The Castle Оf Hape. Caves Оf Fire Аnd Ice. The Joining Оf Тhe Stone

“It is his ignorance! There is danger in his willful ignorance!” She stared at Canoldir’s reclining shape, wished he would come out of the shadows and stop lounging like a bear. His dark hair and beard blended with the hair on the coarse hides, his eyes, from the shadows, saw too much, his mind Saw too much. She turned away from him toward the fire’s blaze and rested her head against the high mantel. When she looked back at him at last, it was with more conviction. “I feel something else, too. I feel a force moving out from Tala-charen, the force that Ram felt. What is that power? It touches the abyss. It seems to reach toward Carriol, too, toward that shard of the runestone. It is a power that belongs to the stones, Canoldir, that comes from the mountain where the whole runestone once lay.”

Canoldir sat up. His eyes never left her. “I think it is in truth a power born of the mountain and of the forces that placed the stone there. A power that is only a part of the great forces that made and nurture Ere—forces neither good nor bad, Skeelie. But forces that can feed on the powers of either.” He paused, pulled on his beard, deep in thought. “The powers of the earth can be wedded to either darkness or light. The master of Urdd would wed himself to the earth’s powers and bring them ultimately into the realm of the dark, and his very commitment to the dark gives him strength.”

She stared back at him. “And Lobon has not wedded himself to any power but his own.” She sighed, began to pace again. “Lobon faces the master of Urdd with too little belief, too little commitment to the stones and their destiny. Dracvadrig means to destroy him, and he has not the strength even that Ram had. Is he blind? Doesn’t he see? Did Ram die only that Lobon could gratify his own mindless need for revenge and lose his life—and lose the runestones forever? Give over Ere forever to evil?”

Canoldir rose and came to her. He held her until at last her fears drew back, though the darkness remained across their minds like a sickness as the forces of dark knit and swelled.

*

The black cliff stood in shadow, a last ray of sun touching along its top edge, the abyss below nearly dark except for the red glow of its fires. Within the cliff in the small cave room, Kish stood, sensing out across Ere as delicately as a snake senses. For she, too, felt forces amassing, felt dark spirits stirring in Ere’s depths, waking, rising out of rocky graves. Kish smiled, coldly and eagerly.

As she watched the abyss below, the scenes of the last days came to her, Dracvadrig leading the young Seer ever deeper into the abyss, teasing him ever more sharply, until now the son of Ramad had been driven into a shallow cave where he stood panting and so angry he was hardly master of himself; hardly master of even his limited skills, in his fury. And Dracvadrig waited beyond a stone shelf, blocking his presence, ready to strike again.

*

Lobon leaned against the cave wall trying to stop the excessive bleeding from a long wound down his arm. The wolves prowled the cliffs below, but Dracvadrig was gone from the abyss, Lobon could feel its emptiness.

Now he and the wolves were no longer the hunters, now Dracvadrig hunted them, stalked them with a silent stealth that neither Lobon’s powers nor the powers of the wolves—or of the stones themselves—had been able to avert. He did not understand the increasing power of the firemaster. In a series of quick skirmishes, the dragon had attacked and slashed, then flown off, blocking and twisting their senses, easing them into defense, playing with them over and over until they were able to follow only for short distances, battle, then flee deeper into the abyss. They would be struck from behind to turn facing only the empty pit. He knew his anger destroyed his judgment, he knew the wolves were cross and edgy. He fought the knowledge of defeat with added fury. Great Urdd, he was tired, aching tired, his leathers soaked with sweat and stinking. Always too hot, always fighting the ever-present black gnats that stung and made him itch beyond bearing. He thought longingly of cold water, dreamed of sinking deep into a cool river, of drinking his fill of cool water.

He knew his intent to kill Dracvadrig had deteriorated into the dream of an incompetent child. He was shamed at his own loss of control and unable to do anything to change the desperate, debilitating anger that drove him on so uselessly. Certainly he would not turn back. He would follow Dracvadrig to the very center of Ere if he must. His hatred was a tide pummeling him, and he would not give in, ever.

Shorren came up the cliff to him and pressed close, nudging his hand. You must sleep, Lobon. You must eat the rest of the roasted snake, drink and sleep. We will take watch in turns.

*

Behind them, the dragon smiled and considered its prey, as sporting in its contemplation of Lobon as a hunting cat is sporting with soft, furry creatures to behead. Neither Lobon nor the wolves sensed it. Its power in the stone had grown strong and facile as other dark powers rose across Ere to buoy it—no powers of the Seers of light had so joined to create a tide of strength as had the forces of dark. Even the Seers of Carriol were not sufficiently joined and aggressive. Some, at least the girl, were easily led and turned aside, so easily turned to the dark.