Heritage Of The Xandim

by Maggie Furey

  He hesitated. ‘Lady . . . Do you think your father will ever recover?’

  Was he questioning her ability to rule? Or was he testing her in another way? Unease crawled down Tiolani’s spine. ‘We do not know.’ She looked away from this deadly stranger with the disconcerting eyes. ‘My father’s wounds were so grave, it was a miracle he survived at all. They say that they cannot bring him back into time for more than a moment or two because so many of his vital organs are malfunctioning, so they have given up that approach. Now they are trying to find some form of spell that will heal him all at once. If they cannot . . .’ She bowed her head, as if in grief, then suddenly her eyes snapped upwards and looked straight into the spymaster’s own. ‘Do you think I am responsible for his continuing decline?’

  Her attempt to take him by surprise fell utterly flat. Dhagon simply gave her an unfathomable look. ‘My Lady, I am the last person to believe you capable of evil. But if Hellorin does not survive, I must take steps to keep his intelligence network functioning for you, his successor.’

  Tiolani let out a breath that she did not know she’d been holding. ‘Thank you, Dhagon. I am glad of your loyalty, and grateful that you came.’ Belatedly, she remembered her manners. ‘Will you have wine? Or something to eat?’

  He shook his head. ‘Thank you, no.’

  ‘Very well, then,’ Tiolani said. ‘So what are your urgent tidings?’

  The spy leaned close to her and spoke softly. ‘For some time, rumours have been flying in Tyrineld about what is happening in our realm. They knew nothing for certain; however, the Archwizard Cyran has discovered of late that the Wild Hunt has been crossing the border between our lands with increasing frequency, and killing a number of slaves belonging to the Wizardfolk of Nexis - genuine forest workers going about their legitimate business. In order to protest the depredations, and also to find out why we have cut off all communication, he is sending a delegation to you here in Eliorand.’

  Those pale eyes became as sharp and cold as a sword blade. ‘Lady, if you will permit me to say so, killing those slaves was most unwise. Did you not think there would be repercussions? Did you believe the Wizards would sit idly by and let their minions be slaughtered?’

  Tiolani thrust out her jaw. ‘The Wild Hunt is accountable to no one.’

  ‘If that is your attitude, you’d better be prepared to deal with the consequences.’ His tone was flat and uncompromising. ‘Just as I have an agent in Tyrineld, it has now become evident that Cyran has also managed to place a spy in our midst. I have my suspicions as to his identity, and when I am certain . . .’

  For an instant his jaw tightened and those chill eyes flamed. Then the mask slipped back into place so swiftly that she was left wondering whether she had glimpsed the loathing and anger at all. ‘I will find this spy,’ Dhagon went on, and the chill tonelessness in his voice was far more terrifying than the earlier fireflash of emotion that he had let slip. ‘I will use all the resources at my disposal to root him out, and when I apprehend him . . . You have my promise, Lady, that the traitor will be screaming for death to take him, ere I am finished.’

  He took a deep breath. ‘In the meantime, however, we have more urgent business. Cyran’s delegates have already left Tyrineld, Lady. What will you do?’

  Tiolani’s hands, which had been resting lightly on the table before her, clenched suddenly into fists. ‘They may have left Tyrineld,’ she growled, ‘but I will see to it that they never arrive in Eliorand.’

  The spy’s pale eyes grew watchful; wary. ‘You play a very perilous game, my Lady. Are you truly saying that you want me to . . . dispose of them?’

  ‘Yes, do so.’ Her smile was as grim and mirthless as Dhagon’s own. ‘After all, the wildwood can be a dangerous place, filled with all manner of strange and deadly creatures. Travellers encounter them all the time. If Cyran’s representatives were to meet with an accident, how could we be blamed?’

  21

  KEEPER OF THE TRUST

  The Forest Lord’s stables shimmered like a mirage in the sunshine. To the unmagical eye the scene might have consisted of trees and clearings, bluffs and boulders and banks of shrubs, for the glamourie that disguised the Phaerie city was very strong at this time of day, when the sun was highest in the sky. In order for them to be able to function, the mortal slaves who laboured in the city were bespelled to see through the enchantment. The companion animals, the horses, hounds and hawks beloved of Hellorin’s folk, seemed immune to the deception.

  By this time, Corisand had grown used to seeing both illusion and reality. It was one of the many changes that were taking place within her since the feral humans had slain the old Windeye, catapulting her into this strange new life. Luckily, the Phaerie had left her alone to work things out. Since Hellorin was not able to ride her, she was still turned out into the far pasture with its own stable. Now that the weather had improved, five of the brood mares who’d already delivered foals had been put into her field, ostensibly to keep her company, though in fact they all seemed to sense the sudden, inexplicable difference in her, and treated her accordingly. Sometimes she felt even lonelier among the other horses than she had been when she was on her own. Occasionally she found herself longing for the old days, when she had led a life of simple pleasures, comfortable surroundings and the good companionship of the herd. But those days were over, never to return.

