Robert Hughes - The Power and the Prophet

All around her, the battle ceased as Mari eyes turned expectantly to watch Dorlyth cut this woman from her saddle. The watchers were astonished when Bronwynn and Dorlyth saluted each other and reined their mounts around to face the fortress.

“You’re just in time!” she cried in relief.

“Maybe,” he grunted. “Maybe not. Where’s Rosha?”

“There!” she shouted, flinging her arm around to point toward the castle.

“Then let’s go!” Dorlyth shouted, and Minaliss sprang forward. The ranks of puzzled Maris parted to let them fly past, and soon the great war horse led the invaders to the foot of the High Fortress.

Bronwynn gazed upward, trying to penetrate the mist. The instant she saw the body dropping, she knew who it was. “Rosha!” she screamed in terror and grief. Suddenly Bronwynn leaped into the sky.

She was aware of the wings on her back and the scales on her flanks, but she paid them no heed. The exultation over at last finding her altershape would have to wait. At this moment, she was a golden dragon with a single purpose—to catch her lover before he struck the ground.

As quickly as she thought it, it was done. Rosha landed between her shoulder blades—right between her wings. The impact knocked the breath out of her and nearly slammed her to the ground. She screamed again, in pain this time—a raucous, shrill cry unintelligible in human speech. Then she was rising again, soaring upward, and Rosha was safely with her at last.

“A dragon!” she thought to herself. “My altershape is a dragon!” And the joy of that thought carried her up through the cloud and out of it, into the sunlight above. She glanced down at herself and marveled.

She wasn’t a very big dragon, true, but she was a dragon just the same. And what other powershaper in all the world could boast such an altershape! She glided in a lazy curve around the castle’s uppermost spires and uttered a screech of total joy. Then she dropped back into the clouds, flying with an expertise born of instinct down to rejoin Dorlyth and Joss on the ground.

It was fortunate that she’d chosen that moment to descend. An instant before she touched down, her dragonform disappeared, and the young queen and her lover bounced unceremoniously across the pavement.

Bronwynn quickly got up onto her skinned knees and looked at Dorlyth in shock. “What happened?” she gasped.

In somber silence, Pelmen and Serphimera had built an altar. It wasn’t much—just a pile of rocks stacked against a stone shelf that jutted up from the cave floor. But as they stood beside it, their shadows thrown across it by the radiant object that glowed at their backs, this poor altar seemed to them the holiest spot in the universe. Here they would sacrifice their love and their future in order to redeem the past.

In that moment, it seemed worth it all to both of them. They were, after all, believers, and the Power in which they trusted had cleansed their spirits through an ecstatic experience of its presence. Purity hung in the air like acrid smoke. Nothing about the world outside the cave seemed real any longer; true reality had localized in this place and focused upon this rough, rocky ground.

“It’s time,” Pelmen said. He climbed onto the altar and stretched out on his back. Serphimera glided wordlessly to her feet. She pivoted around, and her eyes fixed intently on the pointed crystal object. She stepped to it and lifted it gently in her hands, thrilling to its touch. Then she spun again and walked gracefully back to Pelmen’s side. “In the heart,” he said. She turned the crystal point downward and raised it over her head to strike.

“Stop!” commanded a voice behind her, and Serphimera whirled around in surprise. For one brief instant, hope flared within her. Nothing would please her more than a stay of execution. But the sight of the figure standing in the cave’s mouth caused her expression to harden. She felt a chill tingle through her toes. She ignored it, and turned back to her ritual task.

Pelmen was gone. The altar was empty. She gasped in surprise and gasped again when his voice cried up from the altar, “Strike!” By the time it registered with her that, while she couldn’t see him, he still was there, she no longer held the crystal thorn. A ball of blazing fire had knocked it from her grasp. She scrambled after it.

“Leave it!” Flayh cried, as he jumped across the cave. When the woman would not obey, he exploded another ball of flame in her face, setting her back on her heels. He couldn’t fathom how she’d deflected his spell of dread, but it didn’t matter. She was obviously responsive to simple fire.

He raced to the gleaming object and grabbed for it. Other, invisible hands closed on it at the same moment and struggled to jerk it away. Flayh won the contest, but only briefly. A fist cracked across his jaw and sent him spinning to the ground. Once again the object bounced away. Another fist struck him, and Flayh roared with anger. This was foolishness. He cloaked himself and bounded after the glistening object. It shot into the air, and Flayh tackled the empty space below it. His arms closed around Pelmen’s legs, tripping him to the floor.

Pelmen landed heavily on several sharp rocks projecting from the cave floor and he groaned in pain. He couldn’t hold onto the large gem. It flew away and lodged against the wall. Flayh vaulted toward it.

Pelmen couldn’t see his opponent, but he heard and felt Flayh’s movements. He responded by twisting onto his back and throwing his legs into the air. They tangled together with Flayh’s, and Pelmen heard the crunch as his opponent took a heavy tumble.

Serphimera crouched beside the altar. Her face and hands burned horribly, but what most concerned her were her eyes. She could hear the shapers struggling but couldn’t see them. The afterimage of the flash still partially blinded her, and she worried about permanent damage. She and her lover were in the midst of a struggle. She needed her sight to aid him.

The two shapers rolled apart. Both kept themselves cloaked. Both plotted their shortest route to the magical object, while each tried to outguess the other.

Flayh acted first. Pelmen saw the other wizard briefly appear and immediately disappear again. He lunged for Flayh and grabbed only air. Recovering quickly, he dodged to the side and fastened his gaze on the glowing jewel.

“Here, Pelmen,” a voice said from the cave’s mouth, and Pelmen jerked his head around to look.

“And here,” it spoke again, this time from beyond the altar.

“And here,” it said a third time, now from a corner of the cave not three feet from where Pelmen stood.

Pelmen was still cloaked in invisibility and had no wish to give himself away. He swivelled his head slowly, to keep the collar of his robe from rustling. He saw Flayh standing next to him, smiling grotesquely toward the center of the cavern, light reflecting off his bald, blue pate.

“You see I can be anywhere—” Flayh began, but he was soon interrupted. A fist split his blue-tinted lip and bloodied his mouth. He howled with rage and leaped magically to the far side of the room, terribly incensed that bad luck had positioned him within Pelmen’s striking distance. “I can be anywhere I choose in a moment!” Flayh finished, his smile gone. He bolted out of that spot into another and continued, “That’s how I came to be here, Pelmen. Moments ago I was in my tower in Ngandib.” Flayh cloaked himself and put up his fists to shield his face. He listened carefully, but Pelmen made no reply.

Flayh turned his attention toward the treasure and watched it a moment. It didn’t move. He tiptoed out of that spot, expecting at any moment to collide with his invisible foe. So this was shaper battle, Flayh thought to himself. He wasn’t sure he liked it.