Without sun or moon, Gaelin had no idea how long they’d been in the Shadow World. The bitter cold numbed his hands and feet and slowly chilled his torso, until he found himself shivering constantly and uncontrollably. To keep his mind from wandering, he continuously circled the hollow, keeping a close eye on the guardsmen who stood watch. The gloom was wearing on them all, deadening their senses and slowing their reactions.
In the hollow itself, Seriene had finished her initial survey of Bannier’s defenses. With a silver powder she kept in a pouch by her belt, she had laboriously scratched grooves and whorls in the dark earth, creating a diagram that surrounded Bannier’s standing stones. As he watched, she finished her first orbit of Bannier’s source and began to embellish her design with various complications. He thought about going over to ask her what she was doing but decided not to – en- chantments could be tricky, and he wouldn’t want to ruin the spell by interrupting her.
After aiding Seriene in her first examination of the site, Erin hovered near the Dieman, waiting for opportunities to be useful. Gaelin knew enough about magic to recognize that some portions of Seriene’s work were best performed with two people, especially the more complicated designs. After checking once again on the guardsmen, he walked over to stand beside Erin. “How is it going?” he asked quietly.
“Seriene’s about halfway done,” Erin replied. “It’s a tedious task, but one that has to be done just right.”
“What exactly is she doing?’
“I don’t understand the details of the enchantment,” said Erin. “Seriene tells me that it’s beyond my skills. If I’m not mistaken, she’s creating a barrier that will stop the flow of mebhaighl into Bannier’s source, sort of like damming a river.
Bannier’s most potent defenses are linked to the source itself, and if she succeeds, they will fall.” Erin watched Seriene for a short while, and added, “She’s a more powerful sorceress than I would have guessed.”
“As strong as Bannier?”
“We’ll soon see.” Erin reached over and grasped Gaelin’s hand. Her fingers felt cold on Gaelin’s, and he realized that with her lighter garb and smaller frame, she must be feeling the chill even more than he was. He undid his cloak and draped it over her shoulders, and she smiled gratefully at him. Suppressing a shiver, she spoke again, gazing off into the darkness. “Listen. About the last two nights… they’ve been wonderful. I can’t stop thinking about you. But I don’t know if it would be fair to you for things to continue as they are. Someday you’ll have to marry. The daughter of a highranking noble, I suppose, or you’ll risk losing everything you’ve been fighting for. Persuading the southern lords to return their loyalty to Mhoried will be difficult enough without the question of a commoner at the Mhor’s side.”
Even though he had been expecting this, Gaelin’s heart wrenched. Thickly, he said, “What do you want to do?”
She considered her words in silence. “I’ll leave, once we finish here. I’ve made a terrible mistake, coming between you and Seriene.”
“I don’t want you to go.”
“How can I stay?” she said. “As your mistress? Or would I see you day after day, pretending that I don’t love you?”
“You deserve more than that.”
He struggled to find something else to say, but no words came to him. Erin’s face, pale and radiant in the gloom, made Gaelin’s heart ache. She looked down and held his hand tighter. “I’ll have to leave, then,” she said.
“That day’s not here yet.”
“No, it’s not. But if I wait a few weeks, a few months, maybe a year or two, how much harder will it be?” Erin looked up into his face, but Gaelin couldn’t meet her eyes. “I don’t know if I could stay away from you, knowing that you’re somewhere nearby.” Her eyes softened for a moment, then she stood abruptly and stalked away, shrugging Gaelin’s cloak from her shoulders. He watched her leave, and bowed his head.
At that moment, Seriene struck Bannier’s trap. A brilliant flare of light seared Gaelin’s eyes, leaving colored spots in his sight for a long moment. He blinked his eyes clear, drawing his sword by instinct and whirling to face the black stones in the heart of the hollow. The great column of dark energy seethed and crackled, a leaping pillar of noxious flame that pierced the blank sky like a steel rapier. Not only was it visible again, it was blindingly bright, a beacon that cast weird, dancing shadows over the entire hilltop. Gaelin gaped in awe. The light would be visible for dozens of miles, a beacon that shouted their position to anyone – or anything – nearby.
The column flickered, as a dark band of matter rose along its length, then streaked outward along one of the faint ley lines, arrowing off to the west. A signal to Bannier, he realized.
