Stormwarden (43 page)

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Lightning snaked across the rocks but no rain fell. Taen raced over sharpened outcrops of shale. Wind rattled the branches of scrub and thorn
and thunder shook the ground under her feet. Certain the disturbance in the weather was caused by Emien's meddling with the wards, Taen climbed with desperate haste.

She paused, searched the barren heights, but saw no trace of Jaric or her brother. She engaged her talents to seek, but her dream search was overrun by churning fields of power. The wards over Elrinfaer were stronger than any sorcery in Keithland, Tamlin had said. The Mharg-demons confined there were dangerous enough to destroy all life. Now Emien tried to free them.

Taen plunged over a rise. Breath burned in her lungs. Forbidding against cloud-racked skies, Elrinfaer Tower dominated the ridge beyond a boulder-strewn ravine. Blue-violet light flared across the heights and lightning lanced the ground, set off by discharged energy as the Keys set forces held stable for centuries into flux.

Taen ran, buffeted by a heated backlash of air. Over the rumble of thunder she heard a thin chime of steel. She swerved toward the sound, oblivious to the briars which ripped her shins. Sped by understanding of Merya's possession, she battered her way up the slope. If Emien had succumbed to the powers which had claimed Tathagres, Jaric's fine scruples would prove no match for the black hatred of Kor's Accursed.

Taen dodged past a leaning boulder and crashed into brush on the far side. Steel flared through the branches, lit by a flash of lightning.

Thunder drowned the clang as a dagger glanced off a sword edge. Jaric staggered off balance and caught the riposte on his crossguard. Emien advanced. Faced in reality by the willful evil of the brother she had loved on Imrill Kand, Taen stopped, unable to react.

But Jaric recovered. Slighter, faster, he managed a feint and sprang clear. Gravel slithered under Emien's boots. He parried Jaric's dagger, then thrust. Steel screeched, stopped against the crossed fence of his opponent's blades. Emien leaned, tried to break the bind with brute strength. Jaric threw him off. Through the savage exchange which followed, Taen saw the match was not even. Neither boy was experienced. But Emien had eight months training under Kisburn's royal swordmasters; Jaric had spent most of the winter tending traps in the snowbound wilds of Seitforest. Emien lunged. Jaric missed the parry, twisted, and crashed shoulder first into a thorny clump of brush.

Lightning flared at his back. Blinded, Emien slashed on angry impulse. Branches sheared beneath his sword. Jaric tripped and went down on one knee, close enough that Taen heard him gasp for breath. Emien smiled with inhuman triumph, sword angled for a killing thrust. Too late, Taen gathered her power to prevent him; emotion shattered her concentration. Her powers faltered, blocked.

Emien's sword leaped outward. Jaric jerked, desperate. Sticks clattered over steel as he wrenched his dagger up to guard. Metal belled on impact. Emien's blade snaked into air, deflected above Jaric's shoulder. Right arm extended, Jaric pulled but could not free his sword from the brush. Finding his opponent helpless, Emien crossed his dagger over his quillon and bore down with both hands.

Jaric resisted, tendons whitened in his left wrist. His muscles trembled with exhaustion, no match for his enemy's weight.

The crossed tangle of steel lowered, creeping with inexorable finality toward his neck. Lightning flickered, illuminating the instant of Emien's victory. Knuckles blackened with burns pressed downward past Jaric's cheek. Taen saw the marks; with horror-ridden certainty she looked at her brother's face and there found savage, unreasoning cruelty. The demons had claimed him irrevocably.

Torn by grief, Taen cried out. The brother she had loved on Imrill Kand would have died rather than betray his own kind. Released by terrible mercy, she rallied her powers and struck.

Emien screamed and staggered back. Steel grated, sang and separated. Jaric surged to his feet, his sword free at last. He sprang, prepared for resistance. But Emien crumpled to his knees. His weapons slipped from nerveless fingers and clattered, ringing, onto stone.

Jaric lifted his sword to his enemy's throat. Taen rushed in and grabbed the black stone which encased the Keys of Elrinfaer. With Anskiere's service accomplished, Jaric hesitated.

Taen sobbed in anguish. "For Keithland's sake, strike quickly."

But Jaric saw no threat in the frightened boy beneath his sword. Desolate in his despair, Emien wept uncontrollably. He appeared broken and pathetic in defeat. Jaric flinched in empathy. For a fraction of an instant, he wavered. Emien dove under his blade and fled. He crashed through the scrub and vanished into the darkness.

Taen gathered herself to follow.

But Jaric threw down his sword and caught her in his arms. "Leave him. What harm can he do?"

And drained beyond all endurance, Taen clung to the comfort of his embrace. Let the Vaere decide her brother's fate. She could no longer bear to pursue him.

Epilogue

Sand crumbled under the Kielmark's boots as he paced the edge of the tide mark on Cliffhaven's north shore. In late afternoon, while his captains celebrated at the fortress, he had gone walking alone on beaches at last free of enemies. His great bow hung at his shoulder. Lonely winds ruffled the hair across his brow as the Kielmark paused to breathe the ocean air, his indomitable pride tempered by sorrow. The victory had been bitterly won. Many fine men had died for no better purpose than the demons' desire to seed discord.

Slanting sunlight struck fiery reflections on the ice cliffs which reared above the sea. Defense against frostwargs and haven for a friend, Anskiere's sorceries still remained a magnet for trouble. Drawn by the inconsistency, the Kielmark squinted and saw a slender figure hooded in gray which crouched at the crest of the ice. A Llondel demon perched on the Stormwarden's stronghold, orange eyes lifted in challenge.

The Kielmark swore and unslung his bow. With no regard for danger, he nocked a broadhead and drew.

The Llondel hissed warning.

But reflexively intolerant of trespassers, the Kielmark aimed and released.

The arrow arched up, a splinter of gold in the sunlight. Following its flight, the Kielmark felt his thoughts explode into images; but the retaliation sent by the Llondel faltered, twisted awry by irrepressible joy. The vision of dismembered ships and a harbor overrun by strangers became muddled out of focus, overwhelmed by other, stronger tidings intended for the Storm-warden of Elrinfaer.

Doubled in discomfort on the sand, the Kielmark saw a wide vista of ocean. There
Callinde
sailed, the lighter, leaner
Troessa
in tow. Seated at the helm with Taen against his shoulder, Jaric steered for Cliffhaven, the Keys of Elrinfaer safely reclaimed.

When at length the Llondel released him, the Kielmark straightened. The demon had gone. But the wind sang a less minor pitch as it swept the rungs of the ice, and the sea broke sparkling like jewels over the rocks beneath.