The Sword Of Erren-dar (Book 2) (73 page)

 “Avenge us, Iska!” cried the lone voice of a young girl.
“Avenge our deaths, for we lost our lives because we would not bow to evil.”
Once more she saw the row of coffins in the ice caves. Once more she saw the
plea she now heard in her head, being etched letter by letter into the ice.

 Then the spirits of the Lonely Lake whispered in their
silver voices, like the wind through the grasses on the sand-dunes. “Good can be
found anywhere. In any race, or clan, to those of low birth or high. There are
no boundaries to goodness. The demon has stirred up many spirits, once
quiescent, and now they serve the Destroyer. Your journey was foretold long ago
and each of you has a role to play that can be filled by none other.”

 And the words made Iska remember how the sand creature and
the trailing weed in Engorin had both singled her out for attack and knew now
that they were obeying their master’s will, for he saw that she posed a danger
to his plans.

 Finally, all the voices quietened until only one, clear
voice spoke. “You are our sister, Iska and were born for this task. Hesitate no
longer.
Avenge us
!”

And at that moment, Iska knew that despite her ignoble
birth, she bore within her the powers of her ancestors of the House of Parth.
Her father had not been able to uncover those powers because he had searched
for darkness, and what she had inherited was foreign to that. What she had
inherited was not the power to promote evil, but to oppose it.

With a stab of panic, she realised that she knew nothing of
the extent of her powers or how to control them. All she knew was that the man
she loved stood alone, shield raised, waiting for the demon to strike him down,
and the time had come for her to fight to save him.

 Closing her eyes, she surrendered herself to the feeling of
lightness and resisted it no more.

 Eimer had been keeping his gaze fixed on his supernatural
opponent, but out of the tail of his eye, he was distracted by a faint glow of
a light. Flicking a glance towards Iska, he nearly dropped his shield with shock.
The skin of her face and hands was glowing with a radiant white light that grew
ever stronger as he watched. Moreover, her human shape seemed to be disseminating
into something much more nebulous. She seemed to be dissolving into a silver-white
mist, losing her defined outline until all solidity had gone and she had become
a radiant silver cloud, within the depths of which was a searingly-white light,
more dazzling than the brightest moon.

 The demon, about to hurl its wrath at Eimer, also suddenly
saw the glowing cloud. The blazing red eyes swivelled in its direction, puzzled,
as the cloud began to drift gently towards it. What it saw seemed unthreatening,
because in comparison with its own immense size, it was tiny, but the demon could
not identify what it was, and this troubled it.

 Tranquilly, the ball of glowing mist coasted across the plain
towards the blackness, then it stopped  a little hesitantly. For a moment
absolutely nothing happened. Then it suddenly seemed to concentrate and draw
itself tightly together and without further warning it flung itself at the
demon. The two clouds collided with a flash and a sound like a clap of thunder.
Instantly, the  black and the white began to swirl around one another, gyrating
and spinning like a whirlwind, faster and faster. A roaring, rushing noise
swept across the plain and the men, released from the captivity of the demon’s
gaze, scrambled to get out of the way, shouting in terror. Both clouds lifted
clear of the ground and rose into the air. The aerial battle continued and was
now a screaming vortex streaked with black and white from which shot bolts of
lightning into the surrounding sky. The grey plain lit up with flashes of angry
red and the roaring sound increased in volume.

 Eimer and Sareth, crouched together behind the shield,
stared upwards, transfixed, as the war raged across the skies above them.

 Then, without warning, there was an immense explosion
accompanied by a flash of light so blinding that everyone winced with pain and
shut their eyes. At the same instant there was a crash of thunder, powerful enough
to rock the entire plain, knocking anyone on their feet to the ground.

 When the sound died away, echoing off in waves across the
forest, an eerie silence replaced it. Heads cautiously began to be raised and
it was seen that the battling clouds had vanished without trace, leaving the
world oddly still. There was only one visible casualty of the battle. The black
warriors had collapsed where they stood and now lay in tangled, lifeless heaps.

 Eimer sprang to his feet. “Iska! Iska!” he cried. “Where
are you?”

