Firestar (20 page)

From its rocky perch on the steep sides of Morven, the stag, outlined dramatically against the full moon, surveyed the gentle slopes of the glen, its eyes searching the hillside for a glimpse of the prince; although it sensed, instinctively, that he had already left — probably for some strange, magic land, far away.

Nevertheless, its heart swelled with pride and affection at the thought of the prince’s farewell;
for there, on the rough, heather-clad slopes, he had talked of all they had been through together, the dangers they had faced and the hardships they had endured and had thanked him gratefully.

The stag’s brown eyes again swept the glen, resting momentarily on the moonlit turrets of the castle and the gleaming white walls of Glenmorven House, and softening as they saw the half-hidden outline of Hughie’s cottage, tucked in its little
hollow
. It knew that when the cold breath of winter covered the land that there, in the old stable, it would find food, warmth and shelter.

It tossed its head at the thought of everything that had happened, for memories of the giants hadn’t quite faded from its mind. But in the end, everything had turned out well; the giants had gone forever, Glenmorven was now its home and one day … one day, it knew, Prince Kalman would return.

I would like to apologize most sincerely to the children of Ballatar, and the surrounding area, for altering the shape of their mountain to fit in with my tale of giants and dragons, hobgoblins and magicians, and hope that, despite this, they have enjoyed my story.

Read on for a sneak preview of Neil and Clara’s
next adventure in
Witch
Silver…

The witch opened the door of the old, rambling, grey-stone house and closing it slowly behind her, caught a last glimpse of the familiar black and white tiles that chequered the hall floor. She sighed and a flicker of sadness crossed her face. Saying goodbye was never easy … even for witches. Not, mind you, that she looked anything like a witch. Indeed, had you been there, watching, you’d probably have found her a bit of a
disappointment
for, as witches go, there was really nothing at all remarkable about her — not so much as a trace of flowing black robes, far less the usual pointed hat and certainly nothing that looked even remotely like a broomstick.

No, to the casual observer, she was just a little old lady in a worn dark coat; rather ordinary, really. Except for her eyes, that is. They weren’t ordinary at all. They were sharp, black and fierce as they lifted to scan the far reaches of her garden.

A slight, somewhat rueful, smile curved her lips. The vicious gust of wind that swept across the lawn and the swirling mass of clouds that loomed over the trees beside the river told her that they were there already, waiting for her.

She could sense them and didn’t so much as bat an eyelid as they materialized before her in a sharp crack of sound. Although she’d become accustomed to their sudden
appearances
, she nevertheless stiffened at the sight of them. Her hands clenched and her eyes narrowed. So many of them! They were obviously, she thought sourly, going to see her off in style.

These, by the way, were what you might call “proper” witches. Earth Witches, to be precise. You could tell that from the trailing
roots and scabs of earth that clung to their shabby, black robes. Although there were a lot of old hags amongst them, most of them looked quite young; but they were fearsome creatures,
nevertheless
, their strong faces bold, wicked and cruel. She frowned. This, she hadn’t expected. There must be hundreds of them, moving like a rippling tide over her front lawn.

It was then that the Wind Witches appeared on their broomsticks, swooping overhead like evil, grey shadows. The Queen of the Wind Witches, taking in the situation at a glance, promptly sent a gust of wind through the ranks of the Earth Witches and hid a satisfied smile as it played havoc with their cloaks and sent them grabbing frantically for their hats.

Watching from the top of the steps, the witch almost smiled. Not a lot had changed over the years, she mused; still the same old rivalries. The Wind Witches, it would seem, were obviously determined not to be left out of the drama that was about to unfold and she’d bet a pound to a penny that the pushy Snow Witches, too, would want to be “in” on the action. They weren’t far off either and she smiled sourly as she caught a glimpse of them, slipping from the skirts of the thick, heavy clouds that rolled in livid shades of brown and purple over the house. Yes, they had all come … anxious, no doubt, to see the back of her.

Her death would, she supposed, be quite an event in the world of magic and as Maritza, the Queen of the Earth Witches approached, she wondered idly who else would be watching; her father, perhaps? She couldn’t tell and he’d given her no sign. It was hurtful, she thought sadly, but only to be expected. The Lords of the North, however, would certainly be watching, as would the MacArthurs, Lady Ellan and perhaps even Prince Kalman and Lord Rothlan. She smiled faintly as she thought of him for it had been Rothlan who had advised her against marrying a human: always headstrong, however, she’d brushed his arguments aside
and given up her magic life without a second thought.

