The Windeye, glad to make his escape at last, had sought his chambers as quickly as possible. After the harrowing events of the previous night, he had flopped down onto his hay-stuffed pallet and fallen asleep fully clothed, before he even had time to pull the fur covers over himself.
When he finally awakened, Chiamh had still felt heavy-eyed with lack of rest. In an attempt to revive himself, he had decided to go and bathe in the icy pool at the bottom of the nearby waterfall. Gathering a change of clean clothing in a thick warm blanket in which he would wrap himself until he dried, he set out through the labyrinth of passages toward the entrance of the fastness.
Chiamh stood to one side of the great arched doorway, yawning and stretching, and looked across the steeply sloping green expanse that lay beyond the massive stone edifice, to the vast open vistas that lay beyond, where the land dropped down toward the sea. The day was cool, with a brisk wind that harried the ragged knots of gray cloud across the sky and sent beams of sunlight stalking across the land between the drifting showers, to patch the dull greens and duns of the woods and grasslands with pockets of emerald and gold. Brighter still, however, were the hues of the colorful tents that dotted the meadowland before the fastness.
The Windeye exclaimed aloud in astonishment to see the vast encampment of Horsefolk that had sprung up in his absence, in response to the messages that he and Parric had sent out before they’d left for the Tower of Incondor. So much had happened since then that he’d forgotten about sending out the summons—and last night Chiamh had failed to see the dark outlines of the tents in the rainy darkness. Besides, he’d had far more pressing matters to concern him. The Xandim, however, had answered the Herdlord’s call. From the different and distinctive designs on the hide tents, Chiamh could see that they had flocked in from every region.
At the sight of so many folk thronging the meadow, the Windeye took an involuntary step backward into the shelter of the entrance tunnel. He had never seen such a crowd of people all together, and their presence unnerved him a little. He had lived most of his days in enforced solitude before the coming of the Outlanders had changed his existence, and though he reveled in the warmth of his newfound companionship and acceptance, he still found himself longing, on occasion, for the peace and solitude of his own little vale, and the airy freedom of his Chamber of Winds, where he could reflect and meditate for a time on the incredible and portentous events that had overtaken him lately.
On impulse, Chiamh decided to change his plans and go home for a little while. He could just as easily bathe in the stream-fed pool in his valley, and he really ought to check his living cavern to see that everything was still in order. That, at least, was what he told himself. In reality, the Windeye was running away—but that was something he would rather not think about.
First of all he had to get through the busy encampment without being seen, but to one of his calling, that presented no difficulty. Entering a pool of shade within the depths of the passageway, Chiamh took up the insubstantial shreds of shadow and wove a mantle of twilight about himself. Securely concealed in his shadow cloak from curious eyes, he slipped toward the archway with a secretive smile.
“Ho, Chiamh!”
On hearing his name, the Windeye froze in his tracks with a cry of dismay. Turning, he saw Aurian, silhouetted against the torchlit doorway of the inner hall. “That’s a very clever trick,” she said as she approached, “but I should warn you, it doesn’t work on a Mage. Why the disguise, my friend?” She smiled at him, and Chiamh’s chagrin melted away.
“You should look outside,” he told her. “It appears that the entire Xandim nation has camped in the meadow. I felt the need for solitude, and—”
“And I interrupted your escape,” Aurian apologized.
“I don’t feel any need to escape you. I just wanted to go home for a time.”
“Isn’t this your home?”
Chiamh shook his head. “I live farther up the mountain, usually. It is very beautiful there.” Suddenly, he decided that maybe solitude was not so attractive after all. “Would you like to see it?”
“Is it very much farther?” Aurian, profoundly glad to be off the broad cliff path at last, stood at the top of the incline that snaked up the crag behind the fastness, and looked out across the windswept expanse of the mountain plateau. She could see no sign of another valley anywhere, and she did not want to stay away from Wolf too long. He had been sleeping contentedly when she’d left him, guarded by the hovering presence or Bohan and the two wolves, who had finally limped back to the fastness, footsore and defeated, while she and Anvar had been on Steelclaw. They had greeted the cub ecstatically, and one or both of them had been at his side ever since. Although her son appeared to be suffering few ill effects from his abduction, he had been badly frightened, and the Mage wanted to be nearby should he need reassurance—although, in truth, the cub seemed quite happy with his lupine guardians. Nonetheless, Aurian had been hovering over him all morning since she had awakened, until both Anvar and Shia had chased her out to get some air—and some peace and quiet for themselves.
Anvar had needed to spend some time with old Elewin, who had been longing to see the young servant from the Academy whom he had once protected. Now, it seemed, their positions were reversed. The steward, already enfeebled by his illness, had taken Meiriel’s death very badly. He seemed shrunken, somehow: listless and morose and suddenly very, very old; and Anvar, his brow furrowed with concern, had gone to see if he could cheer his former mentor. Aurian, knowing the closeness that the two former servants of the Academy had once shared, had been unwilling to intrude upon them. Shia and Khanu also had plans: to make a brief trip back to Steelclaw—on foot this time—to see how Hreeza was faring in her new role as First Female, and Parric, Aurian knew, would not be fit company until he had overcome his current fit of bad temper because she had escaped him the previous night to go to the aid of her son.
Yazour was still asleep, and so the Mage, seeking companionship, had sought out the two former Xandim exiles—but their company brought her little enjoyment, for Schiannath, in particular, had been silent and morose. Though it took a great deal of persistence on her part, Aurian finally discovered that the young warrior, having at last made the acquaintance of the two great cats, had learned that the Goddess Iriana who had seemingly spoken to him in Incondor’s Pass when he had rescued Yazour, had been none other than Shia herself. He felt foolish, humiliated, and angry at himself for being so gullible, until Aurian, thinking quickly, had suggested that, since Shia could not usually communicate with non-Magefolk, the Goddess might well have taken a hand in the business, after all. Though Schiannath had been comforted by the notion, the two Xandim were still far from cheerful. Glad as they were to be released from their exile, they were uneasy about being immured within the fastness within reach of their former enemies. Iscalda, in particular, seemed to feel that once Parric’s term as Herdlord ended, as it shortly would, the companions would be in danger once more. Aurian shared their concerns but wanted one day’s peace, at least, to rest and recover before starting to worry about the next set of problems. She had left them as soon as she decently could to go in search of Chiamh—but almost as soon as she had found him, she was starting to be anxious about getting back.