Chapter Fifteen

Everything had changed. Although Horvath remained cordial and cooperative, all of the castle residents, even the servants and the soldiers who kept watch outside, felt a difference. The sorcerer grew distant, often keeping to himself or volunteering to escort the supply wagon to market without his peers.

In contrast, Balthazar and Veronica grew closer than ever. After months of inviting their colleague to join them, in study or pleasure or their quest, and being repeatedly turned down, they came to accept that the team was dissolved in all but name. Only when Merlin sent them out against the enemy did the trio work together as before.

No, not as before. The poison that had taken root in Horvath's mind was showing itself even there, on the battlefield. He was slow to defend the comrade he'd once called 'friend', more than once leaving Veronica to deflect a strike aimed at Balthazar. When the pair confronted him about his lapses, he claimed that he hadn't seen the attacks in time to stop them.

"He's not doing his job," Balthazar complained to Merlin one evening after the latest scuffle. "It's getting to the point where it's more dangerous to have him with us than for Veronica and I to fight alone. We've tried to patch things up, but he's just not interested. I don't know what to do."

Merlin shook his head sadly. "I'm afraid there's nothing you can do. I hate to see what's happened to him, but it's not your fault. All we can do is get this war over with as quickly as possible. I suspect that Horvath is planning to leave us soon. Time presses. We need to capture or kill Morgana and her strongest supporters while we still have all three of you. After that, perhaps time will heal what magic and memories can't. I hope so."

"I hope so, too. I miss our friendship."

"What news, Fenwick?"

"Ah, Master Saul, there's trouble within." The dye-and-ink dealer winked at his ostensible customer. "They hardly ever go out together anymore. The one apprentice comes to town alone, if you don't count the humans. In fact, he's here right now, somewhere. Look for a man with a sword."

"Thank you, Fenwick." In an instant, "Saul's" features melted away and reformed into those of the Merlinian Horvath. The dealer recoiled in horror, but there was nowhere to run. Horvath blocked the only exit.

The sorcerer favored his captive with a humorless smile. "I've been watching you for some time," he informed the merchant. "I knew Morgana wouldn't let this town go without a spy for very long, but it took me a while after we eliminated the last one to figure out who the new facilitator was." He fingered the blue-jeweled hilt of his sword, and Fenwick's eyes widened even further.

"Oh, don't worry," the visitor assured him. "I'm not here to kill you. No, I want you to give Morgana a message."

"A...a message?"

"Yes." Horvath was clearly enjoying the effect he was having on the enemy spy. "Tell your leader that I'd like to meet her somewhere, just the two of us. I have a proposal to make."

She was seated on a heavy chair that looked suspiciously like a throne. Around her, all was black mist. She, and the chair, seemed somewhat less than solid themselves. "You asked for a meeting," she began. "What is it you want?"

Horvath, or rather his spirit, closed his eyes briefly, his mind racing with doubts and a little fear. He banished them; he'd made his decision, and there was no backing out. "A mutually beneficial agreement," he replied. She waited. He explained: "There's someone I'd like you to...eliminate. He was one of your students. He betrayed you, and it was chiefly because of him that your headquarters was destroyed."

The woman nodded. "Yes, you mean Balthazar. Never mind that we've already been trying to 'eliminate' him for years, but I'm curious: why have you turned against him? I thought he was one of yours now."

"Well, yes, but you're not the only one he's betrayed. He's taken from me the woman who should have been mine."

"Then why don't you just kill him yourself?"

Horvath dropped his gaze to the black mist under the chair. "She would never forgive me," he admitted.

"So you want me to do the deed instead, is that it? I'd be happy to, but it's not that easy. What do you propose?"

"You must do it yourself," he answered. "None of your people is strong enough."

"What, come in person? Into open battle?" She shook her head. "No. I'm not going to risk myself and my soldiers just to assuage your jealousy. I have no interest in your personal squabbles. My plans are far too important for such nonsense. Now, if that's all..." She started to fade away.

"Wait!"

"Is there more?" The ghostly image returned.

"I...yes." He'd hoped it wouldn't come to this, but had feared, correctly, that it was inevitable. "I can help you win this war."

She arched an eyebrow. "How?"

"There's a spell called The Rising."

Alvar woke to the sound of battle. Instinctively, he searched for the Friend or his mate, but neither was near. Master was here, and so was the Cold One, but there was another, as well. His face contorted in hatred. It was the Enemy. He felt her presence growing closer. The Cold One was with her. He crouched, his muscles tensed to spring.

