Chapter VIII
The Gate Opens
Rualath stood alone in her sorcery workroom, panting. All around her, the elements of her spellcasting littered the room: bits of feathers symbolizing air, glints of stone symbolizing earth, eerie, convoluted twists of rock and metal and sorcerous substances unknown to the outside world lying seemingly at random. Intricate, eye-hurting symbols were chalked over every available surface, and black-flamed candles burned at the five cardinal points. Two mice huddled in a small cage in one corner, test subjects; there had been four when Rualath had begun.
But for all the complicated arrangements, for all the convoluted elements of the spell, so far her efforts had ended in total failure.
The first version of the Gate Spell had caused only the slightest, most useless wavering of the air, and the first mouse had walked right through it with no effect at all, on either mouse or spell.
The second version of the Gate Spell had created a miniature whirlwind that had nearly torn apart her sorcery supplies before Rualath could dispel it and left the second mouse a lifeless, bloody mass. The sorceress thought of Naitachal suffering such a fate, dying so quickly and relatively easily before proper vengeance on a traitor could be taken, and shuddered. Should she be guilty of such failure, allowing the prey to escape, Haralachan would most surely accuse her of treason.
I will not fail, Rualath vowed fiercely, and refused to admit that what she really meant was: I dare not.
So, now. Think. She had already managed to rouse some Power; the shattered mouse had proven that. What if she altered this Rune of Transport just a touch, changing the points of orientation ever so slightly? Yes, that might prove interesting…and now if she shortened the distance between this candle and the outer edge of the first chalked circle to balance the change…yes, again. That balanced very nicely, indeed. And if she tried adding this Rune…yes, and added a twist to this one…yes, ah, yes…
She could hardly forget the danger of failure hanging over her. But suddenly burning with an explorers fervor, Rualath set about her hasty rearrangements, scribbling the changes she was making on a parchment so they’d be safe till proven effective and worthy of committing to memory.
There! The new version was completed, leaving nothing left to do but activate it. Feeling her breath catch in her throat, Rualath snatched up one of the mice, gasping out the words that should, if there was any Dark Power in the world, activate the Gate Spell.
Yes, oh yes, it was happening, this time it was happening correctly! Rualath shivered. Feeling magic stirring properly, fiercely, wild and so filled with Power it nearly dazzled her. Refusing to yield control to her creation, she watched a small shimmering form in the exact center of the innermost circle, exactly like that which formed in heated air over molten rock. This time I shall succeed!
Hastily, Rualath bent and placed the mouse near the shimmer. A sharp pinch made it jump forward—and reappear, without any apparent harm at all, on the far side of the outermost circle.
“It worked,” Rualath breathed, and then again, more fiercely, “it worked.”
Granted, there was still work to be done. The spell must be enlarged to let an elf pass; no lack of slaves for that test. Then it must be twisted and refined so it could be cast from afar…difficult, but she had cast other spells successfully from considerable distances. This should be no different. Most importantly, the Gate Spell must be set to specifically lure and catch Naitachal—no problem, that last, Rualath thought wildly, there surely must still be some bits of his possessions about, even if no one had yet been able to use them to snare him. Granted, the spell was still very, very experimental, granted she wasn’t sure of all the possible variations its casting might create—
But it had worked, the Gate Spell worked. Not only was her life safe, but now new power, new status, would be hers as the creator of such magic, the one who had caught the traitor when all others had failed. At last the time would come when she no longer must humble herself before Haralachan but would be his true equal, even his superior!
Eyes blazing red with the force of her excitement, Rualath set about perfecting her spell.
###
“I will never,” Naitachal exclaimed to his horse and the surrounding forest, “never, do you hear me, never understand how humans think!”
Kevin, riding beside him, both of them heading back towards his castle, stared resolutely straight ahead. “Aren’t you ever going to get tired of the subject? We’ve been over the whole tiling several times already.”
“Obviously not times enough! You still aren’t listening to me.”
“That’s right.”
“Ae, humans!” Naitachal reached out to snatch the bridle of Kevin’s horse, bringing both mounts to a stop. Slanted blue eyes glared into Kevin’s own. “What is the matter with you? The woman is young, pretty in her own unique way, and decidedly intelligent.”
The young count determinedly dragged his gaze away—not an easy thing when an elf was staring at you with almost sorcerous fervor. “The woman is a shrew.”
“Oh, you can’t tell me she doesn’t have justification for being a bit sharp-tongued!”
“A bit!”
“Well, perhaps that was a little understated. But that is one of the most unhappy young people I have seen among your land.”
Kevin tried and failed to pull the bridle free from Naitachal’s hand; elves could, when the fancy took them, show a supple strength far beyond human ability. With a sigh, the young count sprang from the saddle, trying to pretend that resting the horses was what he’d had in mind all along. Naitachal leaped down to join him, walking beside him, ignoring Kevin’s attempt to ignore him. He looped the reins over one dark arm, the horses trailing after.
Kevin, fuming, knowing there was no way he could outwait his inhumanly patient friend, finally snatched back the reins of his own horse and admitted, “Yes. Of course I noticed the unhappiness behind her anger. How could she not be unhappy, trapped in that rigid world of rules?”
“Oh, indeed.” Kevin heard a sudden hint of hardness slip into his friend’s voice and glanced his way to see the faintest hint of sorcerous red glint in Naitachal’s eyes. “I know something of rigid rules,” the Dark Elf said softly. “The rules that force you onto one path no matter what else you may wish. The rules that, if broken, mean death. Or worse.”
