Hellorin clambered painfully to his feet. The rebels broke into cheers and hoots of derision, but there was a deathly silence from the Phaerie who landed close to their ruler. The Lord of the Phaerie, backed by a menacing phalanx of his followers, faced the Earth-Mage through her translucent shield of energy.—The Forest Lord was the first to break the silence. His tones, at first, were conciliatory, belying the glint of anger in his eyes. “Lady, you are an Immortal, like myself. You dwelt in my realm for some time, and I almost began to think of you as one of the Phaerie. Surely you cannot be siding with the Mortals against me?” He shrugged. “No, it is impossible. Are you angered because I rode off and forgot you? Now that the Phaerie are free, do you wish to strike a bargain or obtain some favor from me, that you use these pathetic creatures as bait?”
“I want nothing from you but your absence.” Eilin spoke through gritted teeth.—Hellorin seemed taken aback. “Is this how you repay me, Lady, for the healing and sanctuary you received in my realm, and for the kindness that was shown you by my people?” Now he no longer troubled to hide his anger.
“I have not forgotten that I was succoured and sheltered by the Phaerie—but the contrast between your compassionate behavior then and your brutal activities now is more than I will tolerate.” Eilin clenched her hands round the hilt of Hargorn’s sword, to still their trembling. “This is my Valley.” Her words rang out in challenge like the clash of steel on steel. “We are in my realm now, and these Mortals are here under my protection. How dare you attack them?”
The Forest Lord’s face turned dark with anger. “Do not cross me Mage, I warn you,” he snarled. In his wrath his form expanded, growing larger and larger until it towered over the Mage, higher than the treetops, blotting out the stars.
Eilin forced herself to face him without flinching. “Will you really try to match your powers with mine?” she demanded. “I think not. On your own ground, you could probably defeat me—but here? You are new in the mundane world—you have not had time to become accustomed to the workings of the magic here. Over many years, my power has created this place. The very bones of the earth will reach out to protect me. Perhaps you could prevail—but at what cost, to one so newly free? Is it worth the risk, for a handful of Mortals?”
“Curse you, Lady. Your kind were ever false and faithless,” Hellorin hissed.
“As yours are pitiless and perfidious,” Eilin shot back with equal venom.—Hellorin shrugged. “And your people, of course, have practiced only kindness and consideration toward your Mortal brethren down all the ages? Come, Eilin—surely this is a jest at my expense. What interest can you have in such lowly creatures as these? Since when did the Magefolk care about Mortals, save where they might be used as servitors or to further some scheme of conquest?”
The Earth-Mage tilted her head and looked him in the eyes. “Since one of those lowly creatures became the father of my daughter’s child. And since you have earned my undying contempt by using and betraying Aurian—not to mention the Xandim—in pursuit of your own ends.”
The Phaerie Lord gave a booming laugh. “The Xandim are our property. And as for Aurian . . . surely you did not expect us to swear fealty to a failure and a weakling—to bend our knees to one of the hated race that put us out of the world—when we had an opportunity to slip the Magefolk leash for good? You must think a great deal of your daughter, Lady, if you consider that she is worth the freedom of an entire race.”
Eilin, inwardly raging, struck her sword against the ground in a thunderclap detonation of power. “I think a great deal more of my daughter, evidently, than you think of your son,” she cried in a clear, cold voice.
Hellorin’s mocking laughter ceased abruptly. “Weigh your words carefully, Mage. I have destroyed beings of greater power than you, and for lesser insults.”
“And did you destroy them for telling the truth? That would be like the Phaerie indeed! You fool—you have no idea, do you?” The edge of Eilin’s voice was whetted with scorn. “In your insatiable lust for revenge on those who occupied the world while you were excluded from it, you seized the poor Xandim and went charging off before the matter of the Sword of Flame could be resolved. Haven’t you even noticed D’arvan’s absence? While Aurian and Anvar were distracted by your perfidy, Eliseth tried to steal the Sword and created a rift in Time. The Mages vanished into it—as did Maya and your son!”
Hellorin blanched. “This cannot be true,” he whispered.
“It can and it is,” Eilin replied remorselessly, “and had you been here when it happened, you might have been able to prevent it.”
The Phaerie Lord’s gigantic form thinned to vapor and vanished, as he dwindled back to human size. “But how did it happen?” All trace of his former anger had fled from his voice. “Where have they gone?”
“Beyond our help, I fear,” Eilin told him grimly. “You are free to seek your son wherever you will—but you must search elsewhere. You Phaerie are masters of bargains and debts, are you not? Though you did not swear fealty to her, you are still in debt to my daughter, because she has given you and your despicable kind your freedom. As Aurian cannot be here to state her terms, I will give you mine, in her place. This Vale belongs to me. Get you gone from here—and never return.”
“Is that really what you want?” Hellorin demanded in amazement. “To end our friendship thus?”
Eilin regarded him stonily. “Friendship indeed. Never again do I wish to hear that word debased by your lips? 1 saw little evidence of friendship when the Sword was found. The Phaerie idea of friendship seems to begin and end with their own convenience—and their Lord is the worst offender. I cannot end what no longer exists, my Lord.”
Hellorin sighed. “Very well. It shall be as you wish.” The gathered forms, of the Phaerie thinned like windblown vapor, and vanished like a dream.—Suddenly, Eilin’s knees began to shake. The Mortals all began to crowd around her, offering their thanks and congratulations. Roughly she pushed her way through them. “That goes for you Mortals, too. Get away from me! I want you out of here by tomorrow!”
With a curt, angry gesture she brought down her shields and, turning her back on them all, went back across the bridge to the solitude of her island. When no one dared to follow her, it proved to be a hollow victory.
2
A Peculiar Quartet
Blind with terror, Iscalda fled headlong through the forest, bursting through the bushes and twisting between the trees, oblivious of the leg-breaking tangles of roots beneath her feet, the thorny twigs that pulled painfully at her mane and tail and scored her white hide, or the springy branches that rebounded to lash at her with bruising force and snatch dangerously at her eyes. Her mind was blank, save that it screamed one thought over and over: escape. Her attention was all behind her, straining to detect any sounds of pursuit. The Phaerie Lord must not recapture her—she would sooner die than be his slave again, or go once more through the horrors of the last few hours.—Iscalda was a warrior, no stranger to bloodshed, and Hellorin’s quarry had been no friends of hers, yet she had been unprepared for the carnage when the Phaerie had descended from the skies upon their helpless prey. Not a single one of the human mercenaries had survived. One by one, the Phaerie had hunted them down with relentless thoroughness and hacked them to pieces in some savage game where the points were scored by the taking of trinkets such as a neck chain, a weapon, an earring, or a belt buckle from the corpse of the unfortunate victim. Sometimes a severed head would be seized by the hair and borne aloft when the Phaerie took to the skies again, and thrown or snatched from one rider to another in the fashion of some macabre child’s game.—The callous, cold-hearted cruelty of her new masters filled Iscalda with fear.—It was abundantly clear that they held no respect for any living being save themselves—and that might well include their steeds. The Phaerie had snuffed out the human component of the Xandim race without a single thought—what else might they do to her? On she ran, unseeing, unthinking, pursued by terror, her mind clouded by the ghastly images of her own people turned into mindless beasts of burden, and the remorseless savagery of the Phaerie hunt. This one opportunity had been sent by the Gods, and would never come again. Iscalda only knew that she must flee far and fast. She must lose herself so completely and hide herself so well in the forest’s depths that Hellorin would never find her.