by Maggie Furey
She ran faster than she had ever run before, galloping for her very life across the night sky. As she went, she noticed that the clouds were blowing up very fast from the west, and now covered half the sky in a menacing mass that was growing larger by the second, reaching from treetop level right up into the heavens. And she was heading towards it. In the midst of the clouds she could see flickers of lightning, and the wind was blowing up into a gale as the weather front advanced. Corisand dared to hope. Livid with rage though he was, would Ferimon dare risk the peril of such violent tumult? Even if he did, she stood a good chance of losing him in the thick cloud and, if she was really lucky, the lightning or the tearing winds might finish him for her.
If they don’t kill me first.
But there was no other choice. Hopefully the storm would give the rest of the Phaerie quite enough to think about, without any more of them chasing after her. It was exceptionally dangerous to fly in the midst of a thunderstorm. She had enough at stake to risk it, but she doubted that her pursuers did.
She turned her attention away from Ferimon and his followers and plunged towards the cloud - then suddenly realised, to her dismay, that she was not alone. Darillan’s mare, prettily marked in patches of white and coppery red, was galloping along at her side, showing an impressive turn of speed. Corisand’s heart sank. It was the herd instinct, of course. Naturally the mare - Corisand couldn’t think of her name - wanted to stay with the only other horse nearby, and of course all the other horses would insist on treating the Windeye as lead mare. This idiot animal trusted her to keep it safe, and instead she had led it straight into the worst possible danger. Quickly she grabbed the mare’s loose reins in her teeth and set herself to hang on tightly. At least she might be able to keep the two of them together - but that was all she could do.
If Corisand had known what it would be like inside that malevolent mass of cloud, she would never have entered. She shot straight into the heart of an inferno: a dark, chaotic maelstrom of searing lightning, deafening concussions of thunder, and tearing winds that buffeted and blasted her beyond all hope of control, sending her tumbling and reeling helplessly across the skies. Dimly, beyond the roar and thunder of the storm, she could hear the Huntsman’s mare screaming with terror, but all she could do was keep her teeth clamped around the other horse’s reins, and hope they would hold. She could see nothing but the lightning, which lanced through the clouds on every side, sizzling past them, horribly close. The ozone stink was overwhelming.
Then out of the murk came Ferimon, oblivious to the danger in his fury, bursting through the clouds on his screaming white stallion. Vikal arrowed in on her, and since she was hampered by the other mare, Corisand was forced to let go of her, before attacking in a fury of flashing hooves. One blow struck Vikal on the head, and with a grunt of pain the stallion lurched aside, leaving Ferimon open to her attack. Snaking her head out, Corisand plunged her teeth into his shoulder, trying to jerk him from the saddle as she had done with Darillan. Ferimon, however, was prepared for such a move. Clinging to Vikal’s saddle bow, he locked his legs tightly around the stallion’s ribs. Though he screamed in pain as her teeth grazed his collarbone, he kept his hold, immovable as a rock, even managing to briefly free a hand and strike out at her face with his fist - a hard, painful blow that left her sickened and dizzy with pain.
Corisand, in disengaging, tore a great bleeding chunk of flesh out of his shoulder. She had the satisfaction of hearing another scream, and seeing his face go grey with agony and shock. In disgust she spat out the mouthful of torn muscle, drooling and champing in an attempt to rid herself of the foul taste of blood.
Recovering himself, Vikal charged her from the side, goaded on by his rider, a demon with the fire of madness in his eyes and blood streaming down his shoulder, dripping from his hand. Corisand jerked herself violently aside, using a savage gust of wind to hurl herself away, and felt his teeth meet with a snap barely a breath from her throat. As she spun away she kicked out violently, and felt the satisfying impact of her hind hooves meeting his shoulder before she leapt back to a wary distance.
On the ground, had he been able to close with her, Vikal would have had the advantage, using his greater mass and strength to assert his dominance. Up here, however, they were almost equal, with Corisand’s speed and manoeuvrability giving her the edge. In addition, she had one other advantage: intelligence. She could think and plan, use her brains to outwit her foe.
Which was all very well, until she saw the sword appear in Ferimon’s hand.
Luckily I tore his shoulder - at least he can’t pull a bow.
But he could keep her from coming too close to Vikal, until the other Phaerie finally got over their fear of the storm and came to his aid. The two horses circled, fighting for position in the screaming wind, the stallion wary of Corisand’s snake-fast hooves and teeth, the mare heedful of the long bright blade in the rider’s hand.
A spear of lightning lanced between the combatants, blinding them with its actinic glare. And Corisand, blinking the dazzle from her eyes, spotted the opening she’d been waiting for. Ferimon lurched in the saddle, his sword arm trembling with the strain of holding up the heavy blade.
One hand for the sword, one trying to hold on to the saddle with a wounded shoulder - and he’s weakening from blood loss all the time.
