Noon sunlight and a clear sky. Armies clashed on once-fertile fields, grinding the sprouting grain into dust and watering it with blood. In the distance a village burned, and the wailing of women and children made a faint counterpoint to the desperate clash of arms.
Mariel took a slow, deep breath, holding fast to her stillness as the scene played itself out. For six months now, this was all the earth magic had shown her: war; destruction; slave caravans hauling men, women, and children away from the ruins of their homes; the king's armies in retreat, or struggling to hold back the tide of the invaders long enough for the civilians to escape. The previous Earthwitch had assured her that behind each vision the earth magic showed, there was a purpose, but sometimes Mariel thought that if she did not find out soon what she was expected to learn from the death and destruction, she would go mad.
The vision changed. She saw the interior of a tent and a lean, brown-haired man in a chain vest, seated on the edge of a cot with his head buried in his hands. The tent flap opened. "My lord?" said a voice from outside.
The man on the cot looked up. Mariel choked, and the vision wavered; barely in time, she suppressed her unruly emotions. When her sight cleared again, the brown-haired man and a tired-looking man in a torn red cloak were in midargument.
"My lord, it is madness!" the man in the red cloak said.
"Have you some other proposal, then?" the brown-haired man asked with implacable skepticism.
The red-cloaked man shook his head. "But the ambassadors we sent to Wirnor have not yet returned. Surely, when they do—"
"We cannot wait for them," the first man said. "Not if we hope to have a people or an army left by the time they get here. We're running out of places to retreat to. We need a solution now."
"With all due respect, my lord, asking the Earthwitch for help is no reasonable solution. She is—"
In the cavern, Mariel's hands clenched into fists. Breathe in, breathe out; watch and listen now, study the meaning later. When her attention returned to the vision, she found that she had missed some of the red-cloaked man's argument.
"Nonsense," the brown-haired man snapped. "She's an old woman, as human as you or I. But she wields great power. If she can't stop the Dhainin with it, no one can. And in case it hasn't occurred to you, let me point out that if the Earthwitch puts an end to this invasion, we won't be indebted to Wirnor, which will make it a good deal easier to strike a favorable trade bargain next year or the year after."
"The Earthwitch does not care about such things. What if she refuses to help?"
"She won't refuse me."
The red-cloaked man looked startled. "My lord! You're not thinking of going yourself? In person?''
"I'm not thinking of it, no. I'm planning on it. And I'm going alone."
"My lord, you can't—"
"I can. I'll deal better with her alone, and anyway, we can't spare the men for an escort."
There was a moment's silence. Then the man in the red cloak bowed. "As you wish, my lord," he said with disapproving reluctance. "When do you leave?"
"In the morning. I've left instructions with Remin. You're in charge until I get back. If I don't come back—" He shrugged. "You're still in charge."
"I? My lord—"
The image faded to blackness, and the steamy sulfur smell of the vision cave rose strongly around her. Mariel drew a ragged breath, then another, and forced her cramped fingers open. So this was where the visions had been leading her! But was it to be her test, or his?
As she calmed, she turned the vision over in her mind. He had looked older—well, it had been fourteen years, it was only to be expected—but he was still the Evan Rydingsword she remembered, right down to the arrogant certainty in his tone and bearing when he said, "She won't refuse me."
Anger swept Mariel at the memory. Let him come and beg for her help. She would refuse. She would send him away empty-handed, and it would be only what he deserved . . . The visions of war and cruelty and death rose in her mind, and she stopped, considering. If the earth magic had intended her to refuse her help, would she have been shown all those other scenes? To help or not was not her choice, in any case. She could invoke the earth magic; she was the channel through which it flowed, but she did not wield it or control it. The earth did as it would. It was the first and hardest lesson her mentor had taught her.
