Khanu, his heavy fur torn out in patches and one ear ripped and bleeding, had come across the canyon to meet the Mages and escort them to Shia in safety. When they reached the summit, he led them proudly through the crowded ranks of felines that waited there. The assembly was a breathtaking sight. One great cat alone was awesome in size and power, but to see so many… Wonderingly, Aurian swept her eyes across them all, seeing lithe, muscled females and heavy-boned males resplendent in their shaggy ruffs; grizzled veterans, leggy youngsters, and fuzzy, gold-dappled black cubs, with paws and ears too big for them yet, that made her smile. A hundred gold eyes flashed and flared like a dragon hoard in the early sunlight as the great cats watched her pass, each one of them tense with silent curiosity. Aurian, looking at their great curved claws and gleaming fangs, was suddenly very glad that she had Shia to sponsor her here. She was an interloper and a hated human, and had she been alone, she would not have lasted long enough to draw another breath. With a shiver of surprise, she suddenly remembered her first meeting with Shia in the Khazalim arena. The bond between them was so strong now, it seemed impossible to believe that her beloved companion had very nearly killed her.
Shia was near the tip of the spur, watching over Hreeza. The old cat, though battered and bloody, raised her head with stubborn pride to look on as the Mage rushed to embrace her friend. “Thank the gods you’re safe,” she told the cat. “How did you come unscathed through all the fighting?”
“Most of them were very glad to see me,” Shia replied smugly. “Though there is one who was not.” Aurian followed her glance toward the body of an enormous cat that lay nearby, its heavily muscled body limp in death. Shia looked back toward her people. “Gristheena has been vanquished!” The thunder of her mental tones rose to match the challenge of her roar, which shook the very stones beneath them. “Who is leader now?”
“Shia! Shia!” The sheer volume of their response was almost enough to batter Aurian to the ground. It took all her self-control not to clap her hands over her ringing ears.
“No.” Shia’s answer stopped them in midroar.
For a moment there was utter silence; then an ancient, hollow-eyed chuevah called out from the rear of the ranked cats. “If you will not lead us, who will?” There was a brief scuffle as her friends tried to silence her; then the harsh old voice rang out again: “Well, somebody has to say it! Don’t be a fool, young Shia. You must lead us. Do you want us to go through this again?” Her bony paw swept out to indicate the many wounded who lay in the bottom of the crater. “Our people have suffered cruelly in this last evil winter, and through the injustice of Gristheena’s rule. Our numbers are sadly diminished. A strong First Female is essential now, or the tribe will die. Would you weaken us further by wasting our best in Challenge after Challenge, until a new leader should emerge?”
Though the cantankerous old feline had spoken out of turn, murmurs of assent greeted her words.
“Be still!” Shia interrupted them. “Taheera speaks wisely, does she not? Yet she is old. Too old, according to Gristheena, to be of any further use to the tribe. Too old to Challenge. Only the strongest have been permitted to remain with our people. Only the strongest could rule. Yet see to what end our reverence for strength has brought us.” Now it was her turn to remind them of the cats that lay in agony below.
“My people, it is time for change. We must maintain our prowess, certainly: encourage, instruct, and nurture our hunters and warriors for the good of the tribe. But let wisdom lead us.” Shia paused, and her golden gaze swept across the assembled cats. “By right of Challenge, the leadership is mine—but I cannot stay to lead you. The bonds of friendship hold me, and my path leads elsewhere—for not only here on Steelclaw is the safety of our people threatened. With your agreement, I will appoint another to rule in my absence. I will entrust the safekeeping of our tribe to the brave cat who dared, against all hope, to challenge Gristheena: the wise cat who brought home your exiled elders and den mates, and saved them from starvation in the mountains. O cats, have you learned from the slaughter and suffering? Will you abandon the law of claw and tooth and terror, and put your trust in wisdom? Will you have Hreeza as your leader?”
“What?” Hreeza demanded. “Me?”
Aurian felt the warm edge to Shia’s thoughts that denoted humor. “Of course, old friend,” the great cat said. “Who better?”
The cats stared at one another, thunderstruck. Aurian knew that Shia’s return had set them in a turmoil. She guessed that, at first, they had been wild with elation over the reappearance of their long-lost leader, then horrified by her friendship with, of all things, certain humans, for she had felt their resentment as she passed among the injured cats on the crater’s floor. Her help with their wounded, however, had gone a long way to reassure them that not all two-legged folk were evil, so that by the time Shia had warned them of her imminent departure, they must have been dismayed by her decision to leave them once again. But though the bitter lessons of the previous night had left their impact, and made them ready to listen to her stirring words, acceptance was another matter. Dispensing with the rite of Challenge went against every belief that the tribe possessed.
There was a long moment of silence. Then a lone voice spoke up from the rear of the gathering. “Well, I say we should have Hreeza as our leader.” It was the indomitable Taheera again. “What do we have to lose? We lived with the other way for so long—and see where it has led us. We old cats have lived for many seasons. We have hunted in our time, and borne cubs; we have lived and survived through famine and sickness, battle and conflict within and beyond the tribe. We remember: we are wise. Should we be discarded because we are too old to fight and hunt and bear young? Why does the tribe not use our knowledge? Let Hreeza try, I say—and we old chuevah will help her. Give her a chance. If she fails, we can always go back to the old way.”
A roar of assent broke out as the old chuevah raised their voices to support her. The younger cats murmured among themselves, indecisive—and reluctant, perhaps, to let go of their authority. “Fine words,” one of them said, “but what if we need to defend ourselves? How can an old cat lead us in battle?”
Shia added the weight of her words to the debate. “Hreeza must choose a battle leader from the cats in their prime. She may also appoint a hunt leader from those who are most skilled. Give her a year, and see what happens,” she said persuasively. “Under Hreeza’s rule, I am certain that the tribe will prosper.”
“It had better prosper,” muttered one lone voice from somewhere in the crowd, but apart from that, there were no further objections. “Hreeza for leader!” Taheera roared, and as the other cats joined in, the very mountains trembled. “Hreeza! Hreeza!”
Hreeza turned to Shia with blazing eyes. “Now look what you’ve done, you young fool,” she snapped, but Aurian could see that she was secretly delighted.
“Here, let me look at those injuries,” she told the old cat. “Goodness knows, you’ll have a busy time ahead, so you’d better start off your reign in perfect health.”
Anvar pulled from his pocket the carved bone whistle that had been given to the Mages to summon the Skyfolk from the air. “And once you’ve healed Hreeza, we must go home,” he added firmly.
Aurian looked around at the soaring mountains of a foreign land, and sighed. “I would like nothing better—if only we had a home.”
9
On the Wings of the Wind
The sun was reaching its zenith when Chiamh emerged from the shadowy entrance to the Xandim Fastness. He noted the hour with some surprise. Had he really slept so long? At about the same time the previous day, he had been flown back by reluctant Winged Folk from Steelclaw, along with Shia, Khanu, and the Mages. All of them had been chilled to the bone and light-headed from exhaustion, and no one really had the energy to answer the anxious entreaties of Parric, Schiannath, and the others who had waited behind. Much to the evident frustration of the temporary Herdlord, they had spent some time answering only the most urgent of his questions while they shared the bowls of stew and the hot spiced wine that Iscalda had prepared. Then Anvar, concerned at Aurian’s evident weariness, had cut the meeting short with a brusqueness that had brought a scowl to the face of Parric, who had already been annoyed at having to stay behind to find accommodation for the new influx of Outlanders, and to calm his people after the shock of Meiriel’s attack.