And in their tents, knowing what she intended, Zephy and Thorn and the twelve strong young Seers brought their powers, in turn, against Kish. They had been building for this: nursing the sick, conjuring magical ceremonies, doing everything they could to win the awe and love of the cultists. Now they joined together in all their power, in an effort so strong it might not be long expended, but that must wed the cults to the light while it held.
Again Kish made her subjects kneel, flashing pain through them. But some rose in spite of the pain and moved toward her. Alarmed, she spoke out in silence to Dracvadrig: She would bring the dragon here and see them all dead before they defied her!
But Dracvadrig did not answer her. He had gone on to the north, beyond Zandour, where now he glided above the high desert, immersed in the hunt like a harrying kestrel, searching over the hot sands and into shadows for wolves, and he had no time for Kish and her toys.
The cultists watched Kish coldly. Her power locked and held against the power of Carriol’s Seers. Neither gave. She strained harder until at last, two dozen men broke from the ranks and joined her, taking up weapons to face the rest. But the Carriolinians’ power in those brief moments was strong indeed. Who would have thought a handful of Seers . . . ? She needed the power of a runestone. Then she would make the cultists crawl. Blast Dracvadrig for not coming to help her. He could have fetched his stone here, could . . . Well, she would have a runestone all right, a runestone much nearer than the one Dracvadrig carried. Maybe even two stones. And with that power she could destroy the puerile Seers. Yes, perhaps she could retrieve the second stone, too, she thought smiling, for already the girl Meatha crouched among boulders watching the divers prepare to bring it up out of the sea.
In a hastily conjured ceremony, Kish appointed new leaders from the few faithful, then she had a horse brought. Dressed in her finery, mounted, she made the beast rear and roll its eyes, spun it, bid the cultists kneel again before her, then with effort she laid a fog upon their minds like glittering mist so only her face was clear amidst shifting images. She held the vision strong. When at last it faded and the cultists looked up, she was gone.
SEVEN
The boulders hid Meatha where she crouched, blocking, staring down the steep drop of sea cliff to where Alardded’s camp lay huddled on a narrow shelf just above the sea: two tents, a campfire. The sea was so clear she could see the submerged cliff wall sheering away deep into the water. The diving suit lay like a bloated body next to Alardded’s tent, lines coiled beside it. She could sense Michennann grazing inland, but the mare did not speak to her. The whole journey had been conducted in silence, Michennann barely cooperating, reluctant and unpleasant, as Meatha had never known her.
She watched young Roth help Nicoli into the diving suit. Already the divers sensed the stone down there somewhere deep beneath the sea, and so did she. She blocked cautiously to protect the stone she carried, tied in a cloth bag beneath her tunic; waited patiently while Nicoli was dressed like a great doll in the diving suit, and the lines were checked. If she felt the touch of another mind, she turned away and blocked from it. Zephy must bear with her now and trust her if ever their friendship meant anything. Who had more right to the stone than she who had found it? Who had more right than she to carry it in a final battle against the slave-making Kubalese! She held her breath as Nicoli moved slowly to the edge of the cliff then jumped suddenly far out away from the lip. The lines coiled out smoothly after her as Alardded tended them, and Roth pumped on the bellows. Meatha grew so interested she soon forgot to block. Alarmed, she touched the stone, brought power around it quickly, chided herself for not paying attention. She watched the circle of bubbles where Nicoli had vanished and thought of the story of Ramad falling into the sea from the back of the monster Hape, of the stone falling away from him there, to be lost—to lie for six generations. How could Nicoli find the stone there, even with Seer’s senses to guide her, so small a stone in that immense, surging body of water? It seemed to Meatha an impossible task.
Already she could feel that the sea floor was a tumble of boulders. Already she was beginning to know the construction, the first touch of panic, that the weight and confinement of the sea could bestow. The water rolled around the lines in gentle green swells. She saw through Nicoli’s eyes, at first only green light growing darker, then the dark, waving shapes of sea plants, a rising boulder, and the underwater world growing constantly darker and closer until Meatha’s pulse was pounding with the sense of confinement, the constriction of the heavy suit. The sea was a tomb closing over her. She began to tremble. She blocked frantically, incredulous that Nicoli felt no fear.
She tried to remind herself that it was the lasting curse of the MadogWerg making her feel like this. Don’t let it! Don’t let it do this to you! But she couldn’t seem to help herself. She thought fleetingly that perhaps the MadogWerg had left other weaknesses. Did something dark touch her mind through that weakness, that emptiness she sometimes knew? But no! Nothing touched her but her own resolve, her own commitment to the salvation of Ere. Any other thought was madness. She put all else away from her.
It seemed a long time but was perhaps only minutes before Nicoli drew close among the tumbled, drowned boulders to where the stone lay, its power on her rocking her senses. Meatha felt Nicoli move quickly in the almost total darkness to a narrow cleft between stones, pulling her air line to keep it free; felt her kneel in the cumbersome suit and reach into the cleft. Meatha fought the fear of being trapped. Her hands were sweating. Frantically she blocked to keep from being discovered, tried to calm herself, felt something deeper give her strength and knew it must be her own power before untapped. She sensed Nicoli reaching, touching . . . Then she felt the sudden shock in Nicoli’s fingers as she touched the stone.
Nicoli grasped it in a handful of sand and pebbles and brought it close to her face. She could see it only as a vague shape through the small, thick glass, but its presence in her hand was like a pulsing heartbeat of power. Meatha felt as if the stone held within itself the thunder of the sea. She felt as if her own hands were on the ropes as Nicoli began to ascend, the runestone tucked safely into her diving suit.
*
Dracvadrig smiled with fine satisfaction. They had the stone. His frustration at searching uselessly across the cursed desert for vanished wolves was as nothing now. The stone was at this moment being carried to the surface of the sea. It was safe, ready to be plucked, ready to be given. He had only to guide and protect Meatha, reassure her, help her to slip the stone away from the divers at the right moment and bring it to him. Then she and the wretched young Seer would begin the final act. Oh, yes, soon, soon—as a dragon measures time—the runestone would be whole again, be his, all power would be his.
Meanwhile he must settle Kish. He could not have her taking the stone, tampering with his plans. He swept fast along the coast out of Karra and across the Bay of Pelli above the sunken islands and came at Pelli from the sea, but low and on the west coast, so he would remain unseen by the divers around on the southern cliffs. He sensed Kish, then soon saw her riding hard. She had crossed the inlet by barge and was already on the high meadows. He dove on her and saw her horse rear and twist in terror, too frightened even to run. “Turn back, Kish. Leave the horse, my dear, and come onto my back as you were meant to travel.”