Seriene lay huddled outside the circle, a frail white doll discarded on the ground. Black energy danced and snapped in cold, lightless arcs all around her. Swallowing his amazement, Gaelin cautiously stepped closer, even though the roaring of the energy hammered at him with tangible force.
“Seriene!” he called. “Seriene! What did you do? How do we stop it?” But his voice was drowned by the shrieking storm of darkness that spouted from the ancient stones. He took another cautious step closer, and then his feet froze to the earth as he saw the true nature of Bannier’s defense.
The unhealthy light of the raging magic was too bright to look at directly, bright enough to throw surging shadows from the dark outlines of the old standing stones. Each of the seven rune-carved pillars was joined to a pool of darkness, and, as Gaelin looked on in horror, the shadows opened. From impenetrable depths of darkness, nightmarish shapes were rising, mist-cloaked wraiths with baleful eyes that exhaled streamers of cold vapor as their hungry maws yawned wide.
The pervasive chill of the Shadow World suddenly became much more acute, as if the shadow things gathered and focused the twisted energies of the place. Gaelin’s heart labored in his chest, trying to pump blood that was growing sluggish.
The first of the shadow creatures stepped free of its prison beneath the earth and silently advanced on Seriene.
Whatever the shadow creatures were, Gaelin suspected that mere swords would not deter them. He prayed Seriene was only stunned and would know of a way to dismiss them.
With a gasp that seared his nose and throat with cold, he broke free of his paralysis and scrambled down the shallow slope to Seriene’s side. He arrived a step ahead of the shadow thing and launched a desperate assault of slashes and cuts, hoping to keep it at bay.
The creature roiled and flowed like living darkness, slithering away from the sword blows just as a patch of shadow might retreat from the advance of a man carrying a torch. As soon as the sword passed, its body returned to its former shape. With inhuman swiftness, it lunged forward and slashed its icy talons across Gaelin’s chest, scoring his breastplate with four long, frosted furrows and sending a tremor of aching cold through his body. He stumbled back, giving ground to the monster’s attack. Around him, he could make out the dim cries of his guards engaging the shadow thing’s companions.
Ducking beneath a wild slash, he leaned forward and ran his sword clean through the shadow’s center of mass, a strike it was unable to completely avoid. There was a curious tugging or resistance on the blade, as if he’d just stabbed a pool of water, and his hand was stung by a searing wave of cold that raced up the sword’s hilt. The creature recoiled as if wounded, and Gaelin followed with a second sword thrust that passed directly between its baleful red eyes. This time, there was a little more resistance, and with a soft, hateful hiss the thing discorporated, dissolving into an inky black vapor that dissipated to the ground. “Aim for their eyes!” he cried.
“They’re most vulnerable there!”
He glanced about, trying to get a sense of what was going on. All around him, men cursed and screamed as they fought the shadow monsters. Bull held one at bay with wild, twohanded sweeps of his sword, keeping the creature on the defensive as it deftly avoided the singing blade. Afew feet away, Erin cast a dazzling spell of light that blew a creature into nothingness.
But more were rising from the shadows beneath the standing stones, and already several of Gaelin’s men were down. He growled a curse, not knowing what to do.
“Gaelin, help me.” He looked down in surprise and saw Seriene struggling to stand. He reached down and hauled her to her feet. The princess looked weak and frail, and Gaelin could feel her entire body shaking in cold or exhaustion, but there was fire and fight in her eyes. “You’ll never defeat them all,” she coughed. “They’ll keep coming until they overwhelm you.”
“What do we do?” he shouted.
“Help me finish the spell,” she replied. “When I seal the source, they will vanish.” She pointed at the monoliths across the clearing. “I’ve prepared barriers for all the stones save one.”
He nodded, and half-carried her over to the place she indicated.
Even as he set her down, another of the shadow creatures flowed forward and launched itself at him. Gaelin slashed at it desperately, hoping to keep it away from Seriene.
The entity took advantage of his distraction and sank its freezing talons into his left forearm. With a great cry, he wrenched free and brought his sword down on its head, striking it down, but his arm now hung limp and useless by his side, numbed by the creature’s touch. He tried to shrug it off, but now two more of the monsters were sidling forward, preparing to attack. “Seriene! You’d better hurry!” he called.
Behind him, Seriene chanted the end of her spell, kneeling to scribe a pattern in the ground with her fingertip. She risked a glance up from her work, and found a free moment to snap, “Gaelin, hold them off! I’m almost done.”
