Once as he dug at the stone he Saw an image of the girl, her beautiful face rapt in some vision he was unable to share, her lavender eyes deep and intent, very determined as if she contemplated something demanding, though he could not make out what. He felt clearly her rising excitement.
Why did such visions touch him? Whatever she was about, whatever vision she cleaved to, had nothing to do with him. Her dark lashes were soft on her cheeks, her dark hair tumbled about her shoulders. Her eyes held him so strongly that he thought she Saw him; but then she rose preoccupied, unaware of anything but the turmoil within herself. She pulled off her boots and slipped barefoot out of the rock shelter where she had been sitting, into the moonlight, and began to move carefully down a steep cliff. He could hear the sea crashing. He saw her destination: a camp below on a rocky ledge. When she reached it at last, she stood watching the two tents, sensing out. Finally she approached the larger one, still in silence, and he could feel her blocking.
How could he See her when she blocked so strongly? He frowned, puzzling. Did he have some special affinity for this girl, to so breach her blocking? Some tie with her that he did not understand? She approached the tent and entered in silence. He sensed rather than saw the two sleeping figures, and startled, for a master Seer slept there. And a boy, also with Seer’s skills. The girl knelt beside the master Seer and began to feel with light, quick fingers among his belongings, quickly touched something of power that made him start and catch his breath.
She pulled the runestone out of the pack, he felt the weight and power of it as if he held it himself. A shard of the runestone of Eresu.
Now she had two shards, he thought, puzzling. What was so urgent to this girl? What exactly did she plan? He watched her retreat softly and climb the cliff. He felt her silent call, then felt the answering call and saw a winged mare bank between clouds and plummet down beside her out of the moonwashed sky; and he felt the strange reluctance of the mare. The girl swung onto her back and nearly at once they were windborne, the girl prodding, forcing the mare. He wanted to move with them, to follow. What was the girl’s destination, carrying the runestones? She seemed to imagine something urgent, but her intention was muddled and confused in his mind. He tried to follow her in vision, but his thoughts remained fixed above the cliff as mare and rider disappeared into moon-touched cloud.
He had started to turn from the vision of the empty cliff when he Saw the other rider standing motionless beside a winged stallion. How could he have missed them, missed sensing them? Had they come out of the sky unseen only a moment before? Or had they been standing hidden by boulders watching the girl just as he himself had watched her? A tall, thin man with short white hair. The sight of him struck a chord of recognition in Lobon, though he could not think why. He didn’t know him. There was a power about him, a mystery about him that drew Lobon. The stranger stood looking into the sky where girl and mare had disappeared with a cold, impersonal censure. Then in one leap he was mounted and following.
*
Dracvadrig clung in resting coils around the peak of Scar Mountain, drawing the girl to him, watching the mare wing through the night sky, pulled inexorably by his power and by the power RilkenDal had laid so beautifully upon her. Even should the girl turn reluctant, the mare would not waver from the hold they now had on her. And where better to receive the stones than here atop Scar Mountain, where Ramad had been bred and born, then snatched away from his rightful destiny as a child of the dark masters? Now the stone would return to dark. Here, where it had first been betrayed.
Never mind how the warring fared across the coastal countries, it didn’t matter now, with this tender Seer girl to seal the fate of Ere. He smiled a toothy smile against the dark sky. Oh, yes, the girl would seal Ere’s fate—but not in the way she dreamed. To drive back the dark? Oh, no, young woman! Dracvadrig chuckled, a sound like grinding bones. Not to drive back the dark, but to breed an heir to the dark. An heir to the joining of the runestone.
His eye began to pain him. He pawed at it absently, never taking his mind from his prey. Here on Scar Mountain had Ramad been bred out of cold revenge. Here this night the girl would come, she in turn to be bred—to begin a new line of Seers that would be heir to Ramad. Heir to the joining of the stones.
Seers subservient to him alone, and to the dark powers.
For something had been building for generations and it was culminating now. His own quickening to life there in the abyss was witness to that building of powers. Powers growing in strength, powers of the earth itself as natural as the volcanoes that belonged to them, or the sly movement of the moons; and other powers wrought of the minds of living creatures—forces humans called good and evil. Forces that moved like winds, shifting, violent, that even he, Dracvadrig, did not always anticipate.
Forces that could split Ere’s plane of life apart, could open it to other planes. Already there was a wound in the fabric of this plane: there the Luff’Eresi dwelt. If Ere’s plane should so shatter, as the stone had once shattered, then when it opened to new planes, those must be the planes of the dark. And if such violence should not occur? Oh, but the dark could force such holocaust, if it had the stone, joined in darkness. And the dark powers would then own Ere.
No matter his scoffing at the joining when he faced young Lobon, that joining was now too opportune to ignore. And it must be for the dark. And only an heir to Ramad could so join it.
This girl, coming to him now as docile as a ewe, would make that heir for him. An heir far more tractable, more obedient, than ever the difficult young Lobon could be. He soothed the girl and beckoned her on, and she drew ever closer. Then suddenly his senses stirred uncomfortably. Scowling, he felt out across the night sky, parting winds, reaching—and he Saw suddenly the white-haired Seer following close behind the girl, riding tall between a dark stallion’s wings. A white-haired Seer! Dracvadrig spat fire, pawed the stony peak with fury. Where had this man come from! Why were the white-hairs not gone from Ere! Surely he and Kish had destroyed them. His snarl of rage rose to a scream against the lonely night. It was the white-haired one called Anchorstar, the same who had led the Children of Ynell from Burgdeeth, who had led Ramad outside of Time—that one would die this time. He wanted to spring into the sky; but he remained steady, drawing the girl, and with her the white-haired one, closer.
*
The mare flew strongly toward the northwest. Meatha did not wonder when Michennann ceased to resist her, when the mare began to beat steadily across the night wind. She thought only that she had bested Michennann at last.
She could sense new movements of Kubalese troops, knew she must come down on them there in the north, drive them back with the potency of the stones. She must circle the coastal countries, destroy every Kubalese soldier as only that power could destroy them. She was the stones’ willing servant now in this last, this all-decisive attack. She was very sure, very aware of her power; so engulfed in the aura of that power that she did not sense the presence following her. She turned to look back only when Michennann faltered, touched with sudden fear.
She looked back beneath Michennann’s wings, sensed the man suddenly and sharply, then saw him: Tall and slim he sat the dark, winging mount, white hair gleaming, and her first response was sudden wild joy at knowing he was alive, he whom she had mourned.
Then fear swept her as it had swept Michennann. And then shame. His censure was sharp as a sword.
But why was she ashamed? He had no right to make her feel ashamed. He should be pleased, should be helping her. She felt amazed and hurt. Why didn’t he understand? She tried to touch his thoughts and met only coldness and disdain. She urged the mare faster, appalled at his insensitiveness, he who had always understood. Dracvadrig’s power pulled at her, and she followed blindly, needing that power now in her loneliness, pushing back wildly the suspicion that was beginning to awaken within her deepest thoughts.