Heritage Of The Xandim

by Maggie Furey

  Esmon, however, scarcely gave his companions time to catch their breath. ‘Get this camp pitched. We won’t be lighting a fire tonight. We’ll manage all right with our night vision, but I want everything sorted out and under cover before nightfall. Beneath that big chestnut tree is best for the tents - that should hide them from the air - and keep those horses well out of sight, Iriana.’ Though she was tired, Iriana went to work with a will. The sooner they dealt with the camp and the animals, the sooner they could eat something and get to sleep.

  As usual, they fell efficiently into their routine, and Iriana picketed their horses beneath a huge old hawthorn that stood near the bank of the stream where it flowed out of the pool. After their quarrel on the first night in the forest, Avithan had been careful to see to his own tasks and allow her to get on with hers, and the only time Iriana felt a twinge of regret about the new arrangements was when she had to remove the weighty, unwieldy saddles. Her own Dailika was easy enough to deal with, but Avithan and Esmon rode bigger horses. As Iriana reached up and pulled off Esmon’s saddle, the additional weight made her stagger slightly, and a loose stone turned and rolled under her foot. She stumbled two steps backward, teetered, toppled, and, with an enormous splash, fell flat on her backside in the stream, with the saddle resting on top of her. ‘Bugger! Shit, arse, pox, plague and sod it.’ All this time with Esmon had been improving the scope of Iriana’s vocabulary no end.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Esmon and Avithan came running up. Though their faces were a picture of concern, their eyes sparkled with mirth and their lips were twitching in a desperate attempt not to laugh.

  Even though Iriana was using Seyka’s eyes, she still managed to turn a fulminating scowl in their direction. ‘What the bloody blazes are you clowns waiting for? Get this blasted thing off me.’

  The two men made the mistake of catching each other’s eyes, gave up the unequal struggle and roared with laughter. Avithan, helpless, mopped at streaming eyes while Esmon simply sat down on the ground, clutching his ribs.

  Iriana, her face hot with mortification, abandoned any hope of help from the pair of grinning morons and managed to roll out from beneath the saddle herself. As she climbed out of the water, she was suddenly filled with a wonderful warm glow of camaraderie and belonging. If this had happened when their journey started, the two men would have been falling over themselves to pick her up, dust her down, make sure that she hadn’t hurt herself. Now, at last, she had truly become one of them: a member of the team who could pull her own weight, take care of herself - and be laughed at. Dripping and delighted, Iriana joined in the mirth.

  ‘Time to wake up. It’s your turn to watch.’

  ‘What . . . ? Oh. All right, Avithan. Give me a minute, I’m coming.’ Iriana rolled over carefully in the cramped confines of her tent and wormed her way out of her blankets. She groped for her warm coat and shrugged into it, then found the edge of the doorway by touch and crawled out of the shelter, sending a mental call to Melik as she did so. Seeking the cat’s mind with her own, she found him nearby, and settled happily into their habitual bonding. As she looked out of his eyes, she saw the forest floor through the monochromatic light and dark of feline night vision. He was slinking through the bushes, heading towards the dim shapes of the tents that he could see between the leaves and branches.

  Suddenly, Iriana saw herself and Avithan as Melik burst through the bushes into the clearing. ‘That’s better,’ she said with a smile for her fellow Wizard, knowing that he had been waiting, as was his tactful wont, until she could see him before starting a conversation.

  ‘Here.’ He held out a cup of water. ‘That should wake you up a bit. I wish it could have been a cup of hot taillin, but it was the best I could manage with no fire.’

  ‘Thanks - it’s just what I need.’ Iriana lied. She would have killed for taillin, but she took the cup and sipped.

  ‘Esmon picked his time to start doing without fires,’ Avithan said. ‘It’s getting colder the further north we go.’

  ‘And this is the coldest night so far.’ Putting her cup down, Iriana pulled her coat more closely around her. ‘Oh, drat. I left my gloves in the tent. Could you fish them out for me, please?’