Feeling calmer, she rose and started slowly back through the darkness. At least she knew he was coming; he would not take her by surprise. Suddenly her eyes went wide. Could he have discovered, somehow, that she was the Earthwitch now? Was that the reason for his arrogant confidence? She caught her breath. Did he think to use her, or perhaps even to take her back with him? And what would she do, if that was his intention? Pulling free of him had been the hardest thing she had ever done, harder even than learning to submit to the power of the earth. If he asked her to return, could she look him in the eyes and refuse?
Her seven years of service here were almost over. Soon a new man or woman would arrive, hoping to serve the earth magic, or perhaps only hoping, as she had, to escape from the past. After six months of training, she would hand over her office and leave Firewell Mountain. Most of the former Earthwitches went on to other kinds of service to the land and the people, as healers or wisewomen. Mariel had thought to teach in the great school for healers in Forralan, but if she were to go back with Evan instead . . . ? Could she go back?
Shaken and confused, she brushed past the two apprentices waiting outside the deep caverns and made her way to her apartments. Evan would not arrive for a few days yet. She had time to think . . . but not much of it.
With the weary determination of one who has no choice but to continue, Evan Rydingsword climbed the narrow trail on the side of Firewell Mountain. The wind sang around him, pulling at his cloak and chilling him to the bone. For a moment, he wondered whether he should have taken Corbin's advice and brought an escort. Then he shook his head. Without companions, he did not have the double burden of being exhausted and having to hide it. How long had it been since he had slept more than a few hours at a stretch? He could not recall.
As he pulled himself around a sharp bend in the trail, a figure moved out of the shadows. Automatically, his hand went to his sword hilt. Then he saw that it was a girl, hardly more than fourteen, dressed in a flowing brown robe.
"You have come to see the Earthwitch," she said with a calm certainty that seemed unnatural in one so young.
Evan blinked. "You are not the Earthwitch," he stated after a moment.
"I am her student. When I finish my training next year, I will be teacher and healer for my village. Now, I am to take you to the Earthwitch. Come." Without waiting to see whether he would follow, the girl turned and went lightly up the pathway.
Taking a deep breath, Evan followed. A few moments later, the trail ended, three-quarters of the way up the mountain. On the right, the rocks dropped to a dangerously sheer cliff. On the left, a dark opening gaped in the mountainside. The swordsman eyed it uncertainly, but the girl motioned to him to enter. Taking a deep breath, he did as she bade him.
Three paces inside, he stopped to allow his eyes to adjust. The cave was cool, and he could feel a dampness in the air that must mean water somewhere farther in. The girl plucked a small lamp from a niche beside the door and continued on with barely a pause; he had to hurry to catch up with her. The lamplight flickered and bobbed with her movements, making it hard to see, and he stumbled frequently on the uneven stone. The girl did not seem to notice or care, and Evan began to grow angry. Sternly, he reminded himself that he was here to ask for help, and forced his irritation down.
Finally, the girl paused before an iron door. "The Earthwitch awaits you," she said. "Enter, and do what you have come for."
Evan nodded, in thanks or farewell, he was not sure which, and opened the door. The cavern on the other side was better lit than the passageways, and he could make out more of his surroundings. In the center of the cavern, four columns li
ke frozen rivers of stone framed a raised dais. On either side of the dais stood a brazier of black iron, filled with glowing coals. Behind them, half in shadow, sat a slender figure in a hooded robe who could only be the ancient Earthwitch.
Stepping into the glow of light from the braziers, Evan made a formal bow. "Lady, I thank you for your kindness in seeing me."
The hooded figure rose, surprising Evan with the grace of the movement. "You may thank me at the end of your visit, if you still feel you have reason," said a low, musical voice.
Evan went cold. That was not the voice of a crone, it was— He stood frozen in place as the woman stepped forward and put a small hand up to her hood.
"Welcome to Firewell Mountain, Evan Ryding-sword," said the Earthwitch, and put back the hood of her robe.
