Oracles of Delphi Keep (27 page)

As the morning sun crested the great mountain range, Magus reached the pass and stood before it for a moment to catch his breath. His pets were not at his side. The she-beast, Medea, was too weak from her bullet wounds to travel beyond the small cave he’d found for her and her two pups—the third had taken a wrong turn into the jaws of his older brother—in the foothills of the Pyrenees. Her mate, Kerberos, remained at Medea’s side while their master was away,
and the young, still unnamed beast was ordered to hunt for food, to distract him from killing any more of his siblings.

Magus felt his pets’ absence, but he knew that to have traveled through the pass with them would have meant certain death for the hellhounds. Caphiera would delight in that cruelty, so he hadn’t risked it.

Now, as he stood alone at the mouth of the passage, he remembered that this harmless-looking entrance fed into a narrow corridor of rock, ice, and snow that twisted and turned back upon itself so often that those travelers unfortunate enough to attempt to navigate it became dizzy before they’d gone half a kilometer. Magus eyed the rocky alley sullenly, noting that the temperature within it dipped below this elevation’s usual frigid degree.

He detested the cold and growled low in his throat as he prepared himself to enter the pass. Pulling the folds of his cloak more securely around himself, he pushed forward. He’d gone only a short way when he heard the faintest whistle from overhead. The sorcerer immediately spun to the right, ducking low underneath a rocky overhang just in time to hear three dull thuds behind him that shook the snow-covered ground. He glanced over his shoulder and eyed the place where he’d been standing just a moment before. Imbedded in the snowy surface were three enormous icicles.

Magus snarled and waved his hand at the deadly daggers. They immediately melted into small nubs barely big enough to poke out of the snow. “Caphiera!” he bellowed into the stillness of the pass. “Enough of this! I have come to talk about a truce.”

All was quiet save for the echo of his voice. For long
seconds nothing answered his call; then suddenly the stillness was broken by a sound like the springtime cracking of ice over a frozen lake. The noise ran up and down the walls of the pass, reverberating until it rattled the ground. Magus braced himself under the overhang, gripping the icy ridge and grimacing against the unsettling noise as it bounced back and forth all along the corridor. Gradually, the rumbling grew louder and louder, until it was a roar that made the ground shake and small bits of rock from the high walls of the passage come loose, dropping to the ground like small grenades. Magus growled again before darting from under his outcropping and running as fast as he could.

Behind him a great wall of snow came tumbling down the mountainside and funneled its way into the pass. Churning white powder as powerful as any tidal wave chased him deeper and deeper into the narrow passage. Magus allowed himself one glance over his shoulder, and that was enough to encourage him to increase his speed.

Finally, running out of patience, he rounded a particularly sharp corner, twisted on his feet with unnatural agility, and held up both hands. The massive wall of snow followed, barely losing speed, and swelled up above him to a monstrous height, blocking out the sun as it prepared to devour him whole. But suddenly the snow was met with a heat so intense that it instantly turned the frozen wave to steam, which rose above Magus harmlessly before condensing into white clouds that covered the sky.

More waves followed the first, yet Magus used his powers against the crushing force again and again until finally the walls of snow stopped churning forward and settled into one
great pile of white. Slowly the sorcerer lowered his hands. Though he was now safe from being crushed, he was firmly barricaded into the deepest section of the pass by a wall ten meters high of deeply packed snow.

He turned and surveyed the pass ahead, which angled down and away from where he now stood. The path was clear, if a bit icy, and Magus brushed off his white-dusted cloak, satisfied that he could move forward again.

For a good stretch he heard nothing, yet he kept careful watch lest his sister try to send another avalanche or shower of icicles after him. Finally, after he’d wound his way through a few more sections of the pass, he heard an eerie cackle that sounded much like two icebergs grating against each other. The sorcerer moved toward the noise and soon came to a stop in front of a bridge made of solid ice that spanned a great pit hemmed in by the mountain walls.

On the other side of the pit, perched almost demurely on a rocky ridge, was a glistening fortress made completely out of gleaming blocks of ice. Magus knew that inside the formidable structure his less-than-devoted sister lay in wait. The sorcerer understood she would not come out to greet him unless he found a way across the bridge.

