Authors: Patricia C. Wrede
The blue stone was about the size of Alethia’s smallest fingertip. As she stared at it, she saw that in the center of the stone was a dim pinpoint of light. Alethia looked up. “I have never seen a stone glow before. What is this?”
Clasiena turned and her eyes widened. “This was not your focus!”
“The stone split in two, and this was inside,” Alethia said. “See, there are the pieces.”
Clasiena bent over the table and scooped the shattered rocks toward her. She examined them carefully, then turned to the stone that had been embedded inside. Suddenly the austere Shee woman smiled. “No wonder your attempt went so well! This is a firestone.”
“What is a firestone?” Alethia asked curiously.
“They are natural amplifiers of power,” Illeana said. “They are very sensitive to power in other things, so they are sometimes employed to detect spells, but their main use is to increase the power that a wizard can put into a spell. I do not know of anyone using one as a focus before; they are usually thought too dangerous for the inexperienced.” The Shee woman seemed to agree with general opinion, for she was eyeing the stone with a disapproving frown.
Tamsin’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Could this explain why the Shadow-born could not reach Alethia when he attacked her on our way here?”
The two Shee exchanged startled glances. “Of course! It must have,” Clasiena said. “But Alethia must have great ability to create a barrier that would hold off a Shadow-born, even with the aid of a firestone.”
“I just wanted it to keep away from me,” Alethia said. “I wasn’t trying to do anything; I only wanted it to stay back.”
“You must have set up a wall of pure power,” Clasiena told her. “There is nothing else you could have done without training.”
“It is a good thing that you are here now, where we can teach you properly,” Illeana said condescendingly. “Such power can be dangerous if it is not completely controlled.”
Tamsin, who had been looking at the firestone, turned to Alethia. “What did you mean when you said the stone was glowing, Alethia? I do not see it.”
The Shee women turned and Tamsin handed the stone to Illeana. “I, too, see nothing,” she said after looking at it for a minute, and Clasiena nodded her agreement. Alethia leaned forward. The stone lay in Illeana’s palm with no hint of light.
“It was there a minute ago,” Alethia said in bewilderment, and reached for the stone. As soon as she touched it, the light returned. Illeana jerked her hand away in surprise, and immediately the light died, but as soon as Alethia touched it once more the glow rekindled. Clasiena and Tamsin tried holding the stone, but with the same results.
“It seems that by using this as a focus you have waked some power attuned to you,” Clasiena said thoughtfully.
“Perhaps it is simpler than that,” Illeana said. “Perhaps anyone who uses it as a focus can achieve the same results. Here, let me try.” She took the stone and bent over it, concentrating as Alethia had done. A moment later she cried out, dropped the stone, and bent forward clutching her head. Clasiena hurried to her, while Alethia retrieved the stone.
“It appears that it is not so simple,” Clasiena said dryly. She looked up from Illeana in sudden concern. “You did not feel anything?” she asked Alethia urgently.
“No,” Alethia replied. “Nothing at all.”
“Then it must have been her own power reflecting back at her,” Clasiena said with some relief. “I think that only you can use this as a focus now.” She nodded toward the blue-black firestone.
“But why?” Alethia asked.
“I do not know.” Clasiena said. “Firestones are too rare, and too little is known of them. Keep yours close; I suggest that you find some holder for it. It is too easy to misplace as it is.”
“Why not have it set in a ring?” Tamsin suggested.
“A good idea!” Clasiena approved. “There are jewelers who work for the Queen; I will send one to you this afternoon.” She rose and, after a brief exchange of courtesies, escorted a shaken Illeana out.
The jeweler arrived shortly after noon. He was intrigued by the stone, which he clearly valued highly. When pressed, he reluctantly agreed to deliver the ring in two days’ time. “But it will not be elaborate,” he warned as he left. “No, it will be very plain.”
The lessons resumed the following day, but no further experiments were made. Instead, Clasiena gave them a long list of rules and relationships to memorize and then repeat until they could do so, instinctively. “Magic is the art of changing the relationships between things,” she told Alethia and Tamsin, “and you must know what you are about before you can make a change.”
