Sword of Flames

26 Lightning Strike

Dawn was gilding the curled fronds of the new green bracken, and the skylarks were climbing in dizzy spirals to shower the earth with song. The early sun shone unchallenged in the east, its splendor defying the heaviness of the air—unusual for spring—and the dark, forbidding mass of storm clouds that were forming on the western horizon. As Aurian crested the final rising swell of moorland and looked down across the last mile toward the home of her childhood, Schiannath, who was carrying her in his horse-form, hesitated on the brow of the hill and came to an uncertain halt as he felt her body grow tense with doubt and dismay.

“Now what’s wrong?” Shia demanded. Her temper was shortened, as was Aurian’s own, by the long, grueling three-day run, traveling all night and only stopping briefly by day for food and rest in a cheerless, tireless camp. Khanu, who had also been running at the Mage’s side, looked up questioningly.

Aurian stared in disbelief at the dark, impenetrable tangle of trees that surrounded the Valley and filled the bottom of the great bowl of obsidian stone. “I just don’t believe this—I would hardly have known the place. Anvar—what can have happened here? It all looks so different?” The Mage turned to her soulmate, who had been riding at her side, borne by Esselnath, the Xandim warrior who had volunteered to carry him—in his horse-shape a magnificent chestnut stallion who glowed like fire in the golden early light, his coat as deep a burnished red as Aurian’s hair.

Anvar rubbed at eyes that felt hot and gritty from three long nights of riding with no sleep. “It was the Phaerie who brought the Wildwood in to guard your mother’s Vale—I remember telling you, ages ago, after Hellorin and Eilin rescued me from the Aerillian Moldan and sent me to find the Harp.” His face darkened in a frown. “You know, they told me that D’arvan and Maya had been left here as guardians—but I thought they only meant guardians of the Valley. Why the blazes didn’t they tell me that the Sword was here? Think of all the trouble it would have saved if we had known.”

“I suppose they couldn’t—I think the location of the Sword was something I had to discover for myself,” Aurian said thoughtfully. “Besides, we would still have been forced to pass through the lands of the Xandim.” She glanced cautiously around to make sure that Cygnus was out of earshot. “You remember how the Skyfolk behaved toward us. They weren’t capable of carrying us all the way across the sea in any case, but even had it been possible, they would never have consented to do it.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Anvar said. “At least if D’arvan and Maya are the guardians, we should have no difficulty getting through the forest.”

“I hope not, but…” A shiver of unease ran up Aurian’s spine, and she clenched her hands in Schiannath’s crow-black mane until he shook his head in protest. “Anvar, what if D’arvan and Maya were put there to guard the Sword itself? I couldn’t bear to think I would have to fight my friends.”

Anvar looked grave—then his jaw tightened with determination. “Well, there’s only one way to find out…”

“Yes,” Shia added tartly, “and it isn’t standing out here in the open in broad daylight like a pack of fools. Come, Aurian, this is no time for hesitation…”

Her words tailed off as she was distracted by a rush of wingbeats overhead. Cygnus, who had been scouting ahead, came hurtling down from the skies. “Move!” the winged man shouted. “Run! An army approaches, led by a silver-haired woman! They are heading this way at a gallop round the southern side of the forest. If you do not hurry, they will cut you off!”

“Damn!” Aurian cried. “Eliseth! Come on!” With a bound, Schiannath was racing downhill at a breakneck pace, with Anvar and Esselnath but a pace behind. Together they thundered toward the shelter of the forest, their hair—fiery red and burnished gold—streaming behind them like bright banners in the early-morning sun. Behind them galloped their companions and the Xandim, while Cygnus circled like a vulture overhead. Already, coming into the open beyond the dark mass of trees, Aurian could see Eliseth’s army, speeding toward them from the west like a wave of darkness, with the storm following fast upon their heels.

D’arvan and Maya, as was their custom, were watching the sun rise over the lake, seeking comfort in one another’s company and the peace of the fresh new morning. They had taken to avoiding the rebel encampment lately, unable to bear the grief of Vannor’s friends at the news, brought by Bern, of their leader’s death at the hands of the Magefolk. D’arvan sighed, wishing his worries wouldn’t intrude themselves upon this magical moment of the day. It seemed that the heart had gone out of the rebels when they had heard that the merchant no longer lived. The Mage wanted to help them, but how could he? They could neither see him nor hear him—and even if they could, what words of his would be sufficient to allay their grief?

