Exodus of the Xandim (GOLLANCZ S.F.)

  ‘Hmmm . . .’ Ardea’s dark, gimlet eyes flicked up towards the Wizard. ‘This is good work, and I can see how much thought and care you’ve put into it. You must have had help – or did the Wizards train you in the art of harp making?’

  ‘I almost wish they had,’ Yinze admitted, ‘for I discovered a fascination with the craft. But no, I had no training in such work as this. Crombec taught me the basics, but without his considerable aid, I would have lacked the skill to complete such a project. And—’ He felt his face growing warm. ‘Without Kea’s help I would never have managed.’

  His teacher raised a feathery eyebrow, and the Wizard caught the shadow of a smile. ‘I dare say,’ Ardea said. ‘The question is – does your harp work for you? Does it do what you intended?’

  Relief washed over Yinze. He knew how sceptical his mentor had been about this project. Now it seemed that she was prepared to give him a chance to prove himself. ‘Indeed it does, Master Ardea,’ he said eagerly. ‘In my natural powers of Earth magic we deal with such concrete factors all the time, and I had begun to wonder if I would ever be able to grasp – literally as well as figuratively – the more abstract energies of Air. But this harp allows me to use a solid object to make the air vibrate, forming sounds and giving me a bridge between Earth and Air, between the seen and the unseen. I’m still working out all of the ramifications, but I already know that it’s finally giving me the control I’ve been lacking.’

  ‘Demonstrate.’ Ardea thrust the harp back into his hands.

  Almost limp with relief, for he had not been sure that his mentor would accept what must seem to her like a radical and unnecessary scheme, Yinze took back his creation and, because he preferred to play standing rather than sitting, looped its strap around his right shoulder and under his left arm to hold the instrument in playing position in front of him, so that the soundboard rested on his chest. The power he had poured into it during its making vibrated through his arms and into his body.

  He had thought long and hard about what would make a good, dramatic demonstration of his control, and the potential of the harp. Taking a deep breath, he sharpened his focus on the instrument, feeling the smooth curve of the wood beneath his hands. Then he touched the strings, the sleek pressure of the tensioned strands cool against his fingertips, and called forth a glissade of silvery notes. Mingling his newly learned Air magic with his native powers of Earth, and using the music to form a conduit between both, he made the notes visible: a drifting rain of many-hued, crystalline flowers that opened in the vault of the ceiling and floated gently down through the air, their glittering petals opening as they fell. They touched the ground lightly and lay there for a moment, glistening like frost, before vanishing in a waft of glorious perfume.

  Ardea applauded. ‘Very pretty,’ she said drily, ‘but can it do anything useful?’

  What use is any of this blasted Air magic? Yinze thought sourly, but was careful to hide the thought too deep for her to find. Instead he smiled easily. ‘Of course,’ he said. He began to play again, making the tempo more lively and forceful this time. Jaw rigid with concentration, he moulded the music, not making it visible, as he had done in his previous demonstration, but using it as a focus for the Air magic. He let the power coil around him and tightened it until it formed a network around his body, then he let it spiral upwards, lifting him gently off the ground and raising him up towards the ceiling.

  Yinze fought down the instinctive clutch of fear in his stomach and kept his attention fast upon the music, looking down at the open-mouthed Ardea with what he hoped was a casual smile. ‘See? With my harp, even a wingless Wizard can fly.’

  His moment of triumph was spoiled by a perilous wobble in the air which jolted his teacher out of her trance. ‘Yinze! Get down here at once.’

  The Wizard descended, somewhat faster than he had intended, and hit the ground with a jolt.

  ‘Do you have any idea how dangerous that was?’ Ardea blazed. ‘Air magic is a tricky business, even for an expert. What if you had lost control of the magic and it had smashed you into the ceiling? Or if you had drifted out of the door and then fallen to your death? Don’t ever do this again, do you hear me? And don’t tell anyone what you did today.’

  ‘But I—’

  His teacher pierced him with her gaze. ‘How many people know about this, Yinze?’

