The Princess of Trelian (36 page)

Calen opened his mouth to say something else — he didn’t even know what, anything, just something to keep her from casting that spell — but before he could speak, the guard she’d gestured to slipped a rolled-up piece of cloth into Calen’s mouth and tied it tightly behind his head. Another grabbed Calen’s arms, yanked them behind him, and bound them tightly at the wrists. It startled him so much he dropped the shield he’d been maintaining. Luckily Sen Eva seemed to have lost interest in attacking him. He’d never even considered protecting against a nonmagical attack.

Wonderful,
Calen thought. He tried to spit out the gag, but he couldn’t work it loose. Maurel looked up at him sadly; she couldn’t help him, of course, since her own arms were bound as well.

Sen Eva glanced back at Calen for one more moment. “I suppose I did underestimate you once before,” she said. “So just to be safe . . .”

She walked over to him, fingers spread wide on her outstretched hand. With no further warning, a web of orange energy flew from her fingertips. Belatedly, he braced for pain, for darkness, for death — no, wait, orange energy, not red. He tried to figure out what she had done. Nothing hurt; he could still move, he could still see and think and breathe . . .

She smiled at him. “Try casting,” she said.

With a sinking feeling deep in his stomach, Calen did. He attempted a halfhearted sleep spell in her direction. Halfhearted because he already knew that it wouldn’t work. That orange spell . . . she’d blocked him somehow, nullified his power. He was useless. Unable to cast the smallest thing.

Sen Eva’s smile widened as nothing happened. Then she walked casually away from him, back to where she’d been standing before. Calen watched helplessly as she turned to face the cleared space between the tall rocks and raised her hand again, tracing an arc in the air before her. As he had seen happen once before, a portal shimmered into existence.

The shadowy figure Calen had also seen once before appeared within the portal boundaries.

“It is time,” the figure said, echoing Sen Eva’s words from a few moments ago. “The last piece has fallen into place.”

“Yes, my master,” Sen Eva said reverently. “Trelian has broken faith with Lourin, and even now the messenger-birds are flying to King Gerald with the news. His armies have been massing in preparation. The war is now inevitable. I set the wards just as you showed me, and I can sense the dragon in the air, sense the soldiers on the road. . . . I feel the change in the world, just as you said I would.”

Her smile grew radiant. “Your time is now at hand, Master. And I am ready to help you across.”

“Calen,” Maurel whispered, “why is there a scary man hanging in the air like that?”

Calen shook his head, unable to answer. He didn’t know what he’d be able to tell her anyway.
Oh, him? That’s Mage Krelig, this crazy mage from hundreds of years ago who was exiled to another plane of existence where time works differently and who wants to come back and take over the world. Sen Eva is about to help him do that. It is going to be very bad for all of us when she does.

“Mother,” Wilem said urgently, “you must know that he isn’t going to give you what he promised. It’s not possible. Father and Tymas are gone. He’s just using you! It’s not too late to stop this. Please.”

Sen Eva didn’t even glance at him. “Please be quiet, Wilem. You have no understanding of what is possible.”

“At my command,” Mage Krelig said now, “We will begin the spell. You must not stop once it has begun. Not until I have crossed over.”

“I understand.” She looked over her shoulder at the two closest men. “Watch them,” she said, nodding at Calen and the others. One of them reached over with a heavy hand and pushed down on Calen’s shoulder until he gave in and sat. Maurel promptly sat beside him.

Mage Krelig took a slow breath. “Begin.”

Calen watched in horrified fascination as the edges of the portal began to glow white, then orange, then red, then violet, shifting along with the kind of energy that Sen Eva was casting. The portal itself grew larger, stretching vertically until it was just about the size of an actual door. He could see a faint echo of the spell on the other side, presumably being cast by Mage Krelig. The glowing intensified, and Calen could feel an unpleasant pulsing heat radiating from the portal. Sen Eva shifted uncomfortably but did not break her concentration. Calen longed to lunge at her, to knock her off-balance and interrupt the spell, but the men she’d set to watch them were annoyingly attentive. They’d stop him before he so much as tried to stand up. He kept thinking he should try anyway, just try to do something . . . but no. Better to wait for some other chance, some possible action that might actually work, rather than one that was sure to fail.

