Fat, cold drops of rain began to spatter
against the stones of the old walkway. A low, steady hiss and
sizzle began in the air above Mallara as the rain met her barrier
and became steam.
"Burn?"
The rain turned suddenly fast and hard. A
howling wind followed, crashing and booming through the black
pines, nearly knocking Mallara over with the force of its blow.
Mallara shouted a Word, her fingers a blur. A
fist-sized globe of daylight burst from her hand and rose to hang
immobile above her. With another Word, the globe exploded, filling
the wild lawn with a harsh, white glare that neither wind nor rain
could dispel.
"Burn!"
The wind howled, as if enraged. Lightning
leapt from oak to oak, until all three were smoldering, shattered
hulks lying splintered in the fountain.
Mallara's barrier trailed gouts of steam that
swirled in the wind like a tattered shroud. As she watched, shapes
seemed to move through the racing fog -- hulking, man-sized
shapes.
"I've seen thunderstorms before," said
Mallara aloud."I am not impressed. Burn!"
The barrier rang like a struck bell. Mallara
whirled, but saw only steam and whipping sheets of rain. The
barrier pealed again, and again, repelling blows only a sorcerer --
or something equally powerful -- could inflict. Mallara kept
turning in a slow, careful circle, a deadly Word half-formed on her
lips, her hands bathed in pulsing tangles of cold, bright fire.
Blow after blow rang against the barrier,
drowning out the thunder and sizzle of the rain. The barrier
flashed, visible for an instant as a silver orb blotched by
crimson, trailing sparks and glowing streamers with the steam.
Mallara closed her eyes, took a deep breath,
and negated the killing spell. A different, softer Word restored
the weakened barrier. The blows fell stronger and faster, frantic
now, more desperate than furious.
Mallara kneeled, pulled an iron-shod staff
from a black slit in the air, and began to sing, her voice low but
steady. The staff grew hot in her grasp, then cold, then warm
again, and it was done.
The blows stopped. Mallara sang no more;
instead, she stood, leaned upon the staff, and peered out into the
rain. Her ears rang, though, and it was a long time before she
could hear the wind or the grumble of the thunder again.
When it spoke -- as Mallara knew it would --
the storm had dwindled to a tired, slow rain and the wind to a mere
breeze that shuffled aimlessly through the wet meadow-grass.
"What have you done?" said a voice, in the
darkness.
"I have sealed the well," said
Mallara."There, you may not pass. You will remain here, with me --
until the sun rises."
Silence. Mallara waited while her claim was
tested. I can only hope the well was its only pathway, she thought.
If it has another way down to the dark, I am lost.
A high, thin wail came riding on the breeze.
Mallara shivered at the sound of it and gripped her staff with both
hands.
"Take away the light," said a voice."Take it
away."
"Where is my friend?" said Mallara."The
shimmer. What have you done with him?"
"Take it away!"
The barrier shook. Mallara whispered, raised
the staff. The weeds and the leaning walls and the ring of trees
were suddenly touched with fire. Mallara waited until the screaming
stopped and lowered the staff.
"Where is the shimmer?" she said.
"I will bring it back," whimpered the
voice."Here. Now. Take away the light."
Mallara shook her head."No."
The barrier hissed softly before Mallara, as
though being gently prodded with expert, cautious fingers. The
sorceress stared ahead, her gaze calm, her mind racing. I was
right, then -- the well is the door. But the door to what? A tomb
of the Old Ones? The crypt of an Elvish sorcerer?
Or something else -- something sunlight would
not kill?
A dim shadow fell on the glistening flagstone
walkway just outside the barrier. Above it, a darkening in the air
grew solid.
Mallara whispered to the staff. The
goblin-clock scurried to hide behind her ankles; she could feel it
peeking around her right shin. Her staff grew ice-cold and
threatened to freeze to her skin, but Mallara held tight to it.
The shadows coalesced. Mallara saw hints of
light within it, and then the outlines of a face. Golden eyes --
wide, luminous, sad eyes -- met hers, and grew larger.
It smiled.
Mallara's Word came out in a desperate rasp.
The eyes and the half formed face vanished as the barrier turned
opaque. A fusillade of enraged blows fell against the shield.
