She looked down at the elf still sitting on the snow. "But I will never have ease such as she has, such as Mother had."
The elf sighed. "Your mother was a great crafter, but what one can accomplish with talent, another can accomplish with sheer hard work. Is that not so, mage?"
Gersalius nodded. "Very true. You will find very few in Kartakass that have Elaine's natural flare."
"Kartakass?" the elf said. "Is that the name of a nearby town?"
"I am afraid not," the wizard said.
Thordin strode forward. "I thought you all might be new to the land." He didn't sound happy about it.
"What land?" Averil asked. "We crossed no borders."
"I'm afraid you did," Gersalius said.
With his daughter's help, the elf stood. "Something has happened, hasn't it?"
"Yes, my friend," Thordin said. His face was very sober, even sad. "You are in a new land unlike whatever land you came from."
"Since you do not know our land, how can you be sure of that?"
"I am as sure of that as I am of my own nightmares," Thordin said.
"Nightmares?"
"Welcome to Kartakass," Thordin said softly.
«^»
ELEVEN
The elf, Silvanus Brilliantine, took a deep, shaking breath. He held up his remaining hand. "Will this be a long explanation?"
Thordin exchanged glances with Gersalius. "Yes," the warrior said, "it will be long."
"Then let me see to my friends before night finds us in this accursed place."
"You are right on that," Thordin said.
"On what?" Silvanus asked.
"The land is cursed."
Silvanus waved that away as if he had no time for it. "My oldest friend lies dead; that is curse enough for now." He walked toward the armored man.
Elaine expected the elf to kneel in prayer over the body, to add some last word of comfort to his friend's dead form. He did kneel, but then he laid his one remaining hand on his friend's chest. He closed his eyes and let his head fall back. His golden hair streamed down his back in a glimmering exclamation point.
"What is he doing?" Elaine asked.
Thordin had a strange expression on his face, a look of both bitterness and wonderment. Gersalius's look was one of resignation, as if he knew a great disappointment was coming and could not stop it.
"What is happening?" she asked again.
Tereza shook her head. "I don't know." She was looking from warrior to mage. "You know what he is doing." It was not a question. "Tell us."
It was Averil who said, "Have you never seen a cleric before?"
"No," Thordin said, "she never has-not a real one."
"What do you mean a 'real' one?" she asked. Her voice was uneasy, almost fearful.
Gersalius gave a deep sigh. "He seeks to raise the dead to life. It will not work."
"I have seen my father raise the dead many times," she said. "Why should this be different?."
"It is the land, itself," the wizard said. "It will prevent it."
"We cannot permit him to raise a zombie," Jonathan said. "That is evil magic of the worst kind. He must desist or be imprisoned."
"Not a zombie, Jonathan," Thordin said. "He believes he can bring his dead friend back to life- true life."
"He is mad," Konrad said.
"No," Thordin said, "I have seen it done myself, in my home world."
"The wizard is trying to do what?" Tereza asked.
"Raise the dead," the wizard said, as if it were quite mundane.
"Can wizards raise the dead?" Elaine asked.
"Not wizards, holy men," Gersalius corrected.
"No one can raise the dead to life," Tereza said.
"I have told you that healers could mend wounds by laying on of hands," Thordin said.
"Yes, but that is different," Tereza said.
"Not so different," Gersalius said. "I understand the principle behind the spell, if not the actual mechanics."
Elaine stared at the kneeling elf. Something was happening. It wasn't the skin-tingling, overwhelming rush of the magic Gersalius had shown her. This was something softer, fainter. It didn't dance along her skin, it tugged at something deep inside her. It did not touch the cavern of power that Gersalius demonstrated. This quiet building of power called to something outside Elaine, almost as if the magic did not come from the elf at all, but from something beyond him.
"We should stop him," Thordin said. "The cleric that came over with me tried for months. She fell into despair and tried to harm herself."
"Some take it better than others," Gersalius said.
"But he is doing magic," Elaine said.
The wizard turned to her. "What do you mean, child?"
"Can't you feel it?"
He shook his head. "I feel nothing but the cold."
She stared at the wizard. Was he teasing her? The look on his face said, no.
"Tell me what you are sensing, Elaine."
"It is a slow, growing. . feeling. The magic doesn't come from inside but outside." She frowned. "How can that be? I thought all magic came from inside a person. You said you had to be born with it."
"You do, child. Even a healer has to have a natural inclination for his work. But they can summon divine aid. Something we poor magic-users cannot do."
"I've known mages that consorted with the powers of darkness," Jonathan said. "They sought power outside themselves."
"Wizards are like everyone else, Master Ambrose. There are bad people in every profession. Even among mage-finders." The last was said with a soft smile.
Jonathan started to protest when Tereza gasped.
They all turned to her, but her staring eyes were all for the elf. The armored body was trembling. The hands flapped helplessly against the snow; unpleasant scrambling motions.
"This is impossible," Jonathan said. He spoke for all of them, save one.
"I told you my father could do it," Averil said.
Elaine would have normally turned to see the woman as she spoke, common courtesy, but the body was moving. It had been dead. She had seen the walking dead, but never watched them be raised. She still did not believe in resurrection. That was impossible.
The armored figure drew a deep shuddering breath that echoed against the bare trees. The 'body' gave a sound, almost a shout, and was still. Then a gauntleted hand raised slowly toward the visor. The hand pushed at the helmet. The elf tried to help him take off the helmet, but with only one hand, it was hard to get leverage. The deadman wasn't much help.
Averil went forward and slid the helmet off. The face that was revealed was human enough. It had none of the monstrousness of the undead. The man had a sweeping mustache of purest white. Short-cropped hair that looked like it might have curled if it were not so severely cut, sat atop a square face.
"Silvanus," the man said, his voice sounded breathy, but otherwise normal. "You brought me back, old friend."
The elf's too-thin face broke into a smile that transformed it. Suddenly, Elaine was not aware of the alienness but only of the love and humor in the face.
"I could not let this be our last adventure, Fredric."
Fredric turned his head slowly to look at Averil. "Where is our young friend?"
Averil's face crumbled. "He was killed."
"Beyond retrieval?" He struggled to sit, but would have fallen back to the snow if Averil had not caught him. She was stronger than she looked, holding a fully armored man upright.
"Oh, no, not the boy." He looked ready to weep.
"He is not beyond help, Fredric," the elf said. He got to his feet, carefully, as if it were a hard thing to do. He stumbled and nearly fell. He stood there swaying slightly, then took another step toward the second body.