The Lord of Obsidian [Quest for Earthlight Trilogy Book 2] Read online

  Peter leaned over the table. His eyes moved from the pitch-black surface of the orb to Merlin's face. He saw the surface of the globe cloud over. Merlin leaned forward. The expression in his eyes became increasingly compelling. After a few moments the cloud cleared.

  "Ah!” Peter didn't need the exclamation to know that Merlin could see something; the expression in his eyes told all.

  Peter leaned over the table until he was no longer sitting. He said nothing, however. To destroy the sorcerer's concentration could be fatal. At the least he would face Merlin's choleric temper.

  Next moment Peter's heart leapt into his throat as Merlin started back, nearly upsetting his chair. A great cry issued from his throat. He grabbed the table to stop himself falling backwards and leapt to his feet, eyes wild.

  "What is it? What's wrong?"

  But Peter knew before his words were out. The light from the chandelier had dimmed so much it was almost dark. A menace filled the air, freezing Peter to the very core. He wondered how his heart could beat so fast and yet be so intensely cold.

  Peter noticed that Merlin's eyes were riveted on something behind his shoulder. The fixed stare in them was terrifying. In the mirror behind Merlin Peter saw something moving. In the dim light it was difficult to tell what it was.

  He whirled—and there stood Sujad Cariotis. The black cloud of the Enemy surrounded the traitor. It was the cloud that changed, moving protectively around its master. A wide, evil grin split Sujad's face. His teeth showed white against his dark olive skin.

  Merlin found his voice, harsh with anger. “How did you get in? How did you get past my spells of forbidding and protection?"

  Sujad sneered, his handsome face turning ugly. “They were pitiful spells. Can't you do better than that for the Earthlight? Is the Earthlight so weak and useless it can't provide you with better powers than you have at the moment? As for how I got through, don't forget I am Lord of Obsidian.” He swelled with his sense of self-importance. “Also, you can hardly expect me to tell you how I do things. That's for you to find out.” He approached the table, standing between Merlin and Peter, put his hands on the cloth and leaned towards Merlin, who was forced to step back to avoid the vile black cloud. “If you want to keep me out of your house, Great One, you'll have to do a lot better than you have so far. I must admit I was expecting a more worthy opponent. So far you haven't lived up to your reputation."

  Sujad turned his eyes on Peter, who felt himself shrink inwardly. He pulled himself together. I mustn't show that I'm afraid of him. He's a bully and a coward. I must stand up to him. He drew himself up to his full height and returned his enemy's stare.

  "Oh, so the small one thinks he can defeat me by the mere force of his gaze. I've got news for you, Pukling.” He looked from Peter to Merlin. “You don't realise it right now, but I have you more or less paralyzed. Oh, yes—you can move,” he taunted as Merlin jerked forward, only to be forced to retreat from the black cloud. “But you can't stop me doing what I came for. I've come to reclaim what's legally mine. You can keep the Book of Obsidian. As I've told you before I no longer need it. You'll find it's useless without the orb anyway. But as Lord of Obsidian I rightfully own the Obsidian Orb. I thank you for your courtesy in restoring it for me. Sujad the Great always shows his appreciation—and therefore, in gratitude for your assistance, he will leave you unharmed."

  In one swift movement Sujad swept the Obsidian Orb under his black cloak. “And now—farewell!"

  A high humming filled the air. The black cloud swirled. Then Peter and his uncle were alone, staring at the empty surface of the table.

  Chapter 2

  The Green-Eyed Witch

  DREYFUS'S hysterical barking jerked Peter back to his senses.

  "Quiet, Dreyfus! You'll wake the neighborhood."

  The dog whined dejectedly and, nose to the carpet, started questing for his enemy. He went round in circles a few times before giving up, and sat in front of Peter, looking up at him expectantly.

  Abstractedly, his attention fixed on Merlin, Peter pulled the dog's ears. “How did Sujad manage to get through your spell of forbidding?"

  The sorcerer's face was as white as milk. His eyes were bleak. He shook his head. “I don't know, Peter. It shouldn't have been possible."

  "His hold on the powers of obsidian must be very strong."