  The Wizard looked at his feet. ‘Only Kea,’ he muttered.

  ‘Well, thank Providence for that.’

  She thought for a moment. ‘Well, maybe you could do it just once more,’ she said. ‘I’ll arrange a demonstration for Queen Pandion and her Council, as soon as possible.’

  Yinze went cold all over, and his palms were suddenly clammy on the smooth, carved wood of his harp. ‘But—’

  ‘You aren’t ready?’ There was a twinkle in Ardea’s eye. ‘Of course you are – as ready as you’ll ever be. You can go on developing your skills, of course, but all the Queen needs to know is that you’ve mastered and understood the basics of our powers. Then she might finally be persuaded that there’s some point in sending a representative to the other Magefolk, and stop procrastinating. She never really believed it was possible, you know, that our magic could cross the boundary of race like this.’ Her grin transformed her face into an expression of youthful mischief. ‘I can’t wait to see her face. I’ve been telling her for months that you have it in you.’

  Yinze, consumed with nerves at the thought of having to demonstrate his newly mastered powers before the Queen, desperately hoped that there would be some form of delay. Maybe Pandion would be too busy to witness the antics of her visitor, and he would gain a reprieve in which to keep practising with his harp, which he had rather fancifully named Windsinger. He was out of luck, however. Before he knew what was happening, his demonstration was scheduled for the following day, in the High Arena, before the Queen, her family, and various counsellors.

  The rest of the day passed in a blur of preparations, working with Kea, Crombec and Ardea in the High Arena to prepare and rehearse his demonstration for the following day. They left him in his quarters at sunset, telling him to rest and get a good night’s sleep – as if that was ever going to happen. After a night spent staring wide-eyed into the darkness, imagining an endless succession of things that could go wrong, the Wizard picked at his breakfast and went out, on a bright morning with a brisk wind, to meet his fate.

  The High Arena was a natural volcanic crater in the neighbouring mountain to Aerillia Peak. It was a breathtaking sight, with its soaring, craggy walls that provided so many natural perches for the Skyfolk spectators, and its vast stretch of smoothly polished, almost level floor, from which all debris and dust had been removed. It was normally used for tournaments, in which individuals or teams tried to knock one another out of the sky, or vied in contests of skill such as fast-paced races on the wing to pick up the most strips of cloth attached to high poles, or hit the most targets with spears while on the move. They also played a popular game called Yttril, in which teams of three per side competed over a light wooden ring which was skimmed through the air from player to player and, to score a point, was looped over a tall post with a short crosspiece a little way down, which stopped the hoop from falling all the way to the ground.

  Today the arena was empty of spectators, save for Queen Pandion, various members of her family and the Royal Council, Yinze’s teacher Ardea, and the harp maker Crombec, with his apprentice Kea. The Wizard’s net bearers dropped him off in front of the Royal Balcony, and he felt very small against the immensity of his surroundings. He trembled as he slung the harp into position on its strap. His hands were clenched and slippery on the sleek carved wood, and he knew he had to speak before nervousness paralysed his voice completely. He looked up at Kea, sitting above him in the Royal Balcony, and saw pride and encouragement in her eyes. Steadied and bolstered by her presence, Yinze took a deep breath, and began to introduce the wondrous device he had created.

  He told them, honestly, o
f his difficulties in reconciling his natural powers with their own, and how he had almost succumbed to despair. He spoke of the dark night when he had almost given up hope, and of the sudden inspiration that had come to him in the howling storm. He gave a brief account of the actual making of the harp and all the help that Crombec and Kea had given him, and spoke in more detail of the way he had imbued it with his magic, so that it could form a bridge between the powers of Earth and those of Air. Then he ran out of words, and could defer the inevitable no longer. It was time for him to finally prove that he had learned what he had come here to learn. Again he looked up at Kea, and was buoyed by the shining confidence in her face.

  ‘Your Majesty,’ he said, ‘and all of my other kind winged hosts in this beautiful mountain city . . .’

