The Pearl of the Soul of the World - By Meredith Ann Pierce Page 0,54

sluggish, cold."

Aeriel thought of the dark, oil-smooth waters of the Mere below.

"Remove it entirely, and you have winterock."

The Witch's gesture encompassed the whole palace. Behind her, Syllva and the others in barges below drew nearer the castle. Some of the Witch's lesser water-creatures swarmed about the barges, but without their mistress's will to guide them, their attacks had become clumsy and half-hearted. The bowwomen of Esternesse picked them off over the barges' rails. Aeriel hardly saw—for she stood gazing at the white, frigid walls around her, open-mouthed in astonishment at her new understanding: water.

More water than she had ever dreamed, enough to break the whole parched world's drought —if only it were not all of it dead, hardened, transformed into stone! Again she shook her head.

"But… even if you could reach Oceanus—" she started.

"I will," Oriencor cut in. "I have the Ancient charts. I know the way."

"But you'll be crushed!" Aeriel exclaimed. "Torn apart. No creature born here can bear the weight of that world." Oriencor sneered. "Do you really think me the weak and puny thing that once I was?"

Upon the shores of the Mere, Orrototo, leading her Ma'ambai and the other desert tribes, Sabr and her mounted bandits, Irrylath's eldest and youngest brothers, Nar and Hadin, and her own brother Roshka were making short work of the foe. Above, Irrylath and the rest of his brothers closed in on the two remaining icari. Calmly, the White Witch eyed her.

"The gravity of Oceanus might pull to bits, little mortal, but I have found a way to fortify myself against that Ancient tide."

Aeriel frowned, trying desperately to understand. The lorelei smiled a wicked, piercing smile.

Suddenly, sickeningly, Aeriel knew what she would say.

"Souls," the White Witch murmured, speaking the word as though it were delicious to her. "Souls to feed me and make me strong. That is all I require now: many sweet, struggling souls. I haven't had nearly enough of them yet."

Aeriel stared, speechless. Beyond the window, another darkangel fell from the air. Below, the Witch's forces were being routed and driven away. Some simply milled upon the shore until picked off by the allied troops not yet in boats.

The White Witch stood laughing at her. Staring into those cold green eyes, Aeriel felt a sudden horrifying suspicion grip her like a vise: it had all been too easy. The Witch knew. She had known all along. Deliberately, Oriencor turned back to the casement's view and sighed.

"A fine slaughter."

Shaking, Aeriel gazed down at the battlefield, expecting to see the lorelei's forces regathered in an instant to attack. Yet her monstrous crew remained in utter rout. Only isolated bands of resisters still fought. Directly below, Erin, with broad sweeps of the burning sword, attacked the doorless palace. Its crystal hissed and vaporized at the bright blade's touch.

"You don't," Aeriel stammered, mystified. "You don't seem to care."

The Witch glanced at her. "You mean that my troops have been slaughtered? I don't. They were supposed to be slaughtered, you little fool. Did you think I would really rely for long on soulless drones to defend me? They're far too much trouble to control."

Stunned, Aeriel felt her heart constricting painfully. It was she who had been the dupe, not Oriencor.

Beyond her, in the air, the last, wounded darkangel fled screaming. Irrylath's twin brothers, Syril and Lern, sped in pursuit. Arat, nursing a torn and bleeding shoulder, sat bowed in the saddle, his brother Poratun bending close to examine it. Irrylath turned his gaze toward the Witch's tower. Oriencor pierced Aeriel with green eyes as she laughed.

"Don't you realize this has all been for my pleasure?" she inquired, almost companionably. "I have allowed this battle, this massacre, solely for my delight. Mayhem amuses me. Ah, I see your little friend below us has breached the wall."

Looking down, Aeriel saw Erin cutting a wide entryway into the great doorless palace.

"As soon as they land, your forces will storm the keep," Oriencor said. "But they are not guided and protected, as you were, by Ravenna's pearl, are they?" Her laugh was deep. "Winterock will swallow them. Then they will wander, lost and shivering, for a time—not long—before I go to gather them."

Aeriel recoiled. The Witch's words unnerved her. Desperately, she glanced at the window. How long before the barges landed? Oriencor lilted on.

"Some of them will die before I reach them, which will be a pity—a great waste of souls. But I will have enough. Only the best and the bravest, the hardiest and most fearless of