Sworn To Conflict: Courtlight #3 (17 page)

As the power from the Old Ones’ grew smaller and smaller to accommodate the valve put in place by the strange mage, Ciardis felt some relief as well as exasperation.

“How about you teach it to get out of my mind?” she said aloud to the coils around her. She didn’t really have any hope of them responding to her question.

That didn’t look like it was an option today. Little by little, the Old Ones’ power shrank until it was a thick rope of mist no bigger than her arm. It eased into the opening gingerly. Ciardis stayed were she was on the opposite side, eyeing the glowing rope that was coming through the hole in the coils of power protecting her. She refused to acknowledge the protective barrier surrounding her as a form of Serena’s magic. That was just preposterous.

And then she felt a nudge. Ciardis frowned and turned to eye the wall behind her. One of the coils edged forward to nudge her again.

“For the love of all that is good,” she muttered.

And reluctantly, seeing as she had no other option trapped in another mage’s hold within her own mind, she stretched out a tentative hand. Careful to keep a tight grip on her mage core with the other. She had to wonder if this was really real. Was she really being protected by another mage’s power wrapped around the mage core within her own mind?

Crazier things have happened
.

Her hand was shaking. Not from tiredness, but from being so close to the Old Ones’ magic. The small bit that was inside her cocoon was letting off wave after wave of aura. Old magic that was laced with history and meaning that she didn’t understand.

Conversationally, she said, “Maybe you should have picked Lady Vana or General Barnaren. They are much more knowledgeable about arcane subjects than I. They went to school, after all.”

The powerful coils wrapped around her didn’t budge.

“The
mage school
,” she added helpfully.

If a glowing, thick rope could thrum with scorn, this one did. Apparently the Old Ones had no appreciation for the finest mage school on this side of the world.

Ciardis sighed and said, “Well, let’s get to it. Can’t stay in here forever, can we?”

She uncurled the taut fingers on her outstretched hand, still shaking, and deliberately beckoned to the power that was slowly coming through the valve. The power of the Old Ones didn’t wait. She was surprised to see it snap cleanly off from the wave of power hovering outside her cocoon and form into a solid, glowing ball inside the safety of the walls formed by the coils. The ball hovered over her for a minute, and then it descended. It landed softly on the palm of her hand, where it felt like the cool tickle of feathers. Then the ball hovering on her palm descended downward past the barrier of her skin and into the muscles of her hand.

Ciardis couldn’t say the sensation was as wonderful as the soft feel of feathers, but it wasn’t outright pain, either. Her hand began to feel heavier, as if two forms were being mashed together in a merger of clay that was slowly figuring out where each individual piece fit and belonged. She really hoped the power didn’t start pushing her body parts out of the way. She was a strong proponent of her muscles and filaments belonging right where they should.

The power settled and it felt like a new glove hovering above the skin of her hand. The hand was the same size, the same shape, but it felt heavier.

Which was weird, because the orb had been nothing but power. Hadn’t it?

“Well,” Ciardis said aloud, “that was different.”

Outside of her cocoon she noticed that the waves of power from the Old Ones were changing into the multi-colored hues of the aura. It was like watching an ever-moving rainbow in her mind. A rainbow she was really getting tired of. And then it began to recede. Before long the waves had completely dissipated, leaving her with the coils of protection and a slightly heavier hand.

She shook the hand experimentally. Trying to see if the ball of power had done anything. Nothing happened. No spark, no magical mist, and no mysterious connection to the Old Ones which was what she had been hoping for. Their party had traveled a great distance from camp, suffered extreme losses and the Old Ones’ had made it clear from their magical interference that they wanted
something
. But what that was continued to be a mystery.

“Weren’t we supposed to talk?” she said out loud to the receded Old Ones’ in confusion and disgust.

No answer was forthcoming, and the coils disappeared just as the waves around her did. No farewell, no goodbye. Just gone.

Unsteadily, Ciardis stood up in the empty darkness of her mind while clutching her mage core to her side with her unaffected hand. She had not the faintest clue how to get out of her own mind.

She felt her hand itch for a second. Her right hand.