Her hair was still the color of sunlit grain; her eyes the same clear, cold gray. Her face was more mature, but no less beautiful. He stared, unbelieving, and reached out blindly in her direction. "Mariel!" he whispered. "Oh, Mariel," and the room spun about him and went dark.
Mariel stared down at the unconscious man in dismay. Whatever she had expected from this confrontation, it was not this. She shook herself and clapped her hands for her students. "He has exhausted himself," she said when they appeared and exclaimed in astonishment. "We will take him to the visitor's chamber. Then, Veryl, you must make a broth, while Niza prepares the resting herbs."
The students nodded jerkily, eyes wide. Working together, they got Evan onto the bed; then the two girls vanished to follow Mariel's instructions, leaving her to watch over him.
In the clear, bright lamplight, Mariel could see that her words were truer than she had realized. Evan's face had a grayish cast beneath its tan, and the skin below his eyes was dark and bruised looking. Close up, she could see that his mail hung more loosely than it should have, and in several places the rings were broken or missing. He had not come to such a state in a five-day journey to Firewell Mountain. How had she missed seeing it before?
Almost without her willing it, her hand reached out to stroke his hair. She pulled it back before she touched him and shook her head. "Still you are a danger to me, Evan," she whispered, folding her hands tightly in her lap.
It seemed a very long time before Veryl and Niza returned.
Evan Rydingsword awoke lying on a hard, narrow bed. He tried to sit up, and a firm hand pushed him back. "Drink," a young female voice said, and he swallowed something warm. He shook his head and blinked at the figure above him. "Mariel?" he said doubtfully.
"I am here," said a voice from the shadows. She moved forward and nodded at the girl standing by Evan's bedside. "That is enough, Veryl; you may go."
The girl nodded and left. Evan barely noticed; he was staring at Mariel. She returned his gaze steadily.
"Where did you go?" he said at last. "Why did you leave?"
"Because I could not stay, and live."
His hand groped for his sword hilt. "Who threatened you? By the gods, if he still lives—"
For a moment, Mariel stared at him. Then she gave a brittle laugh. "No one threatened me, Evan. No one except you."
"I never threatened you!"
She shook her head. "You were swallowing me whole, you and your desire to be king. I tried to explain then, but you would not listen. Then you became king, and it was worse."
"I don't understand."
"I don't expect you to."
"I looked for you," he said bitterly. "I searched for months." He reached for her hands. "Mariel—"
She drew away, her face remote. "I am the Earth-witch now."
"And I am a king without a throne," Evan said. "Can we never be simply Evan and Mariel?"
"What brings you here?" Mariel asked, avoiding his eyes.
Evan closed his own for a moment, then looked up at her again. "The Dhainin."
She folded her hands in her lap. "Tell me."
"They came two years ago, from the southwest, raiding and burning. We drove them off, but they only returned in greater numbers. They have taken Saraset and burned Kerr Hollaran to the ground. I have fought them and lost, and fought again and lost again, until I have nothing left to fight with, and still they come. You are the only hope I have left."
"The Dhainin—"
"If we fight them, they seem to multiply until they overwhelm us with sheer numbers," Evan said wearily. "If we do not fight, they burn and slaughter anyway."
Mariel sucked in her breath. When he looked up she was staring into the air above the bed, as if she saw the same scenes of death and blood and burning that haunted his own dreams. "Perhaps," she said at last, reluctantly. "Perhaps something can be done. But there will be a price. There is always a price, even for you." She looked at him, and her eyes were shadowed. "Especially for you."
"Once I could have given you any treasure in the kingdom as your price." He looked at her. "Once, I would have."
"Gold is no price for the earth," she replied. "Birth and death, blood and healing, the slow changing of seasons—these are the coin for the earth magic. Whose life will you spend to buy your desire this time, king without a throne? A daughter? A son? Who will pay the price of the earth magic for you, so that you may have the victory and the kingdom when your war is over?"
