Exodus of the Xandim (GOLLANCZ S.F.) (65 page)

Melisanda, braced by the gruff kindness in his voice, pulled herself together. She knew he was right. She had done her best. There had never been a hope of saving everyone. She turned to the
helmsman and offered her hand. ‘My name is Melisanda. I’m Deputy Head – no, I’m Head now,’ she corrected herself with a grimace of pain, ‘of the Luen of Healers.
This invasion of your vessels is my fault, I’m afraid. I’m sorry, but we had no choice. That monster . . . I had to save as many as I could.’

Now that the ordeal was over, she could hold back the tears no longer. Turning to lean on the rail, she buried her face in her hands and sobbed. As a Healer she understood the value of such a
release and, for a moment, let herself give in to it, letting the weeping wash away a little of the grief, the pain and the terror.

The helmsman – he had good instincts for a mortal – let her get it out of her system before he spoke again. ‘You’ve had a bad time back there, it seems,’ he said
gently. ‘We’ll take you to safety, never fear. My name is Captain Valior and—’

They were interrupted by a piercing scream.

Brynne had been told by Valior to check on the Healer, the one in the pale blue robes. The girl was keeping her head bowed so low over the groaning winged man that the captain,
solicitous for all his Wizardly passengers, was afraid she was feeling ill, or had hurt herself during the apport. She went over and tapped the kneeling girl on the shoulder. ‘Excuse me, but
are you—’

The Healer looked up, her hood falling away from her face, and Brynne’s words broke off as if she had bitten her tongue. There, in front of her was an identical image of herself. Were it
not for the fact that the other was clad in rumpled, sea-splashed blue robes, while she, Brynne, wore the high boots and layers of rough, seaman’s clothing, she could have been looking into a
mirror.

The Healer girl sprang to her feet, her face turning chalk-white. She reeled back from Brynne as if she had received a mortal blow – and suddenly the wall in Brynne’s head was
shivering, falling, splintering into shards to the sound of her own scream, as if the mirror had been shattered . . .

Behind her closed eyes she saw a clifftop, with the ocean heaving below. Cold, cruel eyes and a mouth twisted into a vicious sneer on a pretty face that suddenly transformed into her own,
plainer features. A hand that shot out, pushing her so hard that she lost her balance, staggered backwards and lost her footing on the cliff edge . . .

She was falling, falling, her scream of terror ripped away by the wind – then the water hit her – a massive blow striking shock and pain all through her. The icy grey sea closed over
her head . . .

She was sinking, down, down, her lungs filling with seawater as her consciousness left her . . .

Brynne’s eyes opened again, and she looked her impostor full in the face. ‘But a true Wizard wouldn’t drown,’ she said in a cold, clear voice. ‘Didn’t you
know that? What are you, Chiannala, that you didn’t know?’

‘Brynne?’ Valior came rushing to her side and put a protective arm around her, puzzlement in his voice. But the tall, blonde Wizard in the sapphire robes of a high-ranking Healer
looked, from the shock and disgust on her face, as if she had been picking up the images from Brynne’s mind, and had seen what she had seen. Her grey eyes blazing with anger and contempt, she
turned on her former student, who was cowering against the rail like an animal in a trap.

‘You pushed her? You tried to
kill
her?’

‘No, Melisanda, no,’ the girl whined. ‘She’s lying.’

Valior stepped forward, between Brynne and her double, looking from one to the other with incredulous eyes. ‘
She
was the one?’ he asked Brynne. ‘She was the reason we
found you all but dead of cold in the sea?’

‘Cease!’ It was Incondor, who had eased himself up on his elbows, though his face was an ashen grimace of pain. ‘Healer Melisanda, this girl, Chiannala, is under
my
protection.’

‘My Lord Incondor,’ from her tone, Melisanda was clearly far from impressed. ‘This is an internal matter for the Luen of Wizard Healers, and is none of your concern.’

‘You want to risk a diplomatic incident with Queen Pandion? While Tyrineld is being reduced to a heap of rubble and you will need the help of the Skyfolk as never before?’ Incondor
snarled.

And then suddenly the world dissolved into chaos.

