Vannor shouldered his way to the front of the crowding Xandim. “Don’t worry—if the forest remembers me, I’m sure it’ll let us in. It had better.” He stepped forward. “Hey,” he yelled, sending a flock of startled birds rocketing out of the treetops with shrill cries and a reverberant clatter of wings. “It’s me—Vannor. Let me pass!”
Even as he hurried toward the edge of the forest, D’arvan stopped, his mind reeling in shock to hear the sound of Vannor’s voice. But Vannor was dead—or was he? The Mage had harbored suspicions about Bern when the man had first arrived. Had the wretch been lying all along? Or was this simply a ruse of the Archmage’s devising, to trick his way into the Wildwood and try to seize the Sword? D’arvan broke into a run. He would have to find out—and quickly.
The companions stood at bay at the edge of the forest as Eliseth and her cohorts hurtled down upon them. Parric leapt from his mount and positioned himself at Vannor’s vulnerable right side. Half of the Xandim, most of whom had been in horse-shape to travel more speedily, began to change quickly back to human form, taking bows and swords from the packs they had been carrying strapped to their backs. Grim-faced, they leapt astride their equine companions and turned to face the foe. Iscalda—in horse-shape with Yazour on her back—took up a position close to Aurian and her brother. Shia snarled and flexed her claws, positioning herself in front of the Mages. Aurian, on the plunging Schiannath, drew her sword. “Don’t use the Artifacts yet—not until we have no choice,” she called to Anvar. “Wherever Miathan is, it’s better if he doesn’t know we’ve got them.” She turned to the merchant. “Vannor—whatever happens, you stay here. Keep trying to get us into the forest, no matter what.”
The Windeye, who had been carrying Sangra, whinnied shrilly and tossed his head. As the woman slid from his back, he resumed his human shape. “Lady—let me…” Stepping out into the path of Eliseth’s approaching warriors, he moved his hands rapidly in the air. The foremost horses reared and screamed, dislodging their terrified riders as the shape of Chiamh’s demon materialized in the air in front of them. The charge disintegrated into a rout as horses hurtled into one another and men fled, screaming in terror.
Only Eliseth was unmoved by the vision. “Come back, you fools,” she shrieked, wrenching the head of her plunging horse and holding in the panic-striken beast so mercilessly that blood dripped from its torn mouth. “There’s nothing there! It’s only an illusion!” Suddenly she looked past Chiamh and caught sight of Vannor, and her face turned white with rage. “How?” she hissed. “How did you escape me, Mortal? Well, you shall not escape me again!”
Lifting her hand, she reached up to the gathering clouds and launched a sizzling bolt of lightning through the air at the unprotected Windeye. Aurian, moving more quickly than she had ever moved before, flung up a magical shield to surround him, and the bolt impacted against the barrier, dissipating in a shower of spitting sparks. But because the shield was also blocking Chiamh’s powers, the demon vanished abruptly, and the attackers began to take heart once more.
Anvar, in the meantime, had launched his own bolt of force at the Weather-Mage, forcing her to abandon her attack and shield herself—until the captain of the mercenaries picked himself up off the ground and unslung his bow from his back, firing arrow after arrow into the ranks of the companions who stood at bay, trapped against the forest’s wall. Two, three, four of the Xandim screamed and fell. Urged on by their commander’s shouted orders, his remaining troops followed his example, and in moments a deadly hail of arrows was streaking down upon the Xandim, forcing the Mages to extend their shields to protect their companions.
Now that both Aurian and Anvar were on the defensive, the Weather-Mage was free to act once more. Again and again, she launched her deadly bolts at the fragile barrier of the shielding, while the arrows kept raining down. Schiannath and Esselnath displayed their own remarkable brand of courage, standing firm with the Mages on their backs, though they rolled their eyes and trembled at the barrage of magic that was so terrifying to them while they were in equine form. The white mare Iscalda, stalwart as ever, remained firmly by her brother.
Though she was warmed by her companions’ courage, Aurian’s heart was sinking. Despite the fact that they were two to Eliseth’s one, she and Anvar were hampered by the need to protect so many. They were forced to spread their powers so thinly to cover everyone that gradually, inexorably, their magical barrier began to waver and fade beneath the repeated onslaughts of their foe.
Grimly, Aurian and Anvar held firm—until suddenly, to their horror, they realized that Eliseth was drawing on more and more power to oppose them. Where is she getting it from? Aurian thought desperately—and then she recognized the surging, barely controllable power of the High Magic. “Anvar,” she whispered, her voice cracking in horror. “She’s got the Caldron!”
“Why don’t you just give up?” Eliseth taunted, her eyes ablaze with triumph and her flawless face disfigured by a gloating sneer. “You pathetic, soft-hearted, spineless fools—you can’t keep this up much longer! If you surrender now I may spare the miserable lives of the rabble that follow you. Miathan can always use more Mortal slaves.”
“Eat dung, you stinking, verminous sack of bones!” Shia snarled, projecting her mental voice toward the Weather-Mage. “May maggots gnaw what passes for your brain!”
Eliseth jumped as the cat’s abuse echoed unexpectedly in her mind. Her magical attack faltered for a moment as she scanned the ranks of her foes, puzzled as to who had sent the message. Aurian, who had been far too busy concentrating on her shield to formulate a suitable reply, glanced at Shia. “Very nice,” she muttered. “I couldn’t have put it better myself!” It was all she had time for before Eliseth, white with anger at the insult, renewed her attack with redoubled force, sending white flares of energy rippling across the magical barrier, which was beginning to smoke and spark.
Anvar turned to Aurian, his face taut with strain. “We can’t keep this up much longer—not against the Caldron.” He spoke through gritted teeth. “Soon we’ll be forced to use the Artifacts—”
“I know.” Somehow, Aurian managed to force the words out. “But not until the shield goes…”
But the shield was already beginning to buckle. With a sinking heart, Aurian realized that they had only a few more minutes…
As he reached the edge of the forest, D’arvan could hear the whistle of arrows through the air. He was almost knocked from his feet by the reek of evil magic. Gasping, he took in the scene before him. Aurian—it was Aurian, returned, and with her, Anvar and Parric… And, by all the gods, there was Vannor—definitely the merchant and not some illusion. He was very much alive, and screaming curses at the unyielding forest that denied him entry. But who were these strangers that came with them? No matter. The Mage’s eyes went to Eliseth, her eyes ablaze with hate and triumph, attacking Aurian’s crumbling shield…
D’arvan acted quickly, calling to the Wildwood. The trees, uneasy about the battle that was waging at their feet, resisted him. Grasping the Lady Eilin’s staff tightly, the Mage put forth all his power until, slowly and reluctantly, he felt the forest yielding to his will.
Vannor, incredulous, saw the widening opening in the ranks of trees. His heart leapt fiercely within him. “Come on,” he called to the huddled, beleaguered Xandim. “This way—hurry!” They needed no second telling. Vannor was forced to jump quickly to one side as they rushed past him into the shelter of the forest, until only Parric, the cats, Chiamh, Yazour, and Iscalda remained. Eliseth’s face turned ugly with rage as she saw that she was being thwarted. Fueled and impelled by her wrath, the force of her bolts increased against the disintegrating shield. Vannor, realizing that the Mages and their two Horsefolk could not retreat until everyone was safe, urged the remaining companions after the fleeing Xandim. “Move, you bloody idiots,” he roared. “Don’t just stand there—you’re holding everyone up!”