As his sight reeled and darkened, he caught one last glimpse of Seriene, her face twisted in distress. “Gaelin!” she cried. For a moment, she stood paralyzed, unsure of whether to rush to his aid or finish her spell; then she whirled away and shouted a long invocation in an ancient language. The enchantment rolled melodiously from her tongue, filling the air with its liquid syllables. The diagram that Seriene had scribed around the clearing blazed with silvery light, as the runes and patterns came to life. Instantly, the roaring chaos of energy that raged in the clearing’s center fell silent, fading from view. As the wicked light disappeared, the shadows thrown by the stones died as well, and with them the shadow creatures vanished, hissing in anguish. The thing that clung to Gaelin seemed to dig in its claws one last time, trying to anchor itself to him, but then it faded into nothingness.
His ears rang from the noise, and he blinked to regain his sight. Agony racked his body, but with a herculean effort, he raised himself to his hands and knees. He hoped that his powers of healing were capable of stemming the damage; he felt torn and cold inside, as if he’d been stabbed with an icicle.
“Gaelin! Are you hurt?” Seriene was kneeling beside him, her arms around his shoulders.
“I’ll live,” he coughed. He tried to stand, but his strength failed him and he sagged back to the ground, a trickle of cold blood starting from his mouth.
“ You saved my life,” Seriene whispered. “Gaelin, you could have been killed.” Her face was open with astonishment.
He nodded, and gasped, “I had to, or none of us would have survived. How are the others?” Of the ten guards they’d brought with them, five lay on the ground, unmoving. In the clearing, all was as it had been before – but the brooding menace of the stones was gone, somehow screened or blocked by Seriene’s enchantment. He looked up at Seriene.
“That’s it?” he asked.
Seriene sat back on her heels. “The barrier holds. Bannier has been cut off from the land’s mebhaighl.”
“So he’s helpless?”
“No. He possesses whatever skills and spells he had before and may still be a formidable enemy. But he’s lost access to the most devastating spells he could wield, and as long as my shield holds, he’s no more or less dangerous than any common mage or wizard might be.” She gestured at the stone ring. “It should be safe to enter now.”
Gaelin followed her glance. On the altar at the center of the ring, Ilwyn lay pale and still. Groaning, he pushed himself to his feet and advanced toward her, pausing to look back at Seriene before actually setting foot within the ring. She nodded, and he stepped inside, wincing in anticipation. Nothing happened.
In a moment, he was by Ilwyn’s side. The girl was barely breathing, and her skin was so cold that at first Gaelin feared she was dead. With his sword, he cut the ancient iron shackles free and used main strength to bend the manacles enough to slip her ankles and wrists free. The effort made his vision swim, and icy air seared his lungs as he panted for breath. Ilwyn stirred and murmured in her sleep. Gaelin picked her up in his arms and carried her out of the stone ring to his waiting companions. “Let’s get out of here,” he said.
Forty miles away and across the threshold of eternal night, Bannier rode through a dark vale in the highlands, a dozen of Tuorel’s Iron Guards following him. Tuorel’s camp was two hours behind them, and this high in the hills of Winoene there was little to see except for gray, rock-crowned hillsides and a dense overcast that promised more of Mhoried’s endless rainfalls.
As they rode forward, Bannier carefully scanned the hillsides for signs of the place he remembered, an old goblin barrow where a door to the Shadow World could be easily opened. He was accustomed to shifting himself across the boundary at any point he liked, but the task was much more difficult with a dozen soldiers following him, and he needed to find a weakness in the Shadow’s barriers in order to bring the swordsmen along.
“Where are we going?” A keen-eyed, fierce young knight led the detail that accompanied Bannier. Bannier had already developed a distinct dislike for the man, but there was a chance the Ghoeran soldiers might prove useful. From the scowl on the fellow’s face, Bannier suspected that the Ghoeran reciprocated his sentiments. “We’ve been riding in circles for an hour now.”
“It’s a shortcut,” Bannier replied. “We’d have to ride a day and a half to get to Caer Duirga, but I mean to be there in an hour.”
The Ghoeran barked laughter. “In these hills? Impossible!”
Bannier shook his head, smiling. “You’ll see soon enough, Sir Knight.” More than ever, he regretted the loss of his tower in Shieldhaven. In razing his conjuring chamber, Tuorel’s men had also destroyed his scrying pool. Without his divinations and auguries, Bannier had no idea whether or not Gaelin had started for Caer Duirga, or even if he was coming at all. He felt blinded and helpless, at the mercy of events.
One of the leading Ghoerans reined in his horse and pointed. “Lord Bannier! Is that it?” A low, weed-grown mound rose in a small hollow, surrounded by rings of small, weathered rocks.
Bannier rode up beside the fellow. He could sense the nearness of the Shadow without seeing the mound. “This is it,” he said. “Wait nearby until I call for you.” He slid off the horse and handed the reins to the guardsman, stalking forward to examine the site. Without waiting to see whether or not the Ghoerans withdrew, he started to work the spells that would part the veil between the worlds.
He was nearly finished with his task when he felt the strident shock of his source’s defenses waking. Caer Duirga’s magical energy suffused his body, basking him in a dark ra- diation that only another wizard could perceive, and the signature he’d placed over the old stones was unmistakable. He straightened up, dropping his staff to the wet earth, and stared off to the east in astonishment. Who is it that challenges me? he thought. One of the Gorgon’s fledglings?
Or… No! Someone is trying to rescue Ilwyn! With a vicious oath, Bannier wheeled and waved to the Iron Guardsmen.
“Come here! We ride now!”
Startled by his sudden outcry, the guards scrambled to their feet and mounted, springing into motion. The knight scowled and cantered toward Bannier. “What? What is it?”
At that moment, Seriene’s barrier severed Bannier from his source. It was like a cold, keen blade slicing through his flesh, amputating part of him. He shrieked in pain and staggered, while the strength and power that he hoarded in the center of his being drained away like the blood of a man whose arteries have been cut. The Ghoeran backed away from the wizard, a startled oath on his lips, as Bannier stumbled to the ground and caught himself on his elbows, floundering in the red mud. Bannier was aware of the shouts of the Ghoerans around him, but his attention was focused inward, trying to assess the extent of the damage.
After an agonizing span of twenty or thirty heartbeats, Bannier found a mere shadow of his strength returning, leaving him weaker than he had been. Mustering as much dignity as he could, he picked himself up and brushed the mud from his robes while he considered the implications of what had just happened. He knew Gaelin had struck at him, though he also recognized that because of the time distortion in the Shadow World, the attack might have actually occurred some time bef o re. Bannier allowed himself the luxury of a dire oath.
The men nearby blanched but stood their ground. “What is the problem?” demanded the Ghoeran knight, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword.
Bannier ignored the warrior, finishing his spell. He conjured a dark doorway of writhing shadow in front of the barrow’s stone-choked face. “Follow me in single file,” he said, dismissing the knight’s anger. He hoisted himself into the saddle.