And really, she hadn’t regretted marrying David. It was just a pity, she sighed inwardly, that humans lived for such a short time. But yes, they’d all be watching through their crystal balls for it was in their interests to see who would inherit the talisman; the shining silver clasp that held so much power. Over the years, she had been careful to use its magic well and, indeed, had found it remarkably easy to keep the witches in check. Scotland had prospered. No harvests had been ruined by plague or pestilence, no floods had ravaged the countryside and fierce storms had been kept to a minimum, despite the desperate pleas of the Wind Witches and the furious arguments of the Snow Witches. She smiled as she thought of how they’d sulked at not having their own way.

Nevertheless, she was well aware that behind the anger in their eyes lay the knowledge that she was no longer immortal. Human life was short and yes, they could afford to wait — after all, time was on their side.

And now, it would seem, the time had come …

Well, she thought, she’d made her decision and hopefully it would prove to be the right one for, after much soul-searching, she’d decided to leave the talisman to her niece. Who else could she leave it to? Not to any of the witches, that was for sure, and certainly not to her father after the way he’d treated her. No, she thought, Clara was the only choice. She’d heard of her adventures from the MacArthur and knew her to be both brave and sensible. She wore a firestone, was involved in magic and she was sure that the MacArthur would advise her and do what he could to protect her. Still, she bit her lip, well aware of the consternation that her decision was going to cause.

Heaving a sigh, she turned her attention once more to the Earth Witches who, regaining their composure as well as their hats, now surged forward; their queen halting at the foot of the
flight of steps. The Queen of the Earth Witches was decidedly prettier than the others. Her long, black hair curled gracefully and she had some sense of dress for there was no speck of sand or soil on her silken robes.

The old lady regarded her somewhat guiltily for Maritza was her cousin and as well as shielding her from her father’s wrath, had immediately admitted her into the ranks of the Earth Witches when she had arrived in Scotland with David. The thought had sometimes crossed her mind that had she not
possessed
the talisman, she might have been a shade less welcome but the fact remained that the Queen of the Earth Witches had stood by her in her time of need.

The problem, now, she sighed, was the talisman. She knew perfectly well that over the years Maritza had grown to expect it — and, from the look of her as she stepped forward to speak, was behaving as though it were already hers.

Always inclined to the dramatic, the Queen of the Earth Witches raised her arms so that her cloak fluttered in the wind. “The time has come, Lady Merial,” she said clearly, “for you to leave the human world. We will all grieve your passing.” She paused as there was a murmur of assent from the witches. “It is my hope, however,” she continued, rather less confidently, “that before you leave us, you will pass the magic talisman into my keeping for I, an Earth Witch, am your cousin and it is right that it should be mine!”

Her face was solemn as she spoke but her eyes gleamed with anticipation and at her words, a growling ripple of breathless excitement swept the ranks of the witches.

The talisman! It would soon be theirs!

The old lady’s eyes narrowed. The words were little more than she had expected. Now came the tough part and, conscious of the dismay her decision was going to cause, she took a rather
deeper breath than normal. “As you say, Maritza, the time has come for me to leave this world but, I’m afraid I must disappoint you, my dear, for I do not plan to leave the talisman in your care.”

Maritza gasped audibly, totally taken aback. A terrible silence fell. It lasted for the best part of a minute and would have gone on for longer had the Queen of the Wind Witches and the Queen of the Snow Witches not swooped down to land beside Maritza, robes rustling and black eyes glistening with sudden hope.

The Queen of the Earth Witches ignored them. By this time, she was shaking with bewildered fury. “But … you
must
give me the talisman, Merial,” she hissed. “You know as well as I do that it is mine by right.
Mine
!”

There was a growl of agreement from the Earth Witches who piled forward in a surging crowd behind her.

“That’s not quite true, Maritza,” Wanda, Queen of the Wind Witches, pointed out with false sweetness. “There’s nothing to stop Lady Merial from giving the talisman to me if she deems you … unsuitable.”

The Queen of the Snow Witches, incredibly beautiful in the shredded chiffon of her ivory robes, stiffened at these words. “Or, of course, to
me
,” she interrupted quickly in her clear, cold voice; throwing a positively poisonous look at the Queen of the Wind Witches as she spoke.

