Shadow Magic Page 13

  Illeana and Worrel had completed their preparations. The Lithmern lay, still blindfolded, bound, and gagged, in the center of a circle Illeana had scratched in the hard gray soil of the mountain top. Worrel crouched uneasily beside the prisoner, holding an unsheathed knife in one furred hand.

  As Jordet joined her, Illeana threw back the hood of her cloak and loosened her hair to fall in silver waves over her shoulders. From under her cloak she drew a thin circlet of silver twined with gold that supported an intricate figure of silver wire; this she placed about her head, settling it firmly onto her brow. Jordet’s eyebrows rose, and she smiled slightly. “The Crown of the Veldatha is never far from me, Ward-Keeper, nor will it ever be, no matter how you may disapprove,” she said.

  “I do not disapprove, merely wonder that you should bring such power out of the safety of Eveleth,” Jordet replied softly.

  “This is mine alone; no other can wear it without destroying it,” she answered. “It is safe enough. Now come.”

  Jordet looked at Illeana sharply, but said nothing more. The Shee woman turned to the seated humans. “Do not stir or speak until we finish,” she told them.

  The two Shee walked to opposite edges of the circle. They stopped just outside it, Illeana at the head of the bound man and Jordet at his feet. Then they began to chant, an eerie keening sound that rose and fell in waves over the barren mountaintop.

  The chanting pulled at Alethia like a forgotten memory, and for the first time she wondered what she had missed through her ignorance of her Shee heritage. She sneaked a glance sideways at Har. He, too, seemed drawn by the sound, though not as strongly. Maurin wore a bemused expression, and Tamsin—Alethia looked away from the intense longing on his face. He’s a minstrel; this must be like seeing one of his songs become real.

  The chant ended, and the two Shee turned outward. With their backs to the circle, faces impassive, they raised their arms in a slow gesture that could have been summons or supplication, and as their arms rose the wind rose with them. First it was barely a stirring, then a breeze, then a strong gale that swept across the mountains and whistled around the two immobile figures towering over the circle and its occupants.

  Alethia shivered and looked around uneasily. Tamsin’s eyes glittered with unshed tears. Maurin and Har sat as if entranced. Only Rarn seemed unaffected; she watched with interest, but not with the fascination that gripped the others.

  The wind died, and Jordet and Illeana turned back toward the circle. Alethia’s uneasiness grew. Nervously, she scooped up a handful of pebbles from the rocky ground and fingered them absently, occasionally dropping one softly at her feet.

  Illeana brought her hands together in a swift, sharp gesture. At that sign, Worrel, still crouched uncomfortably beside the Lithmern, slashed through the cords that bound the captive’s hands and feet and leapt clear of the circle in one catlike movement. Breathing hard, he sheathed his dagger and retreated toward the ponies.

  The Lithmern stirred and half rose. Illeana and Jordet began to chant once more. This time the sound was slow and heavy, almost somber. The Lithmern did not seem to hear it. He reached to remove his gag and blindfold, and Alethia shivered in spite of herself. As the last cloth fell away from the Lithmern’s eyes, he leapt for Jordet, but he was stopped short at the circle’s edge by an invisible barrier. Alethia let her breath out in a soundless sigh of relief, only then aware that she had been holding it.

  The slow chanting continued uninterrupted, and suddenly the Lithmern seemed to notice it for the first time. The man’s eyes grew dark and remote, then he threw back his head and laughed. Peal after peal of ugly laughter rang out as a dark shadow grew around him, and then he cried in a terrible voice, “Fools! Thrice fools, to seek to bind what is bound already!”

  The chant faltered and died. The Lithmern turned toward Illeana, and she flinched away from his dark, dead gaze. He spoke one hissing syllable and gestured; the Shee woman fell, stunned. The former captive whirled and repeated the spell just as Jordet raised his hands in a counterspell. He laughed again as Jordet fell, and turned toward the small group of humans.

  Alethia froze where she crouched behind the others, wishing desperately and hopelessly that he would not see her. The last of the stones she had been fingering was clenched in her right hand; she would not even move to let it drop lest she draw the creature’s attention.

