“You have the ability to save yourself, Bane. But first you must conquer fear.”
Falling rapidly, seeing below him floating pieces of debris from the elven ship and below that the black clouds of the Maelstrom, Bane went stiff and rigid with fright.
“I … I can’t, father,” he whimpered.
“If you can’t, then you will die, which will be all to the best. I have no use for a son who is a coward.”
All his short life, Bane had striven to please the man who spoke to him through the amulet, the man who was his true father. To win the powerful wizard’s approval was his dearest wish.
“Shut your eyes,” was Sinistrad’s next command.
Bane did so.
“Now we are going to work the magic. Think to yourself that you are lighter than the air. Your body is not solid flesh, but airy, buoyant. Your bones are hollow, like a bird’s.”
The prince wanted to laugh, but something inside told him if he did so he would never be able to control it and would drop to his death. Swallowing the wild, hysterical giggling, he tried to do as his father commanded. It seemed ludicrous. His eyes wouldn’t slay shut, but kept flying open to watch in panic-stricken desperation for a bit of debris to cling to until he could be rescued. The wind rushing past made his eyes tear, however, and he couldn’t see clearly. A sob welled up in his throat.
“Bane!” Sinistrad’s voice flicked through the child’s mind like a whip.
Gulping, Bane squinched his eyes tightly shut and tried to picture himself a bird.
At first it was difficult and seemed impossible. Generations of wizards long dead plus the boy’s own inherent skill and intelligence came to Bane’s aid. The trick was to banish reality, to convince the mind that its body did not weigh sixty-some rock, that it weighed nothing or less than nothing. It was a skill most young human wizards must study years to attain, yet Bane was having to learn it in seconds. Mother birds teach the young to fly by tossing them out of the nest. Bane was acquiring the art of magic in the same way. Shock and sheer terror jolted his natural talent into taking over and saving him.
My flesh is made of cloud. My blood is fine mist. My bones are hollow and filled with air.
A tingling sensation spread through the prince’s body. It seemed as if the magic was changing him into a cloud, for he felt weightless and airy. As this feeling increased, so did his confidence in the illusion he was spinning around himself, and the magic in turn increased, growing stronger and more powerful. Opening his eyes, Bane saw to his delight that he was no longer falling. Lighter than a snowflake, he was drifting in the sky.
“I’ve done it! I’ve done it!” He laughed gleefully, flapping his arms like a bird.
“Concentrate!” Sinistrad snapped. “This is not play! Break the concentration and you lose the power!”
Bane sobered. His father’s words had not affected him so much as the sudden frightening sensation he’d experienced of growing heavier again. Resolutely he set his mind to its task of keeping him afloat among the wispy clouds.
“What do I do now, father?” he asked, more subdued.
“Remain where you are for the moment. The elves will rescue you.”
“But they tried to kill me!”
“Yes, but now they will see that you possess the power and they will want to take you to their wizards. That will lead you to their court. You may as well spend some time there before you return to me. You might gather useful information.”
Bane gazed upward, trying to see what was happening on the ship. All that was visible to him from his angle was the underside of the hull and the half-spread wings. The dragonship was still falling, however.
Bane relaxed, floating in the air, and waited for it to come to him.
CHAPTER 27
DEEPSKY, DESCENDING
HUGH AND ALFRED CROUCHED AT THE FOOT OF THE STAIRS. THEY COULD HEAR THE elves searching the ship; they heard the elf captain’s conversation with Bane.