Exodus of the Xandim (GOLLANCZ S.F.)

  ‘Grab hold of the Fialan and use it to reinforce the shield,’ the Windeye urged her. Iriana, her face already buried in Corisand’s mane, reached down to snatch at the leather pouch that swung on its thong round the arching grey neck, but she was hampered by her lack of vision. She was sharing the Windeye’s eyesight, but Corisand had a blind spot directly beneath her own head.

  Corisand glanced back at the city. ‘Come on, Kaldath,’ she muttered. ‘What’s keeping you?’ Targeting Cordain’s forces, she tried to make their mounts rebel, but clearly the Counsellor had seen the fate of Tiolani’s warriors, for this time the horses remained under a spell of iron control cast by their Phaerie riders. The Xandim who were penned in the fields, trapped in the midst of the battle, were now a screaming, seething mass of terror and confusion, and the warriors’ mounts caught that panic, which only made them more vulnerable to the control of their masters who whipped and spurred them mercilessly onwards. Tiolani’s group took their lead from Cordain’s forces, and those who remained mounted, including Tiolani herself, were starting to regain control of their horses.

  Realising that her attempts were only causing suffering, Corisand stopped trying to subvert the ridden steeds and joined her own magic, the unique powers of a Windeye, to that of Iriana, who was still trying to grasp at the wildly swinging Fialan. She spun the air around the Wizard’s shield and, though it remained as transparent as ever from the inside, to the Phaerie assailants on the outside it turned into a globe of gleaming silver with a blinding mirror sheen. Suddenly the Phaerie found their spells being reflected back at them, and before they had time to realise what was happening they were reeling beneath a bombardment of their own magic, and were being slaughtered, warriors and their mounts alike, by their own hail and lightning. Here and there a petrifaction spell would find a target, and to Corisand’s horror, both horse and rider would turn to stone in midair and go hurtling to the ground to smash into a thousand pieces.

  At the sight of her own people suffering and dying, Corisand’s resolution wavered. In her equine form she was susceptible to the instincts of a horse, which did not see the bigger picture, but simply compelled her to protect the herd. Despite Iriana’s frantic urgings, the reflective powers of her shield began to falter and fail.

  ‘Corisand,’ the Wizard said sharply. ‘I know this must be very hard, but it’s your one chance to free your people from slavery.’

  ‘But they’re dying . . .’

  ‘So will we be in a minute, and what good will that serve? I can’t keep this shield up for ever. If you don’t stick to the plan we’re all doomed.’

  Iriana dug her heels hard into Corisand’s sides, something she would never have dreamed of doing under normal circumstances. ‘Pull yourself together! We’ve all lost people we love. I lost Avithan and Seyka – don’t you think I know how much this hurts you? And what about Dael with Athina? My heart goes out to you, Corisand, but you’ve got to keep fighting!’

  The urgency in Iriana’s voice finally penetrated the Windeye’s distress. As if a fog had cleared from her mind, she realised that her friend was right. She pulled her reflective spell back into place – then suddenly she heard the sound she’d been waiting for. From the city itself came the wailing and screaming of a thousand voices in agony and terror.

  The Dwelven were taking their revenge.

  With a curse, Cordain called his troops away from the fight and wrenched his horse around, heading back with all speed towards the city. But the sound of that fearful screaming had weakened the warriors’ concentration on their control spell. Corisand called to their mounts again, and this time the steeds responded in an explosion of violence, rearing and bucking, doing everything in their power to unseat their riders. Many of the Phaerie, taken by surprise, fell screaming, littering the ground with dead and dying, while some of the horses, riders stuck firmly in place, bolted towards the trees, using the branches to dislodge their unwanted burdens by knocking them out of the saddle. Cordain, however, had no intention of being thrown. With brutal force he turned his mare back towards the city, raking cruelly at her sides with his spurs until the blood ran, and wrenching at her head until the bit cut into her soft mouth.

  By this time Corisand was striking the Phaerie attackers with a new weapon: javelin-like bolts of solidified air that could pierce a target as efficiently as a normal spear. The missiles could barely be seen, and so it was impossible to block or evade them. The Windeye could sense the fear of the warriors as their comrades toppled, bleeding and screaming, from the saddle. Amid the chaos, she began to hope. Could she possibly win this after all?