The magic energy intensified, and the edges of the portal actually seemed to be burning in multicolored flames. Calen realized that the other side of the portal was no longer shadowy and indistinct. He could see the other mage clearly now, standing in some dark space, all black rock surfaces and hard angles visible behind him. His face was unmarked, like Sen Eva’s.

Something shifted — some piece of the world actually moved and
changed
and Calen could feel it, almost see it, as the flames around the edges of the portal grew into an inferno, nearly filling the interior space of the portal itself.

“Now!” the mage shouted from the other side, over the roar of the flames, and Sen Eva reached forward into that burning mess with her right hand. She screamed as the fire touched her but did not pull away.

All around them, all at once, the slaarh began screaming, too. Maurel buried her face against Calen’s shoulder, and Wilem covered his ears with his hands. So did most of the men surrounding them. All Calen could do was lean his head down against Maurel’s, trying to shut out the horrible sounds.

And then Sen Eva was stepping back, and as her arm drew back with her, they could see another hand, blackened and burned, gripping hers. And then the mage himself came through, stepping through the fire, then collapsing onto the ground at the base of the portal.

As one, the slaarh went silent. The portal winked neatly out of existence.

Oh, not good.
Calen thought.
Not good, this is not good at all. Bright Lady, protect us. Great Harvester, please make this right.

But it wasn’t right. It was terribly, terribly wrong.

Calen looked at Serek, whose horror and dismay showed plainly on his usually well-controlled face.

Mage Krelig lay convulsing on the ground. Sen Eva stared down at him, apparently uncertain whether to try to touch him. After a moment he rolled over onto his back, and Calen was shocked to see he was laughing.

“Master?” Sen Eva said hesitantly.

“Oh,” Mage Krelig said, “it is good to be home.”

F
OR SEVERAL LONG MOMENTS, NO ONE
said anything. Calen and everyone else stared at the man who’d just appeared. He was lying on the ground and looking happily up at the late-morning sky. He was old, Calen supposed, but not as old as you would expect someone to look after more than four hundred years. Everyone had said that time must move differently wherever the mage had been sent to, but Calen had never really understood how that worked. In any case, the man seemed older than Serek but not as old as Anders. His hair was gray and hung raggedly around his shoulders, and he had a scraggly gray beard as well. But his clothing seemed well made and not nearly as worn and dirty as it should be — as if he had perhaps kept it aside all these years, waiting for the day he would wear it upon his return.

Finally Mage Krelig himself broke the silence. He sat up with a grunt and looked around. Then he seemed to notice his burned hand for the first time.

“Huh,” he said mildly. “Can’t have that, now, can I?” He didn’t move or even take a moment to focus, but at once a green and yellow glow surrounded his hand and forearm, almost solid in its intensity of color and brightness. Calen actually had to squint and then look away. It was like trying to watch the sun. Well, if the sun was partly green, anyway.

When Calen looked back, it was as though the hand had never been injured at all.

Mage Krelig glanced up at Sen Eva, who was clutching her own burned hand, and then the bright glow surrounded her hand as well. She gasped; the sensation of a healing that significant and fast must be intense, if not painful. Although the mage himself hadn’t seemed to feel anything when he’d healed himself — or at least he hadn’t shown it.

“Th-thank you,” Sen Eva said, sounding shaken. She held out her hand and gazed at it in wonder. Then she seemed to come back to herself and offered her hand to Mage Krelig, to help him up. He waved it off, though, and stood up on his own.

“So, then, my dear,” he said to her. “How have you prepared for me?”

“Everything you required has been accomplished,” Sen Eva told him. “The men you see here are a mere fraction of the army I’ve assembled for you. The others are gathering in several different locations, as you instructed. We have more than a hundred slaarh, and I believe there are still a few more that might be brought over. The Magistratum rips itself apart from within, and the war is beginning. It will no doubt spark other conflicts as allies are drawn into the fight.”

