The Castle Оf Hape. Caves Оf Fire Аnd Ice. The Joining Оf Тhe Stone

EIGHT

Beyond Esh-nen, beyond Time, in the villa of Canoldir, Skeelie stood staring into the dying fire, but Seeing only Lobon facing the firemaster. The dragon had changed to the form of a man. The wolf bell was bloodied, and Lobon’s dark eyes were blazing with hatred. She remembered sharply how Ramad had faced the master of Urdd, twelve years gone, felt again Ram’s anger. Her hand clutched convulsively at her sword as she felt again the pain of Ram’s death. “I must go to Lobon now. I must.”

“You cannot help him, Skeelie. Not any more than he can help himself.” Canoldir stood tall in darkened leathers before the stone mantel, taut with the visions and with her fierce need. His dark eyes caressed her, were filled with forces and wonders no woman could turn away from.

She drew a breath, watching him. “I must go to him. I can help him. I must be beside him to try.”

“Part of the force that drives you, Skeelie, is guilt. Because you were not beside Ramad to help him.”

She stared at him defiantly, knowing he was right.

“You think your Seer’s powers were not enough alone to save Ram, and now too late you would battle with your sword.” His look was uncompromising. “The sword alone will never be sufficient to destroy such as Dracvadrig. Try your Seer’s powers now, Skeelie. You have more than you know.”

“My power is not enough without the sword. You must let me go to him.”

“Perhaps I will not be able to bring you back. My own powers . . .” Their shared look was long and expressed their shared needs. I cannot let you go without tearing my soul from me.

“You must let me go. I cannot see him die as Ram died. Nor can I see the stones remain with the dark Seers. Nor—nor can you.”

“The fates will have their way regardless of what we do.”

“You do not believe that. You know you do not. Let me go. I will come back to you. I must come back to you. The Luff’Eresi—”

“The Luff’Eresi care nothing for this. They would not lift a finger to help.

“They helped Ram once. To save the Children of Ynell. You do not believe what you say! You can’t run away from the stones—from Ere—uncaring.”

I care only for you. He took her by the shoulders, pulled her to him. But she held the vision of Lobon facing the master of Urdd and would not yield to the gentleness of his touch or to his lonely need.

*

Dracvadrig’s voice was dry as wind. His form, diminished from dragon to man, seemed only the more horrifying in its sparsity and sepulchral stance. He took a sword from a fire ogre’s hand, and it reflected the flame of the ogre’s face red as blood. “Now I will have the bell, son of a bastard!” The firemaster’s power was the power of all darkness. Crieba leaped at his chain. Feldyn and Shorren crouched snarling, then lurched forward dragging their chains to stand beside Lobon, tensed to spring. Dracvadrig stood hunched as a bird of prey, sword poised, then moved forward. Lobon did not step back, was wild with the power in him, the power of that great pack of wolves, the power of the girl in a strange, warm closeness; he raised the wolf bell and felt another power and exalted, felt Skeelie there with him; he knew he could kill Dracvadrig now, at this instant. . . .

*

Kish’s sword was poised against the throat of a peasant, crouching among his dead companions, when the vision of Dracvadrig and Lobon struck her. Somehow, Dracvadrig seemed so small there in the form of a man, dwarfed by the abyss out behind him as if his human form had shrunk. She watched his expression coldly, watched the young Seer; and she knew suddenly and surely that Dracvadrig could die there in the next instant, die in the rising power the young Seer had found. Who was helping him? Curse Carriol and her Seers! She gored the peasant and turned from his fallen body, saw that RilkenDal had already snatched the bridles of two fettered mares of Eresu. She ran, snatched the reins, was mounted. No matter that she hated Dracvadrig, Lobon must not have the stones! They beat and spurred the reluctant animals until the creatures could only leap skyward, were soon pounding the wind in a frenzy of speed under the sharp sting of the whips.

The setting sun sent a streak of crimson along the underside of the clouds, and beneath that bloody sky the dark Seers held steady the vision of Lobon and the firemaster. They must not allow Dracvadrig’s defeat, must not allow the stones to be taken. What powers buoyed the Seer? They sensed a force from the captive girl helping him, and then Lobon had cornered Dracvadrig.

