The Spellstone of Shaltus

by Linda E. Bushyager

  “You can do better than that.”

  Rusty brushed off his trousers, removed a flask from his pocket, and took a long sip of the liquor.

  “The probabilities look good,” he said. “But the wraith will have a lot of tricks up his sleeve. He’s a master of illusion and nonillusion. You’ll have to determine which is which. He’ll use your weaknesses against you, and you must use his weakness against him.”

  “His weakness?” asked Leah. She didn’t know the wraith had one.

  “His hatred of the S’Carltons is both a strength and a weakness. Cut him with it before he cuts you.”

  “Can you speak in nothing but generalities?” exclaimed Fletcher.

  “It’s better that I do. To know the future and to act on it is to change it, and what if it were changed for the worst?”

  “Then you think we will destroy the wraith?” Michael Rowen asked.

  The precog smiled enigmatically. “It’s best if I say no more, except for one word of warning—don’t get separated.”

  “What of Fletcher’s plan?”

  Rusty’s lips drew into a firm line. His words sounded definite. “I see no alternative to it.”

  “What plan?” asked Leah.

  Casually sitting cross-legged on the trail, Michael Rowen gestured to the others. They followed his example and sat across from him.

  “The wraith seems to be more powerful than Shaltus ever was in life and perhaps more powerful than any human sorcerer is or can be. Therefore either the wraith is capable of drawing on more energy than we are, or it has found some manner of storing it in great quantities, which it can tap at will.”

  “Runes can be used to store energy,” said Leah.

  “Yes, but the energy leaks away after a few hours if the runespell isn’t activated.” Rowen looked thoughtful. “It would seem that Shaltus is able to tap into far more energy than a mere rune could bind.”

  “Perhaps a spellstone can transfer and transform energy more efficiently without the linkage between the stone and a controlling human,” said Tim Fletcher.

  Rowen shrugged. “In any case the Shaltus wraithstone appears to be far stronger than any sorcerer. So far only sorcery has been used against it, and it has always won the battle of magic against magic.” He turned toward Leah. “We propose to destroy the wraith with something else.”

  Leah jumped to her feet. “The forbidden ways!” Her voice was tight with anger and fear.

  Rowen followed as she stalked a few paces away. Taking her hand gently, he studied her face with concern.

  “What do you know of this?”

  “I’m afraid it’s my fault,” Fletcher interjected. “When we were stranded in the N’Omb cave yesterday I told Leah that I sought the old knowledge.”

  Rowen’s voice was as calm and reassuring as his deep gray eyes. “There’s no need. to be afraid. Fletcher has discovered something that we hope to use against Shaltus. It’s a small amount of simple powder in a pipelike device that will explode the stone and yet not hurt a person standing a few meters away. It is a secret thing that we will not tell to others, lest it be used for evil. It is the only thing I know of that will destroy the wraithstone.”

  Rusty stood and patted Leah’s shoulder. “The Shaltus-stone must he eliminated, or its power will grow until it consumes all of Carlton. We must use every weapon we have against it.”

  Leah knew that he was right, but the thought of breaking N’Omb’s greatest law still terrified her.

  “Don’t worry,” said Fletcher. “We only have a little of this powder, and it will be used only once—to destroy the wraithstone.”

  “But how can we even get near the stone?” Leah asked. “Not even my father could get closer than a kilometer to it. He’s not the only sorcerer to die trying to get close to it. And this device of yours would have to be placed near the wraithstone, right?”

  “Yes. It would have to touch it,” Rowen replied.

  “Then how… ?”

  “The Rowens have an immunity to magic,” answered Fletcher.

  “Not a total immunity,” Rowen explained. “As long as I use a spellstone I’m vulnerable, although I do have a certain amount of natural resistance. Without the stone I’m immune to the direct effects of sorcery.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Do you remember when we fought the planted spellstone at Carlton? The wraithstone erected a barrier to cut us off from aiding your brother. I was able to pass through it.”

  “And I wasn’t able to penetrate it,” said Leah, remembering the invisible wall that had kept her from reaching Richard.

