Five Senses Box Set Page 28

  Again that rod lash dashed high in the air, the priest came forward a stride or two. Behind him two of his followers had Wandi in close grip, preparing to throw her into the sullen flames of the giant fire.

  “Demon!” the roar of the priest's voice carried over the crackle of the flames, cries coming from the mass of people gathered to watch this horror.

  Once more he was aiming that leash, more slowly, with greater care. The pressure of panic edged fear from his power was breaking down Twilla's defense.

  The girl swung up the mirror—up and out—even as he aimed his next blow.

  An answering twirl of pure rage-red fire shot from that leash. She braced herself.

  Then that spear of flame touched the mirror. Twilla felt heat and pressure but she held with all her strength. The bolt he had launched against her, thickened as it was returned at equal speed toward him who had sent it.

  He must have been very sure that his power would hold against any other for he made no attempt to dodge that returning spear of fire. It touched his breast. His dark cloak flared into flame.

  In his hand the rod twisted, no longer a straight shaft but now writhing as might a serpent. He hurled it from him not seeming to notice that his garment was afire, that flames had followed up the folds of his cloak hood, peeling it back to show his death's head of a face.

  There were flecks of spittle on his lips, he was plainly mouthing some spell. Twilla went on. The wriggling rod rose in her path, swaying as might a striking serpent preparing for attack, she did not pause.

  Instead she found she was repeating words of her own now, singsonging them as she always did when she evoked the mirror.

  "Dark to dark, flame to fire.

  Back to sender let it go.

  Even as the seasons flow.

  Let evil upon evil feed.

  Light cometh true where there is need.”

  The serpent staff wavered before her. It thrust its thonged head out but did not touch her—yet. Behind its master shook himself and from a dark skinned body fell the rags left from the fire's touch, yet he showed no burns.

  He was gesturing now and she did not doubt that he so called upon his full power.

  “Let evil upon evil feed!” she raised her voice near to a scream, focusing through the mirror all the energy she felt within her.

  Twisting upon the scorched ground, the serpent staff slewed around to face its master. Then it lunged up. That thong-loosed end caught him full about his bared throat with such force that Twilla herself was struck by a powerful echo of it.

  Back into the reaching flames of his own fire that blow hurled him. She saw his face twist with agony. He strove to keep his feet, to clutch at the staff now weaving before him readying for another blow.

  That came. His still fighting body was flung into the heart of the fire lit for his own purpose.

  Twilla let the mirror thump down against her breast. She ran forward. Those who had been about to hurl Wandi into that same fire, dropped the child, scrambled hastily out of her path.

  Now there sounded a roar—not born from the fury of the fire but from the people lined there under guard. As Twilla caught up Wandi she could see whirlpools of struggle within the ranks of the women. The guards, their attention sidetracked by the battle of the powers were taken by surprise. Men were downed by the sheer weight of women's bodies hurled against them.

  Screams—screams of battle, not of fear now. Spears which had been wrested from the hands of guards were being used as clubs against their former owners. Beyond the embattled women, the men who had been ranked there, unarmed and under the same guard, came to swift life. A wild struggle was underway.

  Twilla, nursing the child against her, saw mounted men drawing in, weapons out. However, the foremost of them were served no better. Being torn from their saddles and sinking into the hands of those they had held here only moments earlier.

  Twilla glanced back toward the forest. There was still fire greedily feeding on the grass, creeping toward the trees. There, too, soldiers were circling in. She saw the face of the one shouting orders—Ustar! He seemed to have no fear of the fire, rather beat at any soldier near him, striving so to drive such unfortunates toward Twilla.

  There was such a clamor that she could not hear the orders he was giving, but his mouth worked upon words. He kept sending glances in her direction as he struggled to get his men to close upon her.

  It was plain she could not run for it, not with Wandi a dead weight in her arms. And the swirl of fighting was spreading out to soon engulf her.

  “Healer!” She near staggered from the force of that grasp on her shoulder.

  “Leela!” But how had the other recognized her since the change of face?

  “That hound of the dead—you finished him! Here, give me the child. He swore that she was forest tainted and he needed her to raise power against those others—”

  Twilla willingly released Wandi into the other's hold. There was a fierce scowl on the fishergirl's face.

  “Take our children would he—that drinker of blood! He had us in his fist until he faced you, Healer. Be sure we shall not forget who broke his power. You—” a little of the rage faded from Leela's face, “Healer—you have healed yourself. You are as before the illness came upon you. May the One In Three be thanked. But get you away, we are your debt-held, but they will have out the rest of the guard swiftly.”

  Twilla pointed to the men Ustar was still sending in to block her return to the woods. Leela nodded. There was no need to explain. Instead she raised her voice in a great summoning cry and from the struggling mob now around the fire came others. Rutha, a great bruise on her cheek, but a broken spear haft in her hand, and women Twilla could not put name to.

  Leela gestured to the hovering soldiers. The faces of the women were grim, set. Now that the bonds the Dandus priest had set upon them were broken they were minded to take payment for the horror which might have been. Children were precious, doubly so in this land. The Dandus priest had gone against all nature when he had taken Wandi.