Gaelin gave a couple of steps to the shadow things, menacing them with his sword. One flowed smoothly to his right, drawing his point away, while the other quickly slithered around him to the left, trying to get at Seriene. He had only a moment to make up his mind. With a yell, he turned his back on the creature menacing him and struck across his body at the monster that rushed at the princess. His blade caught the creature in the center of its torso, and it disintegrated into the mists and darkness from which it had come. But, before he could return his attention to the other foe, talons of searing cold raked at his face and throat as the creature leapt on his back.
Screaming, Gaelin staggered to his knees, flailing wildly with his sword. The monster’s shadowy claws seemed to pass right through his armor, leaving white patches of frost where the weird substance of its body pierced the plates and mail. Shadow stuff clawed at Gaelin’s heart within his chest.
The cold seized him in a relentless grip, and he sank to the ground.
As his sight reeled and darkened, he caught one last glimpse of Seriene, her face twisted in distress. “Gaelin!” she cried. For a moment, she stood paralyzed, unsure of whether to rush to his aid or finish her spell; then she whirled away and shouted a long invocation in an ancient language. The enchantment rolled melodiously from her tongue, filling the air with its liquid syllables. The diagram that Seriene had scribed around the clearing blazed with silvery light, as the runes and patterns came to life. Instantly, the roaring chaos of energy that raged in the clearing’s center fell silent, fading from view. As the wicked light disappeared, the shadows thrown by the stones died as well, and with them the shadow creatures vanished, hissing in anguish. The thing that clung to Gaelin seemed to dig in its claws one last time, trying to anchor itself to him, but then it faded into nothingness.
His ears rang from the noise, and he blinked to regain his sight. Agony racked his body, but with a herculean effort, he raised himself to his hands and knees. He hoped that his powers of healing were capable of stemming the damage; he felt torn and cold inside, as if he’d been stabbed with an icicle.
“Gaelin! Are you hurt?” Seriene was kneeling beside him, her arms around his shoulders.
“I’ll live,” he coughed. He tried to stand, but his strength failed him and he sagged back to the ground, a trickle of cold blood starting from his mouth.
“ You saved my life,” Seriene whispered. “Gaelin, you could have been killed.” Her face was open with astonishment.
He nodded, and gasped, “I had to, or none of us would have survived. How are the others?” Of the ten guards they’d brought with them, five lay on the ground, unmoving. In the clearing, all was as it had been before – but the brooding menace of the stones was gone, somehow screened or blocked by Seriene’s enchantment. He looked up at Seriene.
“That’s it?” he asked.
Seriene sat back on her heels. “The barrier holds. Bannier has been cut off from the land’s mebhaighl.”
“So he’s helpless?”
“No. He possesses whatever skills and spells he had before and may still be a formidable enemy. But he’s lost access to the most devastating spells he could wield, and as long as my shield holds, he’s no more or less dangerous than any common mage or wizard might be.” She gestured at the stone ring. “It should be safe to enter now.”
Gaelin followed her glance. On the altar at the center of the ring, Ilwyn lay pale and still. Groaning, he pushed himself to his feet and advanced toward her, pausing to look back at Seriene before actually setting foot within the ring. She nodded, and he stepped inside, wincing in anticipation. Nothing happened.
In a moment, he was by Ilwyn’s side. The girl was barely breathing, and her skin was so cold that at first Gaelin feared she was dead. With his sword, he cut the ancient iron shackles free and used main strength to bend the manacles enough to slip her ankles and wrists free. The effort made his vision swim, and icy air seared his lungs as he panted for breath. Ilwyn stirred and murmured in her sleep. Gaelin picked her up in his arms and carried her out of the stone ring to his waiting companions. “Let’s get out of here,” he said.
Forty miles away and across the threshold of eternal night, Bannier rode through a dark vale in the highlands, a dozen of Tuorel’s Iron Guards following him. Tuorel’s camp was two hours behind them, and this high in the hills of Winoene there was little to see except for gray, rock-crowned hillsides and a dense overcast that promised more of Mhoried’s endless rainfalls.
As they rode forward, Bannier carefully scanned the hillsides for signs of the place he remembered, an old goblin barrow where a door to the Shadow World could be easily opened. He was accustomed to shifting himself across the boundary at any point he liked, but the task was much more difficult with a dozen soldiers following him, and he needed to find a weakness in the Shadow’s barriers in order to bring the swordsmen along.
