The Forgotten Beasts of Eld

EIGHT

When the snow had melted from the warming earth, Rok spoke of building a garden at Sirle for Sybel’s animals. She drew plans for him one morning, pictures of Gyld’s cave, of the Black Swan’s lake, of the white marble hall itself with its great dome, and Ceneth’s son, Rok’s daughters crowded around her, listening to the tales of them.

“Gyld requires darkness and silence; the Swan of course must have water. Gules Lyon and Moriah must have a walled place, warm in winter, where they will not frighten people and animals. I do not know how they will like being around people—they have all been hunted by men, especially Cyrin. In the Mountain they were secluded. But I cannot leave them alone there, prey to men and to their own impulses. You know how Coren was hurt by Gyld. That may happen easily again to someone less forgiving, and that would be dangerous, both for men and animals. Men may try to trap them, or kill them. I do not want them troubled.”

“You care much for them,” Rok murmured and she nodded.

“So you would, if you could speak with them. They are all powerful, lordly, experienced. I am very grateful for your help, Rok, and for letting them come here. I hoped for it, but I did not expect it.”

“It is a collection worthy of a king’s dream,” he said, his gold-brown eyes regarding her equivocally. “I am not so loath to make Drede a little afraid.”

Her eyes dropped. “I did not think so,” she said softly, and he shifted.

“But we will not speak of such matters. There is a large, walled garden between the inner and outer walls that has run wild since the death of our mother. It was built as a place of quiet for her, away from her noisy sons. It has an inner gate, and an outer one beside the keep, opening to the fields. The children rarely play there; our wives have smaller private gardens. It will hold a small lake, many trees, a cave and a fountain for the dragon, but I do not know how to build a crystal dome for you.”

She laughed. “If you can do all that for me, I will not ask for a crystal dome. I only need a place for my books, and those I can store in a room. They are very valuable. I should go back to Eld Mountain soon to get them, but I am so comfortable here it is hard to think of a journey.”

“I am glad you are happy here.” He was silent a moment, while Lara climbed on the back of his chair. “Truthfully, I never expected to see you here. I knew how you felt about Tamlorn, and how Coren felt about Drede; I did not think you could reconcile your loves and hates.”

She glanced at him, sketching idly in the margin of her paper. “I have no great love for Drede. Only he is more use to Tam alive than dead. And Coren—I know he has reconciled himself to Norrel’s death. But I know, too, he is a man of Sirle, and if you began another war he would fight, not against Drede, but for his brothers, as he fought for Norrel.”

“But though we plot and scheme, I see no prospect of war. No doubt you and Coren will lead peaceful lives in Sirle, at least while Drede is alive.”

Her pen stilled. “And then what?”

Rok rose, moving to the fire, with Lara clinging to one powerful leg. “If he dies while Tam is young there will be enough scavengers lying in wait for that young boy’s kingdom,” he said bluntly. “This is not a quiet world you came down to; Tam must be learning that now, too. If he is shrewd, he may be able to learn to juggle power, giving and taking it. Drede will teach him, so he will not be helpless when Sirle begins to nibble at his kingdom one day.”

Her black eyes were lowered, hidden from him. “You are indeed a house of restless lions…”

“Yes, but we cannot spring; we have no support, we exhausted arms and men at Terbrec, and we are crippled by the memory.” He smiled, disengaging Lara and lifting her to his shoulder, where she sat clinging to his hair. “But this is not something I should be talking about with you. I am sorry.”

“There is no need to be sorry. I am interested.”

The door to Rok’s chamber opened, and Coren looked in. His eyes flicked between their faces.

“What are you doing with my brother?” he asked Sybel wistfully. “You are tired of me. You hate my red hair. You want someone old, gnarled, lined—”

“Coren, Rok is going to build me a garden. Look, we have been drawing plans. This is Gyld’s cave, this is the swan lake—”

“And this is the Liralen,” he said, touching the graceful lines of her sketch. “Where will you keep that?”

“What is a Liralen?” Rok asked.