Seizing the moment, Corisand feinted one way, then dodged in the opposite direction, using the force of the gusting wind to drive in, hard and fast, on the side that had no blade. Ferimon was lifted clean out of the saddle and vanished with a howl into the depths below. Vikal, caught off balance, was snatched by the gale and, spinning helplessly away, smashed heavily into a tree and plunged down out of sight below the forest canopy.
Corisand, through her own momentum, was beyond all control and seemed to be about to share his fate. In a flash of terror she saw the tree hurtling towards her.
No time to—
Even as the thought flared in her mind, a weight crashed into her from the side, knocking her out of danger’s path. The tree flashed past in a blur of green, its branches almost close enough to rake out her eyes. Straining every muscle in her body, she managed to right herself and get back under control. And who would have guessed it? Galloping at her side was Darillan’s red and white mare, whose quick action had saved her life. Infinitely grateful and relieved, Corisand took hold of the trailing reins once more, determined to stay with the one who had aided her. The fight was over. Vikal must surely be dead, and she doubted very much that Ferimon could still be alive. Now her only battle was with the storm. Utterly weary, bruised and spent from the conflict, the Windeye had to find a way to get herself and her companion safely to the ground.
Fighting the strength of the storm, she plunged downwards, dragging her companion with her, moving as fast as she could, heedless of the risk of crashing into the trees below. Somehow, despite being hurled about by the violent wind, she managed to keep a generally downward direction, until finally she almost reached treetop level. The storm had blown her so hard from her original course that she had given up all hope of finding Aelwen and Kelon again. Her only concern now was survival.
Just then, to her utter horror, she felt a peculiar ebbing sensation in her body. The flying spell was fading - and fading fast. Cold shock swept over her as she realised what she had done. Tiolani was unconscious or dead. The girl’s powers lacked the force and finesse of Hellorin’s magic and she had never created a safeguard, as her father had put in place, to give the Hunt that extra time to get safely home. Corisand, carelessly, had assumed that the spell would work as it always had. She had been wrong. Dead wrong.
Down. It was the only thought in the Windeye’s mind. I have to get down!
Tiolani was falling, tumbling through emptiness, her heart stuttering in terror, the sky and trees changing places in a spinning blur as she turned, raindrops pelting her skin with stinging force and the cold wind whistling past her face so fast that she could scarcely breathe. In
her tear-filled vision, the dark-green blur of the forest was looming closer and closer . . .
Suddenly horses were flashing down on either side of her, and her headlong plunge was stopped short as she landed on her back with a jerk that jarred every bone in her body. Gasping great gulps of air, she blinked the tears from her eyes to see the stars above her, and a cautious turn of her head showed her the four riders of a net team, who had swooped down and, with speed, skill and tremendous presence of mind, had caught her in their net before she hit the ground. Drenched, aching all over, sick and dizzy, her head still spinning, Tiolani turned over and vomited copiously through the meshes, into the forest below. Only then did she see just how close to death she had come. Had she wished, she could have reached an arm through the net and touched the topmost branches of the nearest tree. Tiolani felt a clutch of coldness in her belly. Her quick-witted rescuers could have anything that was in her power to bestow.
As her head began to clear, Tiolani heard shouting from above her. At first she thought it was simple concern for her - but no. They were not calling out to her, but to each other, and she could hear a definite note of panic in the voices.
‘Darillan! Catch him, someone.’
‘He’s too far away—’
‘What a dreadful way to die.’
‘The hounds! We’ll lose them. Doesn’t anyone know how to call them?’
‘Curse that demon horse.’
‘It must have gone mad.’
‘Put an arrow through it.’
‘No need. It’s heading straight for the storm.’
‘Ferimon, no, don’t follow.’ This last was Varna’s voice. ‘You’ll be killed!’
‘Ferimon?’ Tiolani struggled around in the net with difficulty, for the riders were no longer concentrating on holding it straight, and she was being tipped and tossed in the billowing folds. To her horror, she saw her lover, the hide of his white stallion gleaming luminous against the blackness beyond, being swallowed by the monstrous mass of cloud. The slower riders who had been following managed to peel away in time and turn back, but the foremost, like their leader, were pulled into the storm and lost.
‘No . . .’ Tiolani’s wail rang out across the skies. Her brother, her father . . . Not her beloved Ferimon, too. He must survive the storm. He must still be alive. He couldn’t die. Someone must go after him. He must be found at once.
Her rescuers, however, had other concerns. With the extra weight pulling on them, they had neither the speed nor manoeuvrability to escape the tearing winds, and were losing height fast. Suddenly the net smashed into the top of a tall tree, and though the folds cushioned some of the impact, Tiolani cried out in pain as she was scraped and battered by the clutching branches.
From above her came curses and flying instructions, then somehow they were all down in a scramble: horses, riders and a frantic Tiolani in her net. Even as she sank to the ground, weighed down and trapped beneath a tangle of meshes, she heard the slithering hiss of an arrow storm. Suddenly, it was as though she was back in the ambush that had robbed her of both father and brother. Her rescuers fell around her, Phaerie and horses crashing into the mud, bleeding and kicking up great gouts of earth in their death throes, mown down by the deadly hail. Karinon, the brave and handsome, with dark hair and flashing smile; Damascena, who had shared the tedium of childhood lessons with Tiolani; Roseire, with her love of jokes and mischief; and Sheran the dependable and strong. She had known them all her life. They had saved her life. They had been her friends.
