Wizard of the Grove (21 page)

“All right,” Cei said at last, “where do we find this creature?”

“I don't know. I'll have to ask someone who was there.”

“That was a thousand years . . .” Cei began, but Tayer broke in.

“The Grove!”

Crystal nodded. “Yes, Mother, the Grove. It's time to wake the trees.”

Tayer sighed. She felt the peace of the circle of trees tugging at her heart. The one thing that had made all this death and destruction bearable had been the thought of the Grove, forever unchanging, waiting silently and patiently for her return. If Crystal had to wake the trees, there could be no hope that that peace would remain unbroken.

“But the Grove is weeks away,” Hale protested. “Even riding the fastest horses with frequent changes.”

“The wind can get there in a few hours,” Crystal told him, “I'll ride the wind.”

After what she had done to the mountain, no one doubted she could ride the wind; ride it, dance with it, and tie it in knots if she wanted to.

“But what of Kraydak?”

Silence fell as they all considered what would happen if Kraydak attacked while Crystal was gone. Very faintly, in the distance, could be heard the wails of the Melacian survivors.

Crystal almost smiled. “He set the rules for this game and they say we must both have an army. He'll be busy for a while.”

“When are you going?” These were the first words Riven had said
to Crystal since he had left King's Town so many weeks before. They weren't what he had intended his first words to be.

“Now.” She brushed past him, uncomfortable with the way his eyes followed her—Bryon was dead—and left the pavilion, a breeze dancing ecstatically in her hair.

Tayer held tightly to Mikhail's hand as Crystal spread her arms and the wind began to rise. Harder and harder it blew, until tent ropes snapped and men had to scramble to keep the tents from flying away. Dirt and ashes spun through the air, blinding those who still had their eyes open. Then, just as suddenly as it had started, the wind stopped. When people could see again through watering eyes, the wizard was gone.

Crystal didn't so much ride the wind as become a part of it. Spread thinly on the air, she let it blow away her doubts, her fears, her anger. It was very tempting just to let go, to let it blow away her self as well, to give up form and failure completely and be one with the wind. Very tempting.

Fortunately for the Ardhan army, the centaurs had spent six long years implanting in Crystal the one thing that the original wizards had never acknowledged: with great power comes great responsibility.

The Grove stood silent and beautiful, untouched by the world outside. The peace within it was a warm and loving presence. A presence that fled with Crystal's arrival. The trees pulled back from her and their leaves trembled in a way that had nothing to do with the wind.

The centaurs had taught her more than one way to wake the Ladies of the Grove. She chose the fastest. She wasn't very polite about it either. Looking deep into the heart, of each tree, she wrapped lines of force about the life that slumbered there, and pulled.

Yawning and grumbling, the hamadryads were drawn forth. Twelve beautiful women, with silver hair, ivory skin, and leaf green eyes, stood ringed around a thirteenth. But the resemblance was purely physical between Crystal and these distant aunts, no emotion stronger than self-interest marred the expressions of the twelve, no breeze dared disturb the beauty of their hair.

“Well, Youngest,” said one finally, “are you going to tell us why we were so rudely awakened or are you going to stand and stare at us all day?”

Crystal started. She hadn't realized she was staring; knowing you bore the face and form of an Elder race was one thing, seeing it something else. “I need your help.”

“She needs our help,” echoed another. “Did Milthra ask for our help when she started this mess?”

“No,” continued a third. “And did They ask for our help when They planted that,” all heads turned to look at the youngest of the trees from which no hamadryad had come, “in our grove?”

“No,” finished a fourth. “But now the last of the wizards needs our help.”

“You know me?” The last of the wizards knew she asked a ridiculous question. It annoyed her that she found the massed presence of the Mother's eldest children so intimidating.

“Know you? We watched you being conceived.”

“And an ugly . . . mortal display it was, too.” added the nymph who had spoken first. “My name is Rayalva. I am Eldest now Milthra is gone. You may address your plea to me.”

Crystal was not in the mood to be patronized. She gritted her teeth and her eyes began to glow.

Rayalva smiled with total insincerity. “You have no power over us, wizard. Now, what do you want?”

Swallowing her ire, and reminding herself how badly she needed the information these infuriating creatures possessed, Crystal forced politeness into her voice. “I need to know where Kraydak's dragon is.”

