by Maggie Furey
When they began to remove her clothing, Tiolani finally betrayed herself. A gasp, a flinch - she had no idea what she’d done, but suddenly the dreaded cry rang out.
‘Hey! This one’s alive.’
Tiolani’s eyes flew open, as another voice cried, ‘I know her - it’s Hellorin’s daughter.’
‘Good,’ someone else said. ‘Then we can put an end to the bastard’s line right now.’
Above her, Tiolani saw the flash of a knife, but suddenly the leader shouted, ‘Stop. Wait. Don’t kill her yet. This wants thinking about. Just put her out of action for now.’
Tiolani never saw what hit her - a crashing blow to her head. There was a flash of light, and blinding pain, then only black oblivion.
Survival was the imperative for Cordain, once the Forest Lord’s Chief Counsellor. Demoted to a wary outcast in the Phaerie Court, he followed the Hunt nonetheless, for he deemed it wise to keep a close eye on Hellorin’s daughter. To his utter horror he saw her fall, saw the fate of Ferimon and Darillan and, with fast-beating heart, saw the net crew streaking down in pursuit of the plummeting Tiolani. Automatically, he turned to follow - then the calm pragmatism that had always proved so invaluable to Hellorin took over.
If the net-bearers could not reach Tiolani in time, then no one could. Meanwhile, with Ferimon, Darillan and their ruler having fallen, the remaining Phaerie were leaderless and milling in confusion, right in the path of the storm. Someone had to take command. Calling loudly with both voice and mind, Cordain rallied the hunters to him and by a miracle they obeyed, speeding away from the advancing bank of sinister cloud. His relief was short-lived, however. Even as they fell into place behind him, he felt the flying magic beginning to drain away. His horse dipped a little, then recovered, but he knew that the animal was working harder now to stay aloft and keep going. A wrenching feeling of grief and dismay joined the ebbing sensation of the spell. What had happened to his old friend’s daughter? Clearly the rescuers had not reached her in time. But was she merely injured and unconscious? Or lying dead and broken on the forest floor?
Cordain’s mind raced, his thoughts flying this way and that in panic:
With the flying spell weakening we can’t stay aloft in the storm.
If we aren’t dashed to pieces we’ll be stranded.
Ferals now have weapons to attack even a large group.
No protection from lost and scattered hounds.
On the ground, we change from hunters to prey.
The way became clear. He must save what lives he could. Leaving Tiolani and the net bearers to their fate, he gathered the remaining Phaerie and fled homeward at breakneck speed, in a desperate attempt to reach Eliorand before the spell ran out completely.
No matter how unstable she had become, no matter how badly she had treated him over the last months, he hated leaving her, and every stride through the sky was dogged by strangling feelings of guilt that pursued him as relentlessly as the advancing storm. Hellorin was his dearest friend and he had known Tiolani since she was born. Even in the privacy of his own thoughts he shied away from the stark truth - that the death of the Forest Lord’s daughter would solve a great many problems.
To Corisand, the battle with the storm seemed an unending nightmare as she fought against the swirling gusts, desperately trying to find a safe way down. Suddenly something hit her, hard enough to knock the breath out of her. The wind had hurled her into the upper boughs of a tree, pulling the other horse after her. Luckily this part of the forest was mainly evergreen. If she had tangled up in an oak, Corisand hated to think what might have happened. She might easily have been impaled, broken a leg or, worse still, her neck. As it was, the brittle upper branches snapped and splintered, and she managed to struggle free of the fir with only bruises and scratches to her name.
Her heart in her mouth, the Windeye set course upwards once more, dragging her companion after her. She began to wonder how much longer she could keep the two of them together like this. Her neck ached, and her jaws were nearly breaking from hanging on to the slippery, rain-soaked leather of the other mare’s reins. Yet what else could she do?