Suddenly the unicorn stiffened, her silver ears pricked forward, as D’arvan caught the sound of an agitated murmuring among the ranks of trees behind him. The word was being passed back through the forest of an armed and mounted troop who were circling the Wildwood from the west. A moment later came the word of another wave of invaders, riding down like the wind out of the east.

“From the east?” the Mage muttered to Maya, frowning in puzzlement. “But there’s nothing that way but fishing settlements. Where can they be coming from—and who in the name of all the gods can they be?” He felt a stab of anxiety. Eliseth and the Archmage had been quiet far too long—he had been half expecting something of this kind for some time. “This has surely got to be some kind of trick!” Leaving the unicorn to guard the bridge according to her task, he hastened away toward the eastern side of the vale.

Neck and neck, the two Horsefolk with the Mages that they carried came bounding to an abrupt halt, almost beneath the very eaves of the forest, with their companions racing up behind them. There was a moment’s hesitation. There was no obvious way into the Wildwood through the dense and tangled growth, and the sinister darkness of the forest was bristling with threat. Anvar looked at Aurian. “What do we do now?”

Aurian shrugged helplessly. “You were the one who met the Forest Lord—I was hoping that you might know.”

Already they could hear the thunder of hoofbeats growing ever louder as the enemy drew closer. Already they were near enough for the Mages to make out the flash of sunlight on naked steel, and to recognize the tall figure that rode at the head of the advancing foes, her silver hair streaming behind her in the wind.

Vannor shouldered his way to the front of the crowding Xandim. “Don’t worry—if the forest remembers me, I’m sure it’ll let us in. It had better.” He stepped forward. “Hey,” he yelled, sending a flock of startled birds rocketing out of the treetops with shrill cries and a reverberant clatter of wings. “It’s me—Vannor. Let me pass!”

Even as he hurried toward the edge of the forest, D’arvan stopped, his mind reeling in shock to hear the sound of Vannor’s voice. But Vannor was dead—or was he? The Mage had harbored suspicions about Bern when the man had first arrived. Had the wretch been lying all along? Or was this simply a ruse of the Archmage’s devising, to trick his way into the Wildwood and try to seize the Sword? D’arvan broke into a run. He would have to find out—and quickly.

The companions stood at bay at the edge of the forest as Eliseth and her cohorts hurtled down upon them. Parric leapt from his mount and positioned himself at Vannor’s vulnerable right side. Half of the Xandim, most of whom had been in horse-shape to travel more speedily, began to change quickly back to human form, taking bows and swords from the packs they had been carrying strapped to their backs. Grim-faced, they leapt astride their equine companions and turned to face the foe. Iscalda—in horse-shape with Yazour on her back—took up a position close to Aurian and her brother. Shia snarled and flexed her claws, positioning herself in front of the Mages. Aurian, on the plunging Schiannath, drew her sword. “Don’t use the Artifacts yet—not until we have no choice,” she called to Anvar. “Wherever Miathan is, it’s better if he doesn’t know we’ve got them.” She turned to the merchant. “Vannor—whatever happens, you stay here. Keep trying to get us into the forest, no matter what.”

The Windeye, who had been carrying Sangra, whinnied shrilly and tossed his head. As the woman slid from his back, he resumed his human shape. “Lady—let me…” Stepping out into the path of Eliseth’s approaching warriors, he moved his hands rapidly in the air. The foremost horses reared and screamed, dislodging their terrified riders as the shape of Chiamh’s demon materialized in the air in front of them. The charge disintegrated into a rout as horses hurtled into one another and men fled, screaming in terror.

Only Eliseth was unmoved by the vision. “Come back, you fools,” she shrieked, wrenching the head of her plunging horse and holding in the panic-striken beast so mercilessly that blood dripped from its torn mouth. “There’s nothing there! It’s only an illusion!” Suddenly she looked past Chiamh and caught sight of Vannor, and her face turned white with rage. “How?” she hissed. “How did you escape me, Mortal? Well, you shall not escape me again!”

Lifting her hand, she reached up to the gathering clouds and launched a sizzling bolt of lightning through the air at the unprotected Windeye. Aurian, moving more quickly than she had ever moved before, flung up a magical shield to surround him, and the bolt impacted against the barrier, dissipating in a shower of spitting sparks. But because the shield was also blocking Chiamh’s powers, the demon vanished abruptly, and the attackers began to take heart once more.