Mallara coaxed a tangle of lightning from the
staff, soothed it with a low, soft, Word, and sent it roaming
across the shell of magic that enveloped her. Another Word silenced
the thunder that fell against the barrier.
The milky white of the barrier rippled
directly in front of Mallara. A blurred face appeared, leering and
snarling, golden eyes gone mad and alight with rage. It smiled,
revealing two rows of wet, curving fangs.
"Feeble," it said."Soft. Weak. Tear and rip
and shred and -- "
The roaming skein of lightning bunched and
hurled itself full in the grinning face.
Mallara's Word held back some of the thunder
-- but what did leak through was enough to rattle her teeth and
knock the breath from her. The flash left spots dancing before her
eyes -- but the face was gone.
After a moment, the pounding resumed.
Mallara leaned on her staff, pulled a glowing
glass wand from the air, and concentrated on holding the barrier
together against the more subtle attack begun just before the face
appeared.
"Sunrise in two hours and thirty-seven
minutes," said the goblin-clock. The barrier shook. A sound like
stones cracking rose up despite Mallara's wards of silence.
The glass wand began to pulse, flashing a
ruddy red in time with Mallara's heart. Tiny pinpoints of light
began to sparkle along the barrier, dancing and darting like
fireflies in a tempest.
Mallara began to speak, and soon her Words
ran together like the lyrics of some grim, discordant song.
"Sunrise in fourteen minutes," said the
clock.
The blows, the lights, the faint touches of
an old, dark magic -- all of ceased. Mallara held her barrier
together, bracing it against a massive, final explosion of
fury.
Her heartbeats raced by. For the first time
since the storm broke, she began to be aware of her own sensations
-- her ragged breathing, her hammering pulse, the sharp, fresh
aches in her arms and neck. She thought of Burn, and clenched her
jaw. I haven't the time to grieve, she thought. Not until the sun
is up.
"Mistress," said a voice, from just beyond
the barrier."It's Burn. Let me in."
Mallara nearly dropped her staff.
"I'm hurt," said the voice."It caught me, in
the air. Please, Mistress. Open a portal. It's coming.
"Please."
"I will not cry," whispered Mallara."I will
not."
"Please!" said the voice."It's here! Let me
in!"
Mallara lifted her staff and hurled a gout of
white-hot flame through the barrier. Something on the other side
howled.
"I am a Sorceress," said Mallara, her voice
shaking and hoarse."Not a hedge-witch to be misled with childish
pranks. My friend would never beg -- not even for his life."
"Oh, he begged," said the voice."He begged
and begged and begged, until the end." Then the blows began anew,
and with them a wet snarling, as of a pack of wolves.
Mallara wiped away a tear, and countered the
snarls with Words of her own.
"Two minutes until sunrise," said the
goblin-clock.
The barrier shook and rang and shed fire in
sheets. Every strand of power strained against the next. Hostile
magic roamed the sphere, probing, testing, bringing force to bear
on the smallest flaw.
"One minute," said the clock.
The attack intensified, became a single
torrential explosion of power. The ends of Mallara's staff glowed
bright red and dripped molten iron. The glass wand drooped and
smoked. All about her, the air sparked and hissed, alive with
minuscule skeins of brilliant lightning.
A small bell rang, and the goblin-clock did a
tiny dance.
"Sunrise."
At once, the pounding stopped. There was a
long, despairing wails, a brightness against the barrier, and then
silence.
The wand fell from Mallara's left hand. She
fell to her knees and crouched, gasping. The fallen wand became a
puddle on the ground.
The barrier wobbled. Bulges and dents whirled
across the face of it. Mallara grew dizzy watching and turned her
eyes to the ground.
"One minute past sunrise," said the
goblin-clock.
Mallara rose to her feet. Every bone, every
muscle, every joint ached and burned. Her head throbbed and swam;
she looked upon the failing barrier once more, only to find her
eyes couldn't follow the flaws in its surface.
Wearily, she raised her staff, the Word that
would banish the barrier forming on her cracked, bloody lips.
A fist-sized blur darted through a rend in
the barrier.
"The clock," said the shimmer."It got through
to the clock. The sun isn't up yet!"
Mallara stared. Her staff went cold.
