“I’ll do my best,” Aurian promised breathlessly—and suspected that she lied. Struggling into a sitting position, she threw her arms around Shia’s neck. “I’m so glad to see you!”
The great cat pressed close to her, and Aurian knew that she was seeking comfort from her grief at Bohan’s death. “He was the first,” the cat said softly. “Excepting Anvar, you and he were the only remaining companions from the start of my freedom.”
“And he was your friend,” Aurian replied. “I know how close you were. He was my friend, too, Shia—and when we have a chance, we’ll mourn him fitly.” Now, however, she was more concerned with Anvar. There was nothing she could do for Bohan, but while there was a chance that her soul mate still lived…
He lived indeed. Because she had been preoccupied with Shia, she had missed the first distant thrum of wings, but Aurian could hear it now, and could see the black speck approaching in the northern skies. In another instant, they had dropped Anvar at her feet. He looked pale and haggard—but unhurt, and very much alive. Thanking all the gods, Aurian disentangled herself from the cat and pounced on him, in much the same way as Shia had pounced on her. “You’re here!” She knew how ridiculous it must have sounded, but she didn’t care. “You’re all right!” She drew back and peered at him closely. “You are all right, aren’t you? The Xandim didn’t get through?”
“No, but it was close.” Then Anvar’s strained expression changed to a grin. “I would like to have seen their faces when they discovered an empty room!”
“We’ll let them work it out—but in the meantime we should be moving.” The voice came from Chiamh. “When they discover my absence, the first place they will think to seek me is my vale.”
“But I thought you said they would be afraid to pass the standing stones,” Aurian protested.
“Yes—but if they can, they will try to stop me getting that far.”
“It’s true.” Aurian looked up to see one of the Skyfolk—the male—standing beside her. “Already, as we completed our last journey, we saw men and horses mustering and heading for the cliff path.”
“Curse them.” Aurian cried. “Will there never be an end to this?”
“Not yet,” Chiamh said softly. “Not until dawn tomorrow, when there will be a Challenge, and a new Herdlord elected. They must abide by that decision, Lady—and they will, so long as the victor is one of our folk. Until then, we have only to survive—and hope that the victor will be our friend.”
There was no more time to lose. It would be a race now, to reach the Valley of the Dead before the Xandim could block their way. Chiamh, Iscalda, and Schiannath offered to change to their horse-shape, and it was decided that Iscalda would take Yazour, Chiamh would take his old friend Sangra, and Schiannath, being bigger and stronger than the Windeye, would bear the Mages, riding double, on his back. That left only Parric—and Aurian’s heart bled for him—that he, a cavalrymaster and the Herdlord of the Xandim, should be forced to fly with the Skyfolk while the others rode. There was no time now, however, to worry about hurt feelings. All such considerations must be put aside in favor of survival. Though Aurian knew that Parric was enough of a soldier to appreciate the fact, the look on his face made her spine prickle with unease. Somehow she knew, for a certainty, that they had not heard the last of the matter.
Even as Aurian was worrying, the Skyfolk took off with Parric. Chiamh and Iscalda had already changed. A bay stallion and a white mare stood there, impatiently awaiting their riders. Schiannath looked at the Mage, his teeth flashing white with a grin. “Get ready, Lady—I promise I’ll give you the ride of your life.”
Before Aurian’s eyes, he changed. His form blurred, shimmered, and altered—and there stood a great, proud war-horse, shadow-etched in dark, dappled gray, with black legs and points. Schiannath arched his muscular, curving neck and tossed the midnight clouds of his mane. To Aurian, it was like a beckoning. She leapt astride his warm, broad back, and felt Anvar scramble up behind her. The others were already mounted.
With a bound they were away, Shia racing alongside like an extra shadow, keeping up with an effortless lope as the sun leapt over the horizon and flooded the plateau with a sea of misty amber light. On the crest of that golden wave they rode, with the thundering hooves of the Horsefolk throwing up diamond-sprays of dew from the glittering emerald grass, and the silver spires of the mountains rising high above them, crowning the new day.
16
Out of Time
Zanna screamed and dropped the candle. She fell to her knees, cringing like a hare beneath the shadow of the hawk, her mind blank with terror. For what seemed an endless time she huddled with her eyes shut tight, awaiting the end. But when she felt a hand touch her shoulder, some buried instinct for survival made her fight. She leapt up with a shriek, flailing out blindly with her fists at her assailant.
“Stop that, you idiot, it’s me! Zanna!” Belatedly, Zanna recognized the voice. “Dad?” she squeaked.
“It’s all right now, love. I’m here.” Everything was still in darkness, but she felt his arms go round her. She leaned against his shoulder, shaking uncontrollably and trying to fight off the urge to burst into hysterical tears, while Vannor stroked her back with his uninjured hand, soothing her as he had done when she was a little girl awakening from childish night mares. “What happened, love?” he asked her gently. “What did you see that scared you like that?”
Zanna clutched at him, all her fears reawakened. “Dad, there was a man in the alcove. I saw him…”
“Hush, lass. There’s no one down here but us. If there had really been someone, don’t you think we’d have heard him? And if he meant to do us harm, we’d have known about it by now. I expect you saw a statue or something, that’s all. I’m not surprised it gave you a shock. Had it been me, I’d still be running…” He chuckled, and Zanna felt her fears beginning to melt away.
“Come on,” said Vannor. “Do you have the tinderbox in your pocket? You knocked my candle right out of my hand, but it should be down here on the floor somewhere. Let’s have some light, and we’ll take a look at this man of yours.”
Letting go of her, Vannor dropped down to grope for the lost candle, and Zanna delved in her pocket for the tinderbox. After a few moments of scrabbling, fumbling, and a curse or two from Vannor, they managed to get the wick to catch alight, and Zanna blinked her eyes as the scene came into focus around her in an orb of spreading golden radiance that was dazzling after all the darkness.
“Now, then. Let’s see this statue, or whatever it is.” Awkwardly and left-handed, Vannor drew the sword that he had taken from the dead guard in the Mages’ Tower. (He had raised his eyebrows at the sight of the two fallen men, and given Zanna a long and thoughtful look; but as yet, thank providence, he had forborne to ask her any awkward questions concerning how they had come to be in that state.)
“I’m sorry, love, but you’ll have to hold the candle for me,” he told her. Zanna took it reluctantly, and held it high as he turned toward the shadowy alcove. Even though she was forced to follow him closely with the light, she made sure that he was between herself and whatever might be lurking in the niche. Though her good sense had accepted her father’s explanation, the memory of her terror was still fresh enough to overcome her courage.
Unexpectedly, she ran into Vannor’s back as he halted abruptly, standing stock-still as though he had been the one who’d turned to stone. “Seven bloody demons!” he cried. “It can’t be!”
Zanna caught at the dangerously tilting candle as he staggered back against her, reeling and wide-eyed with shock.