  Corisand’s all-round vision was so encompassing that Iriana found it easy to concentrate on different areas of the fight, so it was she who spotted Hellorin’s Counsellor, whom she recognised from images she had seen in Aelwen and Corisand’s minds, fleeing the field of battle. ‘Cordain,’ she cried urgently. ‘He’s getting away!’

  Corisand’s attention snapped round in the direction of the Counsellor. Quick as thought, she hurled another of her spears which sped through the air, converging on the fleeing Cordain. With unerring accuracy it hit him between the shoulder blades, and the Windeye saw him crumple and fall from the saddle.

  With Cordain fallen the remaining warriors looked to Tiolani for further orders – but there was no sign of her, and Corisand and Iriana suddenly realised that they had lost her, and her mount Asharal was missing too.

  ‘Where in bloody demon’s bile are they?’ Iriana said.

  ‘She must have sneaked back through the tunnel when she saw she was losing.’

  Iriana laughed, a sound surprisingly harsh from someone who was usually so kind-hearted. ‘If she thought it was bad where we were, she’ll be in for the shock of her life when she meets Kaldath and his Dwelven phantoms. I really wish I could be there to see it. That bitch sent her assassin after Esmon and Avithan – and me too, for that matter, and my beautiful Seyka. She deserves whatever horrible fate she gets.’

  Without Tiolani, the Phaerie gave up the fight to save the horses. Those still able to control their mounts guided them down to the ground and dismounted quickly, letting the horses run free. Others, distracted by the tumult in the city, fell screaming from the saddle as their mounts dislodged them at last. Confusion reigned in the stable compound with animals stampeding around, aimless and terrified. The ground was strewn with bodies. Those Phaerie who could still do so broke and ran, some heading for the mouth of the tunnel and others diving like hunted rabbits into the shelter of the forest.

  On Corisand’s back, Iriana let out a cry of triumph. ‘We did it! Quick, Corisand, the flying spell. It’s time to get your people out of here.’

  The Windeye needed no telling. It took a lot of power to lift so many horses – the entire Xandim race – but Corisand had the magic of the Fialan to draw upon, and she could also feel Iriana, on her back, sending her a steady feed of bolstering power. ‘Stop that, you idiot,’ she scolded. ‘We just pulled you back from the brink of death, and you’ve been pouring all your energies into that bloody shield. I can manage the flying spell.’

  ‘But I want to be part of it,’ Iriana protested. ‘We’ve come so far together.’

  ‘And we’ve still got a long way to go. Save your strength, my friend. We may need it later. We’re not out of this yet.’ Corisand didn’t need to see the Wizard’s face to know that she was pouting, but at least Iriana reluctantly withdrew her power, and let the Windeye continue alone.

  With a huge wave of delight that welled up from the very depths of her soul, Corisand drew on the energies contained in the Fialan and poured out the flying spell upon the assembled tribe of Xandim. The stable doors burst apart as the stallions of the tribe came pouring forth, for once at peace with one another and the world, answering the Windeye’s call to accept her benison. The glowing magic flowed across them all; stallion, mare and foal alike, like sparkling starlight, like scintillating diamond dust, shooting out sparks of coloured brilliance
as it responded to the Windeye’s elation. As one the Xandim arose, taking to the sky in a massive surge of power as they responded to their Windeye’s call.

  ‘Follow,’ Corisand cried out to them, praying that the strength of her emotions would be enough to communicate with them, beyond the simple language of the horse. ‘Follow me to freedom.’

  They sensed.

  They felt.

  They soared.

  They followed.

  In the forest beyond the stable compound, Dael waited, with Melik in his basket strapped firmly behind the saddle. The minutes had seemed like hours to him, for he had not wanted to distract the others with unnecessary questions, and he could not see what was happening. The fearful magical storms; all the noises he’d heard of screaming and the sound of battle had done nothing to ease his mind. How he hated feeling so helpless; being the only one with no magic! As the suspense grew within him, so did his concern, until he felt that he must call out to one of his friends – then suddenly he saw them, soaring above the trees. All the Xandim, glowing like a comet tail with the flying spell. With a whoop of joy he mounted his own horse and waited impatiently while Corisand swooped down towards him. He felt her spell flow across him like a tingling starfall, and urged his mount up into the air to join his friends. ‘You did it!’ he cried, and it was hard to tell whether the tears that gathered in his eyes were from the cold wind that blew into his face, or sheer joy at the magnificence of that moment.