  “My resistance to sorcery enabled me to force my way through. If I hadn’t been wearing my stone, I wouldn’t have been affected by Shaltus’s sorcery at all.”

  “But you were knocked out when you destroyed the wraithstone.”

  “As long as I’m in contact with my powerstone, I can be affected by the sorcery that leaks through my link with the stone. Without the stone I’m not affected by spells, runes, forcefields, or illusions.”

  Leah frowned, still trying to understand. “But you couldn’t cast spells either.”

  “That’s right.”

  “What do you intend to do then? Just remove your spellstone, ride up to the Shaltus-stone, and use Fletcher’s accursed powder to destroy the wraith?” Sarcasm edged Leah’s voice. She was certain it would not be that simple to eliminate the wraith.

  “Something like that,” he replied. “It sounds too easy.”

  Fletcher tugged thoughtfully at his beard. “What Michael’s neglecting to say is that he is not immune to the indirect effects of sorcery. If Shaltus were to set this forest on fire, for example, Michael would not be immune to the heat and flames. So he’ll need some assistance in getting close to the wraithstone.”

  “Me?” asked Leah.

  “Both of us;” Fletcher replied. “The three of us will get as close to the stone as we can. Michael will be able to protect me against any spells. Then he’ll give me his powerstone, and together you and I will protect him.”

  Leah’s eyes widened in surprise. It was highly unusual for one person to use another’s stone. After a long period of use the spellstones became attuned to their owners. A stone could be desensitized and transferred to another individual, but it was a long ritual.

  Fletcher read her expression. “I was a sorcerer once, with my own stone, so I have the necessary talent. Michael and I have worked out a shortcut to the usual procedures for transferring a stone. We’ve done it several times before, and it works. I won’t be quite as powerful a sorcerer as Michael is, but I should be good enough for our purposes.”

  “You two may have to distract the wraith while I get within striking distance,” added Rowen.

  Leah studied the two men. They both seemed quite serious. She vaguely remembered hearing about a family of sorcerers who had been immune to magic and who had been wiped out in the Great War. Evidently it was the S’Rowen family. Michael Rowen was the only survivor.

  Although Michael Rowen’s scheme seemed wildly improbable, perhaps it was just crazy enough to work.

  Certainly her father’s direct attack on the wraith had been ineffective.

  “Naturally Rusty will have to stay out of the wraith’s territory. We won’t be able to spare enough power to protect him from Shaltus, and he is no sorcerer.” Rowen smiled at her. “So that’s what we’ll do, unless you have a better plan.”

  “No, but this one seems crazy,” said Leah.

  “We’re not being foolhardy. We’ve got a lot going for us—my immunity, Tim’s device, your knowledge of the wraith and your abilities, and Rusty’s prediction, such as it was. Are you with us?”

  Feeling very much as though she had no choice, Leah nodded reluctantly.

  “Good. Let’s get moving then.”

  Twelve

  A nightmare stretched before them in the once fertile Bluefield Valley. On the hillside below, the forest became a graveyard of barren, lea
fless skeletons with gaunt, misshapen arms like broken matchsticks.

  The air was heavy, oppressive, and stank of rotting vegetation and dead fish. Perhaps the second smell arose from what had once been a wide blue ribbon of river. It was now a dark bog.

  The horses whined in terror and tried to bolt. It took all of Leah’s skill to still their fear.

  “I go no farther,” said Rusty. Leah couldn’t tell if his decision was based on his precognitive vision or on the dismal scene.

  “The blight’s gotten larger since I was here last,” Leah noted. She pointed west. “We’re still some kilometers from Castle Bluefield. I think we should avoid it. The wraithstone lies on this side of the river, some seven or eight kilometers west of the castle.”

  “You take the lead,” said Rowen. He turned to Rusty. “Are you sure you’ll be all right by yourself?”

  “Quite sure,” replied the precog.

