Helmar snapped orders to her riders, and in moments every man and horse was out of sight in several scattered groves of trees. One man was a healer, and under his direction Helmar and Rafnir removed the shaft from Sayyed’s arm. Fortunately that part proved easy enough, for the arrow had pierced straight through the muscle on the back of his upper arm. The difficulty came in removing the arrowhead from his ribs. Demira’s wings had probably saved his life by slowing the arrow, but it still had struck with enough force to wedge between two bones. It took a long while to cut the skin, work the arrow free, and stitch the wounds. Although Helmar and the healer tried to be gentle, by the time they were through Sayyed was drenched with sweat and utterly exhausted. His hand reached out to grip Helmar’s, and he thankfully passed out into healing sleep.
The lady stared down at his hand, still dirty from clenching the earth in his pain, and her fingers tightened around his.
Afer gently nosed her. He will be all right.
“I know,” she murmured.
Rafnir looked up sharply. “What?”
She settled more comfortably beside the clansman, his hand still in hers, and sighed. “Just talking to myself.”
Sleep, the healer’s salves, and a warm meal soon restored Sayyed’s constitution. As soon as he could stand without getting dizzy, he insisted on greeting Demira and making much over her return. The mare confirmed Gabria and Kelene were in Zukhara’s fortress, and she told the men the sketchy facts she knew.
“Poisoned!” Sayyed said furiously. “Are you sure?”
That is what Kelene said, Demira replied. She was certain someone had come after them, and she ordered me to leave. Her mental tone still sounded aggrieved. I have looked for you all over these mountains!
Rafnir flung his arms around her neck, and that was all the thanks she needed.
The troop left the trees that night at Sayyed’s insistence, but the loss of blood had left him weaker than he thought, and he could ride only a few hours that night. They stopped again the third day in a wood only a few leagues from the fortress. Sayyed was too tired to argue. Although his impatience pushed him on, his body would not obey. The puncture in his arm was healing well, but riding had pulled the stitches in his side. Blood oozed from his bandages, and the wound looked red and swollen. Sayyed knew he would be no good to Gabria and Kelene if he did not regain his strength, so he ate his food, swallowed a draught provided by the healer, and went to his bed without protest.
Just past midnight the next night, the troop climbed a rocky hillside and rode down into a steep ravine. There on a high plateau overlooking the ravine, they saw the stark outline of several squat towers and the high stone walls of a fortress. On one side of the castle the cliffs fell sheer to the ravine floor; on the other a pale road wound its way up the steep face to the entrance.
“Good gods,” Rafnir breathed. “How do we get up into that?”
“By the front door,” Sayyed growled.
He conferred with Helmar for several long minutes and, when they were agreed, the Clannad riders dismounted. Silently and nearly invisibly, the warriors began to work their way up the road toward the fortress. Demira pushed aside her fear of flying at night and flew a reconnaissance over the fortress.
It is lightly guarded, she reported when she returned. And they are not paying close attention.
Sayyed and Rafnir watched the descending moon and gave Helmar and her warriors another half hour; then Sayyed trotted Afer openly up the road toward the fortress gates. Rafnir mounted Demira, and she launched herself into the darkness.
Demira was right, the guards were very lax that night. Sayyed rode nearly to the top of the plateau close to the gate before a voice called out to challenge him.
Sayyed replied in Turic, “I have messages for the Supreme Counsellor, Zukhara.”
“Not tonight,” grumbled a voice on the wall.
Sayyed shot a look over his shoulder to the dark, rock-tumbled edge of the road. A tiny flash, the reflection of moonlight on a dagger blade, signalled Helmar was ready.
“Sorry, but I really must see him now,” Sayyed snapped, and he raised his good arm and fired a powerful blast of magic at the wooden gate. To his astonishment, the magic struck the wood and evaporated. The entrance was protected with magic wards!
This arcane defence was so unexpected, Sayyed stared in surprise. Shouts echoed on the walls, and feet pounded along the battlements. The sorcerer had wanted to surprise the garrison, and all he had succeeded in doing was rouse them all. He tried again with a more powerful bolt. That one shook the gate and boomed against the stone, but the wards were new and well made, and they held.