With Avithan’s spell removed, Iriana struggled to her feet and saw what Corisand saw. The Moldan had left the northern headland and was coming towards them, menace
glaring red in his eyes. Already he had almost reached the city walls. There was no time to be staggered by what Avithan had done to her, and she scarcely had time to check that Taine still lived
and breathed, but she could feel the anger building inside her – at Avithan’s betrayal, at all the death, the waste and bloodshed, at the destruction of her home. With a snarl, she
grasped Corisand’s hand so that they were both holding the Fialan, preparing to strike out at him with all its power – but when Ghabal saw the blazing gem he flinched and turned
suddenly turned back, casting a look of pure malice over his shoulder at the Wizard and Windeye.

Then he roared: a shattering blast of sound that shook the earth and flattened Corisand and Iriana to the ground. ‘KATMAI! I CALL UPON YOU! BE MY INSTRUMENT OF VENGEANCE!’

All at once the Wizard and Windeye felt a new power, a new deadly energy blazing out of the Moldan – and he could move faster, much faster than before. Before they could act, a huge
incandescent fireball appeared in his hand. He lifted it high over his head and hurled it down with all his force to smash against the ground. As Corisand and Iriana looked on, numb with horror, a
vast fissure appeared in the earth at his feet, snaking from west to east and cutting all three of them off from the city. He stretched forth his hand again, spreading his fingers wide, and the
gigantic fracture in the surface of the earth widened quickly, like a vast maw that consumed the remains of Tyrineld as the ocean rushed in, with earthshaking explosions and billowing clouds of
steam, to fill the gap.

The spreading chasm consumed buildings, streets, and people alike. Any Wizard who had not already fled was doomed, and swept away into the churning water; the archivists and scholars working
frantically to apport priceless volumes and scrolls to safety, the stallholders and merchants in the market trying to save valuable foodstuffs and implements, any Healers who had stayed behind to
help their patients to escape. As for the Mortals – not one of them stood a chance.

The wind howled and dark clouds raced across the sky as all the lands to the south of the city sank, fell, crumbled into the hungry waves, with what sounded like a roar of anguish, and more and
more ocean came pouring in. Tyrineld, queen of cities, gleaming jewel, home and sanctuary, cradle of learning and throne of power, was lost for ever.

Though the ships were some distance offshore by this time, the hideous figure of the monster could still be seen, looming over the shattered skyline of Tyrineld. Suddenly he
cried out in a mighty voice, and a searing ball of fire appeared in his hand, which he hurled down with colossal force to strike the tortured ground. As the crew of the
Venturer
watched in
horror, the earth split apart with a hideous rending sound, and Tyrineld vanished into the widening rift as the ocean rushed in.

The fishing boats were tossed about like toys as the sea heaved and massive waves reared up like walls of green glass that broke over the bows in a welter of foam, as Valior struggled to keep
the ship heading straight into them. There was a scream as one of the recumbent patients was washed overboard. The
Venturer
was seized and buffeted by the powerful flow as the waters
surged in to fill the chasm which gaped wider with each passing moment. The sails were ripped from the rigging by the rising gale and went kiting off in tatters, into the boiling black clouds
above.

The vessel’s timbers were creaking from the strain. Planking sprung up from the decks as she groaned and shuddered like a wounded creature in pain. Working on pure instinct, Brynne threw
out a spell to hold the straining timbers together. Single-handedly she battled the forces of anarchy and destruction all round her, her eyes glazed, her jaw clenched and her face pale with strain.
Brave as a warrior, obdurate as stone, she fought on, desperately trying to hold the
Venturer
together, pitting herself against the raw, elemental forces of nature gone mad.

Brynne’s powers, however, were immature and untrained, and exhaustion was taking its toll. The edges of her vision began to darken, and her entire body shook like a leaf in a hurricane,
yet still she refused to give in, her fingers grasping Valior’s arm so tightly that they dug into his flesh as she drew power from the big man’s strength.

All this time the Healers had been in a state of utter terror, clinging frantically to whatever they could find to stop themselves being swept overboard, but Melisanda, looking up, caught sight
of Brynne and realised her plight. She threw all the force of her disciplined and practised power behind the younger girl’s magic, taking her lead from Brynne’s understanding of the
ship and its structure.