“If you want a dragon,” yawned a nymph who had not yet spoken, “make one yourself. That's what all the other wizards did.”

Crystal ignored her and her sisters and spoke only to Rayalva. “The dragons were tied to the life force of the ancient wizards. If Kraydak still lives, then the dragon he created must live also.”

The Eldest stared at her in disbelief. “You woke us up to tell us that? Of course, the dragon still lives. He's sound asleep, mind you, but he lives. Didn't the centaurs teach you anything?”

“Yes, but . . .”

“For several centuries great forces have been stirring and making things decidedly uncomfortable for the sole purpose of creating you so that you could wake the dragon.”

Crystal sat down rather suddenly on the grass. Her mouth opened and closed a few times. “They never told me that,” she managed at last.

“It's something the centaurs would expect you to figure out for yourself,” Rayalva said unsympathetically. “Men, idiots! You, no doubt, have been fighting Kraydak yourself.”

“Yes.” A blue bolt smashed Bryon from the saddle. Crystal cringed, her throat closed, and she seemed to have forgotten how to breathe. Because she had fought Kraydak, Bryon had died. The hamadryad's next words came from very far away.

“A waste of time, you can't defeat him. Well, maybe in a couple of thousand years you could,” Rayalva was forced to admit, “when your powers mature. You can do many things, you know, not dreamed of by the wizards of old. All your mothers saw to that.”

“All my mothers,” Crystal repeated weakly, her gaze going to her father's tree.

Rayalva sighed. “You still haven't figured it out, have you?”

She forced herself past Bryon's death. At least she could learn how to avenge him. “Figured what out?”

“Who were the parents of the ancient wizards?”

“The male gods and mortal women.”

“And what was the first thing the wizards did when they came into their powers?”

“Killed their fathers so there would be no more wizards.”

“And their father were?”

“The male gods!” Crystal snapped, becoming impatient with the catechism.

“Leaving who to create more wizards?”

“If the male gods were dead . . .” She thought for a moment. “The female gods? But my father . . .”

Rayalva sighed again. “When the remaining gods saw that a wizard had survived, they pooled their essence and presented it to a daughter of the Royal House of Ardhan in such a way that she would be forced to create a child from it. Only Milthra's heritage kept her alive through that creation; a fully mortal woman would have been consumed.” Rayalva began to slide back into her tree, the other hamadryads following her lead. “You have no father, child,” she said almost kindly, “but you have a multitude of mothers.”

“I knew we shouldn't have let the centaurs educate her,” muttered a disappearing nymph.

“Wait!” protested Crystal, leaping to her feet and staring around the now empty grove. “You haven't told me where the dragon is!”

“With the dwarves,” came the answer, and then even the leaves were silent.

*   *   *

Crystal was almost back to the camp when she felt Kraydak searching for her. He used only a tendril of his power, the merest fraction of what she knew he could call up, but it was enough. Dwelling on Bryon's death, she had forgotten to set barriers, leaving herself open to attack. Bit by bit, Kraydak pried her free from the wind and when he had re-formed her flesh, he dropped her.

Over a lake.

He still played games.

Crystal hit the water with enough force to knock the breath from her, plunging straight down to the bottom. Bound by the weight of her clothes, she began to panic. She thrashed toward what she thought was the surface, her violent movements erasing any chance of floating. Her clothes felt like lead sheets wrapped around her arms and legs. Her lungs burned. She had to breathe. She had to breathe. She had to breathe. She . . .

Suddenly, something grabbed her hair and hauled her head up out of the water. She forced herself to relax, to gulp great mouthfuls of air, and allow herself to be dragged to safety by the strong arm under her
chin. In the shallows, the arm released her, but before she could try to stand, she was picked up and carried to shore.

“Are you all right?” asked Riven anxiously as he gently eased her down.

“I'm fine,” she said, checking and discovering it was true. She looked up at Riven's worried face but couldn't quite manage to smile. He'd saved her life. Lord Death had been very close. What a stupid way for a wizard to die. She'd never been so embarrassed in her life. “Thank you.”

Riven shrugged self-consciously and pushed his wet hair out of his eyes. His hand was fine-boned, an old scrape nearly healed across the knuckles. His eyes were deep-set under heavy brows and so light a hazel they were almost green. He was slender but obviously strong and . . .

