Curse of the Shadowmage (19 page)

enemies. The orb remembered the touch of magic, and when the boy laid a hand upon it, it called down the lightning to protect the city. But you had no idea what was coming, and so were caught by the trap that would have served to guard the wizards of long ago.” She paused, licking her thin lips. “There is a way to rotate the sphere, you know.” “How?” Mari asked intently.

“A wizard could do it.” She gave Morhion a piercing look. “But you are too weak from the heartroot.”

Morhion took a deep breath. “I’ll try it,” he said solemnly. “Tell me how.”

“It would kill you,” Isela said flatly.

“That is not important.” Anger flashed in his icy eyes. “We dare not delay our quest any longer. If the price is death, then I will pay it.”

Isela gave a derisive snort. “A lot of good that would do your friends. Especially when there is one other who has the power.” Her sharp gaze drifted toward Kellen.

“He’s only a child,” Mari said scornfully. “You would truly have him attempt something so perilous?”

“He has already faced grave peril once.” Isela’s gaze flickered back toward Morhion. The mage fell silent.

“What do I need to do?” Kellen asked quietly.

Mari started to protest, then halted. What choice did they have? All she could do was watch Kellen closely, and stop him if he appeared to be in danger.

“Close your eyes,” Isela instructed in a low voice. “Imagine that you are not inside the sphere, but rather that the sphere is a small black orb you hold in your hand.”

Kellen sat cross-legged and shut his eyes. After a moment, he spoke in a dreamy voice. “I can see it.” He cupped his hand as if holding a ball.

“Now, you must turn the orb a half-turn to the left.”

“It’s hard,” Kellen protested, his brow furrowing.

“Try!” Isela hissed. “You must try!”

Kellen shook his head slowly. “No, it’s too heavy,” he said with a moan. “It’s … it’s crushing me …”

Alarmed, Mari started forward, but Morhion was faster. He knelt beside the boy and whispered in his ear. “Do not fight the weight of the sphere, Kellen. That is its magic you feel. Let that magic fill you.”

“I can’t,” Kellen gasped. “It hurts …”

“Do not resist it,” Morhion said in a chantlike voice. “Clear your mind. Imagine your body an empty vessel. Then let the magic fill you. It will not harm you if you do not fight it.”

A spasm crossed Kellen’s face, then his visage relaxed. “Yes … ,” he whispered. He moved his hands, and the sphere lurched into motion. The window—and Isela with it—vanished as the opening in the wall rotated. After a moment the sphere ground to a halt. Kellen’s eyes flew open. “Did it work?” he asked breathlessly.

‘Yes, it did,” Mari said in amazement.

The opening in the inner sphere was now aligned with a similar-sized opening in the outer sphere. Beyond was moonlight. Without warning, Isela’s wizened face appeared in the opening. “Well, what are you waiting for?” she snapped. “An invitation?”

Twelve

Isela served them soup as they huddled around a dancing fire. The night was cold, and Isela’s dwelling offered scant protection from the frosty autumn air. The witch made her home in a chamber of what Morhion supposed was once a palace. Only three of the chamber’s walls still stood, and the roof had collapsed in one corner.

The witch shoved a rudely carved wooden bowl into Morhion’s hands. “Eat, wizard,” she said curtly. “You will need your strength for what lies ahead.”

The mage gave Isela a curious look. She made a peculiar figure, with her straggly gray hair, her craggy face, her bony form huddled inside a shapeless mass of dirty rags. Yet the keen light of intelligence in her eyes was unmistakable. Whatever the witch Isela was, she was not crazy. Morhion did not feel hungry—his head ached fiercely from the wound on his brow—but he did his best to eat some of the soup, so as not to offend Isela. The

broth was flavored with strange herbs and contained the meat of an animal he did not recognize.

Cormik cautiously stirred his own bowl. “I really hate to complain—”

“Then I suggest you don’t,” Jewel interrupted, digging an elbow into his side as she glanced at Isela.

He shot her a perturbed look. “It’s only a figure of speech, Jewel. You know perfectly well that I actually love to complain.”

“Really, Cormik,” she chided him, “you have no idea what you’re missing.” She scooped up a large spoonful of soup, including the scaly foot of some nameless creature, and ate it with relish. After that, Cormik made only gagging noises, and the others were able to eat in peace.

