Like the sentries, Malol's staff aides were entranced, lying at his feet. He and Nurdanth held out their swords, fighting with steel as Lira and Ulodovol fought with wizardry.
Against them stood four people Danaer had learned to hate. Prince Diilbok and his beautiful mistress, the outcast Hablit, and a man Danaer had never seen yet knew at once.
The Markuand sorcerer, the evil genius who led the invaders and conspired to betray the alliance and this land!
He was very different from Ulodovol, but in some fashion much the same. The Markuand was not elderly, and he was strongly built, his eyes dark, not Irico pale. His robes were mingled white and iridescent, not drab brown as the sorkra's were. He and Ulodovol were the champions here, standing no more than two arm-lengths apart, their features contorted in a savage duel of magic.
Like Malol and Nurdanth, Hablit and the Prince held weapons. But they could not reach each other. Futilely, frustrated, they prodded at a barrier of air between the two factions.
And all the while Lira and Diilbok's woman gesticulated and cried countercharms, aiding their masters and seeking to shatter the other's will.
The cold and blackness tried to close in upon Malol's little party, filling all the rest of the tent. Only where Ulodovol stood did light remain, even though
the torn tent wall flapped and let in the sunlight. There were . . . things in that cold blackness. Presences and gibberings and dreadful forces Danaer remembered too well from previous encounters. He sought to move, to go to Lira's side -and help her in this crucial struggle. Ulodovol's gaunt arms were raised, and sweat poured from his white hair and down his beard. His limbs trembled from the stress of his magic-making.
The wizards warred with eyes and lips and each called on his unseen minions. The Markuand was younger, physically strong, his sorcery of unimaginable potency if he could rule entire armies and bind their tongues against any pain. Ulodovol was frail, weakening, and soon the Markuand and Chorii must break through his counterspells!
Lira's gaze flicked momentarily toward Danaer, appealing. His sword had become a great rock, too heavy to hold, torn from him by Chorii's vengeful spell-casting. He was Lira's man, and as much a target as her hated foe, the little sorkra from Sarlos.
The sword slipped from his nerveless fingers and fell in the dirt. No matter. He was still armed, with fire and the magic of the smoking mountains. Danaer's grip tightened on the dagger hilt.
There was a rush of air as the tent flap was torn back, and then Gordyan was exclaiming, aghast, "Argan guard us!" Abruptly, his voice and those of the men with him choked into nothing. They had hoped to support Danaer, but now they were entranced, prisoners within their own bodies, as he was.
Danaer forced his thoughts toward Lira and Ulodovol, feeding them strength through his will and the dagger. At that, though sorely beset by the whirling darkness, Ulodovol seemed to grow still taller, hope entering his wrinkled features. More presences gathered, friendly ones, from Lira's Web, and now they touched Danaer—and he could move!
He wanted to reach the source of evil, the Markuand, but others were opposing him, the tools of that mighty wizard and Chorii. Hablit turned sluggishly to counter Dan-aer's attack, for he had no sor-
ceress who guided him with her love and magics. But Diilbok did, and the Prince became a most dangerous foe, his nobleman's blade out, pointed for Danaer's breast.
Danaer, too, had his woman to aid him, and now several of the hovering ice-spheres burst, shattering brilliant fragments over the scene, momentarily bhnd-ing the three men. Blinking against that radiance, Danaer tried to strike at Diilbok, the nearest enemy, aware at the last instant of his stroke that the Prince's mistress was flinging herself before her lord to shield him.
The obsidian-edged knife bit deeply, reddening to the hilt, and Chorii shrieked. Her cry was a tangible thing which nearly knocked Danaer from his feet.
Hablit was bellowing, "Help me kill him, you whoreson lit!"
But Prince Diilbok had abandoned the war. He had dropped his sword and was cradling his dying mistress. Chorii gazed up at him in stunned disbelief, her eyes misting, blood spreading over her breasts as her lover embraced her and called her name. Diilbok was crooning piteously, oblivious to the conflict.
As Chorii's life ebbed, Danaer again felt Lira's touch and the wizardly caress of her Web, making him their weapon. Unbearable tension filled the tent. Two immense waves of sorcery mounted, rising to their heights.