Crystal couldn't believe she was lying there considering the appearance of the Duke of Riven. Bryon was dead. She struggled to her feet, pretending not to see Riven's offer of a helping hand.

“Where are we?”

“About two miles from camp. I was checking the patrols when I saw you fall.” He watched her with an almost puzzled expression on his face. For just a moment the wizard hadn't looked like a wizard at all. Nor like a princess.

She nodded, and staggering only slightly, set out in the direction he'd indicated. Riven fell into step beside her and an uncomfortable silence prevailed.

“Did you find out about the dragon?” he asked at last.

“With the dwarves,” she said shortly, not wanting to acknowledge his presence because then she'd have to acknowledge some disturbing thoughts, mostly having to do with the feel of his arms around her as he carried her from the water.

“The dwarves?” He stopped, then had to hurry to catch up as Crystal marched resolutely on. “But the dwarves refuse to have anything to do with humankind. No one has any idea of where to find them.”

Crystal remembered Mikhail's great black sword and finally achieved a smile.

“T
he dwarves . . .” Mikhail stroked the hilt of his great black sword and stared thoughtfully off into the distance. He'd been only sixteen when he'd fought for and won the dwarf-made blade; twenty-two years and the golden caverns and carved halls of the master craftsmen still shone as bright in his memory as they had the day he'd left. The home of the dwarves was a sight to remember for as long as life lasted. Unfortunately for most of those privileged to see the caverns, life didn't last very long.

“The dwarves,” Mikhail repeated. “Yes, I know where to find them.” He smiled at a memory. “In fact, after you get to a certain point they usually find you.”

“What point? Where?” Crystal asked, trying not to sound impatient and failing. Kraydak was busy bringing in fresh troops and supplies to continue the game, but that couldn't take him long. She had to wake the dragon before he turned his full attention back to her.

“North of the badlands of Aliston,” Mikhail told her, snapping out of his reverie and moving to stand by the map. “Where the northern mountains end, there's a red sandstone pillar. Whether it was carved by the winds or the dwarves, I have no idea, but it marks the boundary of the territory they've claimed for themselves. Here,” he pulled out a dagger and stabbed at the map, “as near as I can mark it, is where it stands.”

The Duke of Aliston came over and peered closely at the point of Mikhail's dagger. “Rough area that.” He clicked his tongue. “You'll
need one of my lads as a guide or you'll never get through the badlands.”

“I have to go alone.”
Always alone,
she thought, remembering her reflection fading from Bryon's eyes as Lord Death claimed him. And it was her fault he was dead. She was never meant to stand against Kraydak. She should have known it from the start.

“Crystal, no. Not alone.” Tayer got to her feet and held out a hand to her daughter. “If you can't use your powers for fear Kraydak will notice what you're doing, you'll have to take soldiers; guards to protect you.”

Crystal pushed both her dead friend and her guilt to the back of her mind and gave Tayer's hand a comforting squeeze. “Don't worry, Mother, I'll be fine. Besides, there's nothing a guard could do to protect me from Kraydak.”

Tayer wasn't very reassured.

“No magic, eh?” Belkar growled. “Then how do you expect to wake the dragon?”

“I don't know,” Crystal admitted.

“And how do you expect to get there?” Cei demanded, the thought having just occurred to him. “Kraydak's on to your wind trick and we haven't the time for you to ride. Aliston's badlands have got to be at least a month away.”

“Month and a half,” put in Aliston, turning his nearsighted gaze on the young wizard.

“I don't know,” Crystal admitted again. “But I'll think of something.”

“Without magic,” Aliston pointed out, “you'll never make it through the badlands without a guide.”

“That has all been taken care of.”

The entire council started, but it said a great deal for the timbre of the voice that, although everyone in the pavilion was armed and nerves were balanced on a knife's edge, not one weapon was drawn. When they saw who had spoken, jaws dropped and the company stood and stared.

The two centaurs were so large that their heads brushed the top of the tent. Their horse halves could easily carry a man as massive as Mikhail in full armor and their torsos were heavily muscled and equally as huge. The beards flowing in magnificent curls over their naked chests—only practical Cei noticed that they had no nipples—exactly matched the shade of their glossy hides. Their whiteless eyes seemed to hold all the wisdom of the ages.

