Wit'ch Storm

by James Clemens

  Elena needed no further urging—she would have sped past the boy if she knew the way. They dodged past fingers of rock that thrust up from the floor, while more stone fingers pointed at them from the cavern roof as they ran.

  “Over there! Over there!” the boy urged, panic in his voice. He dragged her down a stone chute that emptied into a wide cavern chamber.

  Elena stared through the wall of water around her. The chamber here bore its own light. It came from a bright river that split the cavern’s floor in half. It was the vein of silver that Cassa Dar had described. The elemental magick in the silver glowed brightly, but its luster was strongest where the river entered the chamber from the rear wall. The glow in the silver channel nearest them, though, was only a weak shimmer. This section of the river contained only a feeble trickle of magick.

  Elena saw where the bright channel abruptly became this weak dribble. Midway along, a section of the silver had been torn away. The collapsed bulk of a d’warf lay near this damaged section.

  The boy tugged her toward the rip in the silver. “Hurry!” he urged. “Get the Try’sil!”

  Elena sensed the boy’s words were no longer his own but that Cassa Dar was speaking directly through the boy. She followed him to the body on the floor. It was not scavenged bone, but a statue of black stone. Even sprawled on the cavern floor, Elena recognized the squat form and thick limb: It was a d’warf.

  The statue’s head, though, was marred, cracked into shards of black stone that lay around its shoulders. Only here did bright white bone jut forth from the statue, a thick-browed skull.

  “My brother,” the boy said. Even through the panic, Cassa Dar’s sorrow rang clear. The swamp child pointed to an object that lay near the statue’s damaged head. “The Try’sil.”

  Elena knelt and reached for the weapon. There was no mistaking the ancient talisman of the d’warves: the Hammer of Thunder. Its wooden haft, as long as Kral’s ax handle, was decorated with scrollwork and runes and ended in a forged-iron hammerhead as big as a pair of og’re’s fists. Its iron shone red, as if blood had been used to forge its might.

  Elena hesitated. She could not possibly lift this massive weapon with only one arm, and she dared not let loose of the boy’s hand. Still the fingers of her right hand wrapped around the haft. Gritting her teeth, she pulled hard, determined to carry it. To her amazement, the hammer rose at her touch as if it were but a light broom.

  She held it up, her eyes glowing in the silver light.

  “Beware, child!” the boy suddenly screamed. “Behind you!”

  Hammer in hand, Elena swung around to see a monster stalk into the chamber from the other caves. At first glance, she thought that the black d’warf statue had somehow come back to life. Lit by the silver light of the river, the black form pushed into the room. Elena’s eyes grew wide at the horribly misshapen form. She remembered Cassa Dar’s mention of something foul escaping the Keep at Shadowbrook and pursuing them. Somehow Elena knew that here approached that dark hunter.

  “It’s another blackguard,” the boy moaned. “How?”

  As it neared, even through the distortion of the water Elena recognized the familiar shape. It was a stone-encased d’warf like Cassa Dar’s brother. Its grin of yellowed teeth shone bright against its black lips. It spoke as it stalked toward them, its voice sounding drowned but its words comprehensible. “Where is the wit’ch?” it said as it neared.

  Elena and the boy retreated from it, but it stood between them and the only exit. As they stumbled back, the boy’s hand began to tremble in her own. The bubble of air began to expand wider around them, reaching toward the creature.

  “Wh-what are you doing?” she asked the boy.

  The swamp child’s skin shone with a deeper glow. Elena could almost see through his skin to the tangle of vines and moss in his core. Whatever magick was being employed, it taxed the boy’s illusion. He gasped as he spoke, tears glistening on his cheeks. “I’m trying to clear a space so you have room to maneuver.”

  “Why?”

  “You must fight the blackguard,” he said. “Use the Try’sil.”

  Elena’s breath froze in her chest. The creature had to weigh ten times her own weight, all stone, muscle, and bone. How could she battle it with only this hammer? If she could access her magick instead, maybe she’d have a chance. But she could not let go of the boy’s hand and had no way to pierce the skin of her right hand and release her powers. Raising the hammer between her and the creature, she was glad for its solidity, but she held no hope in its d’warf magick. She continued to back up as the bubble expanded.

