Thornspell (19 page)

Sigismund took a step forward, struggling to keep his footing against the wind. “Yes, we can,” he said. “We have the sword, and we have each other.”

He raised Quickthorn, extending the red and white blade toward the faie, and let his mind and heart grow clear as the sky that follows a storm. He could feel the earth turning, and the rumble and crack of rock and fire deep beneath its crust. There was a taproot of strength that went down, far below the hill on which they stood, and then spread out, in a network of roots and fiber, across the vast expanse of the Wood. Through it, Sigismund could sense the shy presence of all the strange and wild creatures that inhabited the forest, and its cool green power flowed into him like a tide.

Rue was part of that power, and it of her. Sigismund could see it without having to look at her, and feel her power joined to his without having to ask. It twisted its way round and through the green flow like a rose vine, tenacious as the herb for which she was named. They reached out together, north and south, east and west, tapping into the layers of energy until the belvedere crackled with a power to answer the Margravine’s.

Sigismund felt as though together they had encompassed the world. He had a fleeting vision of Auld Hazel, her flat-bowled pipe clamped between her teeth and its spark reflected in her blackbird eyes. A moment later the air was filled with the scent of lilacs, subtle and tranquil as moonlight falling on herringbone brick. Sigismund let the calm fill him and flow into the sword in his hands. It was living fire, answering the Margravine’s lightning, and at first the bolts of power writhed and strove together, red and white against lurid indigo. But slowly, the red and white fire forced the lightning to retreat.

Calm,
thought Sigismund, and the debris on the wind began to fall back toward the belvedere. The flow of power was reversing, just as it had done in the energy river between the planes. Gradually, the wind died away, and the fissures into the void closed as the Margravine coalesced back into human form. As she did so a bell rang out, sweet and clear from the white palace, to be answered by another, and then another after that, all pealing in joyful chorus. The faie hunt that had pursued Sigismund through the forest winked into view and wound their horns, then as quickly disappeared. Sigismund threw a quick, questioning glance at Rue.

“The sleepers in the palace are waking,” she said, low-voiced. “Farisie has lost.” But she didn’t sound exultant, just kept watching the Margravine, her lower lip caught between her teeth.

Sigismund reached out his free arm and drew her close. “Surely she must accept it,” he said, speaking to Rue’s doubt. “The terms were bound into the spell, at least part of which came from her own magic.”

“I, accept?” The Margravine’s voice echoed in thunder, filling the sky. “I am
the
Farisie, not some sprite to let myself be hedged about by petty rules.” There was nothing human remaining in the eyes that glared down at them.

“We held against the storm,” Rue began, then stopped, looking toward the lake and the palace beyond. All color drained from her face, and her voice sank to a whisper. “But we can’t hold against that.”

Blood Price

S
igismund followed Rue’s gaze, and for a moment he thought his heart had stopped, until it slammed against his chest again. The surface of the lake was boiling, reflecting the clouds overhead, and then the water parted, spinning outward as an enormous head broke through and reared skyward. The eyes that gazed down on them were stone and Sigismund looked away just in time, avoiding their mesmerizing effect. The serpent’s head plunged down again as more body looped up behind, curving out of the lakebed as it had pulled itself out of rock inside the Faerie mound.

The Margravine’s laughter echoed with the thunder overhead. “See, Prince Sigismund, I bring you an old friend. And this time you have nowhere to run.”

“No running,” said Rue, but her expression was pinched, her eyes strained. “Running won’t save us, not if she gains control of the belvedere.”

Sigismund tightened his grip on Quickthorn, but thought that nothing was going to save them anyway. The earth serpent was a monster, at least half as high as the palace when it reared up, and the best they could hope for was to do it some damage. The next downward plunge of that rock-eyed head was going to be right on top of them, and the huge mouth was already gaping wide.

It’ll swallow us whole, by the looks of it, Sigismund thought, as the belvedere shook. The floor buckled, as though there was an earthquake directly beneath them, and both he and Rue struggled to maintain their balance while the serpent’s head reared high, and higher again—then whipped back, recoiling on itself.

“What—” began Sigismund, then flung up a hand to cover his eyes as the sun rose directly in front of him, a huge flaming ball of carnelian and gold. There was light and heat and fire that burned without consuming, and then the sun exploded—or he thought it did, except that there were no flames falling from the sky, just a giant dragon hovering where the sun had been. Its scales were red and gold, with light rippling over them like water, and its wingspan was immense, filling the sky. The Margravine had already retreated, dark cloud and lightning pulled in tight around her, but the dragon was watching the serpent, its eyes flame.

“I’ve seen this dragon before,” Sigismund said, finding it hard to breathe. “Just for a moment, the last time we met the earth serpent.”

Rue’s hand found his. “It’s going to speak,” she whispered.

The dragon’s voice filled their minds and the air around them, much as the Margravine’s had done except that it was deeper, and with a curious sibilance that came, Sigismund realized, from breathing fire. “Go back, Brother of Earth,” it said. “This is no battle of yours.” The flames roared, red gold as the sun that had exploded and white-hot along the edges.