Naitachal seldom gave more than reluctant hints as to what his life in the Nithathili caverns must have been like. Looking at the Dark Elf’s carefully impassive face, Kevin wondered suddenly how it might have been if he, too, had been born into a certain race, a certain social class, forbidden to wander freely or—far, far worse—to study music, and shuddered. “I do feel sorry for her,” he said defensively, “but that doesn’t mean I want to tie my life to hers!”
“You could, at least, have taken some more time before rushing to that conclusion.”
“I tried! She wouldn’t listen to anything I had to say.”
“How could she trust you? She’d already seen you change from one guise to another—for all the young woman knew she still hadn’t seen the real Kevin.”
Kevin glared. “Haven’t you gotten weary of those I told you so’s yet?”
“Hardly.”
“Ha.” Kevin’s attempt to storm away was checked by his horse stopping suddenly to grab a tasty leaf and nearly pulling him ignominiously over backwards. As he caught his balance, he saw Naitachal watching with face carefully bland, and snapped, “You can keep on with your nagging all you want. But that doesn’t mean I need to listen!”
“Humans,” Naitachal said conversationally to his horse. “Quite mad, the lot of them. They hunger after elves and elven magic like so many children after sweets—but let an elf try to give advice to one of them and suddenly that one turns most miraculously deaf.”
“Ha,” Kevin repeated. Jerking his horse’s head up, he managed this time to successfully stalk away. Naitachal, chuckling, followed.
But as they walked, more or less together, the Dark Elf all at once stopped short, breath indrawn in a sharp hiss.
“Naitachal?” Kevin asked warily. “What—”
The elf curtly waved him to silence, standing as fiercely still as a questing hunting hound, eyes blazing with sorcerous force. “Magic…” he murmured at last. “Magic in a shape I have never known before.”
Kevin bit back a groan. Elven curiosity was so much stronger than anything a human felt, strong enough at times to quite overwhelm little things such as personal safety and common sense, and right now every bit of Naitachal’s curiosity was plainly aroused.
“Don’t you think—” Kevin began warily, but the Dark Elf was already moving silently forward. The young count followed nervously in his wake, trying again. “Uh, Naitachal…don’t you think you might be being just a little foolish? I mean, do we really want to investigate something that…well, maybe it doesn’t want to be disturbed?”
“We cannot know that.”
“We can’t not know that, either! Look, if it’s a type of magic you don’t recognize—”
“Stay here if you are afraid,” Naitachal cut in, but there wasn’t any sting in the words; his voice was distracted, attention all on whatever lay before him. Without even glancing Kevin’s way he continued stalking.
“Oh, right. Let you walk blindly into peril. Of course,” Kevin muttered, and followed.
But all at once Naitachal stopped, so abruptly that Kevin nearly crashed right into him. “Look at that!” the Dark Elf hissed. “Look! Do you see it?”
Kevin stared. “See…what? It’s a perfectly normal glade.”
“Look!” Naitachal insisted impatiently.
“All I see that’s at all unusual is a—a faint shimmering in the air. And I’m not even sure I see that. Naitachal, stop playing games. What am I supposed to be seeing?”
“The shimmering is exactly it! What you see is a Gate!”
“A…gate.”
Naitachal shot him a quick glance that said, plainly as words, oh, you ignorant human! “A Gate, a sorcerous portal through time and space. Although…” he added thoughtfully, taking an intrigued step forward, “I admit I’ve never seen one quite like this.” Kevin could almost have sworn he saw his friend’s elegantly pointed ears prick forward. Fascinated as a hunting hound on a scent, the Dark Elf continued forward, eyes intent on what was clearly more than just a vague shimmering to him.
“It feels highly experimental,” Naitachal commented after a moment, then stiffened. “Ae, yes, and alarmingly unstable!”
Oh, wonderful. And yet the elf showed every sign of wanting to investigate the thing more closely.
And he thinks humans are foolish! Kevin bit his lip nervously, wanting nothing so much as to get out of there this very moment. But he could hardly abandon his friend—foolishness or not—so he reluctantly hurried forward to grab Naitachal by the arm. “Uh, don’t you think we should move back just a bit?”
But just then Naitachal cried in sudden alarm, “Rualath!”
“Who?”
“Never mind! Unstable magic, weird design—it has to be her work! Hurry, Kevin, we must get away from here before—”
“D-don’t think I can…” Kevin murmured in misery. “Gods…I’m dizzy…suddenly so dizzy.”
“Yes, of course you are. You’re only human, you can’t stand the sorcerous aura of a Nithathil Gate. Come, Kevin, hold fast. I’ll help you out of range—Kevin!”
Somehow he had lost his grip on Naitachal’s arm. Somehow he couldn’t find the elf or the right way to move, and sky and forest were swirling crazily about him. Either the ground was stirring as well, or else he was stumbling like a man drunk beyond standing.
I c-can’t move, I have to sit down, lie down…
But suddenly a wild shimmering of magic was all around him, bright enough for even a human to see.
The Gate! Kevin realized with a terrified flash of clarity. I’m going to fall through it!
He heard Naitachal shout in despair, “Kevin!” And then he was hurtling through the Gate—
—and landing with jarring force in an unfamiliar stretch of forest.
Where am I? Where’s Naitachal?
Exhausted, dazed, and terrifyingly alone, Kevin made one valiant attempt to stand. But then his legs gave out under him, his senses swam sickeningly, and he collapsed.