rightâthe Creel Mountains. Like giant mercenary soldiers, stiff, rugged, they loomed casting a shadow of fear black as Drood Mountain itself.
Frost felt a creeping between her shoulders, forced it away. She had heard tales of a race that dwelled among those rocky peaks and steep valleys, a tribe so vicious and primitive that even battle-hardened Rholarothan regulars refused to come here. She was grateful they passed only at the foot of the mountains and did not have to travel though them.
There were few mountains in Esgaria, but once she had stood on the high cliffs above the Calendi Sea, a girl of fifteen summers. The salt spray stung her face, the wind whipped her hair as she unleashed the full, terrible strength of her witchcraft. Giant waves crashed on the jagged rocks below; the sea churned, raged.
Not the handiwork of a god commanded by a wizard, nor the result of a sorcerer's symbol, gesture or word of power. A witchâthe force was natural, a part of her. She compelled the storm. She alone calmed it.
Never again, though. Her power was gone, her skill stolen away. Now, she had only her sword.
Her brother had learned of her secret obsession, tried to kill her as was his right under an ancient Esgarian law forbidding females to handle men's weapons. His was the blood spilled that night, though, and her mother had cursed her for it.
A brooding melancholy dampened her spirit. To drive away the memories she counted the hoof-beats that echoed in her ears.
Kregan was no longer beside her. She slowed her pace to allow him to catch up. Neri was heavily lathered; her brown hide glistened with sweat. Kregan reined in and slid from the saddle. Fatigue shone on his features.
âI won't kill her, woman,â he said calmly enough, stroking the mare lovingly. âNot even to save that damned Book."
She took a deep breath and dropped from Ashur's back. The unicorn was worn, too, dark mane flecked with foam.
âI wouldn't ask that,â she answered. âWe'll walk awhile."
Her own voice startled her, morose and gloomy, heavy with exhaustion. She wished her companion would talk, lift this dark mood from her, but he said nothing; only the sounds of their breathing and their footsteps disturbed the silent night.
Then, the unicorn stopped and sniffed the air. Frost urged him along, but he stopped again and sniffed. Neri stopped, too. The little mare began to stamp and tremble. The fiery eyespots on Ashur's face flamed suddenly, burned wildly, and the unicorn reared.
Frost strove to calm him, catching a handful of his mane, stroking his sleek neck. Kregan cooed soothing sounds in Neri's ear.
The animals seemed to settle down, but now Frost could not relax. The fire in Ashur's hellish eyes shone brighter than ever, casting dancing pools of light upon the ground. She turned to Kregan, but he motioned her to silence, listened, searched in all directions.
She became acutely aware of their exposed position. On the broad plain there was no place to seek cover. Her sword made a soft hiss as it slid free of the sheath.
With no warning, the unicorn reared again, a trumpeting, unearthly cry in its throat. Neri whinnied piteously and jerked her head from side to side until the metal bit bloodied her mouth.
Frost felt a prickling on her neck, turned and screamed.
The Eye of Zarad-Krul loomed over her. Swollen veins full of dark blood laced the rheumy jelly; the foul black pupil, a window into some part of Hell, gleamed with a malignancy.
As she met its gaze she knew her soul was lost. A numbness spread through her limbs, an icy chill that froze her blood, held her motionless, rooted. She screamed again, but no sound passed her lips. A half-uttered curse, a cry and she knew Kregan would be no help. Nor the animals; they, too, were trapped by the same spell that gripped her.
An evil quiet settled on the world.
Then, from the rocky, barren earth blades of grass, emerald serpents, sprouted, grew, coiled around her
Frost felt a creeping between her shoulders, forced it away. She had heard tales of a race that dwelled among those rocky peaks and steep valleys, a tribe so vicious and primitive that even battle-hardened Rholarothan regulars refused to come here. She was grateful they passed only at the foot of the mountains and did not have to travel though them.
There were few mountains in Esgaria, but once she had stood on the high cliffs above the Calendi Sea, a girl of fifteen summers. The salt spray stung her face, the wind whipped her hair as she unleashed the full, terrible strength of her witchcraft. Giant waves crashed on the jagged rocks below; the sea churned, raged.
Not the handiwork of a god commanded by a wizard, nor the result of a sorcerer's symbol, gesture or word of power. A witchâthe force was natural, a part of her. She compelled the storm. She alone calmed it.
Never again, though. Her power was gone, her skill stolen away. Now, she had only her sword.
Her brother had learned of her secret obsession, tried to kill her as was his right under an ancient Esgarian law forbidding females to handle men's weapons. His was the blood spilled that night, though, and her mother had cursed her for it.
A brooding melancholy dampened her spirit. To drive away the memories she counted the hoof-beats that echoed in her ears.
Kregan was no longer beside her. She slowed her pace to allow him to catch up. Neri was heavily lathered; her brown hide glistened with sweat. Kregan reined in and slid from the saddle. Fatigue shone on his features.
âI won't kill her, woman,â he said calmly enough, stroking the mare lovingly. âNot even to save that damned Book."
She took a deep breath and dropped from Ashur's back. The unicorn was worn, too, dark mane flecked with foam.
âI wouldn't ask that,â she answered. âWe'll walk awhile."
Her own voice startled her, morose and gloomy, heavy with exhaustion. She wished her companion would talk, lift this dark mood from her, but he said nothing; only the sounds of their breathing and their footsteps disturbed the silent night.
Then, the unicorn stopped and sniffed the air. Frost urged him along, but he stopped again and sniffed. Neri stopped, too. The little mare began to stamp and tremble. The fiery eyespots on Ashur's face flamed suddenly, burned wildly, and the unicorn reared.
Frost strove to calm him, catching a handful of his mane, stroking his sleek neck. Kregan cooed soothing sounds in Neri's ear.
The animals seemed to settle down, but now Frost could not relax. The fire in Ashur's hellish eyes shone brighter than ever, casting dancing pools of light upon the ground. She turned to Kregan, but he motioned her to silence, listened, searched in all directions.
She became acutely aware of their exposed position. On the broad plain there was no place to seek cover. Her sword made a soft hiss as it slid free of the sheath.
With no warning, the unicorn reared again, a trumpeting, unearthly cry in its throat. Neri whinnied piteously and jerked her head from side to side until the metal bit bloodied her mouth.
Frost felt a prickling on her neck, turned and screamed.
The Eye of Zarad-Krul loomed over her. Swollen veins full of dark blood laced the rheumy jelly; the foul black pupil, a window into some part of Hell, gleamed with a malignancy.
As she met its gaze she knew her soul was lost. A numbness spread through her limbs, an icy chill that froze her blood, held her motionless, rooted. She screamed again, but no sound passed her lips. A half-uttered curse, a cry and she knew Kregan would be no help. Nor the animals; they, too, were trapped by the same spell that gripped her.
An evil quiet settled on the world.
Then, from the rocky, barren earth blades of grass, emerald serpents, sprouted, grew, coiled around her
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