Keep going. The keening of the gale and the loud concussions of thunder hurt her ears, and made it difficult to think. The Windeye struggled on, soaked and frozen; fighting to maintain a height that kept her beneath the worst of the turbulence, but above the level of the treetops. Though her only concern had been to reach the ground, she must now strive to avoid hitting another of the forest giants. In lightning flashes, she could see that she was currently above a dense belt of woodland. She had no other choice but to persevere, and hope to hit a thinner patch soon, so that she could get herself and her companion down. Because of the thickly mounded storm clouds, the night was utterly black, so apart from the brief glimpses she gained during the flashes, she had no idea how close she was to the tops of the trees.
Corisand was peering anxiously downwards, ready to snatch all the information she could from the next split-second flare of lightning, when she sensed, with the extra intuition that seemed to come with being a Windeye, the presence of horses somewhere far below. As another flash split the sky with a streak of blue-white light, the veils of rain below her blew aside and she saw a pool that shimmered brightly in the lightning-glare. She glimpsed a clearing - a wonderful, blessed clearing - far beneath her and, without hesitation, she plunged downwards, hauling her companion (Halira - what a time to remember that) behind. Down here, the trees broke the force of the violent gale, and she managed to fight for enough control to glide safely down, though the ground itself was now obscured once more by the violent downpour.
She almost landed right on top of them. Just in time, Corisand wrenched herself aside as she saw the dim forms below, and came down hard in a fountain of mud. The ground was cut up in the centre of the clearing, and two dark corpses slumped nearby. There was the rank smell of a terrified horse, and the stench of blood and death. Something very bad had happened here, and she had put them right in the middle of it. She spun, ears flat, ready to fight or flee, and caught the glint of a sword in the murk. On the wind came the ringing challenge of a stallion, and then two voices, raised in surprise:
‘It’s not the Hunt.’
‘It’s only horses.’
Cautiously, two people emerged from the trees at the edge of the clearing, accompanied by a magnificent warhorse - an ordinary animal, not a Xandim, Corisand was disappointed to note - who clung as close to the woman’s shoulder as a shadow.
‘But where are the riders?’ the female of the couple said.
‘They would decide to land here.’ The male frowned. ‘These animals have been lost from the Hunt - they still glow with the flying magic. The bloody Phaerie will be right on top of us, searching for them, with these two in our clearing lit up like beacons to lead the enemy right down on top of us.’
Corisand was sure she’d seen his face before. He looked so familiar, but she couldn’t think . . .
The woman, however, was a complete stranger and, like the man, looked as though she had already been in a dreadful battle that night. Her clothes were torn and soaked through with blood and rain. Her hair hung in snarls, and her face was chalk-white with exhaustion. Corisand was impressed to note that she made a visible effort to rally herself, and deal with the problem. ‘I’ll put them with the others,’ she said. ‘If I tuck them right under the hawthorn and put blankets on them, hopefully we can hide that glow.’
She put out a gentle hand towards Corisand. ‘You poor thing, you’re cold, wet and scared.’ Her voice was the same low, reassuring croon that Aelwen used. ‘You’re safe now - no one here will harm you. Come along with me, and I’ll soon make you more comfortable.’
Corisand’s instincts, both horse and Windeye, said trust. These people were right - while she and her companion still glowed with the remnants of the flying spell, they were a conspicuous target from the air. She allowed the strange woman to put a gentle hand on her bridle, and permitted hers
elf and Halira to be led away.
Recognising Iriana’s superior touch with animals, Taine offered to stay with Avithan while she concealed the new arrivals. Fighting the rain and the wind that blew her hair across her face and made every step forward an effort, the Wizard led the horses across the clearing, trying not to alarm them with any sudden movements. They were splendid creatures, the most beautiful she’d ever encountered. One, slightly smaller than the other, was prettily marked in copper and white, while the taller was a beautiful grey with black legs, mane and tail, and dark dappling on her shining coat. Esmon’s warhorse, still acting as her eyes, was craning towards the newcomers and nickering a welcome, and as Iriana drew closer she realised that they were both mares, which accounted for his enthusiasm.
