[Lyra 02] - Daughter of Witches

by Patricia C. Wrede - (ebook by Undead)

  “What spells has the foreign witch cast since the High Priest’s death?” Gadrath asked abruptly.

  “Spells?”

  “There is no need to pretend,” Gadrath said impatiently. “We know that the black-haired woman is a witch. What spells has she cast?”

  Ranira stared at him in undisguised confusion. She had expected to be asked about Mist’s purpose in Drinn, about their escape from the city, about where they were going and why, but she had not expected to be asked about magic.

  Gadrath frowned, evidently misinterpreting Ranira’s silence. “Will you destroy all Drinn for spite? Answer me!”

  “No,” Ranira said. “Why should I help you?”

  “You are a child of Drinn. Surely you have felt Chaldon’s restlessness these past few nights. The foreign witch’s spells have disturbed him. If he is not returned to his sleep, he will make a ruin of the city.” Gadrath paused, watching Ranira narrowly, then continued persuasively. “There is a place for you in Drinn, a place of honor if you will tell me what the witch has done so that I may correct it.”

  For a moment, Ranira hesitated. She did not trust Gadrath, but the proposal he made was tempting. Drinn was the only home she had ever known. She looked at Arelnath in silent appeal for guidance. Arelnath raised an eyebrow and shrugged. The gesture said as clearly as words, “This is your decision.” For a moment, Ranira was angry. She looked back at Gadrath. He was watching her avidly. Her anger faded into cold assurance.

  “I am no longer of Drinn,” Ranira said. “And I don’t want your place of honor. I don’t trust you. Even if I could, I wouldn’t tell you anything.”

  “Well struck, little sister,” Jaren whispered.

  Gadrath’s face stiffened. “You are of Drinn whether you know it or not, and when Chaldon wakes, you will share Drinn’s fate! Think on that, and tell me—what has the witch done?”

  “I don’t believe you!” Ranira cried. “You don’t care about Drinn. You’re just afraid of what will happen to you if Chaldon wakes.”

  “I see I must be more convincing. Chaldon is restless; perhaps a Bride would quiet him. After all, Midwinter Festival is not yet over, and I am High Priest. Shall I complete the rituals now, Chosen One?”

  “No!”

  “Then you had best tell me what I wish to know, or you will resume your exalted position at once.” Gadrath’s smile was cold and contemptuous. “Do you understand, my dear?”

  Ranira froze. She felt trapped and helpless, as she had when Gadrath first spoke to her in the marketplace; when he named her Bride of Chaldon in the inn; when he visited her in the House of Correction. Her head swam, and her shoulder throbbed painfully as she tried to think of some way out. Her shoulder…?

  “But the Bride of Chaldon must have an unmarred body. You told me that yourself. I am no longer unmarred,” she said, indicating her injured shoulder.

  Gadrath’s face twisted in frustrated rage. Ranira went weak with relief. She had not been sure Gadrath would accept her reasoning; he might have gone through with the ritual in spite of her wounded shoulder. Her relief, though, was short-lived. Gadrath’s eyes narrowed. “For yourself, you are correct, my dear. These others, however, will make a suitable enough sacrifice to Chaldon, and with his aid I can easily learn what I wish to know. Yes, that will be much easier.”

  The High Priest turned and began giving orders to the Templemen. Several of them bowed and left the clearing. Gadrath turned back to the prisoners. “The preparations will take some time, I fear. Make yourselves comfortable for what little time remains to you.”

  Shandy whimpered. Gadrath turned away, still smiling coldly. Arelnath and Jaren exchanged glances, then sat down on the ground. After a moment, Ranira joined them. In silence, they watched the Templemen make ready for the sacrifice.

  The guards who had left the clearing returned carrying armloads of wood. Under Gadrath’s direction, they built a large mound at one side of the clearing. When he was satisfied with their work, he sent them off again in search of more wood. Soon a second mound was growing beside the first. The work went more slowly as the afternoon wore on and the guards had to go farther from the clearing in search of wood. Some of them started a small fire of their own for warmth and as a source for the larger fires to come. Daylight was fading when Gadrath at last strolled over to the small, silent group of prisoners. “You have very little time left,” he said. “But perhaps you have reconsidered?”

