Heritage Of The Xandim
‘I thought I would have to. But then I reflected on it some more and realised that, whatever his answers may be, I’m not going to like them.’ She strove to lighten the mood. ‘So you see, you have nothing to worry about. Come on, mother of my heart. Have some starwine and join the packing party.’
Between the four of them, it turned into a convivial evening, but Iriana made sure to be in bed before midnight, and was up the next morning before it grew light, eating bread and cheese and drinking cold taillin she had brewed the night before. Though apport spells were illegal within the city, except for the official launch and reception points, Esmon had assured her that in this case, Cyran would turn a blind eye. In the stables outside the city there was a special area set aside for materialising baggage, and Iriana sent off her bedroll, saddlebags and the stuff she planned to put on the packhorse with one mighty apport spell which took so much out of her that she had to sit down on her bed for a moment.
Once she had pulled herself together, she gathered the animals she was taking with her. Melik, a typical cat, had already sensed that something unusual was happening, and had disappeared. She and Bear tracked him down beneath the bed, and Iriana lured him out with a piece of her breakfast cheese. The magnificent eagle Boreas would be travelling under his own power, and Seyka the big white owl rode in her basket slung over Iriana’s shoulder.
A soft knock on the door announced Avithan, as they had planned to walk out to the stables together. They had arranged to meet Esmon at sunrise, and there was no time to lose as they needed to walk through the city to the North Gate. ‘Can I take that?’ He indicated the owl’s basket. ‘It’ll leave you free to take Melik, and Boreas, I suppose, will fly.’
‘Thanks.’ Gratefully, Iriana handed Seyka over. ‘Come on, Avithan. I can’t wait to get started.’ She pushed open the back door, heading for the short cut through the garden to the narrow lane behind.
‘Aren’t Thara and Melisanda coming to see you off?’
‘No, we decided to say our farewells last night, when we had more time.’ She grimaced. ‘Zybina came too, but I must say, she handled the whole thing very well. By and large, she kept all her worries under wraps.’
‘I said goodbye to my parents last night too, though my mother wanted to keep me up till the early hours with reams of advice.’
‘No changes there, then,’ Iriana said wryly.
They made their way through the sleeping streets in the mysterious, crepuscular light, sometimes silent, sometimes talking, their voices soft in the magical hush. Eventually, taking the steeply sloping road that led through the North Gate beside the turreted walls of the fortresslike Luen of Warriors, they gave their names to the warders who watched the entrance to the city, and stepped out into the world beyond just as the rising sun turned the sky inland into a sheet of gold. There stood Esmon, with all four of their horses, including Iriana’s beloved piebald Dailika.
‘Very punctual,’ he said. ‘I’ve packed your gear this morning to save time. If everyone is ready, shall we go?’
Iriana could hardly wait. Seyka’s basket was positioned on the packhorse and fastened securely into place. Then, letting Avithan hold Melik, she mounted Dailika and reached down for the cat, who sat in front of her. As they prepared to leave, she switched to her horse’s vision, thereby losing a lot of colour and depth perception but gaining the ability to see all around, even behind.
With Esmon leading the way and Iriana and Avithan following in order, they made their way along the dusty switchback road that climbed up through the olive groves, breathing air that was already beginning to warm and take on the scents of herbs and trees. High on the hilltop, Iriana looked back at the beautiful city that curved around the sparkling blue bays. In her thoughts, Iriana sent a farewell to Tyrineld, her friends and the animals she had left behind. She wondered what she would know, what she would have learned about herself and her world by the time she came back.
‘If you’ve any sense, you’ll be wondering how you’ll get back and if you will,’ Esmon warned her in mindspeech. ‘Remember, Iriana, you’re not going on a picnic.’
‘Yes, Esmon,’ she replied obediently, inwardly indignant that he had picked up her tumultuous thoughts, and vowing to think a little less loudly in future. She was too excited, however, to feel squashed. At last. At long last she had been freed from the constraints of the city. As she looked out over the rolling hills to the far horizon, Iriana’s spirits soared to meet the rising sun.
13
FROM THE SHADOWS
Today, for once, the scrying was going as it should. Cyran had used a crystal instead of the usual mirror, and it appeared to be working. To his relief, he saw what he’d been looking for rather than a confusing jumble of ill-omened portents. The crystal, a massive chunk of clear quartz, sat on the table in the sunlight, and within its depths he could see, small but very clear, an image of three tiny figures on horseback, leading a packhorse behind them as they cantered steadily across an expanse of undulating green downs. Three days had passed since the cold dawn when Avithan, Iriana and Esmon had set out. By nightfall they would reach the northern settlement of Nexis and the first leg of their journey would be safely over. The Archwizard nodded in satisfaction. Of course they were safe. How many times had he told Sharalind over the last few days (when he could get a word in edgeways) that Iriana would come to no harm?