“Excellent,” he said, nodding. Then he suddenly noticed Serek, still trapped behind his oddly solidified magic shield.

“Oho!” Mage Krelig shouted, grinning. “Is this one of my esteemed colleagues from the Magistratum?” He began to laugh again. “Oh, it is such a pleasure to meet you. We have many things to discuss, you and I and all your friends.”

Krelig turned away as though dismissing Serek from his mind. Then he seemed to notice Calen, Maurel, and Wilem for the first time. “And what is this?”

“Playing pieces, Master,” Sen Eva said. “The girl is a younger princess of Trelian —”

“Yes, yes, I’m sure they’ve served whatever purpose they were supposed to,” the mage interrupted. “They are not needed any longer?”

Sen Eva’s confident expression shifted slightly. She glanced at Wilem. “I’m — I’m not certain. It seems best to — to wait and see. Master.”

“I don’t like loose ends.”

“I know. I promise I will take care of it.”

He looked at her. “Is there something you are keeping from me? I am tired, Sen Eva. I do not have time for secret games. I must rest and regain my strength before I am called upon to use it. Destroy them and be done with it.”

Maurel gasped in horror. Calen wished he could say something to comfort her, but even if he hadn’t been gagged, there wasn’t anything he could say. He tried again to access his power, but he was still blocked. A new thought froze his heart, suddenly. But no. It — it couldn’t be permanent. It had been too quick, too easy for that. Just a lightly cast spell, barely any effort or energy at all. Surely he would be able to cast again in time. He had to believe that, because the alternative was too horrible.

Except — he’d forgotten. There wasn’t going to be any time. They were all about to die.

I’m sorry, Meg,
he thought sadly.

Suddenly Wilem shot past him, launching himself at the mage, who was still turned toward Sen Eva. Sen Eva’s eyes widened and the mage whirled, but not quickly enough. Wilem slammed into him and bore him back down to the ground.

“No!” Sen Eva cried. She pulled Wilem off the older man and thrust her son away from her. A burst of dark red magic energy from Mage Krelig’s hands just missed him, shooting harmlessly up into the sky instead. They could all feel the power of it, though. Wilem stumbled and fell back to the ground, shaking his head angrily. Calen didn’t know what Wilem had thought would happen, although he appreciated the effort. But Wilem was no match for a man of that much power. If this was what the mage was like when he was weak, Calen was almost glad he wouldn’t be around to see him at full strength. The thought alone was terrifying.

The men around them had all backed away at the mage’s display of magic. They weren’t quite fleeing, but they clearly wanted to put as much distance as possible between themselves and what was happening here. Sen Eva had turned to face the mage and was reaching down once more to try to help him up. And putting herself, Calen realized, between Krelig and her son.

“I am sorry,” she said desperately. “Please. He doesn’t understand —”

The mage’s eyes narrowed. “Your other son?”

Sen Eva licked her lips nervously. “Yes.”

The mage was breathing heavily. He must really have been weakened from the crossover and then the healing and the attempt on Wilem.
Gods,
Calen thought.
How strong was he at full power?

Slowly, Mage Krelig regained his feet. He stepped toward Sen Eva, and she backed away but did not move from his path. Calen felt ill. The mage was right in front of him now. “I cannot have dissenters in my ranks, Sen Eva. That boy has just earned his death.” He looked at her and smiled then, a ghastly, evil expression. “Don’t worry,” he said. “You’ve lost a son before. I believe the second time is much easier.”

Sen Eva’s face drained of color. He pushed her roughly aside and then looked at Wilem, who was staring up at him defiantly. The mage was definitely slowing down; Calen could see the flicker of the spell gathering this time before it struck. Calen tried again, as hard as he could, to cast something, anything — a shield to divert the spell, a flame to set the man’s beard on fire, a dancing teacup to distract him, anything,
anything.
Wilem was irritating and a problem and a liar, and Calen still didn’t trust him, but he didn’t deserve to die. Not like this.