“I may be able to help, you know,” Chiamh told her. “Perhaps if I make a Seeing, I will be able to find where it is concealed.”
“A Seeing?” Aurian leaned forward, her eyes lighting with a spark of hope. “What is that?”
“It… I…” Chiamh flung his hands up helplessly, lost for words to explain. “If you and Anvar come back here with me tonight, I will show you.”
“Of course we will.” Aurian squinted up at the sinking sun. “But I think we should be heading back now, Chiamh. It’s getting late, and Wolf may be missing me.” She sprang to her feet, and suddenly turned back to him as a thought occurred to her.
“Chiamh—who is Basileus? When I almost died, he helped me—but what is he?”
The Windeye smiled enigmatically. “I think he could explain that better himself. Now that you are back from Steelclaw, I’m sure you will be meeting Basileus again very soon—and so you should. But if you want to return to your son before nightfall, we have no time at present. Can you be patient a little longer?”
“I suppose so,” Aurian muttered. Patience had never been her strong point. Chiamh grinned. “In that case—do you want to ride back again?”
Aurian’s face lit up. “Oh, yes!”
As Aurian and the Windeye, now back in his human form, were clambering down the shallow, zigzag cliff path that led to the fastness, Chiamh was the first to spot the trouble. The Mage’s fear of heights extended even to this broad trail, and the descent was proving much more nerveracking than the climb had been. Cursing the overwhelming Magefolk curiosity that had led her up here in the first place, she had been hugging the cliff face all the way—and the one direction in which she had not been looking was down.
“Look down there!”
Aurian shot the Windeye a sour look. “Do I have to?” Chiamh, unexpectedly, did not smile at her discomfiture.
I “I really think you should,” he said gravely.
“Very well—but we’ll have to stop for a minute, or I’ll get dizzy.” Steadying herself against the comforting wall of stone on her right, she looked down past the many-leveled, crenellated roofs of the fastness. The snaking track was situated in a curve of the cliff that barely gave her a view of the great arched entrance and the crowd that stood before it. Though dusk was falling fast, she could make out the dark shapes of many people, most of whom were carrying torches. Now that she was paying attention, the faint murmur of protesting voices drifted upward on the wind. Aurian cursed. At the top of the entrance steps, Parric stood at bay with Iscalda and Schiannath, evidently the focus of the angry, spear-waving mob.
“Great Goddess! We must get down there—and fast,” Chiamh cried. Even Aurian could see the necessity. “You go on ahead,” she told him. “I’ll follow you as quickly as I can.”
The Windeye had clambered down to the bottom of the cliff before he could make out individual voices in the crowd. As usual, the hectoring Galdrus was one of the most vociferous.
“Thick in the body and thick in the head,” muttered Chiamh to himself as he ran toward the mob—but it didn’t make the warrior any less dangerous. Galdrus had long been the ringleader of those who had mocked and victimized the young Windeye. For an instant Chiamh’s quick strides faltered; then he plunged forward again. The days of fearing Galdrus and the others were past, now. It was time to consolidate the grudging respect that he had recently begun to wrest from his fellow Xandim.
“We were promised a new leader, Outlander,” Galdrus was bawling at the beleaguered Parric. “Yet the dark of the moon is three days away, and we have heard no word. We want no more of you!”
Many voices took up his cry.
“You bring our foes, the Black Ghosts and the Skyfolk upon us!”
“You defile our fastness with filthy wolves and Outland magicians!”
“You consort with outlaws and exiles!”
“You have cursed our true Herdlord!”
“We want Phalihas!”
Other Xandim took up the chant: “We want our Herdlord!”
“Free Phalihas!”
Parric was attempting to answer them, but his shouted words were lost in the roar of so many voices. The mood of the mob was turning uglier by the minute. Chiamh ran faster—and then one of them turned and spotted him, and he realized his mistake.
“There he is—the Windeye!”
“He’s the one who sided with the Outlanders!”
“It’s all his fault!”
Some of the crowd stayed to hurl abuse at Parric, but a large group, headed by Galdrus, broke away and ran toward the Windeye, their faces contorted with hatred and menace. An icy knot of terror congealed in Chiamh’s stomach. He stopped and half turned, every instinct screaming at him to run, then changed his mind. His communion with Basileus and the coming of the Outlanders had transformed his life: his days of running away were over. Snatching at the brisk wind that swirled around the front of the fastness, he gathered a handful of air and twisted it into the shape of a luminous, hideous demon. It was the worst mistake he could have made. Galdrus, and several of the others, had seen his demon before. It had terrified and humiliated them then, and the memory served to fuel their anger. What was worse, they knew now that though it looked fearsome, it was only an apparition which could not harm them.
“It’s all right.” A bellow from Galdrus cut through the beginning cries of dismay and panic. “It’s just harmless Windeye trickery. Get him!”
The mob surged forward—but for all their leader’s brave words, few of them were willing to go near the demonic shape that hovered in front of the Windeye. Even Galdrus, with his bluster and brag, was reluctant. For an instant, Chiamh gasped with relief—then someone stooped, picked up a stone and threw it. Before he knew what had happened, the Windeye found himself amid a hail of hard-flung missiles. His pursuers were finding their range now, and even in the deepening twilight were gaining accuracy. A rock hit him on the shoulder with bruising force, and he cried out in pain. His demon flickered and began to fade. It was all that was keeping them from tearing him limb from limb, and he was losing it. Even as he struggled to re-form the apparition, another stone went whistling past his face, cutting open his cheekbone close to his eye. With a curse, Chiamh let his demon scatter to the winds and took to his heels.
As he ran back toward the cliff path, the Windeye heard the howling of the mob close—too close—behind him. Many missiles struck his back, bruising and winding him, but even in agony, with every breath a hard-won fire in his lungs, pure terror gave him the impetus to keep scrambling forward, praying to the Goddess that he would not miss his footing in the gathering dark. Then a stone struck his head, and for an instant the world flashed black as he fell. Half-stunned and bleeding, he struggled to make himself rise, but he felt sick and dizzy, and his limbs would not obey him. The mob was almost upon him. He saw their faces, contorted like the bestial face of his demon. Their hands reached greedily toward him…
… And suddenly stopped, as though they had run into a solid but invisible wall that shimmered, as they touched it, with an unearthly silver light.
Then Aurian was kneeling beside him, her eyes flaring icy silver with anger, the Staff of Earth burning in her hand with its uncanny green light as she used its power as a barrier to shield the Windeye from his assailants. She turned him gently, her face dimly lit by the glimmer of her shield, and Chiamh felt an uncanny tingle sweep through him as she quickly scanned his body with her Healer’s senses—seeking, he knew, any evidence of broken bones or internal hurts. As she laid a gentle hand on his forehead, all his pain vanished and he could breathe easily again, though somehow he felt so sleepy… Chiamh struggled hard to hold on to consciousness, reminding himself that they were not out of danger yet.