Maggie Furey - Sword of Flames

“Thara’s curse upon her! What is that bitch Eliseth doing to my poor, poor Valley?” In the unearthly realm of the Phaerie, Eilin sat in the Forest Lord’s strange palace, with her face pressed to the mysterious window that looked out upon the Mortal world. Her attention was torn away from the dreadful events that were taking place in the forest by the sound of hasty footfalls behind her.

“You sent for me, Lady?” Hellorin’s voice held a faint edge of irritation. Doubtless, he was not accustomed to being so peremptorily summoned in his own land. Eilin, however, was not impressed—for as a Mage, she was endowed with a temper hasty enough to match the worst of his rages. Running to take his arm, she all but dragged him up the steps toward the great circular window.

“Look at that!” she demanded, her voice breaking with anger and grief. “Just look at what is happening out there! After all my years of labor to make the Valley fruitful again, Eliseth is destroying the forest. Oh, hear the trees screaming! I heard their cries of agony in my very dreams, and when I woke and came to look… And where is D’arvan? Why is he letting her do this? My Lord, she must be stopped!”

“Courage, Lady.” Hellorin’s fingers closed on her shoulder. There was a grim edge to the Forest Lord’s voice. “There is nothing that we can do to stop her. We Phaerie are imprisoned here, helpless—unless…” Suddenly a strange, wild light kindled within the fathomless depths of his eyes. “Why is the renegade Magewoman attacking the forest? My Lady—have you thought to search for your daughter?”

“Aurian? Here?” Eilin cried, whirling back toward the window. She concentrated her will upon the thought of her daughter, and the image of the buring forest wavered and vanished in mist. When it cleared, the window showed her… “Dear gods—she is! She’s heading for my island, with Anvar and a lot of strangers…”

Suddenly Eilin was roughly thrust aside as the Forest Lord flattened his face to the crystal panes and gave a roar of delight. “The horses! O Phaerie; in this glad hour, our horses have returned!” He turned to the Magewoman, his eyes gleaming in a face alight with excitement and a savage joy. “Eilin—this can only mean one thing! Your daughter has come to claim the Sword of Flame, as was foretold—and when she takes it, at long last the Phaerie will be free!”

“Ifshe can take it, you mean,” Eilin murmured, in a voice too low for him to hear. She turned away from Hellorin so that he would not see her frown. She was thinking, not about the Phaerie but about those poor Horsefolk out there who would suddenly turn back to simple beasts if Aurian claimed the Sword—but more than that, she was worrying about D’arvan, under attack in the beleagured forest. Had Hellorin forgotten that his only son was out there, under attack? And what of Maya, who must fight her daughter, though the women were the closest of friends? But most of all, her heart was filled with fear for Aurian, who must undertake the perilous task of claiming the Sword of Flame. Shutting her ears to the glad cries of Phaerie voices, Eilin turned back to the window and began to pray.

D’arvan ran through the storm-darkened Wildwood in the bottom of the bowl, toward the rising column of smoke upon the eastern rim of the Valley, the death screams of the forest ringing in his ears. But even as he ran, he knew he was too late. The Mage’s thoughts were bitter. His father and the Lady Eilin had trusted him—but he had already failed of his guardianship. To wreak such destruction, Eliseth must possess a power far beyond his own. It seemed that Aurian had been right—the Weather-Mage must have somehow stolen the Caldron of Rebirth from Miathan. And what can I do, he thought wildly, to counter one of the ancient Artifacts of the High Magic?

Suddenly he knew he could do nothing. His only hope must lie in Aurian claiming the Sword of Flame. He must go back to the island at once—where he should have gone in the first place. It seemed that he was under an evil star today, for all his choices were turning out to be wrong. Cursing, he took one last, despairing look at the blazing rim of the Vale before turning back toward the lake—and froze, with a cry of horror on his lips. The conflagration had finally reached the upper edge of the cliffs, where he had counted on it to be stopped by the steep stone walls—but even as he watched, the burning trees began to topple, crashing over the precipice like comets trailing tails of flame. New smoke rose up to darken the skies as the trees below began to catch—but now another horror intruded itself upon D’arvan’s ravaged consciousness, for the Valley itself was home and haven to many creatures of the wild.

The very air groaned beneath the burden of a host of birds who had taken abruptly to the skies, swooping and piping piteously, and colliding with one another in confusion. The undergrowth began to stir and rustle as mouse and vole scampered for safety, and snakes shot out into the open, their forked tongues flicking in and out to taste the smoke. Squirrels swung shrieking though the branches overhead. The first terrified animals began to stream past the Mage, fleeing for their lives from the spreading fire. Wild-eyed deer leapt past him down the forest trails, their white tails flagged high in alarm. Wolves streamed after them like a gray mist curling through the trees. Sleepy badgers, confused by this new-made night, blundered through the bushes. Hare and rabbit bounded between the trees in perfect safety, for their enemies—the sinuous stoat and weasel and the elegant bold-brushed fox—were also occupied in fleeing for their lives. D’arvan gathered his scattered wits and called to all the terrified creatures. “Head for the lake, O forest-dwellers! Seek out the water—there is safety there!”

He was turning hastily to follow his own advice when he heard a pitiful whimper coming from the nearby bushes. D’arvan ran forward into the thickening smoke, following the tiny thread of sound. Plunging his hand into a tangle of briars without a thought for his own skin, he groped, touched fur—and brought out a young wolf-cub, little more than two moons old. It seemed to have been in the fire already, for patches of its dark-gray fur were singed darker from smoldering sparks. “How did you get there?” D’arvan muttered in surprise. “Did your parents get frightened by the fire and forget you?” But there was no time to wonder. Thrusting the squirming wolf-child into the pocket of his robe, he fled toward the lake.

As Aurian and her companions picked their cautious way down to the floor of the crater, events seemed to have come full circle in the Mage’s life, and she was transported back to the time when, as a tangle-haired and grubby-kneed urchin, she had first guided Forral down into the Valley. She seemed to feel him very near her, on this dark day.

Impatiently, Aurian shook her head. If he was here, she thought to herself, the first thing he’d tell you is to stop this woolgathering! There was too much at stake now for that. Aurian glanced worriedly behind her, toward the eastern border of the Vale, and the pall of smoke that hung over it. “Hurry!” she urged the others in low voices. “It looks as though Eliseth is gaining on us!”

Willingly, Schiannath quickened his pace—but there was no clear trail through the tangled forest, and the undergrowth and twining roots were too thickly entwined for the horses to gallop. Aurian swore. It seemed that the trees were too perturbed now to open up a proper path for the companions. Thinking quickly, she laid a hand on the Staff of Earth and reached out her will toward the Wildwood.

No sooner had she touched the Staff when the Mage was almost knocked from Schiannath’s back as the full rage and agony of the trees came blasting into her mind. The valley itself was burning! Frantically, she put forth her powers to soothe the forest, begging the trees to open up a path and let her through. “Don’t fight the Evil One,” she told them. “Protect yourselves. If you flee from your burning brethren and surround them with a barren, open space, the fire will claim no more of you. Let Eliseth come to the lake if she must. Open up a path for her, by all means—but let it be a long one…”