It was Kellen who broke the silence. “Isela, why do you think I’m the one mentioned in the prophecy?”

Isela fixed him with her piercing gaze. “I do not think you are the one, child. You are the one.” She shook her head wearily, passing a gnarled hand before her eyes. “But I had no idea you would be so long in coming. How I have longed to lie down upon the forest floor, to let my bones sink deep into the ground and nourish my beloved trees. Still I waited, as I was pledged to do.” She lifted her gaze once more to Kellen’s face. “And now my waiting is over at last. The prophecy has come to pass.”

“But what is the prophecy?” Kellen asked.

When Isela finally spoke, it was in an eerie whisper. “Long, long ago, in an age now lost in the mists of time, there was a great oracle who was a leader of his people, a tribe of the Talfirc. The oracle journeyed to this place and said that, one day, there would come a child marked by magic, in whose hands would lie the fate of all the Talfirc. The child would come on a quest to stop a great darkness. Someone must await his coming, to aid him when he was in need. So the Talfirc built a city here, and

they called it Talis. They remembered the prophecy and awaited the coming of the child wizard.” Isela sighed heavily. “But the child never came, the city fell to ruin, and the prophecy was forgotten.”

“Except by you,” Kellen said, reaching out to touch her crooked hand.

Isela stared at Kellen in surprise, then her expression darkened. “Aye, I remembered. But what does it matter now if the child wizard holds the fate of all the Talfirc in his hands? There are no more Talfirc. They vanished long ago. They are all gone now. All gone.”

“Except for you, Isela?” Morhion asked softly.

The witch only laughed her dry, cackling laugh and gazed at him with hard obsidian eyes. After that, Isela seemed unwilling to talk. She curled up in a corner and was still and silent. The companions retrieved their bedrolls from the horses outside and readied themselves for sleep.

“Do you really think she’s a thousand years old, Morhion?” Mari whispered as they lay down by the fire. “I know it’s impossible, but I almost believe she has lived in Talis since its destruction, awaiting the fulfillment of the prophecy. She does seem to know a great deal about what happened here a thousand years ago. What do you think?”

Morhion met her gaze. “I think, Mari, that you have answered your own question.” With that he shut his eyes and swiftly passed into sleeo.

“Morhion.”

The whisper jolted him awake. His eyes fluttered open. It was Isela. She held a finger to her lips, then gestured for him to follow. He slipped silently from his blanket and padded after her in the sooty predawn light. She led him through twisting corridors until they came to another room. He guessed it might once have been a library,

though the wooden shelves had rotted to splinters, and the books had long ago become mulch for the fragrant wild mint that carpeted the floor.

Isela moved to a rusted iron chest and threw back the lid. She drew out two objects and handed them to Morhion. One was a book, its crackling yellow pages still protected by a cover of oiled leather. The second was a silver ring set with a violet gem.

Morhion raised an eyebrow. “What are these things, Isela?”

She placed her gnarled hands on her hips. “That is for you to discover, wizard. But I will tell you this—you will have need of them on your quest.”

His eyes narrowed. “How is it you know what we seek to do?”

She waved this away as if it were an unimportant detail. “How I know matters not. But heed me, wizard. You seek to destroy a great shadow. Yet shadows can exist only when there is light to cast them. To destroy the shadow, you must destroy the light as well. Do not forget that.”

“I won’t,” he promised solemnly, though he was not sure what she meant.

She nodded and, without a word, turned to leave. By the time they made it back to the sleeping chamber, the others were waking. They ate a breakfast of hardtack and leftover soup—ignoring more of Cormik’s grumbling—and discussed their plans. They had to cross the River Reaching and return to the Dusk Road to search for Caledan’s trail. Isela claimed to know a way across the river, though she remained deliberately mysterious.

“You shall see,” was all she said.

They gathered on the damp green bank of the river in the misty light of dawn.

‘You have got to be joking,” Cormik said in blatant disbelief. “How, by all the gold of Ghaethluntar, are we going to get a horse across the river in that?”

Jewel gave Cormik’s paunch an appraising look. “I’m not certain it’s the horses that will be the problem.”

Cormik treated her to a withering glare. “You actually enjoy being unpleasant, don’t you?”

“Just to you, love,” she said, parting her ruby lips in a winning smile.