  Leah fingered her spellstone nervously. Then she erected a weak protective field around herself and her horse. It would be a slight drain on her energy levels, but she wanted to be prepared for any sudden attacks. Glancing back at Rowen and Fletcher, she saw that the sorcerer had followed her example. Now a pale green-gold aura encircled the two men.

  As they reached the wasted trees, she sensed Shaltus’s presence for the first time. It was as faint as a spider’s shadow, and as repellent.

  The air seemed to shimmer with shadows. It became molasses-thick, pressing against them with a tangibility that made it difficult to breathe and to move. Looking through it was like looking through water, and the images of sky, stark tree trunks, and each other wavered and grew indistinct.

  Unconsciously Leah’s hands tightened around the reins and clenched into fists. Her anxiety built as they traveled deeper into dead forest. Her chest tightened, her back stiffened, and her palms began to sweat.

  The stench of decay made her want to gag. Its acrid taste filled her mouth. The viscous air felt like slime against her skin.

  Her fear grew. Then she remembered feeling the same terror when her father had fought Shaltus. A portion was her own fear, but most came from somewhere outside herself. Her shield could screen out only part of it.

  Knowing that this was something of Shaltus’s doing lessened the terror that wrapped itself around her like the suffocating coils of a snake.

  She diverted more energy into her shield. The pressure of the fear weakened from an almost paralyzing terror into a formless apprehension.

  One look at Fletcher’s and Rowen’s expressions of pinched anxiety told her that they were also fighting Shaltus’s insidious attack.

  As they moved forward, the pressure of the assault increased. Leah’s nerves screamed with tension. She had to master the urge to turn around and gallop back. She wanted to shriek or cry, or even to laugh hysterically against the dread that crashed against her mind in an avalanche of terror.

  It became an effort to think clearly, to think of anything besides the raging sense of despair and alarm. She wondered if this was the cause of the madness that affected those who ventured into Bluefield. Without spellstones there was no way to block it.

  “Leah, we’ve got to keep moving,” said Rowen through clenched teeth. He was suddenly beside her. She realized that she’d reined her horse.

  Fletcher’s hands were pressed against his forehead. “Isn’t there something we can do to stop this?” His dark skin glistened with perspiration, his eyes had a wild look of panic, and his whole body trembled.

  Rowen remained tight-lipped but calm. Evidently his immunity made him partially resistant to the torment.

  “I don’t know,” he replied. “Is it always like this here?”

  Leah nodded. She wanted to cry out and had to fight to form her thoughts into coherent words and then to keep them from twisting into a scream as she spoke. “It’s the wraith’s first line of defense.” She took a deep breath. “It’s usually enough to stop most people. When we get beyond these trees it will end. Then he’ll hit us with something else.”

  “I can’t take much more of this,” cried Fletcher. “What did Rusty say?” mused Rowen. “He’ll use your weaknesses against you, and you must use his weaknesses against him?”

  “The wraith must be afraid too. He’s afraid of us, and he’s afraid of the S’Carltons. After all, your father did kill Shaltus. The wraith remembers the torture he underwent and his slow death all too well—that’s why it’s so intent on vengeance. It fears final extinction. We must try to channel this formless fear back at the wraith, but give it a basis in reality. Let the spellstone of Shaltus know that we are coming to destroy it.”

  “Is it wise to attack so early? We’re still close to eight kilometers away—the stone is almost out of our range,” said Leah.

  “I don’t expect that we can have much effect on the wraithstone at this distance, but it will give us a chance to test its defenses and weaknesses.”

  He stretched his arms toward Leah and Fletcher. Prodding her horse closer, Leah clasped hands with each of the men. Fletcher grabbed Michael Rowen’s hand to complete the circle.

  As their protective auras merged into a single field, Leah began a low chant that Fletcher picked up.

  Although he had no spellstone of his own, he’d been trained as a sorcerer and was now linked with them, adding his strength to theirs. Rowen repeated the chant and channeled the power behind their words into the spell that he hurled against the wraith.

  They let the fear assaulting their senses feed into the death fear of their spell, transforming it from a weapon directed at them into a weapon aimed at the Shaltuswraith.