It must be now!
Hablit's lips were flecked with froth in his rage, and Lira smiled faintly. Her master's tremors lessened, new vigor in his limbs. Somehow Danaer knew the moment was at hand, and he knew Ulodovol's firm resolve—that the Markuand wizard would not escape his just punishment.
Malol, Nurdanth, Gordyan ... all of them were stirring, not yet themselves again, but recovering. The enemy magician was losing his power over them. And as he did, Hablit twisted this way and that, his helpless fury growing.
The wizard was going to escape. But how? How had he fled at Deki, when Branra and Danaer had
trapped him in the tunnel? And how had he destroyed that city, magically carrying Chorii and Markuand soldiers inside the walls where they could betray the Dekans? How, indeed, had he reached the Royal Commander's tent, bringing Chorii and Hablit with him? They had released Prince Diilbok and—
"I know your secret, and I will have you!" Ulodovol exulted, and as he did, Danaer freed himself from the alien's spell and rushed to Lira, holding her close and thrusting his dagger toward the Markuand's heart.
And the Markuand and Ulodovol vanished!
With a violent wrench, Danaer was being torn out of his body, and Lira from hers. They were being swept upward, towed, like a star lancing through the sky and dragging with it fiery wakes. They were leaving the tent and being carried up into the air!
Yet below were his friends and enemies—and himself! He and Lira stood immobile, frozen, their bodies emptied of life.
This was worse than any dream, for Danaer knew he was awake and that all he felt was truly happening. He was floating ever more rapidly, and the tent was falling behind. Lira's presence was very near, as close as his body held hers, and the strange scene below him was receding, just as the Markuand soldier had shrunk into nothing. Was he separated forever from the world of the living, as the enemy soldier had been?
In the tent, Hablit was lunging for Danaer's body, his spear aimed for the scout's back, striking to kill.
Then Danaer could see no more! He was too high in the air!
Had Hablit slain him? Was this how it felt to be lifted up to Keth's portals? No! He was certain he was not yet dead. His flesh and bones had been left far below, but his being was here, with Lira and Ulodovol and the invisible magic net of their Web. He was joining them in pursuit of the Markuand leader.
He would have gasped had he lungs to fill. How could he see and hear if he had neither eyes nor ears? Danaer could not understand these things, but the battlefield lay far down, spread out under him like
the maps in Malol's tent. He saw a living chart, thick with people and beasts and war. The white-clad Markuand army was rallying, and troops of The Interior and Destre warriors stood side by side as the enemy launched murderous counterattacks. The war was far from won, could yet go ill for Krantin, if . . .
Danaer thought he could see Branra's red pennant, the flag of Gordt te Raa, Ti-Mori's warrior women, and even the bloodstained green mantle that marked Kandra's followers. They must not lose! The sacrifice had been so great. It could not be wasted.
He thrust away his terror, trusting in the goddess and Lira's benign magic, adding his hunger for enemy blood to that of the Web.
Out of the clouds before him, framed against a bright sky, Ulodovol and the Markuand wizard winked into being, their bodies real. For -a few incredible heartbeats, the two wizards floated in air, men of magic, great powerful birds taking human form above the battle of their peoples.
Ulodovol behed his age,
flinging a malicious and lusty cry of triumph at his adversary. He knew! Some precious and terrible secret was his!
The Markuand's dark eyes widened and rolled, looking downward, and horror contorted his strong face. Ulodovol gently fanned the air, swimming in nothingness, secure.
"You have overreached, and you have lost." He spoke almost with pity. "You wanted to lead Markuand's final charge to victory! Now you will be the cause of its defeat. Go! Join them! Fly to the head of your army!"
Ulodovol was suspended, serene, borne up by his Web like a lanky and brown old spider.
But the Markuand began to flail his arms -and legs, his magic and power completely broken. Still a man, not a formless, floating spirit or image, he fell, tumbling over and over.