“Where are we going?” A keen-eyed, fierce young knight led the detail that accompanied Bannier. Bannier had already developed a distinct dislike for the man, but there was a chance the Ghoeran soldiers might prove useful. From the scowl on the fellow’s face, Bannier suspected that the Ghoeran reciprocated his sentiments. “We’ve been riding in circles for an hour now.”
“It’s a shortcut,” Bannier replied. “We’d have to ride a day and a half to get to Caer Duirga, but I mean to be there in an hour.”
The Ghoeran barked laughter. “In these hills? Impossible!”
Bannier shook his head, smiling. “You’ll see soon enough, Sir Knight.” More than ever, he regretted the loss of his tower in Shieldhaven. In razing his conjuring chamber, Tuorel’s men had also destroyed his scrying pool. Without his divinations and auguries, Bannier had no idea whether or not Gaelin had started for Caer Duirga, or even if he was coming at all. He felt blinded and helpless, at the mercy of events.
One of the leading Ghoerans reined in his horse and pointed. “Lord Bannier! Is that it?” A low, weed-grown mound rose in a small hollow, surrounded by rings of small, weathered rocks.
Bannier rode up beside the fellow. He could sense the nearness of the Shadow without seeing the mound. “This is it,” he said. “Wait nearby until I call for you.” He slid off the horse and handed the reins to the guardsman, stalking forward to examine the site. Without waiting to see whether or not the Ghoerans withdrew, he started to work the spells that would part the veil between the worlds.
He was nearly finished with his task when he felt the strident shock of his source’s defenses waking. Caer Duirga’s magical energy suffused his body, basking him in a dark ra- diation that only another wizard could perceive, and the signature he’d placed over the old stones was unmistakable. He straightened up, dropping his staff to the wet earth, and stared off to the east in astonishment. Who is it that challenges me? he thought. One of the Gorgon’s fledglings?
Or… No! Someone is trying to rescue Ilwyn! With a vicious oath, Bannier wheeled and waved to the Iron Guardsmen.
“Come here! We ride now!”
Startled by his sudden outcry, the guards scrambled to their feet and mounted, springing into motion. The knight scowled and cantered toward Bannier. “What? What is it?”
At that moment, Seriene’s barrier severed Bannier from his source. It was like a cold, keen blade slicing through his flesh, amputating part of him. He shrieked in pain and staggered, while the strength and power that he hoarded in the center of his being drained away like the blood of a man whose arteries have been cut. The Ghoeran backed away from the wizard, a startled oath on his lips, as Bannier stumbled to the ground and caught himself on his elbows, floundering in the red mud. Bannier was aware of the shouts of the Ghoerans around him, but his attention was focused inward, trying to assess the extent of the damage.
After an agonizing span of twenty or thirty heartbeats, Bannier found a mere shadow of his strength returning, leaving him weaker than he had been. Mustering as much dignity as he could, he picked himself up and brushed the mud from his robes while he considered the implications of what had just happened. He knew Gaelin had struck at him, though he also recognized that because of the time distortion in the Shadow World, the attack might have actually occurred some time bef o re. Bannier allowed himself the luxury of a dire oath.
The men nearby blanched but stood their ground. “What is the problem?” demanded the Ghoeran knight, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword.
Bannier ignored the warrior, finishing his spell. He conjured a dark doorway of writhing shadow in front of the barrow’s stone-choked face. “Follow me in single file,” he said, dismissing the knight’s anger. He hoisted himself into the saddle.
“Into that?”
“You’ll be fine as long as you stay close by and don’t lose sight of me.” Bannier looked back and fixed the young Ghoeran with his glare. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid to follow where I go?”
The knight spat. “Go on, lead the way.”
“Remember, stay close,” Bannier said. “I will lead you on paths from which you do not want to stray.” With his horse kicking up clods of dark mud, he rode into the Shadow.
While Seriene examined the strength of her shielding one more time, reinforcing the spell where she could, Gaelin and Erin tried to revive Ilwyn. She looked like a pale flower preserved by the snow, her face and limbs cold and imbued with only a semblance of life. Gaelin despaired of waking her; the fires of her life had cooled to embers, too dark to rekindle. He rubbed her arms vigorously, trying to warm her, while Erin trickled some strong brandy between her lips. “I think we need to get her out of here,” the bard said. “This place is unhealthy.