  Merlin frowned. He shook his head again with a short, almost violent movement. “No. He couldn't have used the powers of the Obsidian Orb without possessing the orb itself—at least not as far as I'm aware—and I've studied the Book of Obsidian again to make sure I've forgotten nothing. The Evil One himself shouldn't have been able to break through the barrier I put around this house tonight.” The incident had visibly shaken him. “No. The Enemy—or perhaps Sujad himself—has developed a power of which we know nothing."

  They looked at each other, the full horror of their situation sinking in as they realised what this meant.

  Neither Peter nor his uncle slept much that night. They used the big bed in the master bedroom and brought Dreyfus's basket upstairs so they would be together if anything happened.

  Next morning two bleary-eyed people faced each other over the breakfast table. Peter couldn't control his wide yawns.

  Uncle Paul looked at him in concern. “Do you feel as bad as you look?"

  "You don't look so wonderful yourself."

  Uncle Paul's mouth twisted into a humorless grimace. “Smart aleck. Your wits are obviously more awake than they appear. If we have to face the Enemy feeling like this we'll be at a distinct disadvantage."

  Peter blinked at him across the table.

  "You got a spell for it?” he asked flippantly.

  "Not exactly. But I've been thinking. You have to learn everything the Book of Obsidian can teach you. I think perhaps we'll take a little trip instead of having you learn it here."

  "But if Sujad can get at us here, even with your spells of forbidding and protection, surely it'll be easier for him elsewhere?"

  "Not necessarily. It depends on where you are."

  Peter looked at him curiously. “Is there any point learning from the Book of Obsidian without the Obsidian Orb? We can't make any Tokens of Power without the orb."

  "There's a lot more to the powers of obsidian than just the Obsidian Orb.” Uncle Paul looked ready to settle down for a lengthy explanation. “One who has handled a Token of Power made from obsidian can still use the powers of obsidian to a certain extent—especially if the Token of Power handled was the Obsidian Orb. Even without repossessing the Obsidian Orb Sujad would have been a powerful enemy. Now that he has it he is indeed Lord of Obsidian."

  A chill went down Peter's spine on hearing Sujad's self-styled title given acknowledgment by his great adversary. “Did you have to say that?"

  His uncle looked at him in surprise. “No sense trying to hide from the truth. Remember, Peter, only by facing an unpalatable truth and admitting it exists can it be changed.” He stood up. “Let's clear up this mess and be off."

  * * * *

  UNCLE PAUL drove in the rush-hour traffic in silence until Peter could stand it no longer. “Where are we going?"

  "Horse riding.” Uncle Paul's tone brooked no questions.

  "Oh,” Peter said, feeling deflated. He wasn't much use on a horse. Like most city boys, he was more at home riding a bicycle. But at least he now knew where they were going.

  Bartholomew Brown was at home. They found him working in his forest, but he promptly dropped what he was doing and climbed into the back seat of the car. There he was greeted like a long-lost friend by Dreyfus while Uncle Paul drove them to the farmhouse.

  "Going to be a rough winter,” Bart said as they clambered out at the back door. “Auckland'll be all right, I reckon—it'll be much the same as usual, if wetter. It's started a bit early for my liking, though."

  Bart took off his working boots on the back porch and shepherded his visitors inside. The farmhouse kitchen was surprisingly modern, comb
ining what a real estate agent would call a “family room” with the usual cooking functions. Susan Brown wasn't at home, having left in the car, according to her husband, “not five minutes ago". However, there was plenty of evidence of her presence in the form of home-made bread, scones and a casserole in the oven for their lunch.

  When Uncle Paul declined the offer of scones and home-made jam with his cup of tea, Peter's face visibly fell. It was hours since breakfast and the aromas around him made his insides growl. However, Bart gave him a plate piled high with scones.

  "Anyone would think I don't feed you,” Uncle Paul said as Peter downed his third scone.

  Bart chuckled. “The trouble with you is you don't remember what it was like being a boy."