When the cell door opened, he was ready. Quick as a cat, he pounced, hands reaching outward like claws to tear at her face and throat.

To his utter shock, he never reached her. She flung her arms up to create an instant, invisible wall. He slammed into it, howling. The Enemy staggered back, more than a little shocked in her turn that her wall had yielded ground. He lunged forward again. This time, she summoned chains, many chains, to erupt from the stone behind him and wrap themselves around him. They dragged him back. Furious, he struggled against the bonds that held him pinned to the back of the cell. "They won't hold him for long," warned the Cold One. He and his companion hurried out of the room. Before they left, the Enemy blasted a torrent of fire inside. The cell became an inferno. Alvar shrieked, but his tormenters were already gone.

"What did I tell you?" Horvath asked rhetorically. "With an army of sorcerers like that, not even Merlin would be able to stop you." They hurried along the hallway of the castle, sweeping aside its human guards with little more than a wave of the hand. Screams of men and horses came from outside. Scattered fires blazed in the various rooms where servants and other defenders had fallen. As the sorcerers ascended the staircase to the training room floor, the Merlinian reviewed what the two of them had plotted. "My colleagues should be on their way back right now, if my little distraction in town went according to plan. I'll keep a lookout for them from an upper window while you take care of Merlin. He has to be tired by now from trying to protect all his people at once."

"And failing," the woman pointed out with glee.

"Yes. When I see them coming, I'll let you know. I want to be out of there by the time you meet them." They reached the top of the stairs. Beyond, to the left and down a few steps, was the training floor where the master had retreated. To the right was the corridor along which lay Horvath's quarters. "Please," he begged, "remember to spare Veronica. She's the whole reason I'm doing this."

"I know." It was scant reassurance, but it was all that Horvath was going to get. He had no choice but to accept it.

Smoke filled the corridor as Horvath rushed back to warn Morgana of the others' arrival. He had to stop and grope his way along until he found a door that opened into the training room.

What he saw wasn't quite what he expected. Merlin had the invader's arms pinned behind her, embedded in the pillar against which she stood. This wouldn't do at all. In order to carry out their plan, Horvath needed his cohort to be free. "Merlin," he called.

His master acknowledged him. "Horvath."

This was the crucial moment. The Grimhold was waiting, there on a table not far away. Now, while Morgana was frozen in place, he could lock her inside forever. He would be the hero...

...but Balthazar would still be there. Veronica would never leave him, not as long as he was alive.

Horvath made his choice. The blue gems on his sword hilt glowed, and the pillar crumbled away from the captive arms.

"You betray me?" Merlin's voice was thick with both hurt and anger. A moment later, his face reflected shock of a different kind. The enemy's sword had just run him through.

Horvath wasted no time with regrets. As instructed, he tore out the Encantus page on which was written The Rising spell. He kept his eyes turned away from his fallen master as he passed him, hurrying to leave the room before his fellow apprentices got there. Morgana remained to fulfill her part of their agreement. He had to trust her to keep it.

He had just reached the bottom of the stairs, moving by memory more than anything else in the blinding smoke, when he saw to one side a shape looming closer even as he watched. It was a lumbering, charred hulk of a man that could have come straight from a nightmare. The eyes glowed fiery red.

The thing saw Horvath. Its hideous face twisted in hatred, the lipless mouth opening in a silent scream of rage. It charged toward him.

Horvath fled. Tripping over bodies, crashing into furniture hidden by the smoke, he dared not stop. His pursuer tossed every obstacle aside, or simply crashed through it, in its relentless drive to kill. Outside, the sorcerer grabbed the first horse he could find, which happened to be the one his rival had ridden, and raced away, only his heart racing faster. From time to time he looked back, only to see the red glow still following, albeit at a greater distance each time. When the animal's strength gave out and it collapsed, trembling with fatigue, its rider kept going on foot. Fear and exhaustion warred for dominance; but eventually, as it must, exhaustion won the battle.

Balthazar knelt beside the dying master of the castle. Merlin, strong protector of man against the threat of Morgana's tyranny, lay stricken by the tyrant's now-discarded blade. His apprentice, helpless to stop or even slow what they both knew was coming, gripped the old sorcerer's hand, the only comfort he could offer.

"She did it," the younger man said softly, past a throat tightened by grief and horror. "Veronica used the Fusion Spell. They're both...I had to...they're in the Grimhold. Veronica and Morgana."

