“I’ll only go a little way,” she promised herself. Taking another candle from the fast-diminishing stock in her basket, she lit it at the first and stuck it on the bare rock near Vannor’s feet. With only that frail slip of light to guide her back to safety, Zanna struck out, feeling her uncertain way along the wall of the chamber. She had not gone far before she started to regret her rashness. The vast, echoing darkness pressed in on her, and she was startled, over and over again, until her nerves were frayed to tatters, by tiny rustlings and patterings beyond the range of her light. Once, she tripped over a scattered pile of books, and almost lost her candle.
That was quite enough, Zanna told herself. It had been a daft idea anyway, this wandering around in the dark when she ought to be resting and looking after her dad. And then a dreadful thought struck her. What if, in her absence, something horrible had crept up on Vannor while he slept? Looking back over her shoulder, she caught a glimpse of the tiny seed of light that was his candle, and felt somewhat reassured. Nonetheless, she had left him alone long enough. Quickly she found a spot where the wall angled sharply round into another alcove that seemed to be clear of books, and squatted down to relieve herself. As she got to her feet, she half turned, holding her candle high—and light sprang into the shadowy depths of the recess to reveal the tall, thin figure of a man who loomed over her, his face a snarling mask of horror, the flame of the candle reflected, glittering, in his glassy eyes.
The Mages and their companions retreated from the cloud of choking dust that billowed across the landing, and sought the sanctuary of the upper chambers. There they paused, some sitting, some leaning wearily against one another, all of them breathing hard from the terrors and exertions of the fight. Though no one had been seriously wounded, none of them had come out of the battle completely unscathed. After a moment, Iscalda found a water bottle in one of the packs and began to rip an old shirt into bandages, for it was clear that the Mage was too spent, for the moment, to attempt any Healing magic. Aurian and Anvar, the only ones who yet knew of Bohan’s death, clung to one another briefly, sharing their relief at finding one another safe, and their sorrow at the passing of their friend. All too soon, Aurian lifted her head from Anvar’s shoulder.
“Forgive me, Basileus,” he heard her say to the Moldan. “I hope I didn’t hurt you too badly, but I had no other choice.”
“I understand.” The Elemental’s voice was somber. “It was no great injury to a being of my vast dimensions—but it proved an unwelcome reminder of the powers your race can wield. Even now the Xandim are hacking at my bones elsewhere, to break a path through to where you are, and I would place any blame for this business with them, rather than with yourself. Nonetheless, the time has clearly come for you Wizards to leave this place—for the good of us all.”
“I’m sorry,” Aurian sighed. “You’re right.” Then Anvar sensed the mental shift as she turned her thoughts toward Shia.
It took all of Aurian’s courage to ask the question, for already she feared that she knew the answer. “Shia—what about Wolf? He didn’t…”
“No. He is quite safe. Khanu is taking the cub and his guardian wolves to Chiamh’s tower.”
Relief washed over Aurian in a dizzying wave. She felt almost guilty that she should feel so glad when the eunuch had perished. “What happened to Bohan?” she asked softly.
“He fell.” The cat’s mental tones were heavy with sorrow. “I think the ledge cracked beneath his weight. I tried to save him, but…” It was clear that she was too overwhelmed to say more.
“And I sent him out there.” Though she spoke aloud this time, the Mage’s voice was little more than a whisper. Abruptly she gasped, swore, and wrenched herself out of Anvar’s arms, heading for the window. “Shia—what about the ledge?”
“Gone for some distance, as is your bridge. You will find no escape this way.”
Aurian found her companions pressing all around her as she leaned out of the window.
“We tried to tell you,” Iscalda was saying. “The plank had gone…”
They were crowding her so closely that the Mage, with a stab of panic, felt in danger of falling herself. “Get back,” she shouted, and pulled herself away from the terrifying drop, shaking at the thought of Bohan’s fatal plunge to the rocks below. With an effort, she wrenched her thoughts away from the horror. She must concentrate now on surviving the present crisis.
“Everybody take what you need,” she ordered. Dashing across to her bed, and the assorted pile of baggage that lay beside it, she thrust the Staff of Earth into her belt and began to rummage in one of the packs for the whistle that would summon the Skyfolk.
“Here—use mine.” Anvar, the Harp now slung securely across his shoulders, was a step ahead of her.
“You signal them.” Aurian didn’t want to lean out of that window again, if she could help it. As she was stuffing the contents back into her disemboweled pack, she heard the first shrill blast go echoing out into the darkness. She only hoped that for once in their lives, those wretched Winged Folk would hurry. “How long do we have?” she asked Basileus.
“Long enough—if you are quick. ”
“That’s a great comfort,” the Mage muttered irritably—but was careful not to project the thought.
“Is there no way I can help you?” Shia’s voice came into her mind. “It’s a long leap in the dark, but I think I could reach the window—”
“No! Don’t!” Aurian could not bear the thought of losing another friend to the rocks at the bottom of the chasm. “Don’t worry, my friend. The Skyfolk are coming.”
“You’ll be lucky.” Shia’s mental tones were sour with disgust. “I may have been running for my life at the time, but I distinctly saw those craven feathered traitors fly away when the Xandim began their attack.”
“What?” Aurian spat out a vile epithet that made even Parric raise his eyebrows in surprise.
“What now?” he asked.
“The bloody Skyfolk have deserted us,” Aurian snapped.
Parric gave her a knowing look that made her want to strangle him on the spot. “Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you, after what you said to them the other day. You have to know how to handle folk, if you want to be a leader. You just can’t—”
“That’s sound advice, Parric, coming from the man who has skillfully ‘handled’ the Xandim into attempting our murder,” the Mage retorted. Seething, she turned her back on him and went to join Anvar in the window embrasure. The trouble was, she knew that the cavalrymaster had a point.
Without Raven there to control them, the winged escort that she had assigned to the Magefolk had been proving more and more restive and willful; and the farther they went from their mountain home, the more plainly reluctant they had been about their duty. Nevertheless, this cowardly desertion, just when they were needed most, came as a tremendous blow to Aurian’s plans. Bitterly now, she regretted the scathing words she had said to them the day after Wolfs kidnapping. At the time, she’d been so incensed by their craven lack of support that she had allowed her temper to get the better of her. But though they had seemed resentful and unrepentant, she had thought she could heal the breach, given time. Unfortunately, what with Elewin’s death and the attack of the Xandim, she’d never managed to find an opportunity.
“What are we going to do?” Iscalda said. The Xandim woman’s smoke-smudged face had the pale, set look of one who was reaching the end of her courage.
Luckily for Aurian, who had no reply to give, Schiannath answered for her. “If worst comes to worst, we fight.” He drew his sword and went to stand beside the Mage. Aurian was buoyed by his courage, and the comforting clasp of his hand on her shoulder, but oh—for them to die like cornered rats in this foreign land would be so senseless!
“So don’t die, then,” she muttered to herself. “There must be some way out of this.”