A strangled cry caused heads to turn back to Crystal. The color had drained from her face and her eyes stood out like burning jewels. Her breath hissed through slightly parted lips and her hands, clenched into fists, began to rise.

The council edged back until the centaurs and the wizard faced each other in a circle of humanity pressed tight against the canvas. They had seen her, in her rage, call down mountains and all of them knew that power once taken up will be used again and again.

“Crystal!” Tayer stepped forward, away from the retreating council, and her voice threw up a wall between her daughter and the creatures she faced. “You will not do violence. These . . . persons . . . are guests in my tent!”

In the silence that followed, the wheeze of Cei's breath could be clearly heard and a breeze against the canvas roof was a booming roar.

The wizard locked eyes with the queen, who ignored their emerald depths and stood glaring at her furious child. “You will not do violence to a guest!” she repeated.

Slowly, Crystal lowered her hands and uncurled her fingers. “But, Mother . . .”

“Hush, child, I know.” Tayer gently touched Crystal's shoulder and together they turned to face the centaurs.

“My thanks, Majesty.” The black centaur inclined his head. “Although we are not sure she is capable of causing us harm, the release of such power would have definitely been detrimental to those around us. I am C'Tal.” He indicated the palomino. “This is C'Fas.”

“What are you doing here, C'Tal?” Crystal snapped before Tayer had a chance to speak. “Haven't you interfered enough?”

“We have been informed,” C'Tal told her in ponderous tones, “that we were remiss in your education.”

“You were given all the information,” C'Fas continued in a voice equally as solemn. “We did not feel it necessary to tell you what to do with it.”

“Others, however, suggested you were ill-prepared for the conflict you found yourself in.” C'Tal shook his head sadly. “We feel you were as well-prepared as possible, considering the short time we had you in our charge. Given a century or two and perhaps . . .” he shrugged, sending fascinating ripples down the length of his body. “What we could have done is not the point but rather what we did.”

“Or what they imply we did not do,” broke in C'Fas with an edge to his voice.

“Precisely,” agreed C'Tal, nodding at his companion. “Or what they imply we did not do.”

“Who implied?” demanded Crystal, used to the considerable time centaurs took in getting to the point but no longer willing to put up with it. Not now. Not after Bryon.

“The hamadryads,” said C'Tal, glowering down at her. “While we are firm in our contention that we did all we could in the time we had available, there is something in what they say. You should never have faced Kraydak yourself. We should have been more careful that this was made clear to you.”

“I'm surprised the hamadryads cared.” Crystal felt her anger lose its edge as guilt returned to the foreground. She had been told but hadn't understood.

“They do not. But they were most annoyed at being awakened, feeling, and perhaps rightly, that had you been told of the dragon as you should have been, there would have been no need for you to go to them.”

“But why,” asked Tayer, “are you here?”

“We have come to help.”

“Where were you two days ago,” Lorn snorted, remembering the arrow through his father's throat and the ranks of the undead, “we could've used help then.”

Both centaurs turned to look at the duke, who was paring his nails with a slender knife and was not at all intimidated by their gaze. He gave them back glare for glare.

“Then you needed more heavy cavalry,” said C'Tal.

“Now you need centaurs,” finished C'Fas.

Lorn looked interested but not convinced. He wisely chose not to mention that the centaurs would make impressive heavy cavalry themselves.

“I will carry the wizard to the edge of the badlands.” C'Tal stepped forward and laid a heavy hand on Crystal's shoulder. “While my brother will remain here.”

“Well, we'll be happy to have him,” Tayer began, nervously considering the creature's bulk and wondering how to entertain someone who was half horse, “but there really won't be much for him to do.”

“He is not here to be amused, Majesty,” C'Tal boomed. “We hope his presence will convince the enemy that the wizard is still here. If he does not probe too deeply, he will not be able to tell the difference between their life forces.”

Tayer looked from the huge golden-haired centaur to her daughter. “Oh,” she said.

Crystal tried to explain. “Centaurs are magical beings, Mother. They don't use the power so much as they are the power. If Kraydak has no reason to suspect I'm gone, and doesn't force his way below the surface patterns, he'll think C'Fas is me.”

“Oh,” Tayer said again, only this time she felt much better about it.

Mikhail stepped forward and stared belligerently up at C'Tal. He had to crane his neck to meet the centaur's eyes and that annoyed him. He'd never had to look up at anybody before.

