The Darkangel - The Pearl Of The Soul Of The World Part 10

"I thought no need for swords. I thought the others would stop you."

The broadsword sang and hummed. Aeriel heard her own sobbing in the sound. Panting, Irrylath cradled his arm as though it were painful-or numb, A stab of fear went through Aeriel. She had no idea whether the sword's fire had harmed him permanently. He seemed dazed. All the others in the tent were casting about with baffled or frightened looks, save Pendarlon, who, staring at Erin's blade, was making a low cat-growl.

"Stop, stop," Aeriel wept, hardly realizing that she spoke aloud.

Now everyone was staring at the glaive, even Irrylath. Sabr steadied his head, which lolled as though he might swoon.

Through Erin, Aeriel watched the sword begin to flicker and waver, like a long white flame. The misty candescence and the blade itself merged until the whole sword was a tongue of fire. Aeriel staggered to her feet. The flame also rose, elongating, narrowing. Through the dark girl's astonished eyes, she saw the flame taking on a human shape. With a start, Aeriel recognized herself, then felt her own being drawn irresistibly across the miles until it merged into the flame. Turning to her husband, she called his name.

"Irrylath," she said urgently. "Irrylath, heed me. You are not mistaken. Erin's sword was Witch-made once, but Ravenna has changed it to serve our cause."

The prince of Avaric shook his head, gazing at her in disbelief. Aeriel saw Sabr's hands upon him tighten.

"Pay no heed, Cousin," she murmured. "That is some image of the Witch. The shadowmaid is in league with your tormentor. She was never your friend."

Irrylath seemed not to hear her, his attention fixed on the image in the sword. Aeriel choked down her sudden fury at the intervention of Sabr. An outburst of jealousy now would serve neither herself nor Irrylath. Resolutely, she ignored the bandit queen, spoke only to the prince.

"Husband, it is I."

"You can't be," Irrylath cried out hoa.r.s.ely. "The Witch sent her darkangels to steal you away."

Aeriel shook her head. "Not so. One of her black birds set a pin behind my ear."

"I would have told you that if you had let me," Erin growled between her teeth. She pulled the folded sari from her s.h.i.+ft and tossed it down before the prince who, with a gasp, touched the cascade of yellow silk about his knees. Lifting his eyes, he gazed at the sword, as a man dying of thirst might gaze upon a mirage of water.

"Oh, Aeriel," Irrylath whispered. "If only it were you..."

"It isn't," Sabr hissed desperately. "An image! Some clever trap."

Aeriel felt the pearl upon her brow gleaming coolly. An idea formed itself in her mind.

"The rime," she said. "I have the last of Ravenna's riddle now. Will that convince you?" She raised her eyes and voice to the others in the tent. "Will that convince you all?"

Irrylath struggled to his feet, throwing off Sabr's persistent hands. His voice rang clear and certain suddenly. "Speak it," he cried. "Say the rime, and if you are truly Aeriel, unharmed and not in the Witch's power, I will know you."

His one hand was clenched about their wedding silk. The other, his sword hand, twitched as though trying to close. He bent his arm, with the help of the other, and winced. Reaching out to him, Aeriel said:

"Whereafter shall commence such a cruel, sorcerous war To wrest recompense for a land leaguered sore.

With a broadsword bright burning, a shadow black as night From exile returning shall champion the fight For love of one above who, flag unfurled, lone must stand, The pearl of the soul of the world in her hand.

When Winterock. to water falls flooding, foes to drown, Ravenna's own daughter shall kindle the crown."

Silence. No sound in the tent but the fizz of lampwicks and the night wind sighing. Her brother Roshka eyed her uncertainly. Syllva stood mute beside her Istern sons. The bewildered sentries glanced at one another. Then she heard Talb the Mage chuckle and Pendarlon begin to purr. But her gaze remained on Irrylath.

"Oh, husband," she breathed, "believe in me."

Coming forward, he knelt before the flame that Erin held. His sword arm seemed nearly recovered now, for with it, he reached toward Aeriel.

"I do," he whispered, "for it is you. Forgive my doubting."

His hand pa.s.sed through the flame, without harm this time. She experienced a flickering, and the odd feeling of something broad and insubstantial pa.s.sing through her, but then it was gone, and her vision of Irrylath and the rose silk tent steadied again. Sabr had come to stand beside the prince. She touched his shoulder, mistrust plain upon her face.