Miraculously, Brynne felt the load become lighter, and the forces that threatened to tear her apart were eased. Finally, she could take a grateful gasp of salty air and look around her, but what
she saw shrivelled her courage. The
Venturer
, along with the others in the fleet, was being pulled inexorably into a heaving maelstrom as the waters were sucked into the gap where the city
had once stood. Before her horrified gaze, Mordal’s
Intrepid
was pulled towards the rim of the great torrent where the seas poured down, and vanished over the edge to be lost for
ever.

The rest of the fleet were drawing closer and closer to disaster . . . Brynne turned and flung herself at Valior and clutched him tightly as the gallant
Venturer
neared the brink, and
buried her face in his chest as his arms locked round her in an iron grip . . .

Then suddenly the Leviathan were there, their forceful Water magic enabling them to cut through the strongest current with ease. They thronged around the ships, putting themselves between the
vessels and danger. Though their abilities differed from her own, Brynne could feel their spells that fought to calm the seas and negate the ferocious currents, as all the while they pushed the
cluster of fishing boats northward, away from danger, and back towards their home. Weak with relief, Brynne finally let her own powers relax. But she kept tight hold of Valior, and he held her to
him as if he never meant to let her go.

Was it possible to die of a broken heart? As Tyrineld was destroyed the pain of Iriana’s grief took her breath away; tore with ravening fangs at her mind. She was
paralysed, transfixed, barely able to comprehend the horror before her and the scale of the disaster.

Then, like the breaking of a storm, came the anger. The Wizard gripped Corisand’s hand so tightly that she seemed about to drive the Fialan into their very flesh, and once they were
conjoined, she began to pull in power, taking it in from all around her: from the crumbling earth and raging sea; from the tearing wind and roiling sky; from the death throes of all the lost,
Wizard and Mortal alike. From the survivors she took it, gathering all their anger, anguish and pain. She drew upon the Air magic of Kea and Crombec, Phaerie glamourie from Aelwen and the still
half-stunned Taine, the shifting, fluid powers of Water from the Leviathan and Ionor with them.

Corisand, joined to her, melded with her, unable to draw away even if it had been her wish, gave the magic of the Windeye freely, pouring it into her friend through the medium of the Stone of
Fate. She and Iriana were no longer two separate entities, two friends and comrades; they were fused together by the might of the Fialan into a single force that combined all the gathered powers
and joined them with the magic of the Stone of Fate. Then through the Stone came the powers of the Evanesar; the inexorable Cold magic of Taku, the fierce crackling energy of Aurora – and
finally the spell of Denali, with her powers of Earth, eternal, obdurate and vast.

When all had been amassed, Iriana, fused with Corisand and seeing events through her eyes, their blood beating through their veins as one, power singing through every nerve and fibre of their
conjoined minds and bodies, gathered all the magic, all the energy, into a single missile – and struck.

A tangle of luminescent fibres wrapped themselves around the Moldan, and though he fought and raged and struggled, he could find no way out. Then Corisand and Iriana lifted their conjoined hands
that held the Fialan. Power blazed out of the Stone in blinding rays, and for the first and last time in the mundane world the majestic voice of Denali echoed forth. Though her language was
unknown, the authority, the meaning and the menace in those implacable syllables could be heard like the grating of the lock in a prison door.

Ghabal’s raging cut off abruptly as the interweaving fibres that trammelled him flared and expanded, forming a great sphere of effulgent radiance all around him, so bright that the Moldan
shrieked and clamped his hands across his eyes as the dazzling light lanced into his head. When the brilliance faded, the globe had turned into solid, glittering diamond, an immense stone of
sparkling beauty that held the cold glitter of Taku’s magic, the scintillating, changeful colours of Aurora’s energy – and the eternal, unbreakable, adamantine permanence of
Denali’s power. Imprisoned in its very core was Ghabal, reduced from a slayer of uncounted multitudes and a cleaver of worlds to nothing but a dark, twisted, smoky streak of ominous
shadow.

Iriana turned to Corisand. ‘Now,’ she said. ‘We finish it. We bring him down to size.’

She tightened her fist round the Fialan, so hard that the Windeye gasped with pain but followed suit, tightening her own grip around the Stone. And before the stunned eyes of the terrified
survivors of Tyrineld, the Moldan’s glittering prison began to shrink, down and down, and as it diminished the walls of the crystal grew increasingly dense, so that the sparkling jewel turned
clouded and opaque – until finally, lying in the grass, was a stone no bigger than the Fialan; dull, dark and dead with its prisoner visible no more.