Evan stiffened, stung by the bitterness of the accusation. "I have no sons. Nor daughters. Nor wife. All I can offer for the price of your magic is myself. And I am offering." As the words left his mouth, he found, to his surprise, that he meant them.
She stared at him in silence for a long time. Finally, she asked, "Why?"
"Because I am the king, throne or no," he said. "The people look to me to save them from the Dhainin, and while they wait, they die." His hands fists clenched in sudden anger. "They will die until the Dhainin leave, and I cannot make the Dhainin go."
"And that is all?"
"Isn't it enough? I have seen too much death. I want an end to this, Mariel."
She studied his face warily, as if she were not certain she believed him. Anger washed over him again, followed by a great weariness. "Do not toy with me," he said. "Will you help or no? Whatever I must do for it, I will."
"I, too, do what I must," she said, and he thought she sounded shaken. "I can promise you nothing. Tomorrow I will consult the fire and water; then you shall have your answer." Her raised hand cut off his protest. "Sleep now. You cannot hurry the times of the earth, and whether you have my help or no, you are in need of rest and food." She rose and vanished into the gloom of the cave.
Evan pushed himself up on one elbow and peered after her. If she had been only Mariel, his Mariel, he would have risen and followed her, but she was the Earthwitch now, and he did not quite dare. He dropped back to the bed and grimaced. Not dare? He had barely strength to hold himself up. To try to chase an unwilling woman through a dark maze of caves ... he would not get three paces before he collapsed. He had kept moving out of necessity and will for so long that he had not realized how tired he had become. Mariel was right; he should sleep.
But he could not sleep. If Mariel—if the Earthwitch—agreed to help him, then he would pay for that help with his life. He had said it, and meant it, and he could not fool himself into thinking that the offer alone would be enough. Well, Corbin would be upset, but he would make a good king, and he had sons to follow him. A clear succession was important, or the substance of the kingdom was wasted on the sort of civil wars that had raged before he had taken the throne for himself.
Evan frowned. He had done what he could to assure that Corbin would have the throne if he did not return, but a king who vanished left doubts behind, no matter how good the preparations. Perhaps Mariel would let him send a message before he died. Mariel. . . His eyes closed at last, and he slept.
He was the same, and he was not. The arrogance was still there, but tempered in some way she did not understand. The old Evan would have demanded help and thought to haggle over the price; the old Evan would scarcely have noticed the pain of the people who
died in his war.
He had changed, but not enough. If she went back to him, back to her old life, he would swallow her alive without even intending to. She could see it, feel it, in every look he gave her. She would fade to a shadow of his shadow, mouthing whatever words pleased him, and he would not even notice. Or perhaps this new Evan would notice, and be saddened, but he would never see how or why it had happened.
She could not go back. She did not dare. Oh, she wanted it—wanted him—more than she would have believed, even after all this time. But returning would mean losing all she had gained in the long, painful years—not her power as Earthwitch, for that was soon to end in any case, but her love of books and her knowledge of herbs; her fondness for sunrise and bird-song; her occasional pleasure in being alone; all the things, large and small, that made her herself and not a reflection of Evan Rydingsword and his ambition. She would lose them, because she knew she did not possess the strength to leave him twice.
"I am the Earthwitch," she said aloud, and the words echoed in the darkened cave, bringing her back to the present and the knowledge of her duties. She took a deep breath and set her fears and longings aside, as she had learned to set aside all her emotions when she invoked the earth magic. It was foolish to be concerned with such choices now. Evan had asked the earth for help; if that help were to be given, some price must be paid. Afterward, there would be time for other considerations, if the earth's demands had not made them impossible.
She set that thought aside, too, and rose from her chair. It was time to begin. Her tools were laid ready on the table before her: a small brazier of unlit charcoal, a cup of water from the pool of visions, flint and tinder, a clean cloth. Making a request of the earth magic was a more complex undertaking than accepting the visions it chose to show.