Maggie Furey - Sword of Flames

Parric, hearing an echo of Forral in every word she said, caught Vannor’s eye and shared a smile as they went to pick out the troops that would go with them.

D’arvan, watching from the shadows of the trees, felt his heart falter when Aurian spoke of the Sword of Flame. Dear gods—then she must be the One! But in order to claim it, she must fight Maya, who, in the shape of the invisible unicorn, was bound by Hellorin’s geas to defend the island and its bridge against anyone who approached. Only if the One could find some way to see the unicorn, could Maya be released from the spell… And he, D’arvan, had no way to warn Aurian of the identity of her assailant.

The Mage of the Forest felt himself beginning to tremble. This was dreadful news—that two close friends should be thrown into such peril and contention for the sake of the Sword. For the first time, he began to clearly appreciate the two-edged nature of this terrible Artifact, and he had a dire suspicion that it had further secrets to unfold. And for the first time, D’arvan found himself wondering if it would not have been better if the Sword had never come to light.

At least he could be with them—perhaps when the battle started, there would be some way he could intervene. He was just beginning to follow Aurian and her companions as they picked their careful way down the steep, rocky walls of the crater, when he heard the first sinister growls of thunder, and perceived the rapidly increasing agitation of the nearby trees. As he became attuned to their agony and anger, D’arvan went cold all over with horror. Eliseth had found a way to break into the Wildwoodl His assistance was needed on the eastern border of the forest, lest all be lost! For a moment, D’arvan hesitated, impossibly torn between two agonizing choices: should he go to help Maya and Aurian, or rush to the defense of the Wildwood? But, he realized, he truly had no choice at all. It was doubtful that he’d be permitted to interfere in the claiming of the Sword—events would weave themselves as they must. But Eliseth could not be permitted to intervene…

With a muttered oath, D’arvan turned away from the drama that was about to play itself out within the crater, and rushed back to help defend the eastern border.

Eliseth, seething with frustration at being thwarted by Aurian and this accursed forest, had first reacted by taking out her temper on her troops, cursing at them and snouting abuse as she urged them to greater efforts in their fruitless attempts to hack a way into the thorny tangle of undergrowth. After a time, when she had realized that her ranting and railing was accomplishing nothing but the alienation of her followers, she had calmed down a little, and begun to think the situation through.

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.

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 all: 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.