Witch Silver

by Anne Forbes

  The snow worms, however, had no such doubts. They knew a magician when they smelt one and, backing swiftly into their holes in the ice, slithered swiftly off. Clara watched them go and relaxed, her legs trembling under her as shock set in.

  “Sit down, Clara,” the old man said, kicking the dead snow worm to one side. “You’ve had a bad fright but it’s all over now. The snow worms won’t come back.”

  “They might,” Clara observed, her voice shaking. “They looked hungry and there are two of us now.”

  Kalman almost smiled. “Ah, but I’m not a prisoner,” he said. “I’ve come to get you out of here.”

  Hope flared in Clara’s heart but her eyes were puzzled as she looked at him. “Who are you?” she asked. “I don’t know you but … but you seem to know me.” Then she met his eyes and stiffened in fear. Recognition was instantaneous. “Prince Kalman?” she whispered fearfully, shrinking backwards.

  He bowed abruptly and then glanced at the shoes she still held in her hands. “Better put those on,” he said shortly and turning to look up at the entrance to the chute called out. “Vassili,” he shouted. “Vassili, are you there?”

  There was no answer.

  He called again, but there was silence.

  “Vassili?” Clara repeated, hardly able to believe her ears. “You mean Herr von Grozny is here as well?”

  The prince looked suddenly tired. “He was here,” he said. “I hope he’s gone to find a rope but I might well be mistaken.”

  Clara looked at him in sudden understanding. “Of course,” she muttered, “he’s after the talisman as well, isn’t he?”

  The prince nodded, his lips pressed together in disappointment. “It’s my fault. I should have known better than to trust him.”

  It was then that Clara realized that her feet really were freezing. Bending down, she took off her sopping wet socks and used the end of the long, black skirt she’d worn for the play, to dry her feet before pushing them awkwardly into the heavy leather shoes.

  “I hope the daemons didn’t injure you very badly,” Clara asked, seeing the lines of pain on the prince’s face. “I’m really sorry,” she apologized, tying her shoe laces firmly. “I should never have cast that spell.”

  “No, you shouldn’t!” he agreed sitting up straight and looking at her coldly. “Where the devil did you get it from?”

  “From The Book of Spells,” she answered.

  He looked at her very oddly indeed. “The Book of Spells,” he repeated slowly, his eyes widening incredulously. “Er … do, please go on,” he said, waving a hand invitingly. “Don’t stop there! May I ask where you stumbled upon this … this treasure …”

  “I don’t think it’s a treasure exactly,” Clara said slowly. “There are a lot of good spells in it, of course, but there are awful spells, too.”

  “So I gathered,” the prince said dryly. “Like conjuring up daemons!”

  Clara looked shamefaced. “To tell you the truth, I really wish we’d never stolen it,” she muttered.

  “May I ask who you stole it from?” Kalman regarded her coldly but with a tinge of grudging admiration in his glance.

  “The Earth Witches,” she confessed.

  “So that’s what you were up to that night,” he said, looking startled. “If I’d known you were carrying The Book of Spells I might well have behaved differently.”

  “You were there?” she looked at him in astonishment. “At Witches’ Wood? I don’t believe you!”

  He froze her with a look of contempt. “I don’t lie,” he said, “and you have cause to be grateful to me, you know. You left a trail of footprints across that field that would have put the witches right on your trail.”

  “You helped us?” she looked at him directly, still unable to think of him as the prince. “Why would you do that?”

  “I didn’t want the witches to catch you,” he said simply. “I wanted the talisman myself.”

  Clara looked at him seriously. “Why? Haven’t you enough power?”

  His lips twisted in a wry smile. “Not enough to cure the spell that is killing me,” he said.

  Clara blushed. “I … I’m sorry,” she muttered, feeling dreadful.

  He rose to his feet and walked slowly up and down. “I told you,” he reminded her. “It was when I was in the Great Hall of the Giants,” he muttered. “Malfior hexed me.”

  “I thought it was Cri’achan Mor,” Clara looked at him in surprise.

  “Malfior was looking at me through Cri’achan Mor’s eyes,” returned the prince.