  Leela handed the limp body of the child to a woman just joining them, then she nodded to the others. They moved out, flanking Twilla on either side, though their course had to be a crooked one because of the patches of burning stubble.

  “No!” Twilla saw only too well the expression on Ustar's face as he rode closer. His sword was bared and at his signal those others were losing their reluctance, moving forward with weapons ready. He could well cut down the women—

  Then she saw Ustar brush his empty hand vigorously across his forehead, having dropped his reins. His horse gave an ear-splitting neigh and reared. Ustar kept his seat with difficulty, but he was not able to restrain the wild dash of his mount. And those of the other guards were acting as hysterical, two of them had thrown their riders.

  Twilla saw small forms, their wings glinting in the air as they circled about. She spoke swiftly to Leela.

  “Thank you, sister. But there comes now those who will see me safe.”

  She saw the fishergirl's mouth drop a little open as down flitted one of the asprites, seeming to dance at will upon nothingness. Then Twilla ran, weaving among the patches of fire, the asprites keeping pace with her as a small cloud overhead.

  She staggered a little from the blasts of heat which continued to burst from those many small fires. Oddly the grass was not instantly consumed so they died from lack of fuel. Rather they continued to eat down into the ground, so that the earth itself glowed with rings of red and yellow.

  Toward the wood those same rings moved determinedly. Twilla panted as she ran. There was still wild shouting behind, but she did not look back. She had thought that the black power would have died with the one who summoned it yet both the creeping fires and that pressure of fear upon her did not diminish.

  A brush in the fringe burst into instant flame almost directly in her path. Twilla had to swerve to avoid that threat. The fire licked avidly at the shrub, withering leaf and branch in a sec
ond.

  Now another farther in was catching though not as quickly. Twilla dodged that, hardly able to keep her feet now, to stagger on.

  Arms closed about her and she collapsed against a solid body as sturdy as any of the great trees. Ylon, she did not need to look to know who supported her so.

  For a long moment she leaned against him. The fires did not appear to eat so far into the woodlands. Above the crackle of the blazing brush behind she heard the trilling of the asprites as they now circled over both of them.

  There were still cries from the outer fields but those were less violent. Leela, Rutha, the other women who had broken bonds when the priest went down, how would they fare now? If Lord Harmond turned the might of his soldiers against the land people it would end in blood and bitter death. For at least the women would stand firm if any again threatened a child.

  Twilla was not aware that she had been gasping this out to Ylon until he spoke:

  “The priest is gone—Karla had the far sight and told me. I do not know how deeply his evil has bitten. My father does not take kindly to any rising against his orders, but neither, I believe, will he take kindly to using weapons upon the women.” He gave an odd sound like a laugh. “Has he not been working hard all these seasons to build up their numbers rather than cut them down? Dandus thinking can twist the thoughts, once that is removed who knows what will happen?”

  “What was that one trying to do?”

  “To bring destruction,” Karla approached from behind them. “Within burned the Dank Fire, without burned that abomination, power feeding power. He would have unleashed upon us death fire had he been able to build all the strength he tried to harness.”

  “Lotis?”

  Karla grimaced. “Who knows? When the inner power failed, and then the outer, who can tell what that one will try to do?”

  Twilla had shifted around in Ylon's hold so she could look out through the ragged frame of brush. Those fires spotting the land between the great fire and the forest still smoldered and spread, but slowly now as if the fierce strength was being drained with each passing moment.

  She could see Oxyle and with him Vestel and others who might be the warders of the Edge. There were others there also, but their numbers were limited. Twilla had never known how many made up this tree-shadowed nation but she was sure that this gathering was but a small part of the numbering.

  However, as she turned her head to see how many watched the fury without she saw something else. Along the shadowed aisles of the great trees gathered mists, those silvery mists, and those curled, and twisted as might flame blown by a full gale. Wind-laden with the sharp, clean scent of pine, riffled her mop of sweat-thickened hair.

  There was a feeling of anticipation. A great beast might so crouch ready for the spring. This was no power of her species, nor she believed, of even the forest folk, it was the life of the trees themselves aroused to do battle.

  The mists, flung like banners whipped by that wind, closed about them, so there was a fog, and then the silver ribbons reached out to where those bushes still smoldered stubbornly, enwrapping each as they reached it.

  Instantly the fire was quenched. However, those mists did not venture beyond the brush fringe. The spots of fire on the open field were still alive, burnt to ground level but still agleam as might be evil eyes turned toward the Wood.

  What came then was a sound to smother all the clamor of the struggle still in progress beyond. The great fire burned heavily. Out of its flames coiled limbs of smoke, like to those which had appeared at the Dank Fire. These reached for the sky, wavered, and then were sent streaming toward the Woods. As they passed over the spotted fires those showed new life.

  Dandus Power? But the priest—he must be dead! Twilla had seen him sent back into his fire. Did power live on with none to order it?

