Corisand was spared any part in that final slaughter. Along with several other horses, she was in no fit state to be ridden. To her relief, she was left in the clearing with the wounded, their helpers and some vigilant guards. If Tiolani seemed to have aged a dozen years, Corisand herself felt as if she had aged a century in the course of this night, and was longing with all her heart to go home to the comfort and security of her own roomy box in Hellorin’s stable.
At last that interminable night drew to a close, bringing the return of the bone-tired hunters who, under Tiolani’s goad, had slaughtered every human they could find for miles around. Darillan and the other huntsmen collected together the hounds, and the Phaerie, weary, shocked and grieving, took to the skies and headed for home. With their departure, the forest fell into a wary and watchful silence. The cluster of primitive dwellings, which had once represented independence, pride and hope for a handful of rebels, stood dark and abandoned in its woodland clearing. Gradually it would fall prey to the elements, and the relentless overgrowth of brambles, weeds and saplings would blot out every trace.
It was almost daylight when the stunned and battered remnants of the Phaerie Hunt got back to Eliorand. The clear night skies had paled sufficiently to quench the glitter of the stars, and a crimson streak showed low on the horizon in the east. Corisand looked away from it quickly. It only reminded her of the blood that had been spilt that night. Instead she turned her gaze longingly towards the city and home - and was startled and confused to see the change that had taken place in her absence. As the light grew, the city of tall, slender towers, blooming gardens and leaping waterfalls took on the form of a forested eminence that stood high above the surrounding woodland. It almost seemed that the two images of woodland and city had been overlaid, so that the eye perceived first one and then the other.
Corisand was rescued from confusion by the new way of thinking that had come to her that night when the old Windeye had died. She realised that this strange glamourie, this shifting and changing, must be part of a Phaerie spell: a carefully crafted illusion to conceal their city from hostile or unwelcome gazes. As the light grew, the magic that disguised the city would become stronger, probably reaching its peak when the sun was highest in the sky. The spell must not work on animals, she supposed, or she would have seen it before; but now that Corisand had been catapulted into the role of Windeye, she was finally able to perceive both the illusion and the reality.
Illusions, however, were the least of Corisand’s concerns on that night of terror and loss. Her mind had still been reeling from the revelations that had swept through her like a spring flood, changing the entire landscape of her mind and washing away so much of her previous, simple life. With Valir’s death had come the realisation that she and the other Xandim were captives, slaves, robbed of their birthright and trapped in this equine shape - though that had not always been the case. Long ago, there had been a choice. The fact that in the past, her people could take the same form as their captors had stunned her deeply - but less so than the knowledge that she and she alone now bore the responsibility of restoring them to what they once had been.
When it had been time to leave the forest, her body felt sodden with exhaustion, and she was shaking from the aftermath of her experiences. At least, because Hellorin had been wounded, Corisand would be led home with the other injured horses instead of ridden, and she’d been glad of the respite. Her mind had been opened to the inner world of the mental gestalt that enabled not only mindspeech, but also the ability to see into another’s mind, to sense their thoughts and feel their emotions. This was the wellspring from which all magic stemmed, though the new Windeye was far too stunned to understand the implications immediately.
At first, it was all she could do to keep functioning amid the storm of Phaerie emotions that raged around her. Horror, pain, anxiety, grief; shocked disbelief that the human vermin could have turned on them with such devastating consequences - and, overriding all else, Tiolani’s terrible rage. In addition, she could feel the terror and agony of her equine companions, which came to her in primitive bursts of raw emotion that assaulted her senses like physical blows; all the worse because they had few words with which to express their feelings.
Never in her life had she been so glad to return to her cosy stable; to be fed and watered, to have the mud and the spatters of gore washed from her dappled hide, to have her aching limbs rubbed and her small hurts tended, to be groomed and cosseted and wrapped in her own warm woollen rug, and left in a bed of thick, soft, fragrant straw to rest. As the human grooms worked on her, she found herself puzzling, for the first time, over the chasm which existed between those who tended her and the ferals the Phaerie had pursued that night, who had fought back with such unexpected savagery.
No one would ever hunt these humans. Clean, hard-working, valued and cared for by their masters, they were an essential part of Phaerie society, keeping it running with their menial labour and leaving Hellorin’s folk free for other, more enjoyable pursuits. How great a difference lay between these mortal slaves and the quarry of the Wild Hunt, who had been viewed and treated as nothing more than animals. Yet they were exactly the same species. She was still trying to puzzle out the difference as she fell asleep. And surprisingly, sleep came very swiftly, as if her weary body and overburdened mind could scarcely wait to escape from the fears and memories and revelations of that night.
In the morning, of course, it was all still there. Corisand awakened to find that she was Windeye of the Xandim and, with no one to teach or guide or help her, she was going to have to make a start at sorting out the confused mass of memory, knowledge and emotion that churned in her mind. Somehow, she must learn to think clearly in words and images, to reason, conjecture and organise her thoughts. Somehow, she would have to find a way to shield herself from the mental emanations of others which assaulted her unceasingly. Somehow, she’d have to learn the extent of her new powers and abilities - for she understood in her deepest heart that these existed, though she could not say how she knew.
