The Castle Of Hape. Caves Of Fire And Ice. The Joining Of The Stone

“What Dracvadrig began,” the warrior queen said, “we will consummate.” Lobon could feel the woman’s power, hypnotic and intense. Her incantation was in words foreign to him, in words that soothed him strangely, then made his blood burn hot, brought a wildness leaping in him and a passion that he saw reflected in the girl’s face as she turned to look at him. What was this spell? Emotions like flame pummeled him; Meatha’s cheeks were flaming; she bent her head as if in shame. A power flowed between them like a river, a yearning between them, the warrior queen’s words drowning them in desire; and then they began to understand the words. The woman’s voice was low and compelling. “As lovers need, so lovers cleave. And in cleaving bring new life. As Seers need, so Seers cleave. And in cleaving bring more than life: Bring to me blood meant to rule the bell. Bring to me blood meant to join the stone. New blood will join the stone in darkness, join the stone to darkness to hold and to wield beyond challenge.”

He was dizzy with desire. Meatha held herself steadier. He watched her, saw her tense suddenly with another emotion sharp and predatory. Help me, Lobon! Now! She spun, her silent words shouting in his mind, she struck the warrior queen in the stomach and groin and grabbed her sword, but the woman spun away. Meatha was after her as Lobon snatched up a rock. He closed on RilkenDal as Feldyn passed him, leaping against the man, and together they toppled the dark Seer. Lobon raised the rock to strike, but the man’s power stayed him, weakened him; RilkenDal’s power closed over his mind so he fought for consciousness and could strike only glancing blows; then he began to drop into blackness, was half conscious of Feldyn tearing at the Seer’s throat in a thrashing, bloody combat.

He woke hurting and confused, and looked around him. The cell gates were locked, they were captive. The warrior queen was gone, the sense of her gone. Meatha leaned against the bars, weak with pain. He stared beyond the locked gate into the abyss and saw RilkenDal there lying dead with his throat torn away. He rose and put his arm around Meatha to help her, but the emotion that gripped him made him step back as if he were burned. She looked up at him. “I tried—I tried to get the stones.”

He felt against his tunic for the wolf bell and drew it out. “She could not touch the bell,” he said quietly, knowing the wolves had protected the bell, feeling their authority, the two here in the cave aligned now with the anger of the great pack that roamed the high desert lands.

But Kish too had power, she carried the mightiness of six stones. Still, the fury of the wolves, the passion of the wolves, was greater. He stared at Meatha and knew at last the true importance of the commitment of the stones’ bearer. Remorse at the possession of the stones by the dark powers sickened him; he also knew, painfully, that far more mattered to him than avenging Ramad’s death.

“And now it is too late,” he said, searching Meatha’s face. He turned away from her, torn with self-disgust; but beyond his anguish there was the sense of the warrior queen near to them, he could feel her cruel pleasure in the power she now wielded, felt the strength of the spell she cast and knew he should feel revulsion, rage, yet felt only desire. He needed this girl now, needed her to drive out the storm of self-reproach, didn’t care about reason or anger or spells, knew he must hold her, was sick with desire for her. He could see her own desire reflected in her eyes.

“If we are to die at Kish’s hand,” he whispered, “might we not die together, die close together, as one—

“Stop it, Lobon! Stop it! She doesn’t want us to die! Don’t you see. She wants . . .”

“An heir,” he said, facing the truth of Kish’s plans.

“Yes. An heir. The stone is not yet joined. We must not give her an heir, must not let it be joined as long as it can be held by the dark powers.” Her face was flaming, her fear and confusion at the strength of her own desire making her wild with anger. “There must be no heir! There must be no joining of the stone in darkness!”

Still he felt Kish’s powers twisting his thoughts.

“Come,” she said. “Feldyn needs us.” She knelt before the dark wolf, ripped a long hem from her tunic, and began to wipe blood from the wound. “If we had birdmoss, salve . . .”

He took the bloody rag from her and went deep into the cave, where he rinsed and moistened it. When he returned, she was sitting with Feldyn’s head in her lap. He stared down at her, then looked at the locked gate.

He had failed in everything. The stones were gone. Feldyn would die here; all four of them would die. And with the stones gone, Ere was surely defeated. He was dully amazed that he cared—about the stones, about Ere; but he was certain now that Dracvadrig’s death was not enough, had never been enough.