Sayyed took a deep breath. He was weaker than he imagined, and the thought crossed his mind that maybe he wasn’t strong enough after all to break this gate. As if Afer had read his thoughts, the big stallion neighed, and someone slipped up beside the Hunnuli.
“Try again,” Helmar cried to the clansman.
He pulled in all the magic he dared use, formed it into an explosive spell, and released it from the palm of his hand. Before he could even draw breath, a second bolt followed his across the night-dark space and exploded just behind his on the portals of the gate. The wards vanished in a clap of thunder, and the wooden gate cracked to ruins.
The Clannad warriors charged forward, their swords raised, their voices lifted in battle cry. Behind the walls, Demira came to land on the stone pavings, and Rafnir, in all the confusion, sprang into the hall to look for the women.
Sayyed looked down at Helmar. too startled to think of anything to say. She smiled at him. “If you had been full-blooded, you might have learned that ‘clannad’ is an ancient clan word for ‘family.’”
“Your ancestors were clanspeople?” he asked, feeling rather dense.
“A long time ago.”
“But you have no splinter.”
“There are no more,” Helmar replied with a shrug. She touched his right wrist where his splinter glowed beneath his sleeve and ran to join her warriors in the fighting at the gate.
The garrison, undermanned and ill-prepared for a battle with sorcerers and sword-wielding warriors who came out of nowhere, quickly surrendered. As Sayyed and Helmar ended the assault and rounded up prisoners, Rafnir ran out of the hall, looking thunderous. “They’re gone!” he shouted furiously.
Sayyed turned on the commander of the fortress. “Where is Zukhara? Where are the women he had with him?”
The Turic drew himself up in pride for his master. “The Gryphon flies, and Lord Zukhara rides to claim his throne.”
“He did what?” asked Helmar puzzled. Sayyed had not gone into detail about the current unrest in the Turic realm. He assumed the Clannad knew.
“Lord Zukhara left this morning with the sorceresses,” the soldier explained as if to a simpleton. “Soon he will call his armies and march on Cangora.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
“A day!” Rafnir cried, totally frustrated. “We keep missing them by a day!” He paced back and forth in the hall of the mountain fortress, slamming his hand on a shield every time he passed it. The shield was a large one, hung on the wall for decoration, and it made a satisfying crash every time he hit it. “Why can’t we leave now?” the young man demanded. “The Hunnuli could catch up with their horses.”
He got no immediate answer. His father, Helmar, Rapinor, Hydan, and several other warriors sat around a long table in front of a roaring fire. A map of the Turic realm, unearthed in a storage chest by the garrison commander, lay unrolled on the table amid a scattered collection of flagons, pitchers, and plates. The rest of the troop rested, tended their horses, or raided the castle storerooms for food and drink. The fortress garrison kicked its collective heels in the dungeons.
Midnight had passed hours ago, and dawn would soon lighten the road, but Sayyed made no effort to move from his chair. There were too many forces in motion now to leap precipitously into action. He wanted time to think. He had already explained in detail to Hel
mar and her men what had happened at Council Rock and later in the caravan. They had been unpleasantly surprised. Still, in spite of their concern, Sayyed fully expected the mysterious Helmar to take her riders and return home now that their duty was done.
He was, therefore, startled when she spoke into an interval between Rafnir’s rhythmic banging. “If you plan to go after Zukhara, you will need help.”
A ripple of surprise passed through her men. Rafnir halted in midpace.
Instead of looking pleased, Sayyed’s brows lowered in suspicion. “Why? It will mean leaving the mountains, travelling in daylight. Why do you offer that now?”
Helmar slowly rose. Her helmet had been laid aside, and her hair blazed red-gold in the firelight. She swept her hand over the map, then looked at her warriors one by one. When she spoke, her words were only to them. “For generations we have lived in Sanctuary thinking the world had abandoned us. Now the world has come pounding at our door, and we learn it has changed while we hid in our mountain fastness. Knowing what we know now, do we want to continue to hide and let the world go by without us? Or do we ride forth and embrace the possibilities of the future?”
