The Spellstone of Shaltus

by Linda E. Bushyager

  There was a sudden pounding on the door. It swung open before Quinen could answer.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” said the Sylvan who entered. “I’ve urgent news. Trask is dead.”

  Fear and sorrow flickered across Leah’s thoughts, hut she kept her emotions tightly reined. The image in the glass never wavered.

  The pain in Quinen’s eyes seemed genuine. “This is a sad day,” he said to the messenger. “Inform the other council members, please.”

  The man nodded and hurried from the room. Lowering his brush, Quinen swiveled toward Pazolt.

  “It had to be done.” Quinen’s voice was almost a sob. He slammed his fist into his palm. Then he pressed his hands against his forehead. “Damn it. Damn.”

  “It had to be done,” echoed the priest with the hardness of steel.

  “If only he hadn’t found out that I was an Expansionist,” muttered Quinen.

  “Things will be easier for us now that you are chief,” said Pazolt.

  Quinen’s shoulders straightened. He looked sad, but resigned. “Yes. But we must continue to work in secret. Most Sylvan will not accept any sort of pact with a wraith; even some of my own men would object. And there are those who supported Trask—they will still want peace with the humans. However, they can have no complaints if a wraith destroys Carlton.

  “I’ve already arranged to get another Shaltus-controlled spellstone from the wraith. When I learned that Rowen had destroyed the first stone I had planted at Carlton I sent my man Vargo to Bluestone for another. Vargo should be back in a day or two. After we’ve ambushed Rowen I’ll arrange to smuggle the new programmed stone into Castle Carlton. Without Rowen’s interference it will destroy Lord Richard S’Carlton, the castle itself, and the humans within. Then we’ll have to keep our part of the bargain and kill any surviving S’Carltons. Richard’s other sister, Laurie, is married to Lord S’Richmond, and Richard has sent his two children to her for safekeeping. Unfortunately the kingdom of Richmond is in the area protected from sorcery by the Triad spellstones. However, it shouldn’t be too hard to arrange for their deaths. With all those of S’Carlton blood dead the Shaltuswraith will vanish, its vengeance complete.”

  “What about Leandes?” asked the Shuull priest.

  Quinen’s face tensed. “I don’t know. She’s part Sylvan.”

  “She’s part human,” countered the priest. “She’s of the same blood as those who killed your family, remember that. She’s of S’Carlton’s blood. The wraith will want her death.”

  “It never mentioned her when we made our pact.”

  “She’s of S’Carlton’s blood,” Pazolt insisted. “The wraith’s vengeance won’t be complete without her death. Besides, she’s a sorceress—she could be dangerous. She knows about the poisoning and may suspect you. She may find out that you have joined the Expansionists.”

  Quinen tapped his fists together nervously. “Don’t worry. I’ve fed her some misinformation, so she won’t suspect me. I’ve told her about the Expansionists, but I said that I opposed them. I told her that Geraed is the leader.”

  “Geraed!” Pazolt laughed heartily. “That’s misdirection all right, naming one of Trask’s major supporters as the head of the Expansionists.”

  “We know he opposes us, but she doesn’t,” Quinen replied.

  Suddenly the humor was gone from Pazolt’s smile. “But she could find out.”

  “I suppose so,” Quinen admitted.

  “She must die,” said the priest.

  Watching them, Leah felt her chest tighten in distress.

  “No!” Quinen exclaimed.

  The priest studied Quinen’s troubled eyes. “You like her, don’t you?”

  Quinen shrugged and looked away.

  “But that didn’t stop you from planting the wraith’s spellstone among her things. She could have died then.”

  “I know, but …”

  “But you were with her last night.”

  “How …”

  The priest smiled grimly. “I was looking for you. Someone said they’d seen you go into her room. She is a beautiful woman … but she is a human, not a Sylvan. She’s lived with them, she knows their ways, she uses their magic. She is dangerous. She must die now, before she learns of our pact with Shaltus.”