  The stone d’warf stepped into the pocket of air. It still wore its grin as it left the lake. Waters hissed and steamed from its stone skin as it entered their bubble. “Now where is—?” It stopped as if its stone skin had suddenly frozen. Its nose raised to sniff at the air in the bubble for a few heartbeats. Then its eyes, flaming pits in its black head, fixed on Elena. “You!” Its grin spread wider. “You’re the wit’ch!”

  Elena raised the hammer higher in a trembling fist.

  The blackguard’s fiery gaze narrowed at the threat, as if gauging its danger. Then its eyes grew wide with recognition, and the foul flames dimmed in their sockets. It stumbled forward a step, and a small voice arose like a vapor from its foul lips. “The Try’sil,” it gasped. “At . . . at long last.”

  The boy pushed in front of Elena. He spoke with the voice of Cassa Dar. “Remember your heritage, lord of the d’warves, and fight the Black Heart’s control! Let us pass!”

  The small voice was like a hissing whisper. “Too s-s-strong.” The flames in the demon’s eyes began to grow fiercer.

  “Fight!” the boy screamed. “For our homelands! For our people!”

  The fire in the pits of the blackguard’s eyes flickered. “I can’t stop . . .” His gaze suddenly swung to meet Elena’s. His voice became a strangled gurgle. “Beware,” he moaned, his words etched with sorrow and guilt. “Beware the Legion!”

  Then the flames blew savage. Twin pyres of black magick flared from the demon’s sockets, and it roared at the cavern roof.

  Both Elena and the boy stumbled back. She knew the small flicker of resistance in the demon had been vanquished.

  “He’s gone,” the boy mumbled, and fled to Elena’s side.

  The blackguard’s gaze descended upon the cowering pair. A wicked smile stretched its stone lips. Before Elena could react, the stone d’warf lunged at her.

  Blindly, she swung the hammer but knew it was too late. Yet, for some reason, the d’warf’s leap began sluggishly, almost as if a bit of resistance still held some weak grip over its stone skin. Whatever the reason, her swing of the hammer had time to complete its arc, managing a glancing blow to the blackguard’s head as it bowled toward her.

  The boy, with surprising strength, yanked Elena out of the demon’s barreling path. Again, the creature’s sluggish response kept a stone hand from grabbing at her as she and the boy rolled aside. Scrambling away, the pair barely kept their feet, their hands only connected by their fingertips now.

  Elena quickly regained a secure grip on both the boy and the hammer and faced the beast.

  The blackguard swung around and raised a hand to his head. A section of his stone skull fell off with this touch. The Try’sil had lived up to its legend. It still had the potency to shatter ebon’stone.

  As it probed its injury, Elena bit at the thumb that held the hammer. The demon, wise now to her weapon’s power, would be more wary in its next assault. She needed her magick. She bit deep and finally tasted blood and went to reach for her wit’chfire.

  “No, child!” the boy suddenly warned. “Don’t call forth your magick! Its power is too wild and may disrupt my spell—but you’ve given me an idea.”

  As the d’warf picked another piece of loose ebon’stone from the side of his head, he tossed it aside and hissed at them, “You’ll pay for that!” With no further warning, he charged.

  “Stand sti
ll,” the boy yelled at her as Elena began to flee.

  Suddenly the bubble of air crashed down around them. The force of collapsing water shook the very roots of the castle.

  Elena screamed, but the falling waters stopped only a handspan away from her nose. She was not crushed or drowned.

  Such was not the case with the blackguard. Caught by surprise, the sudden weight of water crushed the d’warf to the stone of the cavern. The boy yanked on Elena. “Run,” he urged. “We must get away.”

  They fled around the creature’s sprawled form, giving it a wide berth even as it began to push back to its knees, stunned but quickly recovering.

  “I’ll try to delay it,” Cassa Dar said, speaking through the boy as they ran from the cavern. “I can use the damage of the Try’sil to my advantage.”

  Elena needed no further urging. They fled as fast as they could run. Climbing the endless stairs, Elena’s breath soon became a flame in her chest. But she ignored the pain, terror driving her forward.

  From deep below, a bellow of rage pursued them.

