Luckily they saw the sense in what he was saying, and reluctantly obeyed him. Shia stopped beside him to wait for Aurian, fixing him with a baleful glare that froze his blood. Chiamh also waited. “When I change, get on my back quickly,” he told the merchant. “I will bear you swiftly away from our foes.” Once everyone else had scurried to safety, Vannor mounted Chiamh, who turned back from the edge of the forest. “Aurian, Anvar—now!” the merchant shouted. “Everyone’s safe. Get out of there!”
Schiannath and Esselnath wheeled as one, and came hurtling back toward the safety of the trees. Behind them, the shield collapsed in a final shower of sparks, and a scorching bolt of lightning ripped up the turf at their heels. Eliseth gave a scream of rage when she saw her prey escaping. She spurred her horse to follow, hurling thunderbolts and curses, but it was already too late. The trees of the forest closed ranks quickly, their branches entwining and a bristling barrier of thorns and briars springing up around them as the way snapped shut before Eliseth’s face. Cursing, the Weather-Mage turned away—and did not see the two wolves, a bow shot away from where she stood as they ran from behind the cover of a gorse bush. Dangling securely from the female’s mouth by the loose skin on its neck was a very young cub. Soundlessly, they slipped into the forest, following Aurian’s trail—and the trees parted swiftly to let them pass, and closed again behind them.
Still shaky from the narrowness of their escape, the companions went on into the shadowy depths of the Wildwood—too weary to talk, not daring to stop—following the easy path that had opened up ahead of them. At the brink of the Vale itself, where a beck from the moorland threaded its way between the trees to tumble down the black walls of the crater in a shimmering cascade, D’arvan opened up a clearing for the fugitives so that they could regroup and rest a little before making the final descent into the Valley. He stood back from the edge of the open space, invisible to the clustered Xandim, and waited, fidgeting with impatience and consumed with curiosity, for the Mages to arrive.
When they reached the clearing, on Horsefolk who were stumbling with fatigue, Aurian and Anvar slid down from their mounts to let Schiannath and Esselnath change back to their human shapes. “Thank the Goddess for that!” Schiannath pushed back a straggle of dark, curling hair from his sweating forehead. “I must confess that there were times, back there, when I thought I’d never get the chance to wear my human form again.”
“Herdlord, you were a true hero back there.” Aurian embraced him. “Had it not been for the courage of yourself and Esselnath, to stand firm despite all that Eliseth could throw at us, Anvar and I could never have kept up our shields. We would all have perished. We owe you our lives.”
“As I owe you mine, Lady—for without your shields we would have stood no chance,” Schiannath replied gravely. “Having known only you and Anvar, not to mention the Windeye, I never realized how potent a force magic could be when turned to evil. I came to help you willingly, but today, for the first time, I truly understand how vital our quest is to the fate of the world.”
As the Horsefolk went off to the stream to drink, Aurian and Anvar hugged each other in wordless relief—but in their hearts they knew that the reprieve could only be temporary at best. “How long do you think we have?” Anvar asked the Mage. Aurian shrugged. “Who can say? The forest seemed pretty determined to keep her out, but we’re dealing with Eliseth, here—and now she possesses the Caldron, too. Knowing her, I don’t think it will daunt her for long.”
“There’s one thing that puzzles me,” Anvar muttered, with a frown. “If Eliseth has the Caldron, what has become of Miathan? He wouldn’t voluntarily give such power into her hands, so what has she done with him? And how did she manage it? He must still be alive, for we never felt him die…” He grimaced. “It would be the ultimate irony if we ended up having to rescue the Archmage from Eliseth.”
“If we do,” said his soulmate grimly, “Miathan had better pray for someone to rescue him from us.”
Quickly, Aurian Healed the wounded who had been hit by the first of the enemy arrows, and thought sadly of the three who were no longer with them. But this was no time to be dwelling on sorrowful thoughts. As soon as everyone had been attended to, she and Anvar gathered their companions together. “Time is pressing, and we can’t stay here any longer,” Aurian told them, raising her voice over a chorus of curses and groans. “Vannor, Parric and Sangra—you take half our forces and go to the rebel encampment. Gather them as quickly as you can and head for the lake—we’ll meet you there. If Eliseth does manage to get into the forest, we don’t want her anywhere near the Sword—especially not when I’m trying to claim it. Anvar and I will go directly to the island with Chiamh, Yazour, the cats and the remaining Horsefolk. Cygnus, I want you circling over the forest to bring us news of the enemy, and keep up communications between the two groups in case anyone runs into trouble. Now, sort yourselves quickly, everyone—and let’s get on with this.”
Parric, hearing an echo of Forral in every word she said, caught Vannor’s eye and shared a smile as they went to pick out the troops that would go with them.
D’arvan, watching from the shadows of the trees, felt his heart falter when Aurian spoke of the Sword of Flame. Dear gods—then she must be the One! But in order to claim it, she must fight Maya, who, in the shape of the invisible unicorn, was bound by Hellorin’s geas to defend the island and its bridge against anyone who approached. Only if the One could find some way to see the unicorn, could Maya be released from the spell… And he, D’arvan, had no way to warn Aurian of the identity of her assailant.
The Mage of the Forest felt himself beginning to tremble. This was dreadful news—that two close friends should be thrown into such peril and contention for the sake of the Sword. For the first time, he began to clearly appreciate the two-edged nature of this terrible Artifact, and he had a dire suspicion that it had further secrets to unfold. And for the first time, D’arvan found himself wondering if it would not have been better if the Sword had never come to light.
At least he could be with them—perhaps when the battle started, there would be some way he could intervene. He was just beginning to follow Aurian and her companions as they picked their careful way down the steep, rocky walls of the crater, when he heard the first sinister growls of thunder, and perceived the rapidly increasing agitation of the nearby trees. As he became attuned to their agony and anger, D’arvan went cold all over with horror. Eliseth had found a way to break into the Wildwoodl His assistance was needed on the eastern border of the forest, lest all be lost! For a moment, D’arvan hesitated, impossibly torn between two agonizing choices: should he go to help Maya and Aurian, or rush to the defense of the Wildwood? But, he realized, he truly had no choice at all. It was doubtful that he’d be permitted to interfere in the claiming of the Sword—events would weave themselves as they must. But Eliseth could not be permitted to intervene…
With a muttered oath, D’arvan turned away from the drama that was about to play itself out within the crater, and rushed back to help defend the eastern border.
Eliseth, seething with frustration at being thwarted by Aurian and this accursed forest, had first reacted by taking out her temper on her troops, cursing at them and snouting abuse as she urged them to greater efforts in their fruitless attempts to hack a way into the thorny tangle of undergrowth. After a time, when she had realized that her ranting and railing was accomplishing nothing but the alienation of her followers, she had calmed down a little, and begun to think the situation through.