“Can you protect her from the dwarves and the dragon?” he asked.

“That is not my concern,” C'Tal informed him. “We will do no more than what I have already said.” He turned to Crystal. “Now come, we must go.”

Crystal stopped Mikhail from saying what he so obviously thought; he had never been good at hiding his anger.

“As much as it hurts me to admit it,” she said softly, “he's right. That,” a hint of steel came into her voice, “is not his concern. I can take care of the dragon.”

“That dragon has only one purpose,” Mikhail reminded her as he gave her a boost onto C'Tal's broad back, “to kill wizards.”

“To kill Kraydak,” Crystal corrected.

“Waking up in the presence of a wizard after sleeping for a thousand years may cause him to attack first and ask questions later,” Mikhail said grimly.

“I'm not like any of the other wizards,” Crystal reminded him in turn. “My heritage from the Lady of the Grove will protect me.”

“What of your humanity?” asked Tayer gently, coming up to stand in the circle of her husband's arm.

Crystal's face grew bleak and she saw again her reflection fading from Bryon's eyes. “That died with Bryon,” she said shortly. But catching sight of Riven's concerned face over C'Tal's shoulder, she wasn't as sure of that as she had been.

And then, as impossibly fast and silent as the centaurs had come, Crystal and C'Tal were gone.

“Stop that!” snapped C'Fas as Hale, horse sense overcoming common sense, ran a hand over a glossy haunch.

*   *   *

To ride a centaur is like nothing else in the world. Perhaps being strapped to a shooting star would give the same wondrous feelings of grace, power, and speed but Crystal doubted it, for a star would not have a convenient shoulder on which to rest your head. Her hard knot of anger at the centaurs began to dissolve; surely it was unreasonable for her to expect them to go against their natures. Used to dealing in centuries, they had done the best they could when forced to work with days and months and years. Gradually, the old feelings for her teachers began to resurface and for the first time since Kraydak had destroyed the palace, Crystal felt protected and safe. She paid no attention to the countryside they passed over; instead she locked her arms about C'Tal's
waist, buried her face in the familiar smell of his back, and gloried in the ride.

It ended too soon. The Aliston badlands passed by in a rocky blur and they stopped before a red sandstone pillar. Suddenly stiff from so many hours in one position, Crystal slid awkwardly to the ground.

“The dwarves are past the pillar?” she asked C'Tal as she massaged the pins and needles out of her legs.

“We do not keep watch over the dwarves,” C'Tal informed her imperiously. “Your foster father says they are on the other side of the pillar. We see no reason for you to distrust him.”

Crystal straightened up and stared dubiously past the marker. The land consisted of a series of low rock ridges, split and blasted into strange and forbidding shapes. Everything was a dusty gray with no living green to break the monotony. The dwarves lived in that?

“Oh, well,” she sighed, “if they're in there, I guess I can find them.”

“If they are in there, they are more likely to find you,” corrected C'Tal sternly. “Remember, you must not use your power. If Kraydak discovers what you are attempting to do, it will mean not only your death but the deaths of thousands of innocent people as well. I will be here when you emerge.” He paused and looked down at Crystal with something very close to concern in his expression. “If we are truly responsible for what you have done, we are sorry.”

“Sorry won't raise the dead,” said Crystal softly.

“Nothing will raise the dead,” replied the centaur. “It is therefore unproductive to hold fast to one who has died.” He spun gracefully on one massive hoof and disappeared.

“I'm not holding Bryon,” Crystal shouted after C'Tal. “I'm remembering him!” There was, as she expected, no response. Taking a deep breath, she stepped beyond the column. The landscape appeared no different, the red tower of rock was a marker, nothing more. She'd hoped it might be some sort of magical barrier, that once passed the home of the dwarves would stand revealed. A small gray lizard, so perfectly camouflaged she almost stepped on it, scuttled out of her way—the only life in sight.

Because it seemed like the only thing to do, she headed deeper into the badlands. Five miles and a blister later, she was very dusty and very thirsty and no dwarves had appeared. A fear lurked in the back of her mind, whispering that they might have moved on since Mikhail had won his sword, moved on and taken the dragon with them. And if they had? She tried not to think about it.

The centaur had dropped her off in the early morning and it was now midafternoon. “I could have flown this far in less than a minute,” she muttered to a disinterested lizard.