The Black Swan (48 page)

Von Rothbart used words like arrows, aimed directly at the heart. Why had she never
seen
that before? “How very charming, and what a fine display of loyalty, Prince Siegfried,” he chuckled. “You abandon lovely Odette for my daughter, then run off from my daughter to throw yourself at Odette's feet. Will you next seek to court Odile when Odette sprouts her feathers and rejoins my flock?”

Unfair—and blatantly untrue! Odette had been there, she had seen the truth of the matter! Did he think to drive a wedge between the lovers with such an accusation?

But it was Odette who sprang to Siegfried's defense before the prince could gather his wits to speak. Dashing her tears from her eyes as anger replaced grief, she faced von Rothbart squarely, and leveled accusations of her own. “There was no treachery here save your own, sorcerer!” she retorted, in a voice harsh with weeping. “
You
are the cause of all our grief,
you
transformed your daughter into my image, and you and no other laid the trap beneath his unsuspecting feet. It was trickery, and no true betrayal, as well you know!”

“Nevertheless, it was to my daughter he pledged his troth,” von Rothbart replied implacably as Odile grew hot and cold with renewed anger at being used so shamelessly. “He swore to wed
the woman that stood beside him
and no other.” He laughed. “He is forsworn, Swan Queen. You have failed the test and so has he, and you are mine for all time!”

In answer to that, as lightning flickered in the sky and thunder growled angrily, Siegfried leaped to his feet, drawing his dagger. His face was dark with outrage, his mouth twisted into a snarl. Odile shivered, seeing him in that state, and prayed silently that he did not feel the same hatred for
her.
“You will have her only when I am dead, warlock!” he shouted, taking a fighting stance, balanced on the balls of his feet, ready to strike out at his enemy.

The sorcerer had drawn his own silver dagger in automatic response to Siegfried's challenge, but now in confident bravado, knowing that Siegfried's weapon could not harm him, he cast it away. Odile watched the dagger spin away, glittering as it flew, with an avid hunger.
Here
was a weapon that von Rothbart had cause to fear!

She marked where it fell; not so far from her hiding place that she could not find it, if von Rothbart was sufficiently distracted.

“I have her, with or without your death, Prince Oathbreaker,” the magician mocked, “But if you wish to contest me for her, be my guest. See? I have cast away my own weapon! Take the first blow! I will not even defend myself.”

Thunder rumbled, underscoring his words, and his mocking smile grew darker, more sinister. “But beware, Prince. I will not attack
you
—but if you attack me, I will be freed to work my will upon both of you, by whatever means I choose. You may strike the first blow, but
I
will strike the second.”

Siegfried, so afire with rage he probably was not even thinking anymore, paid no attention to his words or his warning; he charged the sorcerer with his dagger in hand. He did hold it properly, prepared to defend against an attempt to take it from him, but of course no such attempt was forthcoming. Von Rothbart simply stood there, a sinister smile on his lips. Siegfried raised the dagger at the last moment, feinted, and made his strike. He plunged the dagger into von Rothbart's unprotected chest, penetrating the showy breastplate and sinking it hilt-deep into the area of von Rothbart's heart.

Siegfried jumped back with a shout of triumph—and stared, dumbfounded, as the sorcerer waved his hands in a mocking half-bow, and laughed at him. A moment later, as lightning flashed and thunder rolled directly overhead, the hilt dropped from the sorcerer's chest and fell harmlessly away, the blade dissolved by von Rothbart's protective magic.

Siegfried's shout of triumph turned to a gasp of dismay, and the maidens wailed aloud. Odette ran to his side and clutched his arm. But while Siegfried had attacked the sorcerer, Odile had crept to the place where von Rothbart's dagger lay and had snatched it up. Now, with the dagger securely in her possession, she went back into hiding.

“I warned you, Prince Siegfried,” von Rothbart said, with an avaricious hunger in his voice that made Odile's skin crawl. “Now it is my turn. You struck the first blow. I shall strike the second.”

Now that it was von Rothbart's turn to act, he did not hesitate. With a completely impassive, masklike face, he strode forward and seized Siegfried's throat in his right hand. As the prince struggled, the wizard lifted him bodily off the ground, half-strangled, holding him kicking and frantically tearing at the magician's fingers. Von Rothbart merely stared at his captive, as if Siegfried were nothing more than a vaguely interesting insect he had not yet decided to swat.

Odette flung herself at von Rothbart, and the magician cast his captive aside to make a grab for her, probably intending to hold her out of Siegfried's reach and continue to taunt them both.

Odette avoided his outstretched hands, leaving a single shred of white silk in his grasp as she whirled out of his reach. With a cry, she cast herself over Siegfried, protecting his body with her own.

And that drove the rest of the flock to interfere.

Before von Rothbart could act, or Odile could form any plans, the entire group of swan-maidens interposed themselves between the sorcerer and his victims. If he flung any destructive magics at his chosen victims, he would have to do so only after cutting down most of his precious captives.

But the desperate ploy could only bring temporary salvation, as Odile knew only too well. With all the power her father had at his disposal, this was nothing more than a distraction. Von Rothbart had very direct ways of dealing with distractions.

A lightning bolt lanced into the waters of the lake, as von Rothbart roared his displeasure and gestured imperiously for the swans to make way for him. “Begone!” he shouted, his face scarlet. “Out of my way, shameless harlots! Get you gone, or suffer with your queen!”

The maidens trembled visibly, their faces averted from his direct gaze and blanched with fear—but they refused to move away. Odile clutched the dagger and wondered where they had found their sudden courage.

With a growl von Rothbart gathered his magic; Odile felt the ominous weight of the power he massed beneath his control, and it was her turn to tremble.