With the Web, Danaer watched the descent to its inevitable end. The wizard smashed to earth directly before his foremost soldiers and warlords. His body was shattered, but his robes were unmistakable, and
as he had fallen he had screamed, and men had stopped fighting to gaze up in wondering and dread, tracking his terrible headlong rush. The warriors of Krantin gawked in bewilderment, not understanding. But Markuand warlords set up a doleful cry, seeing him who had led them so far from their homeland now dead.
Who would guide them now? Who would teU them what to do? His evil potions, too, lost their power. And now the common soldiers looked about in fear, and those who had endured wounds began to cry out in pain, a wail of agony rising from an army that had been notorious in its silence.
And they began to run, many throwing down their arms the better to flee. Startled, the defenders of Krantin took some moments to react to this thing. Then they took up the chase, their yells of triumph drowning out the Markuand despair.
The sounds of those two great masses mingled, rattling in Danaer's senses as sounds had when he had been wounded and was about to faint. He was being drawn backward, ever faster and faster, more swiftly than any hawk could dive.
Ulodovol had vanished from the clouds, and now he retraced the invisible path in the sky, his Web towed with him, and Danaer along with it.
They were in the tent again.
Danaer blinked and licked his lips, savoring a slow return of the dissociated sensations he had lost. Lira was in his arms, and he was giddily aware of his heart's pounding and the pulse of blood through his body. He looked down at his hand, flexing his fingers tentatively around the hilt of the bloody dagger, enjoying the thrill of contact once more with solid objects.
He was alive! He and Lira and Ulodovol were alive, and back in their own bodies!
Friends crowded around them, whooping with joy. When Ulodovol appeared a trifle weakened by his experience, Malol and Nurdanth themselves rushed to fetch him a chair, not allowing any of the now-awakened sentries and guards to perform that task.
honoring the wizard by serving him themselves. Ulodovol sat down gratefully, mopping his brow. "It is done," he panted. "He is dead, and the battle is ours, Royal Commander."
"Hyidu?" Gordyan was pressing Danaer's arm.
Danaer felt like a man waking out of a nightmare. All around him were friends and allies. The enemies were no longer a threat. Chorii's eyes were glazed, and Diilbok took no heed of what went on, continuing to hold his woman and murmur to her as if she could hear him. Hablit lay dead close behind Danaer and Lira. Gordyan's knife was bloody, and Danaer could guess what h-ad happened while he had been held prisoner in wizardry.
Gordyan grinned and said, "Am I not sworn to guard your back? And it was plain you could not protect yourself or our little sorkra at that moment. Thank Argan that when the great wizards disappeared, I could move in time to save you both!"
Danaer started to speak his gratitude, then felt Lira sigh and slump limply against him. Much concerned, he carried her to a nearby couch and put her down carefully, anxiously feeling her forehead. Gordyan leaned over his shoulder, as worried for Lira as the officers had been for her mentor.
To Danaer's relief, in a few moments Lira's eyelashes fluttered and she began to stir. At first she was confused, then focused on him and took his hand. "We ... we succeeded, qedra. The Traech Sorkra won."
"Ai," Gordyan said heartily. There was still much pain in his expression, the anguished memory of Kandra's death. That would not leave him soon, but he tried to cheer his young friends. "You are back safely with us, free of that enchantment that held you like stone figures."
Danaer shuddered. "I ... I was flying, up in the clouds, and I saw Ulodovol vanquish the Markuand wizard while we all floated high above the battlefield. I was . . . flying!"
"Not precisely," Ulodoyol said. The gaunt old man was regaining his strength rapidly, sitting up straighter
and tidying his robes. "We did not become like birds, as you believe. Rather, for a few heartbeats, the Markuand and I were transported away from this tent and through the sky, where I brought him to bay as you and my Web supported me and witnessed what came about."
"Master, you fathomed his most arcane power," Lira whispered reverently.