“How dare you, Dragon!” The Margravine’s wind voice boomed, cracking around them, and the trees on the hill bent almost to the ground before its force. “This is no affair of yours!”

“Oh, but it is, Faie,” the dragon replied. “I find it necessary to offer advice to my brother of earth, on behalf of our younger kinsman here.”

“Balisan?” breathed Sigismund, staring. He recognized the hum in that fiery voice now, like bees swarming, and the flicker of humor beneath the flame. It can’t be, he thought, a little wildly, except that it is. He found that he wanted to laugh, but the Margravine did not seem to be amused.

“This boy?” she sneered. “Kin to either of you? As well call a pig kin to a king!”

The fire in the dragon’s eye blazed hotter, as though an inner veil had lifted. Its other eye remained fixed on the earth serpent, which had withdrawn to a safer distance. “He and his father are the blood of the dragon,” the sibilant voice replied, in a long gout of flame. “And now, thanks to your plots and poisons, they are the last of that line. We are not pleased, Lady Farisie.”

The storm wind boomed again, but with a new note in it now. Could it be uncertainty? wondered Sigismund, and caught a gleam of hope in Rue’s expression. Then the Margravine laughed.

“The blood of the dragon,” she said. “How quaint, but forgive me if I find it hard to believe—given your tender care for that line over the past thousand years.”

“The affairs of humans,” Balisan replied, “are rarely the concern of dragons, even when they bear our blood. But some things we do notice, like the hand of the faie at work picking off our kin, one by one. You might say, Lady Farisie, that you attracted our attention.”

The lightning had died as soon as the dragon arrived, and now Sigismund was sure that he saw a patch of blue above the palace. The Margravine was silent, studying the dragon, and the earth serpent’s head swung slowly, looking from one to the other. “But still,” the faie said at last, “you may not aid your kinsman to lift the spell. That is forbidden by the terms of the magic.”

“Ahhh,” said the dragon—a long, outward sigh of fire. “I think you know, Lady Farisie, that he has already lifted the spell, fulfilling all the requirements of your faie magic.” He stretched like a cat in midair, extending scythe-like claws on every foot. “But regardless of that, there is still the matter of kin right to be resolved with my brother of earth here. And that, Faie, is no business of yours.”

“Do you know what he means?” Rue asked, her voice low.

Sigismund shook his head, but he was remembering the rumbling, hissing voice that he had heard talking to Flor, when he was trapped in the Margravine’s house. The voice had said that it would need gold to kill him, because Sigismund was kin of a sort. He had not understood then, but it was beginning to make sense at last.

“Will you claim a blood price for this one then, Balisan the Red?” The earth serpent’s voice was the dull roar of earth sliding, the grating of rocks beneath the earth, but Sigismund thought the tone was respectful. The enormous head was still now, a flat-as-stone eye studying the dragon.

“I will,” said Balisan. “But I will not accept gold, firedrake though I am. The blood of the dragon is at stake, so I will claim your life for his, as is my right.”

The Margravine howled. “We have a bargain, Earth Worm! I have already paid you a fortune in gold for this boy’s blood, more even than you asked for!”

The serpent’s head drew back, and the stone gaze turned toward the faie. “I will return your gold,” it said. “It is not worth the bargain that my red kinsman here would drive, which is of a harsher kind.” Its body had already begun to slide back into the mud of the lakebed.

“A prudent course,” Balisan murmured, a sibilant hiss. He rose higher into the air, fire washing across his scales, until he was on the same level as the Margravine. “You might be wise, Faie, to reflect further on yours.”

In the distance, people had begun to spill out of the palace onto the terraces, and Sigismund could see the small figures of Fulk and Rafe, who appeared to have mastered their horses. He was aware too of Flor, pulling himself up from the ground, but he did not take his eyes off the Margravine. She had retreated further from the dragon’s path, but lightning forked behind her head. “Do you think me done?” she hissed. A fireball began to spin between her hands.

“I’ll kill him for you!” Flor had pushed to his knees and now wavered there, uncertain. Blood was still flowing from his wounded side, and his good arm shook as he drew it back and hurled a dagger at Sigismund. The dagger fell short.

“You!” the Margravine snarled. “You promised me you could kill this whelp—easily, that was your boast. But instead you fail me at every turn!” The fireball burst from her hands and exploded into a torrent of lightning spears that rained down on the hilltop. Quickthorn flamed in answer, throwing a protective circle around the belvedere, but one of the lightning bolts struck the pulse of blue on Flor’s hand. He screamed, an inhuman sound, as the blue stone exploded, and both ring and wearer disintegrated in a blast of cobalt fire.

Sigismund reeled back, appalled, and Rue had both hands pressed hard against her mouth, as though suppressing a scream. The next moment, the air in front of Sigismund split apart and Syrica stood on the topmost step of the belvedere. She extended both arms toward the Margravine, and her silver voice rang out. “Desist, Sister!” she cried. “You have warred directly against humans on this mortal plane and defied the terms of the magic set in place one hundred years ago. And now you have taken a human life. In the name of the Powers that rule the faie, I bid you cease!”