I don’t think Ilwyn will recover until she’s back on the other side.”
“You’re probably right,” he replied. “It couldn’t hurt to get away from here.” He retrieved his cloak and wrapped it tightly around Ilwyn’s torso, wincing. The talons of the shadow monster had scored him deeply, and his injuries still pained him. When he finished, he signaled to Seriene. “Can we get going? We need to leave this place.”
Seriene’s exhaustion was evident. Still, she finished her examination of the barrier before she allowed herself to slowly turn away, her stride unsteady. Watching her, Gaelin wondered what price she paid to gain her sorcerous skills; clearly they were not won or wielded lightly. “That should keep him busy for a time,” she declared.
“What did you do?”
“Severing the ley lines dismissed the source. Think of it this way: If Caer Duirga is a well from which Bannier draws his power, severing the lines is like cutting the rope for the bucket. The well itself isn’t damaged – I’m not strong enough to do that, no one is – but even after Bannier undoes this barrier, he’ll have to spend a lot of time and effort calling Caer Duirga back to life.”
“What were the spells you just wove into your barrier?” asked Gaelin.
“Traps,” Seriene replied with a fierce show of her teeth.
“He’ll want to be careful in approaching my work. Now, let’s get moving before he shows up to investigate. I don’t think I have the strength to face him now.”
Seriene led the battered party back to the doorway she had created to enter the Shadow World, while the rest followed as best they could. Boeric, Bull, and the three remaining guardsmen carried the bodies of their fallen comrades; no one wanted to leave the dead soldiers in the cold and gloom of the place. Gaelin carried Ilwyn – she felt light as a feather in his arms, as if she had grown close to insubstantiality as her life faded in Bannier’s black circle – and, with a dark look at Gaelin, Erin helped Seriene along. The Dieman’s fatigue was even greater than she let on.
To Gaelin’s eyes, nothing remained to indicate that Seriene’s door had pierced the barriers between the worlds, but Seriene seemed to know instinctively where she had left the gateway.
She began the invocations needed to open the door again, but halted after a few syllables. “Damn,” she muttered. She looked a round, her eyes flicking nervously from the gloom that surrounded them to the cheerless sky. “The gate’s gone.”
After a moment of stunned silence, Bull said, “Your Highness, what do you mean, gone?”
Seriene directed a withering gaze at him. “This is a deceitful place. The gate has shifted, vanished, or been closed by design. I’ll have to find another or ready a spell capable of forcing the passage again.”
Gaelin looked down at Ilwyn’s cold face. “I don’t know if my sister will last that long. How hard is it to find an exit back to our world? I mean, could there be one nearby?”
Seriene waved her hands in disgust. “I don’t know. I guess I should start looking.” Bowing her head, she stretched out her arm, extending her senses to search for another weakness or flaw in the dimensional barriers. Gaelin glanced around nervously. The withered trees and sere grass rustled and creaked, but he felt no breeze on his face. He could almost make out some kind of muttering, a voice whispering in the shadows, faint and hard to hear. He found himself straining forward to hear the words, words he must understand…
“Riders coming,” announced Erin. With a start, Gaelin realized that he’d let himself drift off. He shook himself, looking up at where Erin stood, gazing into the gloom. “They’re climbing the hill, back to the stones. I can hear their horses.”
Gaelin rose and moved to see where she was looking. He could discern nothing in the gloom. “Are you sure your mind isn’t playing tricks on you?” he asked.
“I’m certain of it,” she replied.
“It must be Bannier. Who else would come this way?”
Gaelin carefully laid Ilwyn down on the cold stone, checking to make sure that his cloak covered her for warmth. The soldiers readied themselves, throwing cloaks back over their shoulders to clear their sword arms. Boeric and two of the other men still had their crossbows. They cocked and loaded the weapons with grim looks on their faces. Gaelin debated the advantages of flight, but he didn’t want to abandon their best route home.
“What should we do, Lord Mhor?” asked Boeric. In the gloom and the cold, the stoop-shouldered sergeant resembled an old, weather-beaten fence post, gray and featureless.
“Let’s wait here and keep out of sight,” Gaelin decided.
“They may miss us. We’re in no condition for a fight.”
