Whisperings of Magic (12 page)

This time, Dahl did not argue.

Catryn chose to ride by herself that morning, following the others. So it was that when the wind sprang up behind them, she was the first to feel it. She signaled to the horse to stop, but even before she did so, the horse tossed its head uneasily and rolled its eyes back. The dragonfire that slept within them seemed to waken. A now-familiar wave of evil enveloped her.

“Dahl!” She screamed the warning, but it was too late. Even as Dahl reined Magnus in and drew his sword, the sky was blotted out by a huge shape. Eyes burning even more fiercely than the horse’s, a dragon bore down upon them. A tongue of flame licked out and scorched a tree beside Catryn, but the beast was heading for Dahl.

Without waiting for her command, the horse spread its wings and they were flying. Momentarily diverted, the dragon checked its flight. For a fleeting instant Catryn thought it was about to follow her, but it swerved and headed back toward Dahl.

Dahl raised his sword, braced for the attack. Magnus neighed in terror, but held fast under Dahl’s control. Catryn’s horse needed no guidance; it flew straight for the beast.

“Stop!” Catryn screamed at the dragon.

The cry was instinctive. She had no reason to believe the dragon would obey her—would even hear or understand her—but it whipped its massive head around at the sound of her voice.

Dahl took quick advantage. He rose in his stirrups, as high as he could, and slashed at the exposed soft spot in the underside of the dragon’s throat—its only vulnerable spot. It was a glancing blow, but blood, black and viscous, welled up out of the cut.

The dragon shrieked, louder by far than Catryn’s cry. Its head swung again toward Dahl, jaws agape. Teeth as long and as sharp as swords flashed, and smoke vomited forth from its throat.

“Stop!” Catryn screamed again. “Harm him not!”

The dragon rose back into the air with one mighty sweep of its wings. It pivoted to hover above Catryn. Its eyes blazed straight into her own. Catryn gathered every shred of power within herself, concentrated it and sent it out in a wave against the beast. She steeled herself for the torrent of flame she knew would come.

But it didn’t.

Why should I not?
The words invaded Catryn’s mind, deep and sonorous, throbbing like some kind of awesome musical instrument.

Stunned, Catryn stared at the beast. The dragonfire dimmed. She could see its eyes clearly. They were large and dark, the flames simmering deep within them.
Who are you to command me?

I am Catryn, daughter of Ethelrue. Catryn’s mind
flashed the answer across the space between them.

And I am Caulda of Taun. Your king slew my child. Why should I not take my vengeance?

I will not have it!
Catryn gathered even more force to her—more than she had ever known she possessed. She threw it out as a barrier, a curtain, between the dragon and Dahl.

The dragon reared high in the air as if struck by the impact. It hissed in fury.

He will not always have you to protect him.

The words burned into Catryn’s mind as if truly made of fire. She clenched her teeth, clutched the horse’s mane and willed herself to stay in control. The beast must not sense any weakening. Catryn began to shake. She sank deep inside herself, concentrating on the power within her, blotting everything else out. She
must
keep Dahl shielded!

Just when she thought she could hold out no longer, the fire within her mind was quenched. The dragon’s eyes that held her own so unswervingly blinked, then flamed into brilliance again. The beast swerved in the air, high above her, banked and was gone.

Catryn collapsed onto the neck of the horse, drained of every particle of will. When it landed, she slid off its back. It furled its wings tightly against its shoulders, took a few small nervous steps, then shook its mane.

Dahl had dismounted and was standing as if rooted to the ground, staring into the sky where the beast had disappeared.

“But I slew it,” he was whispering. “I
know
I killed it.”

“It was her child you killed,” Catryn replied. The words shook.

Dahl whipped around to face her. “Her child? How do you know? That beast was the dragon’s
mother
? How could you possibly know that?” Then, only just fully realizing what had happened, he added, “Why did it not kill me? It could have—why did it not?”

“I know that because she told me,” Catryn said. “She is Caulda of Taun, and she did not kill you because I did not let her. I threw a shield around you. She could not get through it.”

“You can do that?”

“I can.”

Dahl stared at her.

“Do we go on?” Bruhn’s voice broke through to them. He had also dismounted and leaned against his horse as if for support. His face was pale.

“Of course,” Dahl answered.

“What other choice do we have?” agreed the Sele. If it had been unnerved during the battle, it did not show it now.

Bruhn remained standing where he was, staring at them all. Catryn had no need to explore his mind to know what he was feeling.

“The village the boy told me about should be close by,” Sele the Plump said, its voice breaking into the tension. “Should we not be getting on?”

Catryn slumped on her horse’s back. Her strength returned to her slowly. As they drew near to the village, however, strange feelings began to overcome her. Not the evil she had felt before. Instead, she felt as if her mind were slowing down, deadening. She looked around her for reassurance. They were riding through a pleasant wood, not unlike the woods she had known as a child in her own world. The trees were in full leaf and sunlight filtered down through them. The sky was blue; clouds skimmed past. Were it not for the inexplicable dread that was increasing
with every step her horse took, she would have thought the scene full of peace and tranquillity.

