But when the blood cleared, the Vision had changed. The mirror darkened to a blackness so profound that the Windeye thought he had somehow lost the Seeing—then an actinic flare of lightning split the sky, and he saw the brutal churning of storm-lashed waves, boiling white as they hurled themselves against the jagged rocks of a headland. In the next flash, his Othersight pierced the black caldron of the waves to reveal terrifyingly monstrous shapes swimming beneath the waters, waiting. Then all was dark once more until another lightning bolt revealed the Mage, standing poised upon the edge of the rocks. She dived, with the clean arc of a salmon’s leap, launching herself right into the teeth of the ravenous waves…
Chiamh gasped in horror. Involuntarily he closed his eyes, and opened them again to a sight of such breathtaking beauty that the horror of the previous Vision was forgotten. It was a unicorn: an unearthly creature, translucent and ethereal, seemingly created out of light in all its forms. She turned her exquisite head, that glistened like frost, to look at him and tossed a mane that was like sunrise on a swirl of morning mist. Then, kicking up sunbursts from her silver heels, she raced away intc the darkness, his only guide the moonspun glimmer of her coat, and the starlight that streamed and sparkled like a comet tail from her spiral horn…
Chiamh followed, and burst out into the sunlight that lay thick as mead in the cup of a deeply forested green valley. The view shimmered as though seen through a heat haze, beneath a web of the strongest magic he had ever encountered. Despite the unearthly beauty of the Vision, the Windeye felt a pang of agonizing fear, like a sword thrust deep into his vitals, and had to steel and steady himself so as not to flee in terror. He looked down from above, with the sight of an eagle, and saw the unicorn standing by a slender wooden bridge, which led across to an island in the center of a tranquil lake. On the island was a jewel—a massive blood-red gem—and within it was the silhouetted shadow of a sword. The fierce blade, cradled in the pulsing light of the crystal’s crimson heart, looked as though it had been drenched in blood. It hummed to itself, redolent with somnolent power, singing songs of victory and sacrifice that became manifest and shot like spars of carmine light into the heavens. They reached out like bloody fingers to entrap and seize the Windeye—and in the power of their fell clutch he saw the fate that he had dreaded: the ending of the Xandim…
With a scream of anguish that was ripped from the very depths of his soul, Chiamh fled in terror, not knowing where he went, or how, only wanting to get away from the Sword and the two-edged fate it held. Darkness surrounded him, and he plunged into it gladly, desperate for concealment, for succor…
“Chiamh—Chiamh! Wake up, damn you! Come back to us, please…”
Someone was slapping him; then fingers dug bruisingly into his shoulders, shaking and shaking him… The Windeye felt the firm grasp of a mind—no, two minds—clutching at his consciousness—holding him, supporting and comforting him, and gradually but firmly drawing him back toward the sane and normal light of day. For a moment he continued to fight them in blind, mindless panic—then, as memory returned to him, he recognized the familiar mind-touch of the Magefolk. Gladly, trustingly, he surrendered then, and let them bring him home.
18
Horncall and Sunrise
Chiamh’s mouth was dry as he approached the two great standing stones that were known in the Xandim language as the Gates to the Vale of Death. Beyond them, in the narrow maw of the valley’s entrance, he could see the colorful tents of the Xandim, who were encamped in profusion on the green turf to either side of the Gates, leaving the broad expanse of the plateau bare for tomorrow’s Challenge. Before the great stones, mocking the gay hues of the scattered dwellings, the red light of the sinking sun gleamed like fire and blood on a grim, bristling thicket of spear points and drawn swords.
Though he was still distant, they had seen him. An angry murmur went up from the hostile crowd. The ugly sound, like the wrathful drone of a shattered nest of hornets, echoed within the narrow walls and rolled up the valley toward him like an overwhelming tidal wave of resentment and loathing. The Windeye paused in the spurious shelter of the last stand of trees, righting his reluctance to approach any nearer to that wall of pulsing, bloodthirsty hatred. He suddenly felt extremely grateful that he had the Mages with him, and Aurian’s friend the formidable cat (whose male companion was back in the valley with the two Skyfolk, guarding Wolf and his foster parents)—not to mention his other comrades, both Outland and Xandim. He needed their support as he had never needed it before, for he doubted that even his legendary Grandam could have dealt single-handedly with such a crisis as this, and Chiamh was already utterly spent following the mind-wrenching efforts and nightmare terrors of the Seeing he had performed for Aurian.
Had it not been the Time of Challenge, the Mage would not have allowed him to come at all. As it was, she had been furious with him—now that she had found out exactly what a Seeing entailed—for taking such a risk with himself—though, perversely, she had been more angry with herself for letting him do it in the first place, despite the fact that he had deliberately concealed the potential dangers from her. Fortunately, the Mages had been unable to follow his Seeing with their own powers and were forced to rely on what he told them of the Vision, so Chiamh had been able to conceal that horrifying final image. He only wished he could so easily hide the memory from himself.
Now, as he made his way toward the Place of Challenge, the impact of his discovery was truly coming home to him, and the Windeye found himself faced with an anguishing dilemma, brutally torn between two loyalties. He could no longer pretend ignorance—the fate of the Xandim now lay in his hands. How easy it would be to turn upon his new friends and betray them to the angry hordes. By simply performing the same binding spell on Schiannath as he had used upon Phalihas, Chiamh could vastly increase the likelihood that the Sword of Flame would never be found and his people would be safe. The Mages and their Outland companions would almost certainly be killed—but was such a sacrifice truly too much to ask when compared to the life of an entire tribe?
And have you forgotten the Evil Powers so soon? he asked himself. Without Aurian and the Sword they are sure to triumph—and what of the Xandim then? But the Evil Powers were strange to him, and far away, and had he not witnessed the very plain and immediate threat of the Sword with his own Othersight?
“Chiamh? Are you all right?” The Windeye came out of his reverie with a guilty start to see Aurian looking at him with a frown. “I knew you should have rested longer,” she said as she slipped a supportive hand beneath his elbow. “You look absolutely dreadful. I wish you’d at least let me give you back some of the energy you lost in the Seeing. You’re in no fit state to do this, and you know it.” Her eyes were shadowed with worry and concern, but with her usual courage she tried to lighten the moment. “We don’t want to lose you, you know. I’ve soared with you over the mountains, and raced the wind with you across the plateau—and I had rather counted on being able to do both those things again.” She smiled at him—her own wry, expressive smile that held all the love of one friend for another, and was especially for him.
Chiamh could not meet her eyes. You wanted to betray her? his thoughts goaded him. You want to see her lying dead? How many true friends have you had in your life, save these who are with you now? He looked past the Mage at Anvar, who seemed similarly concerned, and at Sangra, who had helped him through the worst of his fears when they came down the mountain in the storm. He saw Parric, whom he had risked his life more than once to aid, and Schiannath and Iscalda, whom he had already betrayed once on the orders of his Herdlord. He could not do so again.