Merlin nodded once. "You can't let them out until you find him, the heir. Take the ring." He straightened his hand so that Balthazar could slip the dragon ring off its master's finger. Once it lost contact with its owner, the little dragon uncurled so that it became instead a figurine resting in Balthazar's hand. "It will lead you," the master informed his companion. His voice was growing weaker. "You must find the child. The Prime Merlinian is the only one who can kill Morgana."

"I will find him," Balthazar promised.

"I know you will. This is your calling, to search and save. You're a good man, Balthazar." With that, the old man smiled. His eyes closed, and the final breath of life departed.

The last Merlinian hung his head in sorrow. From days long past, he remembered what in childhood had seemed a mere curiosity, but now he knew to be fitting. He prayed for the soul of the sorcerer Merlin.

A bleak morning brought no relief from the devastation of the night before. Nothing remained but desolation. The castle that had been his home had become instead a crypt, filled with death and ruin. Merlin was gone. Master Alvar had vanished. His friend Horvath was now a deadly enemy. And Veronica...

Balthazar looked down again at the wooden doll he held, at the image of his beloved. She was there, waiting for him to free her. He vowed that he would. "No matter how long it takes," he told her, though he knew not if she heard. "No matter how far I have to go, no matter what the cost, I am going to find the Prime Merlinian. He'll destroy Morgana, and then we can be together, always." He caressed the painted hair. "I love you, Veronica. I need you, even more than you need me to set you free. You're all I have left."

He tucked the Grimhold inside his mantle, next to his heart. The outer layers were already packed in his saddlebags, but he wanted to keep her close. He wouldn't cover her image with another layer until he had no other choice.

Up now, into the saddle, and Balthazar was ready to go. He rode away without looking back; the Mighty Hunter, Great Defender once again going forth to an uncertain future. The quest was personal now, like his hope of one day restoring his master. Whether either would ever be fulfilled, he couldn't know. Only stubborn, fragile hope remained. It had to be enough.

The quarry was escaping. He ran on through the night, intent on the rider drawing ever further ahead. He slowed when his target reached the vast tract of woodland beyond the castle grounds, disappearing among the trees at a frantic gallop. Growling, the pursuer followed. What he lacked in speed, he made up for in stamina.

He came upon the fallen beast some hours later. It snorted and tossed its head, fearful of his approach, but was still too tired to rise. He passed it without stopping. The animal wasn't important. He continued the chase.

The Cold One had stopped running. He sensed that he was drawing nearer to his quarry, and a savage delight drew the corners of his mouth back in a teeth-baring grimace. The trees were thinning, still bare and black in the light of false dawn, but letting him see enough to make out the dark huddled mass in the lessening distance. His ring sent a pulse through his charred hand; he was closing in.

He must have made a sound, or else some internal alarm woke the sleeper. The Cold One's head snapped up, and he peered directly at his foe. The prey, exhausted though he was, scrambled to his feet. He sent a crackling blue ball of light at his pursuer. It dispersed harmlessly against the rock-hard skin of the hunter, but the light served its purpose. The glowing red eyes were temporarily blinded. When they could see again, the quarry was off and running. With a snarl, the creature that had been Alvar resumed his pursuit.

"I need to get off this island," Horvath insisted. "Now!"

The captain wasn't impressed. "My ship is for cargo, not passengers," he told the stranger. "And even if I was to take you on board, we ain't gonna be ready to leave for another couple of hours."

Horvath grabbed the man by his shirtfront. He hissed in the other's face, "I don't have a couple of hours." He'd been on the run for the past three days, on horseback when he could get a steed, with precious little sleep and even less food or time for maintaining the cultured image of which he'd been so proud. Glowing eyes haunted his dreams. They were coming, he knew, still coming for him. The hunter never stopped.

"Sorry," the captain shrugged. "Not my problem."

Horvath drew his sword with his free hand and held the point against his captive's throat. "Now it is your problem. Get me out of here, now, or I'll take your head off."

To the man's credit, he wasn't easily intimidated. "Well, sir, if you do that, who's going to run the ship?"

Calm, Horvath told himself. Don't panic. Use your head. The sound of screaming came to his ears, sensitive from listening for the slightest indicator that the monstrous creature was nearing. He spun with the captain still in his grip. It was there, on the far end of the seaside town but bearing down relentlessly on its target. Terrified civilians scrambled out of its way. The captain saw what was coming, too. He swore and tried to break away from the warrior's hold on him.

