Maggie Furey - Sword of Flames

She had ridden only a little farther down the narrow, twisting trail, when she heard the cries for help. Spurring her lathered horse to greater speed, she rounded a corner to see a familiar figure, suspended and writhing in the branches of a tree that seemed to be tightening around him…

“Bern!” snapped the Weather-Mage. “What the blazes are you doing here? You were told to stick with the rebels!”

“I did,” Bern wailed. “But when they saw the fire, they started to move camp—and when I saw it, I knew it must be you, and came to warn you. Please get me down, Lady. Please …”

“You should have gone with them, you fool,” said Eliseth. “Now how will I know where they were heading?” Nonetheless, she turned to face the tree and lifted her hand in a threatening gesture. “Let him down,” she snarled, “or—”

There was a thud as Bern fell to the ground, almost weeping with relief. “Oh, thank you, Lady!” He picked himself up, wincing, then seemed suddenly at a loss. “What shall we do now?”

“Well,” I am going to the lake, you wretched Mortal,” Eliseth told him. “If you want to come with me, you’ll have to keep up—I’m not waiting for you. I’ve had enough of wandering around this accursed forest.” She scowled. “If the trees don’t let me through, I’ll burn them, as I did the others.”

“But you don’t need to, Lady,” Bern protested. “Look—the track’s right there.”

The Weather-Mage turned to follow his pointing finger—and cursed vilely. “That wasn’t there before! Are you sure it’s the right trail?”

“It’s heading in the right direction, Lady. If you follow me, I’ll set you right…”

Eliseth shrugged. Well, it was better than wandering round in circles, as she seemed to have been doing.

“Go on, then,” she told Bern, “and hurry up about it. And remember—if you lead me wrongly, I’ll make you sorry you were ever born.”

“Don’t worry, Lady—I know the way.” And off he went, scrambling ahead of her along the forest trail. Eliseth shrugged again, and followed.

Aurian was walking slowly across the bridge, her footsteps echoing hollowly on the wooden planks. D’arvan saw her from the lakeshore, where he had set the little wolf-cub safely down a moment ago, and his heart leapt in relief to also see, among the knot of people gathered at the mainland end of the bridge, his Maya, safe and sound—and human again. So far, then, Aurian had succeeded. He might have guessed she would. But the next part—the winning of the Sword itself—would prove more difficult. Anxiously, he hurried off to join the others—and suddenly remembered that they should be able to see him now. Gods—it had been so long…

Stifling a cry of joy, he broke into a run, forgetting all about the cub, who had wandered off into the bushes.

Cygnus soared over the lake—and suddenly caught sight of the little group of watchers by the bridge. There was Aurian, crossing to the island on her own—and there was Anvar, standing a little apart from the others at the very edge of the wooden span, his eyes fixed on the retreating figure of the Mage. He was alone now, and distracted… Cygnus smiled to himself. His chance had come at last, to seize the Harp of Winds! Banking into a steep turn, the winged man swooped toward his unsuspecting victim.

Vannor led his rebels out of the forest and saw the tableau by the bridge, around the curving sweep of the lake. What in the world were the Magefolk doing? Was the Sword hidden somewhere on the island? Then Parric nudged him sharply in the ribs. “Vannor—look over there!”

The merchant looked across the lake and saw Eliseth, emerging from the trees on the opposite side. She seemed about equally as far from the bridge as he was. Vannor cursed. There was no sense in shouting a warning—they probably wouldn’t hear him from this distance, and, besides, at this point, it might be fatal to interrupt Aurian’s concentration. “Come on—we’ve got to warn Anvar,” he told the Xandim he was riding, and it took off at a gallop, with the rest of the rebels following. Eliseth, on the other side of the lake, had seen them now, and had also spurred her horse into a run. But which of them would get there first?

As Aurian crossed the bridge, she was oblivious to the dramas that were going on around her. The Sword of Flame was calling to her now; holding all her attention in thrall. But she knew that winning it would not be so easy. There was bound to be some kind of test or trial—there had been with the other Artifacts. Suddenly, she was glad she had made Anvar stay behind, despite his protests. This could get dangerous, and she would need all her concentration on the task ahead…

Stepping off the bridge, Aurian caught sight of a great gray boulder, where the tower had once stood. She frowned. Now where had that come from? It had certainly not been there before! Its granite was a different stone entirely from the black basalt of the Valley, from which the base of Eilin’s tower had been constructed. The Mage approached it cautiously, as the warsong of the Sword rang louder in her mind. Carefully, she put a hand out to touch the masive rock—and it changed under her fingers to a giant crystal that pulsed with a light that was the crimson of new blood. Within the dully glowing facets of the gem, she could discern the gleaming outline of a Sword, created for her hand alone, that called out to her in its harsh, metallic voice to free it from its prison.

Aurian grinned to herself—but a warning voice was sounding in the back of her mind. Surely it couldn’t be this easy. The winning of the Staff had been so difficult…

Nonetheless, the Mage reached out and laid her hands upon the crystal, searching with her Healer’s senses for any weakness within the crystal lattice of the stone, as she had done once, long ago, in the tunnels beneath Dhiammara. Swiftly she found the spot and jabbed at it with all her powers, shattering the crystalline structure. With a sighing whisper, the great gem crumbled away to sparkling dust—and the Sword of Flame leapt out into Aurian’s hand.

Aurian sank to her knees as a surge of fiery power consumed her in agonizing ecstasy. The world faded into a pulsing crimson haze as the song of the Sword rang in her mind…

“You are the One, as was foretold, and you have found me—but in order for you to wield my powers, I must first be claimed, as you claimed the Staff of Earth. There must be a bloodbond between us, Warrior—a sacrifice. The first blood I drink must be the lifeblood of someone you love—and then, and only then, will I be yours to command. …”

The world returned to Aurian with a jolt as she recoiled in horror. “What?” she snapped reflexively. “I’ll do no such thing!” The warning of the Leviathan came flooding back to her. “How can I use you for good,” she demanded, “if I begin my ownership with such an unspeakable act?”

“Then I am forfeit—and you have failed. …”

And, suddenly, everything began to go wrong at once.

With the sound of a thunderclap, the ranks of the Phaerie appeared to throng the lakeshore, led by the towering figure of Hellorin, the Forest Lord. “Free,” he cried. “After all these long ages, we are free at last! The One has failed to claim the Sword, therefore we no longer need to pledge allegiance to her! Come, my followers—we must ride!”

Eilin cried out in protest at his side, but he ignored her.

As Aurian looked on in horror, the Xandim who had followed her so faithfully changed into their equine shapes, their screams of anguish ringing in her ears. One by one, the Phaerie seized them—all but Schiannath and the Windeye, who were closest to the bridge, with Anvar. With a cry, the Mage sprang onto Schiannath’s back and flung up a hasty magical shield to guard both horses. They galloped at breakneck speed across the wooden span, knowing that across the waters of Ellin’s Lake, they would be safe from the powers of the Phaerie Lord.