Part 24 (1/2)

At least he needed no captain's advice to know that the village had been warned too soon. The villagers would have more time to flee. The Transformed could pursue them only so far before they escaped from Eremius's command.

A village hurled into panic-stricken flight would send a powerful message to would-be allies. A village reduced to rubble and corpses would send one still more powerful.

Eremius raised his staff. For tonight, the Jewel flamed from its head, bound there by a silver ring and carefully-h.o.a.rded strands of Illyana's hair. Eremius had proven several times over that the Jewel was not bonded to the ring. He had long known the spells for removing it from the ring and returning it, but tonight was the first time he had removed it for serious work.

Eremius began to chant, calling on every craftsman of ancient Atlantis whose name was known. It was a long list. He then pa.s.sed on to all the Atlantean G.o.ds and demons, a list nearly as long.

One day he would receive a clear sign of who had made or found the Jewels, and what had aided him. Perhaps it would even happen before the other Jewel came into Eremius's hands. For now the sorcerer knew only that this invocation wearied him exceedingly and could make the spell uncertain-or vastly more powerful.

”Chyar, Esp.o.r.n, Boker-”

Over and over again, more than two-score names of power. As he chanted, Eremius thrust the staff and Jewel alternately to the left and to the right. On either side of him a s.p.a.ce in the air began to glow with emerald fire.

The Spell of the Eyes of Mahr could enthrall a dozen men even at its common power. Enhanced, it would hold the village as motionless as the stones of their huts while the Transformed descended upon them.

”Boker, Idas, Geza.s.s, Ayrgulf-”

Ayrgulf was no Atlantean, but he had a place in the history of the Jewels. History, not legend, named him the first Vanir chief who had possessed the Jewels. More history and much b.l.o.o.d.y legend told of what befell him, when the Jewels filled him with dreams of power he had no art to command.

History and legend alike would speak otherwise of Eremius the Jewelmaster.

To left and right, the glowing green spheres began to flatten into the oval shapes of immense eyes.

Bora saw the eyes take form as he ran from Ivram's house. As he reached the head of the path downhill, the eyes seemed to stare directly at him.

His legs seemed to have a will of their own, and that will was to turn and flee. It would be so easy-much easier than descending the path to the doomed village and dying when the demon behind the eyes swooped.

But-what would men say of him? What would he think of himself, for that matter?

Bora had never known before so much of the truth about courage. Little of it was-freedom from fear. Some of it was mastering your fear. A great part was fearing other men's tongues more than whatever menaced you, and the rest was wis.h.i.+ng to sleep soundly at night the rest of your days.

Not that he would have many more days or nights if he went down that hill.

Bora descended the four steps Ivram had carved into the rock at the top of the path. As his feet struck bare ground, he realized that the eyes seemed to be following him. Moreover, they were drawing him on down the hill.

He had not fled because he was being ensorceled not to flee! Like a snake charming a bird, the eyes were drawing him, a helpless prey, toward what awaited at the bottom of the hill.

Feet thumped on the stairs behind him. A pungent powder floated about him. ft stung nose and mouth like pepper. Bora's face twisted, he clapped hands over his face, his eyes streamed tears, and he sneezed convulsively.

”Go on sneezing, Bora,” came Ivram's voice. ”If you need more-”

Bora could not speak, half-strangled as he felt. He went on sneezing until he feared that his nose might leap from his face and roll down the hill. His eyes streamed as they had not since he wept for his grandfather's death.

At last he could command his breath again. He also discovered that he could command his feet, his senses, his will-

”What spell did you put on me, Ivram?” he shouted. The shout set off another fit of coughing.

”Only the counterspell in the Powder of Zayan,” Ivram said mildly. ”The Spell of the Eyes of Hahr is one of those easily cast on an unsuspecting, unresisting subject. It is just as easily broken by the Powder. Once broken, it cannot be recast on the same subject-”

”I'm grateful, Ivram,” Bora said. ”More than grateful.” In his worst nightmares, he had not imagined that what menaced the village would wield such powers. ”But can we help the whole village in time?” He was fidgeting to be off down the hill, half-afraid that the urge to flee would rise again if he waited.