Clearly these trees must be protected by some magical force from within the Vale, for axes and swords had no effect on them whatsoever, and she had already been losing her men. Several had been either throttled or blinded by thorny briars; not a few had been felled into unconsciousness by branches that had broken off and dropped on them; and one who had unwisely tried to kindle a fire against the dry bark of a dying old beech had been crushed when the entire tree had seemingly uprooted itself and fallen on him. Eliseth thought she must have guessed the identity of the forest’s protector—Eilin, Aurian’s mother. That accursed rebel Earth-Mage who had turned her back on the Magefolk long ago would naturally be doing her best to protect her daughter!
“Damn her!” the Weather-Mage snarled. Suddenly this battle had taken a far more personal turn—for it must also have been Eilin who had caused the death of Davorshan, Eliseth’s lover at the time. “I’ll show her.” She turned to the mercenaries. “Stand back,” she ordered. “I intend to break a way into this accursed forest if I have to blast every tree to cinders!”
An angry rustle passed through the branches of the Wild-wood, as though the trees had heard and accepted her challenge. Their mistake, thought Eliseth grimly. She did not intend to be kept from her goal by this mere pile of kindling! Standing well back from the trees, the Mage reached out to the lowering storm clouds above, and the dull, booming echoes of thunder began to roll, echoing, around the Valley. With a cry of triumph, Eliseth extended her fingers into claws and pulled splintering forks of lightning down from the skies.
The bolts came sizzling down from sky to earth, striking the trees near the edge of the forest, exploding them into flying splinters and igniting them in roaring gouts of flame. Eliseth’s Magefolk senses could pick up their high, thin shrieks of agony as the fire began to catch and spread from bough to shriveling bough. Smiling a cold smile that nonetheless held great satisfaction, she continued to pull down bolt after bolt of lightning from the tortured skies, kindling the trees like torches. As though she was back at her own fireside, Eliseth held out her hands to the shimmering heat of the flames. Since she had not felt the death pangs of a Mage, she must assume that Aurian had escaped the fire—but it didn’t matter. Very soon now, she would be in the Valley—and then it would be time to settle some old scores.
27
The Sword of Flame
Finding the rebel encampment was simplicity itself for Vannor. Just as they had done for him when he had last been here, the trees simply opened up a path in the direction he wanted to take. The rebel leader looked around him, suddenly feeling happy, despite the peril they were in, and the ominous grumble of the storm above. He was not useless after alclass="underline" his life had not been over when he’d lost his hand—far from it. Parric had been teaching him to fight left-handed—and though he had more sense than to trust his life yet to these new-learned skills, he had still come through his first battle without dishonor—and, more important, still in one piece. Apart from which, the expression of thwarted rage on Eliseth’s face when she had seen him had been well worth waiting for.
Vannor was also glad to be back in the Valley that had proved to be such a haven for himself and for his little band of rebels. How he was looking forward to seeing them all—but especially Dulsina, who must be worried sick about him by now. No doubt he’d better steel himself for a tongue-lashing from her the likes of which he’d never known… Vannor grinned. He’d let her have her say, and then hug the breath from her before she could scold him any further.
His eyes twinkling in anticipation, the rebel leader turned to Parric, who had elected to ride next to him, insisting on sticking to Vannor’s vulnerable right side. “It’s a pity that you missed all this before, through going south. What do you think of the forest, then?”
The cavalrymaster scowled darkly. “Frankly, I don’t like it one little bit,” he retorted, to Vannor’s great surprise. “I hate these bloody trees—they make my flesh creep. Trees should stick in one place if you ask me—not go roaming about dropping branches on people, no matter that it did save our skins back there. Who is behind all this—have you ever wondered? And how can we be sure they’ll stay on our side?”
“Oh, come on, Parric,” Vannor protested. “Of course the forest is on our side—it always has been, since first I brought the rebels here, and the wolves and trees killed Angos and his mercenaries.”
“Well, even if they are,” the cavalrymaster argued stubbornly, “there’s no guarantee that they can protect us against Eliseth. If you don’t believe me, why don’t you look behind you?”
Obediently, Vannor glanced back over his shoulder. Far away on the eastern borders, a thick, black column of smoke was rising, to mingle with the brooding skies.
“Thara’s curse upon her! What is that bitch Eliseth doing to my poor, poor Valley?” In the unearthly realm of the Phaerie, Eilin sat in the Forest Lord’s strange palace, with her face pressed to the mysterious window that looked out upon the Mortal world. Her attention was torn away from the dreadful events that were taking place in the forest by the sound of hasty footfalls behind her.
“You sent for me, Lady?” Hellorin’s voice held a faint edge of irritation. Doubtless, he was not accustomed to being so peremptorily summoned in his own land. Eilin, however, was not impressed—for as a Mage, she was endowed with a temper hasty enough to match the worst of his rages. Running to take his arm, she all but dragged him up the steps toward the great circular window.
“Look at that!” she demanded, her voice breaking with anger and grief. “Just look at what is happening out there! After all my years of labor to make the Valley fruitful again, Eliseth is destroying the forest. Oh, hear the trees screaming! I heard their cries of agony in my very dreams, and when I woke and came to look… And where is D’arvan? Why is he letting her do this? My Lord, she must be stopped!”
“Courage, Lady.” Hellorin’s fingers closed on her shoulder. There was a grim edge to the Forest Lord’s voice. “There is nothing that we can do to stop her. We Phaerie are imprisoned here, helpless—unless…” Suddenly a strange, wild light kindled within the fathomless depths of his eyes. “Why is the renegade Magewoman attacking the forest? My Lady—have you thought to search for your daughter?”
“Aurian? Here?” Eilin cried, whirling back toward the window. She concentrated her will upon the thought of her daughter, and the image of the buring forest wavered and vanished in mist. When it cleared, the window showed her… “Dear gods—she is! She’s heading for my island, with Anvar and a lot of strangers…”
Suddenly Eilin was roughly thrust aside as the Forest Lord flattened his face to the crystal panes and gave a roar of delight. “The horses! O Phaerie; in this glad hour, our horses have returned!” He turned to the Magewoman, his eyes gleaming in a face alight with excitement and a savage joy. “Eilin—this can only mean one thing! Your daughter has come to claim the Sword of Flame, as was foretold—and when she takes it, at long last the Phaerie will be free!”
“Ifshe can take it, you mean,” Eilin murmured, in a voice too low for him to hear. She turned away from Hellorin so that he would not see her frown. She was thinking, not about the Phaerie but about those poor Horsefolk out there who would suddenly turn back to simple beasts if Aurian claimed the Sword—but more than that, she was worrying about D’arvan, under attack in the beleagured forest. Had Hellorin forgotten that his only son was out there, under attack? And what of Maya, who must fight her daughter, though the women were the closest of friends? But most of all, her heart was filled with fear for Aurian, who must undertake the perilous task of claiming the Sword of Flame. Shutting her ears to the glad cries of Phaerie voices, Eilin turned back to the window and began to pray.