Dhiammara

31 The Watcher on the Wind

Grince awakened to find that he lay on an uneasy bed. Not sure at first whether he was half-asleep or imagining things, he laid his hand down flat on the floor of the cavern. No—it was no dream. There was motion in the stone: a faint vibration that was growing with every moment. Around him, some of the others were beginning to stir. In their corner, Schiannath and Iscalda were waking. Vannor, asleep on one of the stone benches that ran along the wall of the cavern, rolled over, muttering. “No, no. I won’t go back.” One last twist of his body sent him tumbling to the floor, where he sat up with a curse, half-dazed by his rough awakening.

Linnet uncurled herself, the tip of one great wing sweeping through the ashes that had spilled from the edge of the fire. She yawned delicately, and rubbed her bleary eyes with the back of one hand. “What’s happening?” Then her expression changed. “Yinze’s mercy! It’s an earthquake! Quick—get out of the cave!”

Grince didn’t know what an earthquake was, but he understood the panic in her voice. In a trice he was on his feet, and heading for the exit. Only when he fell over Wolf in the dim firelight did it occur to him that some of his companions were simply not waking up.

“Where’s Chiamh?” Iscalda shouted, adding to the confusion. “And Aurian?”

Grince realized that the two great cats were also missing, “I can’t wake him!” Vannor was shaking the unmoving body of the one they called Forral. “And he’s hurt—look at all this blood!” His voice was rising in panic.

“Here,” Schiannath ran across and put his hands under Forral’s arms. “You take his feet.”

Vannor tucked Forral’s feet clumsily under his arm and held them in place with his one hand. Together, staggering under the weight, they lifted the supine body out of the cave, while Grince and Iscalda did the same for the motionless form of the wolf. Linnet darted here and there, gathering weapons, blankets, and the leftover food. The ground was shaking and shuddering so hard now that it was difficult to stay on their feet.

Outside, the water in the pool had flooded its banks, and in the grove of pines the trees were thrashing wildly. Two went down with the agonizing groan of falling timber, dragging their stronger brethren down with them. By now, the entire mountain was shaking. A massive boulder came crashing down the steep side of the valley and buried itself deep in the turf not ten feet from where Grince was emerging from the cavern.

“Get away from the pinnacle,” screamed Iscalda as they burst out into the open. “Fly, Linnet! We’ll take you others!” She and Schiannath changed into horse-form faster than Grince had ever seen them do it.

“Help me, Grince.” Vannor, even with two hands, would have had difficulty hoisting Forral’s dead weight up on to Schiannath’s high back. Between them, however, he and Grince managed to hang the limp body over the Xandim’s withers, and Vannor leapt up behind. The thief ran back and hoisted Wolf into position, and leapt up behind him. Then the Xandim were off, racing down the valley, trying to get as far away from the shaking pinnacle as they could.—Forral blinked as the body of the Archmage turned transparent, and vanished into the misty haze that was the disintegrating field of conflict. In the eldritch realm Beyond the World, clearly nothing remained in the same form for very long. Even as he watched, the landscape, which at least had seemed familiar, faded back into the vast, shimmering green sphere in which he had found himself when he’d arrived. A cold spear of alarm pierced the swordsman.—Just how real had this titanic conflict been? When he returned to the normal world, would he still bear these wounds? And what of Miathan? “Oh Gods,”

Forral groaned. “Don’t tell me I’ll have to kill the bastard all over again.”

“You won’t. Wherever his body lies, he’s dead all right. You’ve seen to that.”

Forral turned to find Aurian and Wolf at his side. The Mage still wore her normal, earthly shape, but Wolf—the swordsman felt a fierce glow of joy and pride. At the Mage’s side was a sturdy young lad of about ten years, with brown eyes and dark, curling hair.

“Looks like his father, doesn’t he?” said Aurian softly.

“He has his mother’s magic, though—or he wouldn’t be here,” Forral replied proudly. “And what’s more,” he added with mock fierceness, “he has the same talent for being where he shouldn’t be that you had at that age.” Smiling, he held out his arms and embraced both Aurian and his son. In this place it felt strange—there was no sensation of physical touch, but instead there was a mingling, an exchange of energies and joy that felt just as good, in its own way, as a fleshly embrace.

Aurian touched his face lightly. “I never thought I’d see that dear face again,” she said. “And Wolf, too—he got the opportunity to meet his father after all these years. I’m so glad you had the chance to come back, my love.—This moment is worth everything.”

