The Crystal Sorcerers (22 page)

"Tell her the truth now, Vena," Patrice said quickly, looking up at Deidre as if the girl had injured her by a false accusation. "Tell her how I've come to rescue you."

"This is disgusting," Deidre snarled. "Grandfather, that woman's hiding something."

Vena looked up at Patrice and then reached out to hug her.

"Thank the gods you found me."

Ikawa looked sharply at Imada. His features seemed to have gone blank, as if the pain of betrayal was far too much to bear.

He leaned in to Imada, his lips touching the boy's ear.

"Don't move, don't make a sound, son. I'm counting on you as a soldier."

Imada looked at him, the tears streaming down his face.

Goddamn it, something was horribly wrong, far more than the fix they were in now. Patrice had added an element Ikawa just could not understand.

What am I going to do?

"I'm glad I could help you, my old friend," Patrice said to the druid as she helped Vena to her feet. The girl was now sobbing uncontrollably, screaming that she had been raped.

"Hush, child, we'll go home now," Patrice whispered, patting her on the shoulder.

Mark looked at the girl with disgust and then his gaze shifted back to Deidre, who was staring straight at him as if trying to decide.

"I think it best that I leave now," Patrice said smoothly. "You can entertain your prisoners as you wish. I'd love to stay and watch, but this poor child needs familiar faces and a quiet place to heal. Also, I believe some of her property is stacked up with the captured booty."

Deidre looked sharply at Patrice as the demigod suddenly let go of Vena as if she did not exist and walked swiftly over to the pile of packs, saddlebags, and accoutrements taken with the party.

"Why such a rush?"
Deidre asked quietly. "Vena's been through a terrible ordeal. Perhaps the two of you can be our guests for a couple days. Let her regain her strength. After all, I know Grandfather would love to visit with you again."

The druid, who had been watching the little drama with interest, perked up at his granddaughter's suggestion and came up to Patrice's side, swiftly putting his arm around her waist.

"It
has
been a long time," he cackled. "The last time, we were both young, but my dear, I'm still young inside--and in other ways, if you get my meaning."

A spark of impatience lit Patrice's eyes as she said, "I think I really should be going." She forced a smile and kissed the druid on the cheek. "Though I'd love to stay, I want to take Vena home. Now, if you'll help me find her pack and harp case, I'll be on my way."

She broke away from the druid's embrace and bent over the pile of goods, reaching in greedily and pulling the bags aside.

"Why the rush?"
Mark called. "It seems like you want to get away before the truth is learned!"

The druid seemed to hesitate.

"It would be an insult to my grandfather if you didn't at least share a meal with us," Deidre said sharply.

The druid looked craftily back at Patrice. "Yes, at least eat with me first."

She ignored him, fumbling over the goods with increasing agitation.

A muffled shout of triumph escaped her lips as she pulled a battered harp case from the pile. Clutching it tightly, Patrice turned to look back at the druid.

"I'm leaving now," she announced. "Come, Vena."

"What's in the harp case?" Mark shouted, his suspicions at last taking concrete form. Vena had clung to it in the same way, and he now cursed himself for not taking more of an interest in her behavior.

"Yes, my dear," the druid whispered. "Why not play us a song first? I'd love to see the instrument, and hear it."

The tableau seemed to hold before Mark: Patrice seemingly pulling in some vast hidden power, the druid looking up with all his attention focused upon her.

Deidre slowly backed away, coming up by Mark's side. He felt her hands brush against his, and the cords separated.

"Don't move," she whispered, and he felt the coolness of two crystal bands slip into his palms.

"Please forgive me," Patrice said, smiling. "I'm just upset over Vena. I'd be delighted to stay the night with you."

Mark felt Deidre's hands suddenly grab his as if to take the crystals back. He clenched them tightly and said nothing.

The druid came up to Patrice and kissed her, his one hand running up her side, lingering over the swelling of her breasts, while his other hand still clenched his staff. Mark kept his eyes on Patrice and could see the sudden loathing in her eyes.

"Something's going to happen," Mark whispered. "Get ready."

The druid, crackling with delight, turned and started to walk away.

Patrice's shield snapped up to full.

"Grandfather!"
Deidre screamed.

Mark was amazed by the old man's agility as he fell to the ground rolling, his shield going up as the place where he had just been standing exploded in flames.

Patrice fired off another bolt. Staggering, the druid came to his knees, trying to point his staff at her. The six sorcerers who had been standing around the fire, snapped off a volley of shots at Patrice.

Screaming, Patrice turned to face them, knocking the first one on his back, his shield disintegrating under her powerful blow.

Laughing, she looked back at the druid, hitting him again even as he fired a bolt which set her shield glowing but did no damage.

Patrice started to turn, looking at the row of offworlders still tied, shorn of any shielding.

"What pretty targets!" Patrice raised her hand.

Mark leaped away from the post, his shield up, and aimed a bolt at her which he knew was useless.

"Deidre!
Wake Leti!"

The girl darted low, flying through the air. For the first time Mark realized she was also a sorcerer, and had been concealing it all along.

"Come on, you whore!" Mark shouted.

His words hit home. With a scream of fury Patrice turned her attention fully on Mark, oblivious of the druid's strikes and the helpless targets, many of whom were using their power to burn their bindings off, their faces contorted with agony.

A searing blast struck and sent him staggering.

"Lousy bitch!"
Mark screamed, firing back.

