She left her mount near the edge of the clearing, opposite the wyverns, and approached the congregation of fae seelie among the stone obelisks. The stormguards eyed her, always ready for a surprise attack on the Queen—as well they should be. Killing one’s mother was a time-honored way to ascend to the throne—perhaps the only true way to demonstrate the strength to rule the fae seelie. She ignored the stormguards, walking past them as if they did not exist. Ahead, she saw that several of her sisters, including Horlastia, had accompanied their mother. Even now, they whispered among one another as Maelhrandia approached.
Sitting atop a broken slab of stone, far away from the females, was the only male fae seelie present: Ulfir, the legendary mage-hunter. Taller than most fae seelie and broad in the shoulder, handsome Ulfir wore an expression of complete boredom as he juggled stones in the air, one-handed. But every single fae seelie here knew that, with the exception of her mother, Ulfir was the most dangerous individual present.
Maelhrandia wondered why he had come and what the prisoner had told her mother. Why all this excitement? What was so important that it could impel her mother to actually step away from the safety of her fortress?
Her mother, the greatest mage of the Fae Seelie Empire, knelt alone at the center of the ruins, her head down and her eyes closed. Maelhrandia approached her sisters, nodded briefly at them, and waited. Time passed slowly and without conversation. Maelhrandia, although no sage, understood what was occurring. Their mother was using her remarkable magical powers to divine the ley lines, silently following their trail through the cosmos. The minutes became an hour, and then two. Not one of the fae seelie princesses spoke a word. Even the jungle around them was silent as if it held its breath in expectation.
When her mother rose again, dusk was at hand, and shadows grew around them. The Queen approached her daughters, who fell to their knees, their heads bowed. She stopped in front of Maelhrandia and placed a diminutive hand upon her brow. This was perhaps the first time her mother had touched her since giving birth to her scores of cycles before.
“Daughter. You have done well. For uncovering this assault upon us, capturing a prisoner, but most of all, for discovering this place, long forgotten by our people—we are so pleased, so proud.”
Warmth flushed through Maelhrandia, but she remained careful to keep the smile from her features. Arrogance could be deadly in the fae seelie court. Best to be contrite, dutiful, modest, and above all, careful.
“Thank you, Mother. I live to serve.”
“As do all my children,” her mother said almost in a whisper.
Maelhrandia waited on her knees, still staring at the ground before her. And then, something unprecedented happened: her mother gestured for her to rise, to approach her, and to actually stand beside her. Feeling foolishly happy at this amazing display of affection, Maelhrandia basked in the praise, silently noting—with considerable satisfaction—the look of envy upon Horlastia’s otherwise stoic features.
“There are places of power where ley lines intersect,” her mother said. “In such places, the forces of magic cascade and grow in intensity. Can you feel this power?”
“Yes, Mother.”
The air throbbed with arcane energy, causing the ends of her long white hair to rise and waver. Never had she felt such potency. If she were to fill herself with magic now, she was certain she could blaze like a star—and burn herself out, as well: too much magic would destroy.
“The prisoner you have captured is a manling.”
A manling? That wasn’t possible. Manlings were only a legend.
“But Mother. That would mean—”
“The Old World, daughter, from before the Banishment.”
She gasped, forgetting her place and actually looking upon her mother’s face. She felt a lightness in her chest, a sense of breathlessness. Does the Old World really exist?
Then her mother actually touched Maelhrandia’s cheek, letting her fingers caress her daughter’s skin. She smiled—she really smiled—and nodded. “In this very place, my child—right here—manlings have pierced the Cosmic Veil and traveled to us from the Old World. I can still sense the rupture they made. Their travel was clumsy, amateurish, but it still resonates through space and time.”
“But what does that mean, Mother?”
“It means, daughter, that the manlings have foolishly shown us the path back to the Old World. They have opened a door that they do not have the skills to close behind them, at least not fully.”
Despite the heat, a chill ran through Maelhrandia. “But what of the Ancient Foe?”
Her mother shook her head, her smile now replaced by an expression of hatred. “The prisoner knew nothing of the monstrous ones. Ever were the demons few in number, even before the Banishment. Now, they may all be dead. The time may be right for a return.”