The bastard’s son must not have the stones! RilkenDal pressed his mount until the mare began to slaver, her eyes white with terror. Her wings did not want to hold her, she faltered, seemed ready to fall; he beat her until she strained harder, drove her on toward the abyss.

At last they were over Urdd, the heaving animals staggering against the wind, then dropping from the sky like stones.

The mares stumbled to the earth and fell on their knees, their wings splaying along the ground like injured birds. The riders leaped free and ran. They were too late, they felt Dracvadrig’s exhaustion, felt him take a mortal blow and stagger from the cell, trying in a final bid for power to take the dragon form, and too weak to muster that power.

“The Seer will have the stones!” Kish hissed, running hard. She was light on her feet and fast. “Those useless mares dropped us too far from the cells. Run! For the love of Urdd, he must not have the stones! Use your power! Help him change to dragon!”

*

Lobon followed the retreating firemaster into the twilight of the abyss, Shorren pushing close. Feldyn tried to follow, but fell, his injured leg and shoulder striking a painful dizziness to sap his conscious will. Shorren’s dragging chain made a harsh din in the silence; her spirit was predatory, thirsting for blood.

They found the master of Urdd lying among boulders in a form half-dragon, half-man, the long tail twisted around jagged rocks, the human legs half formed. They could feel his waning powers as he attempted to complete the change. His breathing was shallow and quick, his face gone in a horrifying mixture of shapes. The runestones lay scattered beside him, the broken gold casket smashed beneath the bulk of dragon shoulder from which protruded a man’s puny arm, its clawlike fingers clutching at his fallen sword.

Lobon jerked the sword from Dracvadrig’s hand and pressed the tip into the firemaster’s chest. Then he paused. He could pierce the firemaster’s heart now, he had lived twelve years for this moment. And suddenly he was numb with confusion and uncertainty.

Shorren growled; her voice filled his mind. Kill him! What do you wait for! She crouched, ready to spring, to tear out Dracvadrig’s throat. Do you lose your nerve, Lobon, after all your bragging talk of how you would destroy the master of Urdd?

He steadied his hand. Something lost and empty had stirred in him. He fought it back and plunged the sword home deep through dragon’s chest and man’s. Blood spurted like a river. The bloodied eye stared up at him blindly as the pierced heart ceased to beat.

He knelt beside the creature, half-man half-dragon, mutilated and dead, and picked up a shard of the runestone and wiped the blood from it, retrieved another and another until he held all five and the starfires. Then he turned and stared at Shorren, filled with emotions he dared not examine. She knew. She saw it in him. She looked back at him steadily.

The hatred of a lifetime was satisfied. And the emptiness it left laid a terror on his heart that he did not understand.

Your quest is ended, Lobon. Dracvadrig is dead. Is your reason for being ended, too?

He stared at her, puzzled. He did not know how to answer such a question.

Finally he stirred himself, looked again at the tangled body, stiffening now to cleave around boulders in coils and twisted human limbs. Then he began to examine the stones and to read one by one the runes carven into them. But the runes were only scattered words. None, alone, made sense. He started to fit stone to stone, but something made him cease abruptly. He stared down at the stones, puzzling. “What do these words mean, Shorren? What does the whole rune say?”

Shorren did not answer.

He turned and saw her lying sprawled across her chains, her coat wet with seeping blood where a sword protruded from her chest. His shock froze him, he could not speak or cry out. He stared dumbly at the two figures that stood over her, reached out desperately for some contact with Shorren, knowing she was dead. There was no answering touch from her mind, only emptiness; and his mind, his spirit, could not believe that she was dead.

When at last he looked directly at the figures, the sense of them chilled him through. The man was dark-haired and bearded and stood crookedly: a Farrian Seer. This was RilkenDal, surely. The woman was a pale, bloodless creature, watching him as a snake watches its prey. The dark Seers moved suddenly, swords flashed; he parried, fought with terrible fury, wild at the murder of Shorren, wanting to scream out in agony for Shorren. The woman was strong as a man. The two forced him in the direction of the cell; as he struck at the woman, RilkenDal brought a blow across his neck that jarred his vision and flashed hot pain through him.