  They sped away from Eliorand, soaring high above the forest, heading south-west in the direction of the border and the realm of the Wizards. Corisand was brimming with exultation. Against almost insurmountable odds she had done what she set out to do. She had saved her tribe except—

  ‘But what about Asharal?’ The Windeye’s responsibilities weighed heavily on her. She hated to leave even one of her people behind.

  Iriana felt the change in her friend’s posture and knew she was yearning to turn back. Brutally, hating herself, Iriana put the images of the Xandim who’d been killed in the battle into Corisand’s mind. ‘You can’t save them all,’ she said gently. ‘I’m sorry, my friend, but you’ve freed all but a scant handful, and that’s far more than we could have hoped for when we started this. Some of your people made that sacrifice so that the entire Xandim race could be free.’

  ‘You’re right,’ Corisand replied sadly. ‘I know in my heart that you’re right, but I hate to think of the lost ones.’

  ‘Even Athina herself couldn’t have saved them all,’ Iriana comforted her friend. “Besides, Asharal isn’t lost yet, you know. Aelwen is carrying the flying spell on her body, and it will spread to him if she rides him. If there’s any way she can bring him out of Eliorand, she will.’ She paused, then added, ‘I wonder what they’re doing right now? I hope they’re safe.’

  28

  ~

  REVENGE OF THE DWELVEN

  Taine had spent all his adult life in the shadow of violence and bloodshed. He had killed – and almost been slain himself – on a number of occasions, yet he had never witnessed anything like the scenes of horror he was seeing now. He and Kaldath had finally reached Eliorand and come riding down like an avenging storm, with the spirits of the Dwelven seething and snarling at their heels. Already the streets were crowded, for the Phaerie, alarmed by the commotion that was taking place around the stables beyond the city walls, had come rushing out of their homes to find out what was happening.

  A great roar came from the Dwelven spirits at the sight of their ancient foe; their slayers of old. Overtaking Taine and his companions, they came smashing down like an avalanche, spreading out across the city, tearing and ravening wherever they went. In mere moments, it seemed to the horrified watchers, the streets were awash with blood and littered with the dismembered bodies of Phaerie dead. Screams and howls rent the air as Hellorin’s people fled hither and thither in mindless terror, fruitlessly seeking to escape.

  Suddenly Aelwen appeared beside them. ‘Kaldath, stop them!’ she cried in anguish. ‘I’m sorry I failed everyone, and I’ll do anything to make amends, but please, please, you’ve got to stop the Dwelven. They’re killing everyone!’

  ‘She’s right. Make them stop this,’ Taine agreed, though his own approach was more pragmatic. ‘If they kill all the Phaerie you’ll have no leverage to bargain with Tiolani for the release of the Dwelven – and if they happen to kill her, they’ll never be free.’

  Even Kaldath, despite all his endless aeons of suffering, looked sickened by the slaughter, his gnarled old hands clenched into knots upon the reins of his horse. ‘I only hope I can.’

  Taine and Aelwen heard his mental call go out; felt it impact against a vast wall of reluctance. Kaldath urged the phantoms more strongly, his voice becoming sterner and sterner still, until finally he barked out an order with the force of all the iron will that had sustained his sanity for so long. ‘CEASE! I COMMAND YOU.’

  The Dwelven spirits moaned with reluctance, and snarled and gibbered with frustration, but this time they finally obeyed him.

  ‘Wait,’ Kaldath comforted them. ‘Only wait a little longer. The time of our release is coming soon. Round up all of the surviving Phaerie. Herd them like cattle into the courtyard before the palace. Keep them there. Then . . .’ His voice hardened. ‘Find Tiolani, daughter of the Forest Lord. You know her. You will have her image in your minds through me, from Taine and Aelwen. Don’t stop looking until you’ve found her, and bring her here alive, to me.’