  The Lithmern paced slowly toward the onlookers. At the edge of the circle he paused a moment and gestured; then the slow, steady progress resumed unhindered. Tamsin, Har, and Maurin started to rise, reaching for their swords, but the man gestured again and they froze motionless as statues. As he stepped around them and came toward her, Alethia cried out and threw up her arm to cover her eyes.

  From her upraised fist came a golden glow, a soft radiance that flowed out to form a protective sphere around her. Alethia felt a strange sense of power, and with all her might she willed it to stop the Lithmern from reaching her.

  As he arrived at the golden barrier, the Lithmern’s face twisted terribly. “So, you have begun to learn!” he hissed. “It will do you little good. See!” He hissed again, and shadows flowed from his outstretched hand, forcing the glow back toward the frightened girl.

  Suddenly the air in front of Alethia filled with a choking cloud of white smoke. It swirled around the Lithmern, hiding him almost completely and swallowing the shadow-spell. Alethia scrambled backward, away from her attacker. From the corner of her eye, she saw Worrel holding a small bundle of dried plants toward the campfire. As it caught fire, he tossed it toward the Lithmern, and a second cloud of smoke exploded about him.

  The Lithmern snarled in his strange tongue, and the smoke began to clear. Alethia looked around frantically for a hiding place or a weapon, but there was nothing. And then the air around the enchanter exploded in silver-white light, and she heard Jordet’s voice and Illeana’s rising in a new spell.

  The black aura around the Lithmern died as the Shee poured power into the battle. The circlet blazed on Illeana’s head. Alethia could feel the waves of power surging between the combatants, and it was soon clear that the two Shee were more than a match for the Lithmern sorcerer now that they were prepared for him. As the chant flowed serenely on, the Lithmern swayed and seemed to have trouble coordinating; it was as if he fought himself as well as the two Shee. He sank to his knees and his voice died.

  Illeana reached the end of the chant and threw her arms straight upward. In a loud voice she cried, “Avoc! Nitrinara helmarc elas!”

  The Lithmern collapsed. A darkness hovered for a moment over him, then darted toward Alethia, but she was still protected by the golden light and it could not reach her. With a faint wailing sound, hardly more than a sigh, the darkness faded and was gone.

  There was complete silence on the mountaintop. Illeana and Jordet sank wearily to the ground beside the unconscious Lithmern. Alethia looked at them in wonder. She fingered the stone she still held, then slipped it into the pocket of her cloak. The others slowly began to move, as if they had been entranced; the last to stir was Tamsin. Worrel, who seemed the most himself, vanished for a moment and returned with a waterbag. This he silently offered to the two spent Shee. Illeana drank without even looking up, but Jordet nodded his thanks. “Well done,” the Wyrd said softly.

  At that Illeana raised her head, and her eyes were haunted. “Not so,” she cried. “I sought to bind what I should have sought to free, and almost were we all undone, he was so strong.”

  “Do not waste time in reproaches,” Jordet said sharply. “Would you have the evil we seek to defeat take hold in our midst?”

  Illeana shuddered convulsively, then with an effort grew calm. “You held him off barely, but I loosed the cords of binding and I know their strength and their kind. Never did I think to see such among the living. O my friend, it is far worse than we suspected. Far worse than anyone could have suspected.

  “The Lithmern have waked the Kaldar-maaren.”

  Chapter 11 />
  JORDET FROZE, STARING AT Illeana. After a moment, he lowered his head tiredly to rest on his hands. Alethia exchanged puzzled looks with Har and Maurin. She saw Tamsin frowning thoughtfully; evidently Illeana’s cryptic words meant something to him.

  “What is a Kaldar-maaren?” Har said after a moment.

  “Do not speak the name lightly!” Illeana answered sharply. “They have powers beyond your imagining, and the sound may draw their attention.”

  “Then why did you mention it at all?” Har said, plainly annoyed.

  Jordet raised his head. “It was a hard fight, and we are both tired enough to be careless. In any case, if it was one of the Dark Men—”

  “If!” Illeana said. “You fought him. Can you doubt it? But if these others require proof, then question him—” she pointed at the unconscious Lithmern “—under truthtrance.”

  “First tell us what all these things are,” Alethia said. “Dark Men and—and that other thing you spoke of.”