  The cries of those in struggle again sounded louder. She could see, even at this distance, that soldiers and the mob together were backing off, even now starting to run away. While the fire they had tended roared with a thunderous bellow.

  Smoke coils touched tree tops. There was a spark of flame there in answer. The mists arose, encircled the threatened branches, quenched what strove to establish itself there.

  Around Twilla the forest people were chanting. They had ringed around the threatened trees, their bodies pressed tight to the great trunks, their hands linked so each was enchained.

  Now the girl saw something else. There was a quiver in the air, something hardly to be sighted—yet she was sure of it. That climbed steadily upward. Above the mists grew thicker; there was even a pattering of drops which struck lightly against her own upturned face.

  One by one the smoke trails thinned and were gone. Now there arose a full blast of wind among the tree tops. There were no storm clouds aloft but this held all the force of a change-season tempest. Bits of broken branch and tattered leaves floated down. The rage of that fury which appeared to be confined to the crowns of the trees grew—swept—outward.

  The tempest struck, full on that great fire. Into the air flew brightly blazing sections of wood near as large as the trunks of small trees. The wind from the woods gathered these up, whirled them about. Instead of urging thus the fire to greater efforts as might be expected, it was extinguishing, thrown charring logs wide over the open land.

  Forest-born storm ate up the fire and it was gone. Now the tempest scoured the blackened earth on which it had stood, so even ashes were whirled off in a fog cloud which appeared to be also pursuing the outlanders. There was nothing left at last but that black earth.

  The wind died, there was no more clamor in the tree tops. Those who had encircled the threatened growth dropped hands, moved away, and the mists dipped to lap about them.

  “So be it,” Oxyle stood there. “Are your people now broken, outlander?” he asked Ylon. “Their own power is ended—at least for now.”

  “They are not easily turned from what they would do,” Ylon returned. “There will be those among them who will speak of a freak storm, and others who will warn of fell mage work in that their priest died. No, I do not believe that you shall see them inspanning their teams to go back over mountain again.”

  “That is my thought also,” the forest lord replied calmly. “You, Moon Daughter—what would have of us? For it was your power which ended that priest, even as his iron power ended the Dank Fire.” He gave a nod toward Ylon.

  “Then you agree that we both deserve well from your hands?” asked Twilla, already there stirred from the back of her mind that wish which had been growing stronger with each day.

  “There is none who can deny it!”

  “Then—give back his sight!” She had caught Ylon's sleeve, pulled him a little forward.

  Slowly Oxyle shook his head. “Gladly would we do so—but it remains—the fate Lotis called upon him only she can lift—so it has always been.”

  “And Lotis has already tried to betray you all! How can you not compel her to it?”

  “Moon Daughter, each people live by certain rules set in them even before their birth. The under men dig out metal, work it, keep the underways of the forest clear of any troubles, even as we keep the outer. We serve the Great Ones,” he gave a small gesture to the ranks of the trees. “You also must have limits upon your powers in one way or another. I would do this if I could, but it is denied me.”

  “And Lotis, does she go free?” demanded Twilla. Surely if they could take the woman into custody they might force from her the breaking of Ylon's ensorcellment.

  “Lotis has gone—there are those who have been hunting her diligently and they can find no traces. She must be using things she learned from Khargel's lore to cover her tracks.”

  “And you leave it so?” Twilla was angry. Certainly Oxyle and those here with him who had suffered from Lotis's assumption of power were not just going to let her go free.

  “We have warded against her every entrance to the heart. If she made any bond with that dark priest it did not serve he
r and he is gone. Our net will narrow until she is enchained.”

  Twilla realized that she could get nothing better from him in spite of his admission that he owed her, owed Ylon much. And with Lotis still free could they not expect further trouble?

  However, whatever hold the woman had over the mists was now broken, once more they served Oxyle and his people. So leaving the wardens on watch the rest of them were enflooded by mist and came so into the great hall of the palace.

  There was food and drink. Twilla sat beside Ylon this time and saw that he was provided with a full plate. However, beyond drinking from the goblet at his hand he made no effort to eat. Though his head was bent a little as if he were indeed regarding Twilla's selection. When he spoke his voice was stiff, he might have removed himself to a great distance.

  “Tell me what happened!” That was an order. Twilla sipped her own drink. Not for the first time she realized he was a prisoner of his maiming.

  Of that battle on the field about the fire he could only have gathered such information as those about him had shared. For a trained soldier such must have been hard to bear.

  She sipped again and then as baldly as possible she described what she had seen and done, her own part in the struggle. When she spoke of the Dandus priest's torment of Wandi she saw his face harden, and the fingers of his hand by his plate curled into a fist.

  “What has worked upon my father?” It was nearly a cry. “He is a fighting man but not one to descend to the torture of children! What has been done that he would allow this?”

  She could not answer him but hurried on to that strange duel between rod and mirror. Now his hand shot out and fastened on her wrist in a punishing grip.

  “What power are you able to summon, Healer? They tell of mages once, before the Dandus arose, who did wonders. But that was more seasons ago than any woman—or man—can number for a lifetime. If you held such power within your hands, why were you among the brides?”