The master of strategy switched tactics. Expertly, he flipped his sword one-handed and grabbed the blade just below the hilt. The glow of the blue gems reflected in the captain's eyes.

"You are taking me to the mainland now," Horvath intoned. "Immediately. We're not waiting for anyone or anything."

The human repeated the instructions as if in a trance. The sorcerer let him go, and they both ran to the cargo ship waiting at the dock. The captain shouted orders to his crew, while he himself untied the mooring rope. They pulled away just as the creature set foot on the edge of the dock where they had been only a moment before.

The thing howled in frustration. It was an eerie, awful sound that would not soon be forgotten. Horvath leaned, shaking, against the rail as his homeland fell away. He couldn't go back, not now and maybe not ever. Where was Veronica now? he wondered. Nothing had worked out the way he'd planned. He had no home left, no allies, and no Veronica. He sank to the deck, shuddering as the enormity of what he'd done became clear in his overtired mind. His future was a cloud of uncertainty.

Meanwhile, though, the movement of the sturdy craft through churning sea waves soothed his aching body. He let the rhythmic rocking work a magic of its own. For the first time since the Morganian attack, he slept without fear.

The hunter watched as his quarry disappeared beyond the horizon. His sense of the Cold One's presence faded as the distance between them increased, until it diminished to a simple, general awareness of the sorcerer's signature power. Just as he felt the power of the Master and of the Friend, so too did he recognize that of the one who'd escaped him. They were far away now, all of them. He was alone.

Well, not completely. Upon turning his back to the open water, he found himself ringed by frightened townsfolk. The men had formed a human wall, armed with hammers or fishing spears or whatever they could find, and were pressing forward, trying to drive the invader into the sea behind him.

He took out his frustration on this new foe. Finally, the rage within found release.

He itched all over. It was his skin regenerating, along with new hair replacing that which had been burned away. The itching kept him in a bad temper, so that he was apt to attack anything unfortunate enough to cross his path. He kept to the woods, with its plentiful scratching posts, in a meandering journey back to the last place he'd considered his home. Everything from beetles to bears became his prey.

When he reached the castle in the first days of Winter, his mind at first refused to accept what he saw. The great stones were blackened, one wall collapsed inward to expose the ruined interior. The place still reeked of smoke. At the rear, neat rows of earthen mounds filled the slope down to the little lake. Centered in their midst was a tall cairn, a flat inscribed stone at its peak, the whole encased in thick glass. Nothing lived here anymore; even the grass was scorched.

He whimpered like a lost child. Gone, gone was everything good or familiar. With a last, mournful cry to the cold sky above, he left Merlin's castle forever.

Long were the years before Alvar felt the calling. Gradually, he'd resumed the habits he'd acquired at the castle: keeping a tattered, stolen cloak wrapped around him as clothing, using cupped hands to drink, and sleeping on makeshift beds instead of on the ground. His hair grew long and shaggy. He wandered from village to city to town, staying hidden on the outskirts but needing to be near people in an effort to keep his loneliness at bay. At times, the twin presences of his Friend and Master would grow near enough for him to discern the direction from which they came. Then he would be off in a joyous rush, only to lose track of them as they moved away again. Then, for a long time, the distance was so great that he barely felt their power at all.

His ring gave him the first sign that he might find his missing companions once more. Its throbbing woke him from a light sleep, one in which he dreamed of them all in more contented days. His silver eyes gazed at the ornament, puzzled. Echoes of opposing energy washed through his mind, the Cold One and the Friend. They were locked in battle, one so fierce that he felt it even here. It was coming from the west. He headed in that direction. The Cold One's power vanished suddenly, but he was still picking up that of the other combatant. It called to him, and he was determined to answer.

By the time he reached the western shore of the island, the summons had gone dormant again. Still, now he knew where to go. He would climb onto the biggest ship he could find, hide himself until it reached the far shore, and continue his search from there. Nothing and nobody would stop him.

The ship was a gigantic metal monster without oars or sails. He hid in its heart, huddled behind massive pipes with his head down and hands over his ears to protect them from the deafening roar. The place smelled of grease and burning oil. When the ship made landfall, he darted out past astonished crew and passengers, heedless of them all in his haste to get away.

