Stifling a cry of joy, he broke into a run, forgetting all about the cub, who had wandered off into the bushes.
Cygnus soared over the lake—and suddenly caught sight of the little group of watchers by the bridge. There was Aurian, crossing to the island on her own—and there was Anvar, standing a little apart from the others at the very edge of the wooden span, his eyes fixed on the retreating figure of the Mage. He was alone now, and distracted… Cygnus smiled to himself. His chance had come at last, to seize the Harp of Winds! Banking into a steep turn, the winged man swooped toward his unsuspecting victim.
Vannor led his rebels out of the forest and saw the tableau by the bridge, around the curving sweep of the lake. What in the world were the Magefolk doing? Was the Sword hidden somewhere on the island? Then Parric nudged him sharply in the ribs. “Vannor—look over there!”
The merchant looked across the lake and saw Eliseth, emerging from the trees on the opposite side. She seemed about equally as far from the bridge as he was. Vannor cursed. There was no sense in shouting a warning—they probably wouldn’t hear him from this distance, and, besides, at this point, it might be fatal to interrupt Aurian’s concentration. “Come on—we’ve got to warn Anvar,” he told the Xandim he was riding, and it took off at a gallop, with the rest of the rebels following. Eliseth, on the other side of the lake, had seen them now, and had also spurred her horse into a run. But which of them would get there first?
As Aurian crossed the bridge, she was oblivious to the dramas that were going on around her. The Sword of Flame was calling to her now; holding all her attention in thrall. But she knew that winning it would not be so easy. There was bound to be some kind of test or trial—there had been with the other Artifacts. Suddenly, she was glad she had made Anvar stay behind, despite his protests. This could get dangerous, and she would need all her concentration on the task ahead…
Stepping off the bridge, Aurian caught sight of a great gray boulder, where the tower had once stood. She frowned. Now where had that come from? It had certainly not been there before! Its granite was a different stone entirely from the black basalt of the Valley, from which the base of Eilin’s tower had been constructed. The Mage approached it cautiously, as the warsong of the Sword rang louder in her mind. Carefully, she put a hand out to touch the masive rock—and it changed under her fingers to a giant crystal that pulsed with a light that was the crimson of new blood. Within the dully glowing facets of the gem, she could discern the gleaming outline of a Sword, created for her hand alone, that called out to her in its harsh, metallic voice to free it from its prison.
Aurian grinned to herself—but a warning voice was sounding in the back of her mind. Surely it couldn’t be this easy. The winning of the Staff had been so difficult…
Nonetheless, the Mage reached out and laid her hands upon the crystal, searching with her Healer’s senses for any weakness within the crystal lattice of the stone, as she had done once, long ago, in the tunnels beneath Dhiammara. Swiftly she found the spot and jabbed at it with all her powers, shattering the crystalline structure. With a sighing whisper, the great gem crumbled away to sparkling dust—and the Sword of Flame leapt out into Aurian’s hand.
Aurian sank to her knees as a surge of fiery power consumed her in agonizing ecstasy. The world faded into a pulsing crimson haze as the song of the Sword rang in her mind…
“You are the One, as was foretold, and you have found me—but in order for you to wield my powers, I must first be claimed, as you claimed the Staff of Earth. There must be a bloodbond between us, Warrior—a sacrifice. The first blood I drink must be the lifeblood of someone you love—and then, and only then, will I be yours to command. …”
The world returned to Aurian with a jolt as she recoiled in horror. “What?” she snapped reflexively. “I’ll do no such thing!” The warning of the Leviathan came flooding back to her. “How can I use you for good,” she demanded, “if I begin my ownership with such an unspeakable act?”
“Then I am forfeit—and you have failed. …”
And, suddenly, everything began to go wrong at once.
With the sound of a thunderclap, the ranks of the Phaerie appeared to throng the lakeshore, led by the towering figure of Hellorin, the Forest Lord. “Free,” he cried. “After all these long ages, we are free at last! The One has failed to claim the Sword, therefore we no longer need to pledge allegiance to her! Come, my followers—we must ride!”
Eilin cried out in protest at his side, but he ignored her.
As Aurian looked on in horror, the Xandim who had followed her so faithfully changed into their equine shapes, their screams of anguish ringing in her ears. One by one, the Phaerie seized them—all but Schiannath and the Windeye, who were closest to the bridge, with Anvar. With a cry, the Mage sprang onto Schiannath’s back and flung up a hasty magical shield to guard both horses. They galloped at breakneck speed across the wooden span, knowing that across the waters of Ellin’s Lake, they would be safe from the powers of the Phaerie Lord.
Hellorin gave a howl of thwarted rage—then swung upon Iscalda, who seemed to have grown to giant proportions to match his own. “We ride!” he shouted. “Let the world tremble—for the Phaerie ride at last!” And then they were gone, racing up into the looming clouds, leaving only the sound of Eilin’s weeping.
Even as Anvar dismounted, Cygnus came hurtling from the skies and fell upon the Mage, knocking him to the ground and slicing at the thongs that held the Harp in place. The Xandim horses, already losing their human minds, were too stricken by terror at their ordeal to assist him. Aurian cried out in anger and ran to her soul mate’s aid, lifting the Sword to smite the winged man—and dropping it in horror as she realized what she had almost done. Drawing her own blade, she struck at the white-winged figure, and he fell away from his victim, writhing in agony with his lifeblood staining the grass around the Harp of Winds.
Aurian reached out to Anvar, who lay unconscious on the ground, an ugly bruise darkening his forehead—but suddenly Eliseth was there before her, the Sword of Flame clutched triumphantly in her hand, clinging to it grimly though her fingers were black and smoking, and her face was twisted into a rictus of agony. “I may not wield it,” she screamed—“but neither will you!”
The blaze of the Sword’s power drove Aurian back. Standing over Anvar, Eliseth took out the grail that was the Caldron and brought the two Great Weapons together with a resounding crash. “Slay her, O Powers,” she shrieked—but she had scant control over either of the Artifacts, and the result was not what she had expected. Aurian caught a glimpse of her face, twisted with horror as, with a soundless explosion, a great rent ripped open in the fabric of time itself, as though the world had been painted on a sheet of fabric that had been suddenly rent asunder. Shrieking, Eliseth was sucked into the gap—and Anvar with her.
With a cry of anguish, Aurian snatched up the Harp of Winds, and hurled herself into the closing rent, with the great cats leaping at her heels. Neighing shrilly, Schiannath and Chiamh followed. Maya and D’arvan came out of their frozen horror and exchanged a single glance. Clasping hands, they ran toward the narrowing gap in time—and disappeared as it snapped shut behind them.
Vannor and Parric, having lost their Xandim companions, came panting to a halt beside Yazour, who had been too late to follow, and the horrified Eilin. For a time they stood in silence, aghast at the enormity of what had taken place. “Well,” said the merchant finally, “at least she didn’t go alone.”