  “But Malfior died,” Clara frowned. “And,” she added, “so did Cri’achan Mor. Wouldn’t their spells have died with them? Isn’t that the rule?”

  The old man stopped and nodded slowly.

  “Then it must have been someone else who hexed you,” Clara pointed out reasonably, “someone who had merged with Cri’achan Mor, perhaps.”

  Kalman smiled sourly. “Forget it,” he advised. “Only a great magician could get close enough to Cri’achan Mor to be able to merge with him and I don’t believe that any of the Lords of the North would punish me in this way.”

  “There are other magicians,” she pointed out, looking worriedly at the shambling figure. “There’s the Sultan in Turkey although I’m sure he would never hex you like this.”

  “I don’t believe that either,” he admitted.

  “Then what other magicians do you know?”

  “Well, some in China and a few in India but I never heard of any of them travelling so far from home …”

  “What about Lord Jezail?” enquired Clara.

  “Lord Jezail?” the prince looked at her and shook his head with a thin smile. “No, Jezail would never hex me like that. Why, my father and I have known him for years. We used to stay with him in the citadel at Stara Zargana when we were on our way to Turkey to buy magic carpets. He’s a friend of the family. Besides which, he hasn’t been in Scotland for years.”

  “Oh, but he has,” Clara looked at him in surprise. “When Neil and I were in Morven last year I heard Lord Rothlan and the MacArthur talking about Lord Jezail and the giants.”

  “Are you sure?” Prince Kalman frowned.

  “Positive,” Clara said. “I wasn’t eavesdropping, you know,” she added, anxious that he shouldn’t get the wrong impression, “I just happened to hear a bit of their conversation when I was passing. Of course, I’d never heard of him then.”

  “Jezail?” the prince repeated, shaking his head doubtfully. “I can’t believe it!”

  “He was with the giants,” she said firmly. “I heard them say so.” Clara’s eyes, clear and honest, met his quite openly and he could not but believe her.

  “So Jezail was there all the time,” he muttered, his face darkening as realization dawned. “He was there all the time,” he repeated, “in the halls of the giants. He hexed me!”

  “Are you all right, Prince Kalman?” Clara asked anxiously as he suddenly swayed on his feet, groped for the bench and toppled forwards. “Prince Kalman!” she shook his shoulder and fear curled inside her as there was no response. His body was sprawled half on and half off the bench and with an effort she managed to lift him onto it and pull the blanket under him so that at least he wasn’t lying on ice.

  The prince looked dreadful, she thought, but, thank goodness, he was still breathing.

  It was then that she thought of using her firestone to help him. But would one be enough to have any effect? Mind you, the MacArthur had loaded hers with extra magic and that might make a difference. She unfastened the chain that held her firestone and lifting the old man’s head, for she couldn’t think of him as Prince Kalman, she looped it round his neck, fastened it and pushed the firestone under his shirt.

  The results weren’t instantaneous but after a while she noticed that his breathing had eased and later, when she was walking up and down, flapping her arms about to keep warm, she saw him move. He rolled over onto his side and with relief she realized that he wasn’t
unconscious any more. He was asleep.

  Again she looked up at the entrance to the chute. “Herr von Grozny!” she called. There was no answer and she turned despondently away. Why did nobody come? Where were Neil and the MacArthurs? Surely they should have come to rescue her by this time?

  28. Dragonfire

  The ice palace of the Snow Witches was breathtaking. It reared high, slender and majestic from a plain of barren ice. Neil had never, in his life, seen anything so fragile or so beautiful. High ice walls, battlements and soaring towers glittered in the sun. The Earth Witches’ castle under the copse in Witches’ Wood was nothing in comparison.

  “They’ve seen us,” Lord Rothlan said, flying alongside Neil on his carpet. “Look, they’re closing the great gates.” Neil looked across the smooth, white expanse that stretched between them and the castle and saw white figures pulling at silver doors, heaving them shut. Snowmen, thought Neil, just like the ones they’d seen on the moors.

