“Of course we will. Not just the two of us, but the rest of our allies. Now that we have Parric back on our side…” Anvar’s grin betrayed his relief, but Aurian detected a slight tightening of pain around his eyes. “He was the last person I would have expected to…”
“I should have guessed long ago that something was troubling him,” the Mage replied. “He and Forral were always so close. He just needed time to accept that so much had changed. He’ll be all right now—I hope.”
Aurian turned to thank the two Skyfolk who had transported Anvar to the Chamber of Winds. Knowing that she had already alienated the rest of the winged couriers, she was more than anxious not to make the same mistake again—and besides, she was genuinely grateful to Kestrel and Ibis. Now that the others had gone, the Mage found herself hoping that this last pair of Winged Folk would not keep themselves so isolated from the other companions, and would truly become an integral part of her little band.
Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the Windeye, who was panting heavily from the strenuous climb. He hesitated, feeling like a clumsy intruder, when he saw the Mages deep in conversation with the Skyfolk. They seemed so deeply engrossed in talk that he was reluctant to interrupt them.
Aurian, however, turned at the sound of his harsh breathing. “Serves you right—you should come up the easy way, as we did,” she teased him, with a wicked grin.
Ibis and Kestrel chuckled.
“Thank you, no.” Chiamh shuddered. “If the Goddess had meant me to fly, she’d have given me wings of my own.”
“And if she’d meant me to climb, she’d have given me feet like a fly,” the Mage countered swiftly.
“Ah, but flies have wings too,” Anvar added, joining in their nonsense, “so where does that leave us?”
“If we Skyfolk may leave you,” Ibis suggested, “we thought we might fly down the valley to take a look at our foes. Wings come in useful for other things than carrying burdens—we can also scout much nearer the enemy than any of you groundlings would dare approach.”
“That sounds like a good idea,” Chiamh agreed, “but don’t get too carried away. Just remember to stay high. The bows of the Xandim are very powerful.”
“Never fear.” Kestrel grinned. “We Skyfolk are not so easily captured.” Calling their farewells, the two winged couriers launched themselves from the edge of the platform, opened their great wings, and soared out of sight.
Chiamh sighed enviously. What must it be like, to be able to fly? Then he realized that he already could, in a sense, when he was riding the winds—and that reminded him that he and the Magefolk ought to be getting down to business. “Now that the Skyfolk have gone, we ground folk had better concentrate on gathering the winds.” The Windeye was suddenly anxious to get the Seeing over with as soon as possible. As always, the effort of such farsight would be a great strain on him, and he had many more trials ahead of him in the next few hours.
Aurian nodded gravely. “What do you want us to do?”
“Little, I suspect,” Chiamh told her. “I have no idea whether your powers can access this type of magic. With luck you may be able to share the Vision, but if not, then simply stay back, listen—and bear witness.” He smiled ruefully at the Magefolk. “In truth, I welcome your presence and support more than anything. For me, a Seeing has always been a lonely and terrifying experience.”
“A little like riding the winds used to be,” Aurian said softly, and Chiamh remembered the night at the Tower of Incondor when she had joined him on the winds to travel to Aerillia. No longer alone, he had discovered a glory and joy in his powers that he had never before experienced. His life had changed that night, and he was grateful to the Mage for her timely and encouraging reminder. His eyes met hers in understanding. “Maybe it will be the same this time,” he told her. “At any rate, we’ll soon find out.”
Chiamh closed his eyes and concentrated hard upon summoning the arcane, mysterious powers of the Windeye—then gasped, as though he had taken a breathless plunge into an icy stream. The melting chill of his Othersight enveloped his body, blurring his vision to shimmering silver as his eyes changed from their normal hue. As his sight cleared, he took command of himself, and peered out into the otherworld that was now revealed.
In sunlight, the images of his Othersight were somewhat different from those he saw when his surroundings were dark. The streaming currents of the winds showed less of their silvery brightness, but glowed instead with sparks and shimmers of moonstone, fiery opal, and burnished, liquid gold. The stone that comprised the surrounding mountains and his Chamber of Winds had a crystalline, amethyst glitter, and the living auras of the Magefolk at his side shone with the blinding effulgence of two jeweled rainbows. Gritting his teeth, Chiamh tore his attention away from the perilous entrancement of such beauty. He steadied himself by taking long, deep breaths, and held out hands that blazed with a dazzling iridescence of their own. Squinting against the light that came from his inner self, he reached out and grasped two handfuls of the flowing strands of wind, clearly formulating the question he wanted to ask in his mind as he did so.
Stretching the skeins of living air between his fingers, the Windeye controlled and shaped them, molding them into a wide, reflective disc that shimmered like a swirling, opalescent web between his hands. As he looked deeply into it, surrendering his own will to the power of the Seeing, he felt it drawing him down and in, further and further into the maelstrom of light, until all knowledge of himself had been abandoned: left far behind as his spirit went spinning away, beyond, in pursuit of the answers that he sought.
Chiamh came back to himself with a jolt, and immediately felt the difference. It was working! His heart leapt with elation. The mirror of air had turned into a living thing between his hands. He had given of himself—and now, in return, the wind was surrendering its powers of knowledge up to him. The Windeye looked deep into the mirror and watched, wide-eyed, as the images began to form within its fiery depths:
Two great stallions—one black, one clouded gray—fighting at dawn upon a windswept plateau. One stumbled, fell; great hooves struck down, and a swirl of crimson blood spiraled out to obscure the vision. Chiamh caught his breath. Which had fallen? Which?