  “WHAT’S HAPPENING?” ER’RIL snapped at Cassa Dar. The swamp wit’ch still knelt at the water’s edge. Her wrinkled skin ran with sweat. Her shoulders trembled with exertion.

  Jaston knelt beside the wit’ch, a hand on her bowed back. “Quit yelling at her!” he spat at Er’ril. “Can’t you see how much this strains her?”

  Mycelle stood next to Er’ril. “Jaston, we need to know: Is Elena alive?”

  Cassa Dar’s voice was a croak. “She lives. She flees. I do what I can to sustain the magick around her and attack what pursues her.” Tears ran down her cheek. “I’m so sorry,” she cried. “I didn’t mean to risk her life. But my people . . .” Her voice trailed into sobs.

  Jaston rubbed his hand on her back. “You didn’t know. Do not whip yourself.” He glared at Er’ril. “If she is to help save your little wit’ch, she could use your support and not your accusations.”

  Er’ril bit back a retort, but he could not fault the swamper’s words. Right now, Elena’s safety lay in the hands of this d’warf woman, and as much as it frustrated him, he would have to accept it. He could not even imagine the battle raging under the calm black surface of the lake and sent his prayers into the waters, willing his strength to Elena.

  As he waited, his lungs ached from curbing his screams of frustration. His hand began to shake. Over the long journey, Elena had become more to him than just a wit’ch, and in this moment of impotent rage, he had to admit that more than fatherly concern shaded his emotions. He swallowed hard, refusing to allow himself even to name this other feeling. He pushed such thoughts aside. He must be ready.

  Cassa Dar moaned nearby. “I can’t stop him,” she mumbled to the lake. “I keep trying to slow him, but his stone skin is more poisonous than my own venoms. And when I try to attack him through the damaged patch on his skull, he keeps ripping my vines away before they can take root and spread.”

  “And Elena?” Er’ril asked, this time not yelling.

  “She flees and draws near to us . . . but the blackguard has regained his bearings and is quickly closing the gap.”

  Er’ril ground his teeth and pulled forth his weapon. Mycelle already had her blades out. Fardale growled at the lake.

  Er’ril raised his silver sword.

  Hurry, Elena! Come to me!

  29

  ELENA LIMPED AS she ran, half using the hammer as a crutch. She had twisted her ankle on a loose stone in the stair. Only a frantic grab at the wall had saved her from tumbling back down the steps and losing her grip on the boy’s hand. Trying to ignore her protesting limb, she struggled on with the boy. Pain and terror warred in her. Her burning lungs, aching side, and throbbing ankle all slowed her pace, while her panicking heart and racing blood urged still more desperate speed.

  “He comes,” the boy said beside her. Cassa Dar no longer spoke directly through the child. The wit’ch’s full attention was on keeping the black d’warf from their heels. The boy sucked his thumb as he ran, his eyes wide with fear. “I don’t want to die,” he mumbled around his thumb.

  Elena had not expected a survival instinct in the moss children. “We’re not going to die,” Elena assured him and herself.

  She increased her pace, now pulling the boy. After passing back through the castle proper and reaching the tower stair, she knew the way. She sped up the stairs toward the distant surface of the lake.

  The boy stumbled to keep up, his small legs struggling to match her pace. “Don’t leave me behind,” he cried.

  “I won’t.”

  The boy suddenly moaned. “He’s right behind us. He’s already on the stair.”

  Elena did not bother to glance over her shoulder. She bent, and using her grip on the boy’s hand, she threw him over her shoulder onto her back. “Hang on!” she yelled. He squealed with fear, but his other arm wrapped around her neck.

  Using the hammer as a balance against the boy’s weight, she ran. Luckily the boy was lighter than a real child and not much of a burden. Her ankle screamed, but fear’s fire had hold of her blood. She leapt like a deer up the steps. Back in her family’s orchards, she and Joach had raced each other down the rows of apple trees. Though her brother had a longer stride, Elena had often still beaten him. She put every mote of strength in her limbs into this last sprint.

  Overhead the dark waters suddenly brightened. She allowed herself a moment of relief. It was the torches at the surface. She sped on.

  The boy then screamed in her ear. “He’s here!” The child tried to climb over her back.

