Douglas Niles - Prophet of Moonshae

"No!" The shriek of Malawar's horror stretched beyond the limits of the human voice into an ululating screech that reverberated from the surrounding walls of the vale. His mouth stretched wide, wider than any man's jaw could bend.

Skin peeled back from his lips, tearing away like sheets of paper ripped from an enclosed package. The tissue itself looked like human skin, but the stuff that lay beneath it was neither bone nor flesh. Instead, beneath the skin of Malawar lay a green, pulsating mask of ichor that oozed and changed shape as more and more of the outer surface tore away.

Before the gruesomely altered thing, Blackstone's twisted carcass lay, and beyond that stood Deirdre-vengeful, potent Deirdre, ready at last to exact retribution for the abuses of her corrupt mentor. Her hatred inflamed by loathing and horror, she stared dumbstruck, but she resisted the nausea surging in her stomach. She saw Malawar's true nature, but also she understood her own power. The princess employed that strength with resolute determination and even, she admitted, with a fierce joy.

She pointed her finger at his scrawny chest and let the Bolt of Talos fly. The magic came from her, not from the god, and the sorcery exploded savagely in the air. The power of her enchantment erupted in a bright, jagged spear, scoring straight at the cringing figure, which by now had thickened and shortened considerably. Malawar raised the podlike limbs that had been his hands, and the blast struck the remnants of his fist.

A thunderclap of sound knocked Deirdre backward and echoed over and over in the vale. The princess saw a space, like some kind of opening in the air itself. An aperture yawned about the decrepit creature, and through that hole, she saw a smoking, fire-colored sky beyond a landscape of soot-blackened hills. Flames surged into the sky, and crimson lava spilled across ash-covered slopes.

And then the oozing figure of Malawar and the space that gaped around him were gone.

Princess Alicia swam upward, feeling warm and alive. All around her, the water caressed her in a greenish-blue hue that she thought must be the most beautiful color in the world. Finally she broke the surface, and when she stepped onto the shore, it was to enter a place of surpassing grace.

Once again lofty cedars towered overhead, and flowers bloomed in abundance on the shore of the pool and the steep slopes surrounding it. The scent of pollen was heavy in the air, and sunlight washed the entire valley in warmth.

"Keane? Are you there? Speak to me!" Alicia saw the bard stroking the mage's head while Keane blinked and worked his jaw. His voice, when it emerged, was a faint croak, his question directed at Deirdre.

"Why?"

The princess, who stood beside her sister and the prostrate magic-user, returned his gaze coolly. Somehow she had combed her black hair back from her face, and it fell in smooth cascades down her back.

"It was a mistake," Deirdre said. "I was. . misguided. I have punished the one who was responsible. I'm sorry." The words rang stiffly resentful to them all, and Alicia gave her sister a sharp look. But the mage held up his hand in restraint and gestured to the plain bronze ring.

"The ring-it blocked the magic, partially. It saved my life. But what about the dragon?"

"Gone," said Alicia. The princess indicated the well, and at once Keane took notice of the lush verdancy of the surrounding valley.

"The goddess has returned," Alicia concluded. "None can deny it now!"

"And you have brought her to us," Tavish said, throwing an arm around Alicia's shoulders. "The daughter of a Great Druid-and now a mighty druid herself!"

"My Lady Princess!" cried Hanrald, his face flushing with emotion. He knelt before her. "I pledge my life and my labors to you and the goddess Earthmother and to any cause you name!"

Alicia was touched deeply by his sincerity. She knew of the knight's valiant defense of the well. "You have already fulfilled the needs of devotion," she said. "Without your fight here, before the rest of us arrived, all our efforts would have been too late."

"And the goddess has given us another druid of power," observed Tavish, smiling at Danrak. "Hanrald told us of your role in the defense of the well."

"And she sent her prophet," added the druid, "that we might know of her coming."

"The prophet!" Tavish exclaimed suddenly. "Where is he?" None of them had seen any sign of the figure since he had seized Malawar's holy symbol and broken away from the priest of Talos.

"More to the point, what is he?" Deirdre interjected. "He appears and disappears like no man!" She made no mention now, or later, of her encounter with the stranger in the throne room of Caer Callidyrr.

"We have also witnessed a sorceress of note emerging," Keane observed. His tone was neutral, but he regarded Deirdre with cautious eyes. "Lady Princess, I would query you on that topic some time very soon."

"Perhaps," Deirdre said, still guarded.

"Such power can be dangerous to the wielder as well as the target," Keane noted.

"Hey, everybody-flowers! And fish-the pond's filled with fish!" A bright blue figure appeared above the shallows of the Moonwell. Newt dove into the water with a great splash and emerged, sputtering but empty-clawed. "I had a trout right in my paws!" he boasted. "It was this long, but I almost pulled it out!"

"Good fishing, Newt," said Tavish. "You've earned it." In another moment, the dragon blinked out of sight, but a pattern of dripping water speckled the surface of the pond, marking his location for the onlookers-and the trout-very well. Several times the invisible serpent splashed into the water, but the fish remained a little too smart for him.

"My lady." Alicia turned at the quiet voice behind her, seeing Brandon. In that instant, the matter lingering between them came to her mind.

"Walk with me, will you?" she asked, taking his arm and leading him away from the others, across a meadow studded with columbine and wild roses.

Behind them, Keane and Hanrald cast anxious glances at the pair. Then, spying the concern on each other's faces, they turned away with feigned nonchalance. The Prince of Gnarhelm and the Princess of Callidyrr strolled on, quickly out of earshot.

"I'm proud of what we've done together," Alicia began, slowly and awkwardly. "And knowing you has brought a richness to my life that makes me very grateful."

"Aye," Brandon agreed, squeezing her hand. "This I feel, too-and more." He stopped and turned to face her, placing his hands on her shoulders. "My Lady Princess, I know that I love you!"

"But I-"

He silenced her with a finger to her lips.

"Enough," said Brandon softly. The northman's lips smiled, but his eyes were sad. "I have come to know you, too, my princess-and in knowing you, I see many things differently than I did before. You're not a bride to be given like some prized treaty or diplomatic coup. Your father is not the person I should ask for your hand."

She smiled, grateful for his understanding.

"And so I ask it of you yourself. Will you marry me and be my queen?"

"No, Brandon-I won't. At least, not yet." She tried to speak gently as his face fell. "That's not to say I never will. If you still feel the same way about me, we'll talk about this again in the future. But for now, too many things have changed too quickly. What the future holds I can't imagine. I need to find out."

He smiled feebly, restored to some measure of hope. "I had promised, I recall, to carry you to Callidyrr in the Gullwing. I should still like to see your home, but I no longer have the ship to carry you."

"I think we should all go back to Callidyrr," Alicia agreed as they rejoined the others. "Perhaps the new Earl of Fairheight would provide us with horses."