  Peter looked at his uncle and suddenly realised the man's personality was even more submerged under that of Merlin than the night before. The faraway look in his eyes suggested his mind was many miles—or many years—away. No, Uncle Paul wasn't Uncle Paul any more. It was so confusing. He could visualize Uncle Paul as a boy, but certainly not Merlin.

  "Perhaps he never was a boy,” he suggested cheekily.

  "My trouble is I've got too many memories.” Merlin rose abruptly. “Come on. We've more important things to do than feed our faces."

  Bart cleared away the mess and led the way to his riding stables. Dreyfus's ears drooped visibly on learning he was being left behind. Out in the stable yard two horses and a beautiful silvery-white pony waited patiently, saddled and bridled.

  "How did you know we were coming?” Peter asked in astonishment, for they had been with Bart Brown since their arrival and he hadn't given any instructions for readying the horses.

  Bart looked at Peter indulgently, his broad face creased in a wide grin. He stroked Obsidianus's head absently. “If you haven't learned how a Chosen One knows things you soon will."

  "He knows,” Merlin said. “He's just a little new to mind-speech."

  "Can you mind-talk over a long distance?” asked Peter in surprise.

  "How else would you communicate with the Lady?"

  The Lady....

  Peter stood by the silvery pony, automatically copying Bart's action of stroking the animal's nose. His own thoughts drifted. He hadn't heard anything from the Lady since Christmas. He had occasionally found himself listening, yearning for the sound of her music—the eerie bell-like melody that had a strangely non-percussive and therefore unbell-like quality. He had always been unable to conjure it up. Her absence had left a painful void somewhere in his heart that he felt no boy should be expected to bear—especially as the ache hadn't lessened with the passing months. In spite of himself, his eyes stung and his throat choked up.

  Something touched his mind, like soothing warmth flowing over frozen limbs. He glanced at Merlin, and caught Merlin's gaze on him, intense and sympathetic. The sorcerer spoke, and Peter realised he was using mind-speech only when he saw Merlin's lips weren't moving.

  "Don't grieve, Peter. She isn't dead. You'll see her again, I promise. And eventually all will be revealed. That I also promise."

  Peter blinked the unshed tears away. He swallowed to ease his aching throat. “Will everything be all right, Merlin—despite Sujad and the other Lords of Corruption?"

  To Merlin the mind-voice sounded more like that of a trusting but anxious boy than a Chosen One of the Earthlight. Despite the pain in his own heart at Peter's mention of his erstwhile friend's name, his normally somber features broke into a tight smile. “Of course it will, Peter; of course it will. Haven't we always come through with the power of the Lady behind us?” He put all the conviction of which he was capable into his reply—for he knew that the confrontation that had ended on Christmas Eve had completely drained the Lady's strength and that even now she wasn't ready for the coming struggle. But how could he admit his misgivings to Peter, for wasn't he—Merlin the Great One of the Earthlight and the fabled sorcerer of King Arthur's court—supposed to be Peter's protector and guide?

  At the reminder that the Lady was on their side—that she was part of the extraordinary power that constituted the Earthlight—Peter's face broke into the wide grin that made him so likable and his heart lightened. He felt again that rush of pride in the privilege of being chosen to take part in the Earthlight's mission.

  It was Bart clearing his throat that brought both Merlin and Peter back to the present. Merlin helped Peter mount his pony, then he and Bart swung themselves into their own saddles. Bart led the way.

  "Where are we going?” Peter ventured for the second time that day.

  "To the forest,” Bart replied before Merlin could say anything. “You haven't ridden through it yet."

  They rode in silence for some time until they came to the edge of a pine forest. There was an area where logging had begun, creating an unsightly scar on the landscape, and they avoided this. The next area they came to was a stand of young trees, conical in shape and planted in regimental rows.

  "That's my Christmas tree plantation,” Bart said. “I've got my eye on one for the farm this year. It's a real beauty. I'll show it to you on the way back."

  They skirted the Christmas trees and entered the forest along a bridle path. They rode in silence until Peter found the steady, if muffled, sound of the horses’ hooves mesmerizing and became aware of feeling sleepy. Then his sight blurred until he couldn't see much more than a gray mist. Frightened, he opened his mouth to warn the others.

  "Merlin—” The name came out in a croak.