  If only Taku had called her back quickly to the Elsewhere, the problems of this world wouldn’t weigh so heavily, but months had passed while the seasons turned from late winter to early summer, and there had been no summons. Her two friends among the Evanesar had explained to her that time flowed differently between the two realms. She understood that they would not bring her back until Hellorin was distracted, and no longer looking for her. Nevertheless, she couldn’t help but be worried and impatient. And even worse, doubts had begun to creep in. Was it possible that she had dreamed the whole thing? Surely she could never have imagined the amazing, wonderful differences between her equine body and the human form that she had occupied in that other, magical world? In the face of all the doubts and difficulties, she somehow managed to cling on to hope and faith as the days slipped by.

  If there seemed no solution at present for that particular problem, however, there were plenty of others with which Corisand could deal. As a priority, she continued to work on her mental shielding. A technique of retreating into a safe place in her mind had too many limitations, for it would not let her function efficiently among others, or cope with the practical demands of everyday existence. So how could she protect her mind from the intrusive mental emanations of others, yet still reach out with her thoughts and senses to the world beyond? After a number of ideas had been attempted and discarded, she’d finally hit upon a workable method quite by accident.

  One fine day in spring, two of the Phaerie children had been brought down by their father to see the horses. The elder of the two, a little girl, had been enraptured, but her brother was much less impressed. While the elder child and the father were organising her first riding lesson, the boy wandered off, unobserved, and climbed on the fence of the enclosure that Corisand shared with the other mares. Corisand watched him closely, afraid that he might climb down into the paddock and be accidentally trampled, or kicked or bitten by mothers protecting their foals. She knew that she must be on her guard to protect the brat, for, if he should be hurt, the wrath of their Phaerie masters would fall on all her people.

  Much to her relief, however, the child remained in place. As she continued to keep an eye on him, he began to amuse himself with a little magic. Putting his thumbs and forefingers together to form a ring, he held them in front of his face and blew. To the Windeye’s astonishment, a gleaming, iridescent bubble appeared between his fingers and floated off across the paddock. Bubble after bubble he blew, which bounced and swirled among the startled mares, never bursting and continuing to hold their form, while the little boy sat on the fence and giggled with delight.


  Corisand ceased to be aware of the child, as an amazing revelation struck her. Was this the answer? Maybe her problem would be solved if she could place a similar kind of barrier around her mind; one that would let her observe and interact with the world and her fellow creatures on the physical level, while keeping their thoughts and emotions at bay.

  The idea was worth a try, but it turned out to be easier said than done. First, she had to work hard at her visualisation, in order to form her shield and make it function in the way she wanted, before learning how to maintain it in the face of all distractions. Time and again, her concentration would be broken at a crucial moment, the turmoil of outside thoughts and emotions came flooding back into her mind, and she would have to start all over again. Gradually, however, Corisand mastered the technique, and as spring blossomed into summer, she found that she could get her barrier to hold its form, and could finally call her mind her own once more. And with her protection in place, at last she could settle down in earnest to explore the ramifications of the new role that had been placed upon her.

  She had always been different from the other horses, she could see that now. As a youngster she had perplexed her mother, the equable Maiglan, for she was more intelligent and curious than the rest, always the first to stick her nose into trouble. She had been more stubborn and rebellious than the others, too. It had taken Hellorin himself to get a bit into her mouth and a saddle on her back, for only in the Phaerie Lord had she discovered a will to match her own. And now, at last, she’d discovered the reason.

  As the Windeye of the Xandim, a different world had opened up before her, ripe with possibilities and promise, yet with a set of challenges that were daunting in their immensity. She knew that, trapped as she was in her equine form, she could only scratch the surface of her new potential, and the same applied to the rest of the Xandim. Their enslavement had been far more cruel and complete than mere imprisonment. They had been confined as horses for so long that they had forgotten how to think and reason in the sophisticated way that humans could, and they had lost all memory of the history and heritage of their once-proud race. Deprived of their past, denied their future: what would become of them? As their Windeye, Corisand knew that no one could liberate them but herself. Yet, like her predecessors before her, she had already discovered the difficulty, ambiguity and frustration that lay at the heart of her role.

  In the meantime, without even noticing, Corisand had risen to the position of lead mare among her people. When horses lived in their wild and natural state, it was a fallacy that the stallion led the herd. They were always led by a mare, more wise and clever than the rest: the one with the ability to find water and fodder, the safest grazing grounds and the best possible shelter from the elements. While it was the task of the lead mare to guide and provide for the other mares and foals, the stallion’s role, apart from procreation, was to keep the herd together, and protect it from outside threats such as predators and other stallions.

  Corisand had never aspired to the role of lead mare, and did not do so now. She had been so caught up in her own private world of challenges and discoveries that she had not noticed herself gradually changing positions within the strictly hierarchical system of the mares. In the spring, when the new grass came and all the horses were put out to pasture, the others, who had once preceded her, were now standing aside to let her go through the gate first. She drank first; she had first choice of fodder. If it had stopped at that, she would probably still have remained blissfully unaware of her altered status. But then, most inconveniently, they started to expect her to lead them and, though horses did not have a sophisticated language of words, they were able to communicate their needs with sounds, stance, body language and subtle movements of ear and eye.

  They wanted her to let the grooms know that one of the older mares had taken ill and laid herself down in the long grass beneath the trees, out of sight and away from help. They looked to her to intervene in a squabble, when one mare took a fancy to another’s foal. They expected her to keep the peace within the little herd, to quell any bullying and make sure that the weakest had their fair share of the food and water. When an unexpected spring blizzard hit the valley of the Phaerie, they immediately assumed that she would find them the best place to shelter.

  It was very wearing. Time and again, she was tempted to chase them away, to ignore their needs, to make them leave her alone. But how could she? She was Windeye. No matter how unready she felt, they were her responsibility. If the tribe had been in its natural state, there would have been others to shoulder much of the burden: the Herdlord, and the Matriarch. But that was impossible now. It had been different for Valir, she realised. As a stallion, these problems would not have come his way. The group of mares would have found a natural leader amongst themselves. But now that she bore the Windeye’s mantle, they sensed the change and turned to her, and would not be gainsaid. She had no alternative but to sigh, shoulder the load and lead them as best she could.

  Corisand never considered that any of the Phaerie might notice that she had changed. Why should they, when the transformation had only taken place within her? In this, however, she had reckoned without the ever-vigilant Horsemistress.

  It was a beautiful day, and with the horses all out at pasture, the workload for the stables should have been considerably lighter than in the winter. Normally, the horses would have been fit and well, the new crop of foals thriving, and Aelwen would have been enjoying the sunshine without a care in the world. This year, unfortunately, it wasn’t that easy.

  She was deeply concerned about Hellorin’s condition. When a month had passed and brought no sign of a recovery, she had gone directly to his healers and demanded to know what was happening. They had explained their difficulties and counselled patience, and at first she had trusted their assurances that eventually the Forest Lord would recover. But as winter had run its course and spring had turned to early summer, she had found it increasingly difficult to believe them, and her suspicions that something was badly amiss had grown.

  To make matters worse, Aelwen was unable to get close enough to Hellorin or his healers to investigate further. These days, she was no longer welcome in the palace, for her relationship with Tiolani had gone from bad to worse. Since the reins of power had been thrust into her hands, that foolish girl had gathered her own clique about her: sleek, self-serving courtiers who hadn’t given two straws for her when her father had been whole, her brother still alive and she just an unimportant younger scion, and a daughter to boot. Once she had been given a taste of power, Tiolani, still in many ways a spoilt child, had no truck with those who tried to thwart her. Her relationship with Aelwen had foundered over the business of the Hunt, for Hellorin’s daughter had not taken kindly to being upbraided for the ill-use of the horses, and had given short shrift to Aelwen’s rebukes.

  Hellorin’s Horsemistress took her duties very seriously, and she was worried about the health of her charges. Also, she was losing sleep because she just couldn’t work out what was amiss with the Forest Lord’s favourite mare. Ever since she had returned from the massacre in the forest, Corisand’s behaviour had been odd somehow: nothing too overt, nothing that could quite be pinned down, and yet . . .

  With her brows knotted in a frown, Aelwen leant against the paddock fence, put one foot up comfortably on the lower rail and watched Hellorin’s mare with great concentration. What was wrong with the creature? None of the other horses involved in the ambush had returned like this. Some of them had been scared and skittish for a while, but that wasn’t Corisand’s problem. On the contrary, gone were the fidgets and the flashfire temper of old. Instead, the mare seemed almost oblivious to her surroundings for much of the time, walking round in a daze and standing for hours, simply staring into space.

  At first Aelwen had thought that Corisand was ailing in some way, but Hellorin’s expert equine healers could find nothing physically wrong with the animal. So what was the problem? If the Horsemistress had not known
better, she would have said that the mare seemed preoccupied with something - but no, that was ridiculous. A horse deep in thought? The very idea was laughable, impossible. And though Corisand’s fits of temper had gone, Aelwen couldn’t say that her temperament had actually improved. When she wasn’t ignoring her grooms, it seemed as though she actually hated them. To the experienced eye, her loathing could be read in her white-rimmed eyes and flattened ears, yet she made no effort to kick or bite her handlers, or threaten them in any way. Even stranger was the fact that, without apparently having made the slightest effort, this irritating animal had somehow become the leader of the mares. Experienced as she was in the ways of horses, Aelwen could see absolutely no reason for this change in the hierarchy of the herd. And there had been one other peculiar thing, one that she had never dared mention to Kelon or anyone else.