 In the centre of the plain, lay the fragile body of a young
girl, her face hidden beneath her black hair.

 Eimer dropped his shield, and tore across the grass until
he reached her. Flinging himself on his knees beside her, with a shaking hand,
he drew back her hair. Her face was drained of colour and her breathing was
shallow, but she was alive.

 “Iska!” he called, gently supporting her in his arms.
“Iska, answer me.”

 He got a soft groan in response and looking down, he
discovered a pair of rather dazed amber eyes staring up into his own.

 “You had the power all along,” he whispered.

 “Yes.”

 “And you didn’t know?”

 “Not until the demon threatened you” She drew a shaky
breath. “Eimer, I cannot stand yet, so you must carry me to Vesarion. Quickly,
for I feel his time is short. Once his soul has departed, there is nothing I
can do for him.”

 Swiftly he caught her up into his arms and carried her to
where his sister knelt, holding her husband’s still form protectively against
her.

 He set her down beside them, and weakly she managed to
heave herself onto her knees.

 “Does he still live, Sareth?” she asked urgently.

Sareth’s throat had closed and she was barely able to speak.
“I don’t know,” she managed to say. “I can’t feel him breathing.”

 Iska placed her fingertips on Vesarion’s neck and very,
very faintly she detected a pulse.

 “I pray I have the strength left to do this,” she
whispered, and gently she placed her palm over the terrible wound in his
shoulder. Closing her eyes tightly, she summoned up all of her remaining
strength, all of her will, and pictured in her mind as clearly as she could the
wound closing. As she tried to concentrate, she saw him in her mind’s eye as
she had done on their journey. She saw him steadfastly facing the wolves in the
snow. She saw him enfolding Sareth in his cloak when she had a fever. She saw
him defy her brother before being chained to the Traitor’s Pillar. Banishing
the painful picture, instead she thought of him on the day he had married
Sareth. She had seen the look that had passed between them as they exchanged
rings, and she knew she had found the image that would save him. Within
herself, she thought: “He cannot die. He has such courage and love in his
heart, he cannot die.”

 Although she was unaware of it, as the words passed through
her head, her hand, pressed to his wound, began to glow with the same silver
light that had shone from the cloud. Sareth caught her breath when she saw it,
almost afraid to hope. Iska did not open her eyes, but instead increased her
concentration, summoning his image from her memories, searching for him in the
shadowlands between this world and beyond. And suddenly in the darkness of this
realm, her hand touched his. His fingers closed around her and she felt his
grip to be strong.

 “It’s time to go home,” she said softly to him and began to
retreat the way she had come, drawing him with her. “It is time to return to
Sareth.”

 At first, to Sareth desperately watching, nothing seemed to
happen. Vesarion still lay with his head back, his eyes closed and Iska,
drained by her ordeal against the demon, was visibly weakening, but just as the
light in her hand began to fade, suddenly Vesarion gave a shuddering gasp, like
a man surfacing who has been under the water too long. His chest heaved and he
took in a deep breath of air. He opened his eyes and looked directly up at
Sareth.

 They stared at one another for a long moment as if neither
could believe what had happened.

“Iska found me,” he said quietly. “She came for me and
brought me home to you again.”

 Sareth, almost beside herself with joy, did the logical
thing in the circumstances and burst into tears, clutching him convulsively.

 Her brother, close to tears himself, found relief in
exasperation. “For heaven’s sake, what on earth is there to cry about, Sarry?”

“I don’t know,” sobbed his sister, burying her face against
Vesarion, effectively thwarting his attempts to sit up. Finally, managing to
get upright, he put his arms around her and brushed away her tears with his
hand.

 “Eimer’s right, you know,” he said, looking into her eyes.
“This is no day for tears.”

 And suddenly all her grief was gone and she was as radiant
as the sun when it comes out after rain. He rose to his feet and returning her
smile, held out his hand to her and drew her into his arms

 At last, releasing Sareth, he became aware of his
surroundings and looked around in perplexity at the shaken men of both armies,
gingerly picking themselves up from the ground. “Did I miss something? What
happened?”