Alethia found the lists boring, but she followed Clasiena’s instructions. By the end of the afternoon, she was word-perfect in only half of the drills, and she found herself envious of Tamsin. The minstrel was more at home with their current tasks, and had nearly finished the list. Clasiena seemed pleased with their progress, and promised more interesting work to come.
The ring arrived next day, a small circle of silver wire with the fire-stone set firmly in it. The jeweler had underrated his ability; though not intricate in design, the ring was hardly plain. It fit perfectly. The back of the stone rested lightly against her finger, and Alethia noted with pleasure that the contact was enough to awaken the pinpoint of light in the heart of the stone. Thoroughly pleased, Alethia picked up the remainder of the list of rules and left to find a peaceful spot to memorize them in.
M
AURIN STOOD BESIDE HIS
horse in the cold gray pre-dawn, waiting. All around him were the muffled sounds of horses breathing and the occasional clink of armor as the Shee quieted their mounts. Through the screen of trees ahead, he could dimly see the beginning of the fields surrounding Brenn; the city itself was invisible in the faint light.
The Shee were positioned in the forest northeast of the city. They had managed to get so close only with the aid of a few Wyrd guides, who ambushed several Lithmern scouts before they could raise any alarm. The main body of Wyrd archers had crossed the mountains two days before to take up a position behind the Lithmern camp; if all was well, they, too, were now in place, hidden and waiting.
Off to one side of the assembled cavalry, Maurin could see the Veldatha wizards conversing with Herre. Some time later the Shee commander bowed and walked away, and the wizards began chanting and making passes in the air. A rustle of anticipation swept the line, followed closely by the signal to mount.
Tensely, Maurin checked the saddle girth one last time. As he swung into the saddle, he hoped fervently that there were no Lithmern anywhere near the edge of the woods; the noise of so many men mounting, however quietly, seemed loud enough to be heard all the way to Brenn. He settled his feet in the stirrups and looked back toward the center of the line, from which the signal to attack would come.
The light increased slowly, and Maurin chanced another look toward the wizards. Even to his untrained eye, they seemed to be reaching the end of their spell-casting; when they finished, they would only have to keep it reinforced, and then the attack would begin. The wizards lowered their hands. Maurin tensed and looked back toward the center, barely in time to note the sweeping gesture of the Shee officer commanding his portion of the line.
Almost as one, the Shee cavalry began moving out of the woods and across the fields toward the Lithmern tents. They moved slowly and quietly; it was still dark enough for them to be overlooked if they traveled silently, and every minute before they were discovered meant precious ground gained. The city was visible now, its outer walls looming over the Lithmern tents clustered untidily to the west.
Ahead of them, a Lithmern sentry shouted. The Shee urged their horses to a gallop, all hope of concealment gone. The Lithmern on guard wheeled to face them, shouting to their fellows. There was a brief shock as the foremost Shee met the thin line of Lithmern sentries, then the Lithmern went down before the unexpected onslaught.
As the two lines met, Maurin raised his sword and dug his heels into the sides of his mount. A dark-haired man in Lithmern garb swung at him with a wicked-looking blade on a long pole; Maurin barely parried it in time. He hacked at another that appeared briefly by his right stirrup, but the charge carried him on before he saw whether the man fell. One of the few mounted Lithmern rode toward him, swinging wildly. Maurin stood in his stirrups and spitted the man cleanly. He barely had time to yank his sword free before the Lithmern toppled, leaving the way clear.
The Shee swept on around the city, toward the camp. Ahead, the Lithmern were beginning to stir, and Maurin recalled with a shock how little time had passed since the first alarm. One of the Shee riders was already among the tents, a little ahead of the others. A Lithmern soldier carrying another of the bladed poles tried to stop him, but the Shee parried and ripped the weapon away. He rode on, controlling his mount with his knees, while he wrapped a strip of his cloak around one end of the captured pole.
By this time the rider was nearing the first of the Lithmern’s dying watch fires. With a shout, he thrust the cloth-wrapped end of the pole into the flames. It caught rapidly. Carrying the makeshift torch, the Shee rode through the camp, setting fire to the tents. A Lithmern archer, belatedly realizing the threat, took aim and fired.