“Is it over?” Forral asked her, when he found his voice. “Now that Miathan’s dead, is his curse on Wolf removed?”

“No, Father,” the lad said—and Forral was pleased that he could answer for himself. “The curse is only partly off. Now that the Archmage is dead I can wear my human shape in this place, but until my mother finds the grail I’ll still be a wolf in the normal world.” He looked down at himself wonderingly.

“Weird, isn’t it? It’s not very efficient. You must use an awful lot of energy just to stay up .. .”

He was interrupted by the voice of Basileus. “You must leave here at once! Not only do you face great danger from my struggle with Ghabal, but your bodies are in grave peril back in your own world!”

Forral swore. So involved had his family become with their own affairs—the death of Miathan and the reunion with Wolf in his human form at last—that the struggle between the two Moldai, taking place on the far side of this immense green space, had been the last thing on their minds.

“Don’t wait!” Basileus urged. “You have no time. Get back to your bodies now!”

With an appalling tearing sound, the two Moldai pulled apart, their tentacles inflicting dreadful injuries even as they let go of one another. With their spirits locked in this deadly battle Beyond the World, they had no idea that their titanic struggle was wreaking such havoc in its mundane counterpart.—Basileus was in a pitiful condition, with great chunks of his body torn away, and many of his limbs bitten down to bleeding stumps. Ghabal, however, was in a far worse state, with most of his tentacles missing and his body mauled beyond recognition. The death of his Mage companion had seemed to drive away the last shred of sanity that he possessed, and he had attacked Basileus with reckless ferocity, not caring what damage he might sustain in the process.—All down the aeons, even before Ghabal’s madness had struck, he and Basileus, though forced into such close proximity, had never been in accord. Now, with an intense shock, Basileus realized that he could finish their agelong enmity once and for all. Though part of him cried out in disbelieving protest against killing another Moldan, he knew that in this case, there was nothing left to be done. The flight of the cats from Steelclaw had proved that. If he could not be stopped, then Ghabal’s evil influence would continue to pervade and pollute the mountains, and he would never rest until Basileus had been destroyed.

The Moldan braced himself to close with his injured enemy—and then remembered.—The humans must be warned, lest their helpless bodies be injured in Ghabal’s death throes. He flung out a few swift words of warning to them to return to the mundane world—and then struck at his foe one last time.

As the struggle continued, however, he soon realized that it was hopeless—the two Moldai were just too evenly matched. Basileus could inflict any amount of peripheral damage on his opponent, but simply could not get close enough to finish the fight without risking mortal injury to himself “Take him now, Basileus! I’ll hold him for you!”

The voice took the Moldan completely by surprise. “Chiamh! You should not be here!”

“Never mind that. You’ve helped me so many times—now I can repay you. Let’s finish this business.” Another vast, tentacled creature, its canopy patterned in vibrant purples and blues, drifted into position above the struggling Moldai. The slender, attenuated filaments of its limbs shot out and wrapped themselves around Ghabal, effectively trapping him and wrapping him round so that he could not escape.

Too fast to be seen, Basileus whipped his own tentacles around his enemy’s body, reeling the helpless Ghabal in toward his vast maw with its rows of sword-sharp teeth. Ghabal, already badly wounded, struggled fitfully, but lacked the strength to escape. Snarling, the demented creature heaped curses down on the heads of Basileus and the Windeye, but as he realized the hopelessness of his case, the curses turned to screeches of alarm interspersed with pitiful pleas for mercy. At the last moment, Chiamh let go of the mad Moldan, and the screeching increased to an agonized crescendo as Basileus tore him limb from limb.

The entire mountain range was shaken by the death throes of the Moldan. Forral came back into his body to feel the earth bucking and heaving beneath him as though the very mountains were writhing from a mortal wound. Wolf, with the resilience of youth—coupled with the fact that he had not fought in a formidable battle—had recovered first and was standing over the swordsman, whining anxiously and poking a cold nose into his face.

Already it was grey daylight. Forral found himself on the broad plateau that he had seen from the air on the approach to Chiamh’s vale—and of course, he was not back as himself, but was lodged once more in Anvar’s body. The transition was a wrenching disappointment. For a little while, he had experienced the joy of being himself again, whole and complete—but that was over now.