Erin nodded in agreement. Distantly, they could make out the rough voices of the intruders, as they shouted orders to each other and trampled the ground of the clearing, but the sound was far fainter than it should have been. After a moment, Erin’s mouth stretched flat in a dark grimace. “Bannier’s with them. They’re asking him what to do. I think – ”
Suddenly, there was a flash of pure white light that illuminated the trees, blinding them all with its glare, and a rolling crack of thunder that echoed among the black rocks. Gaelin blinked spots out of his eyes and swore. “What in Haelyn’s glory was that?”
“My spell of warding,” Seriene answered. She paused in her divining to look back toward the stone circle, hidden by the dark shoulder of the hillside. “Bannier must have been impatient; I thought for certain he’d find and disarm it.” She f rowned thoughtfully. “It was a powerful enchantment, Gaelin. It might have killed him or anyone else nearby.”
“Then we may find Bannier and his allies at a disadvantage,” Gaelin breathed, climbing to his feet. He studied the darkness. Cries of distress came faintly to his ears. He’d like nothing more than to take the fight to Bannier in a direct fashion.
In fact, he’d like to know for certain that Bannier was not going to be a threat to anyone for whom he cared again. He glanced at Seriene. “Do you have any more spells of that sort at your command?”
“No. I’ve exhausted my powers. I’ll be lucky to open the door again, once I find it.”
Gaelin weighed their options. As long as Tuorel had Bannier’s magic to aid his powerful army, Mhoried didn’t stand a chance. And he owed Bannier for the deaths of his father and brother. “Seriene, you stay here,” he decided. “We can’t afford to risk losing you to a stray arrow or sword blow, not when you’re our only way home.” He picked out one of the surviving guardsmen, a fellow who had been wounded in the fray with the shadow monsters. “Hueril, you remain here to guard her and Ilwyn. The rest of you, come with me.”
They retraced their steps back to the clearing, which still danced and glimmered with an eerie, pale radiance. Gaelin quietly drew his sword and held it bared in his hand as they cautiously climbed the last few feet to the lip of the hollow through the dead, twisted trees. His breath steamed in front of him, streaming away in the coldness.
The stone circle stood much as they had left it, the black altar waiting in the center of the ring, but around the stones a silvery light glittered dimly. It curved over the whole site in a shimmering hemisphere, looking like a great crystal dome that neatly covered the standing stones. Blue sparks rippled across its surface, arcing and spitting at odd intervals. A dozen Ghoeran guardsmen in the clearing were trying to calm their panicking horses. Four or five more men were scattered on the ground, victims of Seriene’s enchantments.
Erin tapped his shoulder and pointed. “There’s Bannier.”
Following her gaze, Gaelin spotted the wizard. Bannier stood about forty feet away, with his back to them, surveying Seriene’s barrier. He seemed completely unharmed; obviously, he hadn’t been the one to set off the spell trap, or he’d had some way of eluding the spell’s strike. The sorcerer muttered to himself and stalked back and forth, ignoring the wounded men around him.
“Well? What now? They still outnumber us two to one.”
“Can you do something to frighten the horses? Scare them off?” Gaelin asked. “We have the advantage of surprise, but it would be helpful if a few of those men weren’t in the fight.”
Erin smiled. “I think I can do that.” The bard closed her eyes in concentration, and began humming softly to herself, making soft passes with her hands.
Gaelin looked back at the soldiers who waited in the shadows.
“Fire at anyone who isn’t running away, and then follow me into the clearing,” he told them. “Wait for Erin’s spell before you shoot. Bull, stay by me and watch my back.” The Mhoriens acknowledged their orders with silent salutes and moved stealthily into the trees.
Erin’s vocalizations acquired a musical tone. She glanced at Gaelin, and then stepped forward and released her spell.
There was a sudden flood of white mist in the clearing, and with a great bound, the largest and most terrifying wolf Gaelin had ever seen leaped into the center of the Ghoeran soldiers, snarling and slashing its teeth left and right at the soldiers’ mounts. Despite himself, Gaelin recoiled at the sight of the beast. He could hear the monster growling and snapping, the throaty rasp of its bellows-like roar, the snap of twigs under its heavy paws. The air reeked of wolf scent.
The Ghoerans’ steeds went mad with panic. Rearing and plunging, several threw their riders. Others wheeled and bolted in terror, blindly galloping into the black woods and endless night, as the wolf slavered and slashed at their heels.
A handful of the Iron Guardsmen retained control of their mounts and turned on the wolf-thing in their midst, or managed to at least keep their animals from bolting or rearing, but at that moment Boeric and the other two guardsmen fired.