  Quinen nodded reluctantly. His eyes were downcast, troubled with guilt.

  “We’ll make it look like a suicide,” the priest continued. “Let her grieve over Trask’s death. Then, upset by her grandfather’s passing and her brother’s accusations, Leandes Carlton will take poison. We’ll use something far less exotic than the drug we used on Trask. Hers will be a quick, painless death.”

  “I don’t like doing it,” said Quinen, raising his eyes for a moment to look almost defiantly at Pazolt. Then he looked away and stared into space. “You are right. I can see that it is necessary. And the tribe will believe a suicide.” His face hardened but the pain lingered in his eyes. “Do it while I’m away.”

  “Of course.”

  Suddenly Leah could no longer suppress her anger and despair. As her control dissolved, the image in the mirror vanished. The runespell was broken.

  Seeing herself now reflected in the glass, she picked up the mirror and smashed it against the table. As it shattered, a shard cut into her palm.

  The pain was like a rocky promontory, solid and real. She held on to it against the force of the emotions that stormed her mind—anger, fear, grief, desolation, and despair. The reality of the pain focused the torment of her feelings into a wedge of desperation.

  I have to get out of here, she thought, staring at her hand. I’ve got to.

  She removed the shard of glass and bandaged her hand with a piece of dolaan torn from one of the garments she’d been altering. Then she changed into trousers and a short tunic and put on her boots.

  The pain was becoming a numbness echoing in her mind. She felt dazed and suddenly uncertain. She jabbed her fingernails into the bandaged cut deliberately. The pain stabbed through her hand, shot up her arm, and cut away the fog enveloping her thoughts. She had to concentrate on it and use it to block the emotions that threatened to paralyze her.

  She had to escape.

  As she glanced around the room for a final time, she saw herself reflected in one of the pieces of broken glass. Her face had an unnatural harshness. Her jaw was clenched, her lips were tight and fiat, her odd-colored eyes were as cold as ice. Taking a deep breath, she forced her features to relax. She had to look normal. After a moment her face became an emotionless mask, marred only by the slight trace of frost lingering in her gaze.

  Taut and tense, she drew another deep breath. Then looking as though nothing had happened, she strolled toward the door. But as she was about to open it, someone knocked urgently on the other side.

  Startled, she jerked away. She gripped her spellstone tightly in her injured hand. Its polished surface was warm to the touch. Her fingers pressed against it seeking strength in its power. Then she opened the door.

  It was Geraed.

  Leah’s tension eased only a fraction as she bade him enter.

  The Shuull priest looked troubled.

  “I have some sad news,” he said, pulling the door shut behind him. “Trask is dead.”

  Leah sighed. “I know.”

  “You’ve heard?” Geraed seemed surprised.

  Leah nodded. She shouldn’t have blurted that out. Now Geraed was glancing curiously at the smashed mirror on the table. What was she going to tell him?

  She tried to remember what Pazolt had said about his superior—something about Geraed being one of Trask’s supporters. He was opposed to the Expansionists. Yet could she really trust him? She felt as though she were walking through a swamp with every path leading into quicksand.

  “I sent a message over to Quinen,” the priest continued. “I thought I ought to tell you myself. You did your best for your grandfather, but I’m afraid your human magic was no better than Sylvan powers.”

  He glanced
again at the broken glass. He started to speak, then decided against it. Clearing his throat, he backed toward the door. “I’d better go now. I have to make the preparations for Trask’s funeral. It will be tomorrow at sunset.”

  As he began to turn away, Leah suddenly called him back. “Geraed …” She hesitated, still uncertain of him but knowing that this would be her last chance to gain his help.

  “Yes?” His mismatched eyes of copper and hazel studied her face with concern.

  If she wanted to stop Quinen’s plan from succeeding, she had to trust someone.

  “I’ve found out that Quinen did poison Trask!”

  “So? How do you know that?”

  “I used the human magic you dislike so much to eavesdrop on him.” She had made her choice.

  Swiftly she outlined the conversation she’d heard between Quinen and Pazolt.