The Margravine’s laughter cracked across the sky. “I, yield? To you? I defy you and your puling power,
Sister.
” The last word was a sneer.

“Do you defy mine?” The voice that spoke was cold, but wild, and like the Margravine’s laughter, it filled the sky. A woman on a white horse rode out of the trees beside the belvedere and sat, looking up, as the wildfire died away.

Was it a woman? Sigismund wondered. There was a shimmer around the edge of her form and he had to keep blinking, trying to focus on a shifting shape of energy and light. But she certainly looked like a woman whenever his vision cleared. He could see the great fall of her green sleeves, webbed over with gold, and the sweep of a green kirtle against the horse’s white flank. She did not move or extend a hand skyward as Syrica had done, but the figure of the Margravine dwindled and was drawn inexorably toward the ground.

“Who is that?” Sigismund whispered to Rue, but it was Syrica who answered.

“She is first amongst the Powers that rule the faie—what you would call our Queen.”

A long line of riders was emerging from the trees, materializing somewhere behind the hill. Most were armed as knights, with glittering helms and weapons, although the light wavered and bent around them, much as it did about their Queen. They rose into the air and surrounded the Margravine, escorting her to the ground. Defiance glittered in her expression, as well as fury, but it warred with fear as the Queen gazed down at her.

“So,” said the Queen. “You have overreached yourself at last, Farisie, and allowed me to intervene.” She looked around at the devastation caused by the storm and the passage of the earth serpent. “Which is just as well, since you have already done great harm here—and would have done more if left unchecked. You were a threat, in fact, to both our worlds.”

“It’s a pity then,” Sigismund muttered, “that you couldn’t have done something about it sooner.”

A ripple ran through the faie, and even Syrica looked alarmed as the Queen turned her golden head toward him. There was something about the way her head moved, and the fathomless green of her eyes, that reminded Sigismund of the dragon.

“Do not look into her eyes.”
Balisan’s voice was a whisper in his mind.

The Queen laughed, a wild icy chime. “Hark at the Lord Dragon,” she said. “Who here would dare look into your eyes, Balisan the Red?” She did not, however, seem to expect an answer, but studied first Sigismund and then Rue. “So this is the Young Dragon and the heiress to the Wood, standing together as was foretold. As for the rest—once spell and counterspell were cast, one against the other, we had to let the magic find its own path. That too is part of our law. And until now, Farisie has always been careful to use human tools, or other agents that are part of this world, to avoid giving us cause for intervention.”

The Margravine’s defiance flashed as she faced the Queen. “You let this mortal
dare
question you? You should strike him down, rather than finding fault with me. What have I done, after all, but champion the rightful cause of the faie, trying to maintain our rights and dominion here in the mortal realm—something
you
should have done, but would not!”

Perhaps she’s mad, thought Sigismund. She doesn’t seem to realize—or care—that others don’t see things the same way that she does. And she killed Flor without a second thought because he was no longer of use to her.

He shuddered, still hearing Flor’s scream, and felt Rue draw closer to him, but her eyes remained fixed on the Queen of the Faie.

The Queen was studying the Margravine, her expression as fathomless as her eyes. “Do the faie have rights on this mortal plane?” she asked at last, her tone reflective. “It is not our world, Farisie, and you know the way our law has evolved: we have had the ability to travel at will amongst the planes but not to exert dominion over them. To do so would be to become Other to the core of what we are. Our law reflects that—and it may not be broken, either by you or by me, Farisie.”

She leaned forward so that her eyes met the Margravine’s. “But you should be grateful that we intervene. Have you thought what your fate would have been, if your grand plan succeeded and the planes had torn apart, trapping you here? All your power would have dwindled to a candle flicker, no more than a will-o’-the-wisp seen in the forest by night.” The Queen straightened, sitting back. “So you might say that you have been saved from yourself, although whether you deserve saving is another matter.” She nodded to the knights surrounding the Margravine. “Take her,” she said, “and return to Faerie.”

“As easy as that,” whispered Rue, “after all we’ve been through.”

Sigismund thought about his fear that the Margravine would never give up, whatever the outcome of the spell. “It does seem to be over,” he murmured. “Really over…at last.”

He stood back while Rue went to greet Syrica, and watched as the Queen turned to Balisan. Sigismund could see their two heads inclined together and the flicker of their eyes, but any communication between them was silent. The faie knights behind the Queen maintained their line, but those surrounding the Margravine had already disappeared, taking her with them.

Above their heads the storm clouds were breaking up, letting through a pale watery sunshine. There were more people now, gathered on the terraces outside the palace. They were all looking toward the belvedere, but no one seemed to want to come over. Well, he would hesitate too, Sigismund thought with a wry grin. A dragon and a small host of faie knights were a situation that needed to be fully understood before rushing in, especially after having been asleep for nearly a hundred years. He wondered what it would be like waking up after so long. Would the sleepers feel bewildered and disoriented, or simply take up their lives as though rising from an afternoon’s nap?