“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.
32
A Matter of Trust
The sky was growing light in the east by the time the Windeye returned across the mountains to Aurian’s camp. As he slid down the shining paths of air toward his abandoned body, he noticed that the knot of pine and spruce in which he had concealed himself was no longer deserted. Shia was watching over him in his absence. As he settled himself with a groan into his cold, cramped form, the cat cocked her head and peered into his face. “About time,” she said grouchily. “Aurian thought it wasn’t safe to leave you alone and helpless out of sight of camp, so I said I’d keep an eye on you for her. It was high time she got some sleep.”
“Is she sleeping now?” Chiamh asked. “I’m sorry to have to wake her, but I must speak with her urgently.”
“Can’t it wait?” Shia snapped, her tail twitching. “The poor thing has to rest sometime, you know.”
“Who’s watching the camp? Khanu?”
The great cat’s fur bristled up on the back of her neck, and her tail lashed back and forth like a whip. “Look,” she said defensively, “some of us can’t help these things. It’s the way we’re made—unlike some folk, we can’t choose our times and places. It wasn’t my idea.”
Chiamh frowned. “Shia, what you were doing last night is your business entirely. I wish you and Khanu all the luck in the world.” He smiled wryly. “For what it’s worth, I may be just a little envious, but I didn’t mean to pry.”