Ulodovol's pale eyes gleamed and he slapped the arms of the chair exuberantly, a man who had gambled and won. "I did! It is so! I have been pondering this riddle deeply since he first employed that hidden art against me and the Web. He believed himself invulnerable, and indeed so it seemed, for a while. It was with this special magic he has so long thwarted our efforts, turned back our own considerable powers so often. And in his lust to conquer, he scorned me, thinking no other wizard could discover his secret." Forming a spidery hand into a fist, Ulodovol said, "But I did, and now this lore is ours. I have mastered it." He shook his head sadly. "Such a magnificent thing, and to have wasted it to such evil purpose. Be assured, Royal Commander, my Web will use this skill only for good."
"I ... I do not understand," Malol stammered. "What is this thing you learned from the Markuand? Some magical device? I see none here."
"It is a peculiar skill, my lord, a tremendous skill— enabling me to transport people and objects instantly across the space it might take a rider many minutes or candle-marks to travel. Or a hawk many minutes to fly." Danaer wished he had not been reminded of that last, but listened intently as the wizard went on. "He could, with this new art, conjure demons and transport them. As I said, employing his greatness to evil ends. Against this skill, barriers are as nothing. Walls, armies, even rivers are no hindrance. It is not easily accomplished and takes great effort and must be carefully used, but with it a sorkra may move invisibly from one place to another. Ah, the possibilities ..."
Malol cried out, "That is how they conquered Dekil"
"True, my lord. Your brave soldiers did not fail you. They were betrayed from within. The Markuand wizard transported himself or his minions across the river and inside the walls. He could not move very many at a given time, for the cost in effort is most severe even to the greatest wizard. But now we understand how he beguiled us. Lord Branra said the Markuand vanished from the tunnel. And we were told Chorii and the assassins suddenly appeared inside Deki's walls, striking at the defenders' backs." Ulodovol looked at the dead sorceress and her Prince. "She was his apprentice, and HabUt was drawn into their ranks through his hatred. Diilbok joined them wilhngly, served as their ally. They transported themselves across our battle lines, even freeing him from close confinement, flying here to thrust at you. Royal Commander."
Nurdanth clasped Malol's shoulder and exclaimed, "But the secret was discovered, and they are defeated. Sorkra, no reward can be enough to repay you."
The wizard did not hide his pride. "I gave you my vow, my lords, and I am bound to serve your banners against the powers of evil and Markuand. My Web assisted me so that I could pursue and trap that evil genius ere he made good his escape this last time." He eyed Lira and Danaer and added, "Though the Web was larger, by one member, than I had expected. It was support that was much needed."
"You were part of the Web, qedra," Lira said. "Without your strength we might have—oh, Danaer!" She began weeping, near hyste
ria, and Danaer embraced her tightly, for this needed no magic to counter.
Gordyan watched them fondly, then winked at Shaartre as he and other soldiers gathered around them. "Did you hear? He is a sorkra, just hke these other white wizards."
Shaartre laughed, his earlier terror at the enchantments fading. "In truth, I have long suspected that. What other man could have straddled so well the di-
vision between the plains people and the army and lived to tell about it? This latest bit of magic must have been but small work for a wizard of his abilities, eh?"
Danaer looked up and said sourly, "I am no sorkra. Never that!" Lira's tears were lessening and she clung to him, smiling weakly. "I need no wizard's spells at all now. Lira will be sorkra for us both. I swear by my eiphren, I want no more of flying without my body or seeing and hearing what common men cannot! I have had enough wizardry to last any warrior ten lifetimes!"
XXV
Te Rena AzseO
Recovering from the surprise of Ulodovol's pronouncements, Malol te Eldri went over to Prince Diilbok and looked down at his treacherous cousin. Even those who had been congratulating the wizard broke off their talking and watched Diilbok with pity. His eyes were unnaturally bright and he did not weep. Instead he fondled his mistress as if she were still aUve, and spoke in the same wise, laughing and planning what they would do in the days to come.
". . . and we will hang bright streamers from the castle walls, ai? Just as at the festival when the minstrels sang so gaily. Do you remember? And when Summer's Height is come, we will journey to your beloved Valley of the Hawks, just as I promised you we would do when the Markuand had won. I will be one of their kings, and you . . . you shall be queen, my love..."
Very softly, Malol said, "She is dead. She will never be queen. Her evil master is destroyed, and so is all your scheming."
"I shall order my artisans to make you a pretty
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