Chiamh covered her hand with his own. “If you must blame someone, Lady, blame the Xandim who attacked us. If they had only trusted me… Had they only waited a little longer, the matter of the succession would have been resolved in any case.” He sighed. “Perhaps the fault is mine. Had I tried sooner to gain the respect I merited as their Windeye…” He shook his head, and she felt his grip tighten on her hand. “In any case,” he went on, “Bohan did have his burial. I asked Basileus…”
“And I loosened the rocks of the cliff to fall down upon the body of your departed friend. Fear not, Wizard. No one will despoil his resting place.”
Aurian frowned. “Basileus? How can we still hear you in this place?”
“You rest at the foot of the Windeye’s tower—but you are still upon the Wyndveil, are you not?” The Moldan chuckled. “All this mountain is my body, and Chiamh’s Chamber of Winds is wrested from my bones. …”
“Then why couldn’t you have helped Bohan?” Aurian didn’t hide her resentment. It would do no good, in the long run, to conceal her feelings from the Moldan. They might as well have it out now, for later there would be so much else to occupy her attention…
“Perhaps I might have helped him, Wizard, had my attention not been occupied elsewhere,” Basileus answered sharply. “But you were in danger, too, as was the Windeye and your soul mate. There is a limit to what I can accomplish.”
“I’m sorry. I’m sure you would have helped Bohan if you could. It’s just so hard to lose a friend…”
“You think I do not know that?”
Aurian thought of the fate of Ghabal, the Moldan imprisoned beneath the Academy. She thought of the stark, tortured shape of Steelclaw Peak, and remembered Anvar’s account of the death of the Moldan of Aerillia. Yes. Indeed, she did understand the losses that Basileus must have suffered. But now her own survival, and that of her friends, was at stake.
“What’s happening now?” she asked the Windeye.
Chiamh shrugged. “It is an hour or two past noon,” he told her. “The Xandim have encamped beside the standing stones, at the mouth of the valley. Khanu is watching them. As I suspected, they are afraid to come any farther. They await tomorrow’s dawn and the Challenge for a new Herdlord.”
Aurian sighed. “We had better talk to Schiannath, then.” She grimaced ruefully. “While we’ve been so busy hatching all our plans, we’ve never actually asked him if he wants to do this.” And what—demanded a tiny, nagging voice in the back of her mind—if he does not?
“Lady,” Chiamh said hesitantly, “what of the Seeing?”
“The what?” Aurian frowned.
“You remember—the day after your child was stolen. We came up here and talked, and I promised you—”
“Oh. Of course.” The events of the last two days had driven the conversation from the Mage’s mind. Chiamh had promised to search upon the winds, to see if he could find the location of the Sword of Flame…
“The Seeing must be performed before the Challenge takes place, if we do it at all,” the Windeye told her urgently. “Who knows what may happen to any of us tonight, or at dawn tomorrow? If Phalihas should prevail, I can measure my life in minutes.”
“If Phalihas wants to harm you, he’ll have to get past Anvar and me to do it,” Aurian vowed. “Nevertheless, I think you’re right. We ought to get it done as soon as possible. It’s vital that I find that Sword. We’ve lingered in the south too long now, and the gods only know what Miathan is doing in Nexis…” With an effort, she broke off that train of thought. One worry at a time… She turned to the Windeye with a smile. “Thank you, Chiamh—for everything. I don’t know how we would have managed, these last days, without you.” He was not the only one she had to thank, Aurian reflected. What about the two remaining, loyal Winged Folk, who had rescued herself and her companions from certain death? She asked Basileus where they were, and discovered that they were both fast asleep, perched up in a niche in the rugged walls of the great rock spire.
Thoughts of the Winged Folk gave the Mage a moment of anxiety for the rest of her companions, but a quick check around the cavern proved that they had all arrived safely. All except Bohan had gained the sanctuary of the Windeye’s refuge. Shia lay asleep on the bottom of the bed that Aurian shared with Anvar. Wolfs foster parents were nearby, curled together so tightly that it was nigh impossible to distinguish one from the other. Schiannath was sleeping in a nest of woolen blankets on the floor, while Yazour and Iscalda were rummaging through Chiamh’s hoarded food supplies and putting together a sketchy meal for everyone. Sangra lay on the other rock-shelf bed beneath a mass of furs, one arm outstretched into a vacant indentation… Aurian frowned. Where had Parric got to?
“Parric is outside,” Chiamh supplied. He frowned. “I must warn you—he is unhappy and angered over what happened last night, when you would not leave until Anvar was safe.”
“Oh, surely not,” Aurian groaned. “That’s all I need.”
She found the cavalrymaster not far from the great stone spire, where a slender cataract arched into a feeder pool for the stream that went tumbling down the vale. He was sitting on the mossy brink of the pool, flicking pebbles into the water. As the Mage approached, the little man looked up at her bleakly.
Aurian sat down at his side, and clasped her arms around her knees. “What’s wrong?” she asked him directly, wishing that he could have found a more convenient place to do his sulking. The muted background thunder of the waterfall was going to make conversation difficult.
Parric shrugged, avoiding her eyes. “What do you mean? What makes you think that anything is wrong?”
Aurian tried to lighten the moment with a grin for him. “Because you look as though you had lost a horse and found a billy goat,” she replied.
Parric did not return her smile. “I’m tired, that’s all,” he muttered, so that the Mage had trouble hearing him over the sound of the cascade.
By this time, Aurian was becoming truly concerned. It was most unlike Parric to be evasive—normally, he was blunt to the point of obscenity. She decided that it was time to bring this matter, whatever it was, to a head. “You? Tired? That’ll be the day,” she scoffed at the hard-bitten, wiry little man. “You’re no more tired than the rest of us! You’re angry with me, because I wouldn’t leave Anvar behind last night, to save myself. But why, Parric? Surely it must have been the right decision, because we all got out safely in the end.”
The cavalrymaster flung another stone into the pool with savage force. “You really don’t understand, do you?” He glared at the Mage. “Forral was my friend. Have you no respect for his memory, that you replaced him so quickly? Couldn’t you even wait a decent interval?”
For an instant Aurian was utterly stunned. Then she found her voice. “Wait for what?” she snapped, as anger ignited within her. “The way things are, I don’t even know if I have a decent interval! Don’t you realize what I went through when Forral died? Don’t you know how much I grieved? But Forral himself warned me, long ago, that as a Mage I would outlive him—though neither of us suspected that the end would come so soon. He told me to find someone else and be happy…” She rubbed a hand across her eyes. “I resisted Anvar’s love at first,” she said softly, “but in the end I had to admit that I loved him, too.”