‘No! That cannot be. I went to stop it. The Phaerie are the chief danger, but if the Xandim are freed, their power will be cut off at the knees. I needed to warn and help the three who will be pivotal to the fate of the world.’
‘And in helping the Wizard and the Windeye, you have risked them bringing an artefact of unspeakable power out of the Elsewhere, where it belonged, and into the mundane world.’
‘They will use it to avert the disaster, not to bring it about. With the Fialan gone from the Elsewhere, Hellorin will be imprisoned there for good, and one of the greatest dangers to the world will have been removed.’
‘But in bringing the Stone back they will leave a trail of energy, of power, of the Old Magic. If the Forest Lord were to find and follow that trail, it would be possible for him to create a portal. Athina, you know this to be true.’
Despite the strength of her own convictions, a chill of trepidation slithered through her. ‘Not alone, he could not,’ she argued. ‘Only half the power of the Fialan was his to command.’
‘And if he allies, once again, with Ghabal?’
‘No - that’s impossible! After Hellorin betrayed him when the Stone was made, Ghabal would never trust him again. He may be mad, but he is not stupid.’
‘Even if it meant that he also could return to the mundane world? Could make an attempt, once there, to regain the Stone? Under those circumstances, I would certainly set my enmity aside and form a temporary truce. Imagine both of them, Athina, let loose on your precious, unsuspecting world. Would that not bring about the very catastrophe you were trying to forestall?’
The Cailleach felt the blood drain from her face. ‘By the Light,’ she whispered. ‘What have I done?’ Only too well now did she realise her terrible mistake. The mundane world had indeed clouded her perceptions, preventing her from seeing all aspects of the situation.
She felt the clutch of panic around her heart. ‘I have to tell them. Uriel, this is my doing. They must be warned.’
‘No.’ His voice was gentle but implacable. ‘No, Athina, you will not be permitted to meddle this time. What’s done is done, and the mundane world must live with the consequences. Our siblings have acted in concert to contain you here. I deeply regret this, but it is necessary. There will be no discussion, no debate and no reprieve. You will not be permitted to leave again.’
‘No!’ Rage and fear blazed up in the Cailleach’s heart. ‘You cannot. You dare not.’ But she was speaking to empty air. Uriel had gone, leaving her a prisoner in her little world below the Timeless Lake.
Athina sank to the floor and hid her face in her hands. Her thoughts were clouded by a turmoil of emotions: fury and bitterness at her confinement; horror, remorse and fear for the world of her creation, and for the individuals she had so lately come to know and love. Worst of all was the sickening sense of helplessness. Her own blindness, her misguided attempts to help, had brought them to a perilous pass. How could Uriel and the others be so callous? Surely it could do no harm to warn Corisand and Iriana of the dangers? But imprisoned here as she was, there could be no chance of her doing that.
Or could there?
She looked at Avithan, who lay so pale and still. In this timeless place, the shimmer of the tangled time spells had faded, just as she’d hoped. It should be possible to free him from his bonds and heal the hurts that he had suffered. But why hurry? While his body was out of time, Hellorin’s mind and spirit had been able to journey to the Elsewhere. Could she do the same for Avithan? Send him to Iriana with a warning?
As Dael would have said, it was worth a try.
Cyran lay awake all night, worrying about his son and Iriana. Unknown to the two younger Wizards, Esmon had been secretly sending back a report, via scrying-crystal, every night when the others were on watch or asleep. Not many Wizards had this ability, but it was very useful, and one of the many reasons Esmon had been selected as an emissary to the Phaerie realm. To spare the pride of Avithan and Iriana, they had not been told that the Archwizard was keeping such a close eye on them. Cyran had wanted his son to handle the mission on his own, in the hope that a success might go some way towards persuading him that he wanted to be Archwizard, and follow in his father’s footsteps after all.
Two nights previously, Esmon had reported in as usual from the forest, while Avithan was sleeping and Iriana was on watch. Two hours later the Warrior was dead: though faint and muted by distance, Cyran had felt the wrenching pang of a Wizard’s passing, and known that Esmon breathed no more.
What had happened to him? And what had become of Avithan and Iriana, an inexperienced city-dweller and a blind girl cast adrift in the wilderness? In flat-out panic, Cyran had assembled a troop of veteran Wizards from the Luen of Warriors and had ridden out with them himself: partly because he could not bear to stay at home while his son was in danger, and partly to escape the bitter recriminations of his soulmate Sharalind.
It had been a mistake to come, however. Cyran was city-soft and it had been far too long since he had ridden a horse. Before the end of the first day it had been obvious that he was slowing the Warriors down - much to their ill-concealed annoyance, for they wanted above all things to avenge their leader - and so he had let them go on ahead, taking a short cut that angled across county and reached the forest by a straighter route, keeping only two of them to accompany him. Now he was far behind the main body, and he had stopped for the night with his companions so that he could rest his aching muscles and use a simple healing spell on the bruises that covered his calves and inner thighs.
There was no wood on the moors to keep a campfire burning overnight. The Archwizard’s thoughts were as dark as his surroundings; filled with anxiety and self-recrimination. If only I had sent someone else. Someone more experienced. Someone I loved less. Taine was right, when he thought that the whole idea was insane - but so tactfully didn’t say so. I was too worried, too shaken by those accursed visions to be thinking clearly, and now . . .began to
After what felt like an endless night, eventually the darkness began to lift and an eerie half-light took its place. The two Warriors, Nara and Baxian, were already up, feeding their mounts and rummaging in the saddlebags for their own cold and cheerless breakfast. Cyran was just scrambling out of his blankets when suddenly the horses lifted their heads and whinnied. A moment later, he heard the sound of uneven, stumbling hoofbeats on the road, and a bony old horse stumbled into view over the brow of the hill. When the rider caught sight of the Archwizard, he started waving and shouting, and as he drew closer, his words became clear. ‘Cyran? Is that Archwizard Cyran? Thank Providence I’ve found you.’
He looked so familiar - then, with a start, Cyran remembered. Challan. Zybina’s former soulmate and Iriana’s foster-father, who had abandoned his family for a human woman and run off to Nexis to hide his shame. Now his eyes were dark voids of exhaustion in a haggard face, and as he dismounted he was shaking with exhaustion. Trepidation curled in Cyran’s stomach. This did not bode well.
‘Come, sit,’ he said, handing the Wizard a leather water-bag and squatting down beside him. ‘What has happened? Tell me your tidings.’
Challan rubbed his hands over his weary face. ‘Two nights ago - well, three nights now . . .’ He looked to where the sun was just clearing the horizon in a hectic blaze of gold. ‘I was not asleep. We were searching—’ He broke off, his eyes narrowing in anxiety and pain, then took a deep breath and started again. ‘It could not have been a dream.’ He clutched at the Archwizard’s arm. ‘I felt Esmon’s passing, then shortly afterwards I received a message in mindspeech from Iriana. It was very faint and far away, but it was a cry for help. They had been attacked by Phaerie in the forest. She wanted me to warn you . . .’