Two more of the Ghoerans fell from the saddle, clutching at bolts that appeared in their chests.
Bannier whirled in surprise and suspicion. Erin’s illusion didn’t fool him for a moment; he instantly perceived the nature of the attack. “Stop! Stop, you idiots, it is merely a phantasm!” he roared. “It isn’t real!” The horses, however, were far more terrified than the soldiers, and the panicking animals were causing most of the chaos among the Ghoeran ranks.
Nothing Bannier said was going to convince a bolting horse that the wolf wasn’t real.
Gaelin rushed the wizard, breaking cover and racing for- ward with a wild yell, Bull a step behind him. Bannier raised one hand and pointed at Gaelin, speaking a spell. Gaelin felt his steps become slow and clumsy, as Bannier’s dark eyes glittered and the wizard’s will sought to overcome his own.
Gaelin’s volition crumbled beneath the insidious assault.
Gaelin, stop. Lay down your sword. Stop. Hold where you are, and drop your weapon! Obey me!
Beside him, Bull skidded to a stop in a blank daze, his mattock falling heavily to the ground from nerveless fingers. The big fighter’s momentum carried him two more steps on failing legs, and then he stumbled and fell, groveling in terror.
Gaelin went to one knee, struggling to find his courage again.
Bannier grinned in triumph, stepping forward and raising his staff to strike a blow while Gaelin was held motionless. The staff’s ironbound head began to glow with angry purple light, a radiance of dire potency that burned with dark energy.
“I didn’t expect to find you still waiting for me here, Gaelin,” Bannier hissed. “But, since you’ve presented yourself to me, I’ll count it as an unlooked-for blessing. What did you do with Ilwyn?”
Gaelin screwed his eyes shut and looked away, willing himself not to answer. Bannier snorted in irritation. In Gaelin’s mind, the sorcerer’s will surged forward, dragging and tugging at his soul. Answer me! What have you done with Ilwyn?
“She’s somewhere far from here,” he spat, forcing the words through his lips and fighting to keep control over what he said. “She’s safe and out of your reach.”
“On the contrary, I think she must be very near,” Bannier said. He glanced around the clearing, ignoring the wolf and the attendant chaos it caused. The Mhoriens had felled several more of his guards, but a half-dozen men were brutally kicking and spurring their horses up the slope and into the trees. In moments they’d engage the hidden sharpshooters.
Bannier’s spell ripped an inarticulate gasp of resistance from Gaelin. The Mhor clamped his teeth together, holding his jaw shut by force of will. Scowling, Bannier gave up the effort. “Your will is admirable, but it matters little. In a moment, I’ll finish with you and your friends, and I’ll find your sister again. And now, your reign is at an end, Mhor Gaelin.”
Gaelin struggled to escape the paralysis that gripped his limbs. Bannier reached forward to bring the deadly staff in contact with Gaelin’s head. Along its length Gaelin could see hateful runes crackling with power, the weapon filled with destructive potential. He knew that its touch would end his life. Distantly, he heard Erin scream in fear.
And somewhere, in a still place in the depths of his soul, a voice spoke out in protest. You are the Mhor. Asmall but bright flame ignited in his heart, a white point of light that suddenly blazed forward like a bonfire, racing through his limbs and overwhelming the wizard’s malignant dolor. The shadows that imprisoned Gaelin’s mind fled into the night, dissipating into ash as the power contained in his blood ignited in a blaze of glory.
As the staff came near his face, the purple radiance searing his eyes, he roared in protest and brought up his sword to block the killing blow. The clean highland blade met the sorcerer’s dire assault, and turned it aside with an angry clang of iron on steel. “No!” Gaelin shouted, surging up from his knees. He recovered from his parry and lashed out in a low, wicked cut that Bannier just barely managed to sidestep. The wizard’s face was openmouthed in astonishment, but he maintained enough presence of mind to jab the venomous staff at Gaelin again, forcing the prince to parry in turn.
Bannier attempted to back away, to find room to attempt another spell, but Gaelin was not to be stopped. His white wrath carried him forward, slashing with powerful blows that Bannier was hard-pressed to avoid. Wielding his staff with surprising skill and agility, Bannier gave ground. “Iron Guard! To me!” he shouted. “To me!”