Anvar, in the meantime, had launched his own bolt of force at the Weather-Mage, forcing her to abandon her attack and shield herself—until the captain of the mercenaries picked himself up off the ground and unslung his bow from his back, firing arrow after arrow into the ranks of the companions who stood at bay, trapped against the forest’s wall. Two, three, four of the Xandim screamed and fell. Urged on by their commander’s shouted orders, his remaining troops followed his example, and in moments a deadly hail of arrows was streaking down upon the Xandim, forcing the Mages to extend their shields to protect their companions.

Now that both Aurian and Anvar were on the defensive, the Weather-Mage was free to act once more. Again and again, she launched her deadly bolts at the fragile barrier of the shielding, while the arrows kept raining down. Schiannath and Esselnath displayed their own remarkable brand of courage, standing firm with the Mages on their backs, though they rolled their eyes and trembled at the barrage of magic that was so terrifying to them while they were in equine form. The white mare Iscalda, stalwart as ever, remained firmly by her brother.

Though she was warmed by her companions’ courage, Aurian’s heart was sinking. Despite the fact that they were two to Eliseth’s one, she and Anvar were hampered by the need to protect so many. They were forced to spread their powers so thinly to cover everyone that gradually, inexorably, their magical barrier began to waver and fade beneath the repeated onslaughts of their foe.

Grimly, Aurian and Anvar held firm—until suddenly, to their horror, they realized that Eliseth was drawing on more and more power to oppose them. Where is she getting it from? Aurian thought desperately—and then she recognized the surging, barely controllable power of the High Magic. “Anvar,” she whispered, her voice cracking in horror. “She’s got the Caldron!”

“Why don’t you just give up?” Eliseth taunted, her eyes ablaze with triumph and her flawless face disfigured by a gloating sneer. “You pathetic, soft-hearted, spineless fools—you can’t keep this up much longer! If you surrender now I may spare the miserable lives of the rabble that follow you. Miathan can always use more Mortal slaves.”

“Eat dung, you stinking, verminous sack of bones!” Shia snarled, projecting her mental voice toward the Weather-Mage. “May maggots gnaw what passes for your brain!”

Eliseth jumped as the cat’s abuse echoed unexpectedly in her mind. Her magical attack faltered for a moment as she scanned the ranks of her foes, puzzled as to who had sent the message. Aurian, who had been far too busy concentrating on her shield to formulate a suitable reply, glanced at Shia. “Very nice,” she muttered. “I couldn’t have put it better myself!” It was all she had time for before Eliseth, white with anger at the insult, renewed her attack with redoubled force, sending white flares of energy rippling across the magical barrier, which was beginning to smoke and spark.

Anvar turned to Aurian, his face taut with strain. “We can’t keep this up much longer—not against the Caldron.” He spoke through gritted teeth. “Soon we’ll be forced to use the Artifacts—”

“I know.” Somehow, Aurian managed to force the words out. “But not until the shield goes…”

But the shield was already beginning to buckle. With a sinking heart, Aurian realized that they had only a few more minutes…

As he reached the edge of the forest, D’arvan could hear the whistle of arrows through the air. He was almost knocked from his feet by the reek of evil magic. Gasping, he took in the scene before him. Aurian—it was Aurian, returned, and with her, Anvar and Parric… And, by all the gods, there was Vannor—definitely the merchant and not some illusion. He was very much alive, and screaming curses at the unyielding forest that denied him entry. But who were these strangers that came with them? No matter. The Mage’s eyes went to Eliseth, her eyes ablaze with hate and triumph, attacking Aurian’s crumbling shield…

D’arvan acted quickly, calling to the Wildwood. The trees, uneasy about the battle that was waging at their feet, resisted him. Grasping the Lady Eilin’s staff tightly, the Mage put forth all his power until, slowly and reluctantly, he felt the forest yielding to his will.

Vannor, incredulous, saw the widening opening in the ranks of trees. His heart leapt fiercely within him. “Come on,” he called to the huddled, beleaguered Xandim. “This way—hurry!” They needed no second telling. Vannor was forced to jump quickly to one side as they rushed past him into the shelter of the forest, until only Parric, the cats, Chiamh, Yazour, and Iscalda remained. Eliseth’s face turned ugly with rage as she saw that she was being thwarted. Fueled and impelled by her wrath, the force of her bolts increased against the disintegrating shield. Vannor, realizing that the Mages and their two Horsefolk could not retreat until everyone was safe, urged the remaining companions after the fleeing Xandim. “Move, you bloody idiots,” he roared. “Don’t just stand there—you’re holding everyone up!”

