Parric had a good deal to think about, in any case, since Annan’s revelations of that day had led him to see her attachment to Anvar in a different light. He was not, however, much given to that kind of introspection, and his mind soon strayed back to the more immediate issue. Schiannath. The cavalrymaster’s sympathies went out to the Xandim warrior, who sat, pale and plainly ill at ease, on the other side of the fire, forced to fight a battle of nerves through the watches of the night with Phalihas—a wily and experienced opponent, as Parric knew to his cost. Having been through the same grueling ritual, he didn’t envy the lad in the least, and couldn’t help but feel a twinge of concern. Schiannath was an unknown quantity—save that he had lost to the former Herdlord once already, which didn’t bode well at all to the cavalrymaster. He only hoped that the young Xandim would prove equal to the test.
Aurian, who always observed Forral’s lessons about not looking at the fire while on night watch, sat tense and awake, shivering a little with weariness and the damp chill of the mountain night, and peering into the shadows beyond the massive standing stones. How could she possibly sleep? She had so much on her mind, following the revelations of Chiamh’s Seeing: how could that double-dratted Sword have turned up in her mother’s Valley, of all places? It seemed as though the fates were mocking her. And that was by no means the only matter to occupy her attention. Tomorrow would be so vitally important—not only to Schiannath and the Xandim people, but to the entire course of her future. Depending upon the outcome of this duel, she would either be making plans to head back north to find the Sword and confront Miathan at last, or fighting for her life and very likely losing more of her beloved companions in the battle.
At her side, she felt Anvar’s hand tighten on her own, in response to the pain that had consumed her at the unexpected reminder of Bohan. “I’m not dwelling on it, truly,” she assured him in the mental communion that was becoming increasingly easy now that they enjoyed a lovers’ bond. “I know that would serve no purpose. Besides, mourning is a luxury we can’t allow ourselves just now.”
“You’re right.” Anvar’s reply came into her mind, and Aurian blessed the fact that they could speak without words, on this night when they must remain silent. “But that doesn’t diminish our love for Bohan,” her soulmate added, “and one day, if all goes well, we’ll find a suitable way to honor him.”
“That’s a lovely thought, and very fitting.” In echo of her words, Aurian sensed Shia’s unspoken approval, and saw her golden eyes gleaming like gemstones in the firelight. The cat was also keeping watch, though she was more concerned for the two Magefolk than for the Xandim warrior. The Mage laid a hand on Shia’s sleek head and leaned against Anvar’s shoulder, enjoying the closeness of her two dear companions. “Can’t you two sleep either?”
“Certainly not. I am watching over you,” Shia replied firmly.
“Not a chance.” Anvar’s thought was rueful. “Not with so much at stake. Do you really think Schiannath can do it?”
“He’d damn well better do it,” Aurian replied fervently, “or we really are in trouble!” She stretched out her long limbs with a sigh. “It’s this endless waiting that’s the worst part.”
“Do you want me to do for you what you did for Chiamh?” Anvar asked her mischievously, indicating the slumbering Windeye.
“Don’t you dare! He’s going to murder me when he wakes up and finds out, but it’s for the best. Poor man—he was worn out after what he did for us today. He desperately needed to sleep.”
“And he deserves to! I was very impressed with the way he handled the Xandim Elders.” His mental chuckle sobered, and she sensed his hesitation. “But, Aurian… didn’t it seem to you as though he was keeping something from us, after the Seeing?”
“You caught that, too?” Aurian frowned. “I’d hoped it was only my imagination. But I trust him,” she added firmly. “Anvar, I’m convinced that Chiamh wouldn’t betray us! Do you doubt that?”
“Not I.” She felt the slight shake of Anvar’s head. “But what was he hiding, then?”
“I don’t know—but it struck me that whatever it was, it terrified him.” Aurian fell silent as she pondered the possibilities. “I think,” she went on slowly, “that if we were in peril, he would certainly have warned us. So the danger can only be to himself—and that worries me more than I can say.” She shivered. “I couldn’t bear to think of anything happening to Chiamh. I’ve grown very fond of him.”
“You mean I have a rival?” Anvar protested in mock alarm.
“Not that fond, you idiot!” Aurian responded to his attempt to lighten their mood. He was right—this was no time for gloomy, nebulous speculation. “You don’t have any rivals,” she promised him, “and if we didn’t have all these folk around us, I’d prove it to you!”
Schiannath, alas, was denied the comfort of mental communication. He was forced to keep his vigil in silence—and he was spending an uneasy night, with Phalihas, only two spear lengths away, glaring at him with an unremitting hatred that was far more intense than the usual attempt to unnerve an opponent. The young Xandim warrior shuddered, feeling the first uncomfortable stirrings of doubt. He dropped his eyes from the former Herdlord’s black gaze and knew, with a sinking feeling of shame, that he had already lost the first round. What if I can’t do it? he thought wildly. If I should die tomorrow, what will become of my poor sister?
He looked up again to see Phalihas staring avidly—not at him this time, but at Iscalda—with a sneering expression compounded of lust, calculation, and such downright arrogance that Schiannath found himself grinding his teeth in thwarted fury. The former Herdlord was making it perfectly plain that he, at least, had no doubts whatsover concerning the outcome of this Challenge.
Schiannath’s self-doubts vanished in a flare of incandescent rage that hardened just as quickly into icy resolution. Never!, he vowed to himself. Never again will Phalihas lay a hand on my sister, for I will defeat him. I must!. Setting his jaw, he sought again for his opponent’s eyes—and this time, such was the strength of his desperate resolve, that it was Phalihas’s turn to falter and look away. Not once, after that, did Schiannath take the pressure of his gaze from the Herdlord throughout that long, long night.
Iscalda sat, rigid with apprehension, beside her brother, keeping his cold hand clasped tightly in her own. She missed the byplay between the two Challengers, for she could not bear to look at them, lest she give way to the paralyzing thoughts of fear and doubt that constantly threatened to erode her courage. If Schiannath should be vanquished on the morrow, not only would she lose the brother whom she loved more than life itself, but her own subsequent fate at the hands of Phalihas did not bear thinking about. With her free hand she fingered her dagger in its sheath, and vowed to herself that if Schiannath died, she would follow him into the arms of the Goddess.
The blast of a horn shrieked its single warning note across the plateau. Aurian had been wrapped in thought, in that uncertain limbo between sleep and waking, and had not noticed that the sky was growing light. The clarion call brought her back with a start to a shivering body whose limbs were locked in stiffness. Just in time, she stopped herself from uttering a heartfelt curse.