“Fall back!” Dacius shouted to his men. “The garrison is cleared. It serves no purpose to fight here.”

  The elves broke from the wall and ran for the north gate. As they reached the courtyard, vikhors swarmed over the top of the wall. Rather than be slowed by the stairs, the Ill-creatures jumped from the fortifications, crashing to the ground and then rising again to give chase.

  Dacius and Thildemar took up guard positions to either side of the north gate, making sure it stayed clear for the retreat. The vikhors were still far behind when the last of the Legionnaires disappeared into the Holy Land.

  “That’s the last,” Dacius said. “Time to leave.”

  As he turned to follow his men, Dacius saw a flash of black wing out of the corner of his eye. He lunged to the side, knocking Thildemar to the ground. Huge black talons ripped the air where the elf had stood just a moment before. Dacius rolled to his feet and stared into the eyes of the winged demon that had attacked the Otan Stin.

  The creature crouched in front of the north gate, wings outstretched. Even hunched over, it towered over the Legionnaires.

  I REMEMBER YOU, MORTAL. The demon extended its right claw. A dim blue stripe marked the spot where Dacius’s sword had landed. A thinner scar marked the creature’s belly, and a jagged line ran garishly through its left shoulder. YOU ARE THE ONE WHO COULD NOT KEEP ME FROM KILLING HIS FRIEND.

  The voice pounded into Dacius’s mind. And with it came fear. Terror gripped his heart, froze his limbs, the same terror he had felt aboard the Otan Stin. The Ill-creature did this, forced this upon him. And if the fear did not come from within, then he was not truly afraid.

  Dacius lifted his vorpal sword, fighting to control the trembling in his arm. “I am the one who will bury his blade in your heart, demon.”

  His words broke the Ill-creature’s spell. Thildemar moved forward, slashing at the monster’s left side. The demon pulled away from the attack, placing his right side toward the elf. It was hurt. The wounds Alka had given it were not yet healed.

  The demon blocked Thildemar’s next strike and drove the elf to the ground with a slashing wing. FOOLISH CHILD, IT IS TIME YOU LEARNED TO BOW BEFORE YOUR MASTERS.

  Dacius circled to attack the creature’s vulnerable side, but the monster was ready for him. The clawed right hand shot out, unleashing a ball of pulsing flame. Dacius lunged out of the sphere’s path, but the fire struck the wall behind him, causing it to explode. A fragment of stone drove into Dacius’ skull, stunning him. He fell to the ground, his vorpal sword slipping from numbed fingers.

  Laughter echoed in his mind, ringing through the pain. IT IS OVER, MORTALS. YOUR LIVES ARE AS SHORT AS YOUR HOPE. BE ASSURED, I SHALL NOT MAKE IT PAINLESS.

  The demon raised its hand. Lightning coursed from its fingers, arcing downward to surround Dacius and Thildemar. It flowed over their bodies, burning them with a thousand tiny sparks.

  Dacius writhed on the ground. Every inch of his body burned under the attack. His muscles spasmed uncontrollably, twisting his body into unnatural contortions. Blood seeped from his eye sockets, and his tongue swelled, closing his throat. By the Creator, he had never known there could be such agony!

  Suddenly, the assault ended. There might have, been a scream, but he couldn’t be sure. Dacius struggled to his feet, trying to make his eyes focus.

  The Ill-creature was staggering away from the gate. A glowing dagger protruded from its back, fitted precisely between the shoulder plates. It was Simon’s knife; the elf must have thrown it from the other side of the Barrier.

  Now they could finish it. Dacius grabbed for his sword. His fingers would not unclench, so he gripped it awkwardly between his wrists. He saw Thildemar struggling to his feet near the far side of the gate. But a horde of vikhors was charging; it would be disaster to dally here. “Run!” he shouted, lurching toward the portal.

  The Legionnaires staggered through the portal together, just a few steps ahead of the charging monsters. Dacius felt the peace of the Holy Land take hold of him, soothing his pain. He turned back to look through the Barrier.