Her question fell to every man, and there was silence while each one considered his answer.
Rapinor spoke first, the loyal, staunch warrior who would follow his chief to the grave. “I go with you.”
“Have you considered the consequences. Lady Helmar?” asked another man.
“For the past three days, Dejion. I have also considered the consequences if we stay home and turn our backs. As Minora keeps telling me, we have grown stagnant. Our bloodlines are dying from lack of new stock. If we go back, we could lose everything our ancestors tried to save.”
“Then I will ride with you, and the gorthlings take the hindmost,” the warrior laughed.
“I still haven’t seen this Lady Gabria,” Hydan grumbled, “But you make a good argument.”
The others, too, agreed to ride with the clansmen, and Helmar nodded her satisfaction. “Then go. Talk to the warriors. Tell them why and say any who wish to go home may do so.”
The men bowed and left, leaving Helmar with only her two guards and the clansmen. She pulled in a deep breath and sat down so quickly her sword clattered on the chair. “Does that answer your question?” she said to Sayyed.
He leaned back in his chair, his legs stretched out in front of him. His arm hurt and his side throbbed abominably, but he wouldn’t go to his pallet yet. This night was too full of revelations. “What made you decide this?” he asked.
“The mare.” Helmar nodded toward the open doorway where the Hunnuli rested in the courtyard. “When I saw her in all her beautiful living flesh, I knew you had been telling me the truth — all of it. I realized then that our stone walls would no longer be enough. It is time the Clannad shows its true colours.”
Sayyed offered her a slow, conciliatory smile. “Will dawn be a good time to start?”
At that Rafnir’s hands went up in annoyance. “Why wait until then? They like to ride at night; let’s go now!”
“You may leave any time,” his father told him, “because I want you to go back to the Ramtharin.”
A bright flush swept over Rafnir’s face, and he turned on his heel and stamped to the table.
Seeing the look on his son’s face, Sayyed held up his hand. “I need someone I can trust to find Athlone. He said send a message, remember? Well, I’m sending you and Tibor. Get him to come south with the werods to help the Shar-Ja.”
The audacity of such a suggestion took Rafnir’s breath away. “You want him to bring the clans over the Altai? But the Turic will think they’re being invaded.”
“That’s why I want you to go. With you at Athlone’s side, you can tell the Turics you have been summoned by the Shar-Ja in accordance with the peace treaty.”
“A treaty that was never signed!”
“A mere formality. Make a likeness of the Shar-Ja’s banner. Dress like a Turic noble. Make it look official.”
“What if the Shar-Ja doesn’t want any help?” Rafnir demanded.
Sayyed rubbed his temples and said grimly, “I don’t think he is in any position to argue.”
Helmar had been listening to the exchange, her face thoughtful. “Can’t you take your flying horse? It would be faster, would it not?”
Rafnir picked up a full flagon and put it down again, still too agitated to stand still. “No. She can carry me short distances, but I am too heavy for her to carry such a long way. Besides” — he cracked a crooked grimace — “I doubt you could get her any farther away from Kelene than she already is.”
Helmar nodded as if she had already anticipated that answer. “Well, your journey back will be dangerous if you go alone across the open country.” She traced a line north along the foothills of the Absarotans. “One of my rangers could lead you on mountain trails all the way to the border.”
“Lady, that is generous, but I don’t think your horses could keep up with a Hunnuli,” Rafnir replied distractedly.
The lady chieftain laughed softly as if at a private joke. “On the mountain slopes you have not been able to witness the full talents of our white horses, young Rafnir. Be assured, the whites will match your blacks,”
Sayyed pursed his lips and looked thoughtful. “And I suppose your white horses are descended from clan stock, too.”
She nodded, her eyes merry. “Of course.”
When she didn’t add more, Sayyed bent forward, cupped his hands over hers, and said earnestly, “One day will you trust me enough to tell me the full truth of your history?”
Helmar’s eyes fell to their linked hands, and something flickered in the back of her heart, that same heart she thought she had hardened to the attentions of men. “One day,” she said and pulled her hands free.