  “They are different names for the same beings, spirits of a sort, whose origin lies in times before legend,” Jordet said. “They have no bodies, but they use those of living men, for a time, if the will is weak or if someone has prepared the way for them by other means. Even then, the body gradually fades into the darkness of its possessor, so they must seek new hosts constantly. Dark Men is what the Wyrds call them; their true name means Shadow-born. Call them that, when you would speak of them.”

  Maurin frowned. “The boy who saw Alethia kidnapped spoke of a ‘man with no face.’ Was he a Shadow-born, then?”

  “Possibly,” Jordet said in a thoughtful tone. “Though it seems unlikely. A servant, perhaps, or a minor Lithmern wizard imitating one of greater power.”

  Illeana sniffed. “The kidnappers carried a Talisman of Noron’ri. The Shadow-born do not need such aids to magic. They are ancient, and have knowledge of secrets and powers now forgotten.”

  “And better they remained so,” Rarn put in with decision.

  “The Dark Men may not need talismans to aid their magic, but that does not mean they would not use them if they have them,” Worrel pointed out.

  “And if he was not one of the Shadow-born, why couldn’t I see his face?” Alethia asked, shivering slightly at the memory. “And where did the Lithmern find them? I’ve never heard of Shadow-born before, not even in the old tales.”

  “That is not surprising,” Jordet replied. “The Shadow-born were bound in silence and safety at the dawn of memory, and I believe even your minstrel could not tell you much of them.”

  Tamsin frowned, plainly less than pleased.

  “If the Shee bound them once, can you not do so again?” Har asked the Shee.

  “The Wars of Binding were not fought by the Shee alone,” Tamsin said. “To bind the Shadow-born took the combined power of the Four Races and more; it took the power of the greatest treasures of Lyra—the Sword, the Shield, the Cup, and the Staff.”

  “The Lost Gifts of Alkyra!” Har exclaimed.

  “I thought that they were made for the first King of Alkyra, as coronation gifts,” Alethia said. “How could they have been used so long ago?”

  “They were indeed coronation gifts, but they are far older than that,” Tamsin said with a faraway look in his eyes. “Each of the Four Races took one after the Wars of Binding, and only the Crown of Alkyra has greater power. They were given to Kirel at his coronation for the keeping of the peace of Alkyra, so that he would be a king for all four of the races, and not only humans.”

  “You are well-versed, minstrel,” Jordet said. “I had not known that such ancient tales were still kept outside the Kathkari.”

  “You forget, perhaps, that the Hall of Tears where the minstrels gather is at least as old as the cities of the Shee,” Tamsin said politely. “Still, I know little of the Wars of Binding save their name. I can tell you more of the Four Gifts, though what I know is more recent history.”

  “Speak, then,” Illeana said. “I have always wondered how you of Alkyra allowed things of such power to be lost so easily.”

  Har looked at her angrily, but Tamsin seemed unperturbed. “They were lost during the first invasion of the Lithmern,” he said. “The royal family was at Lacsmer, and with them were the Crown and the Gifts. The Lithmern fell on the city without warning and killed King Cardemane and all his family, save only the youth Caruth who had stayed behind. Then the Lithmern took the Crown and the Four Gifts, and sent a party to take them back to Lithra, to Mog Ograth—but they never arrived. Never again have they been seen. The Lithmern who carried them disappeared, and no one has ever found a trace of them, or of the Gifts, though many have lost their lives in searching.”

  “Had we even one of those four, or the Crown of Alkyra, I would be more optimistic about our chances against the Shadow-born,” Illeana said.

  “Unfortunately, we have neither Kirel’s Crown nor his coronation Gifts,” Jordet said dryly. “What is our next step?”

  “We must send to Eveleth at once,” Illeana said with decision. “They must know what we face.”

  “What proof have we to offer?” Jordet demanded. “Eveleth must know, but will they believe such unlikely news?”

  Rarn snorted. “Your proof is there; you said it yourselves,” she said, waving at the still unconscious Lithmern. “Question him in Eveleth under truthtrance.”

  “If we learn nothing more than his purpose in attacking Alethia just now, it will still be effort well spent,” Worrel agreed. “And I’ll wager he knows more of the attack on Brenn than we, which must also be worth learning.”

