The Cailleach raised an eyebrow. “The Harp sings to you?”
But Anvar heard the tremor of doubt behind her mocking tones, saw her eyes flick away, infinitesimally, before coming back to pierce him. And yes, the Harp was singing to him, with the crystal starry music of the bridge, from the hinterland beyond his consciousness. And it told him how to answer her. “Of course it sings to me. You know it does. Who kept the waves of the lake from harming me? Who built the bridge of stars to bring me here? At first I thought that was your doing, but now I know better.” Anvar lifted his head, and looked her in the eye. His glance flicked across the Cailleach’s pitiless raptor’s gaze, and they clashed like two slender blades of steel. The Lady was the first to look away. When she looked back, she was smiling.
No trace of the crone, now. No trace of the eagle. Her face was flawless, youthful, and alluring. Beautiful. Irresistible. Anvar’s heart beat faster. “Fool,” sang the Harp, in the back of his mind. “Dupe. Beware deception ...” Just as the power of the Staff of Earth had a distinctly masculine aspect, the tone of the Harp felt indisputably feminine.
“Where are you?” the Mage called back to it, using mind-speech. “How can I find you?”
“Within. Within ...”
Anvar grinned up at the Cailleach. “Why don’t you invite me inside?” In her eyes, he surprised a flash of victory. She beckoned him up the curving staircase, and as he entered the numinous golden glow beyond the portal, he heard the door spring shut behind him like the steel jaws of a trap.
The golden light was much brighter inside. It dazzled his eyes, burned into his brain. It was like falling into the heart of the sun. Anvar staggered forward, blind, dazed, disoriented. He heard the triumphant cackle of an old hag’s laughter—or was it the harsh cry of a bird of prey? Arms twined around his neck, pulling him down; clawed nails like talons impaled his skin. An undulating body clung to him, pressing against his flesh. Moist lips fastened on his mouth, sucking at his breath, drawing the life-force from his body. Anvar struggled, fighting for breath, drowning in the tidal wave of the creature’s lust . . .
“The Staff, fool! Use the Staff, before she takes it from you!.” The song of the Harp cut shrill across his reeling consciousness. Such was its power that Anvar obeyed instinctively. He lifted his right hand, and brought the Staff of Earth crashing down upon the head of the clinging succubus.
The vampire lover vanished. The air was split asunder by a hideous shriek, as the world plunged into blackness.
25
Healing
It was full night by the time Aurian and her winged escort reached Aerillia. The Skyfolk who were bearing her were plainly unhappy about the risk of flying in darkness, and to compound the problem, the peaks were smothered in low-lying banks of cloud, reducing visibility to nothing.
The Mage could hear the muttered complaints of her bearers as she dangled perilously below them in the swinging net. And they thought they had problems! She snorted in disgust. Of all the insane, ridiculous ways to get from one place to another . . . The rough rope meshes dug into her body and the raw, damp chill had pierced her to the very bone, despite the blankets in which she had wrapped herself. And for someone afraid of heights, this was definitely not the way to travel! Aurian was wholeheartedly glad of the darkness, and obscuring cloud, so that she could not see how far she would have to fall, if these winged idiots should accidentally drop her.
“Aurian? My friend, is that you?” They must be nearing Aerillia at last. Hearing Shia’s mental call, the Mage forgot her fear in her concern for her companion. Shia sounded unhappy, and unusually subdued. “Are you all right?” she asked the cat.
“Khanu and I are cold and cramped and hungry. We daren’t even try to dig our way out, for fear of attracting attention. There are Skyfolk down here searching . . . For Anvar as well as ourselves.” Shia’s despairing tone told the Mage that Anvar had not yet been found.
Shuddering, Aurian tried to banish the cold hand of fear that clamped around her heart. I’ll find him, she told herself stubbornly. I know he isn’t dead—I would have felt it! Firmly, she put that worry out of her mind for the present and turned her attention back to Shia. “But in the message I sent, I told Raven to tell the Winged Folk you weren’t to be harmed!”