The hand itched again and then twitched forward. Of its own accord. She felt it shake and she certainly wasn’t commanding it to do so. The hand jerked upward with a life of its own and a ball of magic the size of a thimble shot out from her fingertips. Not her magic. It wasn’t the golden color of the Weathervanes nor did it feel like her gift; this was the magic of the Old Ones.

“Oh, no, no, no” she said frantically. “This is not happening.”

“My hand
cannot
have a life of its own,” she screamed into the darkness. “Do you hear me?”

And then she disappeared.

*****

W
ith a massive headache and lots of grogginess she opened her eyes. There were figures standing around her. Too many. Of all different heights.

“Yes, we hear you,” said a voice soothingly.

Another voice, deeper and female, said, “Hear what? Her screaming like a lunatic?”

That sounded disturbingly like Lady Vana.

Taking a look around, Ciardis stared up from where she lay flat out on the ground. Prince Sebastian was at the top with her head in his lap, Vana and Serena knelt side by side on her left, Warlord Inga knelt to her right, Kane off to her side, and General Barnaren stood at her feet, staring down at her moodily with his arms crossed.

“What? What happened?” she said into the stillness.

“Well, you fell unconscious, bleeding from your nose and ears,” said Vana cheerfully, “and nearly scared Prince Heir Sebastian half to death. And then you started screaming.”

Ciardis shot up as she remembered what had happened to her in her mind.

She clawed at her hand. “Get it off! Get it off!”

“Like that,” said Vana with the same disturbing cheerfulness.

Warlord Inga pulled a knife the size of a sword out of nowhere and quickly pinned Ciardis’s hand in a grip that threatened to cut off her circulation. “Get what off?”

“The Old Ones’ power,” Ciardis responded frantically. “It’s in my hand.” Although she was a bit more concerned with the knife that was inches from her skin.

To her relief, neither Serena nor Vana were looking at her as if she were insane. General Barnaren just looked thoughtful.

“We see nothing,” ventured Vana.

Warlord Inga turned her hand this way and that, nearly dislocating her shoulder in the process.

“There is nothing there,” Inga declared.

“Use your mage sight,” Ciardis said.

Vana didn’t bother commenting. Ciardis saw a purple cloud descend over her eyes as Vana carefully looked over Ciardis’s right hand in a thorough up and down manner.

“Nothing is there,” she declared.

“There has to be.”

“Ciardis,” Prince Sebastian finally spoke, “we believe you...but nothing can get past Vana Cloudbreaker’s gaze. No spell, no construction. She would know.”

“I know what I saw.” Stubborn.

“And we know what we see,” said Serena with a steady gaze. Ciardis narrowed her eyes at her. There was something off about Serena. Something different. Something competent. Something powerful. Or, more likely, Ciardis was just feeling the side effects of momentary delusion.

“What happened while I was unconscious?” Ciardis asked.

“You fell. The Old Ones vanished. The pillars descended. And we gathered over here,” said the general in a flat tone that brooked no argument.

No one seemed inclined to disagree.

“Here where?” Ciardis asked.

“We’re at the bottom of the chasm,” Kane said from where he stood off Warlord Inga’s shoulder. His expression was filled with worry.

Ciardis strove to keep a calm tone in her voice. “And how to do we get out of here?”

“There’s a promising hole in the wall about five meters in the distance,” Prince Sebastian said, his hand resting on her head. His voice was calm. His movements were steady. His emotions were frantic.

We have a lot to discuss
, he whispered in her mind.

She grimaced. His thoughts echoed in her head. Headaches were the last thing she wanted, but she had to know.

Did you see what I saw
?

No.

Disappointment filled her. Then determination. They needed to get out of this hellhole first. Then they’d figure out what the Old Ones had done to her.

Just before she lurched up out of everyone’s grip, Ciardis looked around and said, “Wait...did anyone talk to the Old Ones, then?”

There was an uncomfortable silence and a dark glare from General Barnaren.

Ciardis didn’t even bother questioning what the point of this whole trip had been. She wasn’t ready to die by fiery lightning.

She hobbled as she stood up, took another step and collapsed under her own weight. Her fall was stopped by a pair of strong hands. Warlord Inga had caught her and smoothly picked her up.

“What are you—” Ciardis weakly protested.

“You will only slow us down in the climb.”

“Climb?” Ciardis said.