  The demon had managed to remove the vorpal blade from its back. It cradled the blade in a massive claw, staring at it. Then it closed its hand. Red flames surrounded the fist, burning with blinding intensity for the space of three or four heartbeats. Then the monster opened its hand. The magical blade had been reduced to a pool of glowing slag. The Ill-creature let the liquid run through its fingers onto the ground, and then turned to face the Barrier.

  The creature stared at them for a moment. Then it opened its jaws and hissed menacingly. When it spoke, it used a voice like steel grinding on stone, not the voice in the mind that Dacius had heard before. “Look at me, children, you who cower behind this wall of lies. Look at the face of your death. I know you. I know the doubts in your mind, the terror in your hearts. You are doomed. Your mission is hopeless. In the end, you will fail. And when you do, I will be there, waiting. I am Throm. We will meet again. Remember that, and pray to your Creator that I will be merciful, though it will do you no good.”

  The Ill-creature placed one claw on either side of the gate. Lightning shot through the stone. The wall exploded, collapsing into a pile of rubble that blocked their view of the courtyard.

  Wearily, Dacius examined his fellow Legionnaires. He could feel the depth of their sorrow, the pain of their loss. The power of the Holy Land filled him, making their emotions plain to him. Dacius felt the security, the harmony, the beauty of Creation. But the comfort, the sense that all was right in the world, that was gone.

  He turned to the north and started walking.

  6

  Holy Land

  A’stoc rooted around in his laboratory, searching for some artifact or another that he thought they needed for the trip. It was infuriating; he seemed oblivious to the urgency of their mission. After the mage had retrieved the Staff, Chentelle thought they would leave immediately. But the man had spent hours collecting supplies, including a prodigious amount of wine for such a short journey. At least he had found a shirt for Sulmar to wear, though the sleeves had needed to be cut back.

  “A’stoc—” Chentelle said.

  “I told you before, elf girl,” the mage snapped, “we’ll leave when I have everything I—Hah! There it is.” He held a small crystal globe in his hand.

  “Is that the last?” Chentelle asked. “Are you ready to leave, now?”

  “Yes, that’s the last.” A’stoc carried the crystal up the stairs and stowed it in his pack. He pointed to the far side of the cavern. “Those stairs lead up to the top of the cliff: A stone doorway blocks the exit; I’m sure you will have no difficulty opening it. Wait for me outside the cavern.”

  “Wait for you?” Chentelle said. “I’ve been waiting for you for hours. I thought you said you were ready.”

  “I am ready,” he snarled. “But I will not leave my home without securing it from intrusion. Now go. The defenses I set will attack anyone other than myself who sets foot in the cavern.”

  Chentelle felt the blood rush to her face. “Oh, I’m sorry. I’ll wait for you on the surface.”

  Sulmar waited for her at the base of the stairs. The Tengarian had her pack slung over his shoulder. He looked quite striking in A’stoc’s black shirt, though it had taken some urging to convince him to accept the mage’s gift. Chentelle smiled at the Tengarian as she passed.

  A’stoc’s voice followed them up the spiral stairs. At first, Chentelle could make out grumbles of complaint. Then the tone shifted as A’stoc started chanting his incantations. Finally, the sound died away completely, lost in the depths behind them.

  Unfortunately, their light was also fading rapidly. The adartak crystals became fainter the farther they moved from the mage’s power. Chentelle was forced to pick her way carefully over the uneven steps.

  “Mistress?”

  Sulmar’s voice had an odd quality, an uncertainty that she had not heard from him before. She looked back and saw that he was many steps behind, almost out of view. Of course, human eyesight was notoriously poor in dim light. He was climbing blind. “I’m here, Sulmar, just a few steps above you. Hold still. I’ll see if I can bring us more light.”

  Chentelle reached out with her Gift, intending to call more illumination from the adartak, but the air was filled with power. She could feel strands of energy shifting in the air all about her. It had to be part of A’stoc’s warding spell. The balance of forces was delicate. If she interfered with it by channeling power into the adartak, she might disrupt the wards. She didn’t even want to think about how A’stoc would react to that.

  She walked back down the steps and took hold of her liegeman’s hand. “I guess we’ll have to do this the hard way.”

  Sulmar’s arm was rock hard with tension. She could feel his unease, his sense of helplessness. Being led blindly through the dark destroyed the warrior’s equilibrium. His skin was slick with sweat, and his breathing sounded thunderous in the cramped stairway.