  When she finished, Geraed nodded. He seemed surprised by some of the details, but not by the fact that Quinen had joined the Expansionists or that they had made an alliance with Shaltus.

  “I knew that Pazolt was one of the Expansionists,” he said. “But I wasn’t sure that Quinen had joined them. This explains some things—like how Quinen got enough support in the council to become chief when Trask fell ill. Several council members are Expansionists.”

  “You’ve got to stop them,” Leah exclaimed.

  The Sylvan priest shook his head doubtfully. “I don’t know that I can. You don’t understand my position here—it’s not very strong. Quinen knows I suspect him of poisoning Trask. He may move against me next. So I’ve got to act cautiously.

  “I don’t like humans very much, but I decided long ago that Trask was right to seek peace. That’s why I supported him. The world is large enough for both groups. A war between the Sylvan and the humans would be devastating to both sides. Although the Expansionists think they can avoid war, every move they make brings us closer to it.”

  He seemed to be thinking aloud more than talking to her. “Perhaps they’ve gone too far now in dealing with a wraith to gain their ends. Even the Sylvan who want war with the humans would oppose such an alliance. If I can expose the pact they’ve made with Shaltus, perhaps I can stop them. But I’ve got to go slowly and carefully. I can’t move yet. In the meantime, Leandes, it’s up to you to warn your brother. I’ll do what I can here.”

  Leah shuddered, remembering the hatred she’d seen in her half-brother’s eyes. “I don’t know that he would believe me or even that he would give me the chance to explain what’s happened. I don’t think I dare return to Castle Carlton.”

  “But you must. You’ve got to prevent the ambush that Quinen plans for that sorcerer, Rowen—he may be the only man capable of destroying the Shaltuswraith. The wraith could be as dangerous to us as to the humans. It must be eliminated. Right now there’s nothing I can do to contact Rowen or Lord S’Carlton. You’ve got to warn them.”

  “Rowen …” mused Leah. “Perhaps I could talk to him. His friend helped me once; they might believe me. Then Lord Rowen could explain things to my half-brother. But I don’t think that Richard would listen to me.”

  “Then that’s what you must do.” Geraed glanced at the door. “But you must leave quickly, now, before Quinen thinks to have you watched. Can you find your way to the stable?”

  Leah nodded.

  “You’d better go alone,” said Geraed. “It would be best if they think I had no part in this. They’ll wonder why you suddenly left the forest.”

  “By the time they realize that I must have stumbled across the truth, it will be too late for them to stop me.” She studied Geraed’s face, still wondering if she had been a fool to trust him. But what choice did she have? She smiled at him grimly. “Be careful.”

  “You also.”

  Then Leah took a deep breath, brought her features into a calm mask of indifference, and strolled out the door.

  Passing Sylvan paid no attention to her as she descended a series of rope ladders and interior tree stairs, following a path to the forest floor that she remembered from past visits to Trask. As a shiffem she was beneath their notice.

  When she reached the ground it took her only a few minutes to locate the great tree that was used as a stable. Its diameter was over twenty meters.

  She approached cautiously. As she expected, there were no Sylvan guards outside. Sentries were stationed around the perimeter of the forest to stop unwarranted visitors from entering. There was no need to prevent anyone from leaving.

  Still, she knew there would be a couple of Sylvan within the stable. Although she could probably get a horse and ride away without arousing suspicion, she planned to take a pack horse, supplies, and a quantity of tomaad, and she had no way to explain those.

  She inspected the tree and found the almost invisible outline of its large double doors. Cupping her powerstone in her hands, she recited a spell. Then she twisted the knobby protuberance of wood that served as the door handle.

  The double doors, large enough for a horse and rider, swung open. The interior of the tree had been hollowed out into an enormous room with a dome ceiling. The living wood had been shaped to form stalls, saddle racks, storage shelves, even a hayloft over part of the room. Like all walls within the skytrees the barn’s were covered with a dark brown moss that provided phosphorescent lighting.