"Cousin," she warned. "How can you be sure? We have known for months that Aeriel is lost-yet now this apparition claims it is not so! Dare you trust the rime that she has given you?"

The prince rose suddenly and turned on her. "Unhand me," he spat, his voice like burning oil. "It was you I let convince me that Aeriel was lost, you I let persuade me to turn from her memory! We have dallied here at desert's edge uncounted hours on your advis.e.m.e.nt. This is Aeriel. I know her. Do not presume to advise me further, queen of thieves!"

His tone was savage, his expression furious. Aeriel felt an ugly little thread of satisfaction run through her.

"My thought was for you," Sabr cried, stumbling back from him as though she had been struck. Her face held a look of desperate betrayal. "Always and ever for you."

Turning, the prince's cousin fled, disappearing into the night. Irrylath watched her go, his expression hard, full of fury still. It was the Lady Syllva who spoke at last, coming forward to touch the prince's arm.

"You are too hard, my son," she reproved him sternly. "Too hard by half. Aeriel is your wife, but Sabr is your cousin still, and a commander in my warhost-your equal in rank. What she says is true: she thinks only of you. She has been the one to lead our desert trek, keeping our forces together against desertion and despair, and not two daymonths past, it was she alone that stood between you and your own dagger."

The prince glared at the Lady, but made no reply. Aeriel put one hand to her temple. Her head was spinning. A heavy weariness had begun to steal over her. She had not realized the effort that speaking through the sword required. Perception through it was much more intense than through the pearl, arduous even, sapping her energy. Its strange sensation of heatless burning had hollowed her.

"I must leave you," she said unsteadily. Irrylath and the others turned.

"No!" the prince began, reaching for her again. "Don't go."

She shook her head. "I must. Spanning the distance between us is difficult... and I have Ravenna's task to fulfill."

"Aeriel," cried Irrylath. "Stay. Stay."

Again she shook her head. She must be gone, at once. The strain was growing dangerous.

"Sheathe the sword, Erin," she whispered. "Be quick."

Irrylath was reaching for her. "Don't-"

"Look for me at the Witch's Mere. Erin!" Aeriel hissed.

"Farewell," the dark girl whispered. "And goodspeed."

In one swift motion, she sheathed the sword, and the sensation of draining ceased. Spent, Aeriel sank to her knees. The Waste stretched flat, grey, and broken around her, misty by pearllight. Her eyelids strayed shut. Hours. It would take hours for the pearl to restore her. She must guard her strength in future. As fatigue dragged fiercely at her, she shook her head.

Sleep-she needed sleep. Aeriel lay down upon the cracked and bitter surface of the Waste. The pearl brought her only a faint echo of Irrylath's distant, despairing cry.

"Aeriel!"

It was the last she heard before falling headlong into troubled dreams.

TEN.

Winterock

The nightmare enveloped her: the prince of Avaric falling from the back of his winged steed. Dreaming, Aeriel tried to reach out, to reach him, but she could not move. Cold crystal encased her. Frozen, all she could do was watch, shuddering, as Irrylath plunged headfirst through empty air toward roiling nothingness below. I should have left you your wings, she thought wildly, despairing. His cry rang in her ears: "Aeriel!"

Abruptly she woke. Something huge and scaly crouched beside her, picking at her gown with its knifelike claws. With a scream she started up, scrambling back-then stopped herself. The creature before her was not the great monstrous thing she had thought at first, but small and covered with mangy grey down. Illusion cloaked it in a phantom shape, but the pearl now showed her its real form: a long-limbed ratlike thing.

Aeriel struck at it with the flat of her hand. It chittered, blinking at her with bright red eyes before scuttling away. Surely it belonged to the Witch. Aeriel scrambled to her feet and started off again. She felt stronger now-a trace wan yet, but by and large, the pearl had restored her.

Through Erin, she sensed the army, many miles away, breaking camp and proceeding with all speed toward the Mere.

Catching a glimpse of Irrylath as he marshaled his mother's Istern forces, Aeriel felt relief flooding her to find him safe still, despite her dream. Sabr rode at the head of her Westron troops, apart from him. Though she sometimes gazed in his direction, the prince refused her so much as a glance. The sight now gave Aeriel litde joy. Sabr's stricken face after her cousin's rebuff hours earlier had soured any sense of triumph.