But that is the problem, she thought suddenly. It is too tranquil. Too peaceful. She cast her mind ahead of them to the village.

Where was the normal bustle of people? Where was the usual buzz of minds?

They trotted their horses into the village and stopped at a well to replenish their water jugs. Catryn threw a blanket over her horse’s withers to cover up its wings. A young woman came to the well to draw water also.

“Good morrow,’’ Catryn said pleasantly as she dipped her jug into the water beside her.

The woman did not respond.

Thinking perhaps she had not heard her, Catryn repeated her greeting. The woman continued to ignore her.

She acts as if I am not here, Catryn thought. Is she deaf? But she is not blind—surely, she could at least return my smile?

As if she were totally alone at the well, the woman filled her bucket, turned and walked away.

Dahl and Bruhn knelt beside her then to fill their jugs as well and douse their heads. Catryn felt their presence immediately, Dahl’s puzzled concern and Bruhn’s resentment burning still, so strong it overrode any other feeling within him.

Hard upon that came the realization that she had not felt the woman’s presence at all. There had been a
curious emptiness in the air around her, even when the woman had stood right beside her. She gazed after the woman and sent a tendril of thought reaching out to her. The tendril encountered nothing.

Jugs filled and the horses’ thirst quenched, the party led their animals along the track that led into the village center. It was filled with people. They walked about, intent on their own business. It looked like an ordinary, everyday village scene. But there was something amiss.

“It is very quiet,” the Sele remarked. “No one seems to exchange words or greetings with anyone else.”

“Nor did that woman reply when I spoke to her at the well,” Catryn said.

“The boy, Norl, he spoke of a strange silence that fell upon the village after the beast had flown away, did he not?” Dahl asked.

“He did,” the Sele answered.

Catryn furrowed her brow as she watched the villagers. She searched ceaselessly with her mind, but could not connect with these people at all. That was more than troubling, but something else was wrong as well.

“They have no shadows,” she said. “The people have no shadows.”

It was true. The sun shone down bright and hard upon the village square, and although the trees and buildings all cast long, dark images, the people moving about between them had no shadows at all.

“What does this mean?” Dahl asked.

Catryn cast her mind out again. She probed with it, trying with all her energy to send threads forth to meet the minds of the villagers, but to no avail. No matter how hard she tried, her searchings found nothing.

“The village is empty,” she said finally, exhausted with the effort. “There is no one here.”

“What do you mean?” Dahl exclaimed. “The square is full of people.”

“No,” Catryn answered. “No one is there at all.”

“Impossible,” Dahl insisted. He strode forward. Catryn and the others followed. As they walked through the square they greeted the people they passed. No greetings were returned. Nor did the people even try to move out of their way. Dahl became more and more irritated.

“This is more than strange,” he growled finally. A man was walking toward him. Deliberately, Dahl stood in the man’s path. The man walked straight into him, then corrected himself, and walked around and past him. Still, no word was spoken. “They do not see us!” Dahl exclaimed.

“They see nothing,” Catryn said.

She led the way now, through the village and out the other side where well-tended fields of grain and vegetables lay stretched out before them. People were working in the fields. Some were weeding and watering, others were filling waiting carts with the harvested produce, but again all was being done in aneerie
silence. They walked on past and came to an orchard. Plump, crimson fruit hung from all the branches. A boy came toward them, carrying a basket-full.

“May I have one?” Catryn asked, testing.

As if she had not spoken, as if she did not even exist, the boy passed her by, wordlessly. Knowing what she would find, but determined to try in any case, Catryn sought out his thoughts. There were none. There was nothing but a blank and terrifying emptiness.

They walked in and around the village for the rest of the afternoon, trying to find one person, at least, who would respond to them. It was useless. Finally, they mounted and rode out through the fields to where the forest began again on the other side and there made camp.

“I don’t understand this,” Dahl said. “What can have happened here? Why will these people not speak?”

“They cannot,” Catryn answered slowly. “They are not there,” she repeated.

“That is what you said before,” Dahl said. “What do you mean?”

“Their bodies are there, Dahl,” Catryn replied, “but their minds are not.”

Whatever it was that they faced, it was more powerful by far than she had imagined. For the first time, she allowed her mind to dwell on the possibility of failure. What if she could not protect Dahl? What
if he were killed? And she? She could not die, she knew that—but she could be maimed. As the Protector had been. Maimed for life, for eternity! Horror, black and heavy, crept through her.

Help me!
she cried silently to the Elders. But this time, when she so needed to hear, when she was ready to hear, there was no answer. She was beyond their reach.

They were on their own then, she and Dahl. And the Sele.

And Bruhn.