As soon as the prince passed, the wizard anchored one end of his twine to a root and began running in a circle, unravelling the cord behind him. Alemar reached Wynneth. She embraced him-lightly so as not to disturb his concentration. Omril completed a circle around them and tied the ends together. He laughed as he dropped the knot.
"I have you now, son of Alemar. Forget any plans you have to walk out of here."
Alemar turned and faced him. "I'm in no hurry."
Omril was taken aback. The prince was surely enough of a mage to recognize that, ward or no ward, he was locked inside the circle. Perhaps he thought he could remain where he was, protecting himself and the woman, until his sister launched the second half of the rescue. But Omril would not allow that.
He spoke to the twine, muttering in a sibilant, repetitious language, one that had not sprouted from a human culture. The twine suddenly convulsed. The ring shrank a few inches in diameter. He kept talking.
Alemar regarded the shrinking without apparent alarm, though the flickers from the gauntlet increased in frequency and brilliance. Omril sauntered along the outer perimeter, confident and smiling.
The sixth contraction, however, was not as complete as the first five. Omril raised his voice. Once again, the twine twisted and danced over the ground.
This time the circle was the same size as before.
"Your talisman is useless," Alemar said. "I have made an Ultimate Ward."
Omril scoffed. "There is no such thing as an Ultimate Ward. It's a myth. Even if it were true, you couldn't move it from this site. And sooner or later, no matter how good you are, you'll have to sleep."
Omril decided the prince was stalling for time, and redoubled his efforts. His men watched intently. Several of them whispered among themselves. The twine danced to eye-level and down again, snapping like reins in a oeikani race.
Through it all Alemar stood unshaken. Sweat beaded on Omril's brow, but the prince's stayed dry. For the first time, the wizard noticed a strange, high-pitched hum, almost like a song. It seemed to come from the trees on every side of the clearing.
"You're mine now," Alemar said.
Omril gasped. Suddenly his twine sprang outward, over his head, enclosing him within the boundary. He fought a tremendous compulsion to walk forward. Alemar held out his hands.
"No!" the wizard cried.
"Come to me," Alemar demanded.
Omril took a step. He locked his muscles, refusing to take another. He stroked one of the rings on his fingers, trying to focus, trying to set up a ward of his own. The blood in his temples pounded, making him dizzy. How? He was a wizard of the Ril. He was more than a match for this healer prince. He screamed, but the sound from his throat seemed drowned by the chanting from the trees.
The rythni! Somehow the prince had collected the energies of the little people, and had channeled them through himself. He had the strength of the entire forest to draw from-enough for an Ultimate Ward, enough to spin a trap. Omril choked, and took another step forward. He heard his servitors beat uselessly against the ward. Their frantic yells tortured him. Worthless soldiers.
He should have killed the woman while he had the chance.
Alemar's hands loomed. The sorcerer tried to raise his own to brush them away, but he could only get them as high as his waist. With tender, uncompromising finality, the palms closed around his jaws.
Wynneth struggled not to be frightened, as Alemar stood next to her, frozen eye to eye with the wizard, hands holding the latter's face. The sun dropped under the horizon, leaving the clearing brightly lit by Motherworld. Still the two combatants did not move. The Dragon's soldiers pounded against the ward, the cacophonous din driving her to tears. Would they never stop?
They had slowed down, she told herself, trying to be objective. They thrust their swords and pikes steadily but half-heartedly. The cohort that had been chasing the rebel band returned empty-handed, and they joined the ranks of awed observers. She hated those eyes, never giving her a moment to herself. That was almost worse than the fear that Alemar, in spite of his performance thus far, would fail.
Suddenly the wizard groaned. His eyelids fluttered like a man in a seizure. His knees sagged, and he sank out of Alemar's grip, hands clawing ineffectually at the prince's clothing. He curled up in a fetal position on the ground and whimpered.
Alemar sucked in air. His pupils contracted, and he gazed out at the armed throng surrounding them. They put up their weapons and gaped in shock. Finally he met Wynneth's worried stare.
"What did you do to him?" she asked, scooting away from Omril.
"I… showed him himself. It was more than he cared to know." Suddenly the prince sighed, and two great teardrops welled at the corners of his eyes. "He was not an evil man. He was just… unfeeling."
Then Alemar seemed to draw a veil over his expression, and when he turned to face Omril's army, he bore himself like a monarch. "You've seen a sample of my power. I give you a choice: fight me, fight my sister who waits in the forest, or leave. If you return straight to Yent, we will leave you unmolested. Refuse now and not a single one of you will live to see the coast."
They did not even murmur among themselves. They turned their eyes toward their captain, who stood just outside the circle of twine, scowling down at what had become of the Dragon's sorcerer.
"What of him?" the captain asked.
"He is mine."
The captain gnawed his lower lip. To return to the garrison without such an important figure would mean heavy discipline. He was a grizzled, barrel-chested man of advancing years, a veteran with the scars to prove it. He tapped his foot in the dust.
"The woods are thick between here and the settled provinces," Alemar commented mildly.
"We keep our arms?" he asked.
"If you wish."
He turned to his men. "Break camp. We're leaving tonight."
Alemar accepted the surrender with outward nonchalance, standing within the battle circle as if it were the site of his throne. Wynneth, on the other hand, knew that this was a facade intended to intimidate his audience, and she leaned against him and cried. The soldiers acted on their decision with dispatch. Except for occasional wide-eyed stares, they pretended the rebel prince, his wife, and the defeated wizard no longer existed, as if nothing mattered, in fact, but beginning the march homeward.
A tiny figure buzzed over the clearing and settled on Alemar's shoulder. The latter echoed its song of greeting.
"Half my people fell unconscious from the effort," Hiephora announced.
"He was stronger than I realized," Alemar said, his composure not quite masking his relief. "I'm not sure any single man could have defeated him."
"But you were not alone, beloved," said the rythni queen. "Nor will you be as long as you stay within the forests of Cilendrodel. Rejoice. You have won."
He laughed. Wynneth smiled to see him so triumphant.
"Very well," he said. "The wizard is mine. Let's be off to the south, where the real battle lies."
XXVII
TOREN WOKE SUDDENLY, but like a warrior, gave no outward sign. He opened his eyes to slits. The forest whispered with the echoes of falling dew. He saw a single leaf, high above, caught by the morning sun. Two young wrens were practicing flight, darting from branch to branch. Deena's back pressed warmly against his. Geim and the rest of the party still slumbered, curled on either side of the ashes of last night's campfire. All was serene.
But he was being watched.
He scanned across a log that lay beyond his companions. A beetle clambered through the crevices in the bark toward a knot. It paused, waved its antennae, and abruptly changed direction.
A tiny man squatted behind the knot, peering out at the three humans.
Toren had never seen a rythni before, but Obo had, and the sight of one sparked a warm rush of nostalgia. He was mesmerized by the clean, slim lines of the little man's body-hairless, like a Vanihr, except for the thick blue mop on his head. Without rising Toren called out softly.