‘How in the world did you come to be here?’ she murmured to the two beauties. She loosed the stallion’s halter rope, counting on his interest in the females to keep him with the group and, using his eyes and moving carefully, she took the strangers beneath the sheltering hawthorn to tether them with the other horses.
‘Come along, my pretty ones,’ she crooned. ‘We’ll soon have you warm and comfortable.’ They were both trembling with shock and cold, and seemed to appreciate her attentions as she covered them with warm, dry blankets and fed them from the camp’s dwindling grain supply.
She knew she should hurry back to the tents. Avithan would need constant watching through the remainder of the night. But she felt an overpowering reluctance to return to the clearing, past poor Esmon’s body lying beside the corpse of his killer. Physically and mentally drained, Iriana paused - just for a moment, she assured herself - and stroked the velvety muzzle of the grey. Leaning into the powerful arching neck, she could feel the warmth and strength of the horse seeping into her; helping her to keep going for just a little while longer. ‘Just look at you, you beautiful creature,’ she murmured. ‘Now I finally understand why Hellorin sets such value on you - and why Archwizard Cyran is so interested in you.’ She ached with longing as she remembered poor, lost Dailika. ‘I wonder if you would let me ride you?’
It occurred to her that there might be a way to discover what had happened to the horses: she would look into their minds as she looked into those of her own creatures, and see if she could discover anything from their memories about the proximity and direction of the Hunt. Laying a gentle hand on the grey mare’s neck, she let her thoughts drift into the animal’s consciousness - but suddenly, shields slammed down and she found herself shut out.
‘Get out of my mind!’ The words, spoken quite clearly in mindspeech, echoed through Iriana’s head, startling her so much that she stepped back hastily. This was impossible! However, when she tried again to probe the mind of the grey horse, all she encountered were very firm, impassable shields. The animal made no attempt to speak to her again, but seemed to be scrutinising her with a look which was so intelligent and acute, she was sure that something more than a mere animal lurked behind that penetrating stare.
‘Did you just speak to me?’ she asked the mare out loud this time, as mindspeech would not penetrate the shields. ‘Did you just tell me to get out of your mind?’
The horse took a step backwards, looking as startled as Iriana felt. Then the Wizard was engulfed by a wave of joy and relief so strong that it almost knocked her off her feet, as the mare dropped her shields abruptly. ‘You heard me? You actually heard me? Oh, but this is a miracle.’
The astounded Corisand could barely contain her excitement. That she could actually communicate with this Wizard was good fortune beyond all her expectations. The surface of the other’s thoughts was dark with an agony of grief, but beneath it, the Windeye could feel a similar delight and astonishment welling up, together with acute curiosity. Suddenly her heart was filled with hope. Would everyone in Tyrineld be able to hear her like this? If so, she saw a new future stretching before her, filled with a multitude of exciting possibilities.
She came back to herself at the touch of the Wizard’s hand on her neck. ‘You did use mindspeech, didn’t you?’ the girl was saying. ‘I didn’t imagine it?’
Corisand moved firmly away from the caressing hand. If she was to identify herself as more than a simple animal, it was important to establish respect and dignity between herself and the Wizard from the very start. She looked her in the eye. ‘No, you did not imagine hearing me. My name is Corisand, and I am one of an ancient race, the Xandim—’
‘The Xandim?’ The girl interrupted with a gasp. ‘The lost race of shapeshifters? I learned about you in history lectures when I was a student at the Academy. But they said you were extinct, or possibly even a myth.’
‘Do I look like a myth to you?’ Corisand snapped.
‘I’m sorry, but that’s what I was told,’ the Wizard said. She smiled. ‘I’m glad it isn’t true. My name is Iriana, and I’m a Wizard from Tyrineld—’
‘Yes, I guessed as much,’ the Windeye told her, ‘when you mentioned Archwizard Cyran. This meeting is good fortune beyond my wildest hopes.’