To say that Cyran’s consort had disagreed with his decision to send Avithan and Iriana to Eliorand would be putting it mildly. Sharalind’s explosion of anger had broken every window in the building, and it had taken repairing spells from a squad of Wizards to put right the mess. Even now, three days later, her treatment of him was as cold as the northern mountains, and he had a feeling that he would not be back in favour until the emissaries had returned safely to Tyrineld. Archwizard or no, he was also in considerable trouble with Iriana’s guardian, Zybina, and caught between the two formidable females, he was beginning to wish that he, too, could have been riding to Nexis with his son and Iriana.
Unfortunately, the Archwizard couldn’t shrug off his responsibilities so easily. Cyran wrapped his crystal in a velvet cloth and put it away, then began to prepare for a meeting with the other Magefolk leaders. Taking his mirror from its cabinet, he unwrapped it carefully from its velvet covering and repeated the process with two others. Then he placed all three of them on the table and tilted them carefully to catch the morning sunlight and reflect it onto the wall. When the three patches of light were properly aligned and glimmering alongside one another, he was finally ready to begin.
He wondered why the others had called this meeting. There had not been one due for another six days, and normally all the arrangements were left to him. Could something have changed at last? Had one of them finally been given a warning, as he had? The Archwizard was torn: half-wanting to be vindicated in the eyes of his peers, but half-dreading confirmation of the horrors he had seen.
The misgivings of the other leaders had hit him hard. He had worked so laboriously and struggled for so long to be made Archwizard. Many had thought him too scholarly, not sufficiently practical, and his determination that magic should never be used for warlike purposes had made him many enemies among those who believed that the Wizardfolk should have the means to defend themselves, especially living as close as they did to the Phaerie. He had finally succeeded in his ambition, however, and during the years since he had achieved the leadership of his people, he had always been certain that he was doing a good job. Now that confidence had been shaken. Since these visions had started he had known no peace, analysing every move and decision he made for fear of where it might lead. At the back of his disquiet, there were always the insidious doubts that had made sleep a thing of the past. What if, in trying to avoid this catastrophe, I bring it about? In the end he had no choice but to trust his own judgement and do the best he could. If only the other leaders had shared his presentiments! Cyran hoped with all his heart that they had been wrong to doubt.
>
He was just about to sit down at the table when the door opened soundlessly and a figure wearing a dark cloak slipped inside. Cyran turned. ‘How dare you enter my chambers without knocking—’
‘I? Knock?’ The intruder laughed lightly, but without mirth. ‘Why get into bad habits?’ His hair was dark, and tied back from his face. He had the tall, lean form of one of the Phaerie, but there was a solid muscularity to his body, and his face and jaw had strong, chiselled features that indicated otherwise.
‘Taine!’ The Archwizard gasped. ‘May the Light be praised. You were away for so long, I was sure you had been caught.’
‘I very nearly was. I had a lot of trouble getting out, now that the Phaerie have closed their borders. Also, I’m sure that Dhagon, who is still head of Hellorin’s Chahiri spy network, suspects me.’ He broke into a lazy smile. ‘His accursed agents were snooping around all over the city, and since I had to kill several of them during my escape, he’ll certainly be after my blood now.’
Cyran ignored this. ‘They’ve closed the borders?’
‘The Phaerie realm has been isolated. No one gets in or out any more.’
‘Oh, mercy, no.’ Cyran felt as though he had been kicked in the guts. ‘I have just sent my son and a young, blind, inexperienced girl to Eliorand as emissaries.’
Taine’s eyebrows shot up. Coming from one so skilled at hiding emotions, his expression betrayed his feelings more strongly than a shout or a curse. Nonetheless, when he spoke, his voice remained mild and calm. ‘Your son and a blind girl. Pardon me for being frank, Archwizard, but what in the world were you thinking?’
Temper flashed through Cyran, hot and red. Anger at himself as much as the weary spy. ‘I thought you were dead. If you had even managed to get some kind of message to me it would have helped, but for months I’ve heard nothing. I had to do something - I have my reasons for not wanting open warfare with Hellorin’s folk. I felt that by sending the most non-aggressive representatives possible, I might have a chance to treat with the Phaerie, not to mention find out what’s going on up there. And Iriana might be blind, but she has special abilities, talents that might have proven very useful in finding out some of the Phaerie secrets, had she been able to gain entry to Eliorand. She might also have been able to discover what had become of you.’
‘When did you send them? How fast were they planning to travel? I saw no sign of them on my way here, but that means nothing, for I seldom travel on public roads - especially when I’ve needed to steal myself a fresh horse.’ A rare spark of humour brightened his weary eyes. ‘Over the years, I’ve learned a lot of short cuts.’
Cyran had begun to pace. ‘They left three days ago, and they were in no hurry. They planned to reach Nexis by tonight. And I had more sense than to send them alone. They have Esmon, the Head of the Luen of Warriors, with them.’
‘Good. That makes me feel a little more confident about their safety. Give me a couple of good horses and I can catch them before they reach the borders of the Phaerie realm. I’ll set off at once.’ Taine swayed with exhaustion even as he spoke and, dangerous though the situation might be, Cyran took pity on him. ‘Will an hour or two make any difference?’