 Eimer, feeling totally unequal to an explanation, merely
said: “Long story, but suffice it to say that the demon has been defeated and
as its will was all that animated the black warriors, they too have succumbed.
Also,” he added, nodding towards Mordrian’s twisted remains, “come and look at
this.”

 Their eyes followed his pointing finger and they saw that
the black sword was no more. It had dissolved into the ground, leaving a
soot-like mark in the shape of a sword on the grass.

“It’s gone,” whipered Iska. “It is over at last.” And as her
eyes met Vesarion’s, they exchanged an intense look that rendered words
unnecessary between them, for they had been together in a place that none of
the others could comprehend. Sareth, however, was less restrained and throwing
her arms around her friend, whispered in her ear: “I cannot find the words,
Iska. I cannot even begin to find them.”

 “None are needed, Sareth, you know that,” she replied, but as
she spoke, her eyes strayed past her friend and what she saw caused her to
announced warningly: “My brother is coming.”

 Misunderstanding her, both Eimer and Vesarion whirled
round, reaching for their swords, but it was Kerac, alone and unarmed, who
approached them.

 “Where is your King?” he asked, looking at Iska.

 Enrick, who had been a silent and chastened bystander to
these events, now stepped forward.

 “I am Enrick of Eskendria.”

“My brother is dead,” said the Prince without a trace of
regret. “And I, Kerac,  now command the army of Adamant. This is a war between
our two lands that should never have happened. I did not know that my brother
was possessed by the demon but it now explains the obsessive hatred he bore
towards Eskendria - a hatred that drove us all to the very brink of ruin. With
your agreement, King Enrick, I will withdraw the army of Adamant and we will
return to our own land. The Destroyer has provoked enmity between our two
kingdoms, but when my father dies and I am king, perhaps such things can
change.”

 “A noble sentiment, Prince Kerac,” Enrick replied. “Only
time will tell if it becomes more than words. Withdraw now and return to your
home and let no more blood be spilt today.”

 Kerac nodded and after an enigmatic look at Iska, returned
to his men. King Enrick also gave her a long stare.

 “Eskendria owes you a great debt, daughter of Parth. I did
not know you possessed such powers.”

 “Sire, I did not know it myself.”

 The King turned to Vesarion. “She has healed you of your
wound?”

 “She has,” he confirmed. “Apart from a little stiffness, it
is as if my shoulder had never been harmed.”

 Eimer, quicker to gain his equilibrium than his friends,
slapped Vesarion enthusiastically on the back.

 “That was one hell of a fight you undertook. I don’t think
I have ever seen anything like it.”

Vesarion glanced down at his sword, now safely restored to
its rightful place by his side. “The sword of Erren-dar won the fight.”

 But the young prince would not allow it. “No, it didn’t, Vesarion,
it was your stubborn courage that won it. Even your great ancestor would have
been impressed.” He looked around him in satisfaction, as the armies of Adamant
began to file back into the forest, preparatory to their long journey home.
“Then all ends well, it seems,” he declared thankfully.

 But Sareth gave a cry. “No it doesn’t! We have forgotten
something!”

 Every eye met in sudden realisation. “
Gorm
!” they
cried in unison.

 Hurriedly they searched the battlefield until they found
the little Turog stretched lifelessly on the grass. His eyes were closed, his
mouth open, displaying his impressive teeth, and there were black scorch marks all
over him.

 “Can you do anything for him?” Sareth asked Iska anxiously.

 She knelt by his side before standing up again, smiling. “I
don’t need to. He isn’t dead, only knocked unconscious.”

 Eimer bent and shook the prone form by the shoulder. “Gorm,
old fellow, wake up.”

 Gorm groaned but didn’t open his eyes. “Protect Sareth,” he
muttered.

 “Sareth is here,” Eimer informed him, “and perfectly well,
as are we all. So wake up you little malingerer. You might be as tough as boot
leather but you missed the most exciting bit.”

 Gorm remained unconvinced. “Going to die,” he moaned.

 “You’re not going to die. You were only knocked out,” Iska
reassured him.

 A pair of yellow eyes opened. “Not going to die?” he asked
suspiciously.