‘But where have you been all this time?’ Iriana asked her. ‘The Xandim, I mean.’
‘A very good question,’ Corisand replied grimly. ‘Down all the ages that the Xandim were deemed to have been lost, we have dwelt in captive slavery in Eliorand, imprisoned in our equine forms by Hellorin, the Forest Lord.’
‘Merciful Creation! So all this time the Phaerie steeds have really been the Xandim?’
‘Exactly. And I am their Windeye, or Wise One, which means that of all of us, I am the only one capable of human thought and communication from mind to mind. I escaped from Eliorand, desperately hoping that the Wizards would hear me, as the Phaerie could not, and would help my people escape the bonds that Hellorin has laid on us.’
The eyes of Corisand’s companion had been growing wider and wider during this explanation. ‘Of course we’ll help you,’ she said. ‘I’m not very senior as Wizards go, but I’m sure that when you meet Archwizard Cyran, he’ll think of a way . . .’
The Windeye felt a flash of guilt and worry leap across Iriana’s mind. ‘I’m sorry, but I must get back to my companions who are both wounded, one very badly. Can we talk in mindspeech—’
‘There you are. I was getting worried.’
Iriana jumped and spun round. Corisand was astonished to see a fireball in her hand, raised ready to strike.
‘Whoa! It’s only me.’ The intruder stepped back hastily, hands raised in surrender, also staring at the fireball with undisguised curiosity. Behind his eyes, the Windeye could almost see his brain speeding through possibilities. With a stifled curse, Iriana snuffed the fireball. ‘Taine! What a shock you gave me. You almost stopped my heart.’
‘I should say that I was in the worse danger. Where did you learn to do that? Wizards aren’t masters of Fire Magic.’
Corisand had ceased to listen to them - her thoughts were otherwise occupied. Iriana had called him Taine? But that was the name of Aelwen’s lost lover. She had heard the Horsemistress and Kelon speak of him on occasion, and she had come to know him when Aelwen was working with her, or grooming her, and the two of them were alone. Taine was on Aelwen’s mind so often, and so intensely, that Corisand had been unable to avoid picking up the thoughts, once she had become Windeye. In fact, she had become almost sick of the subject - though a lot of the memories had been a fascinating insight into the courtship and mating rituals of the Phaerie. When she looked at him closely, she certainly recognised him from Aelwyn’s thought-pictures, though he looked older and more careworn now, and his face was pale and drawn, with black-shadowed eyes. From his torn and bloodstained clothing, it was clear that he’d been hurt in some way, and from the rank scent that still hung round him, the Windeye suspected an encounter with a bear. She shuddered. He was lucky to be alive. How tragic, if he and Aelwen had finally come so close to being reunited, and he’d been killed by a wild animal.
‘Corisand?’ Iriana’s voice in mindspeech pulled her back from her own thoughts
. ‘Can you speak to Taine as well, or am I the only one? I don’t think he believes me when I say you are a rational being.’
Corisand tried, but as she had half-expected, her thoughts only reached into Iriana’s mind. ‘Only you. I have tried to reach the Phaerie many times, with no success.’
‘Taine and I are going back to our tents now. We’ll talk to you from there. It seems that we have a lot to tell each other.’
‘Iriana, you don’t know the half of it,’ Corisand replied. But even before Iriana got as far as her tent, the Windeye succumbed to her exhaustion. Her legs folded beneath her, and almost before she could lie down on the soft, cushioning moss, she had fallen asleep.
29
DAYS OF JOY AND SORROW
Dael had no plans that night except to stay as close to the fire as he possibly could, which was why he was staggering up the steps from the cellar with a huge wicker basket filled with dry logs. ‘I’ve brought some more wood, Athina,’ he called, as he tottered into the main living chamber, his knees threatening to give way any moment beneath the weight of his burden.