4
THE FIRST STEP
At first, Tiolani could barely grasp the fact that Hellorin’s mantle had landed on her shoulders. Though the Forest Lord’s life had been preserved by her swift actions, he had been hovering on the threshold of death when the Phaerie brought him home. Two cadres of skilled healers had been forced to work on him in tandem; one holding him to life while the others fought to repair the horrific damage that the arrows had wreaked deep within his body. Because any one of Hellorin’s injuries would have been enough to kill him, the healers could only work very slowly, and it took so much power to maintain his hold on life, and so much concentration to perform the difficult, delicate and extensive amounts of healing, that the process would be extremely protracted - at least so Tiolani had been told. And in the meantime, due to Arvain’s death, the reins of power had been thrust into her unready hands.
Tiolani’s grief at the loss of her brother was so acute that she simply wanted to crawl into bed, pull the bedclothes over her head and never get up again. What did she care for power? What did she care that the realm of the Phaerie needed a ruler? She didn’t give a damn for the Phaerie. Arvain was dead, her father could be dying, and nothing else mattered.
It took the Hunt to change her mind. Nothing could bring back her brother, but at least she could avenge his death, and she gained a little surcease at the thought of making the accursed feral humans of the forest suffer as he had suffered. Even on the first night following the ambush, with Hellorin hovering on the brink of death and Arvain not yet sent to his rest, she ordered the Wild Hunt out again, though she herself had kept to her chamber all day, seeing no one but Varna; she had no plans to leave it any time soon, not even to ride out in the cause of revenge. Unfortunately, she had forgotten one important detail. Though she had demanded to be left alone, Varna brought someone to see her: Darillan, Gwylan’s former apprentice, now promoted to Huntsman. Taking in his flustered expression, T
iolani realised that he looked about as ready for his new responsibilities as she was for hers, and that small insight of fellow feeling was enough to prevent her from sending him away.
Darillan bowed low. ‘Lady Tiolani, I beg pardon for intruding on your grief like this, but if the Hunt is to ride out tonight as you instructed, then we must have your help.’
‘Why me?’ Tiolani replied listlessly. ‘Whatever it is, get someone else to do it.’
‘But, Lady, you are the only one who can do it.’ Darillan looked agitated. ‘Without the flying magic the Hunt cannot ride out, and the spell can only be performed by one of the Forest Lord’s line.’
‘Oh.’ For a moment, Tiolani could think of nothing more intelligent to say. Embarrassment made her as flustered as the young Huntsman himself. How could she have forgotten such a detail? What a fool she must look. Then dismay overwhelmed her embarrassment. She had never attempted the flying magic before. There had been no reason. She had only accomplished her first Hunt the previous day. Whenever possible, Hellorin had performed the spell himself, and if he could not be present, Arvain had been there to take his place. And though her brother had explained to her how the magic was done, she’d never had the chance to try it for herself. Well, she would get her chance now, and she’d better do it right. If she failed, there was no one else who could work the magic, and if Hellorin did not recover, the Wild Hunt would be finished. For a panic-stricken moment she had thought of putting off the entire business until she felt better able to cope, but the craving for revenge was too strong. ‘Very well,’ she said to Darillan. ‘I’ll come at once.’
Then another idea occurred to her. If she had to face the Phaerie courtiers in any case, she might as well ride out with the Hunt, and wreak some vengeance on the humans in person. She called back the Huntsman, who was already on his way out of the door. ‘Wait, Darillan. I’ve decided to join the Hunt tonight after all. I’ll just need a few minutes to change clothes. Send a message to Aelwen immediately, and have her get Asharal ready. You can tell the others I’ll be with them shortly.’ With that, she turned to her lady-in-waiting, who had been hovering warily by the door. ‘Varna, tell the maid I’ll need my riding clothes immediately.’
When Tiolani emerged from the palace, she found that the number of hunters in the courtyard was seriously depleted. Some, it was true, had been killed or wounded the previous night, but it was patently clear that the heart had gone out of Hellorin’s Wild Hunt. Many had been deeply shaken by the ambush, and many more were downright afraid to enter the forest again. No one had ever expected the prey to fight back. Those who had joined the Hunt this evening consisted mainly of those who, like herself, had lost loved ones in the ambush, and were riding out for revenge. There was no pomp and splendour tonight; no gaiety or chatter or brightly coloured clothes, for all the Phaerie were in mourning. This sombre band of riders, all that remained of the Wild Hunt, were there for one reason only: to kill as many humans as they could find.
As she walked down the steps into the courtyard, Tiolani could feel every eye upon her. For a moment her courage failed her, but she knew that if she retreated now, she would never have the courage to try again. While she’d been dressing she had hastily run through all the details of the spell in her mind, and she could only hope that she remembered everything correctly.
