“Hellorin, wait! I can’t—” Eilin’s breathless wail halted the Lord of the Phaerie. He turned to see that she was in real distress. Her legs were shaky, and her chest was heaving with the unaccustomed exertion that had come too soon after recovering from her dreadful wounds. But at least she was speaking again, and that irate glint in her eye promised well for the resurgence of her fiery spirit.
“Well run, my Lady,” he told her—while thinking it was just as well that she had no breath for the blistering retort that was written all too clearly across her face. Putting his arm around her, he turned her back to face the way she had come— and was gratified by her gasp of pure delight. “Forgive me for rushing you out in such a rude and rough fashion, Lady,” he said gently, “but I wanted very much to show you this.” There, before them, climbing up and up from the gentle swell of the grassy meadow, was the pride of Hellorin’s heart: the citadel and home of his people.
The Phaerie, consummate masters of illusion that they were, had excelled themselves. Combining nature with magic, they had created a true entity that actually lived and breathed around them—unlike the oppressive heaps of soulless, murdered, hacked-out stone that formed the dwellings of Mage and Mortal. Glowing like a jewel in the strange, golden half-light that was an unchanging feature of this timeless Otherworld, the citadel took the outward form of a massive, craggy hill. Its walls and balconies were cliffs and ledges, its windows were concealed by glamourie from outward view, and its many slender wooden towers, such as the one in which Eilin had been staying, were groves of soaring, living beech. Level areas boasted glades and gardens with translucent, bright-hued flowers that sparkled like spun glass in the eerie amber light. Streams and fountains decked the hillside in diamond-glitter, and cascaded down the sheer rock faces like drifting silver veils.
Hellorin let out his breath in a contented sigh. Down through all the ages, this sight had never failed to move him with a pleasure so intense that it was almost pain. He smiled at Eilin, who stood beside him as though she had been turned to stone. Her face was rapt and glowing.
“Beautiful, is it not, beyond all words?” he murmured. “Though your exile must be bitter, can such a place as this not ease your sorrow, Lady?”
Eilin sighed. “A little, perhaps — in the course of time.” “Ah, time — but time, at last, may mend all things.” Seeing the Mage’s quizzical frown, Hellorin was swift to enlighten her. “Your exile need not last forever, Lady — only for as long as we ourselves are imprisoned here.”
“What?” Eilin gasped. “But I don’t understand.” “It has all to do with our magic, and its limitations,” the Forest Lord explained. “The power of our Healers cannot extend into your world, but when we Phaerie are released from our exile, our Healing powers will also be freed from their restrictions. You can return in safety then, and be well and whole again as you were before.”
Eilin was still frowning. “But I thought the Ancimi Magefolk had imprisoned you here for all eternity.”
“Ah, of course! Now I perceive your confusion. I explamcu the prophecy to Maya and D’arvan, but I had forgotten that you would not know. But you are weary, and the midst of a meadow is no place for lengthy tales. Come back with me now, my Lady, to my Great Hall in-the citadel, where you can be refreshed and rest in comfort. Then I will tell you all that you wish to know ...”
“So your — our — freedom depends on the One who comes to claim the Sword of Flame?” Eilin felt crushed all over again with disappointment. Almost, she wished that Hellorin had spared her these ridiculous notions. A Phaerie prophecy was too fragile a thread on which to hang her hopes!
“You must have faith, Lady.” Hellorin took her hand. “Believe me, had you known the Dragonfolk as I did, their words could not have failed to comfort you. Events are in motion — we have only to wait.”
“Yes, but for how long?” A tear trembled on Eilin’s laiL,. , “Events are in motion as we speak, out there in the world! doing goodness-knows-what with this magic sword of yours—” Her words were lost in a sob. “They need me, Hellorin! While I am forced to kick my heels in this—this Nowhere, and I don’t even know what is happening—” To her dismay, she was weeping again.
“Hush, Lady, hush,” Hellorin comforted her. “There, at least, I can ease your mind. Come, Eilin, I have one more wonder to show you.”
Taking the Mage’s hand, he led her away from the fire, toward the far end of the hall. There, to Eilin’s puzzlement, a short flight of stone steps ended in nothing. They simply went halfway up the wall—and stopped. Above them, the wall was hidden by a rich hanging of green-gold brocade. Hellorin mounted the steps, taking her with him, and pulled the curtain aside.
Eilin gasped. There, set high in the wall, was a glorious window of glittering, many-hued crystal shaped like a sun-n.rst. Around the edges, the richly colored panes sent pinpoints »t jeweled light cascading into the chamber. In the center was a single, circular pane, set at eye level from the vantage point of the stairway.
“Here.” Hellorin guided her forward with an arm around her shoulders. “Look through my window.”
“Oh!” The Mage blinked, rubbea her eyes—and peered closer. “By all the Gods, it’s Nexis!” She swung around to face him, suddenly suspicious. “Is this more of your Phaerie trickery?”
“Upon my oath it is not!” The Forest Lord’s eyes glinted with annoyance. “Gods, but if you are not the most contrary, stiff-necked creature ever to come within these walls!” Suddenly he began to laugh softly, shaking his head. “Nay, but I have not enjoyed such a battle of wits and wills since I lost my poor Adrina. . . Trust me, Lady Eilin—you I would not deceive. This is my Window upon the World, left me by your wretched ancestors, no doubt to tantalize me with all that the Phaerie were missing! It was through this casement that I first saw Adrina, collecting her dealing herbs in the forest . . .” He ease you, Lady, we will come here whenever you wish and keep vigil together, until our exile may be ended at last.
The Earth-Mage looked up at the Lord of the Phaene, suddlly and utterly moved by his kindness. How could her ancestors have been so cruel as to shut this magnificent, kindly, arelt hearted being away from the world? Her fingers tight-Son^ hand,gand for the first time in their acquaintance she smiled at him. “Thank you, my Lord,” she said simply. “I would like that very much.”
26
A Bargain with Death
Anvar’s endurance had finally reached an end. After many days—he had lost count of how many—in the slave camp, he was laid low by a fever carried by the whining, biting insects. One morning he found himself unable to rise, his body wracked by shivers and delirium. The overseer rolled him over with a sandaled foot. “This one is finished.” The words echoed weirdly in Anvar’s receding consciousness. “Get the others to work, and we’ll see to him later. What a pity-already he has won me a month’s wages. Had he lasted a little longer it would have been more.”
These were the last words that Anvar heard as he was drawn down, down into a spiral ing blackness. In that moment, all pain and sorrow and weariness lifted from his heart, and gladly he let go, to commence the final journey.
For several days after her talk with Harihn, Aurian did little but eat and sleep, and argue with the surgeon about when she could get out of bed. The search for Anvar had made no progress, and she was anxious to get matters moving at her speed. But the surgeon remained obdurate, and to her dismay, she was prevented from trying out her injured leg by Shia, who had come down unexpectedly but firmly on the side of the wrinkled little man. Since the great cat never left her side, Aurian found herself helplessly confined to bed, waited on hand and foot by the gigantic Bohan. Out of gratitude for his devotion, and the well-meaning concern of both Shia and her host, Aurian tried to curb her irritation, but her frustration was mounting with each passing day.