The Darkangel (23 page)

Aeriel said nothing for a moment. She was looking at the little man. "You will come with us, Talb, will you not," she asked him, "to Ester-nesse?"

"That I shall not," he replied, "for I've another errand to attend to." He reached for the vampyre's leaden necklace and its charms, tucked them away into his sleeve. "I must bear this to the water witch." His eyes smiled merrily. "I shall tell her, prince, that I am your servant—never mentioning, of course, that you are no longer hers. I shall say that you have bid me bear the tribute to her straightway and you will follow in the morn. She's bound to be growing thirsty. It has been many years since last she had souls to drink."

"But," said Aeriel, "the vials are empty."

"They will not be when I give them to her. I
think
I have fourteen drops left of my distillate— not enough to slay her, or even harm her very much, but enough to give her a bitter taste in the mouth."

"She will kill you," said the prince.

"I think not," the duarough replied, "if I am careful. I am a little bit of a wizard, and I know a trick or two. Well, children"—he nodded to both of them then—"I must be off.

And as for the two of you, there is weaving to be done."

Then, before either of them could speak or reach to stay him, he turned swiftly and departed, with never a glance behind.

Later, it was only much, much later that the bards began to sing of the wonders of his journey to the witch's realm—a journey made both over land and under—and of all the marvels that he met along the way. And further, they sang of his disguises, and how he passed the inspection of the witch's many gatekeepers and was at last admitted to her presence. Also of how he beguiled her into drinking the fourteen vials, of her great fury when she discovered his deception, then of how he slipped by her many traps and finally escaped—but all that is another tale entirely. Suffice to say that it was done.

And as for Aeriel and her prince, they wove the whole night through, making a great sail to bear them to Esternesse. Aeriel procured their food from the lighted caves, but they ate in the castle above, for though the stone halls stretched vast and empty still, they had lost their clinging chill. Irrylath worked silently, almost feverishly, beside her, helping her to plait the coal-black feathers. When she could persuade him to talk— and that always low and haltingly—it was ever and only of his childhood at the keep or in Lonwury on pilgrimage. Often, however, when they slept, his cries awakened her. She rose at once and went into his inner chamber to rouse him from troubling dreams. But he would not speak of them to her, and always turned away.

"But time will come," she murmured softly when once more he slept, "that you will not turn from me," and left him again to quieter sleeps.

And when at last the dawn arrived, the two of them took their finished canopy out into the garden, which was beginning to bear fruit again for the first time in many years. Then taking their devisement by the corners, they spread it into the air. The plains wind caught it, and lifted it like a raven sail. The west wind swept them aloft, high over the plains. Far away on one horizon, Aeriel could see the desert of Pendar, and offered a silent prayer for the Pendarlon, that he might by this time be well healed of his wounds. In the other direction, she caught sight of the mountains of Terrain, at whose foot her village lay.

Before them lay the Sea-of-Dust, and beyond that, Esternesse.

And just as they crossed from over the plain to above the sea, they heard far away in the distance behind them, a hideous cry. It came, Aeriel realized, from the depth of the dead lake on the desert's edge, and embodied all the raging hate she ever could have imagined, and more.

"The witch," she heard Irrylath behind her breathe, "she has discovered the duarough's trick, and that I am lost to her."

"Talb," said Aeriel, listening to that furious scream, "I hope he slips safe away. If she should take him..."

But her companion shook his head. "No," he answered quietly, with the first hint of calm, true hope she had heard from him since his awakening, "I think we need not fear for him."

The scream of the white witch rose louder, shriller, and ended in a shriek that caused the very air to shudder. Then, as its echoes rebounded from the steeps and gradually died into silence, Aeriel looked up at the sail blown full above them and saw—as the last of the lorelei's magic left it— that it had turned to white. And so on a throw of pure white feathers, she and her chieftain's son crossed over the Sea-of-Dust, alighting later that same day in Esternesse.

Don't miss the thrilling second volume of
The Darkangel Trilogy
Aeriel's love has transformed the darkangel and rescued him from his mother, the dreaded White Witch.

But though Aeriel and Irrylath are free, the rest of Avaric is not.

The White Witch grows ever stronger. Her evil magic blights the land, and her other darkangel sons are growing more bold in their attacks as her power increases. Worse yet, the White Witch has not wholly relinquished her claim on Irrylath—her plans require all seven of her sons, and she will not give up Irrylath so easily.

If Aeriel is to save her world, she must track down and defeat Irrylath's bloodthirsty darkangel brothers—and confront his terrifying mother face-to-face.

"Superb.... The author's imagination seems boundless." —

Publishers Weekly

Available at your local bookstore in fall 1998