Iscalda was trying to elbow the wolf out of the way so that she could try to bandage the swordsman’s leg and his other injuries with strips of cloth that she had apparently torn from the clothing of everyone present.

“Aurian,” Forral gasped. “Where’s Aurian?”

“We don’t know,” Iscalda said tersely. “Linnet has flown back up the valley to look for her and Chiamh. The cats are missing too.”

Forral swore and tried to rise.

“You stay exactly where you are.” Iscalda pressed him down again with one hand on his chest, and Forral was dismayed to find that she could do it without effort. “There’s nothing you or any of us can do until Linnet finds them.”

“Chiamh! Chiamh—come back! Wake up, damn you!” Aurian clutched at the Windeye’s sleeve and shook him as hard as she could, without any response whatsoever. She swore. What in perdition had happened to him? If she couldn’t wake him soon, it was likely that they both would die.

Aurian tried another tack. “Basileus? What’s happening? Can’t you stop this?” There was no answer. Not a flicker of response from either Moldan or Windeye.

The Mage had returned to her body on the pinnacle, to find that the Chamber of Winds had turned into a very perilous place. The whole place was shaking and swaying, and every now and again her heart would almost stop as another sharp cracking sound accompanied an additional section of fractured stone. The whole slender spire of rock might well collapse at any moment—and the spider’s-web bridge had been completely torn away. Chiamh was the only way to get down—and she could not bring him out of his trance.

Aurian pressed herself flat, trying desperately but without success to find some kind of purchase on the smooth stone floor. “Oh blast you, Chiamh, wake up,” she muttered. “Wake up, please.”

“What’s wrong? What’s ha—oh, goddess! I didn’t think this would happen!” The Windeye tried to sit up, and managed it on the third attempt. By clinging to one another, he and the Mage managed to stay more or less upright, though actually standing up was out of the question. His mental call to the Moldan was so loud that Aurian could pick it up quite clearly. “Basileus? Are you all right?”

“I cannot stop the shaking, Windeye. These are Ghabal’s death throes—they must run their course.”

The Windeye cursed softly. “All right, Aurian,” he said. “I’m going to have to change to my horse-form in this position and then get up. As soon as I’m on my feet, get up on my back as quickly as possible, and we’ll get off this thing.—You have got your amulet, haven’t you?” As she nodded, he gave her a smile that was pure relief. “Well, that’s a blessing. Don’t forget, it takes both of us to make me fly. Once I’ve changed, don’t waste any time.” Before Aurian had time to answer, his outline was beginning to shimmer, and in the next moment, the stocky, black-maned bay horse lay on the stone beside her.

It was a nightmare trying to get Chiamh to his feet on that unsteady surface. At last, after several bruising falls that brought Aurian’s heart into her mouth with the thought of broken legs, he managed to get himself more or less vertical, standing straddle-legged like a newborn colt. Then it happened. Just as Aurian was braced ready to hoist herself onto back, the stone underfoot gave a particularly violent lurch. The Mage’s legs went out from underneath her and she fell flat on her face. Chiamh stumbled, slid—and was gone over the edge.

“Chiamh!” Aurian shrieked. She hid her face in her hands, unable to look down into the chasm. The dire peril of her own position was lost in overwhelming grief for her friend.

A shrill, demanding whinny broke into the dark well of her sorrow. Astounded, the Mage looked up—and knew that she had gone completely mad. There before her, hovering in midair with no help at all, was Chiamh.

Another lurch of the pinnacle brought Aurian out of her shock with a jolt. She could work out the whys and wherefores later—when she had her feet back on solid ground. The Windeye maneuvered delicately into the Chamber of Winds and landed lightly, his feet barely touching the vibrating floor. Somehow, Aurian managed to scramble onto his back, then they were away. The Mage had no need of her talisman—the Windeye was managing the entire business himself. As they left the crumbling pinnacle, Chiamh gave an exultant whinny, and carried a very puzzled Mage away to safety down the valley.

It seemed an eternity before Forral saw a black speck in the sky. Then he recognized Aurian on Chiamh’s back. “She’s here, Wolf,” he cried. “Your mother’s coming!”

The Mage was looking very pale as she dismounted and ran to the side of Forral and her son. She took in the swordsman’s bandages at a glance. “I thought you’d carry your injuries over to this world,” she said. “I should have warned you. Still, I’m sure we can fix you up.” She hugged them both, first Forral then Wolf.