  Leah hesitated at the entrance and warily studied the interior.

  Several Sylvan sat at a table in the front of the room. They had been playing a card game when her spell hit. Now they were frozen in their places. Their hands clutched oblong cards that their eyes no longer saw. They would remain suspended for about half an hour. When the spell lifted they would return to consciousness and would not even notice that any time had passed.

  Leah used her spellstone to probe for signs of other Sylvan, but there were none.

  She swiftly found her chestnut mare and saddled it. Then she chose a dark brown gelding from the back of the barn. Like other Sylvan horses it had been specially bred for its size. She packed it with a variety of supplies from the shelved stockpiles, including several small casks of tomaad, canteens of tomaad and water, journeycakes, some salted venison, and a small supply of delaap nuts. She didn’t think that a casual inspection would reveal the small amount of missing goods.

  As a shiffem Leah had one advantage over the Sylvan; she could live on delaap and tomaad, but they weren’t essential parts of her diet. The perishable nature of the skytree nuts limited the length of time that the Sylvan could remain away from their forests.

  When she finished she took the horses outside and closed the stable doors behind her.

  For a moment her fingers clung to the rough bark of the skytree. She could sense its strength and serenity. She longed to reach out and mesh with it as she had with the oak. But she dared not take the time.

  Reluctantly she pulled her hands away from the tree. She mounted and urged her horses forward. She had decided to try to intercept Lord Rowen before he reached Ravenscliffe.

  Leah felt as though her emotions had been rubbed raw until she could feel nothing except a throbbing numbness. But through the numbness there was one spark of emotion still driving her.

  She had come to the forest seeking refuge. She had almost dared hope that it would be more than that—a home. But her sanctuary had become a deathtrap. Now she was an exile, condemned by both worlds. Yet she could not flee. Though neither the Sylvan nor the humans wanted her, she was of them both. And she was as prideful as they.

  Although she was without home or friends and should have had no duty to anyone except herself, the ties of her past chained her to responsibilities from which she could not free herself.

  She had loved and respected her father, and she could not now see his kingdom and his family destroyed because of her inaction. Yet part of her would have been glad to do nothing to save Carlton and its lord.

  She had also loved and respected her grandfather. She felt duty-bound to save his dream of peace between Sylvan
and human, if she could.

  Yet the part of her that had been hurt and rejected by both sides almost wanted to see their destruction.

  But her pride held her to her duty, and she had no choice in what she must do.

  Eight

  Leah had no difficulty leaving the Sylvan forest. Throughout the long day she followed the Twelvepeople River southeastward on the rough, deserted trail. The summer sun beat relentlessly against the forest, keeping the air stifling hot, despite the shade. As the miles passed, the river dwindled into a stream and then a creek, while the trees pressed in on the trail and threatened to swallow it altogether at every turn and dip.

  The afternoon shadows became elongated black spears cutting through the dusk-darkened trail. A cool breeze finally began to flow along the narrow pathway. Although it was refreshing, the sudden change of temperature made Leah shiver.

  The wind tasted of moisture, leaves, and night, but there was something more—smoke up ahead. She had almost reached the fork in the trail that would head east to the Bluefield Road, where she’d planned to camp.

  Leah sniffed the air again. It smelled of burning wood, roasting nuts, and frying fish. Someone must be camped at the fork.

  Slowing her horse, she wondered who would be traveling the out-of-the-way trail. A hunter perhaps? A Sylvan traveling from Anoke to Ayers or vice versa? Or perhaps some soldiers still looking for her?

  The smoke was nearer. She dismounted and led her horses forward cautiously. Her fingers nervously rubbed the surface of her spellstone. She could have used it to sense what lay ahead, but any sorcerer would then be alerted to her presence.

  The smell of frying fish made her mouth water. She was very close.

  Dropping the horses’ reins, she crept forward until she reached the edge of the clearing where the trail forked. She pressed her body against a thick tree trunk, trying to make herself a part of the deep shadows and the wood.