“A beautiful white bird, whose wings trail behind it like a wake in the sky. Very few people have ever caught it. Prince Neth did, just before he died. What is it?” he said to Sybel, whose brows had drawn in a vague frown.

“Something Mithran said about the Liralen. He said—he said once he had wept, like I wept that day, because he knew that he could never have power over it, even though he might have power over anything else… I wonder how be knew; I wonder why he could not take it.”

“Perhaps the Liralen was more powerful than he was.”

“But how? It is an animal, like Gules, like Cyrin—”

“Perhaps it is more like Rommalb.”

“Even Rommalb can be called.”

Coren shook his head, running his fingers down her long hair. “I think Rommalb goes where it wills, when it wills. It chose to come to you, to be bound to you, because it looked into the bottom of the black wells of your eyes and saw nothing there of fear.”

“What is Rommalb?” Rok asked. “We have made no plans for it.”

Coren smiled. He sat down on the table, pulled the plans toward him. Rommalb is a Thing I met on Sybel’s hearth one day. I do not think you would care for it at Sirle. It goes its own way, mostly at night.”

Rok’s brows lifted. “I am beginning to think some of the tales you have been telling us for nearly thirty years may be true.”

“I have always told you the truth,” Coren said simply. He laughed at Rok’s expression. “There are more dangerous things in Eldwold than troublesome kings.”

“Are there? I am too old to meet anything more troublesome than Drede.”

“Coren,” Sybel said, “I should go to Eld Mountain for my books.”

“I know. I have been thinking about that, too. We can leave tomorrow if you want, make a slow journey in this beautiful season.”

Rok’s voice rumbled in his throat. “It may be dangerous. If Drede does not trust Sybel, he may be lying in wait for her at Eld, expecting her to return for her animals.”

“I do not have to go for them,” Sybel said. “They can come themselves, when there is a place for them here. But I must have the books.”

“I could send Eorth and Herne for them.”

She shook her head, smiling. “No, Rok, I want to see my house again, my animals. I will call Ter, and he can spy for us. If there is any danger, he will warn us.”

They left for Eld Mountain at midmorning the next day. The winds came cold from the icy peak of Eld, raced across the unbroken plain of the bright sky. The trees in the inner yard were beaded with the hard, dark buds of new leaves. Rok and Eorth went out to watch them leave, their great cloaks billowing like sails in the wind. Eorth said in his slow, deep voice, holding Sybel’s stirrup as she mounted,

“Ceneth and I could go with you, Coren. It may be wise.”

“I,” Coren said, “would like a few days of peace and privacy with a white-haired wizard woman. Do not worry about us. Sybel will transfix with one eye anyone who dares accost us.” He turned his horse, one hand raised in farewell, and like a bolt out of the blue sky Ter landed on his arm. Rok laughed.

“There is your guard.”

Coren grimaced at the taut, heavy grip. “Go sit on Sybel; I will guard myself.” He glanced at Sybel and fell still, seeing the look pass from woman to bird like a bond. Sybel gave a murmur of surprise.

“What is it?”

“Tam. He left Mondor this morning for Eld Mountain. I wonder that Drede let him go. Unless—”

“Unless,” Rok said, “Drede knows nothing of his leaving. Extend an invitation of our hospitality to Tam, if you see him.”

“We had him once,” Coren said briefly. “And we lost him. Let it be.”

Rok smiled. “I am sure Drede has trained him well. Besides, when you reach the Mountain, he will no doubt be on his way home again. Go. Enjoy your journey. Send Ter to us if you need help.”

They rode slowly across Sirle, through the forest land, spending the night in a tiny farmhouse on the very edge of the Plain of Terbrec. They reached Eld Mountain in the early afternoon of the next day. The winding road was damp with melted snow; the Mountain blazed against the blue sky; winds, tangy with the scents of snow and pine, tasted like some rare wine. Sybel drew back her hood, let her hair stream like white fire in the wind; the brush of its chill drew blood beneath her clear skin. Coren caught her hair, wound it through his fingers, drew her head back and kissed her, and sunlight splashed hot on her closed eyes. They rode to the white hall and found the gate unlocked.

