“Highness!” she said hoarsely, holding out her hands as if to ward off the soon-to-be-loosed arrows. “It is Mathani Arborelinex, remember? I have done what you asked!”
The princess’s crystalline gaze shifted from her to the beast. Amaranthe’s brow furrowed.
“You?” she said. The truth dawned, and her austere features fell. “Merciful gods! Is this-?”
“Yes, Highness!”
She looked again in disbelief. The creature at bay curled a lip and gave a throaty snarl. Bowstrings creaked as the archers drew back further, ready to pin the monster to the planks if it moved.
“Stay your hands!” Amaranthe said suddenly. The chief of the archers asked her to repeat her command.
“Put down your weapons! I command it!”
The cool professionals obeyed. Without sharp bronze points aimed at her, Mathi recovered her nerve. She went down on one knee and thanked Amaranthe for her compassion-and her insight.
“How can this be?” the princess of Silvanost said sadly. “Who has done this to him?”
“A curse, Highness, cast by-” Mathi remembered the penalty for mentioning Vedvedsica’s name. “By the one who cannot be named.”
“Does he know me? Does he know anyone?”
Mathi let Balif answer that. The beast crawled forward on his belly like a dog. He could not penetrate the line of archers still on guard, but the gesture was plain.
“My poor love,” the princess whispered.
She called out to someone-a long elven name that sounded like “Talaramitas.” From the curtained area behind Amaranthe’s chair an elf emerged. He was fairly young, with unusually short hair for a Silvanesti. Dressed in baggy green leggings, kilt, and tunic, his wrists and ankles were thickly ringed with slender metal bands. A copper band circled his forehead. As he stepped up to the princess’s right hand, wisps of colored light sparked from his extremities and quickly vanished.
“Stand aside,” she ordered the archers. They parted ranks, revealing the beast. When the soldiers were out of the way Balif leaped to his feet and uttered a hair-curling growl. Bows creaked, and one elf lost control long enough to send an arrow into the deck between Balif’s front and back feet. It thunked loudly into the planking, but the beast paid it no mind.
“The next one who looses an arrow, dies by my order!” Amaranthe cried. Everyone froze.
To the bearcat she said, “Do you mean me any harm?”
He couldn’t answer, but the beast remained where he was. Mathi could tell Balif was staring not at the princess but at the green-clad magician next to her.
“Talaramitas, what do you make of this?”
The elf closed his eyes and held out one hand at a low angle. He quickly snatched his hand back.
“An enchantment of great power, Highness. One of the most potent I have ever encountered,” he said. He had a deep, cultured voice that provoked fresh, if restrained, snarls from the beast.
“Can you break it?” He vowed he could not. “The reward for success would be substantial,” she added.
Talaramitas folded his hands, causing his many bracelets to jingle. “Gracious Highness, no one in Silvanesti can break this curse.”
Balif threw back his head and howled. He went in two bounds toward Amaranthe. To her credit, she did not flinch. Her magician did. Talaramitas hastily backed away, muttering words of a quick spell. The air between him and Balif sparkled. The beast halted, panting. He was close enough to touch the princess.
More soldiers and courtiers came pounding down the stairs. Raising her voice, Amaranthe commanded everyone to stay where they were and say nothing.
“Highness, this creature is the victim of a transmutory invocation. I have read of these, but to my knowledge no one in living memory had succeeded in casting one. Without exact knowledge of the words used and the intruments employed, I cannot reverse it.”
“What if the caster were found and killed?”
It would make no difference, he said. “In this type of invocation the magician sacrifices a portion of his own living soul to obtain his end. There is no way to counter such a spell, as its energy is independent of the life of the caster.”
The grief on Amaranthe’s face was profound. Turning away, the beast loped slowly back to Mathi. All eyes followed it. Then Talaramitas spoke up.
“There is one thing I can do, Highness. It is not a cure, but if enough of the cursed one’s soul remains untainted, I can call it forth to speak-for a short time only.”
Without looking at him Amaranthe pointed a finger at the magician and said, “Do so, now!”
The room was cleared of soldiers over the protests of the captain of the guard. Talaramitas walked slow circles around the beast, one finger pointing at the deck. His eyes, half-lidded, fluttered as he walked. A stream of soft syllables escaped his lips.
From her vantage point it seemed to Mathi that the room darkened a bit. Luminars changed colors when their output declined, but the clusters around Amaranthe’s throne did not alter hue. A pervasive shadow filled the room. Sound felt deadened too. Words and noises fell lifeless the moment they were born.
This went on for some time with the magician describing right-hand circles and muttering the words of an extremely long conjuration. At last an indistinct shadow coalesced next to the beast. It was upright and unmoving, quite unlike any shade cast by the bearcat. It was inside the circle Talaramitas had made, and he was careful not to tresspass on it.
Mathi had never seen magic performed openly before. In front of onlookers, in full light, the elf mage was summoning Balif’s soul from the deepening well of darkness. Before Mathi was fully aware of the change, the shadow by the beast became a clear image of the general. He was standing, hands at his sides with his palms turned out. He was naked. The image was not flesh colored, however, but faintly sepia. Mathi dared to shift position so that she could see the specter’s face. His eyes were closed.
Talaramitas explained, a bit breathlessly, that he could not stop circling or the spell would end. Ask what you will, he gasped. If the spirit of Balif could answer, it would.
“Why is he naked?” one of the courtiers asked in a loud whisper.
“Do you think your soul wears clothes?” the mage replied.
Amaranthe called for silence. Addressing the apparition she said, “General Balif, can you hear me?” He sighed in reply, which the princess took as yes. “Balif, how can I save you?”
“You cannot.”
It was his voice, incredibly soft and distant. The specter’s lips did not move but the sound of Balif’s voice was perfectly clear.
“There must be something we can do-I can do!”
“There is nothing. Already I dream without color, without words.”
He meant he was already thinking like an animal. Mathi felt a tightness growing in her throat. Here was the fate that awaited her.
Tears brightened Amaranthe’s eyes. The sight of the stalwart sister of the Speaker so moved astounded her attendants. Mathi heard one whisper to another that she had never seen the princess cry, not once in more than a century of service.
“The world is an empty place without you,” she said. “Full of vain, little beings of no strength and no worth.”
His shade uttered a few words, the only one of which Mathi understood was “love.” The apparition lost clarity and began to fade.
“Magus!” she cried. “Hold him here!”
Talaramitas, still circling, was dragging his feet, forcing himself to continue. Mathi was shocked to see his face as the magician swung round his way. His countenance was ashen. His eyes were rolled back in his head.
“I live,” Balif managed to say. “Let my forest live too. Leave it to the wanderfolk for all time.”
“They can have anything I possess, if you would only come back to me!”
“Too late … too late …”
Talaramitas staggered. Mathi stepped forward and caught him. When his perambulation ceased, the soul of