  They seemed to be in a vortex of terrified emotion. Only Rowen’s steady control kept them from being blown away in the whirlwind.

  Then the pressure of fear against their minds weakened and died away. They continued their offensive for a few more minutes, until they were certain that Shaltus was not going to renew the attack. At last Rowen nodded and released their hands. “I don’t think we were hurting the wraith, but it didn’t like being on the receiving end of a fear-spell.”

  “Shaltus will try something else now,” said Leah. “It may be anything. The wraith always varies its subsequent attacks if the first does not succeed.” Feeling shaken and weak, she pulled out her canteen. “I think we should fortify ourselves with tomaad. It is one advantage we have that my father didn’t.”

  Rowen nodded. “It’s a good thing you thought to divide the tomaad among us. Otherwise most would have been lost with your packhorse.” He smiled at her. “I’m glad you’re with us. You’ve been a help in many ways.”

  Blushing, Leah shrugged and looked away. She felt both embarrassed and, pleased by his praise. It had been a long time since anyone had complimented her.

  Fletcher wiped the perspiration from his brow. Now that Shaltus’s assault had ceased he seemed to have regained his composure. “I think we make a good team,” he said.

  “Yes, we do,” Rowen agreed. “Things have gone well so far, except for losing Barbara. I just wish we had been able to save her.”

  Leah sighed unhappily. The wraith must have killed Barbara as soon as she’d entered its territory. That meant Michael Rowen had lost his chance for a kingdom. Perhaps he had loved Barbara. She wondered which loss disturbed him more.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, and she was—sorry for him and sorry for her poor half-sister. Yet at the same time she felt a disturbing ambivalence about Barbara’s probable death. Somehow the thought of Barbara’s marriage to Rowen bothered her.

  “Hey, you don’t have to make it sound like it was your fault,” said Rowen. “It was no one’s fault; it just happened.”

  “We’d better get moving again,” Tim Fletcher advised, “before the wraith does anything else.”

  Leah prodded her horse back into the lead.

  Gradually the forest thickened around them. The trail narrowed until it disappeared. Thorny brambles blocked the spaces between trees. Vines like snakes curled down
from leafless branches and tried to entangle the horses. The moss-covered ground turned into a bog that mired down the animals.

  Their progress slowed to a crawl.

  When they tried to use sorcery to cut a firm path they discovered that the wood was heavily spellbound. Fighting it with magic quickly drained their energy, with little result. However, if they turned aside from the direction leading to the wraithstone, the brambles and mud soon gave way.

  Stubbornly they fought forward. As the hours passed they made only a little headway. The sky darkened into a starless black lid over the unyielding forest that entombed them.

  “I swear we’re making less progress now than we did hours ago,” said Fletcher, vainly chopping at vines with his sword.

  Michael Rowen nodded. “Maybe we’d better stop and rest until daylight.”

  “That’s fine with me.” Fletcher sheathed his sword in disgust.

  “I’ll take first watch,” said Rowen. “Then I’ll transfer my stone to you, and you’ll take the second. Leah will take the third.”

  Leah studied the small space they’d cleared for themselves and their horses. The path cut behind them remained open and inviting. The Shaltus-force surrounding them felt like a suffocating cocoon.

  “Is it safe for any of us to sleep?” she asked.

  Rowen shrugged. “I don’t know. The closer we get to the wraithstone, the more dangerous it will be to stop and rest. The tomaad we’ve been drinking can’t fully replace sleep. I think we should take this chance while we have it. There’s not much use in trying to go on now anyway.”

  “Maybe things will be easier in the morning,” Fletcher commented.

  The ex-priest unsaddled his gelding, and the others followed his example. Then they gathered old logs and broken branches for a fire. While Fletcher spread out his bedroll as far from the evil-looking bushes and vines as possible, Leah and Rowen drew rune wards on the ground. When completed, they cast a double hemisphere of protective force over the clearing. The shields glimmered faintly—one a yellow-gold aura, the other green-gold.