Tam came out to meet them.

He walked slowly, Gules Lyon at his side, his eyes wide, uncertain on Sybel’s face. She slipped from her horse with a startled exclamation.

“Tam!” She went to him, took his face between her hands. “My Tam, you are troubled. What is it? Has Drede—has he done something?”

He shook his head. Her hands dropped tight to his shoulders. “Then what?” His face was winter-pale, smudged; his eyes rimmed with sleeplessness. He put his hands on her arms, then looked past her to Coren, who had dismounted to take Sybel’s horse.

“Is he angry with Drede?”

Her fingers tightened. She said quickly, startled. “He knows nothing. But you, Tam, what have you learned? How?”

He shook his pale head wearily. “I do not understand anything. Drede said you were going to marry him, and I was happy, and then he—suddenly something frightened him, and he would not speak of you; and when I told him you had married Coren, his face went so white I thought he would faint. But I touched him, and he spoke, and—he is so frightened it hurts me to see him. So I came to you to see if—what he was frightened of. I knew you would come, if Ter told you I was here.”

“Tam, does he know you are here?”

“No. No one does.” He looked over her shoulder as Coren came to them and said stiffly, “I see one of the seven of Sirle. I am taught to fear you.”

Coren said gently, “Ter sits on my shoulder and takes meat from my fingers, leaving the fingers behind. To him I am only Coren who loves Sybel.”

Tam’s hands dropped from Sybel’s arms. He sighed, his face loosening. “I hoped she would marry Drede,” he murmured. “Are you alone?”

“Ter is with us,” Sybel said. “It is fortunate for you Coren’s brothers did not come. Tam, half of Eldwold must be looking for you for one purpose or another. You should not run around Eldwold as freely as though you were still herding sheep barefoot with Nyl.”

“I know. But Drede would not have let me come, and I wanted to see you, to know—to know that you—that you still—”

She smiled. “That I still love you, my Tam?” she whispered. He nodded, his mouth crooking a little ruefully.

“I still have to know, Sybel.” He rubbed his face wearily. “Sometimes I am still a child. Shall I take your horses?” He took the reins, murmured soothingly to the horses as he led them to the shed. Sybel dropped her face into her hands.

“I am sorry I ever brought him and Drede face to face,” she said tautly.

Coren drew her hair back from her bowed face. “You could not have kept him safe forever,” he said soothingly. “He was not destined by birth or the circumstances we created at Terbrec, for a quiet life.”

“I would bring him back with me to Sirle except he would not want to come. He needs Drede. And I will not use Tam to punish Drede.” She checked suddenly, hearing her words, and lifted her head to see the bewilderment in Coren’s eyes.

“Punish Drede for what?”

She drew a breath and smiled. “Oh, I am beginning to sound like Rok or Eorth, talking about Terbrec.”

“Have they been troubling you?”

“No. They have been very kind. But I do have ears, and I have heard the language of their hate.” She bent to Gules Lyon, standing patiently before her, and looked deep into his golden eyes.

Is it well with you?

Well, White One, but I have heard a disturbing tale about that King. Tell me what must be done and I will do it.

Nothing. Yet. I am taking all of you to Sirle.

We expected it.

She rose, a little taut smile on her lips. Coren said softly,

“You seem so far from me sometimes. Your face changes—it is like a clear, still frame, powerful, untouchable.”

“I am no farther than the sound of my name.” She took his hand and they walked to the house. “Gules said they expected to be moved. I am glad Rok wants them.”

“Rok, my sweet one, is shrewd.” Cyrin Boar greeted the opening door and he stopped, a smile tugging at his mouth. “Cyrin. You see how I have overcome a mountain of—glass.”

The silver-bristled Boar said in his sweet voice, “Have you? Or did the witch remove it herself for her own purposes?”