  The reply came back in mind-speech. “You're all right, Peter. It's like that sometimes."

  Merlin reined in his horse and turned it to face Peter. Peter heard the rustling of leaves under the horse's hooves and looked towards the sound—and could barely see Merlin's horse. He appeared to be looking into a heavy mist. Then he noticed the thick carpet of half-rotted brown leaves under the horses’ hooves. A glance around showed the bright green of new leaves looming through the fog. The patch of mist swirled aside and he saw newly-clothed trees stretching in every direction.

  "Where are we?” he said in mind-speech.

  "In one of England's great deciduous forests,” Merlin said. “It's spring as you can see. Are you warm enough?"

  Peter looked down and found himself clothed in a heavy cloak similar to the one he had worn during their visit to the stone circle the previous year. No wonder he felt so warm!

  "Yes."

  "Good.” Merlin turned his horse and moved off.

  There was no discernible path and the forest seemed never-ending, but Merlin appeared to have no trouble finding his way. A while later Peter realised they were moving steadily uphill. At the top of the hill they came to the edge of the forest. Before them was a castle the likes of which Peter had seen only on television—a veritable fortress.

  Merlin, however, halted his horse at the forest's edge. He dismounted and the others followed suit. “You look after the horses, Bart. You should have enough cover here—and you know what to do if there's any sign of danger."

  Bart nodded, grim-faced, but otherwise made no reply.

  Merlin turned to Peter, his face also grim. “Give me your hand."

  Peter placed his hand in Merlin's outstretched palm—and it was the last thing he saw for many long seconds. He experienced the weird spinning sensation that told him something was about to happen. The next thing he saw was a thick stone wall with a heavy door set into it. Merlin hammered on the door with a staff that hadn't been in his hand moments before. The door was opened by an ill-dressed girl who reminded Peter strongly of the portress at the convent where he had first met the Lady.

  The pert insolence of her gaze vanished abruptly when she saw who had knocked. She made an awkward obeisance. “Yes, my lord? Can I help you?"

  "I wish to see your mistress."

  The girl licked her lips. Clearly she was terrified of Merlin.

  "I won't harm you, girl!” But the sharpness of his voice did nothing to reassure her.

  She licked her l
ips again. “The princess is—is asleep."

  "Then wake her.” Merlin pushed the door from her grasp and swept past her with a swirl of his cloak.

  "She—she—I'm much afraid she w-won't want to see you, my lord."

  Merlin's gaze bored into her like gimlets. “That's beside the point. I want to see her."

  A door opened partially to their right.

  "Merlin the Enchanter actually wants to see me?” a musical voice asked in amusement. “I'm extremely flattered."

  As they all turned, the door opened fully. Into the light from a tall, narrow window stepped the most beautiful woman Peter had ever seen. Pale red-gold hair shimmered over her shoulders and down her back like a fountain of melted-down sovereigns. The green of her gown set off the flawless ivory of her bare shoulders and the slender creamy pillar of her throat and intensified the color of her large, slanted eyes. The faintest hint of peach touched the silky down of her cheeks.

  While Merlin's eyes admired the perfection of the picture King Uther's daughter created in the soft light of a spring sunbeam, they also expressed the distaste he could never hide from her. In Peter's eyes, however, Morgause saw the admiration she was accustomed to when ordinary mortals gazed upon her. Her catlike eyes narrowed.

  "Ah! You have brought me a visitor,” she said with exaggerated pleasure. “He looks surprisingly like Prince Arthur."

  "When did you last see Arthur?"

  Morgause smiled broadly, showing two rows of perfect, white teeth. “That would be telling. I hope you had no intention of fooling me into thinking this boy is my half-brother, because you should know me by now."

  "I had no such intention!"

  Morgause walked slowly up to Peter, and the closer she came the more remarkable her flawless beauty became. With her gaze riveted to his, she made to place a hand under his chin.

  "You're nothing startling to look at,” she told him, although her eyes appeared to say otherwise, “but I don't mind what you look like. I like bold, brave men, and I know you're bold and brave or you wouldn't be standing beside the likes of Merlin the Enchanter."