Sultry air greeted him this evening. This was a new land, full of new sights and smells and sounds. The city clustered at the mouth of a great river that flowed into the sea. He skirted the city, then circled back to the river shore, following it upstream on his quest to find the one he sought. Here where everything was different, he kept once more to the forest whenever possible. At least some of the trees were of the varieties he knew.

He wandered, awaiting a resurgence of the call. The years passed.

"Master, I've come."

"Balthazar! I thought you would be here first."

"I know. You asked me to wait for you, but it turns out I'm the one who's kept you waiting."

"I felt your presence before, but I didn't see you. I didn't know where you were."

"I'm sorry. I tried to reach you, but I couldn't. Merlin's new spell had already begun, and it wouldn't let me come any closer."

"I've been lonely, Balthazar. This place is peaceful, yes-almost too much so. I feel like we're in the middle of a cloud, cut off from everything. Until you arrived, all I saw were occasional flashes of light like shooting stars outside this mist. The only sounds were echoes, too faint for me to make out what they were. It seems to me that we're caught between two worlds, hovering in this nothingness. There's not even a floor to give me a sense of reality."

"It does seem almost like a dream, doesn't it?"

"Almost. There's no time here, either, or at least I haven't felt its passage. How long has it been since that day in the clearing?"

"Nearly fifteen centuries, Master."

"...Did you say...centuries?"

"Mm hmm. A lot has happened. I joined Merlin, to begin with. He cast a spell to keep us from aging until Morgana was destroyed."

"So that was done, and now your age has caught up with you. The last time I saw you, you were only seventeen. These new bodies, or whatever they are, don't look like the originals. We've become like shining ghosts. I can't tell how old you are now."

"Ageless now, like you, Master. Still, it was a bit premature. Morgana will have been destroyed by now, yes, but not by me. Merlin's heir was the only one who could do it. I believe he did, but she took me out before I could see it."

"Oh. I'm sorry. I hope it was quick. I'm confused, though. Merlin had an heir? It looks like I seriously misjudged the old man. Here I thought he was as cold as Morgana. Well, my former apprentice, I'm glad to see you again, whatever the circumstances."

"Likewise. You have no idea."

"Then tell me about it."

"He's calling me, Master. I can hear him."

"Merlin's heir?"

"Yes. He has the power to perform the Rising Spell, just as Merlin did."

"But I didn't hear a calling from Merlin."

"We realized our mistake too late. He calls to my soul, to me, here."

"Love was the missing element, from what you've been telling me. You're a lucky man, Balthazar."

"God's protection has been upon me. It was my mother's final blessing."

"Your mother...my first mistake with you, the first thing I did to hurt you. I wish I could undo it-that, and all the other things I did in the service of Morgana. Forgive me."

"It's all right. You've had my forgiveness, if only I could have told you, even before I left you pinned to that burning tree. You were a father to me, father and master and friend. You still are. That will never change."

"Thank you. I don't deserve it, but thank you."

"I have to go now, Master. They're waiting for me, Dave and Veronica."

"Will you leave me so soon?"

"I would have you join me, Master. I don't know where you are, physically, but I know you're there, in the mortal realm, somewhere. Your body is practically indestructible. You're the first son of the Rising."

"So much has changed. Do I still have a place in this new world?"

"You'll always have a place, at least with me. I think I can speak for Veronica, too. She'll welcome you almost as much as I do. Come, Master. Come back with me."

"How? Merlin's heir, this 'Dave' you found, is calling you, not me."

"Hold my hand. When he pulls me back, when he reunites body and soul, I'll pull you back with me. Your soul will find your own body, wherever that is. We'll find each other again, there on Earth, I promise. Please, take my hand. Join me."

"I will."

In an Appalachian mountain cabin, a wild-eyed, shaggy-haired occupant sat bolt upright in bed. The cold air of early Spring blew in through the broken door, but he barely felt it through his thick hide. Something strange was happening.

The Friend. He could sense contact, though he was still alone. He sat frozen but quivering in place, straining to learn more.

Slowly, a new awareness dawned in his mind. The silver died away from his eyes, leaving only a deep, rich ebony that took in his surroundings as if seeing them now for the first time. He shivered, and not just from the cold.

The sorcerer ring sent warm pulses through his hand. They were directing him northeast, toward the coast, to the one who had restored him to himself. Alvar wondered at this new directional ability, but it was a change he welcomed. There would be many more to discover. Meanwhile, he had a destination, and a friend to thank. Smiling, he spoke for the first time in many a century: just one name, "Balthazar."