  As their carpets skimmed high above the surface of the ice, Neil looked back in wonder at the huge army of MacArthurs that Jaikie and Hamish had so efficiently organized. Store cupboards deep under the hill had been opened and although armour and weapons had been quickly distributed, it all took much longer than an anxious Neil had expected. Clara, he knew, would be relying on him to come to the rescue and by this time, he reckoned, she’d be worried stiff and wondering what on earth had happened.

  He had to admit, however, that the extra time had been well worth it as the entire army, resplendent in shining armour flew impressively towards the castle on hundreds of magic carpets. Pennants in gold, red and black, showing a dragon rampant, fluttered bravely from spears and lances held at the ready and as they neared the castle, archers reached over their shoulders to fit arrows in their bows from quivers slung across their shoulders.

  The witches, clustered fearfully on the battlements, watched the approaching army in horrified wonder. The sight of the MacArthur’s troops was bad enough but what really scared them was the enormous dragon that flew threateningly above the ranks of the soldiers on their flying carpets. They had heard tales of the great dragon that lived in Arthur’s Seat but this was the first time they’d seen him and they hissed and screamed in alarm as Arthur suddenly sent a blazing stream of sparkling fire through the air.

  “Summon the ice men,” ordered the queen, “and let them give battle!” Trumpets sounded and as the array of magic carpets approached, a great crack of sound announced the arrival of the ice men. Neil gaped, for they lifted from the plain itself; jagged of limb and armoured in ice they rose in their thousands; strange, helmeted creatures carrying sharp, slender spears. Volley after volley of the thin, razor-sharp spears glittered as they curved through the air in relentless waves towards the MacArthur’s troops who raised their shields against them. The spears were then followed by clouds of arrows from the archers on the battlements.

  It was the dragon, however, that was worrying the queen. She had little protection against such a fearsome creature and a lot less power than she’d had minutes previously — for the wolf man had returned alone from the dungeons and wrested the precious talisman from her arm in a snarling fury. She hadn’t been able to resist and although she’d thrown the most powerful hexes she knew when he had appeared snarling at the door, she had been unable to harm him. His protective shield was such that her hexes didn’t even bounce, they died, dropping in pitiful bursts of colour to the floor as he’d stood there, all powerful and demanding. Then, leaping across the floor in great bounds he had changed once more into a man. The struggle that followed was brief and his fingers, still half wolf claws, had pulled the talisman from her arm. His eyes, blue, cold and empty met hers for a few seconds before he vanished in a shimmer of light.

  It was then that Matilda had rushed in with the news of the approaching army.

  “Majesty,” she cried, trembling with fear, “they come in their thousands and — and majesty, they come with a dragon!”

  Samantha paled and, straightening her headdress and torn gown, strode swiftly along corridors and up endless flights of stairs until, at last, she reached the battlements. Matilda, she thought sourly, as she took stock of the situation, might have over-estimated the size of the approaching army but she hadn’t underestimated the size of the dragon. It was huge!

  Now she watched in helpless fury as Arthur, with Archie on his back, swooped over her beautiful towers and turrets and sent long breaths of sparkling fire swirling round them. The towers immediately started to melt and the screams and cries of horror from her witches drifted out across the plain of ice.

  It was over in minutes, for Lord Rothlan had been right. Samantha surrendered immediately. She couldn’t bear to see her beautiful palace melt round her ears and as she knew she was going to lose the battle in the end she would, she decided, rather lose with her palace in one piece than be left standing in its ruins.

  “Well, Samantha?” the MacArthur said, shifting uncomfortably on one of the spindly chairs that decorated the Great Hall, hoping that it wouldn’t collapse under his weight. Lord Rothlan, too, had eyed the furniture distrustfully at first but it was proving stronger than he’d given it credit for.

  Samantha looked a wreck of her former self. Her robes were torn, her hair tangled and her face lined with exhaustion. She gave a gesture of defeat. “If it’s the talisman you want, then I’m afraid I must disappoint you. I don’t have it.”

  Neil looked at Lord Rothlan. “Who has it, then?” Rothlan asked, addressing the queen. “Clara?”

