The Witch's Daughter (34 page)

“What will we be when the last sounds o’ battle echo o’er the fields?” she asked her forest. The cry of a loon sounded in the unseen distance, its mournful wail seeming a fitting eulogy to the ears of the witch. Brielle shared that lament fully. She reached out to lean on the trunk of a large tree, seeking solace in its enduring strength.

But the boughs of Avalon, wrapped in a silent sadness, could not grant her any measure of hope.

    Istaahl also spent those hours of welcome calm surveying the damage and assessing how to effect some measure of
repair to his home. The White Mage remained torn by his duties; he felt that he should be in contact with King Benador, his liege, preparing for the inevitable conflict that would erupt any day. But after a quick tour of the White Tower, Istaahl knew that he had no choice in his course of action.

Thalasi’s assaults had both weakened him greatly and had struck devastating blows to his enchanted home. Great cracks lined the structure, running from the very tip of the tower all the way down to its foundations. Istaahl understood that if he did not take prompt action to reinforce the place with spells of strength and warding, it would crumble to dust with the Black Warlock’s next attack.

And like his counterpart in Avalon, the White Mage of Pallendara was beginning to suspect that the scars of this war would be enduring.

“Alas for the wizards of Aielle,” he muttered to himself that gray day. “Our time is passing; the race of mortal men may soon be left to their own resources.”

All of the wizards had known from the beginning that this day would eventually come. But after centuries of serving as the guardians and advisers to the races of Aielle, the sudden apparent change had them perplexed indeed.

    Brielle knelt over a pool of clear water. Its glassy surface showed only the dull pall of Thalasi’s gloomy sky, but the witch ignored the dismay the sight brought to her. Waving her hand and casting a simple enchantment, she hoped that Istaahl was not too engaged in yet another battle against the Black Warlock to answer her call.

At that same moment, Istaahl was entertaining similar thoughts of contacting Brielle, and he was near his crystal ball when the Emerald Witch called upon him. He accepted the magical contact eagerly, needing the comfort of a friendly face in this dark hour.

“So the Black Warlock has granted you a period of rest as well?” he asked through a strained smile.

“Me thinkin’s that he needs his own,” Brielle replied. “Suren he’s been putting his magics to their bounds these days—how much more has he got to throw?”

“I fear the answer to that question,” said Istaahl.

“As with meself,” Brielle agreed. “But I faced the dark one on me western borders a few nights hence. He’s not Thalasi as we knew him. Joined with the ancient one, Martin Reinheiser, in spirit and thought.”

“A dual being?” Istaahl asked, hardly able to believe the news. “Is that possible?”

“It would seem,” Brielle replied grimly. “They’ve found harmony—”

“In hatred.”

“Aye, focused in hatred,” said Brielle. “And the result is mighty indeed, as ye’ve no doubt seen.”

“The Black Warlock has wounded me deeply,” Istaahl admitted. His wizened features twisted, searching for the right way to explain the pervasive sense of dread that hung over him. “Not physically, though. My tower has been savaged, indeed, but it was no more than uncut blocks when first I built it.”

“But ye do no’ know if ye can put it aright ever again?” Brielle asked, understanding the fears of the White Mage perfectly.

“Yes!” said Istaahl, relieved that she saw his meaning so clearly. Though when he took a moment to think about it, Istaahl realized that Brielle’s understanding foretold a greater tragedy.

“Ye look tired,” Brielle remarked.

“Weary is the better word,” Istaahl replied. “I do not understand it, my dear friend.” Again he struggled for the proper
words. “I feel mortal. For the first time in my days as a wizard, I see my magic as a finite pool, not an unending source of power.”

“Me heart tells me the same,” said Brielle. “We’ve pushed on it too hard is me fear, bent the line o’ power to where it will not come back to straight.”

“Yes,” Istaahl agreed. “No matter what the outcome of this war, I have come to the conclusion that Ynis Aielle will never be the same.”

“The passing of an age,” Brielle remarked.