The spy shook his head. ‘They’ll be dawdling along, no doubt, and stopping to eat and sleep. I won’t. Even if I set off at nightfall, I should still catch them easily.’
‘Then sit down and rest yourself. When did you last eat or sleep?’
Taine unslung the compact pack from his shoulders, doffed his muddy cloak and threw himself down in the nearest chair. ‘I came straight here without stopping, except to steal a fresh horse in Nexis.’
‘I’ve been scrying in that direction off and on for the last three days, keeping an eye on my son and his companions,’ Cyran said. ‘Why did I never see you?’
‘I know a spell that screens me from observation by scrying.’
‘I’ve never heard of such a spell.’
The spy shrugged. ‘Phaerie magic, a lesser version of their glamourie spell. I did inherit some powers from my father, you know, as well as my Wizardly mother.’
The Archwizard poured taillin from the pot that always stood on his desk, kept warm by one of Avithan’s useful spells, and added a generous dollop of honey. He thrust the cup into Taine’s hands, and took a goblet of wine for himself. He forced himself to be calm and concentrate on the matter in hand, instead of worrying unnecessarily over Avithan and Iriana. ‘What is really happening in Eliorand?’ he asked. ‘Why have the Phaerie closed their borders? Tell me what you’ve learned.’
‘It’s even worse than you might have imagined, Archwizard,’ Taine said.
Cyran listened with growing consternation as Taine told him what had taken place during the winter. This was all wrong. There were too many questions here; too many imponderables. He and Hellorin had ruled their respective realms for so long that each could predict, within reason, what the other would do in any circumstances. But Tiolani now ruled the Phaerie, and she was an entirely unknown quantity. Hellorin and Estrelle had waited long indeed for their daughter, and the untimely death of his beloved consort had made Hellorin all the more inclined to indulge his child. Young, pampered, inexperienced, undisciplined: any of these traits spelled trouble in a ruler. Put them all together, add the fact that the girl was half-crazed with grief over the death of her brother and was being influenced by this Ferimon - another unknown and suspect quantity - and you had a recipe for certain disaster. How would she cope with the challenges of her sudden rise to power? That she had found an outlet for her grief riding with the Wild Hunt every night, exterminating every feral human she could find without regard for treaties, borders or anything else, was indicative of the grave nature of the situation.
Cyran could feel the beginnings of a headache tightening behind his eyes. What would be the best way to deal with a situation such as this?
‘That’s not all,’ Taine said quietly, interrupting the Archwizard’s racing thoughts. ‘The healers could not remove the arrows from Hellorin and several other of the wounded Phaerie until they had brought them home. Most of the projectiles were destroyed during the healing process, but I finally managed to get my hands on one.’ Unstrapping the pack, he reached inside and withdrew a long, thin package, well wrapped in cloth. Balancing it on his palm, he held it out to the Archwizard.
Cyran took the package and unfolded the cloth with care. The discoloured shaft had been soaked in blood, but he ignored the dark, jarring energy of pain and death carried by the stains. His eyes were riveted on the arrow itself. Contrary to his expectations, it was smooth and straight, with perfect fletching and a beautifully forged iron point. His eyes opened wide. ‘This was not made by a pack of renegade slaves living wild. Were they all like this?’ he demanded.
‘To the best of my knowledge.’
‘Then where did the humans get them?’
‘I don’t know,’ Taine confessed. ‘One thing seems certain: someone has been providing the ferals with weapons. Hellorin has an enemy - but who? Is it one of the Phaerie, or someone else? My instincts tell me it must be Ferimon, but I have no real proof, and cannot be certain.’
The Archwizard frowned. ‘I must learn the identity of Hellorin’s secret foe. Will they be an ally to us, or an enemy? Our entire future could depend on it.’
‘Of course. I’ll take a few hours’ rest, and set off for Eliorand tonight. I’ll send Avithan’s party back and continue on alone.’ Taine’s face was as expressionless as stone.
‘Taine, I regret the necessity for this. The situation is so serious, however, that—’
The Archwizard broke off, his reply unfinished, as a cascade of sound, a plangent fall of musical notes, echoed through the room, and the air came alive with swirling, scintillating coloured light.
In an eyeblink Taine was on his feet: tense, alert, ready to defend himself. ‘What’s that?’
‘Nothing to worry about,’ Cyran said. He gestured towards the wall behind them. There, in o
ne of the patches of glimmering light he had created earlier, an astonishing form could be seen: a great golden Dragon. Even as a small image on the wall, the entity was vibrant with beauty and power. An elegant head, with formidable jaws, sweeping back and forth on its long, graceful neck; great eyes glowing with a deep, slumbrous garnet fire; a strong, compact body with a tapering tail - and the glorious wings, a translucent gold web with a complex network of glittering silver veining, all stretched between outspread digits of a similar construction to batwings, and spangled with the multitudes of darkly gleaming scales that were used to capture the sun’s energy, on which these amazing beings fed.