Luckily they saw the sense in what he was saying, and reluctantly obeyed him. Shia stopped beside him to wait for Aurian, fixing him with a baleful glare that froze his blood. Chiamh also waited. “When I change, get on my back quickly,” he told the merchant. “I will bear you swiftly away from our foes.” Once everyone else had scurried to safety, Vannor mounted Chiamh, who turned back from the edge of the forest. “Aurian, Anvar—now!” the merchant shouted. “Everyone’s safe. Get out of there!”

Schiannath and Esselnath wheeled as one, and came hurtling back toward the safety of the trees. Behind them, the shield collapsed in a final shower of sparks, and a scorching bolt of lightning ripped up the turf at their heels. Eliseth gave a scream of rage when she saw her prey escaping. She spurred her horse to follow, hurling thunderbolts and curses, but it was already too late. The trees of the forest closed ranks quickly, their branches entwining and a bristling barrier of thorns and briars springing up around them as the way snapped shut before Eliseth’s face. Cursing, the Weather-Mage turned away—and did not see the two wolves, a bow shot away from where she stood as they ran from behind the cover of a gorse bush. Dangling securely from the female’s mouth by the loose skin on its neck was a very young cub. Soundlessly, they slipped into the forest, following Aurian’s trail—and the trees parted swiftly to let them pass, and closed again behind them.

Still shaky from the narrowness of their escape, the companions went on into the shadowy depths of the Wildwood—too weary to talk, not daring to stop—following the easy path that had opened up ahead of them. At the brink of the Vale itself, where a beck from the moorland threaded its way between the trees to tumble down the black walls of the crater in a shimmering cascade, D’arvan opened up a clearing for the fugitives so that they could regroup and rest a little before making the final descent into the Valley. He stood back from the edge of the open space, invisible to the clustered Xandim, and waited, fidgeting with impatience and consumed with curiosity, for the Mages to arrive.

When they reached the clearing, on Horsefolk who were stumbling with fatigue, Aurian and Anvar slid down from their mounts to let Schiannath and Esselnath change back to their human shapes. “Thank the Goddess for that!” Schiannath pushed back a straggle of dark, curling hair from his sweating forehead. “I must confess that there were times, back there, when I thought I’d never get the chance to wear my human form again.”

“Herdlord, you were a true hero back there.” Aurian embraced him. “Had it not been for the courage of yourself and Esselnath, to stand firm despite all that Eliseth could throw at us, Anvar and I could never have kept up our shields. We would all have perished. We owe you our lives.”

“As I owe you mine, Lady—for without your shields we would have stood no chance,” Schiannath replied gravely. “Having known only you and Anvar, not to mention the Windeye, I never realized how potent a force magic could be when turned to evil. I came to help you willingly, but today, for the first time, I truly understand how vital our quest is to the fate of the world.”

As the Horsefolk went off to the stream to drink, Aurian and Anvar hugged each other in wordless relief—but in their hearts they knew that the reprieve could only be temporary at best. “How long do you think we have?” Anvar asked the Mage. Aurian shrugged. “Who can say? The forest seemed pretty determined to keep her out, but we’re dealing with Eliseth, here—and now she possesses the Caldron, too. Knowing her, I don’t think it will daunt her for long.”

“There’s one thing that puzzles me,” Anvar muttered, with a frown. “If Eliseth has the Caldron, what has become of Miathan? He wouldn’t voluntarily give such power into her hands, so what has she done with him? And how did she manage it? He must still be alive, for we never felt him die…” He grimaced. “It would be the ultimate irony if we ended up having to rescue the Archmage from Eliseth.”

“If we do,” said his soulmate grimly, “Miathan had better pray for someone to rescue him from us.”

Quickly, Aurian Healed the wounded who had been hit by the first of the enemy arrows, and thought sadly of the three who were no longer with them. But this was no time to be dwelling on sorrowful thoughts. As soon as everyone had been attended to, she and Anvar gathered their companions together. “Time is pressing, and we can’t stay here any longer,” Aurian told them, raising her voice over a chorus of curses and groans. “Vannor, Parric and Sangra—you take half our forces and go to the rebel encampment. Gather them as quickly as you can and head for the lake—we’ll meet you there. If Eliseth does manage to get into the forest, we don’t want her anywhere near the Sword—especially not when I’m trying to claim it. Anvar and I will go directly to the island with Chiamh, Yazour, the cats and the remaining Horsefolk. Cygnus, I want you circling over the forest to bring us news of the enemy, and keep up communications between the two groups in case anyone runs into trouble. Now, sort yourselves quickly, everyone—and let’s get on with this.”

