Wrede, Patricia C - SSC (9 page)

But he could not sleep. If
Mariel—if the Earthwitch—agreed to help him, then he would pay for that help
with his life. He had said it, and meant it, and he could not fool himself into
thinking that the offer alone would be enough. Well, Corbin would be upset, but
he would make a good king, and he had sons to follow him. A clear succession
was important, or the substance of the kingdom was wasted on the sort of civil
wars that had raged before he had taken the throne for himself.

Evan frowned. He had done what he
could to assure that Corbin would have the throne if he did not return, but a
king who vanished left doubts behind, no matter how good the preparations.
Perhaps Mariel would let him send a message before he died. Mariel. . . His
eyes closed at last, and he slept.

He was the same, and he was not.
The arrogance was still there, but tempered in some way she did not understand.
The old Evan would have demanded help and thought to haggle over the price; the
old Evan would scarcely have noticed the pain of the people who died in his
war.

He had changed, but not enough. If
she went back to him, back to her old life, he would swallow her alive without
even intending to. She could see it, feel it, in every look he gave her. She
would fade to a shadow of his shadow, mouthing whatever words pleased him, and
he would not even notice. Or perhaps this new Evan would notice, and be
saddened, but he would never see how or why it had happened.

She could not go back. She did not
dare. Oh, she wanted it—wanted him—more than she would have believed, even
after all this time. But returning would mean losing all she had gained in the
long, painful years—not her power as Earthwitch, for that was soon to end in
any case, but her love of books and her knowledge of herbs; her fondness for
sunrise and bird-song; her occasional pleasure in being alone; all the things,
large and small, that made her herself and not a reflection of Evan Rydingsword
and his ambition. She would lose them, because she knew she did not possess the
strength to leave him twice.

"I am the Earthwitch,"
she said aloud, and the words echoed in the darkened cave, bringing her back to
the present and the knowledge of her duties. She took a deep breath and set her
fears and longings aside, as she had learned to set aside all her emotions when
she invoked the earth magic. It was foolish to be concerned with such choices
now. Evan had asked the earth for help; if that help were to be given, some
price must be paid. Afterward, there would be time for other considerations, if
the earth's demands had not made them impossible.

She set that thought aside, too,
and rose from her chair. It was time to begin. Her tools were laid ready on the
table before her: a small brazier of unlit charcoal, a cup of water from the
pool of visions, flint and tinder, a clean cloth. Making a request of the earth
magic was a more complex undertaking than accepting the visions it chose to show.

Clearing her mind of everything
save Evan and the Dhainin, Mariel raised her arms and began the invocation. Her
hands moved almost without conscious thought, lighting the fire, sprinkling the
water, catching the flying ashes in the cloth. She sprinkled the fire again,
sending more flecks of ash whirling upward with the steam, and breathed in the
smoky scent. And knew before she opened the cloth what answer she would find there.

When Evan woke, Mariel was sitting
beside his bed. Half dreaming still, he put out a hand, and she drew away. His
hand dropped; she looked at him gravely.

"Are you determined?" she
asked.

"What other choice do I
have?"

"Then the earth magic will aid
you," she said in a cool voice.

Evan sat up. "Thank you,
Mariel."

"It is no doing of mine,"
she said sharply. "And the price is yet to be paid. You may still fail if
you have lied about your motives." Evan did not reply, and after a moment
she shook her head. "Come, then, if you are sure."

She led him through a dark and
twisting passage, back to the pool where he had first seen her. At the iron
brazier, she stopped and pointed. "Stand beside the pool," she said,
"and do not move or look behind you until I tell you. Watch the water, and
think of your purpose."

Evan stepped to the place she had
indicated. A flicker of orange light glittered suddenly on the surface of the
water and Mariel's voice began a harsh-sounding chant, but he did not turn. He
sensed power slowly growing around him, until it surged in invisible waves, and
he felt the very rocks were watching him. He stared at the water and thought of
his dying men, his burning villages and war-torn land, and his own powerlessness.