He knew no more until the woman’s cold hands lifted and forced him through the cell door. Half waking, dizzy, he knew she had the stones. He saw Feldyn lying against the cell wall bleeding, saw the woman advance on him then draw back hissing and felt Feldyn’s power and Crieba’s, driving her back. With the last of his strength Lobon forced protection for the wolf bell pressed so painfully against his ribs, and felt the wolves do the same.

She did not come near him again. Her expression alone, he thought, might easily kill. She was white with hatred, her lips pulled back. “We will have the bell soon enough, Ramad’s brat!”

She stood beside the dark Seer, just inside the iron gate. In a moment a fire ogre appeared, pushing the girl Meatha ahead of it. She seemed confused, her face flushed from the fire, her arms painfully burned. She glanced at him, pleading, then lowered her gaze. The warrior queen took hold of her arm in a grip that made her wince, and shoved her toward RilkenDal. The Seer steadied his knife against the girl’s chest, and the warrior queen lifted her hands and began to draw signs above the girl’s head.

“What Dracvadrig began,” the warrior queen said, “we will consummate.” Lobon could feel the woman’s power, hypnotic and intense. Her incantation was in words foreign to him, in words that soothed him strangely, then made his blood burn hot, brought a wildness leaping in him and a passion that he saw reflected in the girl’s face as she turned to look at him. What was this spell? Emotions like flame pummeled him; Meatha’s cheeks were flaming; she bent her head as if in shame. A power flowed between them like a river, a yearning between them, the warrior queen’s words drowning them in desire; and then they began to understand the words. The woman’s voice was low and compelling. “As lovers need, so lovers cleave. And in cleaving bring new life. As Seers need, so Seers cleave. And in cleaving bring more than life: Bring to me blood meant to rule the bell. Bring to me blood meant to join the stone. New blood will join the stone in darkness, join the stone to darkness to hold and to wield beyond challenge.”

He was dizzy with desire. Meatha held herself steadier. He watched her, saw her tense suddenly with another emotion sharp and predatory. Help me, Lobon! Now! She spun, her silent words shouting in his mind, she struck the warrior queen in the stomach and groin and grabbed her sword, but the woman spun away. Meatha was after her as Lobon snatched up a rock. He closed on RilkenDal as Feldyn passed him, leaping against the man, and together they toppled the dark Seer. Lobon raised the rock to strike, but the man’s power stayed him, weakened him; RilkenDal’s power closed over his mind so he fought for consciousness and could strike only glancing blows; then he began to drop into blackness, was half conscious of Feldyn tearing at the Seer’s throat in a thrashing, bloody combat.

He woke hurting and confused, and looked around him. The cell gates were locked, they were captive. The warrior queen was gone, the sense of her gone. Meatha leaned against the bars, weak with pain. He stared beyond the locked gate into the abyss and saw RilkenDal there lying dead with his throat torn away. He rose and put his arm around Meatha to help her, but the emotion that gripped him made him step back as if he were burned. She looked up at him. “I tried—I tried to get the stones.”

He felt against his tunic for the wolf bell and drew it out. “She could not touch the bell,” he said quietly, knowing the wolves had protected the bell, feeling their authority, the two here in the cave aligned now with the anger of the great pack that roamed the high desert lands.

But Kish too had power, she carried the mightiness of six stones. Still, the fury of the wolves, the passion of the wolves, was greater. He stared at Meatha and knew at last the true importance of the commitment of the stones’ bearer. Remorse at the possession of the stones by the dark powers sickened him; he also knew, painfully, that far more mattered to him than avenging Ramad’s death.

“And now it is too late,” he said, searching Meatha’s face. He turned away from her, torn with self-disgust; but beyond his anguish there was the sense of the warrior queen near to them, he could feel her cruel pleasure in the power she now wielded, felt the strength of the spell she cast and knew he should feel revulsion, rage, yet felt only desire. He needed this girl now, needed her to drive out the storm of self-reproach, didn’t care about reason or anger or spells, knew he must hold her, was sick with desire for her. He could see her own desire reflected in her eyes.