“No doubt I did,” Sybel said quietly. “For a purpose I could not resist any longer. Cyrin, we are going to Sirle.”

The Boar said privately, Does he know to ask why?

No. I will not have him troubled. Put a guard on your wise tongue.

Who will guard the tongue of the Wise One of Sirle when his blind eyes open?

She was silent a moment, her fingers tight on Coren’s hand. I ask only for your silence. If you cannot give it, and you wish to be free, I will free you.

Caught between the riddle and its answer there is no freedom.

“Sybel,” said Coren, and she came back to him. “The Lord of Wisdom is at times disturbing,” she said softly. “But you know that.”

“Yes, I know. But not to the undisturbed mind.”

She looked at him. “I am not always honest, Coren.”

“I love you precisely because you are. Tell me what he said that troubled you.”

“It is myself troubling myself over events that have passed. Nothing more. Like Tam, sometimes I am still a child.”

Tam came in then with Ter on his shoulder. He bent to stroke Moriah at Sybel’s feet. “Have you come back here to live?” he asked hopefully.

“No, Tam. I am moving my books and animals to Sirle.”

His hand checked, hovering between Moriah’s ears. He said softly, not looking up, “Sybel, it will be hard for me to come and see you there. But perhaps you could come sometimes to Mondor.”

“Perhaps,” she said gently.

“Also—” He looked up, shaking his pale hair back from his eyes. “May I please talk to you awhile?”

She glanced at Coren who said courteously, “I will sit here by the fire and talk to Cyrin.”

“Thank you,” Tam said and followed Sybel, his shoulders bowed, into the domed room. Gules Lyon padded behind them. Sybel sat down on the thick fur and drew Tam down beside her.

“You are growing. You are nearly as tall as I am.”

He nodded, twisting the soft fur around his fingers. His pale brows drew together. “Sybel, I miss you very much, and it hurts me that—that you chose to marry Coren, not because of him, but because to other people now we are not Sybel and Tam but Sirle and Drede, who have always been enemies. Things used to be very simple, and now they are so complicated I do not know how they will end.”

“I do not know either, my Tam. I only know that I will never do anything to hurt you.”

His eyes rose, troubled. “Sybel, what is my father afraid of? Is it you? He will not even let me say your name.”

“Tam, I have done nothing to hurt him. I have done nothing to make him afraid.”

“But I have never seen him like this, and I do not know what to do to help him. I have not known him very long, and I am afraid—afraid of losing him, like I lost you.”

Her brows twisted. “You have not lost me—I will love you always, no matter where you live, where I live.”

He nodded a little jerkily, his mouth twitching downward. “I know. But it is different, so different now, when the people we love hate each other. I thought as long as you were here on Eld, I could come here any time, away from the noise and people in Mondor and—just lie here by your fire with Gules, or run on the Mountain with Ter and Nyl—just for a while, and then go back home to Drede. I thought you would always be here with the animals. But now, you are going, taking them to a place where I know I cannot come. I never thought that would happen. I never thought you would marry Coren. You did not seem to like him.”

“I never thought I would, either. But then I found I loved him.”

“Well, I can understand that. But I do not know why Drede does not. You would never use your powers to start a war; you said so. Drede must know that, but he is so afraid of something, and sometimes I think—I think he may be lost somewhere inside himself.”

She drew a breath and loosed it. “I wish you were small again, so I could hold you in my arms and comfort you. But you are grown, and you know that for some things there is no comfort.”

“Oh, I know. But Sybel—sometimes I am not that grown.”

She smiled and drew him against her. “Neither am I.” He rested his head on her shoulder, twisted a tendril of her long hair in his fingers. “Are you happy at Mondor? Have you made friends?”

“Oh, I have cousins my age. I never knew before what cousins are. It surprised me that I have so many relatives, when here I had only you. We go hunting together—they like Ter, but they are afraid of him, and he will not let anyone hold him but me. At first they laughed at me, because I was so ignorant of many things. Maelga and you taught me to read and write but you never taught me to use a sword, or hunt with hounds, or even who was king before Drede. I have learned a great deal about Eldwold you never knew to tell me. But I learned such things on this mountain that they will never know. Are you—are you happy at Sirle?”

