Ширли Мерфи - The Castle Оf Hape. Caves Оf Fire Аnd Ice. The Joining Оf Тhe Stone

He had failed in everything. The stones were gone. Feldyn would die here; all four of them would die. And with the stones gone, Ere was surely defeated. He was dully amazed that he cared—about the stones, about Ere; but he was certain now that Dracvadrig’s death was not enough, had never been enough.

Meatha watched him without expression; and when he looked at her, Kish’s words rang again between them. New blood will join the stone in darkness, join the stone to darkness. Kish was out there somewhere near to them, they could feel her presence couched in the power of the stones.

Meatha sighed and turned back to tending Feldyn. “We must get away from this place.”

“And how do you think we can do that? And what good will it do? She has the stones. She—”

She gave him a direct, hard look and did not answer. Her eyes were amazing, large and as lavender as the plumage of the mabin bird, her lashes dark and thick. He could not look away again, and now her anger was lost on him. But she kept her distance.

Late in the night as Meatha slept, Lobon rose and stood watching her. He felt the wolves wake, felt their steady gazes, and at last he turned away.

You might be digging, Crieba told him. I have been patient beyond endurance. I am sick to death of this chain.

Scowling, Lobon found a stone and began to dig, soon was spending his passion and fury against the rock wall. He dug the rest of the night. Sometimes Meatha woke, watched him sleepily, then sighing, slept again. When the abyss beyond the bars began to lighten, he went to press his face against the cold iron to stare upward where, miles above, sun made a gold streak along the rim of the high valley. It was then he saw the charred remains of RilkenDal’s body, where the fire ogres had been at it. He heard Crieba leaping against his chain, turned, as with a final lunge the gray wolf pulled the bolt free and slammed shoulder first into Feldyn, who snarled with pain.

The gray wolf went stiffly off to the back of the cave to drink, and to hunt for lizards, just as poor Shorren had done earlier. Not long afterward he returned with three white lizards for Feldyn. As Feldyn ate, Crieba lay licking the dark wolf’s wounds. Lobon turned to his stone bed and slept.

He woke with late morning light washing the bars of the cell. Meatha was still sleeping, cradled now against Crieba’s shoulder, as if she had been cold. Her dark hair spilled across the wolf’s gray coat, her hand lay palm upward across his muzzle. The wolves were wakeful, he could sense their grieving for Shorren, and his own grief rose in a sudden sharp pain. But the wolves grieved differently, for they believed completely that Shorren would live again as her spirit moved in the natural progression of souls. Lobon was not sure. He felt sick at the thought of lovely Shorren lying bloodied and stiff in the abyss.

It was then he felt his mother with him and his emptiness was terrible. He turned his thoughts angrily from her and blocked her out. He did not want to show his emotions to her, show his pain for Shorren or his terrible lusting for Meatha that was no more than the warrior queen’s spell. Show his empty failure, his loss of the stones—the loss of Ere to the dark. Dracvadrig is dead! he cried out in spite of himself. And Ramad is avenged! What more do you want!

She did not answer him.

NINE

Kish tied the winged mare near a water lick, though the stupid animal seemed so sickly she didn’t think it would last long. RilkenDal’s mare was already dead. Curse them. Curse RilkenDal for dying and leaving her here. Curse the bastard son of Ramad and the wolf bell that clung to him. She would have that bell and the stone it held! She spilled the shards of the runestone into her palm, felt their weight, considered their amassed power, then dropped them back into her tunic. She must have the other two shards still missing, must find a way to seek them out. She stared up at the black cliff above her and at the winged lizards diving mindlessly after birds. Perhaps, because of the sickly mare, she would have no choice but to subdue the creatures and somehow bring them down to her and make them tractable, bad-tempered and stupid as they were. She had to have some way out of this barren valley. She wished she had RilkenDal’s skill at controlling stupid beasts. But now, with the stones . . .

Some distance away on a ridge, the gray mare the girl had ridden stood watching her. Nasty thing. She tried to lure it. The power of the stones came strong, exciting her, making the mare shy and paw and try twice to wheel and fly away, though caught by the power Kish wielded, its wings were pinioned as if it were in a snare. But then in one wild surge it reared and rose, straining in spite of her power, and was gone. Curse the stupid animal! She stood sulking and furious. Then she pulled the stones from her robe once more and stared down at them.

The power of the stones might not have held the mare, but they wielded a far greater force in battle, for with them she had strengthened the Kubalese warriors until now they drove the Carriolinians back toward Carriol, drove her own ungrateful cults back with them. A handful of cultists remained loyal and fought now beside Kearb-Mattus with a zeal that made her smile with satisfaction.

She shook the stones and watched their green fire flash across her palm. Three more stones to complete the nine-stone. The wolf bell had been as immovable as if it were fastened to the earth when she tried to lift it from the Seer’s tunic. Curse Dracvadrig and RilkenDal both for being dead. She needed their power now. But she would have the wolf bell. She must.

She thought with brief speculation of Kearb-Mattus, but he had no Seer’s powers to help her, only brute strength. Still, he might be a satisfactory lover if nothing more. He was brawny, with a killer’s lust she liked. There would be time for play once she had the stones and a human creature bred to the joining. She smiled. Now it would be her runestone, whole and powerful. Shared with no one. She would raise the child of Lobon to her ways, and he would do her bidding.

She turned to stare down the long drop of the abyss to where the iron gates held safe her captives. Now there was only to breed them, to get the heir to the stone’s final and inevitable joining. She scowled. The girl seemed as without passion as a toad. Blast her. The spell on her had so far only made her avoid the boy like a plague. And that one, Lobon, gone surly and silent. Sexless, that’s what they were. She stood letting her mind open to darkness, to forces now moving across Ere, powers that excited her and made her blood pound. Forces she understood and could draw to this place. She would have the bell. She would call forth a child to join the stone. And she would shape both child and stone to darkness.

Then Ere would kneel to her will. Then the entire land would be her courtyard and all men her willing servants. And the Seers—the Carriolinian Seers—would be as docile to her as the horses of Eresu had been to RilkenDal.

And the gods, Kish? And the sacred valley of Eresu? What of them?

There were no such things as gods, no such place as Eresu. Urdd, yes. Urdd was real and flaming and violent with the anger of the earth ripping it. Urdd was alive and cruel and satisfying.

But Eresu with its Luff’Eresi was simply a dream without substance, the crutch of weak men afraid to live on their own terms.

She left the tethered, dying mare, and stood staring up at the flying lizards, then reached out with a cold power and laid a cloud over their dim minds that made them wobble in flight and begin to circle uncertainly. She made one come down so close to the tethered mare that the imbecilic animal threw herself futilely against her tether. Kish smiled. Yes, she could tame the lizards, dumb and nasty-tempered as they were. She let the creature return to its friends. She found the path Dracvadrig had worn smooth with his hard, scaly body over years of use and started down. It was just dusk.