The Windeye felt his attention on her, as though her mind had been illuminated by a beam of brilliant light. A gasp from Iriana at her side told her that the Wizard had been included in the scrutiny.
‘Windeye, Wizard,’ the Moldan said. ‘Will you trust me? Will you link your powers with mine?’
‘Without hesitation,’ Corisand replied. ‘I have not forgotten, Basileus, how you helped me to escape Ghabal’s clutches when I travelled to his mountain through my mirror.’
‘And what of your companion?’
‘My name is Iriana, Sir.’ The Wizard stepped forward, even though the voice seemed to come from all around. ‘Corisand trusts you, so I do also. I will link my powers with you, if it is your wish.’
‘Thank you, Iriana. I think you and the Windeye have chosen well to take each other as companions. And now, both of you: open your thoughts to join with mine.’
By unspoken consent, Corisand and Iriana took each other’s hands and linked their minds. Then, with a deep breath, they took the final step together.
The Windeye felt the power of Basileus: as old as time, as strong as the very rock that sheltered her. Iriana’s magic had an entirely different energy: the inexorable force of Water, the mother of all life, that could destroy a city or wear a mountain down; the clean, fierce blaze of Fire; elusive, tempestuous Air, as difficult as a wild horse to control and focus; and the strong, solid power of Earth, as quick to heal as to destroy. Corisand felt her companions’ magic surging through her, mingling with her own ancestral powers to become a force far greater than the sum of its individual parts.
Then suddenly they were everywhere. A dizzying wave of vertigo swept over the Windeye as the constraints of her body dissolved. She was not only Corisand but Iriana too, with a body that felt completely different. She was part of the gnarled stone pillar of Basileus, and felt the drape of vines and bushes around her shoulders, and the slight pull of the fir trees that leant out over the water. She felt the fury of the other Moldan crashing against her in a black vortex of wind and waves, and she was the wind and waves themselves. Corisand, her consciousness everywhere, was both inside and outside it all, watching from a distance yet playing an active part.
Then Aerillia - she thought of the entity as Aerillia, though she knew that the Moldan was linked to Hellorin in the same way that she was linked to her companions - seemed to see them, and the vortex of the storm became a great white dragon that towered high above the stone pillar, its outstretched wings blotting out half the sky. Corisand, part of the gigantic force that was also Iriana and Basileus, felt her own form changing in response, into another of the mighty beasts, this time with scales of gleaming black. Aerillia reared back and hissed a challenge, and the Basileus-dragon bellowed a response. Then the two titanic figures leapt upon each other in an earth-shaking collision, clawing with their long, sharp talons and snapping with their mighty teeth.
There was no doubt that the struggle was real. Corisand felt the strain in her muscles as the two behemoths grappled, and the pain when the scimitar teeth of the white dragon tore into her hide. Magic kept them on the ocean’s surface as they battled back and forth; sometimes on their feet, sometimes rolling over and over, locked in deadly combat.
For a time, neither gained an advantage. The white dragon was faster, but the black was stronger. Both were bleeding - actually bleeding, thought Corisand in shock - from numerous wounds. Clearly the white dragon was tiring: her movements were slower now, and her attacks lacked their former force - but her opponent was suffering too. The Windeye, locked in her strange, three-way partnership within the dragon’s body, could feel its great limbs growing heavy with exhaustion.
Then Basileus, controlling the monster, put the last of their combined strength into one final, savage attack. Aerillia, taken unawares, was thrown off balance, and the black dragon’s teeth ripped into her unprotected throat. Screeching, she tore herself free and fled, leaving behind her a trail of thick blood that stained the ocean crimson.
The huge black dragon vanished, and Corisand found herself standing back in the hall of stone beside a stunned and bedraggled-looking Iriana.
‘Well fought, my friends.’ The voice of the Moldan boomed around them. ‘Aerillia has gone to lick her wounds; she will trouble you no more.’
‘Where are our wounds?’ The Windeye was examining her unmarked limbs.
‘I took them into myself,’ Basileus replied. ‘It will be hard enough for you to deal with Ghabal, without the additional handicap of injuries.’
‘Thank you,’ Iriana said. ‘Without your aid, I think our journey would have ended right here.’
‘Do not underestimate yourselves.’ The Moldan’s voice was as kind as sunshine. ‘The two of you together are stronger than you know. I would enjoy your company for longer, O Windeye, O Wizard, but time is passing, and while Hellorin and Aerillia are recovering from their wounds, you must strike. I hope that we may meet again some day.’
‘I hope so too,’ said Iriana.
‘And I,’ added Corisand. ‘Farewell, Basileus. Our thanks go with you.’
‘One word of warning before you leave, my friends. If you succeed in your quest, beware the Fialan. Though your intentions are good, such immense power has a way of being unpredictable. Once you have it within your world, who knows what may happen?’
38
BEYOND THE ICE
With a little help from Iriana, Corisand recreated her boat and they set sail again, heading ever northward. For a time they sat in silence, each one wrapped in thoughts of what had happened, and how it might affect the conflict to come. The Wizard felt a little more hopeful, now that Basileus had helped them. ‘Now we only have to sneak up on the Moldan,’ she said aloud.
Their thoughts had been running along such similar lines that Corisand picked up the thread at once. ‘Maybe my shadow-cloak will help.’
‘It may help us get close up to the mountain, but how do we get inside? At that point, all subterfuge must be at an end.’ Iriana frowned. ‘We’ll have a battle on our hands.’
They sailed on in sombre silence, watching the mountains drawing ever closer. As the details became more distinct, they saw the great ice peak of Ghabal’s fastness, glittering like a colossal diamond in the ocean. ‘At least we should be able to sail all the way,’ said Iriana. But she was wrong. For some time they had been seeing a streak of white across the skyline far ahead, and had taken it for a trick of the light. But as they approached it rapidly, solid obstacles began to appear in the water: chunks of ice ranging from small, fist-sized lumps to great, flat floes that were wider than a room. So far, the temperature in the Elsewhere had been ambient and comfortable, but now it was as though they had run into a wall of profound and savage cold.
They had hit the first of Ghabal’s defences. He had ringed his mountain with sea-ice, and had lowered the temperature with shattering effect. Beyond the bergs and broken floes that formed its margins, the ice stretched solid and unbroken to the north, as far as the eye could see. Their little boat could take them no further.
‘Well,’ said Iriana with a sigh, ‘it looks as though we had better get out and walk.’
‘It could work in our favour,’ the Windeye replied. ‘I think the time has come to shield ourselves, but I was worried about the efficiency of my shadow-cloak while we’re moving fast and I’m trying to maintain the structure of the boat at the same time. Aerillia seemed to find us easily enough. I’ll do much better on foot.’