Often, as she journeyed, Aeriel cupped one hand to her brow, hoping somehow to reach into the pearl with her senses and use its sorcery to help her unravel the mystery of Ravenna's cryptic instructions: Crush the Witch's army. Destroy her darkangels... and put the pearl into her hand. But how? How? Surely somewhere within the pearl the answer must lie. But all her efforts proved in vain. The Ancient jewel remained opaque to her, its powers beyond her grasp, and its gifts-of light, nourishment, heightened perception-always unbidden, arriving without summons.

Tempted nearly to despair, Aeriel could only walk on. The parched ground soon grew more broken, cut by dry riverbeds.

No plants grew but thirsty, withered scrub. The Waste was more desolate than any place she had ever known. Even the most drought-stricken lands of Westernesse could not compare.

And the Waste was full of the Witch's little nightmare creatures. Cloaked in illusory shape, all appeared at first glance to be monsters. But the pearl soon penetrated their guises, revealing them for the mere vermin that they were. It seemed they could hide anywhere, in the dead scrub, in the cracks. Initially, they dodged her gaze so that Aeriel caught only glimpses. Soon, however, they grew bolder-until before many hours she had a whole raft of them d.o.g.g.i.ng her across the Waste.

Besides the long-legged rat-creatures, whose great protruding front teeth met like those of a horse's skull, she saw odd molelike beasts with dusty, spotted fur, disguised by witchery to appear like ogres. Sometimes little snakes no thicker than her smallest finger hissed at her, miming basilisks. Once or twice a speckled thing resembling a huge moth fluttered after her till she swatted at it. Then it buzzed, a mere bottfly, and s.h.i.+vered away.

All of them had red orbs, featureless as gla.s.s. They were the Witch's eyes, keeping watch on her, Aeriel felt sure.

Whenever she paused to rest, they crept closer, stealing up behind her to catch hold of her robe in their little teeth. Though she could neither ignore them nor drive them far away, Ravenna's pearl enabled her to see their true forms beneath the Witch's illusory guises. Plainly intended to terrify, they annoyed her instead. She found their constant presence wearing, but not unnerving.

The stars above wheeled ever so slowly. She knew that she had been walking half the month-long night. Irrylath and the distant army continued on their convergent path with hers, halting only each dozen hours for food and a few hours' rest. Aeriel herself felt no need now to sleep. In truth, she preferred not, considering what might come upon her unawares.

She reached the cliffs so abruptly that they took her by surprise. One moment, all was silent around her, save for the soughing of a slight, bitter wind and the scrabbling of the phantom creatures. The next, she heard jackals crying-their song floating eerily on the air-and realized what the maze of canyons opening before her must be: the jackal cliffs that never released any wayfarer they swallowed. At the heart of them lay the Witch's Mere.

Aeriel halted, listening to the long, ululating wail of the Witch's dogs. Yips, barks, then silence for a few heartbeats. A single cry rose, clear and falling, to be joined by another voice, then another, and another yet. Abruptly, they stilled, to be followed by silence again. The loathsome creatures cl.u.s.tering about her were growing impatient. Some of them scrabbled ahead, then turned to twitter at her. Unseen jackals sang and wuthered on the wind. Realizing that once she entered, there could be no turning back, Aeriel stepped into the labyrinth.

How long she wandered, she had no way to tell. Only a ribbon of sky showed overhead. Without a horizon, she could not judge how far the stars had turned. The pearl chose her way, distinguis.h.i.+ng false trails from true and disregarding illusory walls meant to confuse and conceal the path. An unexpected sense of loss overwhelmed her when she discovered she could no longer sense where the army was. The twisting canyons seemed to bar the pearl's link to the dark girl with the sword.

Then the stone walls fell away on either side, and she was out of the maze. The jackals howled and hooted behind her. The creatures swarming about her ankles chittered and hissed. Before her lay a great flat stretch-tar black, oil smooth, without reflection: the Mere. So this was the place where the Lady Syllva's caravan had found itself trapped so many years ago, this the spot where the boy prince Irrylath had been lured by his nurse to the water's edge and given to the Witch.

Aeriel shuddered, picking her way through the bones that littered the bank. Far in the distance, she saw a white spire rising from the black water: the Witch's palace? It must be-though she had always pictured the whole keep as lying concealed beneath the surface of the lake. She shook her head, wondering how she was to reach it. She dared not touch the poisoned water.

