“Lady, must these animals be in here?” Cygnus, entering with Elster, was frowning. He sidled across the chamber, putting the widest possible space between himself and the intimidating cats, to hover protectively by Raven.
“Yes, they must” Aurian replied shortly. “Now get out of the way, and let me get on with this.”
“What?” Elster looked startled. “You intend to heal her now? Just like that—with no preparation or anything?”
“Well, I must admit, a hot drink would have been welcome on this freezing night, but since no one has offered . . .” The Mage shrugged. “Yes, I’m going to do it now, and I want you two out of here.” She looked hard at the remains of Raven’s wings. “This will be tricky, and if I’m interrupted or distracted while I rebuild the wings, she could end up in a worse state than before I started.”
Raven saw the bitter disappointment on Elster’s face, and a flash of angry denial in the eyes of Cygnus. For a moment she was tempted to insist that they stay. Alone, she would be utterly at the mercy of Aurian and the cats. The Mage was looking at her with one eyebrow raised and a challenging tilt to her chin. “Well, Raven?” she asked softly. “Will you trust me to keep my word—or not?”
“Do not permit this, Your Majesty,” Cygnus urged. Elster said nothing, but she also looked unhappy. The winged girl hesitated—but only for a moment. “I owe you my trust,” she answered softly, “and much more than that.”
The Mage nodded briefly, accepting the sentiment behind the words. Raven turned to the protesting physicians.
“Out,” she said in imperious tones that she had learned from her mother. “Do not return until you are summoned.”
“Actually ...” Aurian was frowning thoughtfully. “One of you must stay. In order to repair that wing, I’ll need a perfect example to work from.” She gestured to Elster. “It had better be you—you’re less excitable than your friend.”
“Lady—no!” Cygnus protested. “I too am a physician. Would you force me to miss such a miracle? It isn’t fair to exclude only me, out of everyone in this chamber.”
Aurian sighed. “Oh, very well.” She looked at Yazour. “If our physician here utters a single sound, I want you to cut his throat.”
Yazour, grinning evilly as he slipped a long, keen dagger from his belt, looked as though he would be only too happy to oblige, and the protest that Raven had been about to make died abruptly on her lips.
As the Mage began to work, there was complete silence in the chamber. Afterward, Raven had few clear recollections of the Healing, but what stood out ever afterward in her memory was the sudden, shocking cessation of pain as Aurian laid a gentle touch upon her wings. In the absence of the agony that had been her constant torment, the winged girl was bathed in a warm, floating wave of euphoria, her body gloriously relaxed as though it suddenly had become weightless. Nothing in her life had ever felt so wonderful. Drowsily, she let her mind float free, barely feeling the lingering tingling glow as the Mage’s hands passed over the shattered wings, and the force of Aurian’s magic sank into mangled tissue and splintered bone, straightening and healing the damage Blacktalon had wrought. If only she could also heal my mind, Raven thought, of the grief I feel for my mother—and for Harihn, despite the fact that he betrayed me. If only she could heal me of the guilt I feel at betraying the Magefolk, and poor Nereni . . . Yet under the benison of Aurian’s Healing touch, even such bitter thoughts had little power to hurt the winged girl. Perhaps, if she could find a way to make amends, she might be truly forgiven... On such a note of hope, Raven’s mind drifted away into dreams.
“That’s it—finished.” Aurian straightened her aching back, and rubbed the last traces of blue Magelight from hands that had begun to shake with tiredness and tension. The repair of Raven’s intricate wings had been by far the most difficult Healing she had ever attempted. The Gods only knew how long it had taken! Rubbing her stinging eyes, the Mage glanced out of the window. Although it was still dark outside, she could sense that peculiar lightening of the air and the spirit that comes when the night has turned toward the dawn.
Aurian turned away from the window, belatedly aware that no one had replied to her comment. Raven was asleep already, Shia and Khanu were also sleeping, curled tightly together in a corner, black on dappled black and gold. Yazour was rummaging behind embroidered curtains, peering into the alcoves they concealed, “They must keep some wine somewhere in this room,” he muttered,
Cygnus and Elster were staring, mouths agape, at Raven’s wings. “Impossible!” whispered the young physician. Elster shook her head. “No! she contradicted. “It was truly a miracle.” For the first time, she smiled at Aurian with genuine warmth. “My Lady, how can we ever recompense you for saving our Queen?”
The Mage grinned back at her. “Well, to begin with, some food and wine and a warm place to rest would help,” Having expended so much energy in Healing Raven, she was sagging with exhaustion. “Tomorrow,” she added wryly, “I’ll talk to Raven, and let you know what else,”
“What now, Aurian?” Yazour, about to fling himself on the spindly, backless couch, took a second look at its delicate construction and lowered himself more circumspectly.
The Mage eased her worn boots off and lay back in the central hollow of the peculiar, circular bed. “Let me eat and rest for a little while, and as soon as we have some daylight, we’ll try to find out what happened to Anvar.”
Aurian reached out to the low table that stood by the bed, and took another piece of the heavy, soggy bread that seemed to have been made from ground-up tubers. She grimaced as she swallowed. “Gods, they are short of food,” she commented. “If the Winged Folk are so desperate, no wonder Blacktalon managed to gain his hold over the city.”
Yazour grunted a sleepy response. His eyes were already closing, and briefly, Aurian envied him. Forral had taught her, long ago, the warrior’s trick of snatching brief moments of sleep wherever possible, but though the circular tower chamber, with its thick, draftproof hangings, woven matting, and smoldering iron brazier in the corner, was the warmest place she had encountered since leaving the desert, and she was finding it increasingly difficult to stave off the urge to sleep, she knew there would be no real rest for her until she found her fellow Mage. Aurian took a sip of the thin, sour wine that was all that was left in Aerillia, and wished in vain for liafa. When a disturbance on the landing platform outside heralded the arrival of Chiamh, she welcomed him with undisguised relief.
Shia opened a sleepy eye as the Windeye entered, and came sharply to attention. The cat was as anxious as Aurian to find some trace of Anvar. Chiamh dusted flecks of snow from his cloak and stood shivering by the brazier, warming his hands. The Mage passed a cup of wine to him. “Did you find anything?” she asked urgently.
The Windeye shrugged. “I have news indeed—but good or bad, I cannot say. Have you heard of the Moldai, Lady?”
“The giant earth-elementals?” Aurian frowned. “Only in the ancient legends of the Cataclysm. I thought the ancient Magefolk had sent them out of the world, along with the Phaerie. What have they to do with anything?”
“More than you think.” Chiamh answered. “The Moldai were not sent out of the world, but merely imprisoned, sleeping, in the mountains that are their mundane flesh and bone.” He laid an urgent hand on her arm, his nearsighted brown eyes blinking up at her earnestly. “Aurian, the Moldai are awake once more. In my own lands, I have spoken several times with the Moldan of the Wyndveil Peak. And do you know what has awakened them? The finding of the Staff of Earth.”
Aurian stared at him, aghast. “What? You mean these things are on the loose again? And it’s all my fault?”
“Not on the loose, exactly—not in this level of existence, at any rate,” Ghiamh told her. “But they are awake now, and powerful—and not all have the good intentions of my friend Basileus, the Wyndveil Moldan’