“Are you all right?” Forral took her hand. “You look bloody awful, love.”

Aurian grimaced. “It was bloody awful. I hope I never have to go through anything like that again.”

“I doubt you will,” the swordsman reassured her. “After all, Miathan is dead, and ...”

“Gods, I don’t mean that,” Aurian cried. “I mean being stuck up on top of that accursed spire in the middle of an earthquake!” She got to her feet and turned to the Windeye, who had changed back to his human shape and was grinning all over his face. “I’m extremely glad you did what you did,” she said, “but how the bloody blue blazes did you do it? I thought the Xandim couldn’t fly without the aid of the Old Magic.”

Chiamh shrugged modestly. “No more they can—the normal Xandim. But my powers as Windeye stem from the Old Magic. I thought as much when you demonstrated your own Othersight, the first time you used the talisman. Ever since then I’ve wondered whether I could fly on my own—but I never had the nerve to try until today.” He grimaced. “It wasn’t the best way to find out, believe me.—Now I understand exactly what it is you hate about high places, Aurian.”

Eventually the tremors died away completely, much to everyone’s relief, although the Windeye spoke to Basileus, who recommended that they wait a while before returning to the cavern, just to be on the safe side. The Mage spent the intervening time healing Forral’s hurts and looking out anxiously for Linnet, with any news of Shia and Khanu. To her dismay, the winged girl returned toward noon, having failed completely to find the cats. It was close to sunset before Shia and Khanu came slinking back—from an entirely unexpected direction. “Where in the name of perdition have you two been?” the Mage demanded.

“We were on Steelclaw,” Shia said wearily. “The Dragon’s Tail was fractured in the earthquake. We’ve had to come round miles the long way—practically all the way down that mountain and back up this one. And I should warn you folk—this is no longer a safe place to stay. We crept past the Fastness unseen, but the Xandim were mustering outside. I think they plan to come up here and see what has become of their accursed Blind God.”

Aurian looked at Chiamh. He nodded. “Let’s get back to the cave at once,” he said, “and prepare our belongings. If the Xandim are coming here, then we don’t want to waste any time getting away.”

Though the companions were too weary to travel all night, they managed to get deep into the mountains to the south of the Wyndveil, where the Xandim could not follow. Chiamh and Aurian had said a sad farewell to Basileus, who made them promise to return as soon as ever they could. “He seems very confident that we will return,” Aurian said to the Windeye afterward. “It’s good to know that someone has so much faith in us.”

“I have faith in us too,” Chiamh replied. “We’ll accomplish what we set out to do, you’ll see. And we’ll come home to tell our grandchildren about it.”

“Grandchildren? Please, Chiamh—one trial at a time!”

At least it had sent them on their way laughing.

When the night was growing old they stopped to rest at last, though it was a cold and comfortless camp without a fire. Though the Skyfolk rarely ventured this far east, they didn’t think it wise to risk drawing attention to themselves. Aurian, who had offered to take the first watch, was surprised to see Chiamh get up after a little while. “Can’t you sleep?” she whispered.

“It’s not that,” he replied. “I was just thinking that we no longer know the whereabouts of your enemy—not for sure, at any rate. With these Winged Folk to support her, she could be anywhere by now. I think I’d better ride the winds and see if I can find her.”

Aurian was truly grateful to him. “What would I ever do without you, Chiamh?” she whispered.

“You’ll never have to find out,” the Windeye said mysteriously—and was gone before she could ask him what he meant.

Chiamh walked a little way away; out of sight of the camp but within call in case there should be some need. A cold sensation like a drench of icy water flooded over his body as he switched to his Othersight. Choosing one of the fluid paths of silver air, he launched himself off on the winds and headed for Aerillia.

Eliseth was no longer in the city of the Skyfolk. Chiamh was busy conducting a painstaking search when he had a stroke of good fortune, and overheard two winged sentries discussing the expedition to Dhiammara, and how much they would have liked to be included. The Windeye, following the night breeze, drifted away. He was about to return and tell Aurian what he had discovered when he had an idea. Why not go on, instead, all the way to Dhiammara? Riding the winds, the trip would take no time, and it would be useful for Aurian if he could find out what was really happening there.