The jungle around Maelhrandia seemed to spin.
“Unfortunately,” her mother continued, “the manling prisoner died after only a short questioning. We know so little of their physiology—only what is in the old texts, and that was insufficient. What I was able to ascertain is that they now believe the masters of the Old World to be themselves, not the Ancient Ones—and certainly not us.” Her mother shook her head, smiling at the absurdity of the notion. “Yet somehow, these manlings have managed to do what we could not. They have opened the path between faerum and the Old World. What were they thinking, I wonder? Did they really believe they could spy upon us and invade us? Such hubris cannot be permitted to go unchallenged.”
No, it can’t. Anger for this insult coursed through Maelhrandia, burning within her like a forge. There was nothing that lived that could challenge the fae seelie—certainly not pale, flabby manlings. Even with their strange fire-weapons, when put to the test by Maelhrandia, they had failed and run. As did all lesser species.
Maelhrandia heard the howling of her gwyllgi, arriving from her keep.
“Prepare yourself, mage-scout of the fae seelie court. The manlings have shown us the path home.”
* * *
Maelhrandia stood next to Gazekiller, her hand on the scales of his flank, watching her mother manipulate the invisible ley lines. Her mother’s skill as a mage was legendary, but even Maelhrandia was amazed at the sheer amount of magic her mother could hold. The Queen stood in the center of the fae seelie ruins, linked with a score of other mage-elders who had been flown in from the capital to help her. Together, they had formed a fae circle, lending their magical will to her mother, vastly increasing the power she could wield. For hours, she had sent waves of magical energy coursing into the ley lines, seeking the path back to the Old World.
The Old World. Maelhrandia still found it hard to accept. The fae seelie had been banished from their ancient home so long ago that there were none living who could remember it firsthand. It had become legend, a tale passed down only by scholars through yellowed tomes. But if her mother were to be believed—and Maelhrandia could think of no reason why she would lie—then the manlings now believed themselves masters of a realm that truly belonged to Maelhrandia and her people. The Ancient Foe—not the sad pathetic manlings—had brought about the Banishment. Manlings were, at best, fodder for long life, not rulers of worlds—certainly not invaders of fae seelie lands. They needed to learn their place. And this lesson would begin with Maelhrandia. The honor was staggering. She would be the first to return to the Old World since the Banishment. But not the last.
She removed a small globe from a pocket within her cloak and gazed into it. The size of her fist and made entirely of Shatkur glass, it throbbed with magical energy. It was black and flawlessly smooth and so beautiful that her breath caught in her throat as she stared at it. Small pulses of gold lightning forked within it, pulsing across its surface. Similar to a Seeing Stone and ten times as valuable, the Shatkur Orb would be key to her mission. With tremendous willpower, she tore her eyes from its flawless radiance and returned it to its pouch. As she did, her fingers brushed the other pouch in her c
loak’s pocket, the one that writhed and moved on its own. The creature was angry—but grimworms always were.
Overhead, bolts of red lightning lit up the sky, crackling in a near-continuous stream. All wildlife within the Tarloth Delta, sensing the unnatural flows of magic, had become mad with fear, running away as if the jungle were burning—and in a sense, it was. The wyverns had become so agitated they had to be grounded, bound, and blindfolded back at her keep, else they would have taken to the air and fled. Her hunting gwyllgi—poor simple creatures, now crazed with fear—were held in place with magical bonds of air. Five of the beasts stood like statues on the edge of the clearing, their eyes mad with terror but unable to flee.
Only Gazekiller had the courage to remain in place. Only the magnificent basilisk, king among his kind. Gazekiller wished to act—to kill and rend. Soon, mighty one, soon.
Her pulse raced, her mouth was dry, and all her senses seemed heightened. Very soon.
Horlastia looked from their mother to Maelhrandia, glaring at her, clearly hating her for the honor their mother had bestowed upon her. Maelhrandia smiled. Her mother’s instructions had been clear, and she understood exactly what was needed. This mission was delicate. It called for a mage-scout, someone with the skill to remain hidden, not a clumsy mage-warden, blundering about stupidly with her sword. This was her time, her moment. And when she succeeded, her standing in the seelie court—and perhaps even her place in the royal succession—was going to grow considerably.