Magus walked to the pit’s edge and looked down. Dotting a rocky floor were thousands of menacingly arranged daggerlike icicles. Magus sighed and waved his hand over the pit and immediately the icicles melted. The sorcerer’s lips peeled back in a satisfied smirk, but within seconds the icicles began to grow back, until Magus could swear they were twice as tall as before.

Again he waved his hand above the ravine, putting a bit more effort into it than before, and the icicles melted into nothingness, only to grow back even faster, until they were now three times as tall as they had originally been. Their tips came to just below the icy bridge.

“Clever,” muttered Magus as he backed away from the edge. Another cracking of ice sounded from deep inside the fortress. Caphiera was having herself a good laugh. Magus scowled and walked over to inspect the bridge.

Planks of clear ice were suspended over the pit by frozen ropelike tresses. Tentatively, he placed one foot on the first plank. It held for a few seconds, then began to melt. In no time it cracked in half and fell away from the supports, striking one of the long icicle spikes and shattering into a thousand tiny shards.

Magus stepped back to the safety of the ledge and bent low while he studied the rest of the planks. He could tell from this angle that though they started out rather thick, the closer they got to the middle of the bridge, the thinner they became.

Anyone lured onto the bridge would soon find the planks melting away beneath his feet, and in the middle would reach wafer-thin sheets of ice that would easily break under the weight of even the smallest rodent.

Crossing the ravine by the bridge was out of the question. Frustrated, Magus looked about for anything handy he might use to get across the expanse. Nothing but ice, snow, and solid rock stared back at him. Adding to his irritation, yet another cackle sounded from inside the fortress. Magus
spat into the snow, and when his spittle hit the white surface, it hissed, suddenly giving the master of fire an idea.

He turned his back on the bridge and the fortress and retraced his steps through the pass until he came to the wall of snow that barricaded him in. Here he found a narrow crevice within the rock wall and wedged himself into it while bracing for what was to come. Closing his eyes and concentrating all his power, he raised both hands and unleashed the heat he commanded in slow steady waves.

The temperature rose within that section of the passageway and the snow began to melt, first in small drips but very soon in earnest, until it was a stream of water trickling past his feet. Magus continued emanating the waves of heat until the stream became a river of cold water washing past him, carrying large blocks of snow with it. The sorcerer paused only to move his way up the crevice when the water became too deep, but that was the only break he allowed himself.

Finally, exhausted and soaking wet, he managed to climb along the face of the rock out of the now raging river and in one final command he called back all the heat he had expelled into the wall of snow. This warmed and dried him immediately while instantly turning the water into solid ice.

Magus stepped onto the slippery surface and walked calmly toward Caphiera’s fortress. Just as he’d hoped, the river he’d created had gushed over the side of the ravine, filling much of the expanse, and was now frozen fast. The sorcerer had only to drop a short way and wind his way through the spikey forest before climbing up onto the other side.

When at last he pulled himself out of the pit and stood solidly on snowy ground, he came face to face with Caphiera the Cold, great Druid sorceress and master of the dark art of ice. She stood imposing and tall, resembling Magus only in stature and the shape of her sharply pointed tiny teeth. In all other ways she was like no one else on earth.

The sorceress was dressed in a long ivory fur-lined coat that trailed to the ground, pooling around sterling silver pointed-toe boots. Small clear crystals sewn into the hem of her coat glinted in the light and clinked and jangled together when she moved. Around her neck she wore an alabaster cashmere scarf fringed with white ermine tails tipped in black. But while Caphiera’s garments were indeed refined and beautiful, they did nothing to enhance the appearance of their owner.

The sorceress’s skin was a cool blue that shimmered with a dusting of sparkly white snowflakes. Her hands, which were a deeper hue than her face, were adorned with rings of topaz, aquamarine, and sapphire, and around her wrists were bracelets of blue diamonds set in polished platinum. And just like her clothing, as lovely as these baubles were, they could not detract from the sorceress’s frightful bony fingers, which curled out like claws and ended in sharp daggerlike fingernails of ice.