  Ranira looked at Arelnath. She did not think she could stand to see those she cared for burned alive—not again. But Arelnath and Jaren were shaking their heads. “Our oath is given,” Jaren said.

  Gadrath’s lip curled. He looked at Ranira. Reluctantly, she too shook her head. If Arelnath and Jaren were willing to go to the flames rather than tell Gadrath what he wished to know, she could not betray them. At least Mist was not here to die with them.

  “Such short-sightedness!” Gadrath said mockingly. “But perhaps you do not realize what you are facing. An example might do you good. We shall take the boy first, as soon as the fire has begun to burn well. Think on it.”

  He turned abruptly away. Ranira stared after him in horror. Not Shandy! She could feel him trembling behind her. This must be far worse than his worst nightmares of capture by the Templemen. It was certainly worse than anything Ranira had anticipated. Another thought struck her—Shandy had the moonstone! And he had no love for the foreigners. If he gave Gadrath the moonstone in exchange for his life…

  The guards were crowded around the first mound of wood. One of them plucked a burning branch from the smaller fire and thrust it into the center of the unlit pile. The wood caught quickly, and two of the Templemen started back toward the prisoners. Ranira’s stomach knotted, but before the guards reached them Gadrath raised a hand. “Wait.”

  For an instant, Ranira thought that this was one more of Gadrath’s tricks. Then she heard the sounds of someone approaching. A moment later, two Templemen appeared, dragging Mist between them. A third guard followed. The Templemen around Ranira grinned and called noisy congratulations as their fellows joined them around the fire. For the moment, the sacrifice was forgotten. Ranira was stunned. Despite Gadrath’s confidence, she had not really expected Mist to be caught. Now her last hope was gone.

  The Temple guards fell silent as Gadrath came forward. “Well done!” the High Priest said to Mist’s captors. “You had no difficulty, I see.”

  “None, Highest Born,” the chief of the guards replied. “She did not even see us until we took hold of her.”

  “Excellent.” Gadrath smiled. “And did you discover where she was going?”

  “She would not tell us, Highest Born,” the guard said. “However, there are not many possibilities. There is a woodcutter’s hut not far from where we found her, and Cirraq’s troop stopped a Trader caravan in that part of the forest yesterday.”

  Gadrath considered the Templeman’s words. The High Priest turned to one of the guards. “Go to Cirraq at once. Tell him to burn the caravan. Arrest the Traders and take them to Drinn. Do the same for the woodcutter, just in case.”

  “At once, Highest Born.” The guard bowed and left.

  The High Priest turned back to Mist. “I do not believe we have met. I am Gadrath, High Priest of Chaldon.”

  A slight nod was Mist’s only response. Gadrath eyed her narrowly for a moment. “You have been very clever, but as you see, your plan has failed,” he said. “You will now explain to me why you are trying to destroy Drinn.”

  “I am not attempting to destroy Drinn,” Mist said in a low, steady voice. “You have an exaggerated idea of my abilities if you believe I could.”

  “I have explained to you that your plans are known,” Gadrath said. “If you do not tell me how you are casting your spells, I will have to take other action. I have heard that when a witch dies, her spells die too. We can test the tale easily if you continue in your obstinacy.”

  “I have told you the truth,” Mist replied. “I do not know w
hat spells you refer to, but they are not of my making.”

  “You take me for a fool!” Gadrath said. “Or you do not understand. A painful death is the least of what I can do.” His hand rose slowly and deliberately toward the crystal pendant, but stopped just short of touching it. The crystal was almost dead-black in the dying light. Ranira shuddered.

  Mist whitened, but her voice was steady. “Do not deceive yourself. You have no power over me.”

  “You lie.” Gadrath’s eyes burned. “I have more power than any High Priest of Drinn has ever had, for I dare to use it. Do not think I am hampered by the stupid customs my predecessor was too afraid to break; my very presence here should tell you that. No other High Priest in the history of Drinn has sent men out of the city during Midwinter Festival, much less left the city himself. I sent guardsmen after you as soon as I was confirmed as High Priest, and I am here to deal with you myself. Stop your pretense and tell me: What have you done that so disturbs Chaldon’s rest?”