“Yes. I am learning things, too, about living with people that Ogam never knew to tell me.”

He shifted, stirred by a restless thought, and groped for words. “Sybel. Why—why did my father say you were going to marry him? He told me one night not long ago—he said he did not mean to tell me then, because it was still a little uncertain, but he wanted to watch my face. I hugged him, I was so glad, and he laughed and then—the next evening I spoke to him about it and he—just looked at me, saying nothing. He looked ill, and—old.”

“Tam—” Her voice shook slightly and she stopped. “He had no right to tell you that because I had never consented to it. Perhaps he—”

“Yes, but when did he ask you? Did he write to you?”

“No.”

“I do not understand. He seemed so certain… Perhaps I made the mistake—I mistook something he said. I do not know. But what is he afraid of? He never laughs. He hardly talks to anyone. I thought, coming here I could find out what was troubling him, but I was wrong.”

“I am sorry you are troubled about Drede, but I cannot—I cannot help you. Drede’s fears are of his own making. Ask him.”

“I have. He will not tell me.” He reached out, put one arm around Gules, his brows knit worriedly. “I think I had better go home carefully, more carefully than I came. Drede will be angry with me, but I am glad I came. I am glad I could talk to you. I miss you, and Gules. Someday, though, I will come to Sirle.”

“No.”

He smiled. “I will come so quietly no one but you, Gules and Cyrin will know I am there. I will come.”

“Tam, no,” she said helplessly. “You do not realize—” She checked suddenly, her head turned quickly toward a drawling, bubbling wail that ascended, faded and ascended again beyond the closed door. “What—” Gules rumbled beside Tam, rose suddenly and gave a sharp, full-throated growl. Sybel rose. There was a crash beyond the door, and the murmur of men’s voices.

“Coren—” she breathed. She turned, flung open the door. Gules Lyon bounded past her, came to a crouch at the fireplace, his gold tail twitching. Coren looked at Sybel over the blades of three swords held at his throat. He was unarmed, backed against the hearthstones. Moriah paced at his feet, wailing at three men who wore the black tunics with the single blood-red star of Drede’s service on their breasts. Tam, beside Sybel, said quickly,

“Do not hurt him.”

The guards’ faces turned slowly to him, their eyes flicking between him and Moriah. One of them said between his teeth, “Prince Tamlorn, this one is of Sirle.”

“Do you know them, Tamlorn?” Coren asked. A blade point bit the hollow of his throat, and he closed his mouth.

“Yes. They are my father’s guards.” His eyes moved back to their tense faces. “I came here to see Sybel. She did not know I was coming. I have talked to her, and I am ready to come home. Let him go.”

“This is Coren of Sirle, Norrel’s brother—he was at Terbrec—”

“I know, but if you hurt him I do not think you will leave this place alive.”

The man glanced at Moriah, then at Gules, his golden eyes full on their faces, rumbling deep in his throat. “The King is half-mad with worry. If we let Coren loose, we will be killed by these beasts. And if Drede knows we let one of Sirle slip through our hands, we might as well be killed by them.”

“`Are you alone?”

“No. The others are beyond the gate. They will come if we call.”

“Then no one but you will need to know that Coren and Sybel were here. I will not tell Drede.”

“Prince Tamlorn, he is the King’s enemy—your enemy!”

“He is Sybel’s husband! And if you want to risk killing him in front of Sybel, Gules and Moriah, go ahead. I can go home by myself like I came.”

Moriah screamed again, flat-eared, crouched at Coren’s feet, and the blades jumped, winking. One of the guards drew his sword back suddenly. Sybel’s flat voice froze the drive of it toward Moriah.

“If you do that, I will kill you.”

The guard stared at her still, black eyes, sweat breaking out on his face. “Lady, we will take the Prince and go. I swear it. But how—what guarantee do we have that we will walk alive out of your house, if we let Coren go? What is the surety for our lives?”