“Perhaps not,” Istaahl replied with a trace of hope. “Your brother has not yet entered the fray, nor has Brisen-ballas, his Silver Tower—” The words stuck in Istaahl’s throat. With all that had been happening in Avalon and Pallendara, neither of them had given any thought to the fate of Ardaz’s tower on the cliff wall above Illuma Vale. Had Thalasi struck out against the home of the Silver Mage in his absence? Istaahl wondered and Brielle read his thoughts from the expression of horror on his face.

“No!” the witch insisted. “He has not. The elves passed through me wood just a few days ago, and they spoke nothin’ of any attacks. The power of Lochsilinilume is strong, me friend, and the Black Warlock has taken the absence o’ me brother as a blessin’; he’d no’ attack Brisen-ballas, for fear that his strike would alert Rudy to the war.”

“But how much damage could Thalasi cause to Brisen-ballas in your brother’s absence?” reasoned Istaahl. “Could he crush the Silver Tower and steal much of Ardaz’s strength before he ever arrived to defend his home?”

“At what cost?” Brielle asked. “I’ve fought him meself, and I can tell ye with all o’ me heart that he is strong, but not foolish. If Thalasi goes against me brother’s home, I’ll be layin’ in wait. The Black Warlock’ll know he’s outdone
himself when me magic catches him from behind, and when me brother hears the rumblin’s in his tower and rushes back to defend it!”

“Then Thalasi will fight against three,” said Istaahl, his spirits bolstered by the determination of the witch. “And what of your brother? Is there any word at all?”

“Not a one,” Brielle replied, “Rudy’s a one-minded sort, I fear. He’s off to explorin’ and not likely to turn his eyes back our way. I’d’ve looked for him meself, but I fear to leave me wood.”

“As I fear to leave my tower,” agreed Istaahl. “But surely he will return to us soon—even your one-minded brother will not miss the implications of Thalasi’s darkened sky.”

“That is me guess,” agreed Brielle. “But also me fear. Thalasi understands the same; he would not’ve put out the sun without plans for dealing with Rudy’s return. I fear that the moment of the battle is nearen upon us.”

“Then fear not,” Istaahl said, knowing it was his turn to lend some strength. “For when Thalasi moves, he will find three wizards standing against him.”

Brielle nodded her agreement, leaving her hopes of her daughter’s ascent into power unspoken.

“Farewell, then, my dear Brielle,” Istaahl said. “And fight well. Glad am I that we have talked this night, though I fear that our shared belief in the passing of an age is well founded.”

“And glad am I,” Brielle replied. “And take heart, Istaahl of Pallendara. When the smoke has blown from the field and the screams o’ the pained and dying are no more, we will remain.”

The images faded from the crystal ball and the clear pool, and both wizard and witch slumped back, considering what they had learned this night. Both felt Brielle’s parting words
were the truth, but both questioned the implications. The godlike powers of the four wizards had dominated Aielle for centuries; what strength would rise to fill the gap when those powers waned?

“Y
OU GO SEE
what it’s all about,” Ardaz purred to Desdemona, the black cat comfortably draped over his shoulders. Desdemona just rolled her back against the wizard’s neck and pretended not to hear him.

But Ardaz, suspecting that the gloomy sky indicated something important, would not be so easily dismayed. “Enough of that, you silly puss!” he scolded, pulling the cat from her perch and shaking her before his eyes. “Wake up now, wake up! We’ve no time for your laziness; the catnaps will simply have to wait!”

Desdemona growled in protest.

“Now, I’ll hear none of that,” scolded Ardaz. “You go find out what you can find out. And be quick, you silly puss!” The cat let out a shriek a moment later when Ardaz threw her up into the sky. As she was falling, Desdemona transformed into a raven and stretched out her wings to catch the breeze. Then she was soaring up into the gray sky, reluctant but obedient to Ardaz.

“That’s better,” Ardaz muttered to himself as Desdemona faded to a black dot in the distance. “Sleep all day, silly puss. Pass her life away, she would, I do dare say!”

