The Mage, in the meantime, was projecting her own thoughts—to seek the minds of the wolves upstairs. Quickly she projected an image of their danger, followed by a series of mental pictures that showed them picking up Wolf and taking him across the bridge, up the cliffs, and across the plateau to the cats in the safety of Chiamh’s vale. So long as they were quick enough to dodge the eunuch, they would be aft right, and she knew that Bohan, who had always vied with them jealously for the care of her son, would follow the wolves to safety—though (she prayed to all the gods) he would not be quick enough to catch them.
As an afterthought, she made brief contact with Shia, who, as Aurian had suspected, was still waiting with Khanu at the top of the cliff path.
“Are you mad?” the great cat muttered when the Mage had explained her plan. “Oh, never mind—I’ll come down to help them, before that clumsy great ox falls off the cliff or chops someone’s head off by mistake. Khanu will guard the cliff path—though your chickenhearted grass eaters have shown no signs of approaching us so far.”
Shia and the eunuch had always shared a special bond, and Aurian felt easier in her mind knowing that the cat was on hand to guide and help him. Having done the best she could for Wolf and Bohan, she stifled a pang of fear for the eunuch, who would be forced to scale those perilous cliffs in darkness, and turned back to assist Chiamh, who was clearly struggling with difficulties of his own.
Bohan was standing, rigid with tension, near the door of the Mages’ chamber, straining his ears for a hint of sound from the stairwell that would let him know what was happening two floors below. His sword, clutched in one enormous hand, looked like a toy against his massive bulk as he guarded the wolves who protected Aurian’s son.
From their den beneath the table, two pairs of eyes, flashing green with reflected firelight, observed the eunuch even as he watched them. The she-wolf crouched slightly behind her mate, shielding the cub that was their charge. It was not such an easy task as it seemed. In the past few days Wolfs eyes had opened properly, and he had turned into a small gray bundle of curiosity, exploring his surroundings on stubby, unsteady legs with the relentless fervor of all new creatures. And like all new creatures who have been cosseted and protected from birth, he had no idea now of the danger that faced him. He could recognize the shape and scent of Bohan, familiar and loved, who stood nearby, and he wanted to play. Time and again he tried to escape his guardian and reach the eunuch, and repeatedly the she-wolf stopped him with a firm paw and a soft but warning growl, making the cub whimper in frustration.
Bohan stiffened at the sound of Wolfs distress. He’d always hated to relinquish reponsibility for the cub to its lupine foster parents. Lacking Aurian’s Mageborn facility for communicating with the wolves, he saw them only as dangerous wild animals, and did not trust them. The main flaw in his thinking—that Wolf himself was such a beast—he discounted. The cub was Aurian’s son, enchanted, and one day he would be returned to human shape. If Bohan’s beloved Lady said so, that was good enough for him.
Wolf whimpered again, and the eunuch scowled, fighting the urge to scoop up the cub and put him safely in his deep tunic pocket, as he had so often done. He half stooped to peer beneath the table, and the male wolf met his approach with a warning snarl that made Bohan take a hasty step backward from sheer surprise. As a rule, the wolves seemed well aware of those with whom they shared their guardianship, and treated Aurian’s companions as part of their new pack.
With a sudden flash of bone-white fangs, the wolf leapt for the eunuch’s throat. Bohan, already off balance, threw himself backward, his sword flailing fruitlessly at empty air as he fell. In an instant of blinding terror, he waited for the ripping teeth to sink into his flesh—but his attacker was no longer there. The she-wolf, with the cub dangling from her jaws by the loose fur on his neck, was dashing toward the open window, her mate a flashing silver shadow at her heels. In a bound, they reached the sill and were gone.
Bohan’s mind roared out the bellow of rage and anguish that his mute throat could not voice. Aurian had trusted him to protect her son and he had failed her. Without pausing to think of the consequences, he ran to the window and climbed out onto the slender makeshift bridge.
A dew of sweat glittered on Chiamh’s brow, reflecting the eldritch silver blaze of his eyes as he fought to maintain his phantasm on the other side of the door. He had given up his demon—they were far too familiar now with that apparition—in favor of an image of Shia, who stood snarling before the door with her long black tail lashing and her eyes flashing crimson fire above her bared and fearsome teeth. At first it had duped the hostile mob—he had heard their cries of fear and alarm through the thick wooden panels, and for some minutes now the ax blows on the door had ceased. But the deception couldn’t last much longer. In order to maintain the illusion, he had to keep his mind within his body, but without being able to see what was on the other side of the panels, he had no idea of the accuracy of the image he projected, nor how he should make it act in response to what was taking place. It was extremely difficult, in any case, to work at all, let alone on such an ambitious scale, with the slender tendrils of draft that were the only air currents small enough to pass through the sides of the door frame.
All too soon, they saw through the deception. There was a chorus of jeering yells and angry curses from the other side of the door, and suddenly the ax came smashing down again, to bite into the weakening wood. Muttering a vile oath that he had learned from Parric, Chiamh braced himself and tried once more. The phantasm was Aurian herself this time: her green eyes blazing and the Staff of Earth in her hand emitting bolts of emerald fire. Again, the Windeye heard the stifled sounds of a scrambled retreat—but his relief was short-lived. He leapt back with a curse, his illusion crumbling away to nothing as blows rained down on the door, which was beginning to splinter under the repeated assaults. Now what?
The Windeye felt a cool hand on his arm and turned to find himself face-to-face with Aurian. Her presence startled him—he had been concentrating so hard that he had forgotten she was there. “Here—let me help.” The Mage raised her hand, her eyes narrowed in concentration—and the thunder of ax blows ceased. There was a sudden, ominous silence on the other side of the door.
“What did you do?” Chiamh gasped.
“I took your would-be woodman out of time.” Her eyes glittered in the gloom with a dangerous light. “That should give them something to think about for a while.”
Chiamh sagged against the wall, realizing only now how much his previous efforts had exhausted him. “Couldn’t you take them all out of time?” he ventured hopefully. “Just until we escape?”
“Would that I could.” Aurian shook her head regretfully. “I can only work the spell on one thing at a time, and within a very short distance. Once I had taken out a few of them, the rest would simply retreat out of range and wait to ambush us when we came out. We need Anvar to do more—with the Harp he has the power to freeze a number of enemies, as he did the other night. He left it behind, but it’s attuned to him, as the Staff is to me. There are rules governing the use of the Artifacts. I can’t wield it alone without wresting it from his control, and that’s not only dangerous in itself, but for other reasons it is the last thing we would want to do. Anvar can make much better use of it than I can, and he’ll probably have every opportunity, when he gets back.”
Their assailants had found their courage again. Both Mage and Windeye leapt back, retreating in a frantic scramble up the stairs, as a hail of arrows thudded into the door. “Blast them!” Aurian cried, as she heard the telltale crackle of flame. Already the smell of burning wood was drifting up the stairwell. Dark scorch marks were beginning to form around several spots where the heads of the flaming arrows had lodged in the wood, and thin skeins of smoke were drifting through the cracks in the door. Chiamh saw Aurian turn pale, and knew she must be thinking of Anvar trapped elsewhere within the fastness, and herself unable either to defend this one sanctuary against his return, or get out past the attackers to go to his aid.