‘Speaking of shielding,’ the Wizard said, ‘we’re going to need something more than a shadow-cloak at this point. We could be attacked at any time, and the closer we get to Ghabal, the greater the risk will grow. You take care of hiding us with your shadow-cloak, and I’ll maintain a shield against a magical strike. How does that sound?’
They clambered out of the boat and onto the dazzling white surface beyond. As soon as their feet touched the ice, the cold smote them, drying and stiffening the skin on their faces and striking at their feet and legs.
‘Now what?’ Corisand said. ‘We won’t stand this for very long.’
‘Let’s shield and conceal ourselves while we’re thinking,’ Iriana suggested. ‘And we’ll be warmer if we keep moving.’
The Windeye dissolved her lovely boat, not without a pang of regret, and looked around for shadows with which to weave her cloak. Though the ice appeared to be a smooth, unbroken surface from a distance, in reality it was patched with areas of rubble ice: jumbled labyrinths of furrows and sharp-edged ridges where the ice had cracked and been forced upward, and had then refrozen. The shadows were blue against the pristine white of the ice, and as Corisand called them to her, she discovered that her cloak was a different hue this time, blending neatly into her surroundings. Building it carefully, she extended it to cover the Wizard - and even as she did so, she felt a surge of magic as Iriana constructed her own shield around them.
‘When we learned our defensive magic at the Academy, I never really believed that one day I would be using it; that it would make the difference between life and death,’ Iriana said. ‘I only wish I could have used it when Esmon and Avithan and I were attacked in the forest that night.’
‘Why couldn’t you?’ Since the Wizard herself had brought the subject up, Corisand had no hesitation in asking.
‘Because the bastard Phaerie assassin was immune to my magic.’ Her face hardened with anger. ‘I wish I could have killed him with my bare hands.’ She strode ahead, sticking to the smoother areas and avoiding the rubble ice, and Corisand had to rush after her, struggling to keep the cloak in place.
And if her own shield was in danger . . .
‘Iriana - concentrate!’ she snapped as she caught up to the Wizard. ‘Focus on your shield, not the accursed Phaerie, or he’ll reach out from his grave and kill you yet.’
The Wizard turned on her, wrath flashing in her eyes, then caught herself. ‘You’re right, you’re right.’ She rubbed her hands over her face and took a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry. Sometimes it all comes flooding back, and I start thinking I should have done this or that. It’s hard to accept that he had me bested. That I couldn’t save my friends.’
Corisand faced her, clasping her shoulders. ‘You did best him, my friend. He’s dead now, and you’re still alive. And you did save Avithan. Without you he would be dead. At least you’ve given him a chance. If that assassin was immune to Wizard magic - and that’s not a trait common to all Phaerie, as you saw when we fought the Forest Lord - then I doubt that your Archwizard himself could have done more.’ She smiled at Iriana. ‘Having seen you deal with Hellorin the first time he attacked us makes you warrior enough for me.’
Looking into Corisand’s sincere brown eyes, hearing her words of comfort and encouragement, Iriana felt the shadows of pain retreat a little, and the claws of grief slackened their harsh grip on her heart. Corisand had steadied her, and it was time to be moving on.
The cold was attacking them savagely now: it sapped their energy and drained their spirits; it numbed their limbs and slowed their movements; it chilled their blood and clouded their thoughts. Their toes and fingers stung and tingled. How long could they sustain themselves under these conditions?
The further they went, the stronger the wind became and the deeper grew the chill. Iriana, shivering uncontrollably, kept her eyes fixed on the goal, willing herself towards the peak of ice and telling herself that every step was bringing her closer.
Then, in the blink of an eye, it vanished. The horizon turned grey and formless. Before they had time to take another breath, the blizzard was upon them. The air was filled with snow driven into their faces by the screaming wind: tiny knife-edged particles of ice that sliced into their skin, clogged their breathing and drove mercilessly into every chink and crevice in their clothing. With a curse, Iriana flung her powers forward, strengthening her shield in the teeth of the gale.
Silence.
Blessed, blessed stillness.
‘You did it, oh, you did it.’ The Windeye hugged her, but Iriana shook her head. ‘Not for long,’ she said grimly. ‘The Moldan’s power is terrifying. It’s taking all my strength to keep the storm at bay, and I’ve made no impression on the cold. He won’t leave his mountain, that much seems clear, but with spells like this, he doesn’t need to. I can’t maintain my shield for much longer, and when it fails we’ll be right back where we started.’
All they could do was make the most of the small respite they had gained, and push on as far as they could while the going was easier. As they trudged and stumbled on stiffening legs across the ice-field, their vision obscured by puffs of their own frozen breath, the strain began to tell on Iriana. It was like trying to hold up a falling tree single-handed. She gritted her teeth and tried to keep going as long as she could, but her mind kept losing focus, drifting to the nature of magic and the manifold forms it could take. She remembered lectures at the Academy, and the more practical information she had gleaned from Esmon, about using magic not just as a shield, but as a weapon too.
It struck her all at once.
As her concentration slackened, the blizzard sprang on them like a ravening beast, but Iriana ignored it. ‘Corisand!’ She pulled her companion to a halt. ‘It’s not real cold at all. The Moldan is fighting us with magic - just a different sort, which must be why it’s so difficult for me to shield. But if the cold is just another sort of spell, then surely it must be possible to form some sort of defence against it.’
Corisand frowned at her, and the Wizard could see that she was trying her hardest to focus. ‘Defence?’ Her voice could barely be heard above the keening of the wind. ‘Tell me how. Shadow-cloaks and mirrors are all I know.’
‘You know bridges and boats too,’ the Wizard shouted at her, ‘and you spun your own clothes out of air when we came here, remember?’
‘I wish I’d made them warmer, then.’
‘Could you?’ Iriana asked hopefully.
The Windeye simply shook her head. ‘I’m a horse, remember? Don’t know anything.’
Iriana, worried now, tried desperately to rouse her friend from this hopeless mood brought on by the cold. It might have taken her that way too, had she not realised in time what Ghabal was about. She pulled the Windeye close to her so that they could huddle together and share body heat. ‘Just because you missed the years of studying and training at the Academy, it doesn’t make you useless. You’re just discovering your powers, and you’ve only scratched the surface of what you can achieve. Between us we can deal with this spell, I know it.’
But if we can’t find an answer soon, we won’t live long enough.
Firmly, she pushed the insidious notion out of her mind and concentrated hard, turning her thoughts back to a particular talk that Esmon had given on shielding. Hearing in her head the kind, strong voice that had been lost from the world for ever, she repeated his words to Corisand.
‘There are three types of shield,’ she shouted. ‘One for concealment - that’s like your shadow-cloak - one for defence, like the shield I’m using now, and one for offence. The latter works like a mirror. It reflects the assailant’s magic back upon himself. A really good offensive shield can even magnify the damage.’ She swore. ‘There’s only one problem. Cyran was against the use of offensive magic, and he wouldn’t let the students at the Academy learn it. The only way to study it was to join the Luen of Warriors.’