The agitated Ardaz, with typical focus, forgot all about Desdemona a moment later. “Oh, time to see, time to see!” he spouted, and he rubbed his eager hands together and turned back to the tunnel in the latest stretch of ruins he had uncovered. The darkened sky might be important; then again, it might not. But he honestly believed that this find, revealing a civilization in Ynis Aielle wholly unknown, could reshape the world. The wizard slipped back into the tunnel and paused, confused, for a few long minutes, scratching his beard and trying to remember in which direction he had been exploring.

    Desdemona caught the updrafts and rode up high into the sky, almost glad now, with the whistle of the wind in her face, that Ardaz had disturbed her lazy slumber. She didn’t really know what her wizard expected her to find up here, or where she would even begin her search to learn more of the unnatural gloom shrouding the world. But if there was information to be gained, Desdemona suspected that it would probably be found back in the populated world. Catching a wind current, the raven spread her wings wide and glided back toward the Elgarde River, just a silvery snake in the distance.

But then another form rose into the sky, much larger than Des and unmistakable in shape. Des swooped off toward her unexpected companion, thinking it grand that Calamus the Pegasus had come out to play.

    Billy Shank noticed the approach of the large raven, and initially he reached for his sword hilt, thinking the bird to be perhaps a manifestation of Morgan Thalasi or one of his dark minions. Calamus recognized the familiar of Ardaz, though, and the obvious delight of the Pegasus as Des drew near reminded Billy of the creature’s true identity.

“Desdemona!” he called, making room for the raven to alight on the Pegasus’ back in front of him. As if in answer to his call, Desdemona became a cat again and rolled comfortably against Billy’s belly.

“No, no,” Billy scolded, remembering the cat’s penchant for untimely naps. “You can’t rest yet, kitten; you have to lead us to your master.”

Desdemona’s only answer was a steady purr as she rolled over onto her back, her paws stretched up into the sky and her eyes closed. Billy prodded her and called to her, but that only made her purr all the louder. He knew what Ardaz would do, though he held some reservations about that course of action. But as the cat continued to delay, the man found that he had no choice.

“It’s for your own good,” he explained, and he picked up the apparently boneless cat and tossed her off Calamus’ back. Desdemona let out her second shriek of the morning, and Billy held his breath until the animal became a raven again, her wings catching the air and slowing her descent.

“Lead us, to Ardaz!” Billy called. “It is so very important!”

    Desdemona, of course, couldn’t fathom anything more important than her nap, but she wasn’t going to get much sleep gliding around in midair. She cut back toward the east and soared off, landing a few minutes later beside the tunnel in the ruins.

“Finally,” Billy breathed. He jumped from his mount’s back and rushed to the hole in the ground, poking his head down into the darkness. “Ardaz!” he shouted. “Ardaz, are you in there?”

A few seconds later, just when Billy was preparing to drop into the tunnel and go off to find the wizard, the steady
glow of a magical light appeared down one of the twisting passages and Billy heard the familiar voice.

“Oh how grand, how grand, how grand!” the wizard rambled, speeding along back to the exit. “Desdemona, my sweet, you have finally learned how to talk! How very grand! So many years—” Billy flinched when he heard a thud and saw the light drop as the wizard tripped and fell.

“Who put that—” Ardaz snapped angrily. “Oh yes, oh silly me,” the wizard answered himself. “My own pack. Ha ha. Thought I’d lost it, too.”

“Ardaz,” Billy called again.

“Coming, Des,” the wizard replied. He hopped and stumbled to the hole, his robes and face covered with dust, and stopped short at the unexpected sight of Billy Shank.

“Finally,” Billy muttered again. “I have been—”

“Oh, Billy!” Ardaz interrupted. “Of course it wasn’t Des,” he scolded himself. “Glad to see you, my boy, I do dare say. Long way from home—what brings you all the way out here?—but I’ll see that the trip is worth the trouble, I shall indeed!”

Billy held his palm out, trying to slow the wizard’s frantic pace. “I did not—” he began again.

“Have you seen them?” Ardaz cried. “Of course you have. Ruins, my boy, ruins! Do you know what that means? Could you know? No, of course you couldn’t. Ha ha!”