  Chentelle wanted to say something, to reassure him. But what could she say that he didn’t already know? She couldn’t even speed their journey. Whenever she tried to increase the pace, Sulmar stumbled or tripped on the stone stairs.

  She pushed her sensitivity upward, feeling for the accumulation of power that she knew would mark the doorway. The energy of the wards made it confusing, and she had to keep some of her concentration to guide Sulmar, but there seemed to be—yes, there it was. “Almost there,” she said. “Just a moment longer.”

  She sang out softly, sending her Gift upward, overturning the delicate equilibrium which held the doorway. Light poured into the tunnel, gently at first, but with increasing intensity as they circled upward to the doorway. Chentelle felt relief fill her liegeman as the pathway became clear to his sight. She released his hand and danced lightly up the remaining steps.

  They emerged on the top of a high cliff. Chentelle shielded her eyes against the glare and looked around. Deneob was almost directly overhead, leading her brighter sister on their journey through the sky. The top of the bluff was covered by a rich garden. The main crop was grapes, but potatoes, carrots, onions, and various greens were also in evidence. Below them, the Quiet Sea whispered softly against the rocky shore.

  The boulder behind them rolled back, sealing the entrance to the cave. A’stoc stood just beyond the doorway, the mandril wand in one hand and the Thunderwood Staff gripped tightly in the other. The mage passed the wand over the boulder, chanting liquid syllables in some arcane tongue. The door seemed to melt into the hillside, becoming an unbroken slab of rock.

  “You have a beautiful garden,” Chentelle said.

  “I thought you were in a hurry to leave,” the mage said, walking brusquely toward the southeast. “Let’s get on with it.”

  Chentelle glanced at Sulmar and shrugged. They caught up with A’stoc easily, but the set of his shoulders discouraged any further attempts at conversation. In silence, they began their journey.

  They walked through meadows richer and more varied than Chentelle had ever seen. She saw dozens of flowers for which she had no name, spread out under the twin suns like a carpet of rainbow. Insects were woven all through the tapestry, decorating it with the music of grasshoppers and the dance of butterflies. The trill of songbirds blended with the soft sigh of the wind, adding the perfect counterpoint to the natural harmony.

  The loveliness of the land buoyed Chentelle. The perfumes of a dozen blossoms blended in the air, and every breath filled her with beauty. She walked lightly, effortlessly, as if her feet barely touched the ground. The cadence of her steps blended smoothly into the rhythm of the natural orchestra.

  Hours passed, and still Chentelle felt no fatigue. The open plains gave way to rockier terrain, and the patches of flowers became smaller. But the air was still thick with their fragrance. Scattered oaks began to appear, proffering cool patches of shadow beneath their spreading leaves.

  The trees reminded her of home. Though this was only her third day away, already she missed the familiar forests of Lone Valley, so full of life and warmth and comfort, Her mind filled with memories: resting against Willow’s roots, listening to the dendrifaun tell the same story for the hundredth time; singing with her mother, blending voices in the special harmony that only they shared. Tears came to her eyes at the thought of her mother. She would be so worried. Chentelle had thought to be returning by now. She sighed deeply, trying to release her guilt.

  “You must be tired, elf girl,” A’stoc said. “We will find shade and rest.”

  She started to protest, but stopped when she saw the exhaustion on A’stoc’s face. Rivulets of sweat ran from his forehead, and his mouth hung open as if he lacked the strength to keep it shut. His feet barely cleared the ground as he shuffled forward, but she knew the mage would not admit his own fatigue. “Thank you,” she said. “A rest would be welcome.”

  They called a halt under a large, double-trunked oak. Dual shadows fell to the east of the tree: one long and faint, the other shorter and darker. A’stoc dropped heavily to the ground and slid off his pack. He pulled out a flask of wine and started drinking from it. After several large swallows, he stopped drinking long enough to slide to the tree and lean against its trunk. Then he took another drink.

  Chentelle and Sulmar sat down in the grass across from him. They broke into the stores he had provided and set up a quick meal of cheese and hard bread. Chentelle looked around, gesturing at the wildflowers and the clear azure sky. “This land is so open,” she said, “so beautiful.”

