birthplace, your first home, the mother of your heart, but with all its imperfections, you still love the mundane world as much as I do.’

‘Very well, I admit it. You are right.’ She sighed. ‘I have lingered here so long that I often wonder if I shall ever again be part of those other mountains that are my beauty and joy, my refuge and my responsibility; my own lovely domain. Nevertheless, while Ghabal lurks somewhere in this world, hoarding the Stone of Fate, I have felt it to be my duty to remain. His body in the other world has been destroyed. He cannot return there in the normal way. But my greatest fear is that, with the Stone, he will discover another method of sending himself through, another form in which to exist within the bounds of the mundane world. The damage he could do there, the havoc he could wreak in his madness, is incalculable.’

Her eyes flashed. ‘Is it any wonder that all my attentions are focused here, where the threat lies? Thanks to the trouble you left behind you, I have had little opportunity to take note of the happenings in the mundane world. So instead of sneering at me for paying little heed, you’d be better off answering my question, and telling me what I need to know.’

The Forest Lord bowed his head in acknowledgement, as much to hide the anger that he knew she would read in his eyes as in apology. He had done what he’d felt to be right for himself and his people, and had no regrets. What did he care if his actions had left the Moldai with some problems on their hands? Ghabal was one of their race. Let them deal with his madness. And as for those meddling Evanesar . . .

‘Hellorin, are you going to tell me about this other stranger?’ There was a sharp edge of impatience to Aerillia’s voice.

‘Very well.’ Hellorin reminded himself that he was there on her sufferance. ‘What do you know about the Xandim?’

‘Shapeshifters.’ Aerillia’s eyes stared off into the distance as she searched her memory. ‘Unusual in that they take horses as an alternative form. Most polymorphs tend to use carnivores - the nature of the hunter corresponds better with the aggressive, predatory disposition of the bipedal form. Once, aeons ago, the tribe had a link into the Old Magic, but at some point in their history, the idiots repudiated their powers, which eventually were lost to them.’ She looked at Hellorin. ‘That’s about all I recall.’

‘But the Xandim loss of magic was not universal,’ the Forest Lord said softly. ‘Once in every generation the gift is passed on . . .’ As she listened, he told her about the new Windeye, Corisand.

The Moldan waited until he had finished, then shrugged. ‘So? I thought you took care of the Xandim a long time ago. How can their Shaman be a danger to you now?’

‘She was no danger to me - until the Evanesar brought her here at the same time that you brought me, and befriended her.’

‘Interfering fools,’ Aerillia snarled.

‘Exactly. And no friends to your race or mine. While she is in this world, Corisand can access both her human form and her magic. With the Evanesar on hand to teach her to use her powers, she could become a significant threat.’

The Moldan drew in a swift, sharp breath. ‘You think she can use the Fialan?’

Hellorin nodded. ‘That is my belief. If the accursed Evanesar persuade her that the Stone can free her people - and they will - then she, too, will try to possess it.’

To his chagrin, Aerillia laughed. ‘Hellorin, you astonish me. Why are you so concerned about her? Recently arrived in this world, untutored, newly come to her powers - how can she be a threat?’

‘Because in this world, Corisand’s powers are greater than she knows. And while I am holding her people captive, she will have everything to play for.’

The Moldan’s expression hardened. ‘In that case, Forest Lord, you had better stop watching and start acting. Difficult as it may be, put aside your concerns about what is happening in your own realm, and turn the scrying-glass that I have made for you onto this world instead. Find the Mad One. Do not rest until you have located him.’

She hesitated, fractionally, then continued: ‘I will do the best I can to help you, though I will not be loved for it by my fellow Moldai. As for your Shaman, I would advise you to save your worries for later. Powerful or not, she still has much to learn. Concentrate on finding Ghabal and discovering a way to take back the Stone from him. When you hold the Fialan, the Windeye of the Xandim will be no more than an insect to be crushed beneath your feet.’