Tam’s eyes rested a moment speculatively on Coren’s face. He came forward and knelt at Coren’s feet beneath the swords, and put his arms around Moriah. “I am. Now let him go.”

The swords wavered, winking in the firelight, fell. Coren’s breath rose soundlessly and fell.

“Thank you.”

Tam looked up at him, stroking Moriah’s head. “Think of it as a gift from Drede to Sirle.” He rose and said to the guards, “I will come home now. But no one of you is to stay here after me, or follow Sybel and Coren when they leave. No one.”

“Prince Tamlorn—we saw nothing of Sybel or Coren.”

Tam sighed. “My horse is in the shed—the gray. Get him.”

They left quickly, followed by the soft whisperings of Lyon, Boar and Cat. Tam went to Sybel, and she held him a moment, his face hidden in her hair.

“My Tam, you are growing as fearless and wise as Ter.”

He drew away from her a little. “No. I am shaking.” He smiled at her, and she kissed him quickly. He turned and hugged Gules Lyon tightly, then rose to the sound of hoofbeats at the door.

“Prince Tamlorn,” Coren said soberly, “I am very grateful. And I think this gift will be a great embarrassment to the Lord of Sirle.”

“I hope he is pleased,” Tam said softly. “Good-bye, Sybel. I do not know when I will see you again.”

“Good-bye, my Tam.”

From a window, she watched him mount; Ter circling above his head, watched his straight figure swallowed by a crowd of dark-cloaked men with their fiery stars, until they had disappeared through the trees. Then she turned and went to Coren, put her arms around him, her face against his breast.

“They might have killed you before I even knew they were in my house, in spite of all my powers. Then what would Rok have said?”

He lifted her face with his hands, a smile creasing his eyes. “That I should not have to depend on my wife to save my skin.”

She touched his throat. “You are bleeding.”

“I know. You are shaking.”

“I know.”

“Sybel. Could you have killed that guard? He believed you could, and I was not sure, then, myself.”

“I do not know. But if he had killed Moriah, I would have found out.” She sighed. “I am glad he did not, for his sake and mine. Coren, I do not think we should stay here long. I do not trust those guards. Let us pack the books and leave.”

Coren nodded. He picked up a chair that had overturned, found his sword in a corner and sheathed it.

Gules Lyon lay muttering softly by the fire. Moriah prowled back and forth in front of the door. Sybel dropped a soothing hand on the flat, black head. She looked around vaguely at the house and found a strange emptiness that seemed to lie beneath the cool white stones. She said slowly,

“It seems no longer my house… It seems to be waiting for another wizard, like Myk or Ogam, to begin his work here in this white silence…”

“Perhaps someone will come.” He unfolded the big, tough grain sacks they had brought to pack the books in, and added wryly, “I hope he will have gentler memories of it than I ever will.”

“I hope so, too.” She gave him a tight parting hug, then went out to speak with Gyld and the Black Swan while he packed. The late afternoon turned from gold to silver, and then to ash gray. Coren finished before she returned; he went into the yard, calling her name in the wind. She came to him finally from the trees.

“I was with Gyld. I told him there would be a place for him at Sirle, and he told me he would bring his gold.”

“Oh, no. I can see a glittering trail of ancient coin from here to Rok’s doorstep.”

“Coren, I told him we would see to it somehow… he will have to fly by night, when we are ready for him. I hope he does not frighten all of Rok’s livestock.” She glanced up at the night-scented, ashen sky, and the green-black shapes of trees. “It is getting late. What should we do? I do not think we should even stay at Maelga’s house.”

“No. Drede would not mind risking a war by killing me if he could trap you, take you to Mondor. If he wants that, they will return tonight to look for us.”

“Then what should we do?”

“I have been thinking about that.”

“The horses are tired. We cannot go far on them.”

“I know.”

“Well, what have you been thinking about that has put the smile in your voice?”

“Gyld.”