  A’stoc regarded her with a bitter gaze. When he spoke, his voice was raspy with dust, fatigue, and wine. “You are amazingly cheerful, enchantress, for a bearer of such dark news.”

  “Wizard, it is too early to fall prey to despair,” she said. “We are protected by Sulmar’s sword and the power of your own magic. We will make it to Norivika.”

  The mage’s lips twisted into a sneer, but the look in his eyes was pure sadness. “I told you before, elf girl, I am no wizard. My name is A’stoc. If you must refer to me by a title, then ‘woodright’ is the appropriate term, though ‘apprentice’ is perhaps more accurate.” He took a long, long drink of wine and tossed the empty flask into the grass.

  “You should not drink so heavily.”

  A’stoc seemed confused for a moment, then he turned to face Sulmar. “Ah, the Tengarian speaks. Why do you give a damn how much I drink?”

  “I do not want to carry you,” Sulmar said flatly.

  “Why you—” A’stoc started to jump up in anger, but stopped himself suddenly. He settled back against the tree. His face relaxed into a calm mask, but something burned in his eyes as he glanced from Sulmar to Chentelle and back again.

  “What an unlikely pair you are,” he said mockingly. “I wonder what it was that bound you to her service. Gold, perhaps? I have known many a Tengarian who believed honor and gold were two sides of the same coin. No, I think perhaps you seek something more precious, though less tangible. Tell me, when did you meet our innocent young enchantress?”

  “Yesterday,” Sulmar answered.

  “Yesterday?” A’stoc snapped his head around to face Chentelle. “Is this true? You have known this man for one day and you make him privy to all our secrets? Have you not seen the brand on his arm? Even I can feel the evil it embodies. He is accursed, a servant of evil. Perhaps it is he who sets the Ill-creatures on our path.”

  Chentelle shook her head. “Sulmar is marked by evil, but he is not evil himself. I know this, just as I know that you are not evil, for all your bitterness and despair. Sulmar is not allied with the Dark One. It was he who was being attacked by an Ill-creature when I encountered him. I trust him with my life, A’stoc.”

  The mage closed his eyes and rolled away from her, onto his side. He kept the Thunderwood Staff clenched tightly to his chest. “You trust him with more than that, enchantress,” he said softly.

  Chentelle could see A’stoc’s hands tremble with the effects of alcohol and exhaustion. She picked up her leatherbark waterskin and walked over to where he lay. “You need rest, A’stoc, for your mind and your body. We have a fair journey ahead, but we can wait a few minutes before continuing. And, please, drink water. It will help you more than wine.”

  A’stoc curled more tightly around the Staff. “If you would have me rest, elf girl, then leave me in peace.”

  “Let me touch you, wiz—A’stoc. I can ease your fatigue.” She extended one hand toward his back.

  “No!”

  Chentelle could feel the man’s fear. It was evident in the way he clutched the Staff. The inability to command the Thunderwood Staff mocked him. It was a symbol of the failure and frustration that were central to his world. In his heart, he felt that he was nothing but failure, and he was afraid that he would fail again. She set the water down gently beside him, and walked away from the tree.

  She sat down on a granite outcrop surrounded by daisies and rested in the warm sun. A light breeze eddied across the field, tossing her hair about her shoulders and catching up the trees and the grass in its dance. She hummed softly, letting herself drift with the song of the prairie. A lone butterfly floated toward her over a sea of flowers. It landed gracefully on her outstretched hand, winking its large, orange wings in silent salutation. Then it took flight again, whirling merrily around Chentelle’s head.

  She laughed. “Okay, little fellow, as you wish.”

  She looked over to the shade tree where they had stopped. A’stoc lounged against the tree, holding the waterskin in one hand. Sulmar had apparently finished his meal; he stood off to the side of the tree, where he could easily watch both A’stoc and her.

  Chentelle smiled and sang out with her Gift. She used no words, only the magic of pure, harmonious sound. It was a summoning song, much like the one she had used to call the dolphins, but simpler. This song contained no sense of need, no holes that required filling. It was a song purely about joy, about life, about the beauty of being together. It was a song about play.