  Samantha looked positively terrified for a moment. “No,” she said, shaking her head. “The wolf man took it,” and as she rubbed her arm they could see where the wolf’s claws had left two red, bleeding weals.

  There was a deathly silence. “And Clara?” asked the MacArthur in a voice of steel. “Where is she?”

  29. Harsh Punishment

  Lord Rothlan and the MacArthur looked at one another in growing alarm as the queen, scrunching her ivory robes with nervous fingers, continued to mouth soundless words. Her witches, too, looked petrified and watching her, Lady Ellan felt her heart sink as a feeling of acute fear gripped her. Indeed, she was just about to rise from her chair and physically shake the words out of the trembling queen when the dreadful silence was broken by a calm voice from the doorway.

  “Majesty,” Matilda said, “I have brought the child and the prince as you commanded. Shall I bring them in?”

  Everyone, except Samantha, who would have fallen over had she attempted anything so energetic, leapt to their feet and stared beyond Matilda to the two wet, bedraggled figures that stood framed in the delicate fretwork of the arched doorway.

  Clara and Prince Kalman!

  Lady Ellan gave a cry of distress as her eyes fell on the prince. Eyes wide, she shook her head in horror, trying to see in him the slim, fair-haired, handsome young man that she remembered. It was impossible. This old man was surely a stranger.

  As everyone turned towards Clara and the prince, Samantha met Matilda’s eyes with a look of such relief in them that Matilda almost preened herself; for the look of heartfelt gratitude in the queen’s eyes was all that she had hoped for and more. She straightened proudly and the frightened Snow Witches, cowering beside the throne were quick to note her new status. Once again in the queen’s favour, her position was assured.

  Lady Ellan’s cry, however, had brought Hamish and Jaikie running into the room, followed by a host of armed MacArthurs who approached in full armour, spears at the ready.

  Samantha, now totally petrified, slumped back in her chair, shuddering violently as reaction set in. Hiding her trembling hands under the chiffon folds of her gown she could hardly believe what had happened. How the child had managed to survive, she didn’t know, but thank goodness she had, or the MacArthur’s army would have destroyed her and razed her beautiful palace to the ground.

  Clara came slowly into the hall, her arm supporting the weak, shambling figure of the pri
nce. She smiled shakily as she looked round.

  Neil ran towards her, his face reflecting his anxiety. It had been a mistake to delay their departure for so long, he thought. They should have left Arthur’s Seat at once! Clara looked a complete mess, her face white and cold and the thin black material of her witch costume no protection whatsoever against the freezing temperature of the Snow Witches’ palace. “Clara,” he asked, “are you okay?”

  “Yes, but I’m freezing,” she said, shivering. “Honestly,” her voice was aggrieved, “I thought you were never coming!”

  Lady Ellan swept up behind Neil and, taking off her cloak, wrapped it round Clara’s shoulders, muttering a hex as she did so. “This’ll warm you up, Clara,” she said, hugging her.

  “The prince …” Clara protested, tightening her grasp on the prince’s arm as he tottered unsteadily on his feet. She knew from his eyes that he was on the verge of fainting again, for the effort of getting out of the cell had used up the little energy he’d had left.

  “Clara …” he muttered, desperately, “I can’t … can’t …”

  At that moment, Lord Rothlan strode up and, nodding at Clara to let go, put a strong arm round the prince. “You’re quite safe now, Kalman,” he said gently. “We’ll look after you.”

  Kalman looked into his eyes and a smile twisted his lips. “Thanks, Alasdair,” he whispered. Then his eyes closed and he passed out.

  Looking round, Lord Rothlan gestured urgently to Jaikie and Hamish to help him support the prince. The MacArthur, too, came forward, looking concerned.

  “He’s in a bad way,” Lord Rothlan said briefly, looking at Kalman’s pale face. “We have to get him to Morven at once.”

  The Macarthur nodded and clapping his hands together sharply, called one of the magic carpets.

  “We’ll have to use your carpet,” he said apologetically to Neil. “I hope you don’t mind?”

  Neil shook his head. His only thought was for the prince who looked unbelievably old and frail.