Maritza’s face contorted with anger and, with visions of the talisman slipping from her grasp, totally lost the plot. “
Unsuitable
!” she screamed, almost incoherent with rage. “How can you say that? I am
not
unsuitable!!
I am not
!”

Lady Merial glanced shrewdly from one witch to the other. “The truth is,” she said, raising her hand commandingly, “that I can trust none of you to wield the power of the talisman with proper care. You, Samantha,” she looked at the Queen of the Snow Witches sternly, “would cover Scotland in twenty feet of snow,
given half a chance, and delight in so doing. And you, Wanda,” she eyed the Queen of the Wind Witches sternly, “you, I know, would bring gales and storms to the land and take great pleasure in sinking ships at sea.” She smiled thinly as Wanda’s face turned black with fury as the truth of this assertion hit home.

She then turned to Maritza, her gaze thoughtful. “You are my cousin, Maritza, and I would not have you think me ungrateful. You have treated me as one of your own for many years now …”

“Then give me the talisman, Merial! You know I always expected it to be mine!”

Lady Merial smiled, her eyes softening. “Maritza, Maritza, I know to my despair, exactly what you are capable of. You would blight the land, wouldn’t you,” she said softly. “You’d hex the corn so that the harvests would fail and the cattle would sicken and die.”

“And the rivers,” Maritza added, forgetting herself completely, “don’t forget the rivers,” she crooned. “I could poison their waters and kill all … the … fish …”

There was a deadly silence as Wanda and Samantha,
thin-lipped
and furious, glared at the hapless Maritza, who, realizing what she had just said, clapped a hand over her mouth.

“Quite so,” Lady Merial said, raising her arms for calm as a
dismayed
tide of sound rippled through the assembled witches. “Now you know why I could never trust any of you with the talisman.”

There was an awful silence and she let it last before
speaking
again. “The talisman,” she continued, ignoring the glint of venom that now smouldered behind their sullen glances, “was gifted to me by my father, Lord Jezail. As you know, he cast me off when I married a human and I have neither seen nor heard from him since. Nor do I expect to. As Wanda says, the talisman is mine to give where I please and although I agree that Maritza has a claim to it, I cannot give it to her or, indeed, to any of you.”

“May we ask why, Lady Merial?” the Queen of the Wind Witches demanded.

“Witches are evil by nature,” the old lady said, “but as you know, I am not a true witch despite being Maritza’s cousin.”

“Through another unsuitable marriage!” snapped the Queen of the Snow Witches.

“Quite,” admitted Lady Merial, “but the fact remains that I am the daughter of a magician and it is the task of magicians to keep a balance between the nature of the earth and those who would destroy it.”

“If you mean us, why don’t you say so?” the Queen of the Wind Witches snapped, her silken grey robes rustling in the breeze.

“Read my words as you will,” Lady Merial shrugged, “but that’s why I’ve hidden the talisman.”

“We’ll find it,” Wanda replied confidently. “Wherever you’ve hidden it; we’ll find it!”

“We’ll look everywhere,” snarled Maritza, backing her up. “
Everywhere!
”

Samantha stood straight and tall. “What’s hidden,” she observed icily, “can be found!”

There was a murmur of agreement as each witch secretly determined, there and then, to be the one who found the talisman.

“In the meantime,” Lady Merial said pointedly, “I have urgent business to attend to — and so, may I remind you, have you!”

They parted before her as she walked down the steps, curtseying deeply as she made her way through them to her car. Even as she reached it, however, they disappeared; fading away on a sighing whisper of wind. And as they disappeared, the livid banks of cloud above the house released the first few gentle flakes of snow; flakes that grew swiftly in number as the witches wove their spells.

The engine of the powerful car roared to life as the snow started to fall in earnest and, driven by a steadily rising wind, whipped quickly into a raging blizzard. Releasing the hand brake, the old lady leant forward slightly to take a last, long
look at the old house before setting off amid the whirling snow. She knew exactly where they would hex her. There was a nasty curve in the road near the old quarry. It would be there.

Hidden among the trees at the side of the house, an old man, grey-haired and stooped with age, watched the car disappear and heard the noise of the engine change as it paused briefly at the imposing stone gates that marked the end of the driveway, before turning slowly onto the main road.

Shivering slightly in the freezing air, he waited until all was quiet before making his way through the snow to the front door, hexing it open as he approached; for he knew perfectly well that if he was going to find the talisman before the witches returned, he was going to have to be quick.