  ‘Get on with it,’ called a cold, contemptuous voice from the back of Queen Pandion’s family group. The Wizard cursed under his breath, suddenly more nervous than ever. He had not realised that Incondor would be there. Then anger won out. He was damned if he would let that slimy bully ruin the culmination of all his months of hard work and learning. If Incondor wanted a demonstration then that, by all Creation, was what he would get.

  ‘First,’ he said coldly, ‘I will demonstrate that I can use Air magic as a weapon.’ He began to play – not the tune he had intended to use, but a strident, martial song. Using the music to focus the magic, he formed a blunt spear of air, and hurled it at his tormenter. With a squawk, Incondor tumbled from his seat in a flurry of flapping wings and flying feathers.

  There was a split second’s startled silence, then the spectators burst into gales of laughter. All but one. During the storm of applause that followed, Incondor picked himself up and resumed his perch. His face was bone-white with rage and, if Yinze had been looking, he might have quailed at the sight of such naked fury. But the Wizard was enjoying himself now. He did his trick with the scented blossoms, showering them around the startled and delighted watchers, then he moved smoothly into the rest of his demonstration.

  The previous day, Kea had tied long, silken pennants on the Yttril posts around the arena, so that they streamed out in the brisk wind. The Wizard used his Air magic to make them change direction, so that they blew out the other way – first singly, one by one, then all together. Kea threw Yttril hoops from her balcony, and he caught them up in his newfound powers, and looped them neatly over the posts. Progressing to more difficult feats, the Wizard used compressed air to break a small boulder into pieces, cleaving it neatly in half with great precision then shattering it into fragments. To follow, he herded clouds to produce a small, localised shower of rain within the confines of the arena.

  By this time, Yinze was trembling with fatigue, and his fingers were stiff and aching from having played so long without respite. Though he had practised all these individual spells before, he had never performed them in quick succession. Using any form of magic was tiring to a certain extent, but the powers of Air did not come naturally to him, and required far greater effort than usual. Most of the spectators had applauded his efforts, and if only the Queen had done the same he might have been buoyed and encouraged, but Queen Pandion had watched his demonstration in stony and, he felt, judgemental silence, greatly increasing the tension and pressure of the occasion.

  The Wizard, however, had one last trick up his sleeve, to make her sit up and take notice. What followed would be the finale and climax of the entire performance – the most difficult and dangerous spell of all. As he had done in Ardea’s chambers, he sent the music, and the power, coiling around him, to propel him upwards through the air.

  His feet left the ground, and Yinze again felt his stomach clench. Out in the open air, on top of a mountain, he became aware of the dangers of this spell as he never had when performing it in a smaller, enclosed environment. The wind grew stronger as he rose, pushing him off course, and he had to control his rate of ascent very carefully, so as not to get above the level of the crater’s encircling walls. Beyond their shelter the wind would be far too strong for him, blowing him off course and out of control, to be dashed to his death against the rocks.

  Though he had mastered simple levitation and gentle descent, he had not yet had time to work out how to manoeuvre effectively in the horizontal plane. To his horror, Yinze felt himself beginning to drift, moving away from the Royal Balcony and picking up speed. This had never happened before! Though he tried with all the strength of his will, he could not push himself back on course and, what was worse, he couldn’t stop rising at an increasing speed. Fighting panic, the Wizard kept on playing the harp. If he lost his hold on the spell, he would fall straight to the rocky floor of the arena, which now seemed a very long way away.

  Yinze knew he should have better control than this. Once again he tried to halt his speeding rate of ascent, and reverse it to bring himself down quickly, but nothing happened. Briefly he considered calling for help, but the thought of the cringing humiliation, should he have to be rescued, flicked through his mind, at war with the terror. In another moment, the fear had won out. He looked down to the Royal Balcony, intending to shout to Kea and Ardea, but instead his eyes locked on those of Incondor whose stare burned with concentration – and triumph.

  Not the wind then! This disaster was neither the harp’s fault nor his own. It was deliberate, malicious sabotage.