The water became darker, reflecting
nothing. Slowly it drew away from the center of the pool, and Evan saw
something lying there, or growing, a shape blacker than darkness, darker than
night: a sword. He did not move. He hardly dared to breathe.

Mariel's voice, the voice of the
Earthwitch, rose behind him in a rasping command, then stopped. The water of
the pool surged forward, then back, then forward again, and dull orange light
from the brazier glittered on its surface once more. Outlined against the
reflected light, the sword stood upright in the water, visible only as an
interruption in the sparkling ripples. Hands reached past Evan, holding a
cloth. A moment later, the sword had been pulled from the water, and a voice
said, "You may turn."

Feeling as stiff and tired as if he
had just fought a long battle, Evan looked away from the pool. His eyes met
Mariel's blankly; then he saw the sword she held. It was made of black stone,
dead black, the black of the center of the world where no light had ever fallen.
He reached for it, and Mariel drew back.

"Not yet."

"That sword—"

"—is the means the earth has
given you. The time for its use has not yet come. Veryl and Niza will see to
you now. I have more preparations to make."

"Will I see you again before .
. . whatever is to happen next?"

She hesitated, half turning.
"Perhaps. Go now." With that, she vanished into the depths of the
cave, carrying the stone sword carefully so that her cloth-wrapped hands would
not touch its surface.

Two girls appeared in the doorway
and escorted him back to the chamber where he had awakened. They brought him
water and food, and he ate, trying to contain his impatience. He asked for, and
received, writing materials and passed some time composing his letter to
Corbin. He had nearly finished when Mariel returned.

"What is that?" she asked
when she saw what he was doing.

"A letter to my chief
commander." He signed it and stamped the bottom with his seal ring, then
rolled the letter up and slipped the ring over the top. Finally, he tied them
securely to the hilt of his sword and looked up. "Will you see that he
gets this after. . . afterward?"

"I will arrange it."

"Thank you."

They sat for a few moments in
silence. Then Evan said, "I thought I had a great deal still to say to
you, but I find that two words cover most of it: I'm sorry."

"I, too."

"How much longer? Have you
more preparations to make?"

"We can begin as soon as you
are ready."

Evan swallowed hard and stood up.
"I'm as ready as I can be, I think. But can you at least tell me what to
expect?"

"No. I mean, I do not know
myself. The earth does what it does, never twice the same, any more than two
roses are identical, leaf for leaf. Whatever happens will rid your land of the
Dhainin, but how, I do not know."

"Then let us go."

Mariel nodded and put up the hood
of her robe. Silently, she gestured for him to follow and led him out into the
maze of passageways. How long and how far they walked, Evan could not guess. At
last they came to a flight of stairs, carved in rock, and Mariel led him upward.

They emerged abruptly into the pale
golden sunlight of late afternoon. Evan blinked and looked about him. He stood
on a narrow strip of barren earth. On one side, the mountain rose to its peak,
shining in the sun; on the other, a lake of molten rock boiled and smoked
between him and the edge of a cliff. Directly in front of him was a gray
boulder with a flat top and on it lay the black stone sword. Seeing it, Evan
took a swift step forward, then stopped in sudden doubt and glanced toward Mariel.

The dark green hood inclined in
Evan's direction. Mariel's voice echoed strangely as she spoke, as if her words
came from a great distance or through a long tunnel. "Evan Rydingsword,
you have asked the aid of the earth magic to rid your country of the Dhainin.
For this you came to
Firewell
Mountain
;
for this you have offered whatever the magic demands as the price of power.
State now without fear: is this true?"

All the cruel tales of the
Earthwitch and her magic rose in Evan's mind, and he hesitated. Other memories
crowded in to match the tales, pictures of battle and burning. "It is
true," Evan said, firmly putting his last doubts aside.

"Then step forward and take
the sword of the earth, and let what will be, be so."

Evan walked slowly forward and
reached for the hilt of the black sword. As he touched it, he saw Mariel—no,
the Earthwitch—throw something toward the orange lake of fire. A cloud of smoke
grew swiftly beside him, and in a moment he was surrounded by swirling,
featureless gray. He lifted the sword.