The Shee horseman fell, but several tents were already ablaze. A stiff breeze sprang up ahead of the attackers to fan the flames as the foremost Shee saw their advantage and exerted their powers to encourage it. The camp was in turmoil now, with men and Shee shouting and running everywhere. Among them was the Lithmern commander, trying to impart some shred of organization to the chaos among his men.
Behind the attacking Shee, a horn sounded. Maurin looked over his shoulder and cursed. The Lithmern troops which had been stationed to the east of Brenn were marching to the aid of their embattled fellows. In a few moments, they would fall upon the cavalry’s rear, forcing them to turn and battle on both sides at once. Seeing his enemies’ predicament, the Lithmern commander began collecting his men at the edge of the woods, where they could surround the Shee completely under cover of the smoke that was beginning to blanket the camp.
Just as the second group of Lithmern reached the Shee, another horn sounded, high and clear. In their eagerness to attack the Shee, the Lithmern troops had forgotten that behind them was an entire city; they could not have known that Bracor had been forewarned by Isme and the Veldatha and was prepared for immediate attack. The Lord of Brenn and the mounted guards of Styr Tel, supported by nearly all of the foot soldiers of Brenn, were issuing from the North Gate and attacking the Lithmern rear.
At almost the same time, a flight of arrows whirred out of the woods and into the forces that the Lithmern commander was gathering for an attack on the Shee flank. A rain of the deadly shafts began to fall on the Lithmern as the Wyrd archers opened fire from their concealed positions in the forest. A few moments later the first of the archers came into view as they began advancing in their turn.
It was too much for the Lithmern. Rumors of black magic had already taken their toll on morale among the common soldiers, who viewed the disappearance of five experienced scouts as proof of their fears. The sight of the small, furred archers with their gleaming, pointed white teeth was the last straw. Shouts of “Demons!” began to be heard above the noise of the battle, and the confusion grew worse as the men at the edge of the forest tried to flee.
The two thousand Lithmern stationed on the south side of the river were unable to cross to the battle; Grathwol’s scouts had wrecked their boats during the night. They were forced to watch helplessly as the battle became a rout. Finally, one of the officers realized that it would do no good for them to be slaughtered too, and ordered his men to withdraw before the Brenn soldiers and their unexpected allies could finish with the main camp and cross the river.
The Shee worked their way methodically through the camp, hampered very little by the clouds of smoke rising from the tents. They were followed closely by the city troops, who had vanquished the Lithmern in the rear and were looking for more. Bracor, well aware of the effect that the sudden appearance of the legendary Shee might have on even a well-trained veteran, had warned his men that “the Lady Isme’s countrymen” were coming to aid the city. The soldiers were, therefore, somewhat prepared for the Shee.
The Wyrds were another matter. They were clearly not human; they might well be the demons the Lithmern seemed to think them. On the other hand, they were equally clearly killing Lithmern. Even so, the Brenn troops were somewhat unnerved by the presence of the small, fierce, furry beings. By the time Bracor, Herre, and Grathwol met in the middle of the Lithmern camp, more than one of the city soldiers was beginning to wonder, now that the heat of the battle was passing, just what kind of a war it was they were fighting.
The first round of fighting was over and the work of taking prisoners done when Maurin ran into Har. “What luck?” the young noble shouted when Maurin was within hailing distance.
“Fair,” replied Maurin as he rode up. “Which means, I am not dead, so I cannot complain too loudly of my fortune. Yourself?”
“Two of them came at me with those staffs a bit ago; a Wyrd arrow got one or I wouldn’t be here,” Har answered grimly. “As it is, not a scratch. Where away?”
“Herre and Bracor have decided they want some Lithmern to question. I’m to pick out the ones that look most likely to know something.” Maurin frowned. “Most of the officers seem to have disappeared, and there is no trace at all of the sorcerers; I’d almost be willing to swear there were never any here.”
“I don’t know about sorcerers,” Har said. “I can find you an officer, though, if you hurry. I just passed some Shee with one tied to a horse; they were over that way.”
“Many thanks,” Maurin replied wearily, and with a wave he rode off in the direction Har had indicated.
Isme was alone in the tower room when Bracor returned to Styr Tel and found her. She stood looking out over the recent battlefield with her back to the door. Bracor waited until she turned.