She stared at him. “Gyld? Do you mean—ride him?”

He nodded. “Why not? You could pretend he is the Liralen. Surely he is strong enough.”

“But—what would Rok say?”

“What would any man say if a dragon landed in his courtyard? Sybel, we cannot ride the horses far, and this mountain is no safe place for us tonight, wherever we are on it. You can loose the horses, call them back to Sirle when they are rested.”

“But there is no place to put Gyld in Sirle.”

“I will think of a place. And if I cannot, you can send him back here. Would he be willing?”

She nodded dazedly. “Oh, yes; he loves to fly. But Coren, Rok—”

“Rok would rather see us alive on Gyld than dead on Eld Mountain. If we make a slow journey back with these books, we may be followed. So let us sail home through the sky on Gyld. Sybel, there must be a silence deeper than the silence of Eld between those stars; shall we go listen to it? Come. We will throw all the stars into Sirle, then go and dance on the moon.”

A smile, faint and faraway, crept onto her face. “I always wanted to fly…”

“So. If you cannot fly the Liralen, then make a fiery night flight on Gyld.”

She called Gyld from his winter cave, and he came to her, soaring slowly above the trees, a great, dark shape against the stars. She looked deep into his green eyes.

Can you carry a man, a woman and two sacks of books on your back?

She felt a tremor of joy in his mind like a flame springing alive.

Forever.

He waited patiently while Coren secured the books on his back, wound with lengths of rope around the base of his thick neck and wings. He heaved himself up, so Coren could pass and repass the rope beneath him, and his eyes glowed like jewels in the night, and his scales winked, gold-rimmed. Coren placed Sybel between the two bags of books and sat in front of her, holding onto the rope at Gyld’s neck. He turned to look at her.

“Are you comfortable?”

She nodded and caught Gyld’s mind. Do the ropes bind you anywhere?

No.

Then go.

The great wings unfurled, black against the stars. The huge bulk lifted slowly, incredibly, away from the cold earth, through the wind-torn, whispering trees. Above the winds struck full force, billowing their cloaks, pushing against them, and they felt the immense play of muscle beneath them and the strain of wing against wind. Then came the full, smooth, joyous soar, a drowning in wind and space, a spiraling descent into darkness that flung them both beyond fear, beyond hope, beyond anything but the sudden surge of laughter that the wind tore from Coren’s mouth. Then they rose again, level with the stars, the great wings pulsing, beating a path through the darkness. The full moon, ice-white, soared with them, round and wondering as the single waking eye of a starry beast of darkness. The ghost of Eld Mountain dwindled behind them; the great peak huddled, asleep and dreaming, behind its mists. The land was black beneath them, but for faint specks of light that here and there flamed in a second plane of stars. The winds dropped past Mondor, quieted, until they melted through a silence, a cool, blue-black night that was the motionless night of dreams, dimensionless, star-touched, eternal. And at last they saw in the heart of darkness beneath them the glittering torch-lit rooms of the house of the Lord of Sirle.

They came to a gentle rest in his courtyard. A horse, waiting in the yard, screamed in terror. Dogs in the hall howled. Coren dismounted stiffly, his breath catching in a laughter beyond words, and swung Sybel to the ground. She clung to him a moment, stiff with cold, and felt Gyld’s mind searching for hers.

Gyld. Be still.

There are men with torches. Shall I—

No. They are friends. They just did not expect us tonight. No one will try to harm us. Gyld, that was a flight beyond hope.

It pleased you.

I am well pleased.

“Rok!” Coren called to his brother’s torchlit figure moving toward them down the steps. The dogs swarmed growling between his legs. The children jammed the doors behind him, then scattered in a wave before Ceneth and Eorth. “We have a guest!”

“Coren,” Rok said, transfixed by the lucent, inscrutable eyes. “What in the name of the Above and the Below are we going to do with it?”

Coren caught one of the dogs before it nipped at Gyld’s wing. “I have thought of that, too,” he said cheerfully. “We can store it in the wine cellar.”