  The fact that she had asked him demonstrated the change in their relationship. Formerly, she would have been too determinedly independent to ask for help. Formerly, he would have been offering to get her the gloves before she’d even had time to think of it herself. Recently, however, she had been surprised and pleased to notice that Avithan was giving her more credit for being able to manage her share of all their little tasks of survival, and as a result, she’d begun to be a little more relaxed about letting him help her occasionally. Also, now that they had ceased their constant bickering, Iriana was beginning to find his company very congenial - though she was scarcely ready to admit it as yet, even to herself.

  Now, it occurred to her how handsome Avithan looked in the firelight. While they were travelling, he had started to grow a beard, and it suited him. Why had she never really noticed him before? Because she’d been too busy fending him off, she realised; trying to guard her independence from his stifling attempts to take care of her. Well, maybe it was time to stop evading him. Maybe she should try taking care of him for a change, and see how he coped with that.

  Right now, for instance, he looked tired out, and it was high time he left her and got some rest. ‘Go on, Avithan,’ she told him with a smile. ‘Get into your tent and go to sleep. It’s my turn to watch now.’

  ‘All right. Goodnight, Iriana. Have a peaceful watch.’ To her utter astonishment, he leant over and kissed her lightly on the lips - then disappeared swiftly into his tent before she could either reply or respond.

  For a moment, the Wizard sat open-mouthed, staring at Avithan’s tent through Melik’s eyes. The thin moonmoth silk walls glowed faintly with magelight, and she could see his shadow moving about as he wriggled into his blankets. What in Perdition did he think he was playing at? she thought indignantly. Kissing her out of the blue like that, and then, just when she was starting to like it, vanishing off to bed without a word? For a moment she had an overwhelming urge to call him out again to demand an explanation and - she suddenly found herself grinning - maybe give him a taste of his own medicine by kissing him back.

  Then the inward voice of her sensible self took control, reminding her that she was supposed to be on watch now, and was responsible for the safety of the camp. Besides, she ought to think about this interesting new development a little before taking any action. It might only be an affectionate little kiss after all, in which case it wouldn’t do to make a fool of herself by reading too much meaning into it. Nevertheless, the grin refused to leave Iriana’s face as she settled down to watch, and she felt a pleasant warmth inside that more than compensated for the lack of a campfire.

  Dhagon, hidden above Avithan and Iriana in the broad limbs of the chestnut tree, watched this tender little scene with contempt. These two pathetic idiots deserved to die. And they were still letting the blind girl take watches! It was utter lunacy on Esmon’s part. He looked down at the creature with distaste. Imagine the Archwizard having the nerve to send such a flawed freak of nature as his representative to the Phaerie Court. Had she been one of our race, he thought, she would have been strangled as soon as the deformity had been discovered.

  As the one called Iriana settled down to guard the camp, Dhagon wondered if he should begin with her. She would be easy prey. No trouble at all. But there was always the chance that she, or one of those filthy creatures that she used as eyes, might let out a sound and awaken the Warrior Esmon - who would immediately call Avithan, and then Dhagon would have two men to fight. No, that wasn’t the way. Even though the danger was small to a trained killer like Dhagon, the best option was always to take no risk at all. He would wait until Esmon came on watch and kill him first. With the only Warrior among them dead, the other two would be easy pickings.

  The assassin licked his lips, h
is body tingling with anticipation. For days now he had shadowed these fools, using the Phaerie spells of glamourie to hide himself from the Wizards and from the girl’s accursed animals - he’d learned from his mistake the first night when that foul cat had almost seen through his spell. Every night since, he had spied upon their camp, listening to them talk, tucking away all sorts of information about the Wizards of Tyrineld and their defences and, thanks to Cyran’s peaceful policies, their paucity of trained Warriors.

  Tiolani was going to be very interested in that.

  Dhagon hoped he’d not left it too late and let his quarry get too close to the border. It was important that they should be killed while they were still within the realm of the Wizards - he planned to make it look as though they had been attacked by an animal, by dragging the corpses to the vicinity of a bear den and letting nature take its course.

