up from the dark jungle of the Maelmord. So strong was the tremor that it staggered the highlander and the girl, causing them to stumble back in surprise. Shaken, they regained their balance and hurried to the edge of the cliffs.
«What’s happened down there?» Rone whispered worriedly. «What’s happened, Kimber?»
«Walkers, I’d guess.» Cogline spit from behind him. «Called up the dark magic to use against the girl, maybe.»
«Grandfather!» Kimber was angry this time.
Rone wheeled in rage. «Old man, if anything has happened to Brin because I’ve been held up here by that cat…»
Then he went suddenly still. A line of shadows appeared on the stairway of the Croagh, stooped and shrouded in the fading half–light of the late afternoon. They came one after another, descending from Graymarks’ leaden walls, winding their way downward toward the ledge where Rone and his companions waited.
«Mord Wraiths!» the highlander breathed softly.
Already Whisper was turning, wheeling into a crouch as he prepared to defend against them. Cogline’s sudden intake of breath hissed sharply through the silence.
Rone stared upward wordlessly as the line of dark forms lengthened and advanced. There were too many.
«Get behind me, Kimber,” he told her gently.
Then he brought up the sword.
I must use you… use you… use you.
The words repeated over and over in Brin’s mind, rising in a litany of conviction that threatened to inundate all reason. Yet some tiny semblance of logic remained, screaming at her through the words of the chant.
It is the dark magic, Valegirl! It is the evil that you have come into this place to destroy!
But the touch of the book against the skin of her hands and the burning it brought to her body held her bound so that nothing else could hold sway. Again the voice came to her, wrapping close about.
— What am I but a gathering of wisdom’s lessons culled through the ages and bound for the usage of mortal beings? I am neither good nor evil, but simply a thing that is. Learning, recorded and bound — there for any who might seek to know. I take what is given me of the lives of those who work my spells and I am but a reflection of them. Think, dark child. Who have been the ones who would use me? What purposes have they sought to serve? You are not as they —
Brin braced herself against the altar, the book clasped in her hands. Don’t listen? Don’t listen!
— For a thousand years and longer, your enemies have held me. Now you stand in their place, given the chance to use me as no other has tried. You hold the power that is mine. You hold the secrets that so many have wrongly used. Think what you might do with that power, dark child. All of life and death can be reshaped by what I am. Wishsong joined to written word, magic to magic — how wondrous it would be. You can feel how wondrous it would be if you would but try —
But there was no need to try. She had felt it before in the magic of the wishsong. Power! She had been swept away by it, and she had reveled in its sweetness. When it wrapped about her, she rose far above all the world and all of the creatures in it and she could gather them in or sweep them away as she might choose. How much more, then, could she do — could she feel — if she had also the power of this book?
— All that is would be yours. All. Be what you would and make the world as you know it should be. You could so do much, and it would be as it should with you — not as with those who came before. You have the strength which they lacked. You are born of the Elven magic. Use me, dark child. Find the limits of your own magic and of mine. Join with me. It is for this that I have waited and that, you have come. It is what has always been intended for us. Always —
Brin’s head shook slowly from side to side. I came to destroy this, came to make an end… Within, everything seemed to be breaking apart, shattering like glass fallen to stone. Rushes of blinding heat burned through her, and she felt as if she were a thing apart from the body that sought to hold her.
— I have knowledge to offer that I would give. I have insight that surpasses anything ever dreamed by mortal creatures. It can make you anything you wish. All of life can be made over as it should be, as you see that it should. Destroy me, and all I have is needlessly lost. Destroy me, and nothing of what might come to pass can ever do so. Keep what is good, dark child, and make it your own —
Allanon, Allanon…
But the voice cut short her soundless cry.
— See, dark child. What you truly would destroy stands behind you. Turn now and look. Turn and see —
She whirled. A gathering of robed walkers slipped from the shadows like ghosts, tall, black, and forbidding. They filed into the rotunda, hesitating as they caught sight of Brin holding in her hands the book of dark magic. The voice of the Ildatch whispered again.
— The wishsong, dark child. Use the magic. Destroy them. Destroy them —
She acted almost without thinking. Clasping the Ildatch to her protectively, she called forth the power of her magic. It came swiftly, loosed within her like the waters of a flood. She cried out, and the wishsong shattered the tower’s dark silence. It went through the gloom of the rotunda, almost a tangible thing. It caught the walkers in a burst of sound, and they simply ceased to exist. Not even ash remained of what they had been.
Brin staggered back against the altar, and within her body the magic of the wishsong mixed with the magic of the book.
— Feel it, dark child. Feel the power that is yours. It fills you, and I am part of it. How easily your enemies must fall before you when that power is called forth. Can you question longer what must be? Think no more that anything different could ever be. Think no more that we are not as one. Take me and use me. Destroy the Wraiths and the black things that would stand against you. Make me yours. Give me life —
Still that part of her locked deep within fought to resist the voice, but her body was no longer her own. It belonged now to the magic, and she was trapped within its shell. She rose through herself, a new being, and that tiny bit of self that still saw the truth was left behind. She expanded until it seemed as if she filled the tiny chamber. There was so little room for her here! She must have the space that waited without!
A long, anguished groan broke from her lips, and she stretched forth her arms, the book of the Ildatch held high.
— Use me. Use me —
Within her, the power began to build.
Chapter Forty–Four
The steps of the Croagh sped away beneath Jair’s feet as he hastened after Garet Jax and Slanter, and it seemed to him as he climbed that each step must surely be his last. The muscles knotted and cramped within his body, and pain from his wound lanced through him, wearing away at his already failing strength. He was gasping for breath, his lungs aching, and his sun–browned face streaked with sweat.
But somehow he kept pace. There was never any question of doing anything else.
His eyes swept upward along the Croagh as he ran, concentrating on the weave of stairs and railing, following the path of the roughened stone. He was conscious of the cliffs and fortress walls below him, distant now and fading further, and of Graymark and the Ravenshorn. He was conscious, too, of the valley all about, encased in mist and the half–light of a dusk that rapidly approached. Brief images slipped past the corners of his vision and were quickly forgotten, for none of that mattered now. Nothing mattered but the climb and what waited at its end.
Heaven’s Well.
And Brin. He would find her again in the waters of the well. He would discover what had become of her, and he would learn what it was that he must do to help her. The King of the Silver River had promised him that he would find a way to give Brin back to herself.
His boot slid out from under him suddenly as he stepped on a patch of crumbling stone and he fell forward, his hands scraping as he caught himself. Quickly he pushed back up again and hurried on, heedless of the damage.
