Anvar wasn’t giving up. He was still leaning out of the window, blowing shrilly on the whistle fit to burst his lungs. “Come on, you misbegotten feathered freaks,” she heard him gasp between breaths.
“You had better hurry.” The Moldan’s voice sounded grim as iron in her mind. “They have broken through into the stairwell. They have only to clear your rockfall. …”
“Have they, now?” Aurian replied grimly. “Well, I hope you have plenty of rock to spare, Basileus—because if they clear that rockfall, I can always provide another!”
“Wizard, I warn you—I will not permit you to injure me again!” It was the first time she had heard the Moldan sound really angry. “You have—”
“You said it wouldn’t injure you badly—and you know I’d never hurt you if I had a choice,” Aurian interrupted. But even as she was pleading for his understanding, she was striding purposefully toward the door.
Anvar’s triumphant yell halted her in midstride. “Aurian—they’re here. They’re here!”
Whirling, the Mage ran back to the embrasure, where the heavy curtains were blowing inward and the air was vibrating to the concussive thunder of great wings. In an excess of relief she hugged her soul mate. “Well-done, Anvar. If you hadn’t been so persistent… Hurry, everyone—we’re getting out and there’s no time to lose…”
“Indeed there is not, if you wish our aid in your escape. There are only two of us left—the rest have returned to Aerillia.”
Aurian turned to see the figure of a single winged warrior perched precariously on the windowsill. Beyond him another figure hovered—but only one. Her heart sank, but if they hurried, there might still be time—so long as these Skyfolk could still be trusted. “I’m endlessly grateful for your loyalty,” she told the winged man, “but why?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Why did we stay? Because we are loyal to Queen Raven, and we treat our acceptance of her command as a sacred oath.”
“And, besides,” the other warrior—a female—added from beyond his shoulder where she hovered, “we are indebted to you groundling Wizards for slaying Blacktalon and ending the winter—and not least, for saving our Queen.”
That was good enough for Aurian. It only took a minute to get Iscalda in position on the windowsill. They could not take her far—only to a safe place on the mountain beyond the perilous ledges, for normally it took four of them with a net to maintain their flight with a burden as heavy as a human. But it would be far enough. Each of the Winged Folk took hold of one of her arms and hoisted her up and away, their wings beating rapidly as they strove to gain height with their unaccustomed burden.
While they were gone, the other humans of the party drew lots with broken bits of the straw matting, to solve the quarrel over who should be next to go. Aurian and Anvar had insisted on remaining to the end, because, with their powers, they stood a chance of defending themselves if the Xandim should break through. None of the others wanted to abandon them. Chiamh was next—and could only be persuaded to go because he could defend the others and lead them to safety if anything happened to the Mortals. Parric followed, fuming, and after him Yazour, Sangra, and Schiannath—and by that time, the sound of the Xandim breaking through the rubble could clearly be heard.
Only the Magefolk remained. While Schiannath was being flown across, Anvar turned to Aurian. “You’re going next,” he told her, “and I don’t want any argument.”
Aurian opened her mouth to protest, but he forestalled her. “Three considerations: First, this started out as your fight against Miathan. Not only should you be the one to finish it, but if what the Dragon said was true, you are the only one who can—for no one else can wield the Sword. Second, Wolf needs his mother. And third”—he grinned—“if they should break through, I can stop them by taking them out of time with the Harp.”
“Only so many of them,” Aurian argued, “and only for so long. Even with the Harp to help you, it would be too great a drain on your powers.”
“I can manage for a short time—and with luck that’s all I’ll need. If you must wield the Sword, Aurian, we must keep you safe to do so. You know I’m right.”
Aurian grimaced. “I might know it—but I don’t have to like it!”
All too soon, the sound of wings presaged the arrival of the Skyfolk. As they hovered, waiting, by the window, Aurian noticed that their faces were haggard with weariness and white with strain. She only prayed they had the strength for two more trips. Turning back to Anvar, she hugged him convulsively and wondered how she would ever have the strength to ever let him go. She looked deep into eyes that shone intensely blue through the black mask of soot and smoke that smeared his face, and kissed him deeply. “You take care of yourself,” she muttered gruffly, “or you’ll have me to answer to.”
Anvar grinned crookedly. “Don’t worry—after waiting all this time, I’m not going to lose you now.”
He helped her up onto the windowsill, where the strong hands of the Skyfolk clamped around her wrists. “Take special care of this one—she’s precious,” he adjured them.
“We’ve never dropped anything yet,” the female warrior chuckled. Before Aurian had time for a tart reply, they launched themselves with a rush of wings—and the Mage’s stomach leapt into her throat as she felt herself dangling by her hands over a fathomless drop—only two handclasps away from oblivion, and Anvar left far behind. It was far worse than the net. There, at least, she’d felt enclosed, with some support between herself and the empty air. But this time there was nothing but the void beneath her swinging feet, and the muscles of her arms were screaming in protest as they were forced to bear her entire weight. What it must be like for the two Skyfolk, who had valiantly performed this flight over and over, Aurian dared not imagine. They must be in agony—and certainly reaching the end of their strength. She tried not to think what would happen if that strength should suddenly fail. The cold wind blew into her eyes, making them water, and plastered whipping tendrils of hair across her face—and of course she had no hands free to push the strands aside, or wipe away the streaming tears. “Where are they going?” she thought wildly—and would have asked the Winged Folk, had she dared to distract them. “Surely we must be almost there by now!” Even more than she longed for the end of her own wild flight, she desperately wanted them to get back to rescue Anvar.
And then it was over. “This is the place,” a voice yelled shrilly above the rushing wind and drumming of wings—and suddenly Aurian found herself loosed, and falling…
To land bruisingly on her hands and knees on an expanse of soaking turf, after a drop of several inches.
“It’s the Mage! Aurian—are you all right?” The voice belonged to Chiamh. In an instant he was beside her, trying to pull her upright.
Aurian wrenched her arm out of his grasp. “Let go of me,” she muttered ungratefully, and buried her face in the wet, dawn-fragrant grass. Right now, she wanted to keep as much contact with the blessed, solid ground as she could get. For a luxurious moment she stretched there, until her worries drove her to her feet. Her remaining companions surrounded her—she could see their drawn, soot-smirched faces quite clearly now. To her surprise—for she had kept her eyes firmly shut during the duration of the flight—the sky was brightening in the east. Already, the faintest blush of copper stroked the fangs of Steelclaw, giving the tortured peaks a weird, unearthly glow against the sapphire sky.
Then all such thoughts were driven from Aurian’s mind as a huge black shape arrowed down on her, and she found herself on the turf once more, flat on her back this time, with Shia wrapping strong paws around her body and rubbing a bristly black face against her own, all the while purring fit to shatter the fragile dawn. “You’re safe! I thought I’d lose you, too!” Shia drew back and glared into Aurian’s eyes with her fiery, golden gaze. “Don’t ever do that to me again—telling me to stay away while you are in danger!”