  Mist’s eyes went wide. She straightened and seemed to grow taller. The guards beside her shifted, and their hands went to their swordhilts. Even Gadrath fell back a step. Mist ignored them all, except Gadrath. “You fool,” she said in a flat voice. “You utter, incompetent fool.”

  Gadrath’s eyes widened. Obviously, no one had ever dared to call the High Priest a fool. He opened his mouth to reply, but Mist cut him off. “Do you know what you have done, with your pride in your power and daring?” she demanded. “You have all but released one of the most deadly plagues of Lyra!”

  “I?” Gadrath seemed to have forgotten that Mist was his prisoner; he spoke as to an equal. “But your spells are…”

  “You know nothing of magic,” Mist said with angry scorn. “Your ‘god’ is not at rest. He is bound—bound by the power of the traditions you so despise. Your Temple has repeated the same rites for hundreds of years, and they have become part of the pattern of Chaldon’s binding. You are right to fear. You yourself have weakened the spell. It cannot hold for much longer.”

  “If I know nothing of magic, you know nothing of Drinn!” Gadrath sneered, but his voice held a note of uncertainty. “How could you know what purpose our rituals serve?”

  “I have felt the spells that hold Chaldon,” Mist said. “And Ranira has told me of your customs and rituals. I have studied magic for years, and I know how such things work. It does not matter whether you believe me or not; you will learn the truth soon enough when Chaldon frees himself.”

  “Your ignorance betrays you,” Gadrath said with more confidence. “The rituals of the Temple are not broken. I have left a substitute to conduct the rites in my place.”

  “Do you think there is no reason why people are forbidden to leave Drinn during your festival?” Mist replied. “You sent guards to search for us, and you, the High Priest of the Temple, have left Drinn willingly. That is the flaw in the pattern. Do not think Chaldon cannot find it.”

  Gadrath’s face was ashen. “You left the city before ever I did. If anyone broke this pattern, it was you.”

  “We left in spite of all you could do to hold us,” Mist said. “But Chaldon’s binding could not be seriously weakened by that. It was you who opened the gates and more—as the official representative of the Temple, you ordered men out of Drinn, deliberately breaking the tradition you should have been striving to maintain. Even that might not have been enough, but you left the city yourself, and that has shattered the pattern beyond anything you can do to repair it.”

  Gadrath stared at Mist. His lips tightened briefly. His eyes glittered. “We shall see. Chaldon has always responded well to sacrifice, particularly a powerful sacrifice. How will he receive a foreign witch, I wonder?”

  Gadrath raised his right hand and closed it deliberately over the pendant. A shadow crossed his face as he held out his left hand, palm downward. Blackness began to form below it, swirling and thickening rapidly into a long, flat slab like the lid of a coffin. He stared at it for a moment, then lowered his left hand. At the same time, the fingers of his right hand opened. But the hand did not fall to his side. It hung at his breast, as if stuck to the pendant. Gadrath’s mouth twitched; he jerked his hand downward. Ranira thought she saw blood on his palm as he turned toward Mist and gestured.

  “Bind her to the stone,” he said to the Templemen beside her.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-THREE

  Ranira saw Arelnath tense as the Templemen started forward. Before the Cilhar woman could move, the guards stopped. With their first step the last daylight had vanished with the abruptness of a shutter closing. The flickering red fire and the bright points of the stars above the clearing were the only sources of light left. The entire clearing was plunged into darkness. Except around Mist. Daylight seemed to linger about her, intensifying the impression of power that her regal bearing gave. The Templemen did not retreat before her, but neither did they continue advancing.

  “Bind her!” Gadrath’s voice rose above the startled murmurs of his guards. “Her spells cannot harm you while I am here. Bind…”

  The priest’s voice choked, trailing off in a bubbling gurgle. Ranira’s head turned, and she gasped in horror. Gadrath stood frozen, the crystal pendant on his breast pulsing with darkness. His face writhed. Around his body swirled a blackness so intense that it hurt the mind to look at it. It was rising up from the black slab he had conjured.

