Although she had asked him a question, it seemed to the Windeye that Aurian had almost forgotten his presence. Seeing the faraway look in her eyes, he cleared his throat loudly.
The Mage swung round to face him. “Goodness, you startled me.”
Chiamh pushed a windblown lock of hair out of his eyes. “You asked me a question, remember? My valley is a good league away, maybe—and part of it uphill again.” He noted Aurian’s hesitation with a pang of disappointment. He had been looking forward to showing her his home—he had not realized how much, until now. Then an idea struck him. But could he do it? Suddenly, his mind was made up. He turned to Aurian and grinned. “On horseback, it would take no time at all.”
“But we don’t have a horse,” Aurian objected.
The Windeye grinned broadly. “Do we not? Stand well clear, my friend, and I will show you a wonder.”
Aurian knew, in an abstract sense, that the Xandim were shape-shifters, but because of her absence in Aerillia she had never actually seen the change take place. Chiamh heard her gasp with amazement as his outline blurred and expanded; his bones thickened and his head and neck grew heavy and long as his position altered to a four-legged stance. All at once the transformation was complete. In the place of the Windeye stood a stocky, shaggy-maned bay horse.
“Oh, Chiamh,” Aurian breathed. Slowly she approached him, plainly unsure whether she dared to touch him. Nervously, Chiamh waited, as tense as she—until after a moment’s hesitation, the Mage laid a gentle hand on his warm, thickly muscled neck.
Startled, Chiamh sprang back with a snort, unable to help himself. His mind worked somewhat differently while he was wearing his equine form, and it was unnerving to suffer the touch of an unfamiliar human hand. For a moment, he was tempted to change back again. He doubted whether he could hold to his offer to let her ride. Normally, for one Xandim to ride another in horse-form, there would have to be great need—or great intimacy between them. He and Aurian had become friends in a very short time, but…
The Windeye noticed that Aurian was standing back now, reluctant to approach him again. She was frowning, and subtle changes in her posture and her scent betrayed her anxiety. He hated to see her frown—and all because he had wanted to show off, he realized guiltily. Did she not have enough to worry about, besides the fey humors of a half-wild horse? All at once his mind was made up. Had they not journeyed together on the wind? And was this really so very different?
Taking firm control of his equine instincts, Chiamh stepped forward. Aurian reached out a hand, then hesitated, plainly uncertain, and the Windeye cursed himself for not explaining matters more fully to her before he had transformed himself, for neither his Othersight nor mental communication would work while he wore his equine form. For an instant he considered changing back, just to speak to her—but no. He would probably never summon up the courage to do this again. Instead, he took another step forward, and rubbed his long nose against her outstretched hand.
At the Windeye’s gesture, the Mage appeared to relax. She stroked the soft, bristly nose, and smiled. “Chiamh, this is amazing! I wonder how you do it,” she said softly. Chiamh snorted, flicked his ears, and shook his long black mane, and Aurian laughed with pure delight. “Are you sure you still want me to ride?” she asked him softly. “Is it really all right?”
The Windeye looked at her, and nodded his head up and down vigorously.
“Thank you,” Aurian said, “but I’ll need something to stand on, since you have no saddle. You’re taller than I thought you’d be.” She looked around until she spotted a place where a small outcrop of rock poked above the turf at the top of the cliff. “That should do.”
Chiamh, following her pointing finger, walked over to the place and stood patiently while Aurian scrambled to the top of a large, lichen-covered stone. As she threw a leg across his back, he gritted his teeth and closed his eyes, mastering the urge to flinch away, but once she had settled on his back, he felt better. She had done this before, he noted with surprise. Her legs clasped him firmly but not too tightly, and she knew just the right way to distribute her weight to make things comfortable and easy for him. Suddenly Chiamh began to relax and enjoy himself. Once he felt her twine her fingers in the long, coarse hair of his mane, he knew she was ready, and with a bound he was away, racing across the short, crisp turf of the plateau.
Aurian sat easily on the back of the galloping bay horse, her hair blowing behind her in the wind and her eyes watering with the exhilarating speed of Chiamh’s running. The world went flashing past them, the bright spring flowers that dotted the grass blurring past in a rainbow of colors beneath his pounding hooves. This was wonderful! Unable to stop herself, she let out a wild whoop of delight that echoed back from the surrounding peaks.
The ride was over far too soon. Ahead of them, Aurian saw a pair of tall standing stones, the gateway to a narrow, pine-clad valley with steep, rocky sides. The Windeye slowed his wild pace and came gently to a halt in the shadow of the towering stones. The Mage slid down reluctantly, and backed away until the Xandim had sufficient space to change. Once again, Aurian saw his outline blur, shrink, and resume an upright form—and Chiamh the man stood before her, slightly out of breath and grinning widely.
For a moment they looked at one another, beyond words, and then, as if at some unspoken signal, they rushed to hug each other. “Chiamh, that was wonderful,” Aurian told him as they stood apart. “I’ll never forget it as long as I live!”
“Nor will I,” the Windeye assured her. Holding out a hand to her, he added: “Come, let me show you my valley.” Hand in hand, they stepped out of the plateau’s sunlight, and into the cool shadow of the pines.
“Has Wolf recovered from his ordeal?” Chiamh asked. They had bathed—very briefly—in the icy mountain pool, and now were sitting by a hastily kindled fire in the mouth of his cave, sipping hot herb tea and looking down the valley past the shadow of the great rock spire that towered above the Windeye’s dwelling. Aurian, who was absently threading white starflowers into a chain, looked up at the sound of his voice and nodded. “Seemingly, though he’s still somewhat nervous. I think he had bad dreams last night, if a wolf can dream—but he seemed much calmer and happier today, or I wouldn’t have left him.”
Chiamh nodded. “You were right to come, though. Apart from the fact that I am enjoying your company”—he smiled at her—“you need to put aside your worries for a time.” His face grew thoughtful. “How long is it, Aurian, since you had a chance to think of only yourself?”
Aurian was touched by his concern. “Gods, I don’t remember,” she sighed. “Probably not since Forral died.” The memory, still painful after all this time, cast a shadow across the bright afternoon.
“Ah, Forral,” Chiamh said. “Parric’s friend, and Wolfs father.”
“Parric told you?”
“Briefly, when we first met.” The Windeye took her hand. “I grieve for your loss,” he said softly, and Aurian knew they were not mere empty words. “What happened after you and Anvar came south? How came you by the Staff and the Harp?” he went on, and the Mage found herself telling him of their adventures. Though she tried to keep her tale brief, by the time she was bringing herself up to the present, the sun was dipping toward the cliffs on her left and the air in the shadowed mountain valley was growing chill. “And now,” she finished quickly, “we have the Staff and the Harp, but we still must find the Sword. It is hidden, though, and I haven’t the vaguest idea where to begin to look.”