Eliseth’s home in the Dragon City was much more tolerable now. In the handful of days since she had arrived, she had worked incredibly hard, ordering her new slaves from the forest colony to clear the fallen masonry that clogged the corridors of the emerald tower, and having them make the place habitable again. The Magewoman had had every necessity flown in from the ransacked forest colony, with additional luxuries coming in daily from Aerillia.—Today the Magewoman had finally been able to move into the tower, and the timing was perfect. Her winged watchers had told her that the visitor she had been expecting was about to arrive that night. Eliseth walked over to the large red crystal that stood on an ornate metal tripod in a corner, its glow providing the room with light and heat. As she warmed her hands, she reflected that it hadn’t taken her long to master the crystal magic of the late and unlamented Dragonfolk. Absently, she straightened the golden goblets on the table and stroked the sumptuous fur that covered her carven chair. She was glad her new quarters had been made ready in time to impress her guest, for it was not every day she had the opportunity to entertain a queen—even if the queen in question was nothing but a little Mortal slut with delusions of grandeur.

The drumming of wings could be heard outside. Ah—the Khisihn was here at last.—The Weather-Mage stepped to the door of her chambers to greet her guest, who had been escorted along the curving green corridors by Sunfeather and an honor guard of two winged warriors, resplendent in full regalia.

“Her Majesty, Queen Sara,” Sunfeather announced.

The guest had thrown back the deep hood of her traveling cloak, and the welcoming smile froze on Eliseth’s face as she realized that this woman was northern-fair, and not of the Khazalim at all! What was going on? If this was a deception or a joke on someone’s part, they would suffer for it, by the Gods!

Then, from deep within her mind, a memory surfaced—not a remembrance from her own past, but a recollection ripped from Anvar’s mind, of his childhood lover repudiating him for the Khazalim king. Eliseth examined the woman warily.—Here, then, was someone apparently as ruthless as herself.

The fair little queen forbore to curtsy. Instead, she inclined her head regally, a gesture between equals. Outwardly, the bright smile stayed on Eliseth’s face. Inwardly, she seethed. “Your Majesty,” she said, with a corresponding nod.

“Please,” said the Queen, “let us have no such formality between us. I am sure that women of our high station can be friends. After all, we have so much in common—even the fact that we both come from Nexis, and the fact that Aurian is also my enemy.”

The smile vanished from Eliseth’s face as her jaw dropped open.

Hearing Aurian’s name, Chiamh, who had been hovering, invisible, near the ceiling in a corner of the room, drew a little closer so as to be sure he didn’t miss anything the two women were saying. He had come in on the draft as the visitor entered, curious to have another look at Aurian’s enemy, whom he had not seen since her attack on the Mage in the Vale, when she had stolen the Sword of Flame. The visitor was a mystery, however. She might only be a Mortal—but Queen Sara? The queen of what country? And when and how had she come from Nexis? Though one was a Mage and one a Mortal, he could see exactly what the two women had in common: their golden beauty, their naked ambition—and their relentless hatred of Aurian.

At Eliseth’s invitation the queen seated herself, arranged her skirts with elegant grace, and accepted a cup of wine. “Now,” she said, “if I might get directly to business, Lady—the troops I promised you are on their way now and will be here at Dhiammara before morning. As arranged, I have told them to use the ground-level entrance. They will make their quarters in the lower caverns, and guard that means of ingress at the same time. In return for my assistance, you will give me your backing, once Aurian is disposed of, to take over the rule of the Khazalim in my own right, instead of as a mere Regent.”

“Indeed,” Eliseth agreed smoothly. “Since my conquest of the Forest Kingdom succeeded so well, I now have a good number of slaves to maintain this place, and a secure supply base beyond the desert. Aurian should present us with few problems. My winged watchers are ever vigilant, and unknown toiler, I have a spy in her camp. No matter when she comes, or how she chooses to come, we will have fair warning—and we will be ready.” Her eyes glittered avidly. “Once that bitch is out of the way, we can divide these Southern Lands neatly between us and bring them under our rule.” She smiled coldly. “All will benefit from the new state of affairs . ..”

“Especially us,” Sara finished with a chiming laugh, and the two women lifted their glasses to one another.

After what Chiamh had just heard, the remainder of the two women’s conversation was fairly inconsequential. He learned that Sara would be staying in Dhiammara for some days, but heard little else that was of use. Unseen in his high corner, he fidgeted impatiently, waiting for someone to open the door and give him a breeze on which he could escape, and return to Aurian with his news.