  Elena glanced behind her. The hulking black creature lumbered up the steps behind her. He was a distance away, but his stride ate up three steps with every one of hers. Clinging vines fought at him, but he shrugged them off, hardly seeming to slow. His flaming eyes spotted her, and his pace increased.

  With her attention turned, Elena’s foot slipped on some loose kelp, and both she and the boy stumbled to the steps. The boy was up first. “Go, child!” he screamed—Cassa Dar again. “Swim for the surface. The boy will slow him.”

  As the child said these words, tears flowed down his cheeks—he didn’t want to stay. Elena hesitated a moment, her heart going out to the terrified child. Then the little fingers let go of hers. “Go,” he mumbled in a tiny voice. The pocket of air shrank quickly around her.

  The monster was bearing down on them. Not wasting the boy’s sacrifice, Elena dove through the bubble and into the lake. The bouyant water shot her toward the surface as she pushed off the stone stair. Bellows of anger rose with her.

  Before she knew it, Er’ril’s arm was around her, hauling her up the last steps and onto the dry stairs. Mycelle helped hold her upright as her twisted ankle gave way. Dropping the hammer from her numb fingers, Elena turned to where Cassa Dar knelt, orchestrating the fight against the creature. “The boy?” she asked.

  No answer came from Cassa Dar’s trembling form.

  At the wit’ch’s side, Jaston just looked Elena in the eye and shook his head. “She’s too weak.”

  “Don’t fret,” Mycelle said. “The boy’s not real, Elena.”

  Elena’s lips grew tight, and she turned to Mycelle. “Give me my dagger.”

  Mycelle obeyed, retrieving Elena’s silver blade from her discarded clothes. “We need to retreat up the steps,” her aunt urged. “Regroup when it pursues.”

  “No,” Elena said. She sliced a deep cut in her left hand, the one that had held the boy’s hand, the one that had been born in moonlight.

  Suddenly, behind her, the waters erupted in the still lake. Elena swung around on her good ankle. The black d’warf rose up, the boy’s throat clutched in one fist. From the child’s body, a tangle of vines burst forth and thrashed at the black skin of the creature, seeking purchase. Yet the battle was doomed, for where the boy’s vines touched stone, they curled and died.

  Blood dripped from Elena’s slashed palm as she raised her arm. Where the red drops touched the lake
, ice spread out across the waters in spidery traces. Elena touched the magick inside her, igniting it. Ice raced from her heart out to her hand and burst forth in a blaze of blue fire. Power again sang within her, and she let it rage.

  She cast out her magick into the lake. Coldfire met the struggling blackguard and stunned him with its sudden frigid touch. Elena continued to pour her magicks forth, letting the magick run wild. This was no subtle spell, but raw power.

  A scream echoed up from her throat as she cast out her coldfire.

  The lake froze around the blackguard, trapping the creature in its tight embrace. Only its head, upper torso, and one arm were still above the ice. Elena poured forth more of her magick until the lake was frozen from wall to wall. Only then did she close her fist and stanch her river of coldfire.

  As her eyes cleared, she blinked her frosted lashes and checked her handiwork. In the iced arm of the blackguard, the stone beast still clutched the small boy. There was no movement from either.

  Elena sank to her knees, her hot tears like fire on her cold cheeks.

  “You did it,” Er’ril said, kneeling beside her.

  Cassa Dar also stirred from the water’s edge. Her eyes were wide with wonder at the frosted ice. The swamp wit’ch pushed to her feet, swaying slightly with exhaustion. With Jaston assisting her, she crossed to the discarded Try’sil. Jaston lifted the hammer so she could examine it. “Elena, you’ve accomplished a miracle,” she mumbled, fingering the carved haft of the Try’sil with reverence and awe.

  Elena did not answer, her eyes still fixed on the child frozen in the grip of the blackguard monster.

  But at what cost? she silently wondered, thinking of a boy who liked his cake with a dollop of cream.

  FARDALE WAS THE first to notice something was wrong. The wolf stared out at the lake, and a wary growl flowed from his throat.

  As Mycelle hurried to get Elena into her dry clothes, Er’ril stepped beside Fardale and studied the lake. He didn’t see anything strange; the black d’warf still lay frozen in the ice’s grip. He rested his hand on Fardale’s back and noticed the wolf’s hackles were up. “Do you scent something?”