Praying that her nervousness did not show, Tiolani walked across the courtyard with her head held high. When she approached Asharal, he was plunging and sidestepping, despite the best efforts of Aelwen who held him, her brows together and her lips pressed tight in an expression of profound disapproval. Tiolani met her eye coldly, daring her to comment and refusing to feel guilty. Her father may have forbidden her to hunt with her new horse, but Hellorin wasn’t here now, and it was up to her to make her own decisions. Without a word to the Horsemistress, she mounted and rode into the centre of the courtyard, her stomach churning. ‘Are you ready, Darillan?’ she called.
‘I’m ready, Lady Tiolani.’
With a sweep of her arm she included all of the hunters in the courtyard. ‘Then let’s ride!’
Tiolani took a deep breath and closed her eyes, trying to concentrate on the spell. It wasn’t easy when she was the focus of every eye in the place. To make matters worse, Asharal was shifting and fidgeting beneath her, interrupting her train of thought every time she tried to gather her will. Tiolani knew an instant of doubt. Had it been a mistake after all, to ride the excitable young horse? Had Aelwen been right? The very idea of having to admit to the Horsemistress that she had been wrong was enough to sting her into action. Aelwen didn’t know everything. Sharply, she pulled Asharal back under control, holding him in tightly, and reining in her wandering concentration at the same time.
Reaching deep inside, she focused on the elements of the conjuration, building an image in her mind of the Wild Hunt climbing up through the air and riding the skies over the forest. The more detailed and vivid her image, she knew, the stronger the magic would be. Once she had it clear in her mind, she drew on the Old Magic and accessed the elemental powers of Air, letting the forces build up and up within her. When she felt that the magic was strong enough, she poured it into her image of the Hunt in flight, and then let it go, feeling it flowing out through her fingers to cover the riders, their horses and the hounds.
She did her best with the spell, though she knew it wasn’t the same as her father’s flamboyant magic. Lacking the glittering splendour of Hellorin’s conjuration, Tiolani’s effort only summoned a sickly greenish luminescence that gave the Wild Hunt a grim spectral appearance. Good enough, she decided. It matched her mood entirely. When she took off, followed by Darillan and the pack, then the rest of the Hunt, the horses lumbered into the air with some effort. Nevertheless, she had done it, and she would certainly improve with time. Tiolani felt a warm glow of triumph within her. At least she had made a start on fulfilling her new responsibilities. For a moment she thought of Hellorin, who still lay on the brink of death with the healers doing their utmost to keep him alive, and her resolve hardened. She wouldn’t let him down. She would take the best possible care of his realm, and in doing so she would honour the memory and avenge the death of the brother who was no longer there to take his rightful place.
The Hunt was a bloodbath. This time, Darillan took his hounds to the south-eastern reaches of the forest, where the scouts had previously spotted signs of another band of ferals. These were wild humans bred for the Hunt and, though they were more primitive and less intelligent than their slave counterparts, they were much more crafty and wise in the ways of the forest than the escaped slaves. Nevertheless, it didn’t take the hounds long to track them down.
Tiolani was not the only one out for revenge that night. There was no suggestion of capturing any of the prey alive, and every member of the Wild Hunt set about the killing with grim purpose. In the ensuing carnage she acquitted herself well, not only managing to control her difficult horse through sheer force of will, but also bringing down a number of mortals on her own account, slaying them with both sword and bow. Men, women and even children - it made no difference to her. The crunch of bone, the spurting blood and the cries of agony and terror all served to assuage her grief a little, and by the time there was nothing left of the human colony but piles of slaughtered corpses on the blood-soaked forest floor, she felt calmer and more at peace than she had done since her father’s fall and Arvain’s death.
She rode home with the gore cooling on her body. It reddened her arms and chest, and covered her face in a stiff, stinking mask, plastering her hair down to her skull. Tiolani smiled grimly to herself. She had waded in so much human blood that night that it had soaked her garments - and it felt wonderful. And she had only just started. She knew that now. For killing her brother, she would visit death upon the humans a thousandfold.
Tiolani had been in control while she was out with the Hunt and there was killing to be done. When she returned to Eliorand, however, all her fears and worries surf
aced once again, and her grief returned with overwhelming force. She realised, then, that there would be nothing for it but to ride out with the Hunt each night like a driven creature, for only in the killing could she forget her troubles for a while. It would be much more difficult, however, to get through the days, with so much to learn about ruling, the additional burden of new responsibilities, and long, wretched hours spent sitting by Hellorin’s bed, talking to her father in the hope that one day he would open his eyes and respond to her. And how could she face day after day of this grief? The Phaerie were unaccustomed to the death of their own, for it happened so seldom. How could she bear the loss of her beloved Arvain? Things might have gone ill for her indeed, save for the discovery that she was not alone in her sorrow.