  The Temple guards retreated. “Witchcraft!” one of them cried, pointing at Mist. “Kill her,” said another. One of the guards started forward again, sword in hand. Before he reached Mist, a dark figure leaped onto his back, throwing him to the ground. Simultaneously, one of the other Templemen fell backwards, choking and clawing at a short chain that had dropped over his head and pulled tight. The Temple guards had forgotten their other prisoners in their anxiety to be rid of Mist, and Jaren and Arelnath had taken advantage of their lapse.

  The other Templemen wavered and fell back. A loud shriek from Gadrath completed their confusion. Templemen began running in all directions, some with drawn swords, looking for enemies, others without weapons, looking for a place to flee. Ranira tripped one and kicked another; there was little else she could do with her hands tied. Suddenly, the area in front of her was free of guards and she found herself with an unobstructed view of Mist and Gadrath once more.

  Mist stood as if unaware of the chaos about her, her lips moving in a low chant that seemed somehow familiar to Ranira. In front of her, Gadrath still stumbled and shook, moving blindly first in one direction, then in another, mumbling to himself as he went. He strained as if he were fighting with something only he could see. The black slab was completely gone, melted into the air around him. Gadrath stumbled closer, and Ranira backed away. Then he looked directly at her. Ranira screamed.

  They were not eyes that looked out of Gadrath’s face at Ranira; two ovals of solid blackness glared blankly from under the High Priest’s eyebrows. The words he muttered became clearer: “…eat you. I will. Down, slave! You thought to use me. Now you will learn.” The voice was far deeper than Gadrath’s own.

  A convulsive shudder passed through Gadrath, and a pair of ordinary grey eyes stared into Ranira’s for an instant. Then the priest cried, “Not me. The girl, your Bride—take her! Not me!”

  A second convulsion shook Gadrath. He made a motion, as if throwing something with both arms, and blackness flowed toward Ranira. She had time to scream only once.

  Then darkness swallowed her, cutting her off from all sensation. For a moment, she was aware of something reaching for her. Then even that faded. She could not see or hear; she could not even feel her own body. In utter panic, she struggled against the blackness that was crushing her. She did not move, could not move, but something in the very attempt made the blackness give way a little. She tried again to push the blackness away. The darkness retreated—she was learning how to resist the cold weight in her mind. It was a matter of determination, and six years as Lykken’s bond servant had fully de
veloped Ranira’s stubbornness. Once more she tried to break free. She felt something snap, and suddenly she could see. She tried to move, but discovered that she was not completely free. She had no control over her arms or legs; she was a passenger in her own body.

  Gadrath lay crumpled on the ground before her. Mist still stood apart, chanting. Ranira heard a distorted version of her own voice saying, “Struggle as you will. You are not strong enough to escape me.” Her arms moved without her willing it. The ropes about her wrists parted under a strain far greater than Ranira alone could ever have exerted. You see? I can do far more with even this feeble body than you. But struggle on; it only makes the victory more enjoyable. She saw her arm rise and point toward Mist. She tried to scream a warning through the scornful laughter that poured from her own mouth. She could not do it.

  Desperately, Ranira lashed out. She felt the pain of her wounded shoulder and saw her arm waver. The bolt of blackness that shot from her fingertips went past Mist’s shoulder, missing by inches. The healer’s chanting never faltered, but the shadow in Ranira’s mind howled in rage and turned on her.

  Sight vanished. Hearing stopped. She felt herself growing weaker as the darkness pressed closer, eating at the edges of her mind. She fought back, and the shadow withdrew for a moment. She had a glimpse of Shandy running toward her, arm raised, and then the darkness closed in again. With all her strength, Ranira struck again. Something was flying toward her, glittering in the firelight. Her vision failed before the object reached her. She was forced back, swallowed into darkness.

  Without warning, white fire engulfed her. She felt no pain, but the darkness cringed and suddenly was gone, leaving her in control of herself once more. She looked down. Clenched tightly in her hands, the chain twining about her fingers, was Mist’s necklace and the moonstone.