“If we are to die at Kish’s hand,” he whispered, “might we not die together, die close together, as one—

“Stop it, Lobon! Stop it! She doesn’t want us to die! Don’t you see. She wants . . .”

“An heir,” he said, facing the truth of Kish’s plans.

“Yes. An heir. The stone is not yet joined. We must not give her an heir, must not let it be joined as long as it can be held by the dark powers.” Her face was flaming, her fear and confusion at the strength of her own desire making her wild with anger. “There must be no heir! There must be no joining of the stone in darkness!”

Still he felt Kish’s powers twisting his thoughts.

“Come,” she said. “Feldyn needs us.” She knelt before the dark wolf, ripped a long hem from her tunic, and began to wipe blood from the wound. “If we had birdmoss, salve . . .”

He took the bloody rag from her and went deep into the cave, where he rinsed and moistened it. When he returned, she was sitting with Feldyn’s head in her lap. He stared down at her, then looked at the locked gate.

He had failed in everything. The stones were gone. Feldyn would die here; all four of them would die. And with the stones gone, Ere was surely defeated. He was dully amazed that he cared—about the stones, about Ere; but he was certain now that Dracvadrig’s death was not enough, had never been enough.

Meatha watched him without expression; and when he looked at her, Kish’s words rang again between them. New blood will join the stone in darkness, join the stone to darkness. Kish was out there somewhere near to them, they could feel her presence couched in the power of the stones.

Meatha sighed and turned back to tending Feldyn. “We must get away from this place.”

“And how do you think we can do that? And what good will it do? She has the stones. She—”

She gave him a direct, hard look and did not answer. Her eyes were amazing, large and as lavender as the plumage of the mabin bird, her lashes dark and thick. He could not look away again, and now her anger was lost on him. But she kept her distance.

Late in the night as Meatha slept, Lobon rose and stood watching her. He felt the wolves wake, felt their steady gazes, and at last he turned away.

You might be digging, Crieba told him. I have been patient beyond endurance. I am sick to death of this chain.

Scowling, Lobon found a stone and began to dig, soon was spending his passion and fury against the rock wall. He dug the rest of the night. Sometimes Meatha woke, watched him sleepily, then sighing, slept again. When the abyss beyond the bars began to lighten, he went to press his face against the cold iron to stare upward where, miles above, sun made a gold streak along the rim of the high valley. It was then he saw the charred remains of RilkenDal’s body, where the fire ogres had been at it. He heard Crieba leaping against his chain, turned, as with a final lunge the gray wolf pulled the bolt free and slammed shoulder first into Feldyn, who snarled with pain.

The gray wolf went stiffly off to the back of the cave to drink, and to hunt for lizards, just as poor Shorren had done earlier. Not long afterward he returned with three white lizards for Feldyn. As Feldyn ate, Crieba lay licking the dark wolf’s wounds. Lobon turned to his stone bed and slept.

He woke with late morning light washing the bars of the cell. Meatha was still sleeping, cradled now against Crieba’s shoulder, as if she had been cold. Her dark hair spilled across the wolf’s gray coat, her hand lay palm upward across his muzzle. The wolves were wakeful, he could sense their grieving for Shorren, and his own grief rose in a sudden sharp pain. But the wolves grieved differently, for they believed completely that Shorren would live again as her spirit moved in the natural progression of souls. Lobon was not sure. He felt sick at the thought of lovely Shorren lying bloodied and stiff in the abyss.

It was then he felt his mother with him and his emptiness was terrible. He turned his thoughts angrily from her and blocked her out. He did not want to show his emotions to her, show his pain for Shorren or his terrible lusting for Meatha that was no more than the warrior queen’s spell. Show his empty failure, his loss of the stones—the loss of Ere to the dark. Dracvadrig is dead! he cried out in spite of himself. And Ramad is avenged! What more do you want!

She did not answer him.