Behind the shelter provided by the maidens, Odette helped Siegfried to his feet. The prince now thrust her behind him, and prepared to face von Rothbart again. It appeared that he was quite ready to attack the sorcerer with his fists for lack of any other weapon.

But first, the wizard brushed the maidens aside with a sweep of his arm; fueled by his power, a wall of force parted their ranks, as if a giant's arm shoved them out of the way. They fell to either side of an invisible corridor, dropped prostrate on the grass, the mists of his magic gathered about them to hold them in place so that they could not interfere with him again.

In the moment that he dropped the maidens to the ground, Odette and Siegfried exchanged a
look
seen by only Odile.

Though Odile was on the opposite side of the clearing from them, the emotional weight of that look struck her and held her dumb.

Instinctively, she knew that they had gone beyond themselves in that moment—beyond despair, beyond grief—and that, somehow, they had joined their spirits in a way not even von Rothbart could sever. But a cold dread came over her as she realized what that wordless, weighty exchange of glances meant. An unspoken pact had been made in that instant.

Their love was too strong, their mortal frames too weak; without each other, they would die. So rather than be parted for even an instant, they had chosen to enter death together—trusting that von Rothbart could not pursue them beyond that veil, and could not stop them before they crossed it. Trusting, in fact, that if they “tried to run,” he would strike at them in fury and slay them on the spot—

—or if he did not, they could find their release in the cold waters behind them.

As one, they turned and ran, arrowing their course, as Odile had feared, for the lake.

Von Rothbart stared after them in baffled fury.
He
had not yet realized their decision; he only saw them fleeing, and did not know that they were courting a killing strike.

As Odile watched in horror, she could almost hear the thoughts in her father's mind. He knew they could not escape his reach, and he gathered his power again—a death-blow for Siegfried, and a transformation for Odette. The prince would die, and Odette would still be von Rothbart's prisoner, trapped in her swan feathers—

Odile's own anger rose in a cresting wave, white-hot and fierce.

All of his attention was on the two figures running from him, illuminated by incessant lightning above their heads; none of it was spared for a look behind. This might be her only chance.

She did not stop to think, for if she had, she would never keep her courage. She dashed out into the clearing, running as hard as she could. At the last possible moment, she raised von Rothbart's own silver dagger above her head, clenched in both hands, and drove it with all her might into a point between his shoulder blades. The impact rocked her with shock; she let go as if the dagger's hilt burned her, and jumped back out of von Rothbart's reach.

There she stood, frozen in place, her hands tingling.

Convulsing with shock, arms flailing in a vain attempt to reach the hilt, von Rothbart whirled and stared at his attacker. His face twisted with pain, his eyes blank, his mind clearly refused to believe
who
had struck him. He took a single step and reached out for her—

Even now, if he had
asked
for help, she might have saved him. She could have; she could have pulled out the blade, stopped the bleeding, helped him heal the damage. All he had to do was ask. . . .

But he did not. With his dying strength, he flung a spell at her designed to
force
her to his side, to wrest from her the help she would have given, with no care for what it cost her.

“No!”
she cried in fury, and called on her own power, hoarded for just this purpose—and channeled a bolt of lightning from the heavens above to the hilt of the dagger penetrating his protective magics.

The lightning answered her call, eagerly coming to her summons.

She shielded her eyes in the crook of her arm, and still the bolt blinded her as it struck. White heat scorched the air. The simultaneous clap of thunder knocked her to the ground, her hair stood on end and her skin burned. . . .

When she looked again, blinking away tears, there was nothing to be seen of von Rothbart. Nothing! It was as if he had never been there.

Fearing he had somehow escaped destruction, she crawled desperately to the spot where the lightning had struck.

And there, in the middle of a place where the grass was burned black, was a man-shaped pile of ashes, a puddle of melted silver slowly cooling in the midst of it. As thunder rolled, and lightning continued to strike overhead, she finally grasped the fact that he had
not
escaped, after all. This was all that remained of the mighty sorcerer, Baron Eric von Rothbart.

She blinked, slowly coming to understand that he was gone, truly gone—and he would never return.

She was not granted the leisure to answer that question.

“Odile! Odile!” Two of the maidens, Mathilde and Jeanette, came out of the darkness, and tugged insistently at her arm, tears streaming down their faces. “Siegfried and Odette—”

“What? What?” she replied, dazed. What could possibly be wrong now that her father was gone?

“They've thrown themselves over the cliff!” Jeanette sobbed. “They've thrown themselves into the lake!”

Sweet Jesu!
She gathered her scattered wits about her and ran for the shore, followed by the sobbing girls. She followed in the direction she had last seen the two heading, and spotted the knot of more of the maidens who stood on the shore, crying and clinging to each other, pointing out into the lake.

In the continuing lightning flashes she saw a dark form—Siegfried—floating face-down in the water at the foot of the cliff; there was no sign of Odette.

A surge of anger fueled her; after all of this, all she had endured, all she had sacrificed to stop him, von Rothbart would
not
win!

Kicking off her shoes as she ran, she launched herself into the dark lake in a flat dive, striking the icy water with a shock. She did not let it stop her; after all the shocks she had endured tonight, this was by far the least. Propelling herself through the water with arms still aching from the blow that had killed her father, she reached Siegfried and rolled him over. She did not pause to see if he was still breathing, but took a deep breath and struck down into the depths, hands outstretched, calling on what little power she had left to help her. Down there, in the cold blackness, the Swan Queen drifted. She would not allow the lake to have her. She
would
not.

Her lungs screamed for air, but she would not give up her search, even though little sparks dazzled before her eyes and her chest was afire. Within the water, within her mind, she coaxed the last of her magic to help.

Her hands touched something soft, floating—she seized it, and knew it for Odette's sleeve. With a final burst of strength, she fastened both hands in the soft fabric and kicked out with both legs, hauling the lifeless body to the surface.