All at once the lake in front of her began to seethe and boil. Aeriel fell back, alarmed. The Witch's creatures milled nervously. Something beneath the surface was rising to the air. A moment later, the huge, pebbled head of a toad broke through. It was pale lavender, almost translucent. Aeriel could not have wrapped her arms about it if she had tried. The creature looked at her with great, bulbous eyes. Its livid tongue, a little ragged flag, threaded along the wrinkled edges of its mouth. The still, black waters obscured all but the creature's head from view.

"So," it said. Its voice boomed like a kettle, like a hunt horn, like a drum. "Another traveler comes to die upon my lady's sh.o.r.e."

Aeriel stared, realizing the ident.i.ty of the creature: years older now and far more ma.s.sive, but the same that had once lured the prince's nurse to the Witch's cause and helped her to betray him. Biting back revulsion, Aeriel called out, "A traveler, mudlick, but not one who has come to die. I would see your mistress and so must cross the lake."

The mudlick c.o.c.ked one gelid eye.

"How is it you can see me without tasting the Mere?" it boomed. Aeriel touched the pearl upon her brow. The mudlick s.h.i.+fted uneasily, sinking lower in the black water, retracting its pale eyes from the cool, pure light. "You must be the sorceress who has lately caused my lady so very much trouble."

Aeriel nodded. "Will you take me to her?"

The mudlick belched. "My mistress, the White Lady, sees no one."

Aeriel stood disconcerted. She had not expected so quick and final a rebuff. Resolutely, she folded her arms.

"Very well," she replied. "I will not see her, though I have traveled a long road. My message from her mother, the Ancient Ravenna, will go unsaid. Your mistress will thank you for turning me away."

She spun on her heel and started back toward the jackal cliffs. The scrabbling creatures scattered before her. She had gotten three steps when the mudlick called, "Wait."

Aeriel turned but did not approach. She saw the monstrous thing's forelegs in the water now. They seemed oddly small for its great bulk. It nibbled one of its fingers.

"You are a sorceress," it mused. "Why do you not use your sorcery to cross?"

Because I have no sorcery! Aeriel wanted to cry, but she held her tongue.

"Take me across, or not, exactly as you please," she said at last. She had no more patience left.

The mudlick sighed and lapped at the black, poisonous waters. "My mistress would not thank me for bringing her bane."

"As you please," Aeriel snapped, turning on her heel once more. "I leave you to your lady's wrath when she discovers you repelled her mother's messenger." She counted the paces. One. Two.

"Oh, very well!" the creature cried after her. "Have it your own way. I will take you across to my mistress's keep-just in case what you say might be true-though whether she will let you in, I cannot say. Wade out," it told her, rising higher under the Mere's shadowy surface.

Aeriel recoiled. "I won't touch the water."

The mudlick laughed, a deep gonging sound like hot, hammered metal. It heaved itself from the black, unnaturally calm waters, dragging itself up onto the bank. The dark moisture seemed less to run off its skin than to boil away in a thin vapor.

Swallowing her revulsion, Aeriel approached and climbed to crouch just behind the great toad's head, uncertain how much of its body would sink back beneath the Mere. Its pebbled skin, covered with great slippery warts, was cold and had an oily feel.

"It's been a dracg's age since I last ate," the mudlick remarked, surveying the little creatures before it on the bank.

With a motion so quick Aeriel could scarcely follow, its vast jaws gaped, and its long tongue swept out, catching up a dozen of the frantically scattering vermin-along with a great quant.i.ty of the bank. The mudlick's jaws snapped shut. It laughed and swallowed, bloated sides heaving. Sickened, Aeriel held on desperately as her porter hauled itself around and slid back into the Mere.

"Stupid things," it croaked.

The black waters curled around its snout and trailed along its sides. Aeriel s.n.a.t.c.hed one foot higher to avoid the Mere's touch. The mudlick bobbed, and Aeriel swallowed hard. She caught glimpses of other creatures in the lake around them, though none showed their heads above the gla.s.s-smooth surface. Once, they pa.s.sed over something so long and huge she gasped.

"That is only a mereguint," the toad told her, "one of my lady's water dragons. She has two: great enough to swallow s.h.i.+ps.