  Time went by while he hid in his tree with the deadly patience of a spider, making his plans and waiting for the right moment to put them into action. He could have killed them with magic, of course, but Cyran and his Wizards would be able to detect the traces of the spells, and know that Phaerie had been involved. Besides, he preferred his butchery to be more intimate: the deadly glitter of cold steel, and the gush of warm blood across his hands. And apart from the sweet joy of killing, there was also the girl. Dhagon began to entertain himself with ideas of taking her. Without her sight, she would be utterly helpless and in his power - exactly the way he liked his women. The killer ran his tongue over his lips in anticipation. They were best when they were afraid; resisting. Their terror and struggles gave a delicious edge to his pleasure. And when you added pain: that was the best of all. Once he had killed the two men, he would have all the time in the world to torture her, and take every pleasure he wished. He knew the tricks of keeping his victims alive while he toyed with them.

  Finally Iriana roused Esmon, and Dhagon’s killer instincts snapped alert. Irritably he waited, wishing that the blind girl would make haste and go to bed. Then he tensed as he heard what she was saying. The wretched creature was still blathering to Esmon about feeling uneasy, as though she were being watched. The Warrior replied patiently, but sounded a little weary of the whole business. Dhagon observed and listened, his lip curled with scorn. That impaired slip of a girl has better instincts than you, he thought. Soon you’ll be sorry you ignored her - and so will she.

  Once the girl had gone into her tent, the assassin bided his time for a good while longer, to make sure she was well and truly settled and asleep. Then, soundlessly, he slid down from his perch and crept up behind his victim. At the last instant, Esmon seemed to realise that something was wrong. But before he could raise the alarm or reach for his weapon, Dhagon’s knife sliced across his throat, then plunged into his heart.

  26

  STORMFLIGHT

  At nightfall Corisand waited in the stable yard with Aelwen and Kelon until the other grooms had taken the rest of the horses into the tunnel entrance. Once they were safely out of sight, Aelwen crossed the yard and ducked into the smaller stable, emerging with Taryn and Alil, each laden with bulging saddlebags and with blanket rolls strapped behind their saddles. To Corisand’s surprise, she also saw another mare, the very flashy (in Corisand’s opinion) strawberry roan named Rosina, who was laden with packs and tied to Taryn’s saddle with a long tether.

  Kelon raised his eyebrows. ‘You want to take a packhorse? Aelwen, are you sure about this? An extra animal to control could be a dreadful liability while we’re trying to escape.’

  ‘I wasn’t thinking so much about a packhorse as a brood mare,’ Aelwen replied. ‘She’s just been to the stallion, Kelon. I thought if we could manage to take her with us, we could continue the line of Hellorin’s horses in Tyrineld, or wherever we end up. We would never leave Taryn or Alil behind, but from a breeding point of view, where’s the advantage of having two stallions and no mares?’

  Kelon considered briefly, then nodded. ‘It’s worth a try. Come on, then. We’d better hurry.’

  They set off, Kelon leading Corisand in front, while Aelwen came behind with the other horses. Behind the stables was a low cliff where the hillside fell away steeply, and set into the face of the escarpment was the entrance of the tunnel. Steadily they began to climb up the wide, curving way, and as he led Corisand on, Kelon looked over his shoulder and grinned. ‘I notice you just happened to choose that precious pink mare of yours.’ With her coat a mixture of deep fiery chestnut and white hairs, Rosina did seem to have a rosy blush. Aelwen scowled at him. ‘She’s a very good mare, and I think her colour is beautiful. Do you have a problem with that?’

  ‘Me? Not a bit,’ Kelon chuckled. ‘I think Corisand does, though.’

  Corisand did. When she saw Aelwen with Rosina, she felt an unanticipated pang of jealousy and, even while castigating herself for being stupid, she couldn’t resist turning her head to put her ears back at the other mare.

