Part 10 (1/2)
”I thought no need for swords. I thought the others would stop you.”
The broadsword sang and hummed. Aeriel heard her own sobbing in the sound. Panting, Irrylath cradled his arm as though it were painful-or numb, A stab of fear went through Aeriel. She had no idea whether the sword's fire had harmed him permanently. He seemed dazed. All the others in the tent were casting about with baffled or frightened looks, save Pendarlon, who, staring at Erin's blade, was making a low cat-growl.
”Stop, stop,” Aeriel wept, hardly realizing that she spoke aloud.
Now everyone was staring at the glaive, even Irrylath. Sabr steadied his head, which lolled as though he might swoon.
Through Erin, Aeriel watched the sword begin to flicker and waver, like a long white flame. The misty candescence and the blade itself merged until the whole sword was a tongue of fire. Aeriel staggered to her feet. The flame also rose, elongating, narrowing. Through the dark girl's astonished eyes, she saw the flame taking on a human shape. With a start, Aeriel recognized herself, then felt her own being drawn irresistibly across the miles until it merged into the flame. Turning to her husband, she called his name.
”Irrylath,” she said urgently. ”Irrylath, heed me. You are not mistaken. Erin's sword was Witch-made once, but Ravenna has changed it to serve our cause.”
The prince of Avaric shook his head, gazing at her in disbelief. Aeriel saw Sabr's hands upon him tighten.
”Pay no heed, Cousin,” she murmured. ”That is some image of the Witch. The shadowmaid is in league with your tormentor. She was never your friend.”
Irrylath seemed not to hear her, his attention fixed on the image in the sword. Aeriel choked down her sudden fury at the intervention of Sabr. An outburst of jealousy now would serve neither herself nor Irrylath. Resolutely, she ignored the bandit queen, spoke only to the prince.
”Husband, it is I.”
”You can't be,” Irrylath cried out hoa.r.s.ely. ”The Witch sent her darkangels to steal you away.”
Aeriel shook her head. ”Not so. One of her black birds set a pin behind my ear.”
”I would have told you that if you had let me,” Erin growled between her teeth. She pulled the folded sari from her s.h.i.+ft and tossed it down before the prince who, with a gasp, touched the cascade of yellow silk about his knees. Lifting his eyes, he gazed at the sword, as a man dying of thirst might gaze upon a mirage of water.
”Oh, Aeriel,” Irrylath whispered. ”If only it were you...”
”It isn't,” Sabr hissed desperately. ”An image! Some clever trap.”
Aeriel felt the pearl upon her brow gleaming coolly. An idea formed itself in her mind.
”The rime,” she said. ”I have the last of Ravenna's riddle now. Will that convince you?” She raised her eyes and voice to the others in the tent. ”Will that convince you all?”
Irrylath struggled to his feet, throwing off Sabr's persistent hands. His voice rang clear and certain suddenly. ”Speak it,” he cried. ”Say the rime, and if you are truly Aeriel, unharmed and not in the Witch's power, I will know you.”
His one hand was clenched about their wedding silk. The other, his sword hand, twitched as though trying to close. He bent his arm, with the help of the other, and winced. Reaching out to him, Aeriel said:
”Whereafter shall commence such a cruel, sorcerous war To wrest recompense for a land leaguered sore.
With a broadsword bright burning, a shadow black as night From exile returning shall champion the fight For love of one above who, flag unfurled, lone must stand, The pearl of the soul of the world in her hand.
When Winterock. to water falls flooding, foes to drown, Ravenna's own daughter shall kindle the crown.”
Silence. No sound in the tent but the fizz of lampwicks and the night wind sighing. Her brother Roshka eyed her uncertainly. Syllva stood mute beside her Istern sons. The bewildered sentries glanced at one another. Then she heard Talb the Mage chuckle and Pendarlon begin to purr. But her gaze remained on Irrylath.
”Oh, husband,” she breathed, ”believe in me.”
Coming forward, he knelt before the flame that Erin held. His sword arm seemed nearly recovered now, for with it, he reached toward Aeriel.
”I do,” he whispered, ”for it is you. Forgive my doubting.”
His hand pa.s.sed through the flame, without harm this time. She experienced a flickering, and the odd feeling of something broad and insubstantial pa.s.sing through her, but then it was gone, and her vision of Irrylath and the rose silk tent steadied again. Sabr had come to stand beside the prince. She touched his shoulder, mistrust plain upon her face.
”Cousin,” she warned. ”How can you be sure? We have known for months that Aeriel is lost-yet now this apparition claims it is not so! Dare you trust the rime that she has given you?”
The prince rose suddenly and turned on her. ”Unhand me,” he spat, his voice like burning oil. ”It was you I let convince me that Aeriel was lost, you I let persuade me to turn from her memory! We have dallied here at desert's edge uncounted hours on your advis.e.m.e.nt. This is Aeriel. I know her. Do not presume to advise me further, queen of thieves!”
His tone was savage, his expression furious. Aeriel felt an ugly little thread of satisfaction run through her.
”My thought was for you,” Sabr cried, stumbling back from him as though she had been struck. Her face held a look of desperate betrayal. ”Always and ever for you.”
Turning, the prince's cousin fled, disappearing into the night. Irrylath watched her go, his expression hard, full of fury still. It was the Lady Syllva who spoke at last, coming forward to touch the prince's arm.
”You are too hard, my son,” she reproved him sternly. ”Too hard by half. Aeriel is your wife, but Sabr is your cousin still, and a commander in my warhost-your equal in rank. What she says is true: she thinks only of you. She has been the one to lead our desert trek, keeping our forces together against desertion and despair, and not two daymonths past, it was she alone that stood between you and your own dagger.”
The prince glared at the Lady, but made no reply. Aeriel put one hand to her temple. Her head was spinning. A heavy weariness had begun to steal over her. She had not realized the effort that speaking through the sword required. Perception through it was much more intense than through the pearl, arduous even, sapping her energy. Its strange sensation of heatless burning had hollowed her.
”I must leave you,” she said unsteadily. Irrylath and the others turned.
”No!” the prince began, reaching for her again. ”Don't go.”
She shook her head. ”I must. Spanning the distance between us is difficult... and I have Ravenna's task to fulfill.”
”Aeriel,” cried Irrylath. ”Stay. Stay.”
Again she shook her head. She must be gone, at once. The strain was growing dangerous.
”Sheathe the sword, Erin,” she whispered. ”Be quick.”
Irrylath was reaching for her. ”Don't-”
”Look for me at the Witch's Mere. Erin!” Aeriel hissed.
”Farewell,” the dark girl whispered. ”And goodspeed.”
In one swift motion, she sheathed the sword, and the sensation of draining ceased. Spent, Aeriel sank to her knees. The Waste stretched flat, grey, and broken around her, misty by pearllight. Her eyelids strayed shut. Hours. It would take hours for the pearl to restore her. She must guard her strength in future. As fatigue dragged fiercely at her, she shook her head.
Sleep-she needed sleep. Aeriel lay down upon the cracked and bitter surface of the Waste. The pearl brought her only a faint echo of Irrylath's distant, despairing cry.
”Aeriel!”
It was the last she heard before falling headlong into troubled dreams.