“I explored the hole a little.” That was Vana’s cheerful voice echoing in the distance.

“It goes up in a steep climb. It’s sheer rock, but it’s got some unevenness for a good grip,” she continued.

If Ciardis didn’t know any better, she would have said Vana was enjoying herself.

“Good grip, my ass.” That voice was the major’s. Someone wasn’t looking forward to the climb.

“How are you going to climb while carrying me?” Ciardis asked.

A frost giant warrior came up silently and handed Inga a large cloth. Inga shifted Ciardis to one arm and expertly tied the cloth over her shoulder with a double knot. Ciardis was unceremoniously slipped into the carrier on her back, and that was that.

A
n hour into the climb the same frost giant who had given Inga the cloth before they entered the tunnel, peeked her face into the sling happily, almost scaring Ciardis to death, and said, “Frost giant children are often carried on the hunt with their mothers this way. They get used to the sights, the sounds and the smells of the kills. They learn even while sleeping.”

Ciardis smiled weakly back. What was she supposed to say to that?

As they climbed Ciardis had time to peek out of her sling and see the cavern walls around them. They were made of a dark volcanic rock with shiny bits of stone in them. Where the volcanic rock and shiny particles had mixed and melted together was a layer of sheer, smooth black that looked like the night sky with twinkling stars. She couldn’t help but reach out to touch the roof when Warlord Inga had to climb through a particularly narrow passage.

Her right hand reached up like a child’s to feel the starry sky. Her left hand was bound underneath her body in the sling. In retrospect, she should have thought it through first. Not the mechanics; the outcome. The second her hand touched the starry stone she saw a bright spark of power emit from her fingertips and spread onto the face of the rock in rippling pools.

She had time enough to groan, “This can’t be good,” before she and Inga were pulled up into the ceiling wall.

Left behind, her group of friends stared up at the smooth ceiling while Vana commented, “Didn’t I tell you that we should tie that girl up?”

She turned to the major. “I did say that, didn’t I? Right after she collapsed with her ears bleeding?”

The major turned to General Barnaren, who looked as if his day had just jumped off a cliff.

*****

T
o Ciardis, the move into the stone wall was like being pulled into the mud pools near the hot springs in the Ameles Forest. Sticky, wet, and ultimately unclean. She could feel the walls melting around them and reforming behind them as they went. Like a spear, she and Warlord Inga shot through the underpass and up into the mountains. Time passed in a void. They could have been in the rock for hours or days, but when they finally emerged the distance traveled had taken its toll on both of them. They were surrounded by thick snow and knee-deep in it. No surprise, as Ciardis could see that they were much closer to the mountain pass.

Ciardis felt weary to her bones, and Warlord Inga stumbled to right herself on her feet. The frost giant race was famed for its tirelessness, so this was serious. As Inga struggled to stand with Ciardis on her back she roared her frustration. At least Ciardis thought it was her frustration until she saw the beasts approaching them at a flat-out run. They poured down the cliff side like a living furry cloak.

As soon as she scrambled to hook both arms over the edge of the sling to get a better look at the approaching beasts Ciardis thought better of it. She was getting dizzy with motion sickness. Inga was rushing around in a tight circle, trying to keep an eye on all of her opponents. But even she couldn’t have eyes in the back of her head. Not when they were encircled by the beasts. With slavering tongues, a mouth overfull with sharp teeth, and dark gray fur, the things were beasts the likes of which Ciardis had never seen. If pressed she would have said that they looked like the huge black hounds the guarded the banker’s box in the village – dark and slavering beasts big enough to overpower a grown man easily. There had to be at least fifteen of them, and they circled around their prey in an ever-moving mass of taut muscles and snapping jaws.

Occasionally one would leap forward and snap at Inga’s ankles, but it always hurried back into place with its pack brothers. It was lucky Inga hadn’t taken its snout off with her sword. But it was clear that the beasts were waiting on something. On what, Ciardis couldn’t tell. But she didn’t think that Warlord Inga’s sword would be much of a deterrent. Not against a pack like this. Then a sharp whistle came through the air. It was piercing over the open snow, and as one the snarling beasts halted and sat down. An impressive trick, that. Ciardis hadn’t thought they were intelligent enough to be trained.