Cold struck through his arm, and
his eyes began to burn. The gray smoke cleared or became transparent in front
of him. Looking through it, he saw, not the mountains, but a field, black with
the Dhainin army. He shouted and held the sword aloft. Power ran down his arm
in a wave of cold fire that continued on through him until it melted into the
ground beneath his feet. A ripple of motion went through the Dhainin army, and
then, with a terrible slowness, they began to sink.

Evan could not move, could not
shout, could not even blink. With a fantastic clarity, he saw their faces twist
in terror as the ground softened and the grassy earth rose around them. They sank
with the slow inevitability of a pebble in a jar of honey, and when the surface
of the plain closed at last above their heads there was no sign that they had
ever existed.

Evan drew a single, shuddering
breath—
I wanted the Dhainin gone, but no warrior deserves such a death
—and
the scene changed. This time he saw a smaller group of Dhainin, strolling
through the streets of a small town—Lemark, that was the place. He had lost it
to the Dhainin barely two weeks before. Again he felt power run through him; again
the earth softened beneath the feet of the men he saw, and they sank screaming
into the cobbled street.

The scene shifted again, and again,
until Evan hardly knew or cared what it was he watched. He tried to tell
himself that the visions were unreal symbols, not images of actual events
happening elsewhere, but with the earth's power surging through him he could not
make himself believe it. Once the earth sucked down a troop of Dhainin raiders
in the midst of a battle, leaving their opponents staring in fear and horror,
and he recognized some of his rear guard.

At last the visions ended, and Evan
felt the power fade. Slowly, he lowered the sword, and the gray smoke swirled
tiredly, thinned, and dissolved. His people were safe, but he felt no triumph.
There was no honor or glory in killing helpless victims, and the destruction of
an entire people in such a way left him sick at heart, as no battle had ever
done. He turned and saw Mariel standing at the edge of the cliff, her hood
pushed back and her hair blowing in wisps around her face.

And the sword moved in his hand.

Evan looked down, stunned, and saw
the stone sword rise, pulling his hand upward and forward. Pulling him toward
Mariel. He cried out and tried to drop the sword, but his fingers would not obey
him. He looked up and saw Mariel with the same unnatural clarity as he had seen
the Dhainin. She watched for a moment, her face calm and grave, while the sword
pulled him inexorably closer. Then, smiling slightly, she stepped forward to
meet him.

Horror swept him; whatever price he
had expected to pay, this was not it. He fought the pull of the black stone
sword, but it was too strong. Left-handed, he groped for his own sword, but it
was still in the sleeping chamber with his letter. His dagger, then. He drew it
with difficulty. "I will not kill her," he said between clenched
teeth, and slashed at his right wrist.

The steel cut cleanly through in
spite of the awkward angle of the blow. Too late, Mariel cried out in protest,
echoing Evan's scream of pain. The black stone sword hung in the air for
another instant; then it fell and shattered on the ground at his feet. As the
stone broke, he felt the power that had filled him break apart, and the vision
of Mariel shattered like a picture in a breaking mirror. The shards of power
and vision stabbed at his eyes, and he fell forward, the stump of his right arm
gushing redness across the broken bits of black stone.

He woke in darkness with a
throbbing pain in his right arm. He was lying on a rough, uncomfortable surface,
and he could hear movement beside him. "Mariel?" he said weakly.

"I am here. I have bound your
arm, and you will not bleed to death, but you need more tending than I can give
you here. Can you walk back to the caves? I am afraid you are too much for me
to carry."

"If you light the lamp so I
can find the stairs, I think I can manage," Evan said.

"Light the lamp? But—"
Mariel stopped, and Evan felt suddenly cold.

"Mariel, how long was I— How
long has it been?"

"Not long."

"Not long," Evan
repeated, peering vainly into the darkness. "Then—" But he could not
finish. He felt more than heard Mariel move beside him and knew she was
nodding.