Beside her, Gazekiller raised his mighty horned head and brayed in irritation and anger. And then it happened: her mother and the linked mage-elders opened a Rift-Ring.
One moment, nothing. Then a ring of fire, blazing like a star, grew from the cosmic nether in the center of the ancient ruins where the ley lines intersected. Maelhrandia shielded her eyes, and Gazekiller shrieked in rage. The Rift-Ring pulsed and grew again, now widening to at least a dozen paces across. Through it, she saw a strange alien landscape, a forest filled with trees the likes of which she had never seen.
The Old World!
Her mother turned, her normally stoic features now showing the strain of such tremendous effort.
“Now, daughter, now!”
Maelhrandia cast magic into the consciousness of the five hunting gwyllgi at the same time as she released the bonds of air that held them in place. The hounds bounded forward, compelled by Maelhrandia—straight into the Rift-Ring and the Old World. The moment they crossed through, she lost control over them, the magic severed. No matter. On their own, the gwyllgi would do what gwyllgi did best: kill.
Maelhrandia leapt up onto Gazekiller’s back and gripped one of his dorsal spines with both hands. The landscape through the Rift-Ring changed. Now, she looked out upon a hilltop devoid of trees, high above the surrounding terrain.
Now, mighty one. Now!
There was no need for her to compel the basilisk to move. Gazekiller did not hesitate to follow where mere gwyllgi had already gone. The basilisk rushed forward, straight into the Rift-Ring.
And Maelhrandia, anticipation rushing through her, rode to glory.
Chapter 7
Cassie and Ginny followed Highway 29 as it skirted Moberly Lake. Near the southern shore of the lake, they pulled off the highway and onto a small gravel road. The road was bumpy, but they were only on it for a few kilometers before arriving at Moberly Lake Provincial Park. Ginny stopped the truck in a large gravel parking lot, already filling up with other vehicles. Dense stands of white spruce, aspen, and poplar trees grew all around them.
Moberly Park was as remote and secluded as one could get: the closest town was Chetwynd, about twenty-five kilometers to the south, far enough away for Cassie and her friends to let loose. As long as things didn’t get too wild, the park officials generally left them alone. Drinking was tolerated if people were discreet and didn’t bother the other campers. Sometimes, the boys would get a little stupid and there might be a fight, but usually, these parties were pretty tame. There wasn’t much chance Cassie would have to break a beer bottle over anyone’s head here.
Cassie and Ginny climbed out of the truck, and Cassie stretched her arms over her head. To the west, the Rocky Mountains rose above the tree line. To the east lay the Peace Plateau. Moberly Lake filled a broad shallow valley between the foothills of the mountains and the plateau—a perfect camping area. A wonderful breeze blew in off the surface of the lake, caressing her skin. A loon cried out, its call echoing across the park, and Cassie smiled, finding herself relaxing for the first time since coming home. Maybe everything would be all right after all.
Ginny walked around to the bed of the truck and, reaching over the tailgate, pulled out two folding canvas chairs and a small cooler with wine spritzers. Neither woman planned on getting drunk. Ginny was too responsible to drink and drive, and Alice would go apeshit if Cassie got wasted after everything that had happened in Vancouver.
Cassie took the cooler while Ginny lugged the chairs and a backpack with their bathing suits and towels. Feeling pretty good, Cassie followed Ginny into the park.
Cassie walked right into her friend, who had stopped abruptly.
“Holy shit,” Ginny said, a tremor of fear in her voice.
Cassie followed Ginny’s gaze. Her breath caught in her throat when she saw the moose standing in the trees, not fifteen feet away. She froze, her pulse throbbing in her throat. Any wild animal was dangerous, but moose were particularly frightening because of their size, and this one was no exception: clearly a bull, it had to be close to seven feet high at the shoulders. Its long legs were thin and spindly, but its upper body was massive, well over a thousand pounds of muscle. Its antlers were still covered with spring velvet. In the summer, those antlers would be wide and majestic; now, they looked small on that giant head—a head that was fixed in place, eyes staring at the two women.