Gaelin didn’t look around. He trusted Erin and his soldiers had handled the rest of the guardsmen. He pressed his attack recklessly, his vision suffused with a glorious brilliance and the roaring of his blood in his ears nothing more than a sweet whisper of encouragement. Reversing his attack, he struck Bannier with a long cut that gashed the wizard’s side, and followed it with a high, backhanded slash that glanced from the wizard’s skull, spinning him half around and opening a bloody wound across Bannier’s scalp.
In desperation, Bannier shouted a word that directed a lance of pure violet energy at Gaelin. But Gaelin anticipated the move and deflected Bannier’s aim by stepping under his guard and knocking the wizard’s arm skyward. With his hand clenched around his sword hilt, he found a perfect opportunity to deliver a deep uppercut to the wizard’s jaw, a solid punch that cracked bone and sent Bannier reeling backward – into Seriene’s barrier.
Silver light flared and battled with purple fire, transfixing the wizard on an arcing bolt of energy. Bannier shrieked and danced, pinned where he was by the uncontrollable lashing of his limbs and the bright, burning magic. Gaelin paused a moment, looking on in astonishment, and then he took his bastard sword in both hands and hammered the wide, keen blade through the center of Bannier’s chest. The wizard howled in inhuman agony, coughing a gout of black blood from his mouth, his hands scrabbling at the impaling sword.
Gaelin wrenched the blade from Bannier’s chest and watched him sprawl to the ground, cursing weakly.
Gaelin looked up and discovered that only a few of the Iron Guards still stood. Bull was flailing away with his great hamme r, holding them at bay as he guarded Gaelin’s back. From the shadows of the hillside, a crossbow sang, and one of the Ghoerans fell with a bolt wedged in the visor of his helmet. That decided the matter for the surviving guards. They took to their heels to escape the clearing, fleeing into the darkness. Briefly, Gaelin wondered where they thought they were going – without Bannier’s guidance, they wouldn’t get very far.
Erin emerged from the woods on the lip of the hollow, carrying a crossbow on one hip, her slender rapier in the other hand. One shoulder bled freely from a stab wound, but a fierce light burned in her eyes. There was no sign of the illusory wolf – she must have released the spell after chasing off most of the Ghoerans. Her eyes flicked over Gaelin, and relief flooded her face when she saw that he hadn’t been hurt. “Is that all of them?” she asked, nodding at the retreating Iron Guards.
“I think so. Are you all right? You’ve been wounded.”
Erin sheathed her rapier, but kept her crossbow handy. She tore a strip of cloth from her cloak hem and held it to her shoulder. “I’ll be fine, although I’ll have you know I went years between stabbings or puncturings before I met you.”
Her lighthearted banter sank. “I’m afraid the other guardsmen weren’t as lucky.”
“Boeric, too?” Gaelin scowled and turned away.
“Not quite, Mhor Gaelin.” Boeric appeared at the edge of the clearing, limping, his sword dripping red for nearly half its length. “Orel and Ciele fell in the fighting under the trees, but I’ll live to see another day.” He nodded at Erin. “Your spell gave us the victory, Lady Erin.”
Erin inclined her head in thanks, and turned to Gaelin. “I thought I saw you cut down Bannier.”
“I did. I suspect he’ll trouble us no more.” Gaelin turned and glanced at where the wizard had fallen. He started to turn away, and then looked back again, with an oath.
Bannier was gone. Only his black cloak remained, soaked with dark blood. Gaelin kneeled beside the spot, studying the ground. There were no footprints. It was as if Bannier had faded into the earth exactly where he had fallen. The others scattered and looked for some sign of the sorcerer, but they soon gave up – with only four of them left, it was too dangerous to remain. “I’d like to be certain that we’ve defeated him, but we can’t wait,” Gaelin said. “We’ve got to get Ilwyn out of this place.”
“Could he have escaped somehow?” Erin asked quietly.
“If he did, I don’t know how,” Gaelin replied. They commandeered several of the Ghoeran horses, lifting the fallen guardsmen over the saddles, and set out for the place where they’d left Seriene and Ilwyn. I hope she’s found the doorway again, Gaelin thought. I’ve seen enough of this place for now.
He took one last look at the black circle of ancient, leaning stones, and shuddered. Whatever this place had once been, it had been bathed in blood this day. He resolved to return and raze the place, even if it meant another journey into the Shadow. He didn’t like the idea of a place like Caer Duirga left to itself in the gloom and darkness.