Morhion studied the contraption Isela had rigged for crossing the frothing torrent of the river. He had the distinct impression that the entire thing had not been built, but had rather been grown. A thick vine hung across the river, attached to a stout oak tree on each bank. Suspended from the braided vine was a large basket woven from green saplings. Attached to the basket was another, thinner cord that could be used to pull the craft along the main vine.

“Can it truly hold one of the horses, Isela?” Mari asked.

The witch nodded. “Once each fall I kill a stag for winter food. Often I hunt on the far side of the river, and bring the stag across in the basket. It will hold a horse.”

Despite Cormik’s skepticism, Isela was right. Mari and Jewel crossed first, easily pulling the basket along the vine to the far bank. The others pulled the basket back and began sending the horses across the river to the two women. It wasn’t easy getting the horses into the curious conveyance, but with a cloth sack covering their eyes, the animals stayed reasonably calm. It took a great deal of grunting and heaving on the part of Mari and Jewel, but soon all the horses stood on the far bank.

Cormik and Kellen climbed into the basket next, the crime lord somewhat reassured after the favorable performance with the horses. Before joining them, Morhion turned to bid Isela farewell.

That was when the baying started.

It echoed through the forest, distant at first, yet rapidly drawing nearer. This was not the baying of mundane hounds. It was an eerie noise; the snarls and barking sounded strangely like voices speaking in an unknown evil language.

Bloodthirsty cries pierced the foggy air. These came from above, and the companions recognized the source instantly: the bellowing of the winged shadowsteeds conjured by the shadevari. In moments the baying and bellowing grew frighteningly near. Morhion thought he saw shadowy shapes moving swiftly toward them through the ruins of the city.

“Yes, these hounds are creatures of shadow,” Isela hissed, as if reading his thoughts. She shoved him into the basket with Cormik and Kellen. ‘You must go. Now.”

“What of yourself?” Morhion demanded.

“I am staying.”

Morhion stared at her. “But the beasts—they’ll be here in moments.”

“I know, you fool,” she snapped. Then her dark eyes softened a fraction. “You must guard the child wizard. Now go.” She tugged the smaller vine twice. In response to the signal, Mari and Jewel began hauling on the cotd. The basket swung out over the river.

The baying of the shadowhounds shattered the air. “Isela!” Morhion shouted, but the witch was already lost in the mist of the far bank. He thought he saw a dozen dark forms slinking through the swirling fog, but he could not be certain. Abruptly the basket came to rest on the western bank of the river. Jewel and Mari helped Cormik and Kellen out, but Morhion gripped the vine. “I’m going back,” he said hoarsely.

Before the others could protest, the cord suddenly went slack. The main vine crashed down into the turbulent surface of the river and was swept away. Isela had severed the cords. There was no going back. The snarling of the shadowhounds rose to a frenzied pitch. Across the river, brilliant green light flickered in the mist, and howls of pain mingled with the snarls. Somewhere in the fog overhead the shadowsteeds shrieked again.

“Come on,” Mari said, tugging at Morhion’s hand.

“But Isela … ,” he protested.

“I know,” she replied angrily. “She is sacrificing herself so that we can escape. Will you have that sacrifice be for nothing?”

It was like a cold slap. Morhion, of all people, understood sacrifice. “You are right,” he said coolly. They mounted their horses and soon left behind the eerie baying and flashes of light.

Late the next day, they stumbled out of the northern edge of the Reaching Woods and once again found themselves traveling west on the Dusk Road. This time it was Jewel who spotted the sign of Caledan’s passing. Near the road, a dead tree had been twisted into an agonized shape that looked uncannily like a dying man raising his arms toward the sky. The crimson light of sunset dripped down the tree’s bark like blood.

“He has been this way,” Mari said, visibly shaken.

“But how long ago?” Cormik wondered. No one could answer his question.

They rode on, glancing frequently at the sky above, searching for signs of the shadevari. While they did not know who had summoned the ancient creatures of evil, or why, by now it was clear that the shadevari were tracking Caledan, just as the companions were. To their relief, the winged shadowsteeds did not appear.

Two days later, they halted at a fork in the road. Here

the Dusk Road continued on west, while a lesser-used track branched off to the north, winding its way into the rocky Trielta Hills. There seemed no way of knowing for certain which direction Caledan had gone.