“Cassie,” Ginny whispered, her voice cracking.
“Don’t move, baby,” Cassie said.
The moose lowered its head, and Cassie could see the shiny brown hackles rising on its back.
Oh, God; it’s going to charge.
She tensed, preparing to step in front of Ginny, when another vehicle pulled into the parking lot, its tires crunching loudly on the pebbles, music blaring from its cab. The moose stared in the direction of the noise. It glanced back at the two women and then turned and trotted off into the trees, disappearing within moments.
Cassie sighed in relief, and Ginny hugged her. That had been weird, really weird. Usually moose avoided people. Why had this one been so aggressive?
She heard a car door slam, and when she glanced over to see who had just arrived, her heart seemed to skip a beat. Lee Costner, standing beside his truck, froze when he saw Cassie. Then he smiled and waved. “Hey.” He ambled over. “I heard you were back.”
Wow, he looks good.
Eric Towler, one of Lee’s buddies, pulled a case of Molson beer from the truck bed and carried it toward them.
“Holy crap,” blurted Ginny. “Did you just see that?”
Lee, staring at Cassie, didn’t answer.
Eric staggered up next to them and lowered the beer to the ground. “See what?”
“How you been?” Cassie said to Lee, her heart still beating too fast.
“The giant freaking moose.” Ginny turned and pointed into the woods.
“What?” said Eric, the disbelief clear in his voice as he stared past Ginny.
“I’m not kidding.” Ginny grabbed Eric’s shoulder and forcefully turned him in the direction the moose had disappeared. “It ran away when you drove up.”
“I was going to call.” Lee ran his fingers through his short brown hair, looking sheepish as if he had done something wrong. “I… uh. I wasn’t sure if it was cool.”
“It’s cool,” said Cassie. “I was going to call you, too, but… well, you know how it is with my sister.”
Lee smiled, exposing his perfect white teeth. “So, how long you gonna be—”
“Are you freaking kidding me?” Ginny put herself between Cassie and Lee, glaring at the young man. “Have you heard nothing I just said?”
“What?” asked Lee as if seeing the young woman for the first time.
Ginny sighed, picked the cooler up, and shoved it into his arms. “Oh, for God’s sake. Never mind.”
* * *
Elizabeth pulled a textbook off the shelf in the campus library and thumbed through its table of contents. It wasn’t the book she was looking for, so she growled to herself and slipped it back. Moving over to the next shelf, she scanned the titles on the spines of the textbooks. Aha! There it is.
She snatched up the economics book and added it to the growing pile on the cart she pulled along beside her. Only one more book to find, and then she could start going through all of them, performing her own form of triage, deciding which ones to tackle first as she organized her thesis. Dragging the cart to another long row of bookshelves, she noted that—other than the single librarian, who kept casting annoyed looks at Elizabeth—she was the only person in here. Through the large windows along one wall of the library, she saw that it was already beginning to get darker outside. Any minute now, the librarian would stop being polite and remind her it was time to close up. Elizabeth picked up the pace, hurrying to find her last book.
* * *
Duncan Walton Hocking closed the back door of the fast-food restaurant behind him, slid between two garbage dumpsters, and lit a cigarette. His hairnet itched, as it always did, but if he pulled it off while on break and forgot to put it back on when he went back in, as he had a habit of doing, Clarence would jump all over his shit again and lecture him about health standards.
What a bat hole!
Duncan inhaled deeply, relishing the hit of nicotine. He rammed his cold fingers into his jean pockets as he watched the sunset over the trees. The rear of the A&W always reeked of garbage, grease, and piss, but he was used to it after four years. He could hear the traffic on the street out front as the city started to come alive. He sighed, knowing that once he got off his shift, in an hour, he’d spend another Saturday night alone playing video games. His drunken father would stagger by his room, sneer at Duncan, and berate him for not having any real friends. Fuck him! Duncan had plenty of real friends; they were all just virtual.
Starlight (The Dark Elf War Book 1) Page 5