Another blast struck him, knocking him down,
his
shield barely holding. He knew that this fight was futile, and the next strike would kill.

A dazzling snap of light crackled overhead, striking Patrice from above.

Startled, she looked up.

It had to be Ikawa using Leti's crystal.

"Storm," Mark screamed, hoping to confuse her, "finish her!"

Patrice hesitated and looked over to see Deidre, shield up, pouring the reviving liquid over Leti, protecting her with her own shielding.

"Vena!"
Patrice shouted, reaching into a fold in her dress and pulling out a set of crystals. She tossed them to Vena, then, holding the harp case tightly, leaped into the air.

Several blasts hit Patrice at once. She fell back, the harp case bursting into flames and falling into the pile of baggage.

With a shriek of near panic Patrice turned, smashing her fist into the burning case. For an instant Mark saw a sight which made his stomach turn to knots: In Patrice's scorched hands were three great crystals.

Roaring with triumph, she rose into the air, oblivious now to the bolts hitting her.

"Storm!"
Mark screamed, hoping that Patrice would be unnerved by fear, thinking that there were two other demigoddesses present, yet feeling foolish and weak at the same time as he called out his lover's name like an incantation to protect him.

"Patrice, face me!"

Leti was on her feet, tearing the small crystals from Deidre's wrist and setting up a far stronger shield over the two of them.

Another blast came out of the trees from above, blinding in its intensity.

With a wild curse, Patrice soared straight up, Vena struggling to keep up with her.

A form burst out of the treetops.

"Vena!"

Patrice continued into the canopy, but Vena hesitated.

"Vena, don't leave me!"

Mark looked up, heartsick at the anguish in Imada's voice.

A cold laugh escaped Vena's lips and she raised her hand to strike Imada, who floated before her, his shield down.

Before she could strike, a slash of bolts came up in every direction. Vena exploded into incandescence and plummeted to the ground trailing flames.

Small fires crackled all around the glade, and the druid, roaring with anger and ignoring everything else, ran over to the large trunk of Uldrasill which had been scorched by a bolt. Rising into the air he patted out the flame with his hands.

Mark suddenly became aware of the fact that the forest was alive with motion, the trees swaying, yet there was no wind.

Crouching low, he waited for another strike. With the huge crystals she had just taken, Patrice could easily best all of them. But there was no sign of her.

Kochanski suddenly appeared, hovering just below the green canopy. "She's gone, heading southwest like a bat out of hell."

Sighing, Mark flew back to the ground and snapped his shield down. Looking up, he saw Imada kneeling, rocking back and forth and sobbing over the smoldering remains of his lover.

Leti started to go to his side.

"Leave him be for a moment," Mark said quietly. "He has to understand it alone."

Leti stopped and looked at Mark, and he could see the sadness in her eyes. "Sometimes this world is an ugly place," she whispered.

Surely by all the gods this can't be my beloved,
Imada thought numbly. The world seemed to have gone out of focus, the enormity of what had happened so vast that all the thoughts, all the realizations could not force their way into his mind at once.

He looked at her face, strangely peaceful, leaned over to kiss her lips,
then
leaned back.

Something was changing. Lines started to crinkle out from the edges of her eyes, racing across her face like frost lacing a windowpane on a cold winter night. The lines deepened, her face turning brittle, the color of old parchment. Her eyes started to sink into dark hollow sockets, and the fine gossamer hair changed to white.

Numbed with horror and loathing, he watched as the truth of Vena was revealed in death. In that moment Imada lost his youth, his innocence,
all that
he had ever believed was possible in the dream world he had thought was real.

Still smoldering beside her was the harp case, its side smashed in.

Yes, he had seen Patrice take something out of it. That must have been why Vena had clung to it so. Yet there was something else in there, and reaching in he grabbed a lump of clay, a bit larger than his fist. As he lifted the object a fragment of clay fell away, revealing a dark flash of red underneath.

This would be his, he thought coldly, and slipped the crystal into his tunic.

Mark came to his feet, and smiled wearily as Ikawa and Kochanski landed by his side.

"Good shooting," Mark said, grasping Ikawa's hand.

"It's not often I appreciate being called a woman," Ikawa replied, "but I'll let it pass, and damn good thinking on your part. It scared her half to death."

The druid, who by now had stopped the burning of Uldrasill's trunk, came over to face Mark.

"You mean that other demigod isn't here?"

Mark nodded.

"
Good,"
and he puffed himself up, the nervousness in his eyes gone. "Who released you and gave you weapons?" He waved his staff toward Mark.

"I did," Deidre snapped. "And you can thank me for it right now!"

"Just because that woman did what she did, doesn't change my opinion of you one bit," the druid roared.

Leti came over to stand beside the druid and put her hand on his shoulder. "Do you know who I am?"

"Who woke you up?" the druid cried.

"I did, Grandfather," Deidre said, her patience obviously at an end.

"I'm as strong as Patrice," Leti whispered, forcing a tight smile. "So let's look at it this way. If it was our intent to harm you, I'll kill you right now."

Before the druid could react, Leti grabbed his staff. Mark watched as the two seemed locked in a bitter struggle. The staff started to glow, and the entire forest seemed to be in renewed turmoil, the trees swaying,
the
reflected light from above snapping back and forth. He could almost sense a nearly audible groan running through the woods.

With a startled cry, the druid fell back, the staff in Leti's hand.

Deidre came protectively to her grandfather's side, raising her shield to cover both of them, and looked at Mark with hate-filled eyes.