Parric, hearing an echo of Forral in every word she said, caught Vannor’s eye and shared a smile as they went to pick out the troops that would go with them.

D’arvan, watching from the shadows of the trees, felt his heart falter when Aurian spoke of the Sword of Flame. Dear gods—then she must be the One! But in order to claim it, she must fight Maya, who, in the shape of the invisible unicorn, was bound by Hellorin’s geas to defend the island and its bridge against anyone who approached. Only if the One could find some way to see the unicorn, could Maya be released from the spell… And he, D’arvan, had no way to warn Aurian of the identity of her assailant.

The Mage of the Forest felt himself beginning to tremble. This was dreadful news—that two close friends should be thrown into such peril and contention for the sake of the Sword. For the first time, he began to clearly appreciate the two-edged nature of this terrible Artifact, and he had a dire suspicion that it had further secrets to unfold. And for the first time, D’arvan found himself wondering if it would not have been better if the Sword had never come to light.

At least he could be with them—perhaps when the battle started, there would be some way he could intervene. He was just beginning to follow Aurian and her companions as they picked their careful way down the steep, rocky walls of the crater, when he heard the first sinister growls of thunder, and perceived the rapidly increasing agitation of the nearby trees. As he became attuned to their agony and anger, D’arvan went cold all over with horror. Eliseth had found a way to break into the Wildwoodl His assistance was needed on the eastern border of the forest, lest all be lost! For a moment, D’arvan hesitated, impossibly torn between two agonizing choices: should he go to help Maya and Aurian, or rush to the defense of the Wildwood? But, he realized, he truly had no choice at all. It was doubtful that he’d be permitted to interfere in the claiming of the Sword—events would weave themselves as they must. But Eliseth could not be permitted to intervene…

With a muttered oath, D’arvan turned away from the drama that was about to play itself out within the crater, and rushed back to help defend the eastern border.

Eliseth, seething with frustration at being thwarted by Aurian and this accursed forest, had first reacted by taking out her temper on her troops, cursing at them and snouting abuse as she urged them to greater efforts in their fruitless attempts to hack a way into the thorny tangle of undergrowth. After a time, when she had realized that her ranting and railing was accomplishing nothing but the alienation of her followers, she had calmed down a little, and begun to think the situation through.

Clearly these trees must be protected by some magical force from within the Vale, for axes and swords had no effect on them whatsoever, and she had already been losing her men. Several had been either throttled or blinded by thorny briars; not a few had been felled into unconsciousness by branches that had broken off and dropped on them; and one who had unwisely tried to kindle a fire against the dry bark of a dying old beech had been crushed when the entire tree had seemingly uprooted itself and fallen on him. Eliseth thought she must have guessed the identity of the forest’s protector—Eilin, Aurian’s mother. That accursed rebel Earth-Mage who had turned her back on the Magefolk long ago would naturally be doing her best to protect her daughter!

“Damn her!” the Weather-Mage snarled. Suddenly this battle had taken a far more personal turn—for it must also have been Eilin who had caused the death of Davorshan, Eliseth’s lover at the time. “I’ll show her.” She turned to the mercenaries. “Stand back,” she ordered. “I intend to break a way into this accursed forest if I have to blast every tree to cinders!”

An angry rustle passed through the branches of the Wild-wood, as though the trees had heard and accepted her challenge. Their mistake, thought Eliseth grimly. She did not intend to be kept from her goal by this mere pile of kindling! Standing well back from the trees, the Mage reached out to the lowering storm clouds above, and the dull, booming echoes of thunder began to roll, echoing, around the Valley. With a cry of triumph, Eliseth extended her fingers into claws and pulled splintering forks of lightning down from the skies.

The bolts came sizzling down from sky to earth, striking the trees near the edge of the forest, exploding them into flying splinters and igniting them in roaring gouts of flame. Eliseth’s Magefolk senses could pick up their high, thin shrieks of agony as the fire began to catch and spread from bough to shriveling bough. Smiling a cold smile that nonetheless held great satisfaction, she continued to pull down bolt after bolt of lightning from the tortured skies, kindling the trees like torches. As though she was back at her own fireside, Eliseth held out her hands to the shimmering heat of the flames. Since she had not felt the death pangs of a Mage, she must assume that Aurian had escaped the fire—but it didn’t matter. Very soon now, she would be in the Valley—and then it would be time to settle some old scores.