  The Wizard was consumed by incandescent fury. Fixing all his concentration on his enemy’s smug, sneering features, he threw his total being, all his strength, and all the powers of both Air and Earth, into a vision of himself planting his fist square into that hated face. Beneath his fingers the harp shrilled an angry, discordant tune, almost playing itself as the magic, fuelled by his anger, grew stronger.

  The smugness dropped from the winged man’s face as his spell was shattered against the combined powers of Yinze and the harp. Playing faster, the Wizard shot down towards him like a vengeful comet – but before he could reach the Royal Balcony, Incondor was gone.

  Yinze came to a shuddering halt only inches in front of Queen Pandion, barely managing to stop in time. Ardea’s face was white with anger – clearly she thought that the entire episode had been nothing more than her pupil showing off – but Kea was pale with fear. Everyone else, however, including the Queen, were on their feet, applauding him and calling out their praise and appreciation.

  Pandion, normally so stern of face, was actually smiling. She held up a hand for silence. ‘An interesting display, young Wizard,’ she said drily. ‘And now, having almost frightened the lives out of some of my counsellors, do you feel that you have accomplished what Archwizard Cyran sent you here to do?’

  Yinze bowed. ‘The powers of Air are as complex as they are fascinating, Your Majesty, and it would take many years to study all their possibilities; but to the best of my ability, I feel that I have at least mastered the basic concepts.’

  ‘I agree with you. You may return to Cyran and tell him he was right. It would appear that the magical disciplines can cross species – at least, after a fashion. But this is not the time for such matters. Let us all return to the palace now, and there you may rest, for I can see that the use of such unfamiliar power has taken its toll on you. When the sun goes down we will feast, and celebrate your triumph in a proper style.’

  Yinze had never been particularly keen on being transported in a net, like a piece of inanimate cargo. It was inconvenient and embarrassing, in a land where everyone else soared gracefully through the air without a thought, not to mention uncomfortable, cold, nauseating and desperately scary. But today he was incredibly grateful for his sturdy bearers, and got into their sling without a murmur of complaint, letting himself sink down to the ground on top of the slack meshes before his knees gave way completely.

  In the labyrinthine palace, Yinze was given a set of warm and comfortable chambers in which to rest. Aching and bleary from lack of sustenance and sleep, his thoughts were fixed on food and bed, but he was out of luck. Scarcely had the respectful servit
or closed the door behind him, leaving the Wizard alone, when it banged open again and there were Ardea and Crombec, with Kea behind them, and judging from their stormy expressions, the next few minutes were about to be unpleasant. They all spoke at once.

  ‘Just what did you think you were playing at out there?’ Ardea demanded. ‘How dare you act in a stupid, thoughtless—’

  ‘It wasn’t me.’

  ‘Dangerous, irresponsible—’ Crombec’s voice was cold.

  ‘It wasn’t me.’

  ‘Did you make a mistake?’ Kea demanded. ‘Was it the harp?’

  ‘IT WASN’T ME!’

  Finally they all shut up, and Yinze spoke into the shocked silence that followed. ‘It was Incondor.’

  Bedlam broke out again. And in the end, Yinze was forced to tell them everything.

  Queen Pandion’s feast took place in the dazzling great hall with its lofty arched ceiling, and jewelled hangings of gold and silver thread on the walls. Sitting at the Queen’s right hand, Yinze basked in the compliments that were showered upon him. Though, according to the Skyfolk laws, there was no strong drink served at the feast, Yinze felt drunk on all the attention. Due to the furore that afternoon with Kea and his mentors he had lost his chance of a meal, but now, though he finally could, and did, eat like a famished wolf, he couldn’t help but notice that Kea and Ardea, the two he loved best in all Aerillia, only picked at their food. The winged girl was pale and her eyes were haunted, and he knew she couldn’t help imagining the horrible death he might so easily have met that day. His teacher, her face taut and unsmiling, had the look of one who had been forced to lock up her anger until later. Incondor had spoiled for them this hour of triumph, which Yinze could never have achieved without their help. The bully kept adding to what he owed.