“Pah!” spat Shia. “She already betrayed us once. I’d put as much trust in Raven as I would put in the rest of these murdering skyborne fiends!” There was a long pause—so long that the Mage began to worry, then an unknown voice—another cat, for sure, but definitely male, broke in: “They killed Hreeza.”
“We failed her,” Shia added bitterly. “We could not come to her in time.” Into Aurian’s mind came a vision of a great cat standing at bay in a ruined building. Her black muzzle was frosted with gray and her movements were stiff with age, but her eyes were still ablaze with courage and defiance. A crowd of Winged Folk were closing around her, armed with stones and knives. “It took her a long time to die.” Shia’s mental tones were almost inaudible. The picture broke up and vanished as Shia lost control of the vision, and Aurian’s heart was overwhelmed by the agony of the great cat’s grief. A wave of anger rose up in her against the Winged Folk who had done this dreadful deed.
“Can’t you fly any faster?” the Mage shouted at her winged bearers. She was desperate to reach Aerillia now, to comfort her friend. “I’m coming!” she told Shia. “We’re almost there. Just hold on a little longer.”
Eventually, Aurian saw the haloed gleams of many lights shining dimly through the pervasive murk. Aerillia at last! Relief washed over her—but it was short-lived, as a great dark shape came hurtling at her through the fog. A leering gargoyle face loomed close, and hard stone struck her hip as the net crashed into the edge of a buttress. Aurian heard her bearers curse as they skimmed the top of the tower with which she’d collided. Her heart leapt into her throat as the sound of wingbeats faltered above her and the net gave a downward lurch. Then the Skyfolk steadied themselves, though the net, with its horrified passenger, was spinning beneath them from the force of the impact, while the Mage indulged in some inventive cursing of her own.
Aurian’s invective was cut short as she was dumped, none too gently, on a pile of excruciatingly sharp-edged rocks. Blast these bloody Winged Folk! she thought sourly, trying to scramble her way out of the tangled meshes. They’re supposed to be expecting us! Why didn’t they bring out some lights? Her escort seemed to be thinking along the same lines, judging by the choice, unflattering phrases that were being called out in the Skyfolk tongue. By the time that Aurian had managed to disentangle herself from the net, she saw some half a dozen lanterns, faint glimmers in the swirling fog, bobbing toward her at ground level.
In the growing light, the Mage saw Chiamh and Yazour struggling out of their own nets, and breathed a sigh of relief. Then she turned her attention to her surroundings. There was little to be seen through the mist, but Aurian could make out the looming shapes of broken pillars above piles of shattered stone. She recognized the ruined temple that she had seen when her spirit had ridden the winds to Aerillia with Chiamh.
There was no time for further thought. The Skyfolk delegation were approaching. Walking between four armed guards were two figures of a different stamp—an aging woman with a strong-boned face and a determined expression, her wings and hair tied in dramatic patterns of black and white, and a pale-skinned, white-winged man with dark hollows of sleeplessness beneath his eyes, and a shock of snowy hair that was belied by the youthfulness of his face. The guards drew back as the two Winged Folk approached the Mage, inclining their heads and extending their wings in the Skyfolk equivalent of a bow. “Lady Aurian,” the woman said. “I am Master Physician Elster. Queen Raven sent us to greet you. She cannot move from her bed—not with her wings so badly injured.” She glanced behind, to make sure that the guards were out of earshot. “Nor would it be wise,” she added softly, “for her to appear in public in her current condition. Thanks to the unlikely assistance of a straying child, who took a message out for Cygnus”—she indicated her white-haired companion”—the people of Aerillia know that the Queen was held prisoner by Blacktalon. They do not know, however, that she is incapable of flight, and therefore of ruling. Should this be discovered, trouble would ensue, for this fell winter is still upon us, and not all our folk were opposed to the High Priest. Some saw him as the harbinger of a golden age, when the Skyfolk would regain their old supremacy—” She threw up her hands in a gesture pf despair. “Lady, we stand on the brink of civil war, and only you can save us.”