Above the neck, things were even grimmer. Caphiera’s nose extended several inches from her hideous face and ended in an icy point that nearly touched the top of her full azure lips when she smiled. Her hair was the color of snow, manelike, with small tufts sticking out wildly. But her eyes
were perhaps her most disquieting feature. They were large, lined with long cobalt lashes, and completely white—irisless and void of any color save for two black pupils currently aimed menacingly at her visitor.

“Magus, my brother,” she said in a low crackling voice, “what an unpleasant surprise.”

Magus calmly wiped the snow and dirt from his hands as he stood up straight and firm. “Caphiera,” he said, making sure to avoid her eyes. “I see you’ve gotten yourself a new cloak.”

Caphiera cackled. “Shows off my eyes, wouldn’t you say?”

Magus focused hard on Caphiera’s hemline. “I’m sure it does, Sorceress.”

Caphiera leaned back and let loose a great laugh that echoed the sound that had started the avalanche. “What, no kiss for your sister?” she taunted.

“Not this time,” he answered, and got right to the point. “Demogorgon has sent me. He requires your assistance.”

Caphiera’s black pupils contracted as they roved her brother’s face. “Bah!” she said. “Laodamia’s riddle sending you on wild goose chases again?”

Magus bristled and smoke trailed out of his nose in two fine streams. “Our
sire
requires your involvement,” he said sternly, reminding her of her obligations.

Caphiera spat into the snow herself, but where her spittle landed, a small icicle formed. “What have I to do with your riddles?”

“We have the child,” Magus began.

Caphiera’s white eyes widened. “You have discovered him?” she asked.

“We have discovered
her,”
said Magus. “The child we seek is a girl.”

“Why have you not destroyed her?” Caphiera demanded.

“She had eluded our efforts until last week and I have since been called to the south on more pressing business. In my absence, my servants have managed to capture a girl that fits the description of the One we seek, but as I am headed south, and my she-beast is too injured to travel back to England to compare her scent, I am unable to confirm if it is her. This is the reason Demogorgon requests your services. Only one of us can tell if she is the child we’ve been searching for.”

Caphiera’s eyes narrowed. “What is this more pressing business you have in the south?”

Magus hesitated and considered lying, but he suspected that his spiteful sister would smell the deception and then refuse to help. “I am in search of the Star,” he said through gritted teeth. “The prophecy states that the time for its appearance has arrived, and it must not fall into the wrong hands when it is discovered.”

Caphiera’s expression turned to one of disdain and the wicked sorceress crossed her arms. “Magus,” she said, tsking. “You and your beasts have failed to find that gem for centuries. What makes you believe you won’t fail again?”

Magus’s cloak began to smoke and all around him the air filled with the scent of sulfur. “Do not press me, Sister,” he warned.

Caphiera’s lips pulled back into a grizzly smile. She was enjoying herself immensely. “I told you what I required the last time we spoke,” she said. “My demands for assisting you on your missions have not changed.”

Magus’s cloak smoked even more and small embers danced along its hem. “It is agreed,” he said at last. “You will go to England and kill the child while I’m away in exchange for control of the lands of Prussia.”

Caphiera’s awful smile broadened and she rubbed her hands together greedily. “Now, tell me where to find this girl,” she said.

“My servant and his wife have extracted her from the orphanage where she lived. It is an old keep near the grounds of Castle Dover,” said Magus. “They are currently holding her in my flat outside London, in the cell downstairs, where her screams cannot be heard.”

“And if your servants have bungled it again, and she is not the child we seek?”

Again, smoke wafted out of Magus’s nose, and a small flame erupted along the edge of his cloak as his anger simmered. “My servants have also taken a boy from the keep. We thought him to be the Guardian, but he shows no sign of trying to protect the girl. Still, he may be able to tell us more about the children at the orphanage, and through him we might discover which child is the true Guardian. If the girl we hold is the One, the mark and her abilities should be in evidence.”

“I am aware of what to look for, Brother,” said Caphiera impatiently, and the temperature around her dipped another frosty degree. “Just make sure your servants do their part.”