Rafnir went back to his pacing, but this time he did not slam the shield as he passed — a good sign, Sayyed thought. The older sorcerer continued with his plans, letting Rafnir stew over his duty. “There is another favour I must ask, Lady,” he said, and hesitated before he went on. “It could be very dangerous, but it is important to me and maybe to the Turics as well.”
“Ask.”
“I need someone to get word to my brother, Hajira, in the Shar-Ja’s caravan. He is the sole guardian of the Shar-Ja’s only living son. That boy has to be protected at all costs.”
Helmar steepled her fingers. “I know nothing of this boy or the Shar-Ja beyond what you have told us, but even that little shines brighter than what I have heard of this Zukhara. I will find someone willing to go.”
“My lady, with your permission,” Hydan said, rising to his feet. “I will go. I speak a little Turic, and I owe Sayyed a favour for shooting his arm and making us late.”
The clansman looked around, surprised. He had not expected help from that quarter. “Can you find your way?”
“Hydan is one of the few who leave the valley on occasion to visit nearby settlements. He is a good man,” Helmar added. “His only faults are a temper he can’t control yet and an overreaching desire to protect what he values.”
The swordsman’s face turned red, but he did not waver when she asked, “You understand what you might have to face?” He nodded. “Then go with my blessing and ride safely.”
After that was settled, Sayyed, Rafnir, and Helmar bent over the map again to finalize their plans. Although Sayyed had made most of the decisions to that point, he was very interested to learn Helmar had a quick grasp of the worsening situation and a sharp mind for tactics. She was the one who suggested sending other rangers out to gather news and who pointed out a rough trail over the Khidar Pass that would take them directly to the Spice Road and cut off leagues of extra travel.
One point confused her though. “What will we do when we catch up with this Zukhara? What if he’s already joined his army of fanatics?”
Sayyed could only shake his head. The same thought had occurred to him with no brilliant inspiration to light its way.
“I won’t know until we get there,” he admitted. “So if I have any ideas...” He yawned, too tired to finish. The fire had burned low by that time, and everything that could be planned had been discussed. Sayyed’s swarthy face had washed to a greyish pallor, and he moved with uncomfortable stiffness when he stood. Helmar took one arm and Rafnir the other, and they led him firmly to a bed. He was asleep before they had pulled a blanket up over his chest.
The castle bailey was bustling with activity when Sayyed woke the next morning. After a quick wash and a quiet moment for his morning prayers, he strode out into the sunshine in time to say good-bye to Rafnir and his guide.
Rafnir had not verbally agreed to leave the search for Kelene and Gabria, but Sayyed knew his son well enough to hope he would accept the reasons for this request. He stood out of the way, his arms crossed, while Rafnir buckled one of the Clannad’s saddle pads on Tibor instead of the heavy Turic saddle.
“I’m trusting you to find Kelene,” Rafnir said, his voice sharper than he intended. He modified his tone a little and went on. “I never fully understood how you could grieve for Mother for so long, but when I think what it would be like to lose Kelene, I begin to see.” He clasped his father’s arm and sprang to Tibor’s back. “I will bring the Clans!” he vowed. He was about to go when he turned and tossed out one more observation. “Father! I think Mother would approve of Helmar.” He waved, and in a clatter of hoofbeats, the black stallion and the white cantered out of the fort and on their way.
“What was that?” Helmar asked, coming to stand by the sorcerer.
A quirk of a smile passed Sayyed’s lips. “He said good-bye.” He wasn’t sure why Rafnir would feel inclined to say what he had, and yet he thought his son was probably right. Tam would have liked Helmar. A gust of wind flounced by, snapping his cloak and sending dust swirling around the bailey in tiny whirlwinds. The sky was achingly blue and cloudless, but the air this high in the mountains was thin and still chilly in the mornings. Sayyed shivered as a finger of breeze brushed past his neck, “Tam,” he whispered. Then he glanced over at a straight nose, a dusting of freckles, and a pair of green eyes set in a frame of red-gold lashes — so different from Tam’s delicate oval beauty — and he was glad Helmar was there.
Winged Magic Page 19