  The others nodded. The wisdom of such a course was evident, and the danger was minimal now that the man had been freed of the Shadow-born’s binding.

  The Lithmern was beginning to stir. Worrel took a water bag and dumped about half its remaining contents on the man’s head. He gasped and spluttered, then sat up shaking glittering droplets of water from his hair. His eyes widened as he took in the nature of the people standing about him, and he scrambled to his feet.

  “My undying thanks are yours,” he said unexpectedly, his voice hoarse, “for your timely rescue.” He tried to bow, but staggered and almost collapsed. Worrel guided him to a seat, and offered him the water bag once more. The man drank in great gulps while the others watched in silence.

  “Now that you have refreshed yourself,” Illeana said sarcastically, “perhaps you will tell us who you are?”

  “I am Corrim vin Halla of Karlen Gale,” the man replied. “I was a prisoner of the Lithmern for four months, and after that the slave of that thing; I know not how long.”

  “Karlen Gale!” Alethia said, and the others exchanged surprised looks. Corrim vin Halla nodded once. His head did not rise again; it was as if it would be too much trouble to lift it.

  Maurin drew Jordet a little aside. “Can we trust him, do you think?”

  “When he is under truthtrance,” Jordet replied softly, but Corrim heard. His head lifted and his eyes grew bleak.

  “It were better indeed not to trust me too far,” he said. “What I know I will give you freely, saving that you give me a clean death before that returns for me.”

  “Who speaks of death?” Jordet demanded. “You need not fear, if you are what you say.”

  Corrim shook his head. “I am free of it now, and for that I thank you,” he said heavily. “But I have lived with its power. It will return for me, and when it does it will be better for you and me both if I am dead already.”

  “The Shadow-born cannot cross the Kathkari without a host,” Illeana said. “You need not fear them while you remain in Sheleran.”

  The Karlen Gale man shook his head doubtfully but remained silent. “Of course, we cannot accept you completely without more knowledge,” Illeana went on, “and that is best done under truthtrance. If you are willing, we can begin.”

  The man’s face turned gray, and it was only with obvious effort that he kept control of himself. “By your leave, is there no way other t
han to be again ensorcelled?” he asked hoarsely.

  “ ’Tis no great thing to fear,” Illeana said, frowning. “You will not even know that your will is overborne, unless you try to lie. Come, now.”

  Corrim nodded jerkily, and walked stiff-legged to seat himself where Illeana indicated. Jordet stood behind him and murmured rapidly, making a few passes in the air. Corrim’s eyes glazed. Jordet finished and came around to study the man’s suddenly relaxed face for a moment, then nodded at Illeana. “Now, tell us your story,” she commanded, and Corrim began to speak.

  He was, he said, a sawyer from the Free City of Karlen Gale. He had been captured by a Lithmern raiding party, and his first months had been spent as an ordinary prisoner-slave, forced to do menial labor during the day and chained at night. Then he was chosen for the Shadow-born.

  He remembered the binding ceremony only vaguely, as a chill and a sibilant voice and a black fog that sank into his brain and overwhelmed him. Since then, he had been a prisoner in his own body, aware but unable to control the simplest of his actions. He had not been completely possessed, though he knew that would come when the Shadow-born used up one of their present hosts. He, and the others like him, were puppets waiting to be occupied by Shadow-born at some later date, completely trustworthy because they had no will save that of their masters.

  There was little Corrim could do except cling to his sanity and hope that the Shadow-born or their wizard-masters would make a mistake that would allow him to escape, or simply die cleanly. It was a hard task, for when they wished, the Shadow-born could speak with his voice and see with his eyes in a kind of incomplete possession that was a horrible foreshadowing of what he knew was to come.

  Though he knew nothing of the reasons behind the Lithmern expedition into Brenn, Corrim was able to give a very coherent account of Alethia’s kidnapping. Jordet had been correct; the leader of the Lithmern party had not been one of the Shadow-born themselves, but one of the messenger-slaves who was very near to total possession. The Talisman of Noron’ri had been necessary to channel the creature’s power to its servant. The Shadow-born could take possession of the man’s body, but they could not maintain it for more than a few minutes at such a distance until one of them took him over completely.