"The barrier is failing," said Burn, his
voice faint, his movements erratic."Mistress -- "
Mallara thrust the staff against the barrier
and croaked out a Word. The barrier shook, reeling under a blow
from outside meant to shatter it like so much glass.
Mallara held on, until the throbbing in her
head grew louder and stronger than the roar from the barrier. A
flash blinded her, and she felt the staff fall from her hands, and
she realized she was falling with it just as the darkness took
her.
"Mistress?"
Mallara stirred. That hurt, so she was still
until she drifted away again. But the voice spoke again, and again,
waking her each time she found comfort in oblivion.
"Mistress!" shouted the voice, from --
inside? -- her right ear."Wake UP!"
Mallara woke. There was a sound like an egg
frying, and a familiar voice muttered curses. Mallara groaned, and
opened her eyes.
She lay face-down on the cracked stone
walkway, surrounded by smoking mounds of scorched earth and a ring
of charred, limb-less tree-trunks. A fat afternoon sun shone down,
unconcerned by the devastation. A cool breeze rushed south, it
skirts filled with wisps of smoke.
Around her, in a ragged circle, lay dozens of
charred vampire-flies. Another fell smoking to join the rest while
Mallara watched.
"Four hundred and ninety-three," muttered the
shimmer, who darted closer."Ah, you're awake. Get up and do
something before the bugs finish what Yellow Face started."
Mallara rolled over.
"That's it," said Burn."Now sit up and look
victorious before the Mayor and his telescope arrive. You'll never
collect our fee stretched out like that."
Mallara sat up. Her head reeled, memories a
whirlwind. Drink, she thought. Water first.
"The well opened into a cave," said
Burn."That's where it caught me. I hid -- but when it left and I
found my way back up, I hit your wards. Took me all night to wiggle
past." Burn's voice fell to a whisper."You ought to say something
to the clock," he said."Poor thing -- it didn't mean to trick
you."
Mallara drained the canteen. When she was
done, she put it down, picked up the goblin clock, and brushed soot
from its bright glass face."No shame," she said, her voice a dry
rasp."I'm very proud. Of both of you."
Burn darted near, an angry buzzing in his
midst."They lied to us, Mistress," he said."That was a
shadow-wight, or worse -- one with plenty of history behind it. I
say our fee ought to double, triple, and triple again."
Mallara wiped soot from her brow."A pact is a
pact," she said."You know that. We'll take the fees we asked, and
no more. Then we'll rest. I expect out services will be required
again, very soon."
Burn's buzzing intensified."Our services?" he
said."What services?"
"It seems the villagers are going to have a
problem with hornets," said Mallara."Angry hornets. Big ones."
"That isn't fair," said Burn."I'll get
started right away."
The shimmer vanished.
Mallara smiled. The sun on her face was warm
and bright. Birds sang, albeit from a safe distance. She closed her
eyes and listened to bird-song until her head ceased pounding.
She heard the Mayor and his retinue long
before they emerged from the trees and entered the smoldering
meadow. Mallara allowed them to survey the ruins for a moment
before she rose and turned to meet them.
"Welcome, gentlemen," said the Sorceress, a
wide grin on her sooty face."I've been expecting you. But before we
discuss my payment -- which one of you owns the telescope?"
by Frank Tuttle
"My name is Mallara," said the short,
red-haired woman in the dusty linen breeches and the oft-patched
blue cloak."I am an agent of the Crown, on the Crown's business.
Step aside and let me pass."
"She means it, numb-skull," came a male voice
from a blur in the air above Mallara's right shoulder."We've been
ten days on the road from Arbor. No inns, no beds, no baths.
Sorceress Mallara is about to lose her temper." The voice dropped
to a conspiratorial whisper."She does frogs when she's mad,
soldier. But she doesn't do them well. Something about the mouth --
she never gets it right, even if she turns you back. It isn't
pretty." The shimmering in the air darkened."Not pretty at
all."
The soldier at the gate swallowed."Orders,"
he said."No one gets in Tillith after dark." The soldier's
too-large iron helm fell down over his eyes, and he pushed it
quickly back up."There's a Troll on the Square, ma'am," he said, to
Mallara."A Troll!"