Tiolani, pressed flat into the ground, was the only one to survive. Screams, bubbling groans, the sickening smack of arrows striking into flesh, the stench of blood and voided bowels: it was all so hideously familiar, except this time there was no Hellorin to save her, no Ferimon to comfort her. None of the other hunters had come down, as she had expected, to see how she fared. This time she was all alone.
It was unthinkable.
Fury, outrage and grief consumed her.
Harsh voices rang out above the roaring wind, with one that sounded both young and female raised above the rest. ‘Plague take the cursed weather! It’s going to be a bugger of a job butchering those animals in this rain. Evnas, Nira, Traig and Nurt, you make a start on that. Laika, Margeli, Thu, you help them. Be careful of the hides - we want them as near in one piece as we can get. Renol, Shaima, collect all the unspoilt arrows. Make sure you don’t miss any. Teluk, Sparay, Sirit, keep watch. You others, loot the bodies then help to pack up the meat for carrying. And don’t forget to grab the net - it’ll come in handy for all sorts of uses.’
Tiolani’s rage and sorrow froze into terror. Play dead, play dead. The words screamed in her mind. She closed her eyes, willing herself to be elsewhere - anywhere but this dreadful place. All around her, she heard sounds of activity as the ferals began their gruesome tasks. Nausea rose up into her throat at the stench of blood and ordure as the horses, so free and beautiful only an hour ago, were butchered, and she fought back tears when she was forced to listen as the bodies of her friends were casually despoiled.
‘See their cloaks. Surely this lightweight stuff cannot be warm?’
‘Well, they would need warm cloaks, flying up in the air like they do.’
‘Maybe they use their filthy magic.’
‘I used to belong to Phaerie who weren’t too proud to hand out their cast-offs to the lowly humans. The cloaks are warm, all right, and waterproof, too.’
‘And such beautiful clothes.’ The voice held a touch of pure feminine delight.
‘Are you going soft in the head, Arina?’ It was the voice of the girl who led the band. ‘What use will beautiful clothes be to us out here? So long as they’re warm and hard-wearing, it doesn’t matter if they look like potato sacks. It’s the food and the weapons that will do us far more good - and the fact that these bloody bastards won’t be killing any more of us.’
‘They’re carrying good swords and knives - not to mention bows just like the ones that back-stabbing turd Ferimon got for us so we could ambush the Forest Lord for him . . .’
In the coils of her net, Tiolani went rigid, her own dreadful situation forgotten in her horror. How could this be? It couldn’t be true - no, surely it couldn’t. Yet how did these monsters know Ferimon’s name? And they had no idea that anyone was listening, so why would they make up such a story?
‘We bought Ferimon’s bows with our blood. I told my father not to trust a Phaerie, but he wouldn’t listen, and it cost him his life.’ For a moment, the leader’s voice was swallowed in grief, then it hardened again. ‘I’ll never make that mistake. In future we buy our weapons with their blood, as we did today.’
There was a moment of silence, then someone, a man clearly seeking to lighten the moment, spoke up. ‘Hey, Danel, who’ll get this loot? Is it to be finders-keepers?’
‘In your dreams, Benon,’ the leader scoffed. ‘The weapons and other stuff will have to go where they’ll do most good, and that will have to be decided in council. And you may be sure that no one will be trusting a sword to the man who nearly cut his foot off when we stole that axe.’
A gale of laughter followed, and Tiolani ground her teeth with rage. How dared they? How dared they stand over the bodies of her friends, the butchered remains of her horses, and laugh? She wanted to kill them - but dared not try. She didn’t know how many there were, and she did not have her father’s power to kill a number of enemies with one spell. How she wished she had not been so lazy while growing up, dodging lessons whenever she could and counting on Hellorin’s indulgence to save her from her tutors’ wrath. Nothing could save her now.
Tiolani shrank within herself as she heard the voices drawing closer.
‘Get a move on, you lot,’ Danel urged. ‘Hurry up and finish stripping those corpses and don’t forget the one in the net. You lookouts - keep an eye on the skies. I’m guessing that the storm will stop the others coming back this way for now, but we won’t have long.’
Someone touched
her. Tiolani felt her flesh trying to cringe away from those intrusive hands, and it took every ounce of control that she possessed to remain as limp and silent as the corpse she was pretending to be. They had her surrounded now - close, so close - she was desperate to vomit from the human stink of them. Their filthy hands lifted her, prodded her, turned her this way and that as they tried to disentangle her from the net. Somehow, she kept herself still while they released her from the net’s folds. She didn’t move, she barely breathed, she didn’t make a sound. She let them paw and handle her, fighting down her fury and disgust in a desperate effort to survive.
All to no avail.