  Aelwen felt him pluck Tiolani’s image from her mind and send it out to the waiting Dwelven spirits, and a shiver ran through her. Despite everything the girl had done, she still shared blood ties with the Horsemistress; was still the little girl that Aelwen had once taught to ride. ‘What will you do to her?’ she whispered. ‘You won’t hurt her, will you?’

  Kaldath and Taine exchanged a glance, both their faces set and grim. ‘Let’s hope we don’t have to,’ Kaldath said.

  Aelwen’s world was falling apart around her. No more Eliorand. No more of her beloved horses. Taine, who she had loved so steadfastly through the empty years, was a stranger to her now. Oh, how desperately she wished that she could turn back time to happier days, when Hellorin and his Queen, Aelwen’s beloved half-sister, had ruled in joy over a united Phaerie land with Full-blood and Hemifae working together, and Tiolani and her brother were youngsters glowing with energy and promise.

  There could be no going back, however. All Aelwen could do was to battle forward through the ruins of her life, and hope for better times to come.

  She was jolted from her bitter ruminations by a cry from Taine. ‘What? Are you sure?’

  ‘That’s what the Dwelven say,’ Kaldath replied. ‘They’ve found a not-Phaerie in the dungeon. Someone like Iriana, they say.’

  Then she too received the image from the Dwelven of a venerable man, his silver hair and beard close-trimmed but beginning to straggle now. She gasped. The form and features were unmistakable. A Wizard? Here? In ragged filthy clothes, and chained up in a dungeon?

  ‘Cyran!’ Taine roared, and without waiting to explain what was going on, he sped full tilt towards the palace. Instinctively, Aelwen started to follow, but reined in her horse at the last moment. At any time the Dwelven might find Tiolani. She needed to be here, with Kaldath, when they did.

  Guided by one of the spirits, Taine leapt from his mount at the palace door and looped the reins round one of the tethering posts that were there at the side of the steps. The animal, who by now had become accustomed to the phantoms, stood calmly, and made no attempt to flee. Already the courtyard was beginning to fill as the Dwelven herded the Phaerie survivors up from the city into the broad, paved space. Some seemed stupefied with terror, while others howled epithets and curses, or wept or babbled in hysteria. There was no fight left in any of them, for they had seen what had happened to those who had not been so lucky. Taine felt a stab of remorse. Most of them were just ordinary citizens, going about their business, livin
g their lives. They were paying a heavy price for the actions of their former ruler.

  On the subject of Hellorin, what was happening to him? Taine threw a quick, urgent question to Kaldath in mindspeech, and shortly afterwards, the reply came back. ‘The Dwelven say they found him, but the Healers have still not removed the time spells from him, and so they have no way to reach him.’

  ‘Damn good thing, too,’ Taine said fervently. ‘The very last thing we want is to awaken the Forest Lord. Hopefully, we can find a way to bully Tiolani into doing what we want, but with Hellorin we’d have a fight on our hands that might just be too much for us to handle.’

  Putting the matter out of his mind for the moment, he ran into the great building, following his Dwelven guide. He had another ruler to concern him right now. How in the name of all Creation had Cyran come to be here? It looked as if the stupid old fool had come following the trail of his son, and managed to get himself captured.

  Taine hurried through the deserted corridors of the palace, keeping his footing with difficulty on floors that were slippery with gore, ordure, and disembowelled or dismembered Phaerie corpses. The air was thick with the stench of blood and death and he breathed in shallow gasps, trying not to take in more of it than he needed. He could imagine only too well what it must have been like: Hellorin’s courtiers asleep in their beds while the servants busied themselves with their nightly tasks of cleaning and refurbishing the endless passageways. Suddenly the Dwelven would have come, erupting from the floor, pouring down from the ceiling, oozing through the walls. Those of the Phaerie who had made it out of their bedchambers had been slaughtered in the corridors.

  For a moment Taine felt a surge of pity for the helpless inhabitants of the palace – and then Kaldath’s voice came into his mind. ‘The entire Dwelven race was slaughtered, right down to the last child. I know that these particular Phaerie, save the very oldest perhaps, were not involved in that massacre, but the Dwelven have endured for many a long age, trapped, unable to live, unable to go to their rest, and all they had to think about was revenge. I’m sorry, Taine, but Hellorin started this.’