  Aelwen chuckled. ‘Would you look at that? Still, it won’t be a problem to us, as Corisand isn’t coming. I would love to take her, but even if Tiolani had not been riding her tonight, we’d never be allowed to get away with Hellorin’s own mare. They would hunt us to the ends of the earth.’

  Kelon shrugged. ‘Besides, what would be the point of taking her? She’s just rejected every stallion in the place. Ouch!’ He jumped. Corisand had nipped his arm.

  All the time they had been talking, they had been climbing within the underground passageway, moving up through the hillside beneath the city. The walls and floor of the tunnel had the smooth, perfect look of any structure that had been carved out by magic, though the floor was covered with a thick layer of sand, to prevent the horses from slipping. The ceiling arched high above, leaving lots of headroom. The lamps, filled with captive lightning, crackled and buzzed as they cast their brilliant bluish light across the passage, and the ozone smell tickled the nostrils of horses and riders alike.

  Eventually, Aelwen halted the other horses in the shadowy mouth of the tunnel, and let Kelon and Corisand go on ahead. They emerged into the courtyard before the palace, with Kelon keeping a firm grasp on the mare’s bridle. Corisand discovered a very different scene from the last Wild Hunt she had attended. Everything felt wrong tonight, and out of place: the mildness of the evening, with its scents of sun-warmed vegetation, the luminosity of the summer sky, with a golden crescent moon overhead, and some ominous-looking banks of dark cloud forming on the western horizon. It was all so different from the crisp, frosty air and velvet blackness of a winter’s night. Beyond the city, the soft, rounded outlines of leafy treetops marked the forest, instead of the intricate lacework of winter-bare boughs.

  Even the hunters themselves had changed. Gone was the atmosphere of anticipation; gone was the savage joy. On previous Hunts the courtyard had been brimming with excited, chattering Phaerie, but now only a grim handful remained, the weaker of them held to their purpose by fear of Tiolani, and the stronger - mainly those who had lost friends or kin in the ambush - filled with a merciless, driven sense of purpose, desperate to find more wild humans on whom to wreak their revenge. There was no sense of pleasure here any longer - only the vicious desire to hunt, and maim, and kill.

  A sudden silence fell across the courtyard, and Corisand looked up to see Tiolani standing alone at the top of the steps. She too had changed out of all recognition from the excited young girl with nothing in her life to worry her save acquitting herself well on her first Wild Hunt. Now she had aged and hardened.

  Corisand, with her Windeye’s senses, could perceive the aura of darkness that surrounded her; could smell the miasma of bitterness and bloodlust and hate. The mare shuddered and, for a fleeting instant, felt unprecedented doubt. Would it really be wise to cross this dangerous, unpredictable creature whose very sanity was in question?

  Then her head came up, and her pride took command.

  I am Corisand. I know things, O daughter of Hellorin, that you could barely imagine. Your father might
have bested me when I was a dumb beast and knew no better, but you will never master me!

  Kelon led Corisand forward as Tiolani descended the steps, and all eyes were upon them as they met. A silence had fallen in the courtyard. With a curt nod to the stony-faced head groom, Tiolani went to put her foot in the stirrup. Corisand laid back her ears and sidestepped.

  ‘Hold her, you fool!’ Tiolani, in temper, lashed out at Kelon with her whip, and a red line opened on the side of his face. Corisand smelled the blood, and felt the slow boil of building anger within her. You’ll pay for that, she thought, but for the present, so as not to get Kelon into more trouble, she decided to stand quietly and let Tiolani mount. Kelon let go of the bridle and stepped well back out of range, and Corisand felt Tiolani’s legs clamp her in a vicelike grip and her hands tighten on the reins, ready to deal with any trouble. Smirking to herself, the Windeye stood, meek and obedient as the gentlest old nag, and listened to the